multiimistakes

[multiimistakes]

If the situation wasn't so charged, he'd have found the hands in his short hair comforting. Lounged on some couch, a head in a lap-— he scrunched his face some and chanced to glance down at his bare chest.

❝ I took a nap. I don't like nappin' in shirts. ❞ The 'duh' was heavily implied. ❝ Oh. These are yours? That why they're more like capris? ❞ he was overexaggerating just be even more of an ass.

His gaze had flickered to lips now, torn away only at the mention of loitering. ❝ Hey, y'don't know if I got a reason to be here or not. Besides... dunno how any of what you just said has to do with me cheating. I'm innocent. ❞

The grin that follows the reaper's statement could only be described as wolfish. While security is necessary in day to day, there's no doubt he grew up scrappy. It's in the set of his shoulders and how he moves. A feline grace more apt for a fighting ring, but all the more alluring on a world stage. "Don't have a clue what you mean." He's practically raking his fingers through dark hair, pressed so close.

"Your tits are out on a quaint Tuesday afternoon and you're wearing my gray sweats big boy. How else?" Blue meets blue and he's momentarily struck by the morbidity of it all. There's a song about this, surely.

"Rockstar, courtesan, master of tricks...Take your pick." The dimple in his cheek is prominent as he registers the invitation. "Oh I should huh? Since you came all this way to loiter."

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❝ Don't act like you couldn't put me back on my ass if you wanted to. Backed you into a corner. Gimme a break. ❞ still, he did shift subtly as if to quietly check to make sure Mars actually did have room to wriggle free if he wanted to.

❝ How do I cheat? I play fair. I gotta. Servant of the natural balance, remember? ❞ said almost with a pout. His grin spread lazily as Mars loops hands around the back of his neck and pulled him in. A lazy grin and darkened eyes. If anyone was obvious about their want, it was Jax.

❝ Oh yeah? You're a rockstar. I'd hope that wouldn't the best trick up your sleeve. More of a... kinetic learner though. Should probably show me what y'mean. ❞

There's something comically unhinged with this picture, a man touched by death and the relentlessly curious reaper determined to learn him for the sake of it. "You've backed me into a corner." It's wry and wet, but not as if he's uncomfortable. Growing up in the metal scene meant getting comfortable with many things and very quickly. First one? Fluids. Second? Fighting.

Despite the fact Jax has three to four inches on him in height, the frontman is hardly cowed. "Why would I bother? You cheat." 

Fingers drift up and lace just at the nape of the reaper's neck, tugging him down so they're almost level. "Then again? You're also woefully underprepared. Remember that trick with my tongue?" A slow grin follows as he murmurs a few centimeters from a mocking mouth. "Barely an appetizer." 

[multiimistakes]

me forgetting anyone follows this blog still while i get ready to write freaky nasty threads

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Jax was removed from the living but he didn't hold contempt for it or a cold naturalness for it like plenty reapers did. No, the assistant was fascinated by it. At least, the bits that could be fascinated by him in turn. Unfortunately or not for Mars, that really was just him. 

The man grinned something fierce around his gum as fingers meant to grip were taken between teeth instead. ❝ Me? Provoke? I dunno, Mars. Seems kinda like you're the one doing the provoking right now. ❞ he dared to press fingers in deeper only to remove them and swipe the spit along the man's lips, leaving them glistening. 

❝ Hey man, I didn't know we were playing a game. You'll have to outline the rules for me if you're that dead set on winning. ❞

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Jax was midway through a sip when eyes landed upon 'his' belt buckle. The assistant at first feigned confusion-— this lasted all of a singular beat and a half before he was swallowing down the soda and grinning against the mouth of the bottle.

❝ You got a death wish or something? Bit cliché, isn't it? The whole metal band vibe. Chasing the afterlife. Isn't that like florals in spring? ❞ but who was he to judge in that department? He did indeed look like Hot Topic in its heyday. 

The soda was swirled some, Jax watching the contents form a small and steady tornado of liquid. ❝ I guess I could. Kinda lonely though. Too edgy for even me but... my life's kinda already like a game. Nothing really cool about zombies when I see ghosts everyday. ❞

Jax didn't let that one marinate for long and was already shrugging at the offer. ❝ If you're buying, sure. Kind of a waste between you n' me-— like it though. Food, I mean. ❞ sushi and company? Fuck it, sure.

