#knew about the David of it all but Jesus Christ

[bilestat]

I finally finished totbt

[madelynraemunson]

i need to know if we ever get jealous of eddie’s said short lived relationships. do we ever try to sabotage them? or are we the type to try and get along with them and thats when they’re like “oh no you two need to be together?”

(i know the answer in my heart but i want to hear what you think lol)

ex husband!eddie x reader

whaaat? sabotage eddie's relationships? 😵 that's diabolical. why on earth would we do that?

that one time we showed up to his house wearing a sundress after months of wearing sweats was TOTALLY unplanned! we had a date, after all.

and that one time we were dancing with eddie at the family bbq, rocking out to all our favorite songs like careless teenagers right in front of girlfriend #3 was all a ploy by our kiddos! right, kids? right? we do everything for the kids. they love seeing their parents happy and getting along. right, kids?

and are you really still on about the day of eli's talent show?? 🤦🏻‍♀️ we only asked girlfriend #9 to take a family photo of us because she was the only one that was around. that's all 😇 and she shouldn't be mad at us! eli LOVES taking pics with mommy and daddy. who is she to get in the way of a family, especially when kids are involved 🤨😤 (also, we didn't MAKE eddie place his hand where he did in the pictures. he literally did it by himself, on his own terms.)💋

...okay, bunnie you got me! we know damn well what we're doing 😅 but quite frankly, so does eddie.

you've got a date with david tonight. in fact, eddie knows was nice enough to house sit for you and help the kids with homework. an innocent, sweet little gesture. right?

you and david are watching a movie on his couch and things are getting steamy really fast. david is about to kiss you when...

RING! RING!

you pull away immediately. checking your phone to see who it is, you realize,

"it's my ex husband, that fucker. the house better be burning down." you go to answer it. "yes?"

“hey, sweetheart, this is eddie...the banished." he greets you. “i can't seem to find the measuring tape and was wondering if you knew where it was."

you're unsure as to why he would even need measuring tape. regardless, you reply,

"it's in with drawer of miscellaneous stuff. the one by the kitchen sink.”

"ahh, that's right. found it. thanks, babe."

but that's not the only useless call of the night. as your date with david continues, the calls keep coming through in seemingly calculated intervals. at the worst possible times. with the most irrelevant fucking questions.

“i can't find the baking soda." “where do you keep the batteries? the c batteries not the double As." "hey, just a heads up, you might wanna call somebody for this pipe." "what's the wifi password again?"

"EMUNSON1986!" you hiss. "the year you graduated high school."

"aww, really?" eddie coos. "that's endearing. thanks baby."

eventually after an hour, the calls stop. you and david were able to finish the movie, and get back to that steamy interaction before you were spammed mercilessly. david is now fiddling with your straps as you two are kissing, his available hand grazing your lower back, breath hitching when —

RING! RING!

"jesus h CHRIST!" you howl. "it's midnight for god's sake. this better be important. HELLO?”

"sorry," eddie mumbles on the other line. "remind me, i'm looking at your snake plant and was wondering how often these guys need watering? they look a little parched."

"once a day and i already did it," you say through gritted teeth.

"it's a new day, should they be watered again?"

"don't worry about it, eds."

"i always worry, sweetheart.”

david happens to hear this. giving you a side eye now, your date watches as you stay on the line with eddie for a couple of minutes. finally, you get eddie to agree to stop calling, which fills you with relief when you hang up the phone. your eyes then travel back to david, whom you begin to bat your flirty lashes at.

"now." you say. "where were we?"

"you should probably go home," david huffs. "looks like the fort still needs holding down."

you're seeing absolute red now. you are seething. that motherfucker.

your drive home is an angry, and sexually frustrated one. you can't believe eddie would sabotage your date like this, your only fun night out this week. he's in for it now.

"date ended early sweetheart?" eddie pouts at you the moment you walk into your house.

"bedroom," you order. "now."

tagging peeps who seemed interested in this lil universe! as always thank you for reading 💋

@highinmiamiii @potatobeans99 @mediocredreams @joshlmbrt @eddiesxangel @enam3l @mmunson86 @davidblowies-blog @thatissonnina @oskea93 @aurora-austen @lesservillain @madeofmunson @xxbimbobunnyxx @eddiesghxst @munsonssweets @nailbatanddungeon @swiss-mrs @winchester-angel @belokhvostikova @curlyjoequinn @strangereads @marrowfrog00 @shadyunknowncreation @tuolcaniacoc @catherinnn @prestinalove @pleuviors @cinemabean @calumfmu @littlexdeaths @let-the-music-take-c0ntrol @meetmeatyourworst @b-irock @spencerssatchel

divider by: @cafekitsune

[queer-devil]

DRDT Incorrect Quotes Pt 3

Because I’m not ok and I will never be ok Jesus Christ why is October like this holy fucking—

Link to generator

Also warning most of these are prob ooc since they are emotion support

Ace: Can you be quiet?! I'm trying to think.

Arei: Don't worry. Doing anything for the first time is difficult.

Min: Hey, random question, what are your favorite flowers?

Teruko: Poppies, why?

Min:

Teruko: Were you going to get me flowers?

Min:

Teruko:

Min: ᶦᵗ’ˢ ᵃ ᵖᵒˢˢᶦᵇᶦˡᶦᵗʸ

Xander: And what do I get out of this?

David: I will give you a dollar.

Xander: What do you think I am? A chump? I would never do it for a dollar!

David: How about two dollars?

Xander: You got yourself a deal.

David: Ace, you're testifying in an aggravated assault case tomorrow, and the D.A. is worried about how you'll present yourself on the stand.

Ace: Why? I'm fine on the stand!

*flashback to Testimony #1*

Ace: Look, I'll make this real simple so even these dumdums can understand.

Ace, to the jury: MAN DID CRIME.

*flashback to Testimony #2*

Ace: I'm sorry, could you make her stop doing that weird thing with her face?

Defense Attorney, next to the crying defendant: ...Crying?

*flashback to Testimony #3*

Ace: And when this is over, I'm gonna find you and I'm gonna break those little fingers.

Judge: Could the witness please stop threatening the stenographer?

Xander: Oh, David, we have a visitor!

David: Don't tell me it's Teruko.

Xander: It's Teruko!

*Thump noise*

David, from the other room: What happened?!

Arei: Min’s shirt fell.

David: Why was it loud?

Arei: It had her inside.

*The Squad's cooking skills*

Whit: *master chef*

Eden: *knows a few recipes*

Rose: *can follow instructions on a box*

Charles: *made toast once*

Teruko: *banned from the kitchen*

Levi: Hopefully Ace has learned a lesson about respecting other people's feelings.

Ace: Oh, shut up and die Levi.

Min: Hey Arei, have you seen the photographer?

Arei: Nope. Have you seen the meat tenderizer?

Min, confused: What?

Arei, grabbing the meat tenderizer out of the drawer: No reason, cute girl things!

Rose: *working in a flower shop and minding her own business*

Ace, storming into the store and slapping $20 on the counter: HOW DO I PASSIVE-AGGRESSIVELY SAY “FUCK YOU” IN FLOWER???

*The squad has just arrived in a new city. Levi looks around at the wanted posters to see if he’s on any of them.*

Teruko: Levi, are you a criminal?

Levi: Not here, I’m not.

David: We’re all in this together. If one of us falls, we all fall. Nobody is expendable on this team.

Teruko: Sounds fake but ok.

Ace: I hate you.

Levi: Well, according to this picture I drew of us holding hands, that is untrue.

Min: If you bite it and you die, it's poisonous. If it bites you and you die, it's venomous.

Ace: What if it bites me and it dies?!

Min: Then you're poisonous. Jesus Christ, Ace, learn to listen.

Veronika: What if it bites itself and I die?

Min: That's voodoo.

Rose: What if it bites me and someone else dies?

Min: That's correlation, not causation.

J: What if we bite each other and neither of us die?

Arei: That's kinky.

Min: Oh my god.

Eden: Imagine if someone handed you a box full of all the things you lost throughout your life.

Min: It would be nice to have my sense of purpose back...

Whit: Oh wow, my childhood innocence! Thank you for finding this.

David: My will to live! I haven't seen this in years.

Rose: I knew I lost that potential somewhere.

Veronika: Mental stability, my old friend!

Eden: Jesus, could you guys lighten up a little?

Rose: Whoa, Min, what’s up with that angry face?

Min: Whit won’t stop talking about how “Ancient Egyptians were furries”.

Whit: But they were! Just looks at all their gods-

Min: Oh my god, SHUT UP!

Veronika: I refuse to apologize for being weird or off-putting. That’s actually your problem. I’m having a fantastic time!

All of the ones after this point are suggestive

Whit: You look good in that hoodie.

Charles: You know where else I'd look good?

Whit, zero hesitation: My bed.

Charles, at the same time: By your side- wait, what?

Whit: Charles, you do remember when we agreed we were better off as friends, right?

Charles, naked in Whit's bed: No, I absolutely do not.

Whit, already taking off his clothes: Fuck... Me neither.

Whit: There are 20 letters in the alphabet, right?

Charles: Nope, there's 26.

Whit: Ah, I must have forgotten U, R, A, Q, T.

Charles: That’s cute, but you're still missing one.

Whit: You'll get the D later ;).

Whit: As top in this relationship, I think we should-

Charles: I can't believe you're pulling rank on me.

Whit: I like your new pants!

Charles: Thank you, they were 50% off.

Whit: I’d like them better if they were 100% off. *winks*

Charles: The store can’t just give away clothes for free.

Whit: Thats’s… not what I meant.

Charles: That’s a terrible way to run a business, Whit.

Whit, with a headache: Advil me up, daddy.

Charles: I will short out the language centre of your brain if you say anything like that ever again.

Teruko: Who do we know that has handcuffs?

Whit: Well Charles and I-

Charles: *elbows Whit*

Whit: ...wouldn't know.

Ace: Is there a cactus where your heart should be?

Arei: What’s up your ass this morning!

Levi: *walks in* ...Hey.

Arei: Hmm… nevermind.

Ace: WAIT NO!

Arei: What’s your body count?

Levi: Do you mean sex or murder?

Ace: There. How do I look?

Levi: Like a cheap French harlot.

Ace: French?!

Charles: What’s sexting?

Teruko: I'm not having this conversation with you.

Arei, turning to J: Stop calling yourself hot, the only thing you can turn on is the microwave.

Eden: So anyways have y'all seen Ace?

Whit: I think they went in Levi's room 'studying'.

J: Doubt that. I heard groans there.

*Meanwhile in Levi's room*

Ace & Levi, fighting:

Ace: *sucking on a popsicle*

J: Pfft, you practicing for when Levi gets here?

Ace: *takes a huge ass bite out of the popsicle*

J: *Concern*

[prolifeproliberty]

”In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. The same was in the beginning with God. All things were made by him; and without him was not any thing made that was made. In him was life; and the life was the light of men. And the light shineth in darkness; and the darkness comprehended it not. There was a man sent from God, whose name was John. The same came for a witness, to bear witness of the Light, that all men through him might believe. He was not that Light, but was sent to bear witness of that Light. That was the true Light, which lighteth every man that cometh into the world. He was in the world, and the world was made by him, and the world knew him not. He came unto his own, and his own received him not. But as many as received him, to them gave he power to become the sons of God, even to them that believe on his name: which were born, not of blood, nor of the will of the flesh, nor of the will of man, but of God. And the Word was made flesh, and dwelt among us, (and we beheld his glory, the glory as of the only begotten of the Father,) full of grace and truth.“

‭‭John‬ ‭1‬:‭1‬-‭14‬ ‭KJV‬‬

”Jesus answered them, I told you, and ye believed not: the works that I do in my Father's name, they bear witness of me. But ye believe not, because ye are not of my sheep, as I said unto you. My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me: and I give unto them eternal life; and they shall never perish, neither shall any man pluck them out of my hand. My Father, which gave them me, is greater than all; and no man is able to pluck them out of my Father's hand. I and my Father are one.“

‭‭John‬ ‭10‬:‭25‬-‭30‬ ‭KJV‬‬

”For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given: and the government shall be upon his shoulder: and his name shall be called Wonderful, Counsellor, The mighty God, The everlasting Father, The Prince of Peace. Of the increase of his government and peace there shall be no end, upon the throne of David, and upon his kingdom, to order it, and to establish it with judgment and with justice from henceforth even for ever. The zeal of the LORD of hosts will perform this.“

‭‭Isaiah‬ ‭9‬:‭6‬-‭7‬ ‭KJV‬‬

”Thus saith the LORD the King of Israel, and his redeemer the LORD of hosts; I am the first, and I am the last; and beside me there is no God. And who, as I, shall call, and shall declare it, and set it in order for me, since I appointed the ancient people? and the things that are coming, and shall come, let them shew unto them. Fear ye not, neither be afraid: have not I told thee from that time, and have declared it? ye are even my witnesses. Is there a God beside me? yea, there is no God; I know not any.“

‭‭Isaiah‬ ‭44‬:‭6‬-‭8‬ ‭KJV‬‬

”Go ye therefore, and teach all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost: teaching them to observe all things whatsoever I have commanded you: and, lo, I am with you alway, even unto the end of the world. Amen.“

‭‭Matthew‬ ‭28‬:‭19‬-‭20‬ ‭KJV‬‬

”In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth. And the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep. And the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters.“

‭‭Genesis‬ ‭1‬:‭1‬-‭2‬ ‭KJV‬‬

”And God said, Let us make man in our image, after our likeness: and let them have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over the cattle, and over all the earth, and over every creeping thing that creepeth upon the earth. So God created man in his own image, in the image of God created he him; male and female created he them.“

‭‭Genesis‬ ‭1‬:‭26‬-‭27‬ ‭KJV‬‬

”He said unto them, But whom say ye that I am? Peter answering said, The Christ of God. And he straitly charged them, and commanded them to tell no man that thing; saying, The Son of man must suffer many things, and be rejected of the elders and chief priests and scribes, and be slain, and be raised the third day.“

‭‭Luke‬ ‭9‬:‭20‬-‭22‬ ‭KJV‬‬

”Then he took unto him the twelve, and said unto them, Behold, we go up to Jerusalem, and all things that are written by the prophets concerning the Son of man shall be accomplished. For he shall be delivered unto the Gentiles, and shall be mocked, and spitefully entreated, and spitted on: and they shall scourge him, and put him to death: and the third day he shall rise again.“

‭‭Luke‬ ‭18‬:‭31‬-‭33‬ ‭KJV‬‬

”Know ye not, that so many of us as were baptized into Jesus Christ were baptized into his death? Therefore we are buried with him by baptism into death: that like as Christ was raised up from the dead by the glory of the Father, even so we also should walk in newness of life. For if we have been planted together in the likeness of his death, we shall be also in the likeness of his resurrection: knowing this, that our old man is crucified with him, that the body of sin might be destroyed, that henceforth we should not serve sin. For he that is dead is freed from sin. Now if we be dead with Christ, we believe that we shall also live with him: knowing that Christ being raised from the dead dieth no more; death hath no more dominion over him. For in that he died, he died unto sin once: but in that he liveth, he liveth unto God. Likewise reckon ye also yourselves to be dead indeed unto sin, but alive unto God through Jesus Christ our Lord.“

‭‭Romans‬ ‭6‬:‭3‬-‭11‬ ‭KJV‬‬

The doctrine of the Trinity is in the Bible. Jesus’ divinity is in the Bible. Jesus’ atonement for sins on the cross is in the Bible. If you believe the Bible but think you can “follow Jesus” while rejecting what He says about Himself, you are not actually following Jesus.

I believe in one God, the Father Almighty, maker of heaven and earth, and of all things visible and invisible;

And in one Lord Jesus Christ, the Only Begotten Son of God, begotten of his Father before all worlds, God of God, Light of Light, very God of very God, begotten, not made, being of one substance with the Father; by whom all things were made; who for us men and for our salvation came down from heaven, and was incarnate by the Holy Ghost of the Virgin Mary, and was made man; and was crucified also for us under Pontius Pilate; he suffered and was buried; and the third day he rose again according to the Scriptures, and ascended into heaven, and sitteth on the right hand of the Father; and he shall come again, with glory, to judge both the living and the dead; whose kingdom shall have no end.

And I believe in the Holy Ghost the Lord, the Giver of Life, who proceedeth from the Father and the Son; who with the Father and the Son together is worshipped and glorified; who spoke by the Prophets. And I believe one holy Catholic and Apostolic Church; I acknowledge one Baptism for the remission of sins; and I look for the resurrection of the dead, and the life of the world to come. Amen.

