#and that way is to have greasy long hair and wear a cool jacket OOPS

[mychemicalrachel]

prompt 10 with adam x kavinsky could be fun,,,

(This turned out way longer than I intended oops)

For the prompt; you’ve been breaking into my car to sleep at night and I’ve let it slide because it’s been cold out but I have a date and I need you to find somewhere else (fine, go in my house/garage, I don’t care, you’re not messing this date up for me)

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Henrietta didn’t have an autumn. There were the burning days of a seemingly endless summer and then, abrupt and harsh and frigid, winter fell like a bomb. Even though it was only mid-October, there was a chill in the air that crept beneath Adam’s collar no matter how tight he pulled his jacket around himself. The water heater in his apartment was broken– again– and phone calls and texts to his landlord about fixing it had gone unanswered– again. As he hurried across the parking lot to his car, he distracted himself from the cold by daydreaming of the day when he would be able to leave this shitty apartment building behind. If he could afford any place better, he would’ve told his landlord to go fuck himself ten times over. But he was a college student living off of minimum wage working at the campus bookstore in no position to tell anyone to fuck themselves, much less the person in control of his housing. He couldn’t even afford a new jacket, let alone a new apartment.

At the top of his daydream list, right beneath a nice winter jacket and an apartment with hot water, was a new used car. He’d been driving the same shitbox since high school and it had been ramshackle back then. Now it was downright decrepit. The door whined reluctantly when he pulled it open and the engine sputtered angrily, but it worked. It was held together with duct tape and a prayer, but it worked.

Fiddling with the heat, wheezing asthmatically and offering little puffs of cool air, Adam wondered if he needed more duct tape or prayers, or maybe a new blower motor. He closed his eyes and hoped that it would just get him through the winter. If he could make it through winter, he could temporarily go back to biking to work and maybe save up enough money to get the car fixed. He just needed it to get him through the winter…

He tossed his backpack into the backseat and froze when it grunted at him.

Slowly, Adam turned.

Then he screamed.

In the backseat of his car, half hidden under a pair of dirty coveralls and an old moving blanket, was a man. He stirred, frowned at Adam’s backpack, noticed Adam watching horrified from the front seat, and screamed back.

Adam gripped the steering wheel tightly like he could possibly use it as a weapon if it came right down to it. But the man in the backseat didn’t seem like much of a threat, even now that he was awake. He was bone thin, visible because as he sat up and the blanket fell away, Adam could see that he was wearing nothing more than a white muscle shirt. He blinked blearily and pushed a hand through his hair, though it fell back in greasy strands across his eyes a moment later.

Adam had never had it easy growing up, first living with abusive parents and then getting emancipated and working himself into the ground to pay for college and his own place, but he’d also never been homeless. Even in the particularly rough times, he always had his friends to keep him from falling too far. He’d never hit rock bottom, not like this. Not pushed to the point of sleeping in a stranger’s car. Looking at the man in his backseat, Adam’s initial terror slipped into something akin to pity. He brushed that aside that thought– he didn’t like to be pitied and so he would not feel pity for this stranger. Even if he did have dirty clothes and unwashed hair and– fuck, he didn’t even have a jacket.

The stranger picked up Adam’s backpack by the strap. “Dude,” he said, his voice gravely. Adam wondered absently how long it had been since he had something warm to drink, or an actual meal to eat. “Did you throw this at me?”

He hadn’t intentionally, but he probably would have if he had known the stranger was there. Instead, he asked his own question; “What are you doing in my car?”

The stranger shrugged. “It was unlocked.”

“The locks are broken,” Adam said, and shook his head. “That’s not the point! You can’t just break into someone’s car to sleep. That’s illegal.”

The man didn’t seem concerned with the legalities of it. “You actually drive this piece of shit?” He laughed. “I didn’t even know it worked. I thought it was abandoned.”

Something like fury burned away any pity that remained in Adam. He didn’t think this homeless stranger was in any position to be criticizing his car, even if it was objectively a piece of shit. “That’s still illegal,” Adam pointed out.

“Yeah, yeah,” the guy waved him off– literally waved him off, like he was a bothersome fly. “Won’t happen again, I’m leaving.” He climbed over the moving blanket, got his ankle tangled in the coveralls, and pushed the door open. The immediate blast of cold air from outside froze Adam all the way to the core.

He closed his eyes.

He blamed it on his own selfish interest– he couldn’t very well go about his day knowing he had forced a homeless man out onto the street to freeze, he’d feel guilty and it would put him in a bad mood the whole rest of the day– when he said, “Wait.”

The stranger waited.

Adam sighed. “What’s your name?”