The tall fucker slouched too much in his seat to the point he looked infuriatingly relaxed. He spread his legs just a bit and gestured for the belt buckle. ❝ You want it back or...? ❞

Skepticism is a luxury that Mars Vega can't quite cash a check for. Not this far in at least. Blue eyes settle boldly on the outlandishly tall specter, and he's racked by the sheer absurdity of the statement. First of all? The fucker looks like he just stepped out of a Marilyn Manson music video circa 98'. Secondly? A squint as he registers a familiar Chrome Hearts belt buckle when his gaze draws low. "I see you've been helping yourself to my closet too." 

"We could only be so lucky." He clasps his hands momentarily in mock prayer before easing over to a fully stocked pantry. Call him a connoisseur of weird snacks for all his travels. "You hungry? I was thinking of ordering sushi." Even polite society dictates treating Death to cuisine. 

Lips press into a firm line as he bites down the urge to comment. There are only so many hits before one incurs divine retribution, and considering his track record? It'd be wise to lay low. On the other hand? It's like Lurch the Majordomo fucked a hot-topic store buck nasty right in the middle of his kitchen. "Why don't you just develop a crippling video game addiction like the rest of the first world?" 

[multiimistakes]

cont. x / @echolaliia

Leave it Jax to pester someone on their night off on his night off. Well, it probably wasn't a full night. At least a few hours -—and maybe not for lack of work but because his boss had needed a break from HIM. 

❝ You rockstars love that aesthetic. Expensive cheap. Delicate balance between that and being on some poser shit. ❞ Jax reaches for the soda as if he isn't some unannounced guest and they were two long time buddies just yukking it up.

❝ Watch it, pal. Maybe I'm here for your ass. ❞ he points a finger lazily in Mars' direction, drops it in a heap into his lap as he lifts the soda to his lips. He liked that he could still taste things, enjoy them. There was nothing to gain from it though and the dead still had to limit their intake of human food just as humans weren't exactly advised to partake in the foods of the dead.

❝ Got a few hours off. Bored. Don't have a lot of friends, would you believe it? Even less people alive who can see me in all my glory. ❞ his deadpan delivery leaves no room to assume he is at all serious about the 'glory' part. He gestures to himself regardless, all monochrome and pierced and looking like just about any baby goth's fashion dream.

[multiimistakes]

BARBARIAN (2022) dir. Zach Cregger

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BILL SKARSGÅRD as ERIC DRAVEN in THE CROW (2024)

[multiimistakes]

Jax Beldane , cis male, 35.

A glorified personal assistant to a death reaper. Everyone who dies gets a stint as a reaper depending on some unknown and unspoken determining factors. Not everyone has to go through dedicated training though...

Jax is dead. Maybe. He assumes he is because everyone else who does this job is. He can't remember dying but his boss says that's for the best and that maybe it was so traumatic it got wiped on the way over the border between life and death. Thing is, he doesn't really remember living either. Regardless, there's work to be done and he's always on the clock.

Death is a constant and the whole process chugs along like a well-oiled bureaucratic machine. Jax isn't a reaper but an assistant to one. He shows up as the muscle and extra pair of hands should his reaper find themselves with a large scale death event or a stubborn soul. He shows up to the near-death situations that his reaper just doesn't have the time to stand around and wait for. He does the legwork, the paperwork, everything that would stop a reaper from maximizing their time actually handling souls

Jax typically is only seen if he wants to be by mortals unless they're supernatural creatures or those touched by death. When he is visible, he tends to have a sort of 'work' uniform. It's very 'Just a dude' vibe and he hates it.

Personality wise, he's got some seriously dry wit. He's incredibly sarcastic and isn't the type to help you out if you can't pick up on it. He struggles with the hierarchical format of his job and hates doing shit just because he's told to, he likes there to be reasons and explanations. He's petty and stubborn but is also just a lonely dude. His entire life (un-life?) is just work, work. It's isolating as the closest thing he has to a friend is his boss who is usually too busy for more than a few exchanged lines of banter.

The Boss, "M"

Jax doesn't know his boss' name, just calls her "M" or any handful of titles (boss, sir, ma'am, chief, etc). He's got no idea how long she's been a reaper (or how many souls she's got left on her ledger) but with how easy she makes it all look, he assumes it's been awhile.

She doesn't typically have a need for her glamour (right) as she's seen even less than Jax is. Only creatures directly touched by death or related to it (near-death experience mortals, vampires, demons, angels, etc) can see her unless she intentionally reveals herself. She shares his dry wit and then some. Her seasoned vet status makes her come off as incredibly apathetic and almost like she's running on automatic sometimes; Jax isn't even sure if she knows what actual emotions are.

[multiimistakes]

honestly laughing at the Just a Southern Dude to supernatural hunter pipeline Thistle fell into. like oh the south being so steeped in superstition makes it easier to just go with it when it turns out that shit is real-real. like oh for sure yeah guess im fighting a ghost thats terrorizing this family now ig and they're paying me like 40 bucks yeah this tracks this is chill and normal

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❝ Maybe like a modest, semi-cheap brick house. ❞ he wasn't bulky but he wasn't in string bean territory either. Average, he liked to think. Just a dude who could throw a punch or a shoulder here and there.

His shoulders rise and fall in a shrug as they walk, he lifts a hand to card through short and messy hair-—just barely long enough that the beginning waves of telltale curls are starting to show up again. He'll probably end up tidying it up before tour ends just for the sake of professionalism and his own sanity.

❝ I can get a lil' frisky, I'll be the first to admit it. But not to the point of endangerin' nobody really. And 'specially not my fuckin' job if I can help it. ❞ bit of an adrenaline, a dopamine fiend here and there but he knew his limits for the most part.

Harvey. Yeah, that sounded right. They cut a left and they're off into a curtained area and he's being reminded about the arrows. Oh yeah, he'd seen them around and had put two and two together. Hell, even if he hadn't been a hundred percent sure on them...green and arrows typically meant good things.

❝ Huh? Oh, like the...I dunno. I mean, gotta see how this all goes for me personally. Then after that it depends on if the powers that be want me around. Then the third layer is if you guys do. All that to say...fuck if I know. Here for this leg at least though for sure. All down in fancy paper and print. ❞

"No one ever really knows how to play I think. That's the whole point of the game. Instigation and chaos." At least if it's his family playing anyway. They don't touch Monopoly on principle, namely? Because Ridley hates the perpetual use of incarceration as an incentive. 

"Oh yeah, built like a brick house?" the corners of his mouth twitch with thinly veiled amusement as he leads them through the sparsely crowded backstage area and toward the craft table situated in the gaming section just before the dressing rooms. "Our turnover rate is pretty low. I'm not stressed about it unless you're hiding an adrenaline junkie deep down." His best attempt at placation. It's not as if he's the road crew police. 

"Harvey. You're a Harvey hire." Breck offers up helpfully before making a left and rounding the corner to a curtained-off area. "We have arrows to guide our people." He points to a small neon green arrow taped on the wall adjacent. "Look for those and you'll find our areas." It's a cardinal road rule not to fuck with stagehands or crew. Not all bands follow it, but the signs and arrows are hallowed. Typically off limits and carefully dispersed to guide the shit-faced or wayward. The guitarist rarely struggles to remember his way after the once. But one could easily attribute that to a keen attention to detail. He has his own landmarks typically. "Are you planning on staying the whole tour? Or just the North American leg?"  

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cred.

im going inSANE

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Thistle holds both hands up in a surrendering motion once they're both to their feet. ❝ Hey man, I haven't played Uno since forever. I dunno how that shit works anymore. ❞ jokes to smooth over the fact that, yeah, they probably would have.

❝ Yeah, but I'm like...really sturdy. ❞ he's smart, he thinks. Thistle had a temper on him but he wasn't some rabid dog; he knew when to pick his fights and how much of himself to throw into the fights he did pick. He exhales a sigh as if he knows he has to correct himself and it's some sort of tedious task. ❝ Look, I'm not gonna be like...some fuckin' liability. To the band or myself. I'm a big boy, I know my way around and how to not get my shit rocked too crazy. ❞

He chewed on the question for a beat, trying to discern the best way to answer it. ❝ I uh...sorta? I mean I haven't really strayed from the like...path that uh-—ah, fuck. I know it's not a good look to not remember who signed you on but I can't remember the dude's name. Anyway, kinda just stuck to what he told me. Still gettin' comfortable, maybe. Or just not used to this sort of scene yet. ❞ he was used to the scene, sure. Just not in a professional sense.

He's somewhat amused by the response. "So we were just gonna uno reverse each other over and over huh?" Funny and maybe a tad unusual. Breck isn't exactly used to people with as more forethought. Usually the people around him are very tethered in the now. Results may vary, and often? The musician finds himself the voice of reason. Blue eyes catch sight of the offered hand when Thistle stands, and he takes it in his own to hoist himself up. Calloused but warm fingers release their hold as he murmurs a quick thanks. 

"I've seen really sturdy people get pretty serious injuries too." A hint of a smile before he dips his hands into hoodie pockets, and begins the trek toward the dressing rooms. "Have you learned your way around yet? Maddie tends to stick by the craft tables, she likes first dibs on the energy drinks come afternoon restock." 

[multiimistakes]

Thistle wouldn't have considered himself a musician. He played and he played more than just the dude who knew a song or two for a party trick. But he didn't play-play in the sense he had attempted to make any career out of it or anything like that. It was like...a rock collection. It wasn't really something you showed off unless someone just really, really also liked rocks and specifically asked to see it.

The favor in question was going to get checked out like he'd planned to anyway. ❝ Yeah, was gonna anyway. But y'should still come with. Like I said, I ain't no medical expert. Would make me feel better if you got all your shit double looked at too. ❞ plenty of rockstars and popstars and metalstars and whatever else would live wild and free, but it was nice to see this one seemed to give some sort of fucks about its staff and members.

Thistle rose to his feet, offered a hand to the guitarist. ❝ I'm pretty sturdy. Don't really gotta worry much 'bout me. ❞

Breck wouldn't have been able to tell the difference, usually. It was the lead singer that got the fanfare. Other musicians were typically the ones to look for him, call it a by-product of natural skill and obsessive practice. He wasn't half bad for a guitarist. Deft hands, and creative. Childhood years spent on a Cello to thank. 

He's not exactly the poster boy for headliner behavior, and it shows in how he holds for a few more seconds before withdrawing his grip. Only skittish and brand-new staff really insist on calling him Mr. Crow. "Excellent." A beam. 

"Will you actually go get checked? It would really bother me to know you'd been injured and we hadn't caught it." Earnest and with a slight furrow in his brow. "It takes a lot to keep us running, and I appreciate your efforts but I worry." A sheepish look before he shrugs. "I'll even come with. I know Maddie's gonna have a field day." The medic has a sharp tongue and knows a little about the beef on sight already. 

[multiimistakes]

Thistle was built different, so declared he. A long time fan of the band, of Breck-—but here he'd managed to get brought on as soundcheck (and whatever else) and he was being totally not weird about it. He hadn't even jumped into the fray for any sort of cringe fan fantasy or to 'protect his fave', it'd just been a natural reaction.

And yeah maybe he was having his little blips of being mildly starstruck, but they were all just dudes at the end of the day and this was a job and it could all just be written off as the soundcheck guy being a little weird.

❝ Breck, yeah. Alright. ❞ he nods, mimicking Breck in the way he lets the shortened name sit on his tongue. He lets his gaze flicker to the hand holding his wrist, brow arched. In his defense this time, he looked more genuinely perplexed than flustered or awestruck.

❝ Uhh...I mean, maybe? Probably? I don't really write blank checks but...shoot. ❞

Breck isn't quite sure where Harvey picks up his strays, but the one thing they seem to have in common is they're resilient and hard to shake. "Okay." the chatter and noise backstage have died down. Now it's just the two of them seated across, with sound check guy looking just a tad sheepish. 

An owlish blink follows the admission, it's so casually blunt he can't help the laugh that bubbles up. Pleasant, and boyish. "I don't think it'll be that much fuss. But at the rate you're going? You might get promoted to security." there's still a hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth when he leans back so he's flush with the wall. "I've done worse." Music video shoots come to mind, hand in hand with committing to the bit. Still, "Mm." 

Blue eyes watch the goings on, and if he notes the slight bewilderment from sound check Breck is polite about it. "Thistle," he repeats, letting it sit in his mouth for a moment before smiling again. "like the plant…I'll remember." The musician finds himself pleasantly surprised at the inquiry, "Breckin." He moves a hand out to catch Thistle's wrist gently. Calming balm for the mortification. He thinks he might've just watched the man speed run the five stages of grief, "Breck is fine too." 

Another smile. "Will you do me a favor, Thistle?" 

[multiimistakes]

Thistle just clucks his tongue, scrunches his face and offers the slightest shake of his head. ❝-—Nah. I mean, fuck me...I won't say no to extra pay but...❞ and he shrugs, finishes his own attempts at first-aid and lets his hands fall back to his lap. And then Thistle looks a bit bashful, like someone being scolded. Ah, hell-—already fussing up on the job.

❝ I mean. I can't promise nothin' so if it's somethin' you'd need to fire me over...best just get that outta the way now. ❞ it wasn't as though he was jumping to fight, it was just that he had a low tolerance threshold for bullshit and he swung fists a little quicker than most.

He wipes any leftover Neosporin onto his cargo shorts and dismisses offers for a medic. ❝ Nah, you oughta get looked at again though. I can slap ointment on and a bandage but I ain't no nurse or nothin'. ❞ not much the medic could do for him anyway besides make sure he hadn't jostled his brain around too much. Realistically, he'd probably get checked out once everyone who was actively bleeding and busted open had.

Dumbly, Thistle glances down as if in search of a nametag. For his name. That he knew. Because it was fucking his. Thistle was good and professional and knew not to be fucking strange, but he'd been tripped up just a bit at such a simple question from one of the band members.

❝ Thistle. Like the uh...the plant, y'know? Or weed or whatever the fuck it is. ❞ a pretty bad lie considering he knew just about all there was to know about Thistles on account of his sister. ❝ What's your name? ❞ he regrets it as soon as it leaves his mouth automatically, blinking owlishly a few times and then looking briefly mortified.

❝ Fuck, I don't know why I asked that. Why wouldn't I know your name. Jesus. Maybe I got knocked around more than I thought...❞

He's not quite certain how to explain why the circuit is smaller than it looks. Point blank? Breck is hardly one to apologize for a throat punch provided it's well-deserved. But he looks somewhat like a sullen black cat once security pulls them all apart. Too many boys, with big egos and bigger mouths. A blessing that the only time his professionalism goes by the wayside is when the predatory bassist fuckhead who'd refused to take a no from his sister a summer ago was lurking in the wings. Sometimes contractual obligations are funny that way when two bands are part of the same label. 

The scrape on his cheek is smattered with Neosporin, and he can see the grease shine in his peripheral as the soundcheck guy offers up business advice. "Harvey will pay you extra." rattled off with practice, low and polite, before blue eyes peer up from underneath dark lashes and catch the split lip with a frown. "Don't do this in the future."    Breck is patient, but unsure how to wave away the careful first aid. This is hardly the worst fight he's been in. However? Credit where it's due. He also hadn't expected the taller man to be right behind him with Gaz in tow. It mollifies him a little. "I'll live." More wry than he means to before he's motioning to his own mouth. "We have a medic on staff." Currently tending to the moron who's head he'd bounced off a speaker, but whatever. Harvey's hire's more important. A pause. "What's your name?" It dawns on him that it might be rude to refer to him that way.

@multiimistakes / continued.

[multiimistakes]

[ TEND ] — Breck + Thistle ( Wattpad au )

[ TEND ]: sender and receiver tend to one another’s wounds in the aftermath of a fight.

Whatever the fuck Thistle was to this band, he was pretty sure his duties did not extend to this. Not to jumping into the middle of a brawl and certainly not patching up the lead guitarist afterwards. He was supposed to help with set up and take down, sound checking. Hell, getting them fucking snacks and coffees or whatever the fuck those sorts did. Very normal, very expected assistant-esque tasks. If this wasn't a metal band, he'd have expected a nice little ear piece and an asshole haircut too.

❝ Not gonna tell you how to run your shit but...maybe you ought to have somethin' about this in the goddamn contract. ❞ not that he was the sort to up and run after one little scuffle. He sported a split lip and a tongue he'd bitten after receiving a stray blow, but was otherwise unscathed. Some ice and maybe some time not running his mouth would do him good.

He sucked his lower lip between his teeth in concentration as he applied a butterfly strip bandage to a cut above the man's brow, flinching at both the sharp taste of copper and at the sting that reminded him he indeed had fucked his lip up.

❝ Be glad y'don't wear nothin'. Grease paint n' shit is killer on open face wounds. I mean, sweat in this puppy and it's still gonna sting like a mother but...could be worse. ❞