[walkswithmyfather]

“What do you want me to do for you?” Jesus asked him. The blind man said, “Rabbi, I want to see.” —Mark 10:51

“What Do You Want Me to Do For You?” By Today Devotions:

“When I am in my car alone, I often have conversations with God. It’s the perfect time to talk out loud and express what is going on in my thoughts and my life. This is really easy as long as I am doing the talking. But when I go silent and listen, it’s a different story. I hear the same question that Jesus asked Bartimaeus: “What do you want me to do for you?”

It seems like a straightforward question that I can answer easily. But, knowing about Jesus and how he calls us to live, I realize that I need to think carefully. Fulfilling a desire that is on my mind would be great—but what about that person I know who has not yet come to faith in Christ? Or what about that person who is suffering and needs healing? My list can be rather lengthy. And all of the things on my list are worth asking for.

Bartimeus believed in Jesus as the Messiah, the Son of David. He knew he was crying out to the Savior, and he was sure of his answer. And when he was healed, he left everything behind to follow Jesus.

As I write this, I realize that I too need to trust so fully in Jesus that I can see he is the one who is capable of doing anything. Sometimes I want the miracle more than I want the one performing it.

When Jesus asks us, “What do you want me to do for you?” may our trust in him clarify our answer. Then, like Bartimaeus, let us ask boldly.

Lord, have mercy on us. Hear our prayer. Thank you that you are indeed our Savior and Lord who cares for us. Amen.”

[blood-mocha-latte]

ONE TOO MANY MORNINGS | 13K | RATED T

the last part of @dontirrigateme’s summer exchange gift! (part one and part two), i hope you enjoy <3. special thanks to @lamialamia for such a stellar beta, and thanks to absolutely everyone. wishing a lovely rest of summer to all ☀️

Web’s smile was warm, happy. He had a butterfly bandage at his temple, carefully placed, a cup of jello in one hand. He was, it seemed, fully intact. “Hey, Lieb.” He said as soon as he saw him, and didn’t even spare Joe the dignity of waving at him.

Joe leaned against the doorframe of the room, realized for the first time that he was wearing his left shoe on his right foot and vice versa. “I’m going to fucking kill you.” He said, heart still trying to beat through his chest.

(The fifth time they broke up, it was final. It was over, because Web put his foot down and Joe was half-convinced that their fate was to murder each other. They still didn’t change their emergency contact information.)

READ ON AO3 (RECOMMENDED) OR BELOW THE CUT

FEBRUARY

He got the call on a Thursday.

“I just don’t get it.” Chuck told him, and sounded entirely too exasperated over the phone. “You two are, like—”

“Chuck, can you cover me or not?” Joe interrupted him, pausing his subsequent ripping apart of the couch to adjust his phone against his ear, shoving his feet into his shoes with a free hand.

Chuck’s sigh sounded long-suffering. “Yeah, yeah.” He muttered, the receiver muffled. “But only for the morning, and then you’re on your own.” Joe was barely listening to him, already in the hallway, grabbing his jacket.

“Thanks.” He said, and hung up before Chuck could continue to explain, at length, what a bad idea this was.

He ended up on the street in a record two and a half minutes, nearly running by the time his feet hit the pavement.

He’d never, and he knew it certainly, been so goddamn grateful to live so close to the hospital.

--

The closer he got, the quicker his breathing echoed in his chest. It seemed like a side effect of everything from Joe’s sudden onslaught of worry and the aftermath of the phone call beginning to catch up to him.

A car crash. Jesus Christ.

Joe dragged a hand down his face as he found the front desk of the hospital, located the nurse behind it and nodded at her. “Hi.” He said, rather hoarse. “I’m, uh. Emergency contact?”

The nurse blinked at him. Joe grimaced at her, which was as close to a smile as he could manage. “Do you have a name?” She asked.

“Web.” He said without thinking, then blinked. “Uh, Webster. David. He’s — Kenyon.” 

The nurse’s eyes found the screen in front of her, and Joe cleared his throat, pushing his hair away from his forehead and looking vaguely over his shoulder, catching his breath. He could feel his phone vibrating against his leg as someone (probably Chuck) kept texting him about something or the other. Joe didn’t necessarily care.

“Joe Liebgott?” Joe’s gaze snapped back to the woman behind the desk.

“Yeah.” He said absently and she nodded, pointing with her nose down the hall. 

“You’ll see him.” She said, which seemed rather vague. Joe wasn’t sure if that was par for the course or not. “He’s definitely noticeable.”

And out of everything that Joe could think about hearing in a hospital, he’d have to think that would be one of the worst.

“Thanks.” He said, dry, and his own voice seemed to echo through his ears like coming from the end of a tunnel. Everything seemed to echo; from his breathing to his footsteps against the linoleum. 

A car crash. 

A car crash.

For all that Joe thought it over, it barely made any sense at all. Ridiculously, the only thing he seemed able to focus on was how they ended it.

His footsteps still echoed.

--

Joe was going to kill him.

Joe was going to fucking kill him.

David’s smile was warm, happy. He had a butterfly bandage at his temple, carefully placed, a cup of green jello in one hand. He was, it seemed, fully intact. “Hey, Lieb.” He said as soon as he saw him, and didn’t even spare Joe the dignity of waving at him.

Joe leaned against the doorframe of the room, realized for the first time that he was wearing his left shoe on his right foot and vice versa. “I’m going to fucking kill you.” He said, heart still trying to beat through his chest.

Web made a face at him, dipped his spoon back into the jello. “Please.” He said, dismissive. “Don’t be so dramatic. It’s not like I—”

“Dramatic?” Joe demanded over him, already beginning to see red again. “I get a fucking call at six in the goddamn morning saying that you’ve been in a crash and that you’ve been hospitalized—”

Web’s eyes flashed a brighter blue as he sat up slightly against the reclined hospital bed, brows furrowing. Upon a second glance, he didn’t seem as unharmed as previously thought, white gauze covering one of his collarbones and one of his fingers splinted. 

“I didn’t ask you to come!” He said, voice breaking around his own upset, and Joe can’t be bothered to care, spluttering and pointing at him in the bed, astutely not in the full body cast that he’d assumed he’d be in, with all limbs still attached. “They called you before I could say that I just haven’t changed my info—”

“It’s been a month!” Joe said, pointing vaguely at nothing over his shoulder. “How the hell haven’t you changed—”

“Have you?” Web demanded over him, cheeks a brighter red than before, flushed and neck turning a blotchy red. 

That gave Joe pause. “I…” He started, pressing his lips together, frustrated, and dropping his hand to point at Web, instead. “That’s besides the point.” Web’s eyes widened, and he pointed back at Joe, who was quick to drop his hand as soon as he realized how stupid they must look.

“You haven’t changed it either!” He said, sounding some strange mix of enraged and enthused. “So ha! How can you expect me to—”

“Don’t ha me.” Joe interrupted him, wrinkling his nose. “And I wasn’t in a fucking crash, so I think it’s slightly fucking different—”

“You could have been!” Web’s still red, fingertips tracing around the gauze at his collarbone as he watches Joe, eyes wide, crystal. “And then they would have called me, and it would be the same exact scenario.”

Joe leaned heavier against the doorway, pinched the bridge of his nose between his index finger and thumb. “Jesus Christ.” He told his hand, suddenly exhausted, and Web snorted, suddenly derivative. When Joe looked back up at him, he’d crossed his arms over his sternum, leaning back in the bed. 

“So there.” He said, entirely too smug. “You try to remember to change your emergency contact after six years.”

Joe stared at him. Web stared back for about fifteen seconds, and then grimaced, leaning further back to press his palm flat against his collarbone, breathing through his nose. “Fuck.” He muttered.

Joe sighed. As elaborately as he could, neatly enunciating, he said, “Are you okay?” 

Web frowned at him. “I mean.” He said. “Yeah. They’re just a couple of scratches.” Joe frowned back.

“Okay.” He said finally, pushing away from the doorway. “When are they releasing you?”

Though only fractionally, Web’s eyes widened as he shook his head, pointing at Joe again. “You are not taking me home.” He said, sounding entirely too contemptible. Joe just raised an eyebrow, held his arms out. 

“Is anyone else coming for you?” He asked, which may have hit the nail on the head, as Web just paused, mouth still open, and Joe nodded. “Yeah.” He muttered, hand coming up to rub across the nape of his neck. “I’ll talk to the desk. Get your shit together.”

“Joe.” Web said, suddenly more pitiful than before, some sort of game that he always took entirely too seriously. “Please don’t take me home.” 

Joe was already turning around in half of a circle, patting down his pockets as he tried to find the mental checklist for exactly what he needed to find. “Get your shit together, kid.” He said a second time, finding his phone in his back pocket.

Goddamn it. He walked here. They’d need to Uber back to Web’s place.

--

“One step at a time.”

“I’m not a fucking invalid.” 

“Okay, so get out on your own.”

Web shut his mouth real quick after that, and Joe went back to thinking absently about something else entirely. Like how he should have thought to make Web change his emergency contact information while they were still at the hospital.

The Uber driver was patient as Joe tugged Web out of the backseat of the car as gingerly as he could and the other elected to barely help at all. As soon as he was standing, Web groaned, one arm coming to wrap around his ribs, and Joe ignored him completely to tip the driver and thank him. 

When he turned around, Web was in the same place he deposited him, dip between his eyes heavy, breathing steady. “What’re you waiting for?” Joe asked him, moving forward enough to get to the apartment's fancy gate, gesturing at it impatiently. “Get your bitchass keycard and key us in.”

Web frowned at him. The corner of his mouth was slightly bloody, Joe was unsure if that was new or he just hadn’t noticed it before. “You’re so mean to me.” He said, voice taking on the same edge he’d use when they were together, when he was trying to make Joe feel like an asshole about something.

They weren’t together anymore, though. Joe just pointed at the gate again, raised an eyebrow. “I don’t have all day to baby you.” He said.

He didn’t have to feel like an asshole anymore; they weren’t together.

(He still kind of did. God fucking damn it.)

--

Web’s fancy apartment building had an elevator, and Joe ushered him into it before he himself stepped in, pushing for floor eight with his knuckle and leaning back against the wall.

Web leaned against the wall as well, still frowning at him. Joe ignored him.

“I still came and picked you up.” He said, after a moment. 

“Don’t try to score brownie points.” Web wrinkled his nose. “I didn’t want you to.”

Joe took a very deep, calming breath. “Who else would’ve come for you?” He asked again, hypothetical but also entirely not, as Hoobler was out of town and it was Monday morning.

Web looked away and pressed his lips together. “It’s embarrassing,” He said, overly articulate, “To have to have my ex come and pick me up.” 

Joe snorted. “How do you think I feel?” He asked, the elevator opening again with a ding. He pushed away from the wall to herd Web out of the elevator before he himself departed from it. 

Web just huffed. “My only solace is that I’m pretty sure everyone thought you were my dad.” Joe pushed at his back with two fingers, a careful prod to make him move quicker to his door. Web grumbled but complied, limping slightly.

“Hardy-har.” He said, dry, as Web fumbled with and subsequently jiggled open his apartment. “I should have told more nurses that we used to fuck.” 

Web’s cheeks were rosy, when he turned around. Probably a side effect of whatever painkillers they have him on. “That would simply be too humiliating for me.” He said. “I could hardly admit that I knew the arthritic that came over looking like he had just started smoking crack cocaine.”

Joe raised an eyebrow at him, but closed the apartment door behind him nonetheless. “Did you get meaner, since we broke up?”

Web frowned at him, eyes still bright, arm still wrapped around his ribs. “No,” He said, “I just got my brains back.”

Joe was already wandering towards Web’s kitchen as the other stayed standing, leaning against the wall, eyes half closed. “Stop repeating lines from shitty rom-coms.” He said, and Webster spluttered, already protesting.

If there was one thing he missed, Joe supposed, it was this sort of thing.

“Yeah, well, you’re old.” Web said, lackluster. Joe figured he couldn’t think of a better insult.

“That just makes me wise.” He said. When he looked over at Web, the other was glowering at something over his shoulder.

Joe was pretty sure that meant he won.

--

“You need to eat something.”

“Joe, you’re only old enough to be my dad. You’re not actually—” 

“Make that joke all you want, we’ll both be in our thirties in four years. You’re gettin’ on, too.”

“There’s a big difference between twenty-six and thirty-three—”

“Yeah, the thirty-three year old is used to driving, and therefore didn’t absolutely get his shit wrecked this morning—”

“Lieb.” Web said over him, voice taking on the same whining edge that he knew that Joe could hardly stand, and still did anyways. Like some sort of Pavlovian response, he shut up. It might have something to do with the fact that Web just looks so goddamn miserable, sitting at one of his stools at the kitchen counter, cheek resting on his arms and eyes a glassy, unfocused blue.

Instead of flipping him more shit, Joe turned around, opening the fridge. The avocado spread was in the same place it always was, always had been, and he pulled it out, setting it on the counter. The bread was kept in the cupboard under the counter – which Joe had always hated, and he pulled it out and tossed it down next to the avocado, raising an eyebrow at Web as he turned to the toaster.

“You’re a millennial, right?” He asked, and Web groaned, head still in his arms.

“You’re the worst person I’ve ever met.” He said, muffled. He was still in the same clothes that Joe had made him change into when they were at the hospital. “Change your emergency contact information.”

Joe dropped two pieces of bread into the toaster, turned the thing on, and turned back to Web, back to the counter as he crossed his arms over his sternum.

“You first.” He said, sort of a joke. Web just furrowed his eyebrows at him, still frowning.

“You.” He said.

“You.”

“You.”

The toaster dinged, already done. Joe turned back over to it and tossed the bread onto a plate, which he’d found easily enough in yet another cupboard.

“That’s another thing.” He said, absent. “You have terrible taste in toast. This isn’t even toast, it’s warm bread.”

Web scoffed, a little damp. “Well, I just don’t like eating hockey pucks, unlike you.”

He could feel Webster’s eyes on him as he knifed some avocado onto the bread and pushed it across the counter to him, dropping the spread back into the fridge and not bothering to tie back up the bread before putting it back on the cupboard.

“Eat your goddamn warm avocado bread, Webster.” He said absently, and Web snorted, picking up one of the pieces anyways.

“I’m not gonna change my contact until you do.” He said, overly childish for no absolute reason as he took a grudging bite out of the toast. Annoyance sparked easily in Joe’s chest the same way it always did. 

“Okay.” He said. “Well, I’m not, either. I’m the one who had to drag myself down to the hospital to get your melodramatic, miserable, shitty driving self, so the least you can do is change it first.”

“I did not ask you to take me home!” Web said over him, voice slightly higher. He had green on his cheek, and Joe had to stop to watch him for a moment, the corner of his mouth crooking up, amused. 

“You’ve got shit all over your face.” He said, and Web wrinkled his nose, scrubbing the back of his hand across his cheek. He somehow missed the avocado.

“I did not ask you to take me home.” He said again, slightly less enthused. “In fact, I think I did the opposite of that—”

“When are the painkillers gonna kick in?” Joe asked over him, half-ignoring him, and Web spluttered, unbelieving.

“Oh, yeah, slip the wounded ex a mickey—”

“Hey, I’m just saying, you’re getting very wound up and I think a little bit of valium would help—”

“Fuck you, Joe, that’s so fucked up.”

Web took another angry bite of warm bread. Joe still watched him, had to look away before he actually started smiling. 

“They give you vicodin?” He asked.

“You’re such an asshole. Change your emergency contact information.”

“Not until you do.”

--

The problem with even seeing Web was that they argued.

Joe didn’t know how he felt about the arguing. Never did. It wasn’t necessarily good, or bad, or anything in between. It was just entirely who they were, and who they were was two assholes that couldn’t stay together because they were both entirely too reactive.

“Just—” Joe started and cut himself off with a snort, slightly derivative. “One foot at a time. There you go.”

“Don’t patronize me.” Web grumbled into his shoulder, steadfastly not helping Joe remove his jeans. “We’re not even going to fuck after this.” 

Joe managed to get Web’s waistband over his hips and dragged them off of him, tossing them into the corner of the room as Web leaned further back into his mattress, groaning.

“Nope.” Joe told him, searching around for nothing in particular. “That is what broken up means.”

Web wrinkled his nose, staring at the ceiling. Joe found a dusty afghan in the corner of his room and tossed it over him absently. Web pretended not to notice.

“For our collective mental health.” He said, maybe a mimicry of themselves a month ago. Then, in a thoughtful addition, “And those of our friends.”

“Bless their souls.” Joe said absently, and smacked Web’s thigh — who groaned — as he passed him. “Okay, your drugs are in the kitchen. Go to sleep. I gotta get the fuck to work.”

He flicked off the lights in Web’s room as he passed the switch. “Joe.” Web said, when he was outside of the doorframe. 

Joe only turned around halfway, raising an eyebrow. Web’s eyes were dark, tired. 