“Kavinsky,” the stranger said. It sounded too odd to be a fake name.

He was already running late and he regretted it before he even offered, “Can I drop you off anywhere?”

Outside the car, Kavinsky mulled it over. He thought about it so long that Adam almost took back the offer and left him there to die in the parking lot. But eventually he shut the back door, made his way around the car, and climbed into the passenger’s seat. He fidgeted with the vents, angling up and then down. He didn’t seem to notice the chill as much as Adam did, just playing with the settings on the heater. “You never told me your name,” he said.

Adam pulled out onto the street. “Adam. Stop fucking with that.”

Kavinsky shot him a grin and continued fucking with the heat.

“Where should I take you?” Adam asked. He was having second thoughts already. He hoped wherever Kavinsky wanted to go was close. The sooner Adam could get him out of the car, the sooner he became Not Adam’s Problem.

Kavinsky looked over at him. “I don’t know. Christ, it’s early. Where are you headed?”

“VCU campus,” Adam told him. “I can drop you anywhere between here and there.”

“VCU,” Kavinsky repeated carefully, seeming unfamiliar with the concept. “Sure, okay. VCU it is. Does your radio work?” He didn’t wait for an answer. The radio did work, sometimes, in certain areas, with varying degrees of success. Mostly it was sporadic tunes from different stations overlaid with static. Kavinsky didn’t seem to mind, changing it from one station to another without pause. He fidgeted a lot and Adam found himself wondering if he was on drugs– that probably would have been something to know before he offered to give him a ride. But it was too late now and they were nearly there.

When they finally arrived on campus, Adam was more than ready to part ways and pretend this morning was a lapse in judgment, a near miss, a cautionary tale to remember later. He got his bag from the backseat as Kavinsky got out and patted his pockets. When he retrieved a crumpled pack of cigarettes, Adam was silently grateful he’d at least waited until he got out of the car to smoke. Kavinsky looked around curiously at the buildings, the early risers with early classes bustling half asleep down the sidewalk. “Thanks for the ride,” he said.

“No problem,” Adam lied. “Just– you can’t sleep in my car anymore. This can’t become a habit.”

“No problem,” Kavinsky echoed. His lips curled into a smile around the cigarette. “Won’t happen again. It was a one time thing. Promise.”

It wasn’t a one time thing.

A week after their first encounter, just as Adam was starting to forget it ever happened, it happened again. This time, as Kavinsky roused from the backseat, he didn’t seem as surprised to find Adam as Adam was to find him.

“Oh, hey,” he said. “Morning.”

“No,” Adam shook his head. “No, do not ‘morning’ me! What the actual fuck? What are you doing back there?”

Kavinsky seemed to take this as an invitation to move from the backseat to the front, climbing over the center console to do so. Once he’d settled in the passenger’s seat, he smirked sideways at Adam. “You always get up this early?”

“What are you doing here?” Adam asked.

“I’m sleeping,” Kavinsky said. “I was sleeping. You hit me with your bookbag again.”

“Kavinsky–” Adam said.

Kavinsky smiled. “Adam.”

Adam had a million choice words on the tip of his tongue and half of them were swears, but Kavinsky’s crooked smile and his rough sleep-addled voice brought Adam’s retort to a withering stop. He was wearing the same white muscle shirt, the same faded jeans, all hanging loose off his wirethin frame.

“Are you on drugs?” Adam asked.

Kavinsky’s sharp laugh echoed in the interior of the car. “Sometimes,” he said. “Not right now.”

Adam wasn’t going to judge him. He wasn’t. It wasn’t his place, it wasn’t his business– except it kind of was. It became his business as soon as Kavinsky decided to start sleeping in his car. He started the car without another word and had pulled out onto the main road before he spoke again. “You can’t keep sleeping in my car.”

“How come?”

“Well, because– because it’s…” Adam sputtered for a response, each one dying in his throat. Because it was illegal, but it was only illegal if Adam pressed charges. Because it was unethical, but it was also maybe the safest place Kavinsky could find. He frowned at the road and sighed.

“You got a last name, Adam?” Kavinsky wondered offhandedly.

“That’s personal,” Adam said. “Why would I tell you that?”

“That’s personal,” Kavinsky mocked. “Fuck that, man. I know where you live, I know what you drive, I know where you go to school. But last names are too personal?”

“What about you?” Adam asked.  “Do you have a last name?”

“Kavinsky,” Kavinsky said.

“Kavinsky? Your name is Kavinsky Kavinsky?”

“Wow, pretty and smart.” Kavinsky rolled his eyes. “My last name is Kavinsky, dipshit. Never said it was my first name.”

“So what’s your first name?”

Kavinsky made a sucking noise with his teeth. “I don’t know, Adam. That’s kind of personal.”

Adam could pull over right now. He could leave Kavinsky stranded on the side of the road. Honestly he doubted anyone would blame him.

But Kavinsky just laughed, that chilly sound as before, and said, “Joseph. But nobody calls me that.”

Joseph Kavinsky. If he was to be believed, at least Adam would know who to report to the police if this did end up being a massive mistake. “Parrish,” he said.

“Adam Parrish,” Kavinsky said.

Adam pretended he didn’t like the way his name sounded in that gravely voice, but if he rolled the memory around in his head afterwards, imagining other ways, other tones, other scenarios that his name would sound in Kavinsky’s mouth, no one had to know.

He started checking in the mornings before he tossed his bag into the backseat. Sometimes Kavinsky would be there, snuggled comfortably among the moving blanket and sometimes the car was empty. Adam didn’t want to admit it, but he started to enjoy the company in the mornings on the drive to school. Kavinsky was brusque and funny in a dry way. Maybe it was vanity, but he thought Kavinsky enjoyed his company, too. He laughed at Adam’s sarcastic comments, filled his quiet mornings with commentary about whatever happened to be on his mind, whether it was criticizing Adam’s car or asking about Adam��s degree.

He never asked where Kavinsky went during the days or where he stayed on the nights he didn’t spend in the backseat of Adam’s car. He convinced himself that it wasn’t any of his concern and, if Kavinsky wanted him to know, he would tell him. For the time being, Adam could offer him the solace of a somewhat warm place to sleep and hope that was enough.

When Blue asked him out, Adam panicked. He knew her from around campus; they had a few classes together, he’d talked to her briefly in the bookstore when she was buying a few used environmental law books. She seemed nice enough, but Adam hadn’t considered dating much since– well, ever. His ten year plan involved meeting someone eventually, after he graduated, after he got a steady job. So when Blue asked him to accompany her to the Christmas tree lighting at the local tree farm, Adam kind of freaked out. It didn’t sound like a real thing and it certainly didn’t sound like somewhere he would take a girl on a first date, but he didn’t have anything better to do so he said yes. When she grinned, touched his arm, and said, “It’s a date!” he knew he had fucked up.

He couldn’t back out without seeming like a jackass, and it wasn’t like he could ghost her because they went to the same school and she was actually kind of cool, even if he didn’t want to date her.

So he would suck it up, suffer through a cold night surrounded by Christmas trees, and at the end of the night he would let her down gently. He could do that. As he walked briskly across the parking lot, he considered what he would say. He’d never broken up with anyone before, and he wasn’t sure what the etiquette was for telling someone you’d rather stay friends after only one date. Shit. He would figure it out. He had to.

It was habit by that point, as he climbed into the car, to look into the backseat. He didn’t expect to find anything, but sure enough, nestled in the blanket, was Kavinsky. He looked different than Adam remembered from the first time, sleeping peacefully. He looked… soft. Relaxed. Adam wondered if that was maybe an effect of the drugs.

“Hey,” Adam whispered loudly. “Kavinsky. Wake up.” He reached back and nudged the blanket. It wiggled as Kavinsky moved.

Blinking slowly, Kavinsky rubbed his eyes. His words slurred together sleepily when he asked, “Is it morning already?”

“No,” Adam said, “it’s like nine PM. But you can’t be here. Not tonight. You have to go.”

“Go?” Kavinsky asked.

“Yes,” Adam said. “Like… get out.”

Humming, Kavinsky closed his eyes and sank down further into his cocoon. “You gonna make me?”

“Kavinsky,” Adam said. “Look, I’ve let this slide but you can’t be here tonight.”

“You got a hot date?”

Adam was glad that it was too dark to see his blush, but Kavinsky must have heard it in his silence.

He shifted, sitting up a little. “Oh, shit, Parrish. For real? Who’s the lucky lady?” He pointedly raised his eyebrows. “Or lad.”

“Lady,” Adam said, then realized Blue would probably hate to be described as a lady, so he corrected, “Girl. Woman.”

Kavinsky seemed wholly amused when he climbed into the front seat. “Where are you taking this lovely girl woman? Are you picking her up? I hear ladies love cars, but this piece of shit might be the exception. If it breaks down, will you let her steer while you push?”

“K,” Adam said. “I don’t have time for this. You have to go.”

“I can stay in the backseat. I’ll be quiet, I promise. Unless,” he looked over at Adam with the shadow of a smile tugging at his lips, “you plan on getting lucky back there.”

“Kavinsky,” Adam snapped.

Kavinsky must have realized he was pushing too far and put his hands up in mock surrender. “Okay, fine. I’ll go.”

“You don’t–” have anywhere else to go. But Adam didn’t say that out loud. Instead, he swore under his breath, checked the time, and said, “You can stay in my apartment tonight.”

Kavinsky’s eyes widened.

Adam interrupted before he could say anything. “One night. That’s it.”

When Kavinsky smiled, it was more than a shadow– it was an entire beam of sunlight. He was quiet as he followed Adam into the building, up the stairs, looking around curiously. Adam expected him to make crude comments about the stains on the floor and the constantly present smell of must in the air, but he said nothing at all. When they reached Adam’s door, his fingers fumbled with the keys in the lock. Once it was open, Adam grabbed Kavinsky and pulled him inside before he could think any better of it.

Kavinsky’s wrist was thin under Adam’s fingers, the kind of frail he remembered being back in high school when he was rationing his own meals. He could feel the thundering of Kavinsky’s pulse echoed in his own.

“There’s food in the fridge,” Adam told him, “and a spare blanket in the closet if you want to sleep.” He paused, and added, “On the couch.”

“You sure about this, Parrish?” Kavinsky asked. He ran his finger along the single small bookshelf Adam owned, perusing the titles of his secondhand books. “Didn’t your parents ever teach you about stranger danger?”

“I don’t know if we’re strangers anymore. You sleep in my car,” Adam said. “You know my name, where I live, where I work, where I go to school.”

It wasn’t lost on him that Kavinsky knew all of that and yet he hardly knew anything about Kavinsky. All he knew at the moment, all that mattered, was that Kavinsky was homeless, he was cold, he was tired, and he needed help. Adam didn’t have much, but he was going to offer what he could.

“Just don’t break anything,” Adam said. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”

Kavinsky hummed, plucking a book off the shelf. Adam wondered if he could even read and then chastised himself because of course Kavinsky could probably read. He had already kicked his shoes off and was settling down on the couch before Adam was out the door.

The date with Blue was worse than Adam imagined. It was cold and his jacket was too thin to keep out the chill, his fingers were practically numb by the time the tree lighting even happened and that itself was entirely underwhelming. Blue talked about her family and her major and pointed out the different types of trees to Adam, but Adam couldn’t focus on most of what she was saying. His mind kept wandering back to Kavinsky.

It was probably a mistake to leave Kavinsky in his apartment alone. He kept imagining the horrible things Kavinsky was doing– setting the kitchen on fire, eating his entire week’s supply of food, clogging his toilet, annoying his neighbors, using up what meager amount of hot water he had. Maybe Adam would come home and the entire apartment would be emptied out, everything he owned gone. Not that he had much that was worth anything anyway, but what he did have was his and he’d left a complete stranger– a poor homeless, possible drug addict– alone with it all.

When the night was finally over, Adam was practically vibrating with the urgency to get home, to fix whatever mess Kavinsky had left. He drove as fast as his car would let him and took the stairs two at a time up to his floor. When he pushed the door open, bracing himself for the absolute worst, Adam was surprised– shocked– to find Kavinsky exactly where he’d left him. He was halfway through the book he was starting with Adam left, in the same spot curled up on one end of the couch. A pizza box was open next to him, half finished.

Kavinsky looked up when Adam burst in. He used his finger to hold his place and the book in his lap fell shut. “Honey, you’re home. How was your date?”

Adam ignored him. He looked around, closing the door carefully. Everything looked the same, not a dust mote out of place.

Kavinsky noticed his unsubtle once over and barked out a laugh. “I didn’t break anything. I made dinner. Hungry?”

He was, and he tentatively took a piece of pizza from the box. “How did you get this?”

“I ordered it.” Kavinsky looked at him like he was dumb. “I used the phone. They have this cool new thing where you can order food online and someone will bring it to you. Modern technology, man. It’s a motherfucking wonder.”

Adam chewed as it mulled that over. He knew a lot of homeless people had government-provided cell phones and it wasn’t entirely unusual that Kavinsky had enough money for a single pizza. But it still felt weird. He felt like someone had told a joke and he was missing the punchline. He finished his bite and swallowed it down, dry and rough, before he found his voice, breaching the subject he had, for weeks, managed to avoid. “Do you have somewhere to stay?”

“Huh?” Kavinsky looked back up from the book.

“Somewhere to stay,” Adam repeated carefully. He considered the pizza. He knew what it was like to be hungry. When he was a teenager, pizza was a delicacy he couldn’t often afford. “They have shelters, places with heat and beds, somewhere safe you can sleep for a few nights. I can help you find somewhere if you want.”

Kavinsky blinked at him, then blinked again. “Hold the fuck up,” he closed the book again and sat it down in his lap, then folded his hands on top of it. “Parrish, are you talking about a homeless shelter? Like for poor people?”

“Well,” Adam wanted to put it more delicately, but he couldn’t figure out a way. He grimaced. “Yeah.”

There was a beat of silence, a single moment, before Kavinsky laughed, loud and raucous, full and hardy. He sank down into the cushions, tossing his head back to expose the winding veins in his throat.

Now Adam was certain he had missed the punchline.

He waited until Kavinsky calmed down, his laughter tapering into an amused chuckle. “Oh, sweetheart,” he said, “do you think I’m homeless?”

Think? “Wait,” Adam said. Looking back on the meager things he knew about Kavinsky, it wasn’t a thought. It was a fact. Kavinsky was homeless. Unless, of course, he wasn’t. “Are you saying you’re not?”

Kavinsky stifled another laugh that came out anyway, sounding like a strangled hyena. “Obviously I’m not fucking homeless.”

Adam’s jaw tightened. He felt suddenly like he was the punchline of this joke and he didn’t like it one bit. “How was that supposed to be obvious? You’ve been sleeping in my car for weeks!”

“It was unlocked,” Kavinsky said.

“The locks are broken!” Adam shouted. “That is not the point! What the hell is wrong with you!?”

“You should really get the locks fixed,” Kavinsky said calmly. “Anyone could just break in.”

When Adam just glared at him, Kavinsky bit down on his smile.

“You seem upset.”

He felt way past upset. He was confused and fuming and embarrassed and he was burning under Kavinsky’s humored gaze. “You have a place to live,” he said, though it came out as more of an accusation than a question.

“Where did you think I was sleeping when I wasn’t in your backseat?”

Probably under a bridge, but Adam didn’t say that because now he clearly knew that was the wrong answer. He asked, “So what was this? Why did you keep breaking into my car?”

“Why did you let me?” Kavinsky challenged.

“Because,” Adam said slowly, making his words very deliberate, “I thought you were homeless.”

Kavinsky pursed his lips. “You let a homeless man with a drug problem sleep in your car and then invited him into your apartment? What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Kavinsky–” Adam started, and stopped. “Is that even your real name?”

“Course it is. Why would I lie about that?”

Adam was going to murder him. He was going to strangle him with his bare fucking hands.

Maybe Kavinsky sensed this because he put his hands up, placating, like he was talking to a caged animal. “Okay, okay. Sometimes my parents fight. It’s nice to get out of the house and find some peace and quiet. That’s all.”

“And you decided my backseat was a good place for some peace and quiet?” Adam asked, disbelieving.

Kavinsky shrugged. “The first time was an accident. I really did think the car was abandoned, and I was too wasted to care.”

“But you kept doing it. You could have gotten a hotel room or stayed with a friend or something, right?”

Kavinsky nodded.

“Why did you keep going back to my car?”

“Because,” Kavinsky said and his smile was back, a sparkle gleaming in his eyes, “I realized the guy who owned the car was kind of hot.”

Adam stopped. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out, so he closed it again. Kavinsky seemed proud at having rendered him speechless. “You broke into my car,” Adam finally managed, “because you think I’m attractive?”

“Yeah.”

“What the fuck?”

Kavinsky’s grin was sharp and sharklike. “In simple terms; I like you, shitface.”

Adam’s face burned. “Why wouldn’t you just ask me out like a normal person?”

“Well it seemed inappropriate to show up where you lived or worked just to ask you out.”

“And breaking into my car wasn’t inappropriate?”

“You didn’t stop me,” Kavinsky reminded him. “You let me sleep in your car.”

“Because I thought you were homeless! I mean,” Adam gestured at Kavinsky, “you have one shirt and it looks like you haven’t washed your hair in two years.”

“First of all, I have many shirts that all look alike. I’m a very simple person. And second,” Kavinsky said, “that was rude. I have washed my hair like twice in the past year, at least.”

Despite himself, Adam snorted.

Kavinsky smiled. “You never answered my question. How was your date?”

“Terrible.” Adam kicked off his shoes and shoved the pizza box aside so he could sit on the other end of the couch. “She talked about trees the whole time and I was just thinking about you the entire night. Not like– I mean–”

“No, keep going,” Kavinsky insisted. “You thought about me while you were on a date with someone else?”

Adam did his best to glare at him, but it lacked the heat he’d felt before. “I thought about how I was never going to get my security deposit back because I let a homeless drug addict into my apartment.”

“Recovering addict,” Kavinsky corrected. He leaned back and let his head fall to the side, watching Adam curiously, the same curiosity as when he’d been on campus the first time, and when he’d come into Adam’s apartment. A look of genuine awe. “Adam Parrish, I can promise you I have my own car and I live with my parents, but I’m not homeless. I have a part time job and a checking account with real grown-up money in it.”

“K, stop talking,” Adam interrupted, “I’m impressed, okay? Just ask me on a fucking date already.”

“I’ll take you somewhere nice,” Kavinsky grinned, “and I won’t talk about trees at all.” His gaze flicked briefly down to Adam’s mouth and he licked his own bottom lip. “And if the date goes well,” he said, “maybe you can find out what the backseat of my car looks like.”

[intergalacticaquarium]

Despicable headcanons for eddie munson

Terrible and (sfw) filthy headcanons for eddie munson that make him my dream man

None of this is ironic

- wears all those layers bc he gets cold really really easily and every time he starts to shiver and his teeth start to chatter at like 50 degrees he is completely humiliated

-only remembers to brush his hair about once a week. Usually he just kinda pats it down until it's the right shape. The mats add volume

-DEFINITELY cuts his own bangs

-either got arrested when he was like 17 and booked it into the forest and hopper was like whatever dude I'm busy and he broke the handcuffs in a very stupid and dangerous way

-OR he just found em in the woods bc as somebody that lives near a lot of woods sometimes you find weird shit in there. One time I found super old car with bullet holes in it.

-speaking of yknow sometimes ur in public and you'll see a piece of clothing or a hair tie or a water bottle that somebody obviously left behind and you know not to touch it bc gross? Eddie doesn't know not to touch it. He touches it and picks it up and takes it home and fucking might wash it and definitely wears it

-found his vest on the side of the road in a puddle and took it home like a Charlie brown Christmas tree

-gets no bitches sorry girlies. Extremely surprised to get one bitch but she's a slug woman too so it's tru love. First and foremost what he wants in a partner is for them to be the type to also eat dry cereal by the fistful

- if he scrolled thru the Eddie x reader tag and read the descriptions he would be terrified and would need to look up a lot of terms and would need to go lie down for a second after all that information

-calling Eddie on a bluff is extremely easy and extremely satisying

-full of love

-cries really easily but sometimes that's bc his eyes are huge and it's windy and he's been sitting in the dark for a long time

-has waaaaay too lax a policy on what's OK to eat after you drop it on the floor

-has really bad undiagnosed untreated adhd. Cannot focus unless he's invested, will say the first thing that comes into his brain and regret it instantly and its either something wildly off topic or a response to something you said 3 minutes ago

-sometimes absentmindedly chews on his hair and it gets hard on the ends. To his credit he knows that this is gross

-hey why am I getting turned on writing this thats weird right

-you'd expect him to have like a million stupid fancy bongs that he won't shut up about but actually he has like 4 and only uses one and it's the fucking grodiest yellow tinted black bongwater that hasn't been changed in ages resin inside that looks like fuckin bushes bong you have ever seen and will not use it. One time you steal it and clean it out with an entire bottle of rubbing alcohol. It's still kinda gross when ur done and he genuinely would silently hold it against you for years

-uses his jeans as a napkin

-can't remember the last time he washed his jeans. Says you're not supposed to wash them but put them in the freezer. He does not put them in the freezer either

-smells like cigarettes. This one isn't sexy its just gross if somebody smokes weed and cigarettes they smell like cigarettes if somebody wears cologne and smoke a certain number of cigarettes that is all they smell like and it's kind of overwhelming until you literally air out and febreeze his whole fucking trailer and wardrobe to put a dent in it

-he got those holes in his jeans by falling over onto concrete really hard while trying to carry like 20 things at once inside

-very strangely patchy chest hair

-insomnia and watches a lot of infomercials because of it

-sometimes tastes things that aren't food if he's curious and nobody's around. One time he did lick a frog and it tasted weird and it was bad but he will always know what it tasted like so who's to say if it was a success or not

-laughs at horror movies but gets scared and jumpy for the rest of the night

-eats like an animal or Brad pitt in an oceans movie. If he can eat it with his hands by the fistful he will.

-I wonder if anybody can get which of these are autobiographical and how badly I'm giving myself away rn

-sometimes says and does things he saw his metal musician idols doing without knowing what they meant and being confused when confronted

-has AT LEAST one very badly scarred stick n poke disaster

-there are a lot of these and I honestly could go on probably indefinitely so I'm gonna stop now but every time I read a fic where he's too sexy and fuckable I'm gonna add 2 more to balance it out.

-one last one the wallet chain isn't for fashion it's for fashion AND bc he loses his wallet a lot

[odetothestars]

Sirius Black Headcanons

Has the most beautiful hair you will ever see. Thick, shiny, raven coloured waves. It's about chin length so not really long but not short. He takes really good care of it so it's never greasy or flat. Often ties the top half of it back in a little itty bitty bun.

Loves when his close friends play with his hair. Will have Lily put little braids in it sometimes. Often just lays his head in Remus' lap without saying anything, and Remus will just run his hands through Sirius' hair for hours at a time.

Cuts his hair a bit at the beginning of summer, I have a thing for shorter haired Sirius. Like not short short though.

He's tall! (Honestly doesn't matter but in my head he's pretty tall. I know a lot of people argue over this but please don't yell at me about it if you don't agree! This is just my personal view! The whole argument about height is so ridiculous because it DOESN'T MATTER)

The CHEEKBONES and jawline that this boy has wow

Eyelashes EYELASHES. Super dark, full, and long! Also very pretty light grey eyes.

Only touchy with the people he's closest too. Like super physically affectionate with his loved ones, likes to being touching one of them at all times. Loved hugs, kisses, holding hands, snuggles of any kind but only with people he really trusts. Otherwise he does NOT like being touched, strangers or acquaintances touching him is a nono. Really affects his anxiety.

His body language is super expressive, he doesn't often use words to express how he's feeling but his emotions are more obvious in the way he holds himself. Sometimes Remus will notice that he's feeling really down so he'll just grab him and hug him without saying anything. James notices too and will (dramatically) recite an ever-growing list of everything thing loves about Sirius.

Super academically inclined, like very intelligent. However, common sense is at 0. He's a genius but also an idiot.

LOVES animals so much! Takes a walk in the Forbidden Forest and has full blown conversations with any animals he sees. Sometimes after chatting with smaller creatures, he'll smuggle them into the castle, then he has to try to convince Remus that he "just HAD to take the animal in out of the cold" and promises to take good care of it in the dorm. "Look how cute Re, we have to keep him" "Sirius NO" "But he'll be cold outside *puppy dog eyes*" "...Fine"

Also brings back little gifts for Remus and James. Little rocks, or leaves, or even twigs that looked cool. "This leaf is kinda the same colour of your eye! It reminded me of you so here ya go!" Remus keeps every single one.

Sometimes forgets that he's not actual a dog...like will sometimes lick his Remus on the cheek insteaded of kissing him? Likes being pet of the head? Gets so excited about the littlest things, like will smile and pant like a puppy when someone mentions walks or treats. Also Jumps on people when he's happy to see them. Will chase balls and sticks in human form?

"Pads, fetch!" "YES! Wait-" *Cue James losing it laughing*

"Sirius want a treat?" "YOU BET I DO" "Ok, Sit" *Sirius sits and Remus drops a piece of chocolate in his mouth*

HATES being called "Mr. Black". Mcgonagall knows this and always calls him "Sirius" instead.

Loud noises are a NO. People raising their voice at him will trigger panic attack. Thunder storms are also really bad.

Despite common misconception, he is not a player. Doesn't sleep with tons of random people because intimacy is a very serious and scary thing for him. Also guessing that he never got proper Sex Ed growing up, not knowing what something is can be very nerve racking. He's also been in love with Remus since he was 11 so ya know

Existential crisis at like 4 in the morning at least once a week! "GUYS WHY ARE WE HERE? WHAT IS THE POINT OF LIFE" "Pads-" "NO WAIT! There has to be an infinite amount of universes right? Because if they end then everything would be nothing and nothing would be everything, which would be happening all the time but also never because time and space wouldn't be real! So what else is out there? Do you think there's an alternate Sirius? What do you think aliens look like?" "...Well he's got a point"

Him and Regulus stay very close! They hang out a lot and bicker like typical brothers, it's sweet. The Potters take them both in.

Loyal to a fault! Would do absolutely anything for his friends, and would defend them endlessly! Has hexed people for making fun of Remus' scars and Lily's muggle parents.

Bad liar! Can not lie to his friends! Super bad at it!

Remus' parents love him

Very clean and neat. His part of the dorm is always the tidiest. "JAMES PICK UP YOUR SOCKS". Will fold Remus' clothes for him.

Detail oriented, remembers the littlest things about people! Like how they take their tea, their favourite sweet, little trinkets they mentioned they liked in passing.

Generous, buys his friends gifts for no reason at all

Wakes up early

Is absolutely whipped for Remus Lupin, head over heels in love.

Doesn't really like being drunk because he hates the feeling of being out of control

Helps first years find their way around the castle. Also tutors younger students.

Wears black on black, leather or black denim jackets, band t-shirts, ripped jeans! Looks very intimidating but is ridiculously soft and sweet.

Cries at sad movies. Hides behind Remus during horror movies.

Cried happy tears when James and Lily got engaged, as well as at the wedding. Also cried when Harry was born. Is an amazing godfather. Absolutely worships that kid.

This ended up being really long oops! But here are some of my thoughts on my favourite boy! Yes I did project myself a little heheh

[ecotone99]

[MF] Gone Songs #02 The Rainmakers

Marco holds on to the small, velvet box; hesitating before passing it over. "You won't drop it?" he asks.

"Look, just because I showed up late-"

"-for my wedding-"

"-for your wedding-"

"-and you're my best man-"

"-Gah! Such pressure!" I fumble with the cummerbund, turning it until it was centered over my belly. Or at least close enough. "It wasn't my fault. My mom hasn't set the clocks forward for daylight savings time yet-"

"-which should have been done weeks ago-" Marco tugs my cummerbund to it's just right position.

"-yeah, you know how she is. Anyway, I'm here now." I hold out my hand, palm down. "Look. Steady as a rock."

Marco moves to give me the ring. I make the hand shake wildly.

"Oops," I fling it behind my back. "Try this one," I offer my other hand, palm up.

Marco sighs. He places the box in my hand.

"Let's go."

***

Luckily, we make it to the church in time and I am able to stand next to my best friend as he marries his High School sweetheart. No, really, she is still in High School. Seventeen years old. Marco, the man himself, only nineteen.

Too young, some would say. Most would say. But they don't know Marco like I do. The earth will turn, the sun will rise, God will rule in heaven, and Marco will be married to this one woman - girl, now, but woman soon enough - for the rest of their long, fruitful lives.

Such certainty. It is more than I deserve, being counted among those to witness the event. And I surely don't deserve the honor of standing at the groom's right hand, holding the ring. Well, I suppose that's another advantage of having grown up in a small Kansas town. No competition. I didn't have to be that good to be a best man.

***

After the ceremony, chaos. Pictures are wanted, names are shouted out; flashbulbs and laughter, hugs and handshakes. During a lull, I'm called to the parking-lot for a consultation.

"What do you think?" Don asks. He and a crew of helpers stand next to the honeymoon car - a workhorse wood-paneled station wagon; 'Just Married' soaped on the rear window and a dozen empty soda cans tied to the bumper.

"Great," I say. "Fine." Then, as I get closer and look in the window, I see a scattering of popcorn over the front seat.

"What's that?"

"That's a prank. You know, fill the car up with popcorn so...."

"Funny," I agree, "But don't you think there should be more? That's, like, not a lot of popcorn." In truth, the front seat doesn't look any worse than having taken a sharp turn with a bag of old movie theater 'corn riding shotgun.

Don shrugs.

I get money from my wallet and tell him, "Go to Wal-Mart. They sell those big bags of the stuff for cheap. You know what I'm talking about? Looks like garbage bags? Sometimes cheesy flavored; or caramel? Get as many as you can."

Don grabs some friends and they hurry away. Robert, one of Marco's younger brothers, stands by my side. "That's going to be messy," he says.

I laugh. "Yeah."

"Shouldn't you stop that sort of thing?"

"What?"

"You're the best man. Shouldn't you stop them from doing that?"

I look at Robert for a moment. "I don't know," is my honest answer.

***

The reception. I'm introduced to one of the bridesmaids - a pretty redhead named Anne, and we dance. We dance goofy in a group. We dance slow together. We talk about the bride and groom. We talk about ourselves. She's studying management at K-State. I've moved south, to attend the University of Houston where the temperature is more apropos for a young man ready to set the world on fire.

During a break, I leave her with friends to fetch refreshments. Since everybody in the wedding party is underage, drink choices are Sprite and Coke.

Sprite or Coke....

While making the decision, I hear a voice behind me say, "Decline and fall."

I turn. Christine Kohler stands there, dressed to the nines, smile beaming, blonde hair done fancy in a way I'd never seen on her before.

"Fall down baby!" I say, finishing the lyrics of a song that had somehow become our special salutation. I grab her in a hug.

We laugh. We hold each other at arm's length. "Look at you," I say. Chrisy Kohler, my High School running buddy, almost unrecognizable now with that blown-out hair and wearing an honest-to-goodness dress. Never a petite girl, the freshman fifteen strains the silky yellow fabric in nice places, as well as around her middle. The dress' neck line is much, much lower than her usual wardrobe of sweatshirts and Ts.

"A lot more of me, right?"

"Fornicate that. You look great."

"You clean up pