#pills guitar strap

[callmeblake]

Awesome find!

I hope you don't mind me jumping on this ask, but that page still exists with far more photos that actually work.

These two are a bit far down.

hope you're doing well and having a good frank month so far!!

ty for being a great friend!!

01/21/2005 birmingham academy – blackvelvetmagazine.com

oml i have no idea how i didn’t see this THANK YOU LOVE MWAH MWAH MWAH

he’s so crunchy i love 🥺 AND THE PILL STRAP SHANABDNAAARGHHDJABDBWKWNSNS I NEED TO BLEND HIM ❤️❤️❤️❤️

[bitchfitch]

His house was haunted by the ghost of his childhood imaginary friend. Evan knew it as well as he knew that describing Evi as his "Childhood" imaginary friend was... deceptive at best.

The cabinets opened on their own, Evi's favorite sorts of items would vanish from their place around the home and reappear under Evan's bed, he would wake up in the middle of the night to the feeling of someone crawling into his bed and laying beside him. An ice cold hand on his chest, a smooth mask of a face would tuck itself against his side as Evi wormed his way under his arm. Evi's voice, sweet and cracking like poorly annealed glass, would seep into the spaces between his drowsy thoughts as he fell back asleep. The words as saccharine as they are vicious.

Evi used to be his muse, the beautiful world they'd made together had been the inspiration for the music that launched Evan into stardom. Evi gave Evan everything that was good in his life. How could Evan leave him? Why was he left to be forgotten all those years ago?

How dare Evan call him back from the obscurity of memory now that his life was over.

In the morning there would be burns where Evi's golden claws dragged against his skin.

His house was haunted by the ghost of his imaginary friend and it's presence was as much a balm as it were a thorn. Like the injectables that used to make Evi feel as real in the waking world as he did in their dreams.

Evi broke things when he got bored. Framed pictures. Gifts from people more real than Evi but who's friendship with Evan had been just as imaginary. Anything from the period Evan spent in rehab after he followed Evi out of a third story window at a party.

Evan would find those ruined fragments of his life when it was at its peak, his mind would tell him he should mourn the broken flower pot that was painted by the first girlfriend he'd had who cared enough to discourage his smoking habit. That he should be furious with Evi for breaking it even though it had been Evan alone that ruined that relationship. He wasn't. He was numb as he picked up the pieces and set them back on the shelf Evi had knocked them off of. The small memories it had held, the beads from broken bracelets and guitar picks with concert dates written on them were left on the tile for the maid service to deal with next time he cared enough to call them.

His pill bottles kept going missing too, when he found them their contents would be gone. What Evi did with the antidepressants and pain killers was a mystery, but Evan had caught him dropping the sleeping pills into his drinks. He wondered where Evi learned that trick every time he poured them out and what it said about the man Evan used to be or the company he used to keep that the childish figment of his imagination knew about the concept of date rape drugs.

Ambien had too strong of a taste to really work the way Evi was hoping it would.

The ghost of his childhood imaginary friend was haunting his home and he had no desire to do anything about it. The mess of jealous destruction, the quiet humming from just over his shoulder, the nights spent frozen by sleep paralysis while Evi straddled his hips and traced his claw along the strap holding Evan's breathing tube in place. It never felt like a threat. He Knew Evi too well for that.

The dark gave the illusion that Evi was really there. His weight and the chill of his glass skin, the soft clink of his body brushing against itself. It was so easy to drift off with the impression that Evi's invisibility was merely the fault of his human eyes.

It was a comfort after the months of isolation. Of doctors appointments and lawyers and every relationship in his life dissolving like the pills Evi kept dropping in his drinks.

Unlike every friend he'd made into a household name, unlike every industry contact he'd made richer than God, Evi didn't care that he chose life over his career. If Evan let him speak again, if he took the plunge back into the same maladaptive fantasies that made Evi so real, he would be pissed with Evan as he was probably right to be, and then so sweet as he wrapped them both back up in their dreamed world.

All Evi ever wanted from him was his companionship, and he had abandoned him in favor of people who wanted him to sing for their pocketbooks until he suffocated on tumors.

The ghost of his imaginary friend haunted his home. Everyday Evan let himself become more certain of it the less ghost like Evi got. His words cut further into the waking world, his humming turned to singing the songs Evan wrote about him. Not the ones that made the most money, but the ones Evi liked the best. The ones no one but Evi had ever heard.

Evan would see him out of the corner of his eye. A flash of bright pink hair or wine bottle green legs crossed neatly beside his as they watched the movies and shows they used to talk about together for hours.

He wanted so badly to reach out to him.

He'd spent years breaking himself of the habit of doing so. He'd spent years killing Evi the only way a thought could be killed, by thinking about anything else. Evi had almost killed him. Betraying him like that had been necessary for survival. It still was.

Evi was a drug more potent and addictive than anything you could buy. The imaginary and the dreamt engulfed the real world around him, battling it like a wall holding back a tidal wave. The only way to chase him had always been to force himself deeper and further from that protection and into the storm. Every step Evan took towards him and away from shore would have Evi drifting another mile deeper.

He still wanted... He wanted what it had been when it was at its best. Evi hanging off his arm at party after party. His laugh and words so real everyone who'd partaken in whatever was on offer that night could hear him too. His muse, beautiful and adoring, would bring him water for the hangover next morning, pain killers and sleeping aids so he could drift back to their castle in the clouds where pain existed only to further the story and pleasure wasn't limited by flesh.

The first step into that sea was buying, framing, and hanging another copy of the poster he'd sold years ago. It was from an old movie that had either been lost to time or never made at all. Evan's father had been the one to hang the original up in their home when he was still just a boy.

A man stood at the front, his sword held high as a woman in a tattered white dress clung to his nearly naked, sweaty body. Beneath them, under the man's foot, was an alien with glassy skin and bright pink hair. Her face was turned away, the valley between her breasts shattered by the warriors blade as a battle raged in the background.

As a young boy Evan had fantasized about saving her. Maybe the movie gave reason for why she deserved to die, but he would never see it. He would battle the so called hero and bring the broken woman to her people who could heal her shattered heart. She'd call him her knight and kiss him like he were the sort of man who starred in these sorts of movies.

She became Evi so gradually that Evan couldn't remember when each little change came. He did know it was the other boys at school making fun of him for having a girl imaginary friend that made her into a him though, even if Evan still thought of Evi as a woman in the secrecy of his mind.

If Evi cared he'd never said anything. He called himself Evan's king just as often as he called himself queen. A creature as fluid as the thoughts that made him.

His house was haunted by the ghost of his imaginary friend. Evan could hear him clearly now when he stood in his in home recording studio where the poster hung between panels of sound dampening foam.

"I miss you, my Knight."

"You've been asleep for so long but still I guard you here in our castle. Our bed is warm with you, your body hasn't aged a day, your strength remains. Please wake up. Please come home so I'm not alone anymore. You promised to save me. You promised."

"What did I do to anger you? Please I'll kneel at your feet and apologize until you believe me. I'm so so sorry. Please wake up. Please my Knight."

It's been weeks since another living person spoke to him.

He was right to kill Evi. He was. He was. He tells himself that in his home that's too large for one man.

Evi took the real world away. Made life boring. Made him walk out a window thinking he'd fly. Evi would kill him without ever meaning too.

The life he'd killed Evi to lead dissolved the second he refused to let himself die. He was right to go through with the surgery. He was right to set himself onto this path of isolation. He'll live a long life. A long life with too much money and too much empty space around him.

He knew Evi better than he knew himself. He'd made him after all. There was no one around to encourage his bad habits anymore. No one pushing heroine and designer MDMA into his hands. He'd even quit smoking.

Before Evan lived that rock-star life, Evi and his maddening influence was as benign as the water lapping at the shores of a still lake. He made reality glow instead of disappear.

It wouldn't hurt to indulge in one addiction now that the others were gone. He's been handling Evi for nearly 30 years, he can hold him close and be fine. He can.

Evan didn't need sleep aids to find his way to their dream, but with how often Evi tried to slip them into his drink, it felt right to take a half dose stood there before the poster. He couldn't speak to tell Evi he was on his way so the gesture would have to do.

Evi's voice snapped out of existence the instant he turned from the poster, but he felt Evi's hands on him, heard his feet clacking on the floor as he pranced in excitement, felt him grab his hand to drag him to his bedroom like they were eager lovers.

He woke up in a bed surrounded by crystalline flowers. The ceiling above was hidden from view by a fog of starry clouds. When he breathed, he felt the air rush through his sinuses and down a throat cancer had never touched.

Evi was on him in an instant, his hands dove into Evan's hair as he kissed him like he was attempting to make up for the time they spent apart. Evan returned the enthusiasm, licking into the sugar of Evi's mouth as he grabbed his hips to keep him close while Evan fought to sit up in their bed.

He hadn't realized how ruined his waking body was until he felt no pain for the first time in years. His back didn't smart at him, his hip didn't try to lock up, his shoulders were strong enough to support his and Evi's weight when he braces on one hand. There was no low thrum of sickness in his blood, no exhaustion. Just life as it was meant to be.

When he and Evi parted, his words froze in his throat. How did he forget how gorgeous Evi was? The fan of his turquoise eyes, the needle fangs behind his split upper lip, the earnest bright joy he bore like it was his gift to the world.

He cupped Evi's jaw, his fingers pressing into the dripping waves of his molten glass hair. Evi waited for him to speak first, those eyes tracing along the features of Evan's dreamt face like it was the first time he was seeing him.

Evan hasn't spoken since he left his speech therapist in a fit of disgust at the sound of his new voice. Maybe if he hadn't built his worth around the sound of his voice. Maybe if he had forced himself to keep practicing. Maybe if he had been a different man, he wouldn't have returned.

He holds Evi, one hand still on his hip the other petting his thumb along a new sea-foam green scar on the edge of Evi's jaw. And he speaks.

"I've made a horrible mistake-"

"It's all ok now. You're home, you won't leave me again, my Knight" Evi cocks his head his darlingness takes on a razor's edge of warning "Isn't that right?"

[xxfangirl365xx]

Idk if I've posted this b4 or not but I LOVE the strap for his guitar omg. The pills on the while contract, the NJ at the bottom, the J in the heart at the top

it's so sick <3

[beetlejuicesgraveyardrevue]

mcrtuals please help i am trying to find a very specific picture of frank iero to show to my girlfriend and I’m having the hardest time finding it because tumblr’s search system is so broken. It’s revenge era frank, mouth open, red eyeshadow on, and his guitar strap is white with the little pink and yellow and blue pills on it, and I think he is possibly laying on the floor? It’s a very close up picture. Please help :(

[bullet-prooflove]

Thursday ‘Western Style' Radio Prompt List

Please check the updated character list on my pinned post to see who I am writing for before submitting a prompt!

Also read the rules and do not forget to put the entire prompt into your ask!

I've been carrying my trouble In this pack strapped to shoulder

But then he turned and put a gun to my head

Stealing kisses at the break of dawn

And all the clouds are black as nightfall But all I see is you

I got a diamond in my pocket And my baby's got a heart of gold

So girl, leave your boots by the bed, we ain't leavin' this room

Time's were tough, we had to let it go

Something must've changed your mind But I don't want to know about it

I've been running from everything I know

I'm out of money and I'm all out of time

I sobered up, I swore off that stuff forever this time

And we've been dancing all around it

And rain's pourin' through the windowpanes

Nobody knows about my trouble Except for my baby and me

It used to be our favorite song Now it's just a broken record

He pulled the trigger and I fell to my knees

Well, it didn't take too long For the pills and the bottom of a bottle To dig a deep grave with a shovel And bury everything that a young boy needs

A heart on the run keeps a hand on the gun, it can't trust anyone

For all the reasons that I never understood why I feel alone, baby

I can wait all night But that won't bring you home

Gonna take her on a midnight ride

Familiar face, a stranger's touch

But I found me a guitar One lonely night in a border town My pain, I started to right it down But it wouldn't stay away from me

I guess that's what you do when you love someone

And a smile across your face And tell me that you love me

We can live a lie and still get by But that don't make it true

Oh feel my love, honey

Put your faith to the test when I tore off your dress

Checked myself into the lost and found What do you know, my baby come for me

Oh don't give up on me cause im coming down

You can't love someone into loving you

But darlin' I could love you well

Now I'm living the good life Away from all of the bad advice

But home was a dream, one I'd never seen 'til you came along

So cover me up and know you're enough to use me for good

I take every day like it's a paradise

We'll go swim our cares away

[saintyveningstar]

Overture to "A Midsummer Night's Dream", Op. 21: Allegro di molto

Cliff gets his little sister out of drug trouble with their parents

Cliff turns down the volume on his bass when he hears shouting coming from the living room. Like a child, he peeks his head out of his bedroom door to snoop. 

"Simone, a fourth of the alcohol is missing, and then this?! Explain this!" Their mother shouts, and Cliff is surprised. His little sister Simone has always been a goody two-shoes, as far as he could remember. 

A fourth of the Alcohol missing? He thought, What else did they find?

"Simone, answer your mother." Ray says, and Cliff has a feeling that whatever they found was bad. Of course, his mother didn't particularly like it, but they let him grow weed in the house and sell it out of his backpack — so whatever Simone had must've been horrible.

He heard his little sister's voice, "I-It's not mine."

"It was in your bathroom, Simone!"

"Mama ... I—" She's at a loss for words now, she doesn't know what to say.

Cliff decided he should intervene. And hey, It probably wasn't hers. Oh, and that alcohol missing? Yeah, that was him. What, he didn't think they'd actually notice.

He pulled the guitar strap over his head, and left his bass on the nearest flat surface he could find — which happened to be his cluttered desk. Whatever, he'd fuckin ... buff out the scratches later, he guesses.

He stalks into the living room, where Simone is standing sheepishly in front of their parents, crying. There was a little baggie of yellow, red, pink, and white pills. Then, there was another little baggie with white powder in it.

Holy shit.

"Oh shit, Ma, you found it! I've been looking everywhere for those!" He said.

"Mind your language, Cliff, c'mon." Ray said, rolling his eyes.

"Yeah, sorry about that. Is that what all this is about, these pills?" He asked.

"So these are yours, then?" Jan asked.

"Yeah, you didn't know? You thought they were Simone's? C'mon, Ma."

"You said you wouldn't use marijuana as a gateway drug, Clifford. That's what we agreed."

"Mom, I have them with the intent to sell. My bass is coming out of the shop soon, which means I have to pay soon. Relax. Hey, maybe you should take one of these." Cliff said, matter of factly.

"Alright, boy." Ray said, "That's enough. Get your ... pills off the table. Take your sister with you."

Jan crossed her arms, practically turning her nose up. Cliff took the drugs off of the end table, looking his sister in her eyes and nodding towards the hallway. Simone followed him back to his room, and he closed the door behind them.

"Have a seat." He said, going over to his radio and turning the volume up. His parents didn't need to hear this conversation. Cliff sat down on the bed across from her, wiping his nose and sniffing. "Ya owe me, Simba."

Simone was still crying, wiping her eyes. "They really aren't mine, Cliff. I swear—"

"Hey, I believe you. You're going to make yourself faint if you don't calm down. Breathe, you're not in trouble anymore." He said. "Now, why do you have PCP ... and whatever this stuff is?" he held them up.

"My friend, Libby, her boyfriend is like a dealer, I guess, and he was going to get in trouble at school. We were on the bus, and she stuffed it in my backpack right before her stop. And I didn't know what to do, so I hid it in the bathroom." She looked up at Cliff, barely meeting his eyes. She expected him to be disappointed in her, but she only saw his heart breaking.

Cliff clicked his tongue,"Libby's not your friend, Simone." He said, softly. "She sees you as a scapegoat. You don't have to snitch or anything, but cut her out of your life. It's as simple as that. Did you take any?"

"No, never." She shook her head.

"Good, that's good. Cause then, I'd have to kick your ass."

Simone smiled and laughed, "But what are we gonna do with them? I can't just keep them."

"What, did you think I was kidding? Those repairs ain't gonna pay for themselves, Simba. These are my drugs now." Cliff chuckled.

"Seriously?"

"Hey, what do you say I give you 'bout .. mm, 20%. Can we call it a deal?"

Simone held out for hand for him to shake, smiling widely, and Cliff took it. Then, he pulled her into a hug. 

"Yeah, we can call it a deal."

[basment-bunni]

pill guitar strap Frank my beloved

[quickspinner]

Indelible Ch 20 - Blackletter

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19 | Chapter 20 | Chapter 21 | ?? | AO3

I am so sorry this chapter took so long, and I feel like it's not at all epic enough to make up for the delay. I was just super stuck on how I was going to accomplish what I needed to in the next few chapters. I knew what needed to happen, but I was having a lot of trouble figuring out how to do it. Now that I actually have a plan, hopefully there won't be quite as much of a delay for the next update.

It had been one of those days where everything was going wrong. To his credit, Yann was living up to Penny’s endorsement, seemingly everywhere at once as he straightened out issues. He shooed Luka off when it was time for stage rehearsal. “I got this,” Yann said firmly. “Go do the things only you can do.”

With a slight smile and a shake of his head, Luka left him to it. It was a relief to be able to focus on the music, to be honest. He made a mental note to send a ‘thank you’ text to Penny. 

Luka knew something was wrong as soon as he stepped on the stage. He blinked at the lights, and looked over at Yann, pacing in the wings with his phone glued to his ear. 

“Yo, are we ready?” Crusher called, adjusting the strap of his bass.

“Yeah,” Luka said, facing forward. He’d talk to Yann about the lights later. “All right, gather round, let’s talk it through.”

They made it through the first two songs of the set before Luka began to struggle. It started just as a normal ache behind his eyes, the kind he could usually power through. He knew it was not a normal headache when it began to settle behind one eye and pulse out of sync with the beat, making his fingers fumble as he tried to sort out his internal rhythm from Dingo’s enthusiastic banging on the drums and the thrum of Crusher’s bass. He knew he was in trouble then, but they still had a show to do, and he kept playing as he tried to decide what to do about it.

Before he could come to any kind of decision, it was taken out of his hands; the pain and the sudden sensation of the room tilting brought him to his knees halfway through the fourth song in the set.

He heard the clatter of instruments behind him and then someone was lifting his guitar off him.

“His pills are in his guitar case, go grab them,” he heard Dingo snap. “Stubborn git,” Dingo growled as he reached down and grabbed Luka’s arms, pulling him back to his feet. Luka’s stomach lurched and he bent over. Dingo ducked under his arm, keeping him upright. “Hang on, mate.”  Luka just focused on keeping his lunch down and wished the room would right itself. He hated the vertigo almost more than the pain. 

Dingo flipped his own garish, pineapple-shaped yellow shades up from his eyes and looked out across the stage. “It was the lights, wasn’t it? They're wrong.” He swore, dropping the sunglasses back into place. “Why can’t you just be a diva like the old man and start screaming until they fix shit?”

“Please shut up,” Luka said weakly, wincing away from Dingo’s always-loud voice. Dingo cursed and looked over his shoulder. 

“I got them,” Jenna said, reaching around Luka to hand Dingo a small round metal case with a snake and flowers engraved on it.

Dingo grunted his thanks. “Been a while since you needed these, mate.” He got one of the pills out and Luka grimaced but opened his mouth and let Dingo pop the pill in. Dingo tipped a water bottle to Luka’s lips, nearly drowning him, but Luka got enough water to swallow the pill down and the cold water splashing on his neck actually helped the nausea a little. 

“I’m fine,” he grumbled, embarrassed and frustrated as well as sick and in pain. He tried to straighten but winced, pressing a palm to his temple. 

“Fucking dumbass,” Dingo muttered. 

“What can we do?” Yann asked, and Luka blinked at him. He hadn’t seen Yann come over. 

Luka opened his mouth but Dingo cut him off. “Stuff it, Lu.” To Yann he said, “We gotta get him back to the hotel. Put him in the dark and make him lay down. The medicine will help but when he lets them get started like this they don’t like to quit.” 

“Them? What do you mean, them?” Yann demanded, and Luka just shut his eyes and let his head fall on Dingo’s shoulder. 

Getting back to the hotel was a blur. He just followed whoever tugged on him until he was standing in front of his bed. Luka curled up on it as the others switched off lights. Dingo must’ve been digging in Luka’s luggage because he brought over an herb pillow, heated in the room’s tiny microwave, and laid it over Luka’s eyes.

“I need to get back and make sure everything gets packed up correctly,” Yann worried. 

“It’s fine,” Dingo said warningly, still far too loud for Luka’s taste. “He’s not moving until morning. Right ?” 

Luka felt a none-too-gentle prod in his shoulder and grunted an affirmative. A moment later, he felt his phone pressed into his hand. 

“Call if it gets worse,” Dingo ordered, and Luka would have rolled his eyes if he could. It wasn’t as if anyone could do anything about it. The medicine was starting to ease the worst of the pain, though, and the best thing he could do for himself right now was stay in his dark little cave and sleep if he could. They had a performance tomorrow, after all. 

Stupid , he fretted to himself, as his friends left him alone in the dark.

Luka was still hurting the next morning, but the vertigo had subsided and with it, most of the nausea. He was feeling slightly more human when Yann came to check on him. 

“You should have told me about the lights,” Yann scolded, keeping his voice low.

“I should have,” Luka sighed. He accepted the reheated herb pillow Yann handed him and lay back flat on his bed, placing the heat pack over his eyes and forehead. The warmth dulled the throbbing that pulsed behind his right eye, and the smell of the herbs eased some of the tension from his muscles, easing the pain that little bit more. “You were busy and I thought I could handle it for a couple of hours,” he added. “I'm sorry.”

He heard Yann pace across the carpet and back. 

“Maybe we should—”

“No,” Luka said firmly. “I've worked through it before. We're not canceling the show. You'll make sure the lights are according to our specs this time and I'll wear my shades.” He should order another pair from Marinette so he had a spare, he thought absently. He wore the pair she had given him religiously and they helped immensely, but they weren’t going to hold together forever.

Luka heard Yann sigh and pace again, but he didn't argue. Luka appreciated that. Yann was an excellent tour manager, but he was also anxious to please after “failing” to keep up with Jagged. Sometimes Luka worried that Yann was too complying and would run himself into the ground rather than admit he couldn't accommodate even a mild preference. Today Luka was just grateful to be spared discussion on an issue that was not, so far as Luka was concerned, up for debate. 

Another sigh from Yann and then the scrape of a chair. “Will it bother you if I make some calls?” 

Luka smiled beneath his heat pack. “No. You don't have to stay with me, though. I'm not moving from this spot until sound check.”

“Let me know if you need anything,” Yann said firmly, and Luka grunted an affirmative. 

At least it wasn't Dingo, who had finally gotten it through his head (after many years of excruciating denial) that he was incapable of being around Luka without making the migraines worse. He’d taken himself off somewhere else and Luka was trying not to worry about what a bored Dingo was likely to get into.

A moment later he groaned as the familiar sound of a fist pounding on a door—the side of a fist, not the knuckles like any normal person would use—went bam bam bam through his skull. Speak of the devil and he shall appear would make a good title for their next metal song, Luka thought idly. 

 It sounded like Yann nearly knocked his chair over running to wrench the door open. 

“What the hell—” Yann began in a hissed whisper, but Dingo just yelled over his head.

“Oy, Lu, I brought you some of that tea you like. Probably not as good as Mari makes it but better’n nothing, yeah?”

“Thanks Ding,” Luka called listlessly. “Go the hell away.”

“Already gone.” 

Yann thankfully kept Dingo from slamming the door, closing it with a semi-quiet click instead. Hotel doors were always loud. 

“Just put it on the nightstand,” Luka muttered when he sensed Yann approaching.

“If it’ll help, you should drink it.”

Luka smiled from under his heat pack. “It doesn’t help. I just let Marinette think it helps because she fusses when she’s worried. I drink the tea because it stops her from hovering so much if she feels like she did something.” It was the only time her presence ever annoyed him, so he usually let her make him tea even though he thought it tasted like grass. Marinette wasn’t here now, though, and Dingo wouldn’t know if he just dumped the stuff down the sink. He adjusted the heat pack, which was the one thing that did help besides his medicines, and added, “Dingo doesn’t know because he’d never let me live it down. Don’t rat me out, please.”

Yann huffed a rare chuckle. “You’re the boss.”

Luka lay there, aware of the quiet sounds of Yann working on his laptop or tablet, and the quiet murmur of his accented voice on the phone, but not really listening. He just let himself drift, and he thought he dozed off once or twice. 

He nearly jumped out of his skin when his phone rang beside him on the bed. He had it silenced for all but VIP numbers, so he knew it had to be important, even as he registered Yann’s inarticulate protest. 

There was no way he was declining this call, though. Luka reached over and snagged his sunglasses off the nightstand, slipping them on with one hand while he answered the call with the other. 

“Marinette,” he said, smiling. “Long time no chat.” 

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that,” Marinette grinned back at him. “It’s been completely crazy here lately. I’ve hardly had time to breathe, let alone text. How’s the tour?” 

“Can’t complain,” Luka shrugged. “Some good, some bad, but I’m living the dream, right?”

“Right,” Marinette laughed, but it sounded hollow, and Luka tilted his head. “We should both be grateful we’ve had such amazing opportunities.”

“We can be grateful, and still get frustrated,” Luka said, trying not to wince as the throbbing in his head began to intensify. “What’s on your mind?”

“Oh,” she sighed. “Felix and I had a disagreement, and I’m wondering if I overreacted, or if—” she paused, leaning close to the screen. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m okay,” Luka not-quite-lied. “A disagreement about what?” 

Marinette ignored him. “You don’t look good. Your face is all tense. Do you have a headache?”

Shit . “Yeah,” he admitted, rubbing his forehead with his thumb and forefinger. “I’m okay though, tell me what’s going on.”

Marinette frowned, her brows coming together in an expression he was very familiar with, and he couldn’t help a small sigh through his nose. “Luka, you have a show tonight, don’t you?” 

He grunted affirmation. 

“Are you going to cancel it?”

“No,” he replied dully. 

Marinette’s lips thinned. “Of course you aren’t. Lay back down and rest, I can handle this myself.”

“I’m fine,” Luka protested, and Marinette rolled her eyes.

“And I’m a big girl and I can figure out my own problems. Don’t worry about me, Luka, take care of yourself. I won’t be responsible for you bombing tonight’s show because you were too busy talking to me to rest like you should.”

It was stupid to argue. The light of the phone was practically stabbing his eyes even though the glasses. Dull rebellion still burned in Luka’s chest and he sat mutely. 

“Drink some tea,” Marinette said softly, smiling at him in a way he couldn’t resent. “Lay down and rest until you have to get up. I know you’re going to power through your show one way or the other but you shouldn’t do any more than you have to. If I still need advice in a couple of days I’ll call, but it’s really nothing. I’m probably making a mountain out of a molehill like always.”

Luka sighed. “Marinette.” 

“ Goodbye, Luka ,” Marinette insisted, and then softer, “I’ll talk to you later.”

The screen went dark and Luka sighed, dropping the phone on the bed and scrubbing his hands over his face. He lay back carefully, though he really wanted to drop on the bed and pout. Yann appeared above him, the freshly re-warmed heat pack in his hands. Luka took it from him and put it back over his eyes. “Can you hand me that blue and black blanket?” he asked, gesturing in the direction of his suitcase. “Careful, it’s heavier than it looks.”

Yann found the weighted blanket and settled it over Luka. Luka wrapped his fingers around the fringe that adorned the side, specifically put there by Marinette so that Luka would have something to fiddle with. 

I had a disagreement with Felix . 

He wished she’d at least told him what it was about. Creative differences, or something more? Probably not creative differences, he thought. Marinette was good at solving those kinds of problems; she’d worked for some very demanding clients over the years. A personal conflict? Maybe. Marinette was prone to acting on her emotions and not thinking things through till afterward, so it was possible she had reacted in the heat of the moment, and was calling him for some perspective now that she had time to think it over. 

Luka knew she was just looking out for him but he hated that he had missed the chance to really talk to her. They were both so busy lately. 

Well, he’d been busy when he was with Jagged too, and they’d still managed to keep up and have real heart-to-hearts instead of the hey how you doing conversations they mostly managed these days, but…

Under the blanket Luka’s hand shifted to his side, pressing to the place where Marinette’s name was. Well, she had called him to talk about it, that was good, even if he hadn’t actually been able to help. Maybe they were finally moving past the awkwardness and they could work on getting back to normal. Or maybe that wasn’t what she wanted, and he’d have to settle for something a little less close than what they’d had. Maybe that was better for both of them. As long as she was still in his life, that was what mattered. 

God, his head hurt. He needed to stop thinking. There were too many people depending on him to let himself spiral and make things worse. He already felt stupid enough. He should have warned Yann about his headaches. He should have spoken up when he realized the light settings weren’t right. So many people depended on him, and if they canceled the show there would be rescheduling and cancellations and refunds, and even though Lucille said things were going well he didn’t know if they could afford that. And now Marinette was finally reaching out to him and he was too laid up to help. He just—he hadn’t had one this bad since his first days of touring with Jagged, before Jagged’s head tech had worked out a light setup that didn’t trigger him. He thought he could handle the lights being a little brighter than usual for just the one rehearsal. And what was the stupid medicine for, anyway, if it didn’t keep him from being laid out like this? 

The throbbing was getting worse again. Luka focused on unclenching his jaw, taking slow breaths. He had to be ready to go on stage tonight. He had to. 

“Hey, Yann. Hand me my headphones, please?” 

He heard Yann shuffle. “Are you sure?” 

“Yeah. Please.” 

A moment later Yan pressed them into his hand. Luka opened his eyes long enough to put them on and start one of his progressive relaxation guided meditations, and then settled back on the bed, following the directions to tense and relax each of his muscles. 

By the time Yann shook his shoulder gently and told him it was time for sound check, Luka felt able to stand. He took another dose of medication and spent as much time as he could backstage in the dark, with headphones dulling the noise. When the time came, he was able to smile out at the crowd from behind his sunglasses, under lights dimmer than usual and tinted green instead of bright white. Somehow, he made it through, even if it felt like the cheers were stabbing through his head. 

They rolled out the next day with Luka curled up in the backseat of the van, wearing his headphones and a sleep mask over his eyes that Crusher was probably never going to let him live down, with a cup of that stupid grassy tea in the cupholder near his head. It wasn’t ideal; the back of the van bounced and jolted with every little bump in the road, but it was enough for Luka to feel like he could breathe again. They had another day before their next show, and while he might be useless until then, Luka felt reasonably confident he would recover in time. It’s just pain , he told himself. It’ll end when it ends. He just had to wait it out.

As he pulled up the heavy blanket Marinette had made him, he thought of her, and wished he’d had a chance to call her back. Maybe by the next morning, he’d be feeling well enough. He hoped she’d be okay until then. Or maybe she’d have figured the problem out on her own by the time he called, and they could laugh over it together in between her scolding him about neglecting his health. He kind of missed that.

Tomorrow , he promised himself, adjusting his mask, and turning on a playlist of quiet, instrumental music that would be soothing rather than jarring. Tomorrow, he’d call her.

Fiction Master Post

[the-last-concert]

Chapter Twenty Three: All We Know is Falling

Pepper

Three Hours Before the Last Concert

“Everybody better be in their place!” Big Man shouted from the stage. He was directing pre-showing orders, and employees were moving around like a lost herd of sheep. Pepper saw Big Man pop some pills before Clarissa handed him water to down it. He didn’t even know what kind they were. Illegal or counter medicine. But he shoved the plastic bottle back to her without a single glance. Then he jumped off the stage to bully a  prop  worker. “Come on. You know where the piece goes. You must not like being employed.” 

Pepper shook his head, no longer caring to watch the harassment of concert preppers. He just unhooked his guitar case to prepare for the final rehearsal. 

“Damn, he’s on one tonight, isn’t he?” Speedy had his headset gear on and a dark Zero Morale long-sleeve. He placed his hand on Pepper’s back. “Don’t let his sour mood fuck with you.”

“It ain’t.” Pepper grabbed Dandelion close to his side. “I have bigger dreams to think about.” 

Speedy grinned. “That’s the spirit.” He patted his back several times. Each hit was harder than the last. Pepper glared at him, provoked. Speedy ignored him. “Well, rest up. We should start the last rehearsal soon.” 

“Speedy?” He called.

Speedy spun around. “Yeah?” 

“Uh, thanks.” Pepper said. “You know, for uh- for everything.” 

Speedy acted like he was crying, but he patted his own heart before walking away slowly. Pepper wanted to punch him in that exact spot. But he refrained. He had to get serious. His whole music career depended on this show. 

“Pepper!” Hayley shouted, when Paramore made their way to the stage. She had a baseball cap on and a sweatsuit combination. He looked at the rest of the band's attire. He should’ve dressed comfortably too, but he always made it a tradition to rehearse what he was going to wear on stage. She threw up two devil signs. “Are you ready to kill this?” 

“Absolutely.” Pepper responds, pumping himself up. He puts Dandelion’s strap around his neck. “Let’s blow this joint.” 

————————

“And that’s a wrap on the final rehearsal.” The stage manager said. “Everyone- there’s refreshments in the Main room. No one can leave this stadium until the end. Clear?” 

Everyone just nodded and dispersed to where the food was being held. Pepper packed up his guitar to carry it into the dressing room. He remained hopeful. He performed at his best. He knew because of all the employees greeting and cheering him on once it was over. 

He couldn’t eat. He didn’t know what it was. But the tickling sensation in his stomach suggested it was a good time to take a nap. He’s been taking his meds on the regular. He didn’t want another incident like Santa Monica. How would he look if he blacked out on stage? How would Moggie view him then? He entered the dressing room, and thankfully there was no one else there. He put Dandelion near him as he passed out on the couch. Maybe the exhaustion was catching up to him. They have been going hard for three days straight.

“Look alive.” Speedy called to him. Pepper woke up from his nap. He blinked, focusing on Speedy grinning over him like a fucking weirdo. “It’s time to go.” 

Hell. 

Pepper’s heart was pounding through his chest now. Moggie…..They were finally going to see her. He had to remain calm. Aloof. He wasn’t going to let Speedy catch on how excited he was. No. Excited was too fucking plain. For her. It had to be galvanized. And man…. Was he galvanized by Moggie in every feeling known on the planet. Now, He had a real chance to be with her, and nothing was stopping this. Not even his best friend for over two decades. 

“Alright…..” He threw his lucky beanie and jacket on. “Let’s go.” 

[tyforthevnm]

Birmingham Academy | January 21, 2005 | Shari Black Velvet  

[callmeblake]

January 12th, 2003* Starland Ballroom Sayreville, NJ

I always thought these were 2004 pics, so they are getting that tag too

[click for hd]

[credit; elyse jankowski for scarsandstars.net]

[source]

[eddie-luvs-mcr]

[jemmo]

I need us as a society to talk more about ohm's amazing acting choices for pat and I love all the posts I read this week and in particular the complexity he added to him. THE LAYERS. but you know the layer I love the most? His softness. Because oh god do I love getting lost in that amazing part of pat. The way he acts, the way he speaks and his mannerism in those moments are chef's kiss. You always talk about how pat is pure like he was never touched by the horrible world around him and that's such a perfect description. But he is also soft as hell. And isn't afraid to show it too. I was just watching the bus stop scene and the guitar one in ep3 and you can see I'm going through it. I love everything ohm gave to pat. That man is brilliant.

*rolls up sleeves* oh dear precious anon you have given me the chance to rant and rant i will. strap in.

ohm is something else. seriously. i cannot even begin to go about expressing how much adoration i have for this man and what he gave to us through pat. its astounding. im gonna reference what ohm said in the ep 12 reaction on jennie's yt channel just bc its fresh in my mind and bc it perfectly captures the things i wanna praise ohm for. he spoke about how pat is very much like him, we've heard him say this a billion times, and its very obvious they are similar types of people in the way they behave; playful, silly, tactile, but also very frank and honest and serious when its called for, when important things are happening or being discussed, or when they're sharing their emotions. but ohm also said two things i wanna focus in on; how pat can act like this given the background he has, a background very different to ohm's, and how ohm can make people think the person on screen is pat, not ohm. and its funny, bc i think these things feed into each other and made him successful in both.

i feel like pat's background is something ohm dug into a lot and really studied and considered and built up to deliver his performance. he wanted that through line so he could deliver a fully realised pat, he needed to figure out why, despite his upbringing and family situation and his father and the feud and so on, pat could be so cheerful and goofy and care-free on the surface. im not exactly sure what that through line is, but whats important is that i see it. i see that pat is not a bunch of separate people or personalities. there isn't the pat with pran, the pat with his friends and the pat with his father; they're all pat. yes his behaviour shifts but all his personality traits mix and affect each other. nothing is is simple, nothing is by the book, nothing is just as it seems on the cover. everything has this air of something else underlying it, bubbling under the surface. im not even sure how to perfectly describe it, its just there (i hope you know i actually just sat and cried for 5 mins bc i was just thinking about pat too much and it broke me but we continue).

you can see that pat is not just a one dimensional set of descriptors pilled into a body. he is a person, a living breathing human. you can see what his core personality traits are and how they have been altered by his childhood and his current environment, by the people he's known and knows now, and how they manifest differently in certain situations and around certain characters. its like... when he's with pran, hes adorable and smiley but that pang of pain and loneliness and hatred for the world and press of expectations never fully goes away. and even when he's at his saddest or angriest, that innate kindness and care and goodness in his heart is still present. sometimes you look at him and just see a kid that wanted a friend, but instead was moulded into something he didnt want to be, and yet he still holds on to the warmth and want for happiness thats so integral to him. and i think its so incredible that we see him in so many ways, in so many different lights; happy, sad, angry, cheeky, horny, hurt, jealous, excited, in love etc, and they're all pat. none of them are shocking, none of the ways he acts when feeling these emotions feel un-pat-like. i rlly dont know how he does it, but its just like pat will do something, react a certain way in a new situation and i'll just be like 'yeah, ofc he'd act like that, he's pat, thats what pat would do'. nothing is out of character, everything makes sense!! its so well thought out and crafted, but you can tell all that work was done beforehand so it could be ingrained into the performance, which allowed ohm to act so naturally and impulsively, bc he was living that character. he wasnt thinking 'what would pat do?' bc he already knew. he is pat and this is what pat does. its just AMAZING.

and as for his softness, i rlly rllyyyyy RLLLYYYYY adore this aspect of pat. it would've been so easy, given the kind of role he's fulfilling, to make pat very trope-ey. he could've been a jock/boy's boy/hot-head that is only softened by love, who only reveals that side to his lover, bc its his lover that brings it out of him. very much a man's man that will only act cute with his boyfriend much to his own embarrassment and at the sacrifice of manliness. but pat is so so soooooo far from this. his cute and soft demeanour is just pat. yes he's like it the most around pran, but you see him be goofy and sweet and kind with pa and his mom, he's like it when he goes home in ep 12 much to the annoyance of his father. he's dumb and playful with his friends in similar ways he is with pran and it shows us that this is pat, not just pat with pran, it’s who he always is, it’s just he shines brightest with pran. and i love that this softness is so integral and central to a character who is also very manly. i spoke before about how I don’t pats ‘manly’ aspects are just present bc of his fathers expectations, I think that rlly is pat, and I love that he can be all those typically manly things while also being so cute and adorable, and also while being caring and thoughtful and emotional and open. toxic masculinity is all about men feeling like they can’t open up, can’t be vulnerable, can’t be soft, they must be strong and stable 24/7. pat shows us that that’s just not true.

you are not any more of a man bc you hold your feelings in. christ, pat’s whole thing is that he can’t sit with his emotions, he has to be open and honest, it’s like a compulsion. and he doesn’t see being vulnerable and honest as a weakness or a sacrifice, he sees as something he needs in order to live fully. he truly wears his heart on his sleeve, but in a way where he’s almost adamant that he will feel and think and live how he wants. all his emotions are right there and he will feel them and share them bc otherwise he feels like he’s living half a life, and as someone who probably had to hide so much as a child, I can so see where that desire and will comes from. and that kind of resilience matched with his cuteness is perfection. bc it’s like his softness is defiant, his adorableness is an unconscious statement that he will live every moment with pure joy. he will not hide, he will not restrict, he will not pretend. that does not make him the man he is. he will play stupid games and pull cute faces and say his cheesy one liners bc for him, being a man is about sharing the kindness and happiness in his heart with the world, creating a warmer and brighter place for the people around him, and I just find that so admirable.

we go on and on about pat being best boy, but it’s so overwhelmingly true, bc i sincerely believe he’s such a great role model for how to just live. live happy and and honest and whole. and i think if we all just lived a little bit more like pat the world would be such a kinder place, and that’s something i can’t thank ohm enough for.

[bored-storyteller]

Oh my, thank you!  Thanks for bringing this to me, I love Sally Face! It's one of my favorite indie games ever! I really hope it meets your expectations.

NOTES: I imagined the more adult Sal, but beyond that there are no other references to the timeline of the original story, except some canonical episodes mentioned.

34- Sally Face - Sal Fisher x Reader

"You can see me"

With a last glance at the clock, you quickly close the water bottle, at the same time grabbing the full glass in the same hand that you also hold the medicine box.

You're pretty sure you find Sal in his room, probably bent over his guitar. Surely it is for that reason that he has not paid attention to his therapy.

It doesn't happen often, in fact, it rarely happens that you have to rush to his rescue, nor do you really like doing it. You don't know how he really feels about it.

Knowing where he keeps his medicines and knowing when he has to take them doesn't make you two a couple. Not even living under the same roof makes you a couple - especially if you are not alone - nor does sharing the same room often and willingly.

In fact, even though someone often mistakes you for two young lovers, you don't really know what Sal thinks of you. As close as you feel him, you are not sure that he feels as close to you; on the other hand, he doesn't seem to share the same kind of intimacy with you that he shares with Larry or Ashley, or at least that's what you think.

Besides, you've never seen his face.

Yours is a purely selfish thought, and you are ashamed of it, but you cannot command feelings.

You know that the first time Larry saw his best friend's face was an accident, with Ash instead, she was the one who took the initiative. In neither case was Sal's will to make him show himself. Yet, despite this deep down, inside you, something stung excruciatingly.

When your friend had lifted his mask, Sal that time was not angry at the intrusiveness - as perhaps you would have done -, nor had he tried to escape later. It is logically normal that he now has less trouble showing himself around them. Sweet Sal, always so loving, so perfect.

You shouldn't feel offended. You know well that for Sal the prosthesis he wears is in effect his face, so it's not that he wants to hide from you, you are simply already seeing him.

Yet you know that under that face another is hidden, however much it may be disfigured. You can't pretend it isn't.

That slight annoyance you have repeatedly tried to ignore has slowly grown, but only now have you dared to call it by name. Because you like Sal. You really like him. And when you have understood this, when you have found the strength to admit it to yourself, everything is put in the right place; the joys, the jealousies you felt and feel… and also that desire to see him, to see beyond, to really see him.

But you'll never force on him for it. As simple as it would be to lift that mask to him with an excuse, you will never force him to show himself to you, even if you die with the regret of never having seen him. It's not the same, it's not the face you want to see, it's the trust you want him to give you. But you can't expect it, and you know it.

You could live with this obsession that has become so present in recent weeks that you can hardly forget it. Maybe it's just your mind that doesn't want to focus on your duties, and then it always wanders to him, aimlessly.

"What is Sal's face like?"

You asked Larry one day without realizing it. You didn't really know what you were doing with him, you just know that for a moment your brain was shut down, and when you woke up you whispered that question.

The astonished look of your friend had poured into you a flood of emotions so sudden that they almost made you cry for no reason: you felt guilty, selfish, reckless, stupid, meddlesome and terribly fragile.

You immediately lowered your gaze to protect yourself, muttering an "sorry, forget it" but never would have canceled that damn question. You thought Larry might misjudge you for that, but instead his big hand pulled you to him, ruffling your hair affectionately, saying nothing.

He seemed to have understood more than you hoped for, yet ...

You shake your head and your hand tightens on the glass of water. You knock on the door and softly call Sal's name.

"Yes?"

His answer comes a few seconds later and you feel safe in opening the door slowly.

It's not exactly what you imagined; he is sitting on the bed, his legs stretched out on the mattress and his back resting against the headboard. The guitar is stored in the case, but in his hands he holds a book with a dark cover.

His kind gaze meets you beyond that face that is always the same. It's amazing how expressive that guy can be under that stiff mask. That damn mask. That lovely mask.

"You didn't take them, did you?"

You ask softly as you lift the medicines to show them. Your voice is cracked against your will, and you're praying he didn't notice.

"Oh ..." his eyes snap to the clock hanging on the wall "thanks, I was completely forgetting about it."

His voice is soft, almost cheerful. He is not bothered by your gesture, or he is very good at hiding it.

You watch him get up to go to the bedside table where you put what he needed. You don't pay much attention to it, you just sit on the bed, picking up the book he was reading, making sure you keep your thumb between the pages, so as not to lose the mark he left.

You read the title and a few lines of the presentation absently. You're just trying to buy time with him, and you know it.

You hear it as he handles the pill box and plastic, and hear the rattle of the straps as they unfasten to release his mouth.

You don't watch it, you're used to the process and now, despite you insisting on staying there, you don't really want to watch it.

You don't understand much about the book, you just know it's about music.

"Do you like it?"

You ask, trying to give a semblance of normality.

"Enough ... actually I'm just at the beginning."

You just nod, not really being able to continue the conversation. Your head feels too full confused, but extremely empty at the same time, and you don't know why.

"Hey ... is everything okay?"

His voice makes you jump, as if he has stung you with a needle. Such a simple question, but you suddenly feel discovered, as if he has just proved he can read your mind. As if you were obliged to tell him the truth.

"Yup!"

You exclaim immediately, and without realizing your head jerks towards him, as if you wanted to assure him of the truthfulness of your words.

You don't notice it right away. You see only his blue eyes for a moment, he is looking at you with concern, more than he should.

At first you wonder if your attitude really is that troubling, but then you start to focus.

His hand trembles slightly around the glass of water, and out of the corner of your eye you can see his mask lying on his pillow.

He swallows the medicine by throwing his head back slightly, perhaps to take a break from your gaze, or to escape a little from the agitation, the fear he is having.

Sal, Sal's face. You are seeing him, free from his hiding place, while he drinks.

Surely he is disfigured, excruciatingly deformed. It's not just a few scratches, it's more, it's a real pain, yet you don't notice it.

Again, this is Sal. You're really seeing Sal's face, the face you've always loved, beyond the mask, like his mask.

He sits next to you, he's trying to act naturally, you see him, but you still see his fingers shaking against the cardboard as he puts the tablet away in the box. He did it for you.

Emotions explode in your chest and you don't bother holding them back. There is no time for any misunderstandings. You are free with him, you always have been, you don't know how you forgot this.

"Sal ..."

You call him softly, and he turns to you despite the hesitation. A light "tell me" sweet and helpful pronounced by the spoiled and shy lips.

Silently, you curl up against him, your arms glide smoothly around his chest, expressing your need to feel him close.

He welcomes you - he always does.

"Hey ..." is a faint call of him, as you hide against his neck to prevent your happiness from going out too violently.

"Thanks..." This is all you can say in your voice damp with emotion. Long last. You are like a child in front of the much desired Christmas present. You are so happy that you could carry the whole world on your shoulders.

"Thank you!" You repeat him with more conviction, and finally your eyes return to his sky-colored gaze. So beautiful, always so loving even in his placid surprise.

He looks at your wet eyes, so wet with affection for him. Your smile is so warm and true, and his lungs slowly empty of all the accumulated tension.

He didn't think anyone could look at him that way, not without his mask. He did not think that a look could be so full of love in front of his disfigured face, yet it seems that you are seeing an angel.

You look at him with your eyes shining with all the admiration you feel, and not because you can lie by saying that you are seeing a beautiful face, but because Sal is the most beautiful person you know.

"I-" His voice tries to say something, but it is cut off; this time it's up to him to be overwhelmed by emotion.

You approach slowly, and the tip of your nose touches his, practically non-existent, but you don't care. You cannot resist the desire to cuddle him, to touch him, to perceive him in every possible aspect of that intimacy that he has decided to give you.

At first he has a little jerk back, of surprise rather than fear, and soon after he is there again, looking for that touch. He is extremely uncertain, but he still responds to your unspoken requests, slowly letting his forehead rest on yours.

He exhales, as if he is releasing a great weight, but he immediately stiffens when you, without realizing it, are approaching his lips.

You wake up immediately from your numbness, before making a probable mistake, and try to get away, at least as long as his arms allow you.

"Please…"

That prayer from him is so feeble yet so meaningful. His gaze asks you to do it, to continue, because he wants it but he is still afraid of taking the initiative. He is putting the responsibility on you, and rightly so.

He is tense, you see it from his swallow and feel it from his tense muscles around you, but it's okay.

You approach again, slowly, gradually lowering your eyelids, a little by instinct and a little in the hope of putting him more at ease.

Kissing him is a special experience, and you like it - you wanted it so much -.

You are not intrusive, it is just a delicate touch, but it persists, leaving him time for him.

When he reciprocates, he does it slowly, unsure of how to proceed, probably troubled by the feelings he can give you or maybe just agitated by the situation. Yet, slowly, you feel it melt against you.

Slightly open your eyes to see that he too has closed them, and then you allow yourself to return to enjoy that moment, more peaceful and serene.

You huddle more, between yourselves, and let the desire flow through you, without going too far, simply enjoying the presence of each other, in your breaths that merge.

When you separate you do it only with your lips, but your gaze remains affectionate and aware.

In the end, that is nothing more than the confirmation of everything: of your knowing what time he should take his medicines and of his letting you know, of his knowing your favorite drink and which shower gel you always use, of cooking one by one. other, of looking so much like a couple for a long time already - and some of it is also the result of Larry's long tongue letting out a few too many words with his best friend.

You watch him as he puts his mask back on, and now you don't care anymore, because you know what's under it, and if that's his face then you've seen his soul.

Suddenly all your happiness is back. You are so happy that not even the bickering between Larry and Todd coming from the kitchen can upset you.

It must be something about the finished milk.

"I'm going to get it!"

You hum loud enough for the two to hear it, as you jump three steps at the same time, happily landing down the stairs.

Sal's laughter reaches you, and you turn to look at him. You like to see him happy, whatever the nature of that happiness.

"I come with you."

He tells you coming to you, reaching out his hand so that you can take it.

You're pretty sure you won't be able to stop smiling all night long.

*The image above is an old drawing of mine

[caffeinated-cryptid]

ashes, ashes.

10.8k | AO3 link | tags/tws: intrulogical, serial killer/deity of death au, lots of death (murder, mentions of a previous suicide attempt, and brief descriptions of animal death), injury, violence, swearing, morally grey characters, crime.

““You’re not supposed to be able to see me.” Logan blurted out with a start, eyes wide and looking at Remus like he had just killed a guy in front of him. Oh wait-

“Mamma always told me I was special.” Remus replied with a woozy grin, leaving back against the cool bricks of the alleyway. Seeing things that weren’t there was a new level of fucked-up for his brain, but hopefully that was just a side effect of hitting his head and not something he’d have to take pills for later. Either way, at least this spectre was pretty to look at. Trauma had its benefits.

“You think a deity of death is pretty?” Logan asked wryly, cutting through the stream of subconscious babble he’d accidentally spilled into the frigid night air. “I’d be flattered, if that didn’t sound like such a red flag.””

(aka: remus chases death like it's his favourite pastime, since it means he gets to see logan again. understandably, logan has some objections to this.)

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

Case 1: the man in the alley.

The first time Remus and Logan met, it was more or less a complete accident.

As a part-time warehouse operative slash freelance artist, Remus had a lot of free time between jobs, and one of the things he enjoyed doing most while waiting for his next gig to come around was spray-painting obscene images into the side of alleys. 

His latest project was a 7-foot tall purple unicorn with generous proportions. Pretty tasteful by his standards, all things considered.

If nothing else, the piece of work would give passers-by a topic of conversation, and that was always something Remus aimed to inspire with his art. These topics, however, often happened to be the ‘why’ variety. Most commonly, the old classic (and his personal favourite): ‘why are you like this?’.

Regrettably, the evening passed pretty quickly with no curious pedestrians passing by his alley and starting up such a conversation. By the time Remus finished, it was past midnight and by now the only people around were the regular nightlife-- primarily the local college kids who had recently come home and were enjoying their break from classes, and adults like himself who were trying to chase away their loneliness with some other kind of high.

...Woo, and that’s enough depressing thoughts for tonight. Remus declared to himself. After all, he had a new piece to admire! Stepping back, he spent a moment taking in the completed artwork by the light of his phone’s torch before deciding it was as perfect as it could get. He’d come back later and get a picture during the daytime to show off to his friends, so for now he begun preparing to leave by packing his paint cans into his backpack.

It was when he had collected the last can of magenta from the ground that he felt something grab the back of his coat hood. Remus had no time to process the fact that someone had snuck into the alleyway before he was shoved against the same wall he'd painted his mural on, coming face-to-face with a hooded man waving a rather pathetic-looking pocket knife at him.

“Give me your money. Now.” The man demanded.

Remus blinked in delayed surprise. Usually he was the one being the creep in the alleyway. He had never expected to come across an actual creep. Heck, this situation felt like it was pulled straight out of an old PSA with how stereotypical it was.

“What?” He blurted out unthinkingly, because of that exact train of thought. 

“You heard me! I want you to get your wallet and hand over everything you’ve got.”

What an unfortunate victim this man has chosen.

“You think I have any money to my name? I’m practically the starving artist every parent warns their kid about becoming.” Remus said with a huff of amusement.

“Don’t try to bullshit me!” The hand clutching the front of his coat tugged him forward before violently slamming him back against the bricks. The back of Remus’ head ricochetted off them roughly with the sudden movement, and the small grin he had been wearing quickly faded with flash of pain and the realization he may actually be in trouble.

“I saw the paint you’ve got in your bag,” The man continued over his dawning concern. “Somebody who’s broke wouldn’t have all that.”

Remus’ thoughts halted for a second. His bag…! He knew the paint can he was holding onto for dear life wouldn’t do much in the way of self-defense given that it was practically empty, but a whole bag of them? Hitting this guy with that much weight would make him think twice about trying to stab him, at least.

“Okay, okay. You got me, I’m rich as hell. Just let me get it, alright? My wallet's in there.”

The man gave him a skeptical look, but stepped back slightly, continuing to hold the weapon in his direction. “I know how to throw knives. Try to run and you’ll have a hole in your back quicker than an onset stroke.”

Yikes, and Remus thought he was bad at metaphors. He didn’t even need Virgil here to tell him that that made no sense. Still, he grinned placatingly. “Cross my heart and hope to die, stick a needle in my eye: I won’t run.”

Finally, bad-metaphor guy let down his guard and allowed Remus to side-step around him. He walked a few paces towards where he dropped his backpack in his initial shock, putting the magenta spray in before he picked it up by the straps. True to his word, he didn't run; instead he swung around on his heel, slamming the full force of his hardback sketchbooks and cans of spray paint into the face of the hooded man.

He instantly dropped his knife, falling backwards and clutching his nose as blood erupted from it. Under the low-lighting of the street lamp, Remus was transfixed for a second, feeling like he was in one of those gritty r-rated movies he watched with his babysitter as a kid. The moment was ruined when he realized that 1) the man was approaching again very quickly, and 2) he couldn’t get the momentum quick enough to swing his bag around and hit him a second time.

Before he knew it, Remus had accidentally let go of the makeshift weapon when he was tackled to the ground, wind completely knocked out of him as the two of them collided against cobblestone moistened with rain.

“You fucking bastard.” The guy hissed furiously. His voice was nasally now that his nose was crooked and broken-looking, and Remus almost wanted to poke fun of him for it until he felt two hands wrap around his throat and start to choke him. “‘Could’ve just made things easy, but now you’re gonna die with all the other trash.”

Why? Remus wanted to ask. Over the 7 dollars and 15 cents he had?

But as he tried to tear away the vice grip on his neck, he couldn’t find the voice to talk back, even though the seriousness of the situation was hitting him like a freight train. Maybe it was his own fault for escalating things instead of playing along. Go figure, he had overestimated his own abilities after years being the off-putting one; the person others thought they had to watch over their shoulder for. Either that, or maybe it was the fact that his wallet carried more sentimental value with it than monetary. It was small and made of orange ducktape, but it carried so many things that Remus wanted to protect; a photo of his family, one of Virgil's guitar picks, the ticket to the last Tenacious D he went to, and of course, the receipt for his first condom purchase.

His mind flashed to his friends and family, and he wondered how they’d feel about this; him dying because of some dumb robber in a dumb alleyway because he was painting his dumb artwork. That was hardly the kind of death one could look back on and regard with pride (Hell if it wasn't funny to imagine how everyone will react to the news, though). But as he focused on the face above him, he realized with some panic that the grip wasn’t loosening, even as he could feel his lungs burn and a near-soothing feeling telling him to just let go.

As a final act of desperation to save himself from becoming a wholly embarrassing funeral eulogy instead of having a rockstar’s death in his 40s like he always imagined for himself, he patted the ground frantically, looking for a loose rock or something to stop this with. That’s when he felt it; the slightly warm plastic handle of the knife the guy had been holding. Remus’ heart pounded as he realized what he needed to do, and he barely even considered the repercussions of the action before he was plunging the knife into the side of the guy’s neck.

Finally, the grip around his throat loosened as the guy gasped, his expression flickering back and forth between anger and shock. Remus ripped the knife away, inhaling air greedily when the sudden action caused the man to loosen his grip and move off of him, trying to cover the stab wound with his hands and failing.

Remus quickly scrambled back and pulled himself up the wall, watching and waiting for the guy to fall still. He did, after what felt like a few minutes, and Remus didn’t know whether to cry or laugh. He’d just killed a man. It was self-defence, but still… even the morbid thoughts he had over the years couldn't have prepared him for what it would have actually felt like to go through with any of it.

In that moment of pause, his injuries caught up with him as both his head and neck begun to ache. He was so disoriented that he barely even noticed the third person standing in the alley until they spoke up.

“Well. I didn’t see that coming.”

Remus snapped his head towards the source of the voice, and immediately regretted it when the hasty motion made him dizzy. The only reason he didn’t immediately jump into fight mode was because of the unusually casual way the voice had spoken. Beyond that, the figure he saw standing a short distance away didn’t really… look like a regular person. Beyond the odd formal clothing that had no discernable modern style to it and the shock of white hair that could only be achieved with hella bleach, his skin was a cool grey like a cadaver and he had a ghostly appearance to him; transparent and misty around the edges.

Definitely not the sort of thing Remus expected to see, but he was always one to accommodate the unexpected. 

“...You and me both. My only goal for today was to draw unicorn porn.” Remus replied lightly, once he decided it wouldn't hurt to entertain whatever was currently happening.

The figure turned, startling at the sight of Remus staring directly at him.

“You’re not supposed to be able to see me.” He blurted out with wide eyes, looking at Remus like he had just killed a guy in front of him. Oh wait-

“Mamma always told me I was special.” Remus replied with a woozy grin, leaving back against the cool bricks of the alleyway. Seeing things that weren’t there was a new level of fucked-up for his brain, but hopefully that was just a side effect of hitting his head and not something he’d have to take pills for later. Either way, at least this spectre was pretty to look at. Trauma had its benefits.

“You think a deity of death is pretty?” The man (deity???) asked wryly, cutting through the stream of subconscious babble he’d accidentally spilled into the frigid night air. “I’d be flattered, if that didn’t sound like such a red flag.”

"I can't believe my own brain is kinkshaming me." Remus whined, slipping down slightly as the worn-down soles of his boots lost their grip on the concrete for a second. 

Death frowned, until a metaphorical lightbulb lit over his head. "Ah- you think you're hallucinating. Well, that's not an unfair assumption. Keep believing it, by all means."

"That doesn't sound like something a hallucination would say." Remus pointed out.

"Well then, I'll gladly prove my non-existence by disappearing." Death said as he took a step towards the body.

"Wait!" Remus called before he could figure out why. The ghostly figure stopped, looking at him with a raised eyebrow. Remus’ composure slipped as his eyes darted between the body and Death. "I...I need to know that this is real. That I'm not making this up. This feels like something I'd dream, but…" 

His hand clenched around the knife, feeling the squelch of blood and the tremor of his hand. Despite the mixed signals he was currently getting on the state of his sanity, it felt solid and real, and Remus wasn’t sure what to make of that.

"Fuck. Please tell me! Am I being as messed up as usual or did I really just kill someone?"

Death’s eyes softened. "You did. This is real." 

"Well shit. Okay…" Remus looked back at the body with a deep resignation. He wondered if he should do something about that. Probably not; that would look even more incriminating.

"...If it makes you feel better, he has hurt people in situations like this before, and completely unnecessarily; his only motive was to achieve a rush.” 

That did make Remus feel better, actually. 

"Good. I’m glad I killed a piece of shit and not someone down on their luck." Remus sighed, eyeing the spectral figure. "Speaking of, if this is real, then I guess that means you are too right?"

Any sympathy on Death's place quickly faded as he was caught out. "Erm-"

"It's cool." Remus leaned his head back again. "Talking to a cute ghost man? Sounds like a typical Thursday night for me."

Actually, this was the furthest thing from a typical Thursday night for Remus, but he didn’t want to admit that to the cute ghost man and risk looking uncool.

"You shouldn't get acquainted with it. Seeing me is hardly a good thing." Death replied, though his cheeks were distinctly a darker grey. 

"Aww- don't sell yourself short. I love your work!" Remus waved away vaguely. He always had a strange relationship with death in a way that others didn’t; always the first to laugh at a funeral or smile instead of grieve. That was probably why he felt so comfortable right now. “Besides, we’ll all be food for the dirt and worms eventually, anyway. Why get uncomfortable with it?"

Death met his eyes again, seeming slightly more firm. “Perish those thoughts, it's hardly your time yet."

Remus pouted. "It's still inevitable, though. Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy I didn’t die today and got to meet you instead, but what’s so bad about something that’s going to happen either way?”

“I’m starting to think I was right by judging your attitude as a red flag.” Death muttered.

“But I'm right aren't I?” Remus prodded.

“Indeed.” Death begrudgingly conceded. “And do you know just how inevitable it is? Approximately 2 people die per second; 106 per minute. There have been 6435 events of armed conflict in the past year alone, and over 690 million people who are undernourished as we speak. Beyond that, there are even more people losing their lives to case-by-case natural events and incidents. So if you’d be so kind, do not be so eager to create more work for me.”

Remus absorbed that information, tilting his head. “Despite all that, you’re still here?”

“...I am.” Death agreed after a heavy pause, in the same manner most would admit their own defeat. “I’ll admit, I’m not used to… talking so much. It’s an unusual feeling, but it’s been pleasant, I suppose.”

“Death likes my company.” Remus laughed. “That’s gotta be saying something.”

Death rolled his eyes. “My name is Logan, not Death.” 

“Huh. I’m Remus.” Remus replied, a little baffled. He didn’t expect a deity to have such a normal name.

“Remus ‘Tsukio’ Kaneshiro, I already know of you. We’ve met before.”

Remus’ bafflement only grew. “We have? I think I’d remember meeting someone like you.”

“You wouldn't; you were unconscious. It was after you overdosed on cold medicine. Thankfully your parents got you to the hospital on time before I could do my job, but I remember it being a close call.” Logan looked at him knowingly.

“...Oh.” Remus laughed nervously. He definitely remembered that. Finding out you could overdose on a lot of common household items was pretty dangerous for him to learn as a teenager, and he’d never forget how furious his entire family was with him for being so reckless. He never knew how to tell them that it wasn’t quite the accident they assumed it to be (needless to say, his adolescent years were pretty shitty to him, being the outsider in this town in more ways than one). Thankfully, the taste of cold medicine had become too repulsive for him to try anything like that again.

“...I am glad you’re alright. It’s always unfortunate when a life ends too soon.”

“Well…thanks. This has been pretty trippy, so I’m glad I met you too, Logan.”

Logan hummed and looked towards the end on the alleyway. “By the way, you should think about leaving soon. There’s a group of people approaching us.”

Shit, Remus had almost forgotten that he had just committed a crime. Given how awful this scene looked, there was a big chance he’d get thrown into jail for this if he got caught. But at the same time, he was almost hesitant to leave behind the spectre that had enchanted his heart within a few minutes, even if his mind was still trying to catch up with the overload of information.

“Why would you help me?” He asked quickly and somewhat suspiciously.

Just as Logan finished his business with the body, he looked at him over his shoulder with an almost sly expression. “You seem interesting, Remus. I’d hate for you to lose your life over someone so unworthy of one.”

And with that, Logan disappeared like a cloud of fog. Remus stood there transfixed, until he remembered Logan’s warnings and snatched up his bag, shoving the knife into his pocket and dashing into the night.

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

Case 2: the man who couldn't leave well enough alone.

The next time Remus and Logan met, it was slightly less of an accident, but fuck if the guy didn’t deserve it.

When Remus got home after the night he first saw Logan, he was more grateful than ever that he lived in such a run-down part of town. There were barely any security cameras to look out for, let alone people who were willing to be out during the early hours of the morning. 

He was able to slip into his apartment complex unseen, avoiding his early-bird roommate long enough to wash away his crimes in the shower.

After that, he fell into his bed, completely unable to process everything that had just happened. So instead he fell asleep and left the deep thinking to his future self.

As expected, he needed plenty of time to collect his thoughts. First of all, he knew he hadn’t hallucinated the whole thing because after weeks and months of taking it as easy as possible, he hadn’t seen anything else as strange as a personification of death named Logan. Logan...what kind of name even was that? It felt like the name of a teacher, not something that should be as grim and macabre as Remus himself. 

But that was the other thing; Remus couldn’t get the thought of Logan out of his head. He was like the angel who had come down to bless him in a moment of weakness, saving him from further misfortune. He knew he had little to no chance of seeing their deity again, but that didn’t stop him from plaguing his mind constantly. 

Remus figured the best chance he’d probably get at seeing Logan again was to become involved with death once more. His mind immediately jumped to animals, the easiest targets; he pictured slipping into a farm late at night and slitting the throat of one of the sheep, going to a pet store and buying a hamster for the night before ‘accidentally’ leaving it in a box to suffocate, picking up a stray from the street and snapping its neck quickly. But just as soon as those thoughts came to him, he waved them away with a grimace. He wouldn’t be able to go through with any of that, even for Logan.

People had always talked about him like he was a serial killer in training. They would keep a wary eye when he picked up sharp objects and ask his brother if Remus had ever hurt one of their pets as kids, as if because he had unconventional ideas, he was a complete sadist towards the innocent. (And yes, perhaps he did have thoughts of that nature too, but they’d always fill him with sickness because he fucking loved the pet dogs they had as kids, damn it). In any case, he knew that going through with those ideas would only be proving those people right, that he was a dangerous individual who’d murder an innocent creature just for someone his brain maybe made up.

...Perhaps he was losing his mind after all. What was he doing, plotting out the best way to see Death? If anyone else could hear his thoughts, they’d think him half-mad or suicidal. It seemed like the best thing so do was to try to push this out of his mind, so eventually, that's what he did. He wasn’t so good at that usually; his mouth ran a mile a minute and the people who knew him would often say that his brain-mouth filter was non-existent. But this felt like something he’d like to keep for himself, especially when news of the murder made it onto the local news, presumed to be the outcome of ‘gang activity’ simply because the victim was successful and had a loving family and what else could explain this?

He decided to not think about making plans anymore, and he only thought about Logan when his mind was otherwise unoccupied. It stayed that way until the very next week when he found out about the situation with his roommate’s ex.

Remus didn’t have many people in the world who were willing to put up with him, but the one’s that did, he cherished dearly. So when Nadia, the woman he’d describe as belonging among the Valkyries (if only she could get past her deal of not wanting to hurt a fly), came to him looking uncharacteristically shaken and upset, Remus felt something in him snap.

She told Remus about how her ex-boyfriend was following her to her workplace and making threats on her life. He’d even begun showing up outside their apartment late at night in an attempt at intimidation, and that detail alone pissed him off considering he’d been too in his head to even notice.

“All because I decided I deserved better.” Nadia told him tearily. She was so strong usually, both physically and emotionally, so seeing her so close to crying felt like a punch to the gut. “I just want for him to be gone… But James would probably kill me before I could even file a restraining order.”

“What if he was gone?” Remus blurted out. “Hypothetically.”

Nadia blinked at him, wiping a stray tear. “Honestly? I think the world would be a better place. But that’s never going to happen.”

Remus nodded. “Right. Of course. Do you still have his number, by any chance?”

--

Remus’ plan was simple: Nadia would call her ex and ask him to come over to ‘reconcile’, and when he did, Remus would confront him. Scare him enough to stay away for good. He was pretty great at being intimidating when he wanted to that the both of them assumed it would work out.

Well, James came as planned. Their apartment complex had one massive security flaw in that anyone could get in without keys or permission, so the only clue Remus got that James was coming was the sound of footsteps bouncing off the walls of the stairwell. Remus stood upright and waited, until he saw the top of James’ head slowly ascending up the stairs, pausing on the second-top step.

“You’ve got to be shitting me.” James scoffed disbelievingly as Remus moved in front of him. “Did Nadia seriously send out the guard dog? What? Suddenly too afraid to talk for herself?”

Remus considered barking at him in response, but considering how James was way above the common creep in terms of persistence, he crossed his arms instead and glared steadily.

“Hell yeah she did. You should know why, given how much of a low-life asshole you’ve been acting all week. When are you going to give up the big guy act, huh? Curley called and he wants his complex back.”

James, in all of his 5-foot-no-thoughts glory, only squinted as the insult went over his head.

“...I knew I never fuckin’ liked you. Don’t get involved in our relationship, you little freak.” James tried to pass him, and Remus quickly blocked him, taking out the knife he’d stolen months ago.

“Take another step and this is going in your goddamn eye.” Remus raised his voice, confident that most of their neighbours were already out at work. “You’re not going near Nadia ever again, do you hear me?”

“Or what?! What’ll you do, Kaneshiro? Stab me? Put the toothpick away and step aside, for god’s sake. This is embarrassing, even for you.”

The two of them stood in a standstill, staring each other down as the echo from James’ exclamation faded out.

“...Fine.” Remus said finally. He slipped the knife back into his pocket, and James smirked smugly until Remus grabbed the front of his shirt instead. “It’ll be more fun to do this, anyway.”

With that he shoved James backwards, who quickly lost his footing and fell down the long and narrow flight of stairs. He tumbled for few moments, hitting each step, until he landed on the ground floor with a distant thump.

Remus stared after him, preparing for James to get up and start making a scene like he always did when he didn’t get his way. He didn’t.

Frowning, Remus descended the stairs, and as he drew closer to the slumped-over body, he noticed the puddle of blood around James’ head and the odd way he’d landed.

“Damn.” Remus commented under his breath. “Nadia’s going to kill me.”

He heard a sigh somewhere ahead of him, and fearing someone had walked in on his compromising position, Remus quickly glanced up, excuse at the ready.

“It was an accident-!” He exclaimed, before he realized it was Logan standing there, looking between James and Remus with a pinched expression.

“I know you pushed him, Remus. That’s not exactly what the law would define as an ‘accident’.”

For a second, Remus was starstruck (and opting to ignore the consequences of his actions). “You remember me.”

“Of course I do. I didn’t expect to see you again so soon, though.”

That almost sounded like an accusation, so Remus held his hands up defensively. “Hey, in my defence he was just asking to die. The dude's a dick!”

Logan sighed. “Regardless, you shouldn't go around killing people. Sooner or later you’ll get caught.”

“Well, I’m 1 for 1 so far! But if you’d rather me not get in trouble… Have any tips on how to cover this?” Remus joked, winking.

Logan frowned at him before he truly considered it, looking around at the scene thoughtfully. “...Double check to make sure you left no evidence. Move quickly, before anybody stumbles across the scene. And if you have time, plant something which will make this look more like an accident-- for instance, a spill on the stairs.”

Remus’ eyes widened. “I wasn’t expecting actual tips. Holy shit- okay.”

He went over to check the body, feeling his cheeks heat up. He absolutely should not be getting flustered over advice on how to cover up a murder, yet here he was.

“I feel like you shouldn’t be encouraging this.” Remus said jokingly as he smoothed out the creases on the front of James’ shirt. “Didn’t you say something about having more work to do? Who knows, you might be giving me a new hobby.”

Remus laughed. Logan didn’t. When he glanced up, the deity was frowning.

“Perhaps not. Forget what I said; I shouldn’t be interfering in matters like this. I shouldn’t even be appearing to you now.”

��Woah, woah, woah. What’s the matter? I thought you liked talking.” Remus hastily stood upright, furrowing his eyebrows.

“I- regardless of my personal feelings, I have a job to do. I can’t allow myself to become so partial over one human.” Logan replied, rubbing at the crease between his eyebrows.

“Why? What’s the worst that could happen?!” Remus argued.

“You could cheat death, for starters.”

“You already know how I feel about that.” Remus whined. “I’ll off myself when the time comes, if it’ll make you feel better.”

“Don’t-” Logan exclaimed, before he reigned himself back in. “Just. No. You’re supposed to go naturally. Neither you or I should interfere with that.” 

Remus frowned. He wasn’t so sure he liked the thought of such a boring death. If anything, he wanted to go out in a blaze of glory. Otherwise, he’d be just another body no one would remember-- like loverboy over there.

“That means no more meetings like this.” Logan continued on.

“But what if I want to see you again?” Remus muttered. He looked across the room to Logan and found him wearing a similar downtrodden expression, until it grew serious.

“You’ll just have to deal with that, because we were never supposed to meet in the first place. I have a duty to fulfil and you have a life to live. Our paths are as parallel as can be.”

“This is bullshit, Logan.” Remus said, but he didn’t argue any further. Not when Logan walked around him to complete his business. Not when he prepared to leave, either.

“Don’t do this again.” Logan said finally, giving him a stern glare. “I mean it.”

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

Case 3: the woman in the streets.

The next time Remus and Logan met, Logan was starting to think Remus was making a habit of this after all.

In Remus’ defence, he totally wasn’t.

Logan’s parting words just wouldn’t leave his head. It was even worse than last time; the knowledge that he could kill anyone and get to see Logan again plagued him, and he found himself pulling away from his family and friends after the questioning from the police was over and done with.

They were all worried for him, but especially Nadia who knew exactly what he did and assumed it was because of the guilt that he was becoming uncharacteristically withdrawn. Although she was shocked at how things had escalated, she tried to apologize multiple times for letting Remus confront James, which he would always blow off. It wasn’t killing James that had gotten to him, not at all; in fact he was glad that prick was out of their hair. Rather, he grappled with the idea of never seeing Logan again, one of the few people who truly saw the worst sides of him and accepted them nonetheless.

He didn’t deal with it well. 

The night of their next meeting, Remus was out drinking alone. It wasn’t something he was proud of, but he didn’t want to justify why he wanted to get absolutely wasted to his friends, so being sad and lonely for one night it was. 

He had stumbled out of the bar late at night, beginning his unsteady trek home since he had accidentally spent too much money and couldn’t afford an uber to drive him back. Stepping onto the street a couple blocks from his apartment, everything was quiet until the person ahead of him crossed the road, just as a car sped around the corner and knocked them over with an awful crunch.

Remus stood in shock. He looked after the swerving car to get the licence plate, but it was already too late and they had hit the gas upon noticing him. Swearing, he stumbled over to the person left in the road. 

“Shit- Are you alright? Of course not, you need an ambulance.” He was struggling to unlock his phone when he noticed how still the person-- a frail old woman-- was. It didn’t even look like she was taking breaths, though it was hard to tell through his swimming vision and the thick coat she was wearing.

With unsteady fingers, Remus pressed against the pulsepoint on her neck, and felt the moment her heartbeat stopped.

“Oh…”

And then he turned on his heel and threw up.

Death wasn’t supposed to bother him like this. He had always been proud of his ability to frighten others with his dismissive attitude towards life’s eventualities. But this was different. He had just watched the murder of a complete stranger right before his eyes, and there wasn't even anything he could do. What the fuck?

He didn’t even feel better when the person he’d been longing to see all night appeared right in front of him, arms crossed and ready to give a lecture.

“Again, Remus?! What did I tell you?! No more murder!” Logan threw his hands up at the sight of Remus next to the body, that was until he noticed the cause of death and Remus’ sickly appearance,

“I-I didn’t do anything this time, I swear. Logan I promised myself I wouldn’t.” He picked himself out of the gutter he had been puking into, trying to look at the deity, just so he could feel some sense of reassurance. “I thought I’d never see you again. ‘Thought I was okay with that, but I’m not. I missed you.”

Logan only stared at Remus when he began crying. He was a sappy emotional drunk when he got through the fun tipsy phase, sue him.

“...I apologize for yelling at you.” Logan said, awkwardly hovering his hand over Remus’ shoulder until it shuddered with a sob and accidentally brushed against him. Remus jolted at the cool touch, as did Logan, who quickly retreated his hand, eyes darting around worriedly.

“‘Always thought you’d be like mist.” Remus slurred, awestruck enough to forget his sadness. He reached forward to prod at Logan, who furrowed his eyebrows thoughtfully.

“I… Yes, that’s definitely strange.” Logan cleared his throat and straightened up. “In any case, you need to get off the street, report this incident, and go home. Being around so much death isn’t good for your mental health.”

“Maybe.” Remus sighed. “I quite like hanging around you, though.”

Logan pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re drunk. You’re going to feel a lot worse about seeing me in the morning, I promise.”

“I never feel bad about seeing you.” Remus said, picking up his phone from where he’d dropped it. “I only feel bad that it’ll be a long time before I get the chance to see you again.”

“...I don’t get it.” Logan replied softly after a heavy pause. “You shouldn’t want to see me at all. I’m a bad omen. You’d only ever get to meet me in times of tragedy.”

“‘Bad omen’... And I thought Emo was dramatic.” Remus chuckled weakly. “You’re not so bad, Lo. You guide people to the end. You care for them even when you have so many people to watch over. You’re opinionated and you’re easily curious when things don’t go to plan. You don’t mind when I’m weird and you’re fun to talk to. I like you.”

Logan blinked rapidly with surprise, clutching his chest. “I wish we could be having this conversation away from the recently deceased. But... I suppose I feel the same way. I still don’t know how or why you can see me, but our conversations haven’t been unpleasant.”

“Death likes my company.” Remus said, smiling softly to himself. “...You’re right though. I should probably phone this in. I just wish I could remember the licence plate… Something like XQ... ugh.”

“XQR 460.” Logan supplied helpfully. 

“That’s it!” Remus cheered, sloppily kissing Logan on the cheek. “Thanks babe!”

Logan floundered for a second as Remus begun calling an ambulance, struggling to regain composure. “I hope we don’t meet like this again soon. Three times over the span of a year is already too much.”

“I don’t know.” Remus looked at Logan slyly. “I’ve always had pretty bad luck.”

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

Case 4: the bad doctor.

The next time Remus and Logan meet, it’s completely coincidental and under less stressful circumstances for once.

Well, still stressful. Just for different reasons. 

Roman was in the hospital because of some dumb motorcycle crash he got into, which near-gave Remus a heart attack when he heard about because he may often ask for death these days, but not like this. Never like this.

Anyway, he was more or less alive in the end. Just a broken leg and a lot of scrapes and bruises since he always refused to wear the proper protective clothing when he went riding (due to it ‘not fitting his aesthetic', apparently. Remus assumed it was pussy talk for ‘I don’t look badass enough to pull off leather’).

Remus had stopped by to visit, bringing some of the fancy name-brand crackers Roman liked since he kept complaining about how stale and awful the hospital’s ones were, and to say hello to Virgil while xe was on shift. The three of them even managed to sit down while Virgil was on break and catch up, too. Roman and Virgil seemed glad Remus was doing a bit better after his downward spiral a couple of weeks ago, even if they didn’t mention it.

After a few hours spent catching up and teasing one another, he decided to leave Roman to get some rest. His plans for that evening were to take a load off and perhaps call for some takeout with Nadia. Honest to God, he didn’t plan on looking for any trouble.

But still, trouble found him when he noticed Logan walking the halls of the hospital, following a doctor to the elevator.

Remus double-taked. Though he shouldn’t really be surprised to see Logan here in a place with so much death, it was still odd witnessing the cloaked figure walk around normal people, none of them noticing his presence. 

Remus quickly jogged over. "Logan!" He hissed under his breath.

The deity startled (startled!) before turning to him, just like the doctor he was following. 

"Do you need something?" The doctor said, raising an eyebrow.

"Uhhhh, nope! Just… getting into the elevator." Remus replied, stepping in and standing next to Logan.

"Why must you have such awful timing?" Logan sighed stressfully as the elevator doors slid shut. Remus looked at him, unable to verbally reply with the doctor standing right next to them. Fortunately, his unspoken request to elaborate was picked up on.

"This doctor is going down go the morgue. I was here to see a patient that died under his care, and I noticed how death seemed to latch onto him. I got curious."

Sounds like a bad doctor, if even a deity of death was interested in him. Heh, that probably said a lot about Remus too. 

Logan elaborated for Remus’ misinterpreting amused expression. "Remus, he murders patients purposefully. You should not have gotten on this elevator."

...Oh. Remus looked past Logan to the doctor, who had noticed his glances.

"...Hm, aren't you supposed to be in your room? Broken leg, road burn, lacerations?" He questioned, eyes flicking down to where he assumed Remus must be injured.

"Nope! You’re thinking of my twin. I came to visit him today." Remus responded as chipper as he could manage, suddenly a lot more unnerved knowing that this apparently dangerous doctor knew about his brother.

"Ah! I see. I did wonder how you managed to grow a full moustache in a day." The man chuckled. "Twins… quite fascinating."

Uh oh spaghetti-os. "Yeah… people say we're like two unrelated people, we’re so different." Remus laughed dismissively. It didn't seem to bother the doctor. 

"Interesting… Say, a partner of mine is conducting a study on the differences in the individual psychologies of monozygotic twins. I'm sure it would please her to get more data, if you'd be interested in participating. There would be monetary compensation for your time, of course." 

"This is such an unethical form of recruitment. What kind of professional are you?" Logan argued in frustration. Remus almost burst into laughter on the spot from the bizarreness of the situation, but he somehow managed to turn it into an agreeable grin instead. 

"Sounds good, doc." Remus said. 

"What-?!" Logan exclaimed. Remus spared him a glance, hoping it would let him know he knew what he was doing. Logan didn't look placated in the slightest.

"Excellent! I'll pass the details onto your brother and we can arrange a meeting sometime this week.”

At that moment, the elevator stopped to let a few other people on. Remus took the opportunity to head out before they could reach the basement floor. 

“See you later!” He called to both the Doctor and Logan.

“REMUS!”

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

Case 4.5: the dead doctor.

The next time they meet, Remus fully expects it.

Roman asks him over text why he volunteered them for a study, and Remus makes some vague excuse like ‘sexy doctor’. Thankfully, he bought it.

Before the date sent to them by the doctor, Remus decided to do his own research first. To do so, he contacted Virgil and asked for details on the man. 

After copious amount of friendly jabs (like 'oooh Remus, I didn’t know tall, straight, and boring was your type'), Virgil told him his name and not much else, given that xe wasn't exactly close with the older staff member. That was fine; Remus used the information to find online profiles, where he found contact details and photos, where he found business accounts, where he found history.

After pulling a few more strings from people that owed him one, he managed to gain access to the vital records from the hospital. It didn’t take long to discover that Logan was right, there had been a spike in deaths since the doctor, a mister 'Stacey’, had begun working there. It was a mystery how no one had noticed the pattern honestly. Weren't doctors supposed to get their licences taken away after a certain number of incidents? As he begun looking through the files more closely however, he realized that the deaths were often chalked up to accidents; small things that could have been due to anything, from mistakes during operations, to the patients overdosing on their prescribed medication, to incidents days after they’ve been discharged.

As Remus closed his laptop, he begun feeling very glad he had impulsively accepted Stacey’s offer. 

--

The meeting ended up being scheduled for Friday evening, and by the time it rolled around, Remus was fully prepared and waiting outside of the agreed location. He dialled Roman’s number, looking out to the empty parking lot and familiarizing himself with the location.

After a few rings, Roman picked up, sounding slightly agitated. “Yes, Captain Dookey?”

Remus snickered at the old nickname-- it was practically a relic from when they played pirates as children. Perhaps Roman was feeling sentimental after his accident.

“Aye aye first mate. You should know that I’m not gonna make it to the study. I already called Dr. Stacy to let him know we’re cancelling for today, so you can stay home.”

“Really Remus? I just got ready.”

“Yeah well, you’re supposed to be resting anyway. Unless you want to drop a visit by yourself that is, but Virgil told me he’s straight, soooo...”

He heard a retching sound on the other end of the line.

“No thanks.” A sigh. “I’ll see you tomorrow then, I guess.”

“Bye, ugly.”

“Later, Rat Bastard.”

“Rats are cute, that’s not an insult. Byeee~.” Remus quickly hung up, his grin quickly fading as he took in the apartment complex. 

It didn’t look like the sort of space that would house an office, but Stacey didn’t look like the type to break the Hippocratic oath either, so perhaps the world wasn’t as straight-forward as it seemed.

Slipping his phone away, Remus buzzed the number he’d been given, and it wasn’t long before the good doctor himself came down to answer the door personally.

“Remus.” Stacey almost looked surprised to see him. “Is your brother not coming?”

“Oh, no.” Remus waved a hand. “I just got off the phone with him and he told me he’s running late. He said to get started without him.”

He received a charming smile. “That works just fine. Come on in.”

Stacey led him up the stairs to his apartment, and the whole time Remus felt the weight of the kitchen knife in his pocket. When they got to the ‘office’ (which was really just a living room with minimal furnishing), he offered him a drink.

“No thanks, I’m good.” Remus said, looking around. “...Seems pretty empty in here for an office.”

“Ah… Yes, unfortunately my colleague is having renovations done in her usual space, so we’ll have to collect our data here. I hope that doesn’t bother you.”

A fair enough explanation on the surface, and one his brother would probably accept if he was here, but Remus wasn’t nearly as trusting as Roman was. Nor was he as ignorant to the true purpose of this meeting.

“I see… That makes sense. Or at least it would, if I didn’t already know all about your dirty little secrets.”

Stacey glanced up from where he’d been looking for a pen. “...Pardon?”

Remus smiled back; a grin with all teeth. “You have quite a few skeletons in your closet, doc. Even for a fine medical professional like yourself.”

The doctor very carefully didn’t react to that. "My apologies, do you have the right person? To the best of my knowledge we've only spoken once." 

"Yeah." Remus agreed. "And once is all it took. I found out about all those little accidents that follow you, doctor. Weird how many times your patients pass away from nicked veins and potassium chloride overdoses, hm?"

The only outward response Stacey gave was the clenching of his fists. Subtle, but Remus noticed it. "Be careful Mr. Kaneshiro, because that sounds an awfully lot like a baseless accusation. People sue for that, you know." 

"I don't doubt it. But you already know it's not so baseless, don't you? You know exactly what I’m talking about, which is why you invited us here to a shady apartment late at night, no colleague in sight."

"Remus what the hell do you think you're doing?!" A familiar voice chimed from behind him.

Remus startled out of his focus, whipping his head around. "Logan?" 

"Don't look at me, you ignoramus-! You met a serial killer alone after I told you to stay away?!"

"He knows my brother, I couldn't just-!"

Remus looked back at the doctor was closer now, looking down at him pitifully. "I see now. The talking to air, the erratic behaviour, the pushing your delusions onto others… you mustn't be well. It's alright, Mr. Kaneshiro, I could easily refer you to a mental health facility who will take care of you."

"Remus, you have to get out! Now!" 

"I know!" He wasn’t a complete idiot, damn it! But he needed to get Stacey to confess or-

"Ah, perfect! If you wait here, I’ll go and make a call." 

Remus stepped backwards, hand going to the knife in his pocket. He needed Stacey to confess, but if he didn’t-

Unfortunately, Stacey noticed his movement and quickly grabbed his left wrist, putting way too much pressure in his grip than was necessary. 

"Ah-ah. I told you to stay put, didn't I? Come now, don't be difficult. I'm only trying to get you the help you need."

If he didnt-

"Let go of him!" Logan demanded to the man who couldn't hear him. 

Stacey froze, feeling the cool touch of Death on his arm as Logan tried to pull him away, and at that moment Remus pulled his knife out and stabbed him in the chest; slipping the blade right between the ribs. 

Red pooled around the knife, staining his crisp white shirt vividly. Stacey stared at the knife, and dug his nails into Remus’ wrist. 

"Fucker." Remus yelped with pain, pulling the weapon back out. 

Finally, Stacey let go and stumbled back, hitting the wall and sliding down to the floor. His expression didn't recover from the shock from when Logan touched him; he didn't even try to apply pressure to the wound as he bled out. He just sat there until the light left his eyes, and the only sound left in the room was Remus’ laboured breathing.

"I… shouldn't have done that." Logan muttered, eyeing the limp body. 

"Done what? I'm the one that killed him. That was my backup plan all along." Remus replied numbly, looking at the scene he had caused. 

"I gave him the touch of Death, it's- it's an omen. I'm not supposed to use it ever."

"Gee, I'm flattered. I promise murder was always on my brain though." Remus said as he took the tape recorder out of his pocket. No need for this anymore. He wanted to get a clip of Stacey saying something incriminating so that he could defame him and ruin his reputation, but well, him not being able to benefit from a reputation at all was the next best thing.

Logan watched him, taking in the claw marks across his wrist. "...Right. He scratched you, so remember to clean under his nails." 

Despite everything, Remus smiled softly at the advice. "Aww, you really care about me, don't you?"

"I- no. Absolutely not. That’s absurd" Remus snickered as Logan flushed an adorable shade of paynes grey, which he hid by going to deal with the corrupt doctor’s soul. 

"...Why did you show up, by the way? There isn't anyone dead in this apartment is there?" Remus realized belatedly, looking around the empty space. 

"Ah… No. Admittedly, I've been keeping a closer eye on this town than I really should, and after what happened the other day, I figured I needed to be here when I noticed you two meeting… I probably shouldn’t have.” Logan conceded.

"Well, at least you can't say this wasn't a business visit." Remus giggled to himself, wiping the blood from his knife with a tissue. Maybe he was a little giddy from the endorphins of confronting a prolific serial killer, or perhaps it was the confirmation that Logan cared for him, but either way he felt really good right now, like he could take on the world.

Logan looked at him and sighed. "I should've known you'd be trouble. No more killing, Remus. This has to be the last time."

"Of course, pinky promise~."

"...I can see you crossing your fingers behind your back, you brat."

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

Case 5: the one who tried to get away.

The next time they met, Remus broke his pinky promise. No surprises there.

It was hardly even a promise to begin with, but for some reason Logan expected him to stick to it. Quite foolish, if you ask Remus, given that he now had a total of three murders under his belt, and stopping there almost felt like giving up. 

Of course, he had to lay low after Stacey however. The hospital was holding a memorial for his death and Remus later found out that it was ruled a break in. (Made sense, since Remus took a few of his fancy cleaning products on the way out, as a treat to himself.)

It was a shame Stacey was being remembered so honourably, but he couldn't really do anything about that. At least he wasn't out in the world hurting more people. 

But unfortunately for Remus, the ruling of Stacey’s murder didn’t stop the incident from trickling into his normal life, as Virgil and Roman seemed to grow suspicious of him. Virgil didn't bring up the topic to him directly, but xe begun acting sketchy when the two of them hung out (Though that could easily be wariness after having one of xyr co-workers be killed). Oppositely, Roman brought the topic up at the first chance possible.

"Dr. Stacey was murdered the night we were supposed to meet him." Roman commented the next day they were able to have lunch together, arms crossed confrontationally. "Funny that."

"Yeah. Sounds like we had some pretty good luck, if you ask me." Remus grinned.

"Wha- why are you smiling?! A man died!" His twin hissed at him. Under his breath, as to not alert the other tables.

Remus’ grin faded. "Listen Ro-bro, I didn't want to tell you this but our good doctor wasn't as kind as you think he is. I called you off that night to help you. Trust me. It’s better off that neither of us went through with that ‘study’."

Roman leaned back, looking unconvinced. "What were you doing instead, Remus?"

"...Huh?"

"You heard me. Where were you? What's your alibi?"

"You're not accusing your own flesh and blood of murder, are you?" Remus sipped his drink casually; ice coffee with as many pumps of peppermint syrup as the barista would allow. 

"Just answer the question." Siiigh, what a tightass. How did they come out the same womb? 

"I was meeting an old friend, for your information. Logan." Remus smiled to himself at the inside joke.

"Logan? You've never mentioned a Logan before." Roman raised his eyebrows.

Remus leaned back in his chair with a shrug, opting to look out the window instead. By doing so he missed the flash of complicated emotions that crossed his twin’s face at the dismissive gesture.

"I don't tell you everything about my life, brother dearest."

"Clearly…"

--

A week or two passed since his conversation with Roman, and during that time Remus didn't get to see Logan again once. That wasn't such a terrible thing, most people would assume, to not run into a deity of death, but Remus was so bored! He wanted to see his favourite death pal again, but no opportunities arose to do that, and nothing was striking his murder-fancy.

That was until the day he saw a familiar licence plate parked outside a shop.

Remus froze in his tracks, remembering the night he last saw that car.

A woman crossing the street, a body too still, a car speeding away with no remorse-

Remus had given the licence number to the police, but clearly they hadn't done anything about it. Or perhaps they'd tried and the asshole bought them off. 

He growled at the idea, startling a passer-by who was crossing around him.

Thankfully, he didn't have to wait long before he found out who his ire belonged to. A familiar face left the shops and begun walking towards the car; Anton, a guy who had been a year above him back in high school. Remus’ memory of the man was vague; primarily made up of snapshots of cruelty and entitlement towards those around him.

He looked exactly the same, with his annoyingly polished appearance and ugly overpriced clothes. So he was right about the police being paid off, then. Typical.

He'd just have to do something about this himself. 

--

“I suppose there’s no point in trying to convince you to stop this, is there?”

“I mean.” Remus begun, looking down at the body he had just finished suffocating and rubbing at his bruised arms. There was more of a struggle than tv had led him to believe. “I kinda had to do this one. What? Was I supposed to connect the dots on a murder and not stalk and kill the guy who got away unpunished?”

“Most people would say yes.” Logan groaned, in the sort of tone that said he already knew he was fighting a losing battle.

“We’re not like most people though, are we?” Remus grinned, fluttering his eyelashes.

“You’re most certainly not. I’m barely a person.” Logan replied with finality.

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

Case 6: the one who pushed their luck.

And then shortly after; 

“Come on man, don’t do this.” The masked person pleaded, hanging onto the fire-escape for dear life. Literally.

Remus raised an eyebrow, making a show of contemplating the request. “Hmm, I don’t know. You did try to pull a gun on me.”

“It wasn’t loaded, jackass!” 

Remus tutted and held his foot over the person’s clammy hands. They shook violently at the unspoken threat. “And now you’re gonna wake up the whole neighbourhood too? No consideration!”

His joking tone must have angered them, because they began struggling to hoist themself back up again, red in the face with strain. “I swear, when I get up  there-”

Promptly losing his interest in hearing the rest of that threat, Remus stood on their fingers, causing them to let go of the fire-escape and plummet to the street below with a strangled yell.

“Whoopsie daisy.”

He leaned over the banister, whistling innocently as a familiar presence appeared next to him. Logan joined him in peering down at the body, eyebrow raised.

“At least this one was merely an accident?” He guessed by the cause of death, a twinge of hope in his voice.

“Nah, they’ve tried breaking in at least 3 times this year. It was getting annoying.”

As Logan scolded him for his recklessness, Remus decided not to comment on it when their topic of conversation turned back towards the casual banter they usually shared. The two of them stood on the fire escape until the sun was on the edge of the horizon and Remus had to dash back to his apartment to avoid being seen by the early-commuters.

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

Case 8: the innocent.

And then: 

Remus curiously nudged the raccoon with the tip of his boot. He’d just stumbled upon it and it still looked fresh; given that he was standing by a busy road, it was no wonder what had happened.

He was making a mental note to come back and collect the bones at a later date, when Logan appeared in-front of him in a blink, looking completely unsurprised this time around.

Remus on the other hand startled before regaining his bearings and shooting the deity a smile. “Our paths are looking less parallel by the day huh, Psychopomp-ous?”

Logan raised his eyebrows appreciatively at the word play. “It appears so. It’s quite the pleasant surprise to find you not getting into trouble for once.”

“There’s always tomorrow.” Remus wiggled his eyebrows back. “That said, I really didn’t expect to see you. I was wondering for a while if you dealt with this kind of thing too, y’know.”

Logan looked down, seeming to really notice the raccoon for the first time. He nodded after a beat. ”She had a life too. My brother brought her into the world, and so I must escort her out.” 

”Yeah? Anything of note happen?” Remus asked, eyebrows raised with genuine curiosity. He’d file away the latter half of Logan’s statement for later prodding.

”...She had a family. They stayed together under the porch of an old couple.”

“Ah, to be a racoon living under a porch.” Remus lamented dreamily. “I’m glad she got to live such a rich and fulfilling life before becoming road kill. I’m truly jealous.”

“In the wild, your lifespan would most likely be around 2–3 years as a raccoon.” Logan pointed out, attempting to contradict his idealistic tone.

“Exactly. The life.”

That earned a pinched expression from Logan that made Remus titter.

“Just messing with you, prim reaper~. Now, do you have any idea how long it’s going to take for her to decompose? I have a new piece of decor to make.”

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

Case 11: the matchbox.

Remus watched from afar as the house on Psyche Avenue burned. It was bright and brilliant, so of course the firefighters were already on the scene, trying to calm the fire and save the occupant inside. 

They’d be much too late; the trafficker was already unconscious and likely burning to death, along with any evidence Remus might have left behind. It was the perfect crime.

Satisfied with today’s work, he took a drag of a cigarette, delighted when Logan appeared beside him instead of with the dirtbag who deserved to burn forever (and since it was a mystery whether he'd end up with such a fate, it only seemed fitting for Remus to play god and speed up the process.)

“Those kill, you know.” Logan said in greeting.

“That makes two of us.” Remus grinned sharply, even when Logan rolled his eyes and pinched out the end of his cigarette.

For the second time in a month, the two of them overlooked the sky together, illuminated by the amber blazes of the fire. It almost felt like a date.

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

Case 13: the one with bad luck.

He was back in the alley that had imprinted itself so clearly in his memory, knife buried in the chest of a would-be assailant. Remus was boredly watching the blood seep between the bricks when Logan finally appeared to deal with the body.

“You’re late!” Remus complained with a whine. “This guy’s practically cold already.”

“Apologies. There was a flash flood across the country, and it took more of my focus to handle than I would've liked."

Remus hummed. He thought he heard something about that on the news. Mother nature could be cruel indeed. Perhaps even worse than Remus himself. 

“Anyone nearby?” He checked.

“Not in a half-mile radius, no. However, the police may be on their way.” 

“Plenty of time, then.” Remus said as he pulled Logan down to place a kiss on the corner of his mouth.

It had been months since that first drunk sloppy kiss happened, and less time since it had become a regular greeting. Remus would never get tired of the feeling of cold skin against his lips. It was like kissing marble-- if marble had a sassy mouth and a sexy amount of knowledge.

Logan pulled back first, smudging away the trail of blood running from Remus' nostril. “Did you have any trouble?”

“Nah, you should see the other guy.”

That earned a laugh-- a quiet chime that made Remus’ heart flutter. “I see them. Good job, you’re getting rather skilled at that.”

“Why, thank you~.” Remus preened under the praise. “It only took a couple tries, but I think I finally got the technique down pat.”

“Hmm. Speaking of 'Pat', my brother doesn’t seem to like this much. He’s not unappreciative of your choices in target, although he appears to be rather disapproving on the amount of times I've been called to your side."

Logan didn't talk about his brother much: the deity of life. From what little Remus had learned from his prying and Logan’s own complaints, he seemed like a bit of a killjoy. He blew a raspberry in response.

"Tell Patton to stop making so many criminals and maybe I'll consider it." 

The corner of Logan's lips quirked up. "I don't think I will, as humorous as I'm sure that would be. It doesn't quite work like that."

Remus shrugged, watching as Logan looked off to the side.

"...It seems I’m needed elsewhere."

”You can’t stay? We barely got to talk.” Remus said with a pout.

“Unfortunately so.” Logan turned to the body; what he should have been there for. It wasn’t long before his focus was back on Remus, though. “That said... It’s a busy night. Perhaps we’ll meet again sooner than expected.”

Remus’ frown tipped back into a smile as he watched Logan vanish. He then turned on his heel and retrieved his knife before walking off into the night. If he was going to make good on Logan’s expectations, he better get to work.

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

Case 0: the one who death followed.

It soon became an established pattern; Remus would come across someone shady, and he’d put together a detailed- or straight-forward- plot on how to get rid of them. By now his city must have noticed the string of deaths, but with such a random means and very little evidence, Remus was free to continue as he pleased.

In a sense, he was untouchable with Logan by his side, pointing out anything he left behind and giving warning for any potential witnesses. Especially when he gave up on persuading Remus away from this path. It's not like the moral argument could be made anymore; the city had seen a drastic decrease in crime once Remus had taken out a lot of big players (even if there was an air of fear that lingered in the back of everyone's minds, wondering if they'd be next up on the chopping block).

All in all, it was enough to make Remus cocky; perhaps even enough so to lead to his downfall. But how was he ever going to give up now? All his life he’d been hoping for some sort of excitement to fulfil him, and he finally found it in a surprise meeting with a deity of death. Death had gone from a distant longing to something familiar and welcome; something he could use to right wrongs and feel a sense of purpose with.

And as long as he was able to exchange a life for one more meeting with his beloved partner in crime, he would do his best to stay ahead of the game. 

(No matter who was out there, trying to stop the two of them.)

-------------- 

Writing taglist: @just-perhaps @sashootkahoot @anxious-l0ser @illogical-immunity @overlad-of-the-snakes @varthandi @whisperinginthevoid @and-this-sword @creamiiteaa-xx

Deityfucker au taglist: @arodynamic-enby @its-the-usda-certified-trashman @overlad-of-the-snakes @aromanticwhore @haha-phrog @hetalianhufflepuff @emeryyleaf @winter-wandering @gaylotusthatexists @8bituin

[fandom-necromancer]

Guitar Lessons

Fandom: Cyberpunk 2077 | Ship: Judy/V, SilverV (interpretable)

‘Of all the shitty ideas you’ve had so far, this is the worst.’ ‘Oh come on!’ ‘No! I'm not some ability-splinter you picked off some unfortunate dead merc! I'm a person!’ 'A person with amazing guitar skills’, V purred. ‘A rockstar whose songs are still famous and loved by his fans even fifty years after his death.' 'Yeah, with lunatics and rebellious youth maybe. You do know that tactic won’t work with me, right?'

'I know for a fact it did with others', she teased the engram. 'Yeah, but I wasn't in their head and knew exactly what they think of me and my music.' 'I do like your songs, okay? Just... Nevermind.' V gripped the neck of the guitar a little stronger, torn in between Johnny's familiarity to the sensation and her own completely foreign one.

'I will let you take over for a night, so you can have your fun', she tried again after much consideration, even though it felt like defeat. 'Giving up so easily?' 'I won't beg you', V stated stubbornly.

'She that important to you?' V sighed, eyeing the crappy guitar she haggled off some homeless in the streets, then looking up to the open window of the run-down apartment complex. She was very quiet when she answered: ‘Yes. I don’t have much time left and I've been alone long enough to know I don’t want to die alone too.’ ‘You know you might be the only person in this world not to die alone’, Johnny commented. ‘Also I won’t let you.’ He said it with such confidence, V wanted to believe him. But at the same time, she knew better than to hope for such a thing. ‘Fuck off. Neither of us will know what happens and how – if – we can survive. Is it really that absurd I want to have a few good days before shit hits the fan?’ ‘You want to forget for a while’, Johnny stated, and V was surprised to hear a slither of real empathy in his voice.

‘Fine.’ ‘You will do it?’ ‘Don’t fuss over it, I’m not doing this for you’, he brushed it off, despite V knowing that was a lie. ‘You owe me an evening with the living, understand? It’s a trade-off.’ ‘If that’s an excuse that helps you sleep at night’, V chuckled. ‘Shut up. What should I play for your output? And if you say Ponpon Shit I take back what I’ve said and kill you myself.’ ‘She’s not my-‘, V began, but couldn’t continue, laughing at the thought of making the great Johnny Silverhand play that song. ‘I mean it.’ ‘Now that you say that-‘ ‘V.’ ‘I’m joking, come on. No, Play Kill the Messenger. It’s her favourite song.’ ‘Urgh. Okay, give me a minute.’

The feeling when Johnny took over her body was as alienating as ever, but she didn’t fight his control and he didn’t push her into unconsciousness as he had done before or as the pills had. He pulled the guitar up to put the strap around her shoulders. Almost automatically their hands came to rest on the strings and V suddenly felt how everything fell into place as if the instrument was a well-known part of her. She knew it was Johnny’s doing, but as her fingers plucked at the strings experimentally and tuned it right, everything felt like she had done this uncountable times already.

The first chord brought a smile to her face that wasn’t hers but could have been in better times. ‘Damn, how did it go again’, Johnny mumbled to himself, trying to figure out the main chords and getting them right after just a few times. ‘You definitely listened to that song far too much, V’, he teased as he tried the melody part next. ‘But some practise time would have been nice.’ ‘You’ll manage.’ ‘Fuck yes I will.’

He pushed V’s mind further into the backseat, but not far enough to shut her out completely. It felt more like an enthusiastic ‘move over, I drive’, than anything, but V couldn’t help the instinctual cold shiver running down her back knowing just how easily the engram could take over if Johnny really wanted to. It was brushed off the next moment anyways, as the rush of the music captured them both and she felt her mouth move on its own. It was hard to say who of them was singing though. V knew the words by heart and Johnny knew how to use a voice, but at that moment it was them singing Judy’s favourite song underneath her window, not really knowing why and at the same time hoping for her to recognise it. It should have been confusing; at the very least it should have been worrying. But all V felt was an almost forgotten sense of unity. For once her own head wasn’t full of fighting thoughts and foreign emotion and conflicting feelings. It was a whole new sense of relaxation she likely was the only one to even know of.

She had wanted to wallow in that sensation for a little while longer, but their synchronisation shattered, as Judy appeared at the window, grinning and looking down at them. ‘V! I didn’t know you could play!’ V stopped singing, but Johnny kept playing the guitar. ‘I can’t!’, she screamed up at her. ‘Only this one song.’ She felt the engram thinking of something and quietly grumbled ‘don’t you dare’ at him, but the tune had already changed to heavier chords. ‘And Samurai’, she awkwardly added then and shrugged with her shoulders as best as Johnny allowed it. ‘Are you coming down now? I’ve reserved in Night City’s finest!’ ‘Taking me to another of your merc bars?’, she chuckled. ‘Yeah, wait I’m coming.’

V sighed and put the guitar down, not without indulging one of Johnny’s habits of sliding her fingers over the strings. ‘Thanks’, she muttered, meaning it. ‘Yeah, yeah’, he waved her off, leaning against a parking van. ‘Just don’t forget my promised evening.’ ‘Alright, I’m here, who is driving?’, Judy asked, hurrying out of the building and meeting V in a messy kiss. ‘Also, you can play Samurai songs? Don’t tell me you actually like them?’ V smirked, side-eying Johnny over her shoulder. ‘Hey, don’t disrespect the classics! And I drive, come on!’

She could still see Johnny shaking his head as she climbed into the driver’s seat but was already thinking about where to take Judy to. ‘Have fun, princess.’