“I’m going to change my emergency contact info.” He said, and Joe watched him for half of a second before knocking his knuckles against Web’s door frame, stepping further away from the bedroom.

“You do that.” He said, and Webster nodded, like it was final.

He could hear Web snoring before he was even fully out of the apartment.

--

MARCH

“It’s fine.” Joe said. “Shit from the shoulders up always bleed a lot.” Chuck looked over at him nervously, fingertips tapping against the steering wheel.

“Uh-huh.” He said, and didn’t sound convinced. “Please don’t get blood all over my seats.”

Joe grimaced, adjusting the bundled up wife beater at his neck. It caused blood to squelch between his fingers and he winced at the feel. “This is your fault.”

Chuck kept his eyes on the road. “Well.” He said. “If anything, I think it’s your own fault.”

Joe closed his eyes, letting his head thunk back against the headrest. “You’re hurrying, right?” He was starting to feel his heartbeat in his eyes, which probably wasn’t good. He closed them, and everything behind his lids were a fuzzy white. 

“Yeah.” Chuck said, but sounded slightly warped, strained. “Jesus Christ. Stay awake, Joe.”

“I’m awake, fuck you.” Joe said, and kept his eyes closed. Everything was still a fuzzy white. 

“Oh.” He said, and sounded like he was coming through a tunnel. “Web will probably show up, by the way. We’re playing gay chicken with our emergency contact information.” 

The last thing he heard before everything cut out altogether – like a lost radio signal – was Chuck swearing.

--

Joe hated IV’s. They were itchy. 

So was the bandage, but that was less so. “So help me god,” He said, slowly, elaborately. “I am fine. Someone just get me the fuck—”

He started reaching for the IV again and had his hand promptly smacked away from it again by David, who smoothly crossed his arms over his sternum again, stubborn face set.

“You’re staying here.” He said, smacked Joe away from the IV for the fifteenth time. “You lost a lot of blood, you’re going nowhere because if you do, you’ll die. Stop it with the IV, Joe, it’s not that bad.”

Chuck had to leave, and now Joe was stuck with Webster, who’d promptly filled out whatever paperwork that Chuck hadn’t had the knowledge to complete and then gone to immediately bothering Joe.

“I’m not gonna die if I leave the hospital.” Joe said, but didn’t reach for the IV again. “You just like me being miserable.”

Web was watching him, eyes bright and pale under the LED lights of the headache of a room they’d stuck him in. “Does it hurt?” He asked, voice rather tenuous. Joe rolled his eyes at him.

“No, David, I got stabbed in the neck and am ready to go run a marathon.” He said. “Be fucking serious. And get me out of here.”

Web dropped into the chair beside the bed with a sigh, which wasn’t exactly promising of a jailbreak. “You’re so mean.” He said. “Everytime I see you in person again I remember why we broke up.”

Joe turned to look at him, raised an eyebrow. “I almost died an hour and a half ago and this is how you choose to comfort me?”

Web frowned. “I’m seeing my therapist again.” He said, pointed. “She said it could help to tell you what I’m thinking of as closure.”

Joe frowned, eyes cloudy, and squinted up at the ceiling. “Is this the one with the nose ring or the one with the bad haircut?”

“Nose ring.”

“Huh. Well tell her that your unsocial dumbfuck ass decided that this was the perfect time to tell me that.” Web huffed, gentle and slightly quiet. 

“No.” He said. “She’d probably take your side.” 

“That’s because it’s a stupid thing to say. What’re you gonna tell me next? You went out on a date?”

Web hummed, thoughtful. “No.” He said. “Though I did get asked out, the other day.”

“You can do better.” Joe said, immediately. Web’s laugh seemed slightly lighter, than before. When Joe managed to turn to look at him, slightly gingerly, he was watching Joe with sparkling eyes, feet tucked up under him.

“You don’t even know who it is.” He said, smile a gentle curve. “But I said no, anyways. It doesn’t matter.”

Joe turned back to stare blearily at the ceiling again. He was thinking that the button by his bed actually worked, as his eyes were starting to get fuzzy again. 

“Shoulda said yes.” He said, and at Web’s soft snort, rather derivative, and he blinked, protesting. “Did nose ring want you to say yes?” Web hesitated, before answering.

“Yeah.” He said, slightly quiet. Joe yawned. It probably should have hurt his neck, but he was pleasantly numb, and everything just felt slightly strange. 

“Why didn’t you?”

His hand was laying, palm up, against the scratchy sheets of the bed, and Web’s fingertips were gentle against the inside of his wrist, trailing over Joe’s fingers before settling there lightly.

“Why do you think?” He asked, quiet and slightly hoarse.

Joe didn’t respond, kept his eyes on the ceiling. He was going to fall asleep, he thought absently, strangely, like he was taking note of it. The pads of Web’s fingers were still tracing along his own. 

“Change your emergency contact information.” He said, dizzy. Web laughed, it sounded from a tunnel.

“You first.” He said, like a dare.

--

He could actually leave a day later, and Web came back to the hospital, because of course he did.

“I hate your hair like that.” Joe told him, wincing as he pulled his fingers away from his neck, from where he’d been testing the gauze pressed there. “You look like fuckin’... John Travolta from Grease.”

David sighed. “God forbid someone try a new thing.” He said, hair slicked carefully away from his face. He was lingering near Joe gingerly, like someone would suddenly expect him to play goalie for a soccer game of life or death, and Joe didn’t look at him.

“Yeah, he’d better.” Joe retorted. 

Chuck had to go back to work, and had only texted him twice since what Webster was already referencing as The Incident.

Web hesitated, at the hospital exit, looking back at Joe. He had his phone out, probably to find an Uber, since he didn’t have a car anymore.

Joe raised an eyebrow at him. “What.” He said, ignoring the pain in his neck to focus on his distaste of Web’s hair.

“Do you…” Web started, and hesitated. “Want to go back to my place? Just so I can—”

“Exes, Web.” Joe said over him. “I’m not going back to your place, don’t be fucking crazy.”

Web sighed, but followed him outside. “Last time we broke up we still went over to each other's places.” He said, edged with protest.

“Yeah.” Joe said. “Last time we broke up. Not this time, last time. Which means that we needed to break up again, after that. Because going to each other's places did not work.”

Web sighed. “Yeah.” He said, rather dejectedly. “It was fun, though.”

“It was fun.” Joe confirmed, felt his mouth twitch up at the thought. “For the first, second, and third break-ups, too.”

Web huffed a laugh. “Maybe fifth is the charm.” He said lightly, and Joe had to look away from him before he did something stupid.

Neither of them mentioned the contact info. Joe didn’t really want to bring it up. His neck hurt.

--

APRIL

Joe was still sore most days, but his neck was starting to messily scar over in a mess of uneven skin and red staining, so he left it alone and ignored it to the best of his ability. 

He’d have to assume, as it had been two months, that Web’s subsequent injuries from the crash (he still didn’t have a new car, Joe was certain, and he was curious about the fallout of the accident. He hadn’t heard a goddamn thing about it.) had healed completely when Joe had gotten the call.

The call, in question, being from the hospital. Again.

“Jesus Christ, go fucking slow—” He said, holding up more of Web’s weight when the other leaned into him with a groan, edged with some semblance of complaint. 

“I’m okay.” Web said, and made to touch the side of his face — mottled all colors of green and purple and black — before Joe smacked his hand away. “My face hurts.”

From what Joe had gathered in the scant few hours he’d learned of Web’s slight misfortune — which had been lucky enough to happen on a Saturday, so he didn’t have to worry about work, thank god — was that Hoobler had hit him in the face with a skateboard in what was probably an accident (somehow) and then skipped out on him to study for some class final.

“People in college are fucking insane.” Joe muttered, in reference to that. Web just made a soft sound, protesting, still prodding gingerly at the side of his face.

“At least I didn’t lose any teeth.” He said, wincing when the pads of his fingers grazed his cheekbone, already pooling in such a dark purple that it looked almost black.

“Yeah, then you wouldn’t be pretty anymore.” Joe agreed, then batted his hand away again as he slung the other's bag over his shoulder. “Stop touching it, Jesus Christ. You’re lucky you didn’t break your fucking face.”

Web swayed slightly where he stood. Joe ignored him in order to turn around once, trying to find anything Web would have forgotten. “The doctor says I have contusions.” Web told him.

“The doctor said you have a concussion.” Joe returned. Web hummed, swaying slightly again. Before he could fall, Joe hooked a hand around his elbow as he moved forward. “C’mon, let’s get you home.”

“Ready to change your emergency contact yet?” Web asked him, going with him easily, and Joe hummed, looking back at him enough to raise his eyebrow.

“Are you?” He asked, wincing slightly at the way that Web tilted his head, as if to ponder the question. It turned his face towards the garish overhead LED lighting of the hospital, making the bruising look even worse, darker tones of putrid green and purples. “Jesus Christ, kid.”

Aware of Joe’s eyes on his face, Webster’s fingertips came up to poke at his cheekbone again. “My face hurts.” He told Joe a second time. “What drugs did they give me, again?”

He’d turned his hand over at some point, fingers shifting to hold onto Joe’s. Joe gripped him back absently, easily, and they hit the sidewalk outside of the hospital in the next heartbeat. 

“I called an Uber.” Joe told him. “It’ll be here in a minute. And all of them, apparently.”

Web huffed a laugh, coming to a stop next to Joe, fingers shifting slightly in his grip. “Okay.” He said, his same, ever-crooked, ever-ridiculous smile slightly lopsided as his hand came up to his face again, and Joe smacked it away for the thousandth time, gripping the fingers of that hand as well.

“Stop touching it.” He said again, and Web made a soft noise but just shifted enough to hold onto Joe’s hand with both of his own. 

“My face hurts.” He said. Again.

“I know.” Joe told him. “Your roommate hit you in the face with a fucking skateboard.”

Web looked at him, solemn. “It wasn’t on purpose.” He said, and Joe raised an eyebrow at him.

“I figured it wasn’t.” He said. “Care to tell me what it was, exactly?”

Web wrinkled his nose, winced when it moved the bruised side of his face. “He was late, and the skateboard was in his bag.” He said, like it made all the sense in the world. “And he turned around too fast. I was eating breakfast, so I wasn’t quick enough on my feet.”

Joe hummed. “Warm avocado bread, hm?” He asked, and Web rolled his eyes, brilliant and blue and reflecting off of the sky.

“Alright, alright.” He murmured, swaying again. Joe moved closer to him, Web held onto him slightly tighter. “You have me pegged, smartass.”

Joe looked back towards the street. Hoped the Uber would come soon. “I would hope so.” He said dryly. “We’ve known each other for six years.”

Web was quiet. When Joe looked over at him, the corner of his mouth was quirked upwards, all dopey and warm. “Did you have raisin bran this morning?” He asked, then flushed, proud, when Joe remained quiet. “Ha!”

Joe sighed. “I hate the ha, you know that.” He muttered, and Web just made a face. “And it’s not that impressive, wiseass.”

“Yeah.” Web agreed. “We’ve known each other for six years, after all.” Joe turned to see him again, watch his profile. He felt a sudden rush of relief, that Web hadn’t broken anything, and told him so.

“I’m glad Hoobler didn’t fuck up your face too bad.” He said, as an Uber pulled over at the curb and he pushed Web towards the car. “I’m less eager to help ugly people.”

Web spluttered, undignified and protesting, as he dropped down into the car. Joe shut his door and walked around to the other side of the car absently, exchanging a few absent words with the driver before getting into the back himself. 

“You’re a horrible person.” Web told him, and reached for his hand again. Joe snorted, closed the car door with his free hand.

“Only for you.” He said dryly, and wound their fingers back together.

--

Web sat on the couch with an ice pack over his face, feet tucked up under him, and he watched Joe move around in the kitchen unhelpfully. “I had dinner with my parents scheduled for next week.” He said, sounding utterly miserable.

Joe turned to look over his shoulder at Web, turning off the tap and turning around with a glass of water. “You can still go.” He said. Web made a face.

“No.” He said, shifting the ice pack over his cheek as Joe moved around the counter bar that separated the kitchen and living room, handing him the glass of water absently. “I don’t want to see my father when I look like this.”

Joe looked at him, unimpressed. “It’s not that bad.” He said, which was just an outright lie. Web sighed.

“Don’t bruises get the worst about a week in?” He asked, glass of water still in hand, and Joe pointed at it. 

“Drink that.” He said. “And yeah. But I’ve met your dad. He’ll probably just respect you for getting the shit beaten out of you.”

Web groaned, slouching further into the couch. He brought the glass to his lips absently, sipping at it clumsily. “It’s embarrassing.” He said. Joe dropped onto the couch on the opposite side of him, pulling out his phone absentmindedly.

“You say that everything is embarrassing.” He said dismissively. “And I don’t think you’ve ever been embarrassed in your life.”

Web’s eyes bore holes into the side of his face, though Joe wasn’t even looking at him. “When are you going away?” He asked, sounding irritable. Joe turned to look at him, unimpressed.

“You have a concussion.” He said. “I gotta stay here. I’m your emergency contact, dumbass.”

Web frowned at him, and looked so wholly miserable, face a hot mess, feet tucked up under him, slouched into the couch, icepack in one hand and water in the other, that Joe almost laughed out loud.

“Go away.” He said, and Joe went back to his phone. He had texted Chuck about Web being in the hospital, and was left on read. 

“Once Hoobler gets back.” He said, and Web groaned.

“Change your emergency contact.”

“Not until you do.”

--

When Hoobler finally got home, Web was out cold, breathing soft but steady against Joe’s shoulder as he scrolled mindlessly through his phone and did next to nothing.

The door creaked open, Hoobler’s bag over his shoulder, and when he saw them on the couch, he didn’t seem necessarily surprised.

“Oh.” He said. “Hi. How’s…” 

Web had fallen asleep on his shoulder, hand hooked under Joe’s arm, leaving the bad side of his face on full display. Hoobler winced when he got closer, dropping his bag on the floor.

“Eugh.” He said. Joe raised an eyebrow. 

“Yeah.” He said. “Concussion, contusions, nothing broken.”

“Gross.” Hoobler offered, but dropped down into the sofa chair that sat next to the couch anyways. “Thanks for staying here. Are you two. Uh—”

“Still broken up.” Joe confirmed, not really in the mood for the conversation on why he was here. He shifted against the couch, pushing up onto his feet. 

Web went with him with a groan, other hand joining his first at Joe’s arm. Joe shook him off easily. 

“You’re being a clingy bitch.” He said, and Web dropped down onto the couch, hand coming to cover his eyes. He winced when he did so, apparently having forgotten about the bruises.

“So mean.” He mumbled, and Joe ignored him.

“Drugs in the kitchen.” He told Hoobler, nodding to where he’d dropped the bag the hospital had given him on the counter. “Call me if you have to leave, or some shit.”

His neck was starting to hurt again, it was making him slightly more irritable than usual. Hoobler, probably reading that on his face, just nodded and let him pass. 

Joe didn’t bother to turn around, knew that Web was already out cold again. 

“Oh.” He said, halfway to the door, turned on his heel just enough to find Hoobler and point at him. “Take care of him.”

He didn’t tack on the or else, knew it wasn’t necessarily his place, but he must have implied it, based on Hoobler’s expression.

“Yeah, man.” He said. “‘Course.”

Joe nodded and turned back around.

When he checked his phone, out on the street, Chuck had left him on read again. Joe was starting to think that was maybe justified.

--

MAY

“This is your fucking fault.”

“Oh, please, as if—”

“You ran your mouth, so I had to kick your ass, and now we’re—”

“Oh, you kicked my ass? That fuckin’ gash isn’t very ass-kicking—”

“Fucker, if you think that—”

“Okay!” Chuck yelled over both of them, and Joe shut his mouth with a click. Next to him, Guarnere did as well, nursing a rag over the side of his face. “You were both dumbasses. Let’s leave it at that. You both need stitches, you’re both winners. Or losers.”

Joe made a protesting noise in the back of his throat. “Oh, c’mon, Chuck.” He said. “I’m less of a dumbass than he is. He had to go and say some—”

“I am not the only one at fault here—”

Chuck cleared his throat and they both shut up again. Stuck in the backseat of the truck, elbow knocking against Guarnere’s own, Joe glared at him. “Okay.” Chuck said. “Lieb is slightly more in the right than Bill is, here.”

“Ha!” Joe exclaimed, then grimaced. He hated the ha. Bill huffed.

“Fine.” He muttered. It was quiet, for a beat. “Sorry.” 

Joe grunted. “I won.” He said.

“It was a tie.” 

“No, I won.”

--

That was the first thing he told Web, too, when he arrived. “I won.” He said, and Web blinked at him, hands in his pockets. 

“I can see that.” He said. The bruising was starting to fade into yellows and greens instead of purple and black, and the ugly green that spread across the right side of his face made his eyes stand out even more. “Stitches?”

“Twelve.” Joe told him. “Guarnere needed eight more, so…”

The dip between Web’s eyes deepened. “Is he okay?” He asked and Joe snorted.

“He’s fine.” He said. He’d never even needed to change, still in the white shortsleeve he’d shown up in when they’d fixed his arm. “He’s a tough fucker. ‘Sides, he deserved it.”

Web hummed. He was leaning against the hallway wall, watching Joe turn in a half circle and collect whatever he needed to. “Chuck told me about that.” He said, light, and Joe hummed. 

“What, want to talk shit about that?” He asked, slightly defensive. The corner of Web’s mouth ticked up, amused, and Joe paused, watching how it made his eyes sparkle and his bruises slightly more shadowed.

“On the contrary, if we were still together, I think I’d suck you off.” Web told him, looking entirely too proud. Joe hummed.

“Yeah.” He said, low, starting his way down the hall. “If we were still together.”

Web followed him, close on his heels and obviously thinking about something or the other. “Want me to go with you to your place?” He asked, simple, hands in his pockets. 

Joe hesitated, but didn’t stop walking, turning just enough to look back at Web. His neck still almost hurt more than his arm did. 

“What the hell.” He said. “I’m injured, right?”

--

Web still didn’t have a car, and Joe didn’t necessarily need one, so they called another Uber and Joe watched Web, realized what was up with him.

“Finals season?” He asked. Web was leaning back against the seat of the car, cheek pressed to the headrest, and he opened vivid, vivid eyes to watch Joe balefully before huffing.

“They’re out to get me.” He told him. Joe huffed, looked back towards the front of the car.

“Yeah, I’ll bet.” He said.

“I’m serious. I’m quitting college.”

“You should. It would make you more bearable.” Joe told him. Web stared at the side of his head some more. Joe could tell from the itch at the back of his neck.

“Do you want to know what my therapist said about you?” Web asked him, and Joe snorted, looking back towards him with a raised eyebrow. 

“The one with the nose ring?”

“Yeah.”

“Did she say to tell me?” 

Webster hesitated, eyes sparking in fits and stops. “No.” He said, forever sounding at least slightly contemptible. “But she didn’t say not to, either.”

“I think because it’s implied that people don’t tell their exes about what their therapist says about them in therapy.” 

Web ignored him, sitting up straighter against the seat and sighing. In the front of the car, Joe caught the drivers eyes cutting to the mirror, listening to them. Slightly awkward.

“She said that you still care about me.” Web said simply, almost certainly leaving some details out. 

Joe blinked at him. Of course I do. He thought, and didn’t say. I think I always will. That’s why I’m in this goddamn car at all. 

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t say a goddamn thing and maybe didn’t need to, just looked back towards the front of the car. The driver was quiet.

“Don’t come up to my place.” Joe said. “Thanks for paying for the ride.”

Web’s voice was small, maybe thin, when he said, “okay.” 

--

JUNE

David couldn’t stop crying, which Joe knew was just a side effect of someone breaking their nose, but it was still putting him on edge.

“It’s okay.” He said awkwardly, rubbing the heel of his hand in absent-minded circles against Web’s back as the other leaned against him, head tucked under his chin as he held Joe Toye’s button up to his face.

“Motherfucker.” Web said, muffled and nasally, and Joe looked up from him to raise an eyebrow at George Luz in the passenger seat of his car, instead.

Luz just raised his hands in the air, eyes widening in some picture of innocence as he looked back at them.

“I did not know he’d be standing there.” He said, for at least the tenth time. Toye, who was driving, just snorted.

“Let’s hope we can scrape together enough to pay for his goddamn medical bills.” He told Luz, sounding hoarse but not necessarily annoyed, and Luz winced.

“I’ll figure it out.” He said, like some sort of apology. 

“It’s fine.” Web said, shifting against Joe, who was still sweeping a hand up and down his back. “I can pay for them, it wasn’t, like, aggravated assault.” 

He sounded congested, like it hurt to speak, wincing when Toye hit a speed-bump and jostled them.

“Sorry.” Toye said, immediately afterwards, and Web just grimaced.

Joe was used to meeting David at the hospital; when he was semi-put together. Not when he was actively in pain and bloody, and it was sort of freaking him out. 

What had happened, in layman's terms: 

Webster had agreed to help Luz move him and Toye into their new apartment; which was bigger than before and in a better area.

Joe had agreed to help Toye fix Luz’s car, since between the two of them, they only had one, which was turning out to work out poorly when they had jobs on opposite sides of the city.

Joe wasn’t aware that Web was also going to be at the apartment until he’d seen him helping Luz move a potted plant.

(Side note, but also important: Joe didn’t think that Toye knew that Luz was having Web come over, either, from the look he shot at him and the way that Luz had smiled back.)

After figuring out what was wrong with Luz’s ancient Honda Civic, Joe had gone up to their apartment and washed his hands. 

He’d emerged from the bathroom at exactly the right time, which was to see Luz putting away pans in the kitchen, pick up another before turning to say something to Joe, and, moving so quickly that Webster, who was walking from the kitchen to the living room, was caught directly in the face by the brunt of it.

Joe was fairly certain that, in the now, Web was bleeding all over his shirt.

“Jesus Christ.” He said. “How the hell did you fuck him up so badly on accident?” 

Luz hummed. “It’s a special skill.�� He said as Toye switched lanes, looking absently over his shoulder. They lived further away from the hospital than either Joe or Web did, and the extra dozen minutes seemed to stretch on for days. “Along with the shit that comes out of my mouth and what I put in—”

“George.” Toye said, perfunct, like a warning, and Luz shut up. Joe was glad for it, because he wasn’t sure how much longer he’d survive being in the back of this car, and he wasn’t even the one with the broken nose.

Speaking of Web, the man in question groaned again, shifting the shirt at his face. “Remember when you said you wouldn’t help me if I was ugly?” He asked, still ever-nasally, and Joe patted his back absently. 

“You’ve taken both a skateboard and a pan to the face, I can forgive you for being an uggo.” He told Web, solemn. Webster’s laugh sounded a bit more like he was choking to death.

“I mean.” Luz said from the front seat. “If it makes you feel better, it’s not that big of a deal. This one broke his nose and it just made him sexier.” He pointed over to Toye, who kept his eyes steadfastly on the road.

Joe made a face. Web groaned, again. It sounded painful.

“At least this time, they don’t have to call me.” Joe told him, after a moment. Web sighed. 

“And my face just healed, too.” He said, sounding entirely put-out. Joe turned his face enough to smile into his hair, not exactly amused, but finding it funny enough to figure to hide it. 

“Let’s just pray that nothing happens to your mouth.” He said grimly, but turned his hand over easily when Web reached for it, still bowed over and trying to stop the bleeding under Joe’s chin. “The one good quality you’ve got left.”

The sound Web made was slightly choked, Joe thought it could maybe be a scoff. “Thank you, Lieb, for your astounding and loving support in such painful times.” He said, all in one breath. “Y’know, when Tipper got hurt you were nice. Or when Tab got hurt—”

Joe winced. Autoshop work was, often and quite usually, dangerous. Everyone had at least one story; Joe’s neck twinged at the thought. “Tip broke his entire ass leg, Web.” Joe told him. “And Tab was impaled.” 

Web made a soft sound that sounded nigh on upset. “I broke my fucking nose, like, fifteen minutes ago!” He said, still muffled. Luz cleared his throat.

“Again.” He said. “Really sorry about that.” Joe ignored him, just pressed his mouth to the crown of Web’s head absently.

“Alright, fine.” He said, still rubbing Web’s back absently. “Poor baby. You precious rhinestone. The world truly collapses with your agony. Do you want me to kiss it better?”

“I hate you.” Web told him. For the second time in three minutes, Joe smiled into his hair. 

“Probably should change your contact info, then.” He said. 

--

Web was steadfastly not happy about the two black eyes.

The first thing Joe said (after the obligatory you look like a raccoon) was, “They could bring out your eyes, in the right lighting.”

Web stared at him like he was trying to set Joe on fire with his mind. “I don’t know how, and I don’t know why,” He said. “But this is your fault.”

“Uh-huh.” Joe said absently, looking over Web’s face carefully. “What’s the verdict on the aftermath?” He held out a hand warily, unsure of how good Web’s hand-eye coordination and depth perception would be after that.

Web took his hand, anyways, curling his fingers around Joe’s own and allowing himself to be tugged forwards. He shuffled, a bit, against the linoleum. “They said that it was, and I quote, a freak accident.” He said, and his voice was still slightly nasally. “But not too bad. It shouldn’t change, like, my entire face.”

“That’s good.” Joe said absently. “I like your face.”

“Thanks.” Web said, arid. “Next time, I’d prefer to just lose a leg.” 

Joe snorted. Toye and Luz had already left the hospital, as it had been a couple of hours and Joe had been starting to think that he was going to die if they stayed. Now alone, he’d already called the Uber and guided Web absently. 

“You planning on telling Toye that?”

“Do not tell him I said that.”

“Mm. Poor fucker broke the nose and then lost the leg.”

“And then his fiancé broke my nose.” Web said miserably. Joe hummed.

“Think they’ll go through with it?” He asked, Web’s fingers tightening around his own as he checked his phone again.

“What, the wedding?” He asked, like he was surprised. At Joe’s nonverbal affirmative, he huffed. “Of course they will.” He said. “They’re crazy about each other.”

He didn’t know why he said it. He didn’t even realize that he’d said it, maybe, until it was out of his mouth and too late. “So were we.” He said, and immediately winced.

They must have put Web on some sort of painkiller or whatever else, because he just hummed, rather quiet. “So were we.” He agreed, soft. “But we broke up six months ago, and you held me while we drove to the hospital, and waited for me, and are now holding my hand and taking me home.”

Joe blinked. “Using that literature degree already, huh?” He asked after a moment, hoarse. Web’s hand spasmed around his, sudden, and Joe dropped it like it was hot.

“Yeah.” Web said. “I guess so.”

The uber pulled up. Joe pushed Web inside of it, and hesitated for half of a second before sliding in himself.

It was silent for half of a second. They were moving by the time Joe thought of something else to say, feel more like himself again. “That has to be one of the douchiest things you’ve ever said to me.” He said suddenly.

Web’s laugh was nasally, tired. “I try.” He said, and would probably add an insult for good measure, if he didn’t seem to be so pained.

--

JULY

After it happened for the sixth time in as many months, Joe was starting to think that at least one of them had been cursed.

“It’s not that bad.” Joe said, and winced when Chuck switched lanes too quickly. “It’s just a bruise.”

“It’s broken.” Chuck told him, and sounded both entirely sure of his words and utterly exhausted. “Jesus Christ, how do I keep ending up here? Did you piss someone off?”

Joe contemplated the multitudes of people he’d managed to fuck over for half of a second. “Probably.” He said.

Out of getting clipped in the neck by a carburetor and getting into a fight with Guarnere, getting his foot run over was probably the stupidest reason that Joe would have to go to the hospital on account of himself.

Webster, who insofar had gotten into a car crash (and still hadn’t bothered to find a new car after his previous one was totaled), got smacked in the face, and had broken his nose, could afford to be a bit choosier.

Joe still hadn’t changed his contact information.

It didn’t seem to matter, anyways, because Web somehow met him at the hospital. Joe was in too much pain to care about the how or the why of it.

“What did you do?” Web asked before Joe had even managed to open the passenger door of Chuck’s truck all of the way, then looked to Chuck himself and demanded the same thing. “What did he do?”

The driver's side of Chuck’s truck opened and slammed shut again before Chuck answered, sounding both rather harried and annoyed in the same breath. “He ran over his foot.” He told Web.

Web, in turn, looked back to Joe, who was still trying to get out of the truck without jarring his foot. He was starting to think the adrenaline was wearing off, if the burning was any hint about it.

“You’re a fucking idiot.” Web told him.

“What was it that you were giving me shit about when you broke your nose?” Joe asked back, grimacing as his uninjured foot hit the ground. Web was quick to grab his arm and Joe leaned on him grudgingly, keeping the broken foot a good two feet above ground. “I was being mean.”

“Yeah, well, we work for a reason.” Web retorted, arm wrapping around his waist absently. “And breaking your own foot is more moronic than a friend breaking my nose.”

Joe grimaced. He’d forgotten to put the goddamn car in park, and he was never going to hear the end of it. He knew better than to say that to David. He wasn’t necessarily in the mood for old man memory loss jokes.

“If I’ll still help you when you’re ugly, will you help me when I’m crippled?” He asked drily as Web helped him limp into the hospital, Chuck already at the front desk.

“You’re already crippled.” Web told him. “Remember when we drove down to DC and your back gave out?”

“Yeah, and you left me in the truck to go see the National Archives?” Joe retorted, and Web sighed.

“Yeah, but afterwards I pulled you into the hotel room.”

“And then you left me there for another four hours.”

“We were in DC, I wasn’t going to stay in the room the whole time—”

“I couldn’t move!”

Webster was smiling, when Joe looked over at him. It was strangely endearing, underneath all of his annoyance, and he looked away just as quickly. 

“I seem to remember that you forgave me when I got back.” He said, ran the tip of his tongue along his bottom lip, as if to seal his point.

Joe snorted. “Yeah, well.” He said, dry. “When you get old and lose your looks, that shit won’t fly.”

“Oh, don’t worry.” Web told him, lowering his voice as Chuck finally finished talking to the desk about whatever, turning to point back at them. “You’ll be long dead by then.”

--

For basically crushing his foot, Joe thought, it wasn’t too bad.

Web was curled up in the uncomfortable chair next to his bed, bottom lip caught between his teeth as he texted someone back. Joe watched him absently, feeling slightly lighter from whatever they gave him, cheek pressed into the flat pillow under him. 

“I can feel your eyes.” David murmured after a moment, looking up at Joe, who didn’t look away. 

“Good.” Joe told him, hoarse. “That means you’re not entirely inept at social interaction.”

They’d deigned that Joe could leave the hospital on the same day he arrived, which was good, because he’d sooner eat a cockroach than stay for much longer. They’d also afforded him crutches, which Joe steadfastly did not want to see the bill for.

“All my injuries seem superficial next to yours.” Web told him, as Joe stood up, rather wobbly, but got the hang of the crutches quickly enough. Joe snorted.

“What, being stabbed in the neck and getting into a fight and breaking my foot compared to you getting wacked in the face by a skateboard, and then a frying pan?”

Web made a face. His nose looked, at least to Joe, exactly the same. He still had gray-green shadows under both of his eyes, remnants of the bruises that had bloomed there from the subsequent breaking, but looked fully intact all in all.

“You’re forgetting the car accident.” Webster told him, following close behind Joe as they made their way out of the hospital for what felt like the thousandth time. They were always in different rooms, or beds, or areas, but leaving always felt the same.

“Oh, yeah.” Joe said, arid. “The shitpot that started this horror. Did you make a deal with a witch? Did you get us bound by pain or some shit?”

“For your information.” Webster said, neatly enunciating and snorting a little around his words, already laughing at a joke he hadn’t even told yet. “It was a blood oath.”

“You’re too much of a pussy to make a blood oath.” Joe shot back immediately. Web laughed more fully, and Joe couldn’t tell if it was at him or his own joke.

“Everytime I get home, Hoobler asks if we’re back together.” He said, so entirely out of left-field and painfully clear that Joe almost paused for a moment, could feel the sharpness of it against his ribs.

“And what do you tell him?” Joe asked, already outside, knowing that Web had already called an Uber. Web, in question, came up behind him, eyes sparkling bright and grin as stupid as ever. He didn’t look at Joe, tried to bite back his smile.

“I don’t know.” He said, rather quiet. “What does having a best friend look like?”

He turned to look at Joe, so Joe looked away, cleared his throat. Not this. He thought, with some semblance of hurting. It doesn’t look like this. 

“You have more wrinkles.” Web said, immediately after that, and the nostalgic ache behind Joe’s ribs went away like Web had smacked him in the face with a cold, dead fish. “Around your eyes.”

“Your nose is crooked.” Joe said back, raising an eyebrow. “You look like Owen Wilson.”

Web’s laugh was quiet, clear, ducking his chin down and watching the floor quietly, the corner of his mouth crooking up as he kicked his heel against the ground absently.

Joe wondered, for the first time since he’d seen him earlier in the day, how in the hell Webster had been at the hospital before them.

Before he could think on it too long, the uber pulled up, and Web swore under his breath, apparently caught in some semblance of off guard, and moved forward to greet him.

Joe pushed the thought to the back of his mind to instead watch how Web’s thighs and ass flexed when he bent over enough to speak to the driver.

He was maybe a little loopy.

--

When they were back in Joe’s apartment, and Web was with him, for the first time in seven months (somehow), he realized what they were.

They were a car wreck, they always had been. And Joe could never look away. 

Webster pushed him down onto the couch immediately, kicking up the legrest and propping Joe’s foot up, already talking about something that Joe didn’t care about and therefore didn’t listen to, moving into the kitchen. 

“Fuck.” He said, eloquently. Web’s laugh was hushed, warm as he moved back into the living room, held a half-filled glass of water out to Joe and dropped onto the couch. 

He was laughing a lot more than Joe was used to, and it didn’t sound exactly happy. He decided that it was probably because of George Luz, who only had one coping mechanism, which Web seemed to be emulating. Joe couldn’t believe they still spent time together, after the nose incident.

When Joe looked more fully over to him, turning his head against the overstuffed headrest of the couch, Web’s bottom lip was in between his teeth again, worrying it as he stared at nothing.

They were thinking the same thing, Joe knew.

“This is torture.” He said, out loud. Web jumped slightly when he spoke, like he wasn’t expecting it. Joe didn’t look away, just raised an eyebrow, rather unimpressed, and Webster cleared his throat and pushed forward against the cushions, eyes dropping somewhere to Joe’s threadbare rug as he got back to his feet.

“Yeah.” He said, and Joe knew that they were thinking of the same thing. Car wreck. “I should go.”

The problem with car wrecks is that some are salvageable. And as with any accidents, one can never look away from them.

“Okay.” Joe said out loud. 

This was another part of it: of them being a car wreck. If Joe was going to blame why they kept doing this, when everything concerning their relationship was a thousand times harder than it would ever need to be, he’d point a finger at the fact that both of them knew they were salvageable and neither of them wanted to look away.

One of them would change in some small thought, or idea, or plan, and the other wouldn’t follow it. Web had thought of something, just barely, and Joe had missed it.

“Okay.” Web said back, quiet. He watched Joe, for half of a second, before looking away. “Have fun watching I Love Lucy. It’s a little after your time, but I think you’ll like it.”

The corner of Joe’s mouth curved up, independent of the rest of his body as he huffed a laugh, pushed a hand through his hair. “Fuck you.” He said, warmer than he’d like.

Web’s eyes were both freezing cold and burning, when he looked back, hesitant. Still, he elected to not say anything.

Car wrecks can be salvageable, Joe reminded himself, and the thought was unwelcome. 

--

SEPTEMBER

It took two more months, in which nothing happened, and then Chuck slipped.

Or, technically, Hoobler slipped, but Joe was slightly too panicked to really give a fuck who, in specifics, gave the whole fucked up, horrendous mind game away.

He wasn’t still sure on the specifics. Didn’t really give a shit about the specifics, anyways, just felt the same thrum of panic that always settled under his skin whenever something happened that felt too real. Too serious.

What he did know:

Hoobler had gotten back to his and Web’s apartment, and Web wasn’t there. He waited approximately three hours, and then, for some godforsaken reason that Joe hadn’t seen (at the time) had called Chuck.

Chuck had, in turn, because of course he did, called Joe.

“Have you seen Web?” He’d asked, and Joe had paused, immediately knew something was off. If not by the way that Chuck sounded than for how he seemed to hesitate, for how absolutely anything about Web seemed to raise some sort of instinct.

“No.” Joe’d said back, rather slowly, apprehensive. “Why?”

Chuck had been slow to answer, the static of the phone filling in his absence, Joe already putting the phone on speaker and moving to text Web. “Uh.” Chuck said, after a moment. “Hoobler can’t find him.”

“What, he can’t find him at the apartment?” Joe sent the text to Web and turned his full attention back to Chuck. 

“He can’t find him anywhere.” Chuck said, tone something that Joe was having trouble reading. “He won’t answer his phone, apparently. We figured that maybe he was with—”

It was midnight, and his curtains were still open. Light pollution managed to illuminate the entire city outside of his window, and Joe watched the cars pass absently. Tab was out of town from May until September, some sort of familial visit, so Joe’d had the apartment to himself for possibly too long. He felt the absence acutely when Web didn’t respond, and Chuck kept hesitating.

“Why the hell would he be with me?” Joe interrupted, not wanting to wait for him to finish, then paused for half of a second. “Wait, we?” 

Chuck sounded invariably uncomfortable when he said, tone of voice marred over the phone, “well, after how quick he’d been to get to the hospital last month, and how he’d barely asked any questions over the phone—”

And.

Wait a minute.

“What the fuck do you mean over the phone?” Joe demanded, pushing away from the window to bring his phone closer to his ear, making a split second decision and moving over to the door, finding his shoes.

“Fuck.” Chuck said, which wasn’t promising, then, after a moment of contemplation, said, “okay, so it was Hoobler’s fault, but no one could figure out why in the hell you split this time ‘round, and he had this idea—”

“Have you been pretending to be the hospital?” Joe shoved his feet into his shoes and slid the lock on his door, barely thinking to grab a jacket and his keys before slamming the door shut behind him and barely sticking around long enough to lock it. Chuck just cleared his throat.

“You’re not stupid,” He started, voice low, and Joe thought his laugh might have been slightly frantic as he skipped down the steps of the apartment building, jacket tossed over his shoulder. His foot still ached with it, ever slight, and he ignored it. “So I’m not gonna bother lying to you—” 

“You pretended.” Joe said again, slowly, as if to properly digest the words. “To be the hospital.”

Over the phone, Chuck cleared his throat. The receiver crackled. “In our defense.” He said, “We didn’t call the first two times. And we didn’t think you’d come so easily.”

“What the fuck.” Joe said out loud, maybe still not properly digesting everything that had happened in the past five minutes. Web was missing. Chuck’s been lying, for some godforsaken reason. 

“I’m so fucking sorry.” Chuck told him, at least seemed to have some modicum of remorse, like he realized like he was doing suddenly, all at once. “It was so fucking dumb, but you two always showed up, and it was easier to leave you at the hospital if Web was there, or vice versa for Hoob—”

“What the fuck.” Joe said, hitting the ground floor at the same time, already moving towards the parking garage. He didn’t use the fucking car a lot, knew that he should probably sell it before something happened to it and he had to sink some godforsaken amount of money into it. Still, he couldn’t exactly call an Uber, and unlocked the car easily. 

“And it was easy to just change our voices slightly, and you never seemed to fucking notice, and the first two times were actually the hospital, but we were—” Chuck kept talking, like he was trying to explain what had to be one of the most fucked up things he’s ever done.

It was starting to make more sense, now. Joe didn’t know why he didn’t think to question it before: why they’d call Web if he just needed a few stitches and knew who he was. Why Web was at the fucking hospital before he was. Why they called him in when Hoobler hit Webster in the face, which led to another realization.

“Chuck.” He said, cutting the other off as he dropped into the driver's seat and started the engine, already looking over his shoulder. Something was cold, floating around his ribs, and Joe ignored it, pressing his mouth together impatiently. “Did Hoobler hurt Web on purpose?”

Chuck’s response was slow, unsure what Joe was talking about. Every slight turn Joe had to make with the car was slightly jerky. “With…” He started, and Joe had pulled out by the time he’d dragged on the word.

“With the skateboard.” Joe said, and knew where he was going. Knew where Web was, almost, except for it was more of a gut feeling than anything else. Web was, if not anything else, a predictable bitch. “Did he fucking—”

“Jesus Christ, Joe, no. Of course not.” Chuck said over him, immediately, the moment he realized what Joe was getting at. “It was psycho enough to call you like that to come to the hospital, we weren’t about to commit a felony—”

“Why the hell wouldn’t you just call us normally?” Joe pulled out onto the main road — which was still just as crowded as ever, even at nearly one in the morning. “Because it seems like that is illegal, Chuck. That straight up sounds like a crime.”

Chuck cleared his throat, again, before responding. His silence, it seemed, was almost as goddamn telling as the fact that Hoobler couldn’t call Web. “To be honest,” He said, low. “I didn’t think that you’d come if one of your friends called and told you.”

“So, what, you arrange a – a parent trap—”

“It wasn’t a parent trap! It was just—”

“You don’t even like Web!”

“I—” Chuck hesitated. “He’s alright.”

Joe breathed, once and very deeply, through his nose before changing lanes, which was a mess. “So why in the hell,” He said, very elaborately. “Would you—”

“No one can figure out why you broke up, this time.” Chuck said. “I — you’ve broken up five times, Joe, and you’re both miserable, and you’re both clearly so—”

“So your immediate reaction, instead of sitting us down and talking, was to pretend to be the hospital?” 

“Would you have listened to us if I’d sat you down and said you’re fucking miserable and I can’t figure out why you broke up with the same person for the fifth time?” Chuck asked him, and Joe was going to have a heart attack. 

“Oh my God.” He said. “What the fuck.”

Chuck didn’t say anything, for a moment, the line going static again. “Do you know where he is?” He asked, rather quiet. The question made Joe, somehow, madder than he’d been before.

“Yeah, I know where he fucking is, and I’m not about to tell you.” He said, looking over his shoulder to make a turn. “And tell Hoobler to go fuck himself, he can sweat it out. Does Web know about this shit?” 

Chuck hesitated for the thousandth time. “I don’t think so. It — it seems like he just left.” 

“What, and you can’t just leave him alone? He’s a fucking adult, for Christs’ sake.” Chuck made a noise at the back of his throat, sounding somewhat affronted.

“Okay,” He said, “So why are you going to go get him, then?”

Joe, who didn’t necessarily want to tell Chuck that absolutely zero amount of executive thought went into setting out to find Web, made an electoral decision and hung up on him.

--

As far as unbearable places on the face of the earth (the parts that Joe’s visited, anyways) go, Penn’s Landing was pretty far up on that list.

Web loved it, though. Always had. Probably always will.

It’s not really like the ocean, he’d told Joe four years ago, sounding like such an utter douche that Joe had to laugh at him, a little bit. But it’s water. It’s nice. 

Penn’s Landing was also fucking huge, so Joe was glad, at least, that Web always went to the same spot.

There was nothing special about the spot. It wasn’t better than anywhere else in the landing, it wasn’t necessarily even more interesting. It was just where he went, every time, for all the six years that he’d had dragged Joe to it.

Joe could see him immediately, the entire landing busy but Web somewhat by himself, leaning against one of the metal railings, his back to Joe.

“Your roommate’s worried about you.” Joe said, as he got closer. It was a testament, maybe, to how they are as people that Web didn’t even bother to turn around.

“What,” Web murmured, eyes on the water, lit by nothing and still glowing, somewhat. “Is he worried I’ll break my face for a third time?”

Joe came up to him, leaned up against the railing next to him. He watched the water. There was nothing enlightening about it. It was rather boring, actually.

“D’you know those fuckers were lying to us?” He asked, as casually as he could, and felt Web look over at him. “After my neck. They started calling us and pretending to be the goddamn hospital.”

Web was quiet for a moment. To his testament, he didn’t even seem slightly alarmed by anything that had happened so far, from Joe showing up to everything else. “I had a suspicion, maybe.” He said, low. “It’s — I dunno why they’d call me for stitches. When my grandfather died they only called my dad when he stopped being responsive.” 

Joe blinked. “Why the fuck didn’t you say anything, then?” He asked in the moment after that, near demanding, and David didn’t look at him. His bottom lip was caught between his teeth, again. 

“Why do you think?” He asked, entirely hypothetical. Joe knew the answer. He watched him carefully.

“Web.” Joe said, and when Web didn’t look at him, cleared his throat and tried again. “David. It was your idea to break up.”

Web laughed, and it wasn’t happy. He wiped his palm down the side of his face, and Joe realized too late why his eyes seemed to shine. “I’m so fucking stupid.” He said, twisting his lips together before smoothing his expression out, some sort of warped display of upset. “I’m such a moron.”

“You’re not stupid, you’re fucking crazy.” Joe told him, and moved closer to him anyway. Web kept his face turned out towards the water, lit by nothing but the slight glow of the city.

“I just got lazy, I think.” Web said, the moment after Joe finished talking, which made no sense whatsoever. “It’s — it’s just so hard, with us. And all we do is fight, and then break up, and then we’re miserable, so we get back together, and then it’s just the same thing. This was — this was supposed to be some sort of clean break.”

His bottom lip quivered slightly as he talked, and for a moment, Joe was so blindingly, frustratingly furious with Chuck and Hoobler and whoever else was involved for fucking with Web and fucking with his head that he had to breathe, for a moment. 

“That’s not lazy.” Joe told him, low. “That’s not lazy, that’s normal. That’s you trying to fix whatever—”

“I love you.” Web interrupted him, so, so quiet, and he finally turned to look at him, hands curled together with his arms propped on the railing, eyes shining and bright for all the wrong reasons as he found Joe’s face. “I love you, and I always will, and it makes me fucking miserable because we work, but it’s like we just take everything too far and it’s—”

He cut himself off with a shaky breath. 

Joe realized, in the second after that, that he had no idea what to say. What to do. What could he do, necessarily, when Web was right, when he hit the nail on the head on how they’d broken up five times in six years but, in all that time, only actually dated each other.

“It should be easy.” Web said, perfunct, emphatic, like he was trying to remind himself of something. “But it never, ever is.”

Joe hesitated, for half of a second, before speaking. “When they called me for the first time.” He said, quiet, and let his eyes leave Web, finally, going out to the water instead. “The first time. Not — not afterwards, or anything, but when it was actually the hospital. When you crashed. Hearing them say that shit was the most scared I’ve ever been, I think.”

Web let out a breath, soft and short, like an exhale, like some sort of a snort.

“It’s true.” Joe told him, still watching the water. “And it’s slightly pathetic. But they called me, and I was getting Chuck to cover me and fucking going by foot down to the hospital in under ten minutes.”

“Joe.” 

“Web.” Joe turned, looking back towards him. Web’s face was the same as it always was; too open, too guarded. “I’m fucking serious, okay? Because it’s one thing to break up, but if you’d been—” He paused, for a moment. Watched Web’s eyes. 

Web didn’t say anything, just watched him, but something in his face flickered, like he was thinking the same thing Joe was. Maybe about Joe’s own accident, with this neck.

“If something had happened that was permanent, I would’ve been there.” Joe said, and the words tasted rather like sawdust. “No matter what, no matter if we’re broken up or not, because I’ve loved you for six goddamn years and I’m gonna keep doing it, because I don’t know how to do anything else, at this point.”

Web’s expression was carefully held, carefully kept, and gouged wide open. “That was—” He started and stopped, swallowing like his mouth was dry. “That was strangely romantic, for you.” Joe made a face.

“Never expect it again.” He rasped. “But that’s how it is. It’s not — it ain’t like I stop loving you each time we break up.”

Something in Web’s expression twisted. He rubbed a palm against the side of his face again with a huff. “I don’t want to keep doing that, though.” He said, hoarse. “I – I mean, how fucking miserable were we, that Chuck got involved?”

Joe couldn’t help his smile, small and wry and slightly painful. “I’m still not sure if he committed a crime or not.” He said, hoarse, and Web laughed, just on the edge of too loud and too bright, fingertips coming to press against his chin, just below his lips, as his gaze dropped back out to the water.

“I’m fucked up for this.” He said, like a warning, and Joe watched his profile, the curve of his jaw, the hair that curled at the nape of his neck. The color of his eyes off of the water. “But it’s — I almost looked forward to getting hurt, because then I could see you.”

Something in his gaze wavered, slightly, and Joe’s mouth felt dry. He remembered breaking his foot, why it didn’t feel, necessarily, very big. Why nothing else really did, either.

Just another reason why they worked, he supposed. They were both fucked up.

“C’mere.” He said, hoarse, after a moment. Web turned just barely to look at him, not really moving, and Joe pushed away from the railing, one of his hands finding the nape of Web’s neck and tugging him forward by it. “C’mon, c’mere, you idiot.” 

Web went to him easily enough, reaching a hand out back to him, tangling it with Joe’s free one and laughing, slight, when Joe tugged carefully at the hair at his nape, leaning further forward.

Kissing him, Web tasted like a caramel frappe. 

Joe grimaced and pulled back. “You have the shittiest taste in coffee.” He said, half a joke, and Web’s smile was brilliant, crooked and dopey. 

“Don’t taste it, then.” He said, quiet, and pushed forward to kiss Joe again.

“Mm.” Joe said, anchoring his fingers more fully into Web’s hair, tapping his thumb along the back of his hand. “It’s almost two in the morning, why the hell are you drinking caffeine?” 

He kissed Web again, deeper, running his tongue along the seam of his lips as Web made a noise at the back of his throat, some sort of protest and sigh in one. 

“You taste like beer.” Web mumbled against his lips. “You’re not one to talk.” 

Joe almost smiled, and Web took the opportunity to lick into his mouth, tangling their fingers tighter together. “Guess not.” He murmured.

--

They would talk, in the morning.

About what this meant. About what they meant: because it got tiring, after a while. To keep going. To have to keep repeating the same section of life over and over again as everything else went on. 

They were work. They always would be. But they could put in the time. Joe knew they would.

(They could be salvageable.)

For now, Joe just drove back along and away from Penn’s Landing, one hand on the wheel and the other on the console, tangled with Web’s own.

The other was half asleep already, caffeine crash hooking into him, cheek pressed against the headrest, mouth open, eyes watching out the windshield blearily. He looked, Joe thought affectionately, like an absolute moron.

He gripped Joe tight, one of his feet tucked up under his thighs, hair stuck up in all directions. 

Joe watched him whenever he could, whenever he could take his eyes away from the road, neck aching slightly and foot slightly more, and couldn’t care less. 

He’d read somewhere (or, more likely, Web had read somewhere and Joe had osmosed the knowledge by proxy) that pain always put things into perspective. That risk always did. 

Perspective had changed since February. Had become more about Web and the future than of Web and the now. Than of whatever stupid fucking hill they’d decide to overreact and die on.

Joe hit a speed bump a little harder than he meant to and Web made a soft noise in the back of his throat, protesting. His fingers twitched slightly, where they were entwined with Joe’s, opening his eyes again, groggy.

Joe huffed a laugh, eyes on the road again, resisted the urge to do something stupid that Web would never let him live down, like lift their tangled fingers and kiss the back of his hand.

Yeah. They would talk in the morning.

--

He was still going to fucking kill Chuck and Hoobler, though.

[theageofsims]

The Age of Sims 2.8- Part 16 - “Leaving His Brother Speechless" *LANGUAGE WARNING*

The tension in the air could only be cut with a knife -- and it was, but only after David started talking at his younger brother like he knew best and William finally snapped.

"I wanna talk to you."

"Sure." David shrugged around a smirk, "Been waitin' for you to open that tight-lipped mouth of yours since I got here. So level with me… what the hell's really going on?"

"Nothing that concerns you."

"So the less I know -- the better, is that it? Hm." He shrugged, "Guess she's not really worth mentioning in detail, huh?"

"David…" William started as easily as he could, but he was on the verge of shouting any second.

"I thought you said you were gonna level with me."

"I never said that!" William insisted, "Jesus Christ -- what the fuck is the matter with you anyway? Why are you always saying far more than you have to? You had no right to question her!"

"It was a simple question. I didn't ask her to lie. She should have told the truth." He caught William ready to insist on something he already knew would be untrue. "Don't lie to me, Billy. I can read through stone-cold killers and certified liars -- and I got paid damn good money doing it because that's how good I was at it."

"You'll slip as the years go by…" William muttered, not giving much thought or care to his brother's time spent serving in the military.

"The hell I will. I'm sharper now than I ever was -- so don't bullshit me."

"She already told you everything you wanted to know -- and you sure as hell didn't deserve her honesty."

"She wasn't honest. She held back -- she knows she lied and you know it, too. What did I just say to you?"

"You wanna know what -- David? It's about time you started finding somewhere else to go because I hardly want you staying here one more night -- nevermind when we get to Oasis Springs."

"She's already gone -- off she went after that lengthy argument you two couldn't seem to not have within earshot."

"FUCK YOU!"

"Gladly -- but you wouldn't let me invite some lovely ladies on this nice little trip to the forest." He paused around a face that only angered William more, "Wanted to have all the fun to yourself with what's her name?"

"Gloria." He said through a tight jaw. "Her name is Gloria and she's not some woman I picked up off the street--"

"Course not. That's not your style, but hers? Well…" He shrugged, "Could be her thing. Could be all she's good at."

"Bastard…" He said under his breath, trying to keep his anger in check for the sake of Noah who he could feel around the corner nearby. "You don't even know her -- and you never will. If I find out you've gone anywhere near her again, you'll be sorry."

"Threats, Billy? To your big brother? My… you must really have grown a big pair while I've been away, huh?" He shrugged, "I gotta say. I'm pretty impressed… would be proud, too, under different circumstances, but hell -- guess I can't have everything."

"What the fuck is it to you anyway, huh? Why the fuck does it matter who I'm with now? Jesus Christ, you never gave me this much shit when I was married."

"Because you married right. There was nothing wrong with Kathy. Top-notch woman -- came from money even."

"I never married her for her money!" William felt his mind twist in a million direction like it had so long ago because of the man in front of him.

"I didn't say you did… just made an observation."

"Fuck your observations!"

"There's a lot of fucking of me going on here lately, don't you think?"

"None of this is your business. I didn't ask you to come here to judge me, my life, or the people in. God knows you've done enough of that since I was old enough to take my first step!"

"Oh come on, Billy -- always so sensitive. You're really gonna go that far back? If you haven't taken a good look in the mirror, we're both sporting gray hair from the tops of our heads… and all the way down. That was a long time ago and I've already told you -- I was only preparing you to be a man. I was only showing you the ropes."

"I didn't ask for you to show me a goddamned thing!"

"What else are big brothers for?"

William inhaled sharply, feeling defeated for not being able to get through the thick head his brother wore sternly on top of his broad shoulders.

"Look… all I'm saying is you did the right thing marrying Kathy. Could have done more to keep her, but you fucked up -- it's fine." He shrugged, "You're entitled. You wanted to be the best scientist that the world's ever known--"

"I never wanted to be the best."

"Well -- regardless, you ended up being one of the best… and look at you now. Look what I've come to find my baby brother up to--"

"I'm still the same person, David!" He felt his head pulse with tension he could not explain, "Jesus Christ, what are you even driving at?"

"Elizabeth was your only redemption after divorcing Kathy -- and you fucked that up. You were so wrapped up in that woman and her brilliance and then what -- you fucked up again? How many fuck ups does a man need?"

"Fuck this." William started, his eyes going blurry from rage he was trying to keep at bay.

"Fuck this?"

"Yeah, David. Fuck this -- and fuck you. And fuck every last word out of your mouth."

"HEY!" He hollered, his tone as rough as the soldiers he kept an eye on, "Who the fuck do you think you're talking to?!"

"My shithead brother, that's who."

The silence fell around them like someone had lowered the boom and then David roughly turned his head with pursed lips to try to burn his logic into his younger brother's mind -- but it wasn't working in the slightest.

"You have no idea what you're getting yourself into. If you're just fucking around -- God bless you both, but if you're actually serious about this--"

"I'm so serious…" William started with a far away look on his face.

David read it like his brother was in a dream state -- and it only confused him further.

"You can't be serious."

"Why not?"

"Because…" David suddenly felt threatened, like he suddenly couldn't think as quickly as he should, "…because -- a man never changes what he likes."

"A man changes whatever he damn well pleases -- same for a woman."

"I don't believe it."

"You don't believe a lot of shit, David. Talking to you is like stepping into a time machine most of the time and no matter how hard something is staring you in the face -- you're an ignorant ass about every last damn thing."

"Sexual preferences." He offered as a final attempt.

"Those things can change over time, too."

"Bullshit."

"Not bullshit." William assured him, "Sometimes you never really see it coming until it suddenly comes around the corner."

"I don't believe it."

William shrugged, "Not my problem. Chemistry is--"

"Science."

William shrugged. "Maybe… or maybe it's more than that…sometimes, at the least." He shrugged once more.

"You like shoulder length hair. You always liked shoulder length hair. At least shoulder length hair… what the hell are you gonna have to grab on to?"

William looked away from his brother, feeling a number of things -- including feeling somewhat reserved and maybe a little pink in the cheeks, but he also felt a sudden urge to match his brother on his level if only for once regardless of it sounding so unlike anything he had ever said before…

"She's got plenty to grab on to -- and in all the right places."

And that -- left his brother completely speechless.

[psalmsofpsychosis]

David advocating for batjokes is so cathartic bc i remember ages ago some were suggesting that gotham!batjokes wasn't really a two-hander and only Cameron was playing up the tragic love arc (which is crazy because david has talked about Jeremiah loving bruce before the ace chem episode dropped and the fact that he literally plays Bruce as though he's on the verge of crying in every other scene he has with post-reveal Jeremiah but okay)

I need to hear these two guys idea dumping on each other while filming season 5

postgrad David and Cameron are dream Gotham blunt rotation for real because i geniunely think they're both incredibly delightful and unhinged and strange individuals and i also think that they both knew what they were doing.

Like, putting it into context— Cameron was just coming off 11 years of Shameless US, jesus christ. He was a gayism veteran at that point, he knew what the tone oh his plot was, of course he was going to act it that way and talk about it that way. But also, David was a 16 years old kid. Like, i dont know what indepth philosophical nuance people expected him to bring to the table, he was a fucking child at the time, teens take things lightly, it's what they do. But still it's an insane, insane thing to me that some people thought that gotham!batjokes is an unintended one sided narrative because, as you yourself said, David's acting is incredibly deliberate and distinct, Bruce's body language is a whole world of its own when it comes to Miah, and we're not even talking about the plot points. So i think that in the specific S5 time frame he played it more intuitively and less philosophically like Cameron did, and he didn't necessarily have a grown up's vocabulary around the narrative, i honestly didn't expect him to. But now that he's older and has had time away from the clutches of DC and also more years on him, he's came back full force. His analysis and understanding of Joker is on point, and he took extra care to really highlight where his priorities lie in a "Joker Essey" video by sticking the fucking "only Batman would go to this length to find the good in Joker, because he's his one true love" comment sticker right on top. There was no reason for him to highlight that comment, or draw any attention to it at all, if he wasn't aboard the batjokes train of hell. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ and man does it heal me to the bone, i'm just so glad to know that everybody has been on the same page all along, it shows on screen and offscreen

[snowblossomreads]

Stormy Nights

Pairing: Detective David Friedman x Fem!Reader

Summary: In where David finds [Y/n] trembling at the sound of the storm outside and goes to comfort her.

Tag(s)/Warning(s): Fluff, Age Gap, Daddy Kink (Non Sexual), Fear of thunderstorms

Word Count: 2K

A/N: It's spring time where i live which means it storms every other day with the possible chance of tornadoes! I don't like storms (trauma) hence here is this cute lil story with our favorite southern detective : D

"Jesus Christ!" The boom of his voice, rivaled the boom of the thunder that followed David, as he slammed his front door close, to escape the torrential downpour happening outside.

"Fuckin' spring showers my ass," he hissed, as he began to peel off the damp clothes that stuck to him, not wanting to track mud and water all over the house. "Like a damn hurricane out there, I swear! Gets worse and worse every year."

Mumbling frustrated curses, he carried the clothes to the bathroom and dumped them in the laundry hamper, before going to grab a towel to dry himself a bit. Of course, he didn't bring an umbrella today, granted, the way the wind was blowing, it probably would have snatched it right out of his hands.

"Should have just stayed home and minded my business but-."

BOOM!

"AHHH!"

His complaints were interrupted by the loudest crash of thunder up to that point, which made the house rattle, and the lights flicker. And along with the crash of thunder, a familiar sounding screech drifted from his bedroom that gave him pause.

"What in the?"  

Tossing his towel back on the hook, he made his way to his bedroom, which had its door wide open, and light from the TV pouring out of it. When he reached the threshold of it, he immediately noticed the shaking lump in the middle of his bed. Blankets and pillows surrounded the figure even though he noticed one or two of the 'fort' walls had been kicked to the ground.

"[Y/n]?" He asked, approaching the trembling shape carefully as if it was a suspect who was in hiding.

There wasn't a reply, only more whimpering and shaking, as he sat on the edge of the bed. The shifting of the mattress only seemed to frighten the woman more, as she let out a little cry that caused his eyes to widen and worry to cord at his stomach.

"Doll it's just me, just Dave," he rumbled gently as he laid his hand on what he assumed was her back, and stroked her in a manner he hoped was comforting.

Her shaking seemed to ease with his touch, and so carefully, he peeled back the blankets to find her curled in a fetal position. The sight made his heart ache more than he thought it would considering [Y/n] was a fierce little thing at times. 

She was one to voluntarily put herself in danger by playing potential victims to catch a perp if needed without a blink of an eye. Even if he did complain. So seeing her curled up and scared was unnerving and it knawed at him painfully. 

"D-Dave," she whined, her eyes still shut tight as she gripped the sheets beneath her, not daring to move an inch.

"Doll what are you doing under there? What is all this?" Confusion was etched all over his face which was illuminated by the TV that was playing the local weather. 

Still, her eyes didn't open as she just laid there in a fetal position, as if not moving would keep the storms away. It didn't, and apparently to make sure she knew that, the storm began to rumble with thunder this time, though much softer than it had before. 

That didn't matter though as she shook so hard Dave thought she would end up breaking something with how tense she was.

To keep her from breaking, he leaned over her body, wrapping his arms around her as he tried to pull her close. Hopefully, she would excuse the bit of dampness on his skin as he hadn't had time to dry off all the way from the rain outside. Granted, by the way she hardly moved when he pulled her in his lap, and then buried herself deeper against him, she didn't seem to care much about it.

"Mmm s-sorry, didn't tell you I was coming over." Her voice was muffled, yet he could hear it quiver, as she kept herself hidden. "Didn't know- Didn't know if you were still at the station." 

"Yeah, I just got in. Was coming straight back here when the sky decided to open up and piss on me when I got on the bridge. Damn near skidded off of it."

There was another rumble of thunder just as he finished, and he felt her begin to tremble in his arms again before he hugged her tighter. Was she scared of storms? Obviously, she had to be considering the way she was vibrating. It was weird though, as he had been around her when it was storming and she seemed perfectly at ease. Well as much as ease as someone could be when lightning was illuminating the skies up while the wind whipped around. So he felt like he still had to ask.

Burying his face on top of her head and kissing it, he murmured his question in her hair, "Doll are you scared of storms?"

There was no use hiding it now considering she was shaking like a leaf on his bed, scared to move an inch. God, it was infuriating how weather like this could make her so uneasy and terrify her just like that. With a shaky breath, she nodded.

"Y-yeah don't like 'em too much. It got real bad after you know…" she paused, as the memory of Katrina was still fresh in her mind. 

Two years had already passed since that devastating hurricane and the weeks of hell that had followed. Scars and memories of it still littered the city and surrounding places so it was almost impossible to forget. 

Dave had seemed to understand as well as none of them had come out of that event without some sort of emotional scar. He held her more tightly at that and for a moment she couldn't be more than thankful to have him.

"B-but I still never liked 'em too much," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the rain hitting the roof and windows and the howl of the wind. There was also the sound of the weatherman talking about a severe thunderstorm warning was issued for Orleans Parish which probably explained the wild weather. 

"Especially when all they've been talking about and showing is all them tornadoes that come through all the other cities yesterday and today. Just scares me, always gets me thinking of the worst." 

Again, another loud gust of wind whistled and rattled the windows, followed by lighting and the crackle of thunder that caused the hair on the back of her neck to stand. She physically bristled, as a sharp sob left her lips, and goosebumps appeared on her skin while she attempted to bury herself closer to Dave even if there was nowhere else to go. 

Immediately, his arms tightened around her and he cradled the back of her head before going to stroke her in an attempt to calm her. They weren't in any danger, but at this point, all rational had left her mind and its replacement was worry. Maybe if he could quiet it down some would she feel better. And a thought came into his mind.

"Shhh, I got you doll, I got you," he hummed in that lovely drawl of his, as he rocked her back and forth, trying to soothe her frightened cries as the weather outside seemed to want to make it a point to terrify [Y/n]. "Daddy's got you don't worry," his voice a rumble that even the thunder outside couldn't compare to. "Ain't nothing gonna happen just some wind and noise."

"D-daddy, I'm sorry," she whined immediately latching on to what he was doing. Her hands balled in a fist as she stayed against him, letting him protect her from whatever was going on outside.

He was safety. She could always trust that he would do everything he could to keep her safe. Even if it was something as impossible as keeping the weather away. She could trust him. Her Dave, her daddy.

"You ain't got nothing to be sorry about," he murmured, "we all got something we're afraid of and we just need to ride this one out. We'll be okay, news said it'll pass over in about thirty so we'll just stay put right here doll." 

The continuous rumble of thunder made its way over the house as Dave kept his eye on the weather report. Each time it would thunder, he would try to block the sound of it using the deep rumble of his own voice and words of encouragement to [Y/n] who had continued to tremble but much less than before.

"Almost done doll." "Hear it lightnin' up out there we'll be okay." "That's my good girl."

Over and over he whispered sweet words, and each time she would tremble less and less. Whether it was because the words were actually calming, (they were to her), or if it was because the storms were slowly finishing their taunts against his [Y/n], he didn't know. But after an hour or so, everything seemed to quiet down outside, and her trembles had almost ceased completely. 

Rocking her back and forth and eyeing the news, he listened as the weatherman gave the all clear, saying that the worst of it was out of the station's viewing area, and it would only be light rain for the rest of the evening.

Good. He was tired of wondering if the lights were going to go out. Not only because he was getting a bit testy at the weather for how bad it was spooking his [Y/n]. But, he had just bought groceries the other day and would be pissed if they went bad. Hey, shit was expensive. 

"[Y/n], doll, you okay?" He asked softly as he slowed his caresses, listening to her steady breathing. 

It was a major difference from her more erratic and frightened breathing and it calmed him knowing she was alright. Though, he noticed there wasn't a response from her and it caused him to look down to check on her.

"[Y/n]?" 

Her eyes stayed closed as he called to her once more, and he couldn't stop the amused grin that spread on his thin lips. She had fallen asleep!  His shoulders shook with muted laughter, even more so when [Y/n] didn't stir at all.

"Tired yourself out with all that shakin' didn't you," he mused playfully, before he planted a quick kiss against the top of her head. "You're a silly little thing you know that darlin'?" 

Of course, there was no response, as she snoozed peacefully, having fallen asleep the moment things seemed to have started to wind down. Carefully, as to not wake her, even though he was sure she was out for the rest of the night, David gently laid her back down on the bed. Her body loosened up and unfurled on its own accord now that it was no longer balled up against him.  

Quietly, he shuffled off the bed, pulling the blankets up around her shoulders and then placing her head on one of the many pillows that she had scrounged up. Huh, he didn't even realize he had that many, he thought to himself, as he gathered the extras to put in the living room. 

Taking one more glance at her to make sure she was still snoozing, he made his way to the living room and tossed the pillows on the sofa. He would deal with them later. Next was the shower that he had forgone to comfort [Y/n] and after he had dried himself off he went back to the room to check on her. 

Still sleep. 

Walking over to the opposite side of the bed, David slipped underneath the blankets, a yawn already spilling from his lips as he scooted close to [Y/n]. Her body rose and fell steadily and he was sure the poor woman was gonna be sleeping until the next morning.

With a tired smile and warm eyes pointed in her direction, he threw an arm around her waist to scoot her close. Once she was tucked safely against his chest, he kissed the top of her head again before closing his eyes in hopes of finding sleep as quickly as she had done.

[dollarbin]

Kristofferson:

A Dollar Bin Primer

I saw an obligatory "ten essential songs" list alongside the very nice NYTimes Kris obituary following his passing yesterday. Suffice it to say that the assembler of that list doesn't dwell with you and me in the Dollar Bin. Rather they live in Obvious Town, otherwise known as Spodify.

But Kris is a true lord of the bin: he sold tons of records in the 70's that no one listens to any more except me and my famous brother.

And now you! Here are nine deep tracks (plus a tenth from Willie!) in chronological order, one from each of Kristofferson's fairly-easy-to-track-down-for-a-square-buck-each 70's albums...

(Yes: incredibly, Kris put out nine separate solo albums in the 70's, plus three more with his wife-for-a-decade Rita Coolidge, not to mention starring in a half dozen films. Nine plus three is twelve. I doubt Radiohead have issued that many albums in their nearly 40 years of existence...)

Casey's Last Ride from Kristofferson

Kris's self-titled first record is a downright mothercuddler: every song is titanic, funny and terrifying. Casey's Last Ride gives him room to swing from violent to sensitive; this perfectly miniaturized epic sounds like a blueprint for the film Peckinpah should have made with Kris instead of Pat Garrett and Billy the Kid...

Jodie and the Kid from The Silver Tongued Devil and I

Kris could write a weeper alright. I don't know if he ever really got over his first failed marriage and the ways it affected his children. Every time I was around Kris - he was a distant cousin - I'd see that he was most interested in the children at our gathering; the first time I ever met him he seemed literally covered in diapered offspring from his third marriage and he looked downright thrilled about it.

Jodie and the Kid was one of my grandmother's favorites of his songs - he loved her dearly and she loved the sensitive, ah shucks side of him on display in this perfect short story of a song.

Little Girl Lost from Border Lord

Kris always took a lot of pride in his band: guys stuck with him for decades and he made room for their songs and their voices on all of his records. Little Girl Lost is really three different songs artfully shuffled together: there's brooding Doors-like intro followed by a honky tonk stomp that fades into a prayer. Kris and the boys ride the changes with concise poise.

Jesus Was A Capricorn

He was just so good with words. Sure, this title track from his fourth solo record is a tossed off hoot. But there are poetic depths here, especially for a guy who was busy drinking himself to death. Just check out the verse work: he rhymes food and shoes and makes it work; he boils down an eight page paragraph from Dostoevsky about the return of Christ into about 6 words and then he lays this little nugget on us, all with a chuckle:

Some folks hate the whites who hate the blacks who hate the klan; most of us hate anything that we don't understand...

Lights of Magdala from Spooky Lady's Sideshow

Kris was also an occasionally brilliant interpreter of other people's songs. The drunkest of his records, 1974's Spooky Lady Sideshow, verges on unlistenable at moments but it also contains the fitting closure of what I consider his great Freedom Trilogy.

Buried in the mix is also one of the bleakest pleas for salvation ever issued by a white male on record. For me, Drake's Black Eyed Dog, Young's Borrowed Tune and Kris's Lights of Magdala work together to chart out the depths of hell. They also make us want to reach out and help everyone we see.

Stallion from Who's To Bless and Who's To Blame

Kris was always the first to put down his own singing and musicianship. Yeah, so he was no Mickey Newbury - but he knew his range and he knew enough chords to work with and there was never a truly dull moment in songs like Stallion. Indeed, it's hard to imagine a world where white dudes with oddball voices - think everyone from Michael Stipe to David Berman to Ira Kaplan - ever turn into rock and roll icons without the benefit of Kris's rickety but oh-so-cool foundation.

You Show Me Yours (And I'll Show You Mine) from Surreal Thing

Occasionally, however, he'd write something he really couldn't sing. The ridiculous, tequila soaked chorus for You Show Me Yours (And I'll Show You Mine) is a good example.

But Kris had an ace up his sleeve: his version features a heavenly choir led by his wife Rita Coolidge; and alternatively, he could always just let Willie sing it...

The Saber and the Rose from Easter Island

You can probably note a decrease in quality going on. As an old man, poor Kris couldn't remember too much about his life from this period. The guy had boxed too much, flown too many helicopters, surely blown out his hearing and drank way, way, too much - and none of that helps in the memory department - which is why I don't fly helicopters.

But in 1978 he made a concerted effort with Easter Island to reclaim some kind of high ground artistically. I have no idea what's really happening in this song but the piano pounds nicely and the storytelling is beginning to reemerge.

Come Sundown from Shake Hands with the Devil

Happily, he survived it all: he sobered up, met a rather perfect human being and talked them into being his wife for the next 45 years. Did he ever write a song again that matched the glorious initial tracks on this list and on everyone else's? Heck no!

But Come Sundown is sure lovely...

[protect-daniel-james]

Sneak peek of Jason/Eddie trying to figure out why Anthony Gordon is acting the way he is (trying to seduce Howe), a.k.a. the best detective duo ever. Under cut.

Jason tilted his head. "Eddie, come on. Where did Gordon come from?"

"Everton."

Jason raised his eyebrows. Come on, Eds. Think about it.

"Nah, nah - that's insane."

Jason's raised eyebrows and the doubtful smile that played on his lips didn't seem to agree with Eddie. He picked up the tablet that was on the table and after unlocking it, his fingers ran over the screen. Eddie waited tensely. "Anthony Michael Gordon," JT uttered in an almost solemn tone, as if he'd just announced the winner of a poll. "Born February 24, 2001. Youth team: Liverpool FC, was released from there. Everton since 2012." He put the tablet back down on the table and clasped his hands together. "He had been at Everton since he was eleven. Spent a few months at Preston North End. I think that narrows our circle of suspects quite a bit. If we reckon he was at least legal - "

"Jesus Christ. That's grim."

Instead of answering, JT picked up the tablet once again. "And that it wasn't anyone from here," he added to lighten up the mood but Eddie visibly jerked, as if stung by a bee.

"Here?" he said in disbelief. His eyes searched in JT's face for an assurance that it was meant as a joke. "No, no - " He slapped his palm triumphantly on the table. "He said something - wait! - he talked about before, before, he didn't say when but he mentioned something that made it clear it was elsewhere - "

Jason looked at him. "Yeah?"

"Yeah, I'm sure! He made this stupid joke about putting this - info - down in his contract. Or in his transfer request when he wanted to get out of Everton. Anyway - " Eddie cooled off his victorious grin. "That's beyond the point. I trust the people we work with here one hundred percent. Besides, he made it pretty clear this was about a gaffer, not a masseur or physio."

Jason nodded, working something out on his tablet. "Here we go." He smirked. "Koeman. Who the hell knows with him. But Anthony would have been barely sixteen and in the academy. Why would Koeman even know about him." 

Eddie shook his head. His teeth were clenched; the lighthearted tone in which JT spoke didn't seem appropriate for the subject.

"David Unsworth," Jason continued. "Who the hell is even that? Interim. How would he even have time for this? Keep in mind Anthony is still sixteen and not in the first team."

"Jesus Christ."

"Big Sam. Would you look at that. I doubt he even knew half of his first squad. But, this is where Tony lad debuts for the first team in Europe. Wow," he raised his eyes from the screen, ready to make the joke. "Everton in Europe. Must have been ages ago. Marco Silva? Who knows. Big Dunc Ferguson? Nah, he loves the club, he would never do something like that to an academy player. Ancelotti? Come on. Anthony would shit himself. Benítez? He hated Everton, and wouldn't touch him with a ten-foot pole. Big Dunc again, no chance." Eddie, who had been nodding along to the names, remembering the managers who led Everton for a few months or years throughout Gordon's spell, noticed the all-telling pause that Jason made. Their eyes met.

"Lampard."

One of them said it, or maybe they both did; maybe Jason voiced what Eddie's lips wordlessly whispered.

[murderoushagthesequel]

ok so.

i watched einstein and eddington today for the first time and oh my god.

i can't stop thinking about it

first of all, how have i never heard of eddington before?? i hope we talk about him when we talk about relativity in astronomy he needs more recognition than he has

second of all, how does this movie not have more attention? the science is fascinating even if you don't understand it, much of it is explained really well through conversations with children or non-scientists which i loved. plus the whole war vs science rhetoric was so interesting and i obviously was very for the anti-war sentiments

sorry this post is way longer than i intended but i feel like tumblr is the only place people will understand me about this 😔 my friends are sick of me

if you haven't seen it, watch it.

(spoilers below)

also the way the eddingtons took in the german family and brought them to church and stood by them and made sure they KNEW they belonged no matter what anyone said are you kidding me

and no, i will NEVER get over this fucking scene

nor the fucking one where sir oliver looks him straight in the face and says "what do you know of grief?" about ypres and eddington just has to stand there and take it while it kills him inside because he cant TELL ANYONE.

jesus fucking christ my emotions.

i love you david tennant. i love you for how you played this man and his love and loss and thirst for knowledge.

also hello? was not expecting planck to be suxh a dick :( pookie your constant is so helpful why don't you help out einstein

not to mention the time old stories that came along with einstein's story. not even getting into the whole cousin romance... but it honestly reminded me so much of the greatest showman and hamilton. the man with a wife and kids who works too much and grows more and more distant and cheats with another woman

honestly i would've written more but my autocorrect is not working and this is exhausting to type so goodbye for now 🫡

[scribeforchrist-blog]

Clothed With Christ

MEMORY VERSE OF THE WEEK

=======================

+ Psalm 1:2 but his delight is in the law of the Lord, and on his law, he meditates day and night

=======================

VERSE OF THE DAY

======================

+ Titus 2:12 Training us to renounce ungodliness and worldly passions and to live self-controlled, upright, and godly lives in the present age,

=======================

** SAY THIS BEFORE YOU READ; HERE’S SOME CHRISTIAN TRUTHS **

I AM TRAINING TO RENOUNCE UNGODLINESS

I AM WALKING IN JESUS

I AM CLOTHED WITH CHRIST

I AM NOT FEARFUL

======================

READ TIME: 7 Minutes 38 Seconds

======================

THOUGHTS:

======================

  They always say do what is natural to you, and that could be in your life, with a new way of handling things; it could be anything, but what should feel natural to us as believers are praying, reading our word, meditating, worshiping God , David always did what was natural to him, he attended to sheep, he song praises to God, he didn’t let his life get too complicated where he wasn’t praising God.

  Many of us do; we forget what is natural and allow things that can cause chaos to rule our lives. I have had that in my life. I have had people who made things worse than they are, and I slowly asked God to remove them. I didn’t want him to remove them; to be honest, I still had attachment issues with them, to be honest, but I knew I needed them out of my life.

   As he removed this person, I remember saying to God, what's next, as I stood in my living room looking out the window, I repeated what was next because I knew I was alone. I knew nothing would ever be the same; he said you must start working on yourself, and that's what he’s been allowing me to do: work on me. And I've been allowing him to do that because sometimes we can know we need to change and fight against God about everything, but sometimes we can know we need to. However, it's like we still have some fight to do what we feel is natural, but God can make it so that we have no more fight in us to fight what he wants to do, and I have been there. I was stubborn,

and I was disobedient.

   I knew I needed to change those things but didn’t, and that is why he had to do that, and it made me better. I learned now I can't be that way. I learned that I can't allow this world to teach me, but I must let God teach me, and when we are in that stage or in that faze, we then can grow and change,

Jeremiah 29:11 For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans for welfare and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope.

  God knows what he has planned for us. He knows what he wants us to have in our life, and He knows what will bring us this or that now when we start to change; it doesn’t mean we won't have problems and it won't be challenging, but actual change brings us to the point of doing things naturally, as we learn it easier to do things his way, and a lot of us learn that that’s not going to work for me anymore because what will work is when we are dedicated to prayer, dedicated to mediation, dedicated to a life of God when we truly dedicated out time to God he can truly change us to something natural.

  Philippians 4:6-7 Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus.

  We can't be anxious about what's happening. We must remain calm and focused and allow what he is doing to take effect, and sometimes that’s hard to do; it's hard to allow God to take control over something we have been doing for the longest. We all want our lives to go a certain way, and that way can be this way or that way, but if it's not God's way, we will forever have a problem with our lives.

  What comes naturally to you? What feels like the right thing? Sometimes, even doing what’s natural to us can be the wrong thing; that’s why every day, we must go to God and say, God, remove what’s out of me, remove the unnatural for the natural, remove the impurities out, and help me to do what is right.

  1 Corinthians 6:18 Flee from sexual immorality. Every other sin a person commits is outside the body, but the sexually immoral person sins against his own body

  This Bible verse says flee; we should be fleeing from anything impure; we should be fleeing from anything that’s not of God; we can’t stay and entertain what’s of the flesh because then we are giving the enemy a foothold into our lives. God wants us to move away from things like this, not for us to entertain it, and sure, it might not feel that way, but we must let him order our steps.

 Colossians 3:5 Put to death therefore what is earthly in you: sexual immorality, impurity, passion, evil desire, and covetousness, which is idolatry.

   The verse says put to death what is earthly in you! What is it that’s in you that could cause you to be the opposite of what Christ is telling you? The enemy has a grip on this world, and it’s so many people who are okay with what they are doing; they are okay with how they are living, and they aren’t thinking, does this please God we as believers must always please God we must always seek to make our creator happy and pleased if what we are doing doesn’t we must find a way back to his will.

 *** Today, we talked about what’s natural. Our sinful life is natural to us because it’s what we are used to, but when we hand over our walk and steps to God, we become listeners to God; we become pleasers of God because then we desire to do it .

 Romans 13:14 But put on the Lord Jesus Christ, and make no provision for the flesh, to gratify its desires.

  Every day, we must put on Christ, not what’s natural; every day, we walk in the steps of Christ, but we aren’t doing that, and we are doing what pleases our flesh; we will always have a problem; we will always be out of alignment with Christ, so if today we feel you are walking in the natural and you haven’t put on Christ stop and ask him to show you how to put on him, and to put him on we must read our word, pray, meditate, praise and worship him at all times ©Seer~ Prophetess Lee

======================

PRAYER

=====================

Heavenly Father, we thank you for everything you have done. We ask you right now to help us to put on you and not this world; we ask you to give us strength for our day. We thank you for giving us peace in our lives and we praise you for what you’re doing right now. Lord, if we aren’t clothed with you, help us to be. Lord, give us your guidance every day; we don’t want to be without you, Father; please pour fresh anointing on us this day in Jesus' Name, Amen

======================

REFERENCES

======================

+ Philippians 4:8 Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things.

 

+ Ephesians 5:5 For you may be sure of this, that everyone who is sexually immoral or impure, or who is covetous (that is, an idolater), has no inheritance in the kingdom of Christ and God.

 

+ James 4:8 Draw near to God, and he will draw near to you. Cleanse your hands, you sinners, and purify your hearts, you double-minded.

======================

FURTHER READINGS

======================

 Proverbs 31

Job 2

2 Chronicles 9

Exodus 35

======================

[oohbuggypie]

"and as he wept, he wept and said, 'Oh, my.. Oh, my.. Would to God I had died for He'"

this is fully inspired by @goferwashere 's PO!! Monster Hunter AU 🩷 depicted is Don Flamenco in his monster form being held in his last moments by Joe. the writing that describes their fight, Don's death, and Joe's regret are all below the cut as its very long. but WOW i just could not get this idea out of my head . thank u soo much Gofer for the amazing AU and thank u to the whole community for being my courage to be brave and release something a little less cutesie than usual ! 🥹 additional details i rlly want to be known::

-the tattoo on Don' torso is an altered version of that in the regular PO!! universe; the one depicted reads "COLOSSIANS 3:2" :: the verse's meaning is "Set your minds on things above, not on earthly things". this is meant to reflect his disdain for humans, and how he views them as lesser

-the stab wound placement is below Don's right pectoral; this is in reflection of Jesus Christ's 5th wound he suffered whilst being crucified. additionally, it is said that what seeped from the wound wasn't only blood, but water as well; i found this very fitting for his character for obvious reasons lol

-the lyrics above the drawing are a condensed / altered version from the choral piece "David's Lamentation", one of my favorite songs ever !

phewph okay writing time ! unfortunately i have never written angst, let alone fighting OR death .. this is also being released about half an hour shy of midnight on bad sleep so proofreading is out of the question.. this is prob a hard read but I STAY CONFIDENT ! here we gooo 🩷::

-------------------------------------------------------

Don hissed and swung his fist in an aimless direction, hearing the collision's result come in the form of an agonized grunt from the man near him. Blind rage mingled with fear consumed Don's body in a way God himself forbade, yet he continued to batter any flesh that came into contact with his.

Joe's entire being ached, his eye now burning from the knuckles that dug into it just moments ago. He clenched it shut and let the obscurity of his vision drive his instincts to wherever they were necessary. He aimed to return the punch with his own fist plunging to meet Don's stomach, momentarily knocking the air from his lungs. As Don's arms instinctively lowered to gaurd where his sore flesh was struck, Joe snarled and drew his left arm back to slam a fist into Don's cheek. The siren felt a coursing agony not only externally, but through his heart. He knew what would come, yet he continued to bare his teeth. He ripped apart anything which bothered him and felt no haunting ring in his mind. Though this time, he feared that the bells would toll.

Joe took full advantage of the temporary stun he inflicted upon Don and wrapped his hands around the man's throat. Joe kicked Don's ankle in so that he buckled beneath his own weight, dropping them both to meet the floor. Joe felt a shake within his bones, like the structures in his own body didn't want him to do this. He didn't want to. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. Yet his body moved now without his mind, pressing his entire weight into the neck of the helpless man below him. Don couldn't stand the desperation that racked his body, and above that distaste, he couldn't bare to look up at the deathly eyes staring into his own. The man who he called a friend held less semblance to a human and now closer to a wraith, some wretched figure distorted by horror. His skin appeared a sickly gray in the darkness of the gym's room, and had his hands always been this coarse and cold? Nonetheless, for the present time Don disregarded the friend he once had and viewed him now as a step above a pet; competition.

Don snarled and thrashed beneath the body of Joe and locked his hands around the arms above. His brain felt like a searing gas within his head, but that lack of consciousness was immediately replaced by instinct. Don slid his hands down to grip Joe's wrists and ripped them outwards with a fell swipe. Joe wasn't spared a second to process the motion before his nose was slammed by Don's forehead. A pained cry was all his voice could manage before his vision flickered black.

-----

When he awoke, only seconds has passed since he blacked out. With a horrified start, Joe began to thrash his arms through the water engulfing him. His legs kicked in the same motion, his left heel slamming into an excruciating pressure seeming to bind his right ankle. The force released as soon as it felt his bruising strike against it. Joe desperately made strokes with his arms upwards, looking for any form of light to signify what differentiated the surface from the bottom. Joe felt a darkness reigning upon him as another figure trailed close behind, its presence growing heavier with each struggling wave of his arms throughout the pool.

Joe's face broke the surface. Without a second to catch his breath, he began scanning the area with bewildered eyes for the nearest edge. His loafers felt like bricks tied to his ankles, and the turtleneck he donned was quickly becoming suffocating. A short distance behind him, a splash breaking the water's tension drove Joe into fight or flight. His arms clawed in front of him with strokes large enough to leave his arms aching the next day, yet that same pain was his drive to reach the edge quicker. He gripped the ledge of the hard floor and hoisted himself above the edge, rushing into a position where his knees and one arm balanced his body upright. With his unoccupied hand, he reached where the bells tolled and the colors sank. Joe frantically patted his pocket for where the knife's sheath bulged.

Don arose from the water he resided in just seconds after his former partner. Joe ripped the leather from his pocket and reached into it, gripping the handle as if he was warding death itself away. His knuckles were white with pressure, and his wide eyes locked on the man inches from himself. Don's eyes were sickly and no longer passing as human; the bags beneath them were a bruised purple, and where the whites of his eyes should be were replaced by a glassy blue. His brows dug wrinkles into his forehead like malicious scars upon skin. And the worst of it all was the death-like frown that crumpled his entire facial structure; it drew his eyes in a downward spiral, and his lips curled against his flesh like desperate hands digging into anything for hold.

With his chest exposed and either arms beside him as means to lift himself, Joe raised his blade and drudged it into Don's flesh.

Don's eyes fell like the world's light upon an empty room, and the sharp inhale in his throat thrummed akin to the death rattle. Despite the metal lodged deep within his chest, he managed the strength to drag himself from his home's grasp and to lay on the freezing tile below him. Joe's hands left his mouth as he let out some visceral shout that made cherubs above weep. He scurried across the soaked floor to examine the man before him. Joe slammed himself down upon the floor and struggled to lift him, eventually draping Don's being across his own. Don's arms rested against Joe's bent knees, and his head tilted into his chest with slowing breaths beating against his sweater. The remaining warmth of his breath settling on his own shoulder resembled the comfort of a blanket upon a child's cold body. Joe felt static piercing through his brain and throughout his ears.

He slid his trembling hand to grab the hilt of his blade, yanking it from between Don's ribs with a crumbling expression upon his face. Where the stab wound remained open, Joe rested his hand on its opening and let the blood seep onto his skin. He lowered them to graze the rest of Don's torso, creating an up and down rhythm almost as if to comfort him. He felt a dread in his stomach nothing in his life had ever compared to; he had killed numerous times before this, and for pettier reasons. But the understanding of what he had just done settled upon him like the smothering embrace of a rotting being. Joe lost any remaining thoughts in his mind as small, breaking moans passed the pursing lips of Don.

Don's body felt washed by shades of baby blue. His eyed fixated on an empty and quickly fading horizon. The right side of his body held a sensation that reminded him of familiarity; dripping water and warm waves caressing his flesh. Though this time, the sea seemed to be accompanied by rainfall. Don couldn't muster the strength to look up, let alone turn his head, but he felt warm droplets fall upon his hair. The fog that began swallowing his mind didn't allow him to understand where the water's source was coming from. They dropped rapidly now, dripping enough so that they slid across his own cheeks; they made up for the lack of his own tears. The air that was becoming increasingly hard to keep in his grasp now filled with a tune, a rhythm similar to those he practiced when dancing.

"Je suis désolé, je suis vraiment désolé, oh..."

Don couldn't understand the words, couldn't sing along to the beautiful tune that seemed to hail from Heaven itself. It broke his heart a bit, seeing that one of his greatest attributes was his ethereal singing voice. But the words soothed his soul, and held this wonderous ability to make his eyes feel comfortable closing.

"Oh, mon Dieu... Oh, mon Dieu, pardonne-moi... Pardonne-lui aussi..." Joe heaved, his hands clutching the bloodied skin of Don's torso. His body shook with a might that caused Don's own body to tremor along with his.

Don wished he knew what those words meant. Don wished he could hear the voice sing in his ears forever, let the melody echo throughout the chambers of his fading mind every second of every waking moment. Don's face fell cold, and his body felt as if it was losing its occupation; but fear never crossed his mind when his vision finally began to fade. He loved the hands running up and down his body, loved the warmth cascading against his side, loved the song, he loved this moment. He let his breath soften and slip from his mind's priorities, and now focused on shutting his eyes to rest.

The last thing Don truly felt was the slipping of beads across his collar bones.

-----

Joe removed the rosary from around Don's neck and let its wooden roses slide into a pile inside his unused pocket. He vowed that the blade would make no contact with the necklace.

Joe couldn't and didn't think as he laid the body of his sweet friend down to rest away from his own. He looked once more into the drained yet softened features of Don's face; his lips looked soft against his chin, and his brows no longer furrowed in such a dreadful way. Joe stood for moments, spending minutes staring down at the body now devoid of life on the floor. The worst sight of the entire night was the wound beneath the right side of Don's chest. And even upon staring at it, running his eyes over it again and again, Joe just couldn't think deeper about it.

He turned his back from the death that loomed behind him and exited through the double doors of the room. Joe stalked off into the night, letting the world's air solidify the agonizing tears that stained his cheeks, down to his neck.

END !! thanks 4 reading if u did and thank u 2 anybody who sees this !! now im gonna go ahead and pass out it's 11:45 PM and im sick 🩷

[hiswordsarekisses]

THE QUESTION THAT CHANGED MY LIFE:

‼️LOVER OR PROSTITUTE?‼️

by Dr. David Ryser:

A number of years ago, I had the privilege of teaching at a school of ministry. My students were hungry for God, and I was constantly searching for ways to challenge them to fall more in love with Jesus and to become voices for revival in the Church. I came across a quote attributed most often to Rev. Sam Pascoe. It is a short version of the history of Christianity, and it goes like this: Christianity started in Palestine as a fellowship; it moved to Greece and became a philosophy; it moved to Italy and became an institution; it moved to Europe and became a culture; it came to America and became an enterprise. Some of the students were only 18 or 19 years old--barely out of diapers--and I wanted them to understand and appreciate the import of the last line, so I clarified it by adding, "An enterprise. That's a business." After a few moments Martha, the youngest student in the class, raised her hand. I could not imagine what her question might be. I thought the little vignette was self-explanatory, and that I had performed it brilliantly. Nevertheless, I acknowledged Martha's raised hand, "Yes, Martha." She asked such a simple question, "A business? But isn't it supposed to be a body?" I could not envision where this line of questioning was going, and the only response I could think of was, "Yes." She continued, "But when a body becomes a business, isn't that a prostitute?" The room went dead silent. For several seconds no one moved or spoke. We were stunned, afraid to make a sound because the presence of God had flooded into the room, and we knew we were on holy ground. All I could think in those sacred moments was, "Wow, I wish I'd thought of that." I didn't dare express that thought aloud. God had taken over the class.

Martha's question changed my life. For six months, I thought about her question at least once every day. "When a body becomes a business, isn't that a prostitute?" There is only one answer to her question. The answer is "Yes." The American Church, tragically, is heavily populated by people who do not love God. How can we love Him? We don't even know Him; and I mean really know Him.... I stand by my statement that most American Christians do not know God--much less love Him. The root of this condition originates in how we came to God. Most of us came to Him because of what we were told He would do for us. We were promised that He would bless us in life and take us to heaven after death. We married Him for His money, and we don't care if He lives or dies as long as we can get His stuff. We have made the Kingdom of God into a business, merchandising His anointing. This should not be.

We are commanded to love God, and are called to be the Bride of Christ--that's pretty intimate stuff. We are supposed to be His lovers. How can we love someone we don't even know? And even if we do know someone, is that a guarantee that we truly love them? Are we lovers or prostitutes? I was pondering Martha's question again one day, and considered the question, "What's the difference between a lover and a prostitute?" I realized that both do many of the same things, but a lover does what she does because she loves. A prostitute pretends to love, but only as long as you pay. Then I asked the question, "What would happen if God stopped paying me?"

For the next several months, I allowed God to search me to uncover my motives for loving and serving Him. Was I really a true lover of God? What would happen if He stopped blessing me? What if He never did another thing for me? Would I still love Him? Please understand, I believe in the promises and blessings of God. The issue here is not whether God blesses His children; the issue is the condition of my heart. Why do I serve Him? Are His blessings in my life the gifts of a loving Father, or are they a wage that I have earned or a bribe/payment to love Him? Do I love God without any conditions? It took several months to work through these questions. Even now I wonder if my desire to love God is always matched by my attitude and behavior. I still catch myself being disappointed with God and angry that He has not met some perceived need in my life. I suspect this is something which is never fully resolved, but I want more than anything else to be a true lover of God.

So what is it going to be? Which are we, lover or prostitute? There are no prostitutes in heaven, or in the Kingdom of God for that matter, but there are plenty of former prostitutes in both places. Take it from a recovering prostitute when I say there is no substitute or unconditional, intimate relationship with God. And I mean there is no palatable substitute available to us (take another look at Matthew 7:21-23 sometime). We must choose.

[tanadrin]

went back and listened to the episodes on david bokovoy's personal experience with religion, and man, it's funny just how different the stuff that people twig on in their experience of faith is--for bokovoy, even as a scholar of biblical criticism, it really isn't the truth claims of the LDS church that were ever a problem for him. like his academic career definitely primed him to move from a more orthodox, small-c conservative theology to a more expansive one (and he remains a pretty spiritual guy in general from the sound of it), but the thing that really started to fuck him up was the church's insistence on beating the anti-gay-marriage drum, starting with proposition 8, and culminating in the 2015 declaration about the children of gay parents not being welcome in the church unless they denounced them.

and it's a little infuriating to listen to him talk about how he feels about the LDS church after all of that--this whole "the leadership are good people deep down, i just disagree with them on this." like, come on, dude. i get that you're a straight guy whose experiences with mormonism have been generally very positive, but you are also self-aware enough to talk with compassion about LGBT people, about the experience of having a gay daughter, about the way in which people raised in Mormonism who are gay or even just a little bit nonconformist in some aspect of their life can have a really brutal time of it, and yet you cling to this idea of the organization as having some noble core, some inherently good quality that is only failing in its ultimate expression. he even talks about the experience of watching a movie that dramatizes the way different faith leaders came together during the civil rights movement, and having a moment of acute discomfort remembering that at the same time the leadership of the LDS church was still racist as hell in its teachings and policy

like, you should not be afraid to admit that the LDS church fucking sucks! it's always fucking sucked! most organized religion fucking sucks, and the organized religion that doesn't fucking suck has mostly gotten there by virtue of progressives splintering off and forming organizations that retain only a general flavor of the awful bullshit they grew up with and none of the core dogmas. i don't know of a human organization from the beginning of time that rigidly patrols boundaries of identity politics and creates structures of authority based on spirituality that didn't rapidly collapse into tyranny, a grift, or both, except the ones that were already that from the beginning.

and this, i suppose, is my disappointment with even the very open-minded progressives that John Dehlin interviews, which is that they want to redeem an organization that i think is fundamentally unredeemable. no particular shade to mormonism here--I think the Catholic church is also fundamentally unredeemable. hell, if i knew more about tibetan buddhism, i'd probably think that whole hierarchy was fundamentally unredeemable as well. the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints cannot become progressive on LGBT issues and honestly pursue truth and cease to misrepresent its history and spend its money on helping the poor and needy instead of conservative political campaigns and exploiting eighteen year olds to do morally questionable missionary work in third world countries without ceasing to be the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, and its leadership knows this. for the exact same reason the Roman Catholic church can't go "lol you know what, our bad, this Pope guy isn't all that he's cracked up to be" and remain the Roman Catholic church.

i mean ultimately bokovoy doesn't go to church anymore; he says that the 2015 declaration was kind of the straw that broke the camel's back, and even if it was revoked tomorrow, it's not like he'd start going back. i assume he's not tithing anymore either. and he seems like a generally very gentle soul who wants to see the best in people, and i don't want to get on his case too much about that, because i admire that. but man, i think it's kind of disappointing to watch someone as apparently smart and compassionate as he is work himself into knots to excuse the behavior of the leadership of an organization like that when the simplest explanation is just that these people are assholes on a fundamental level and always have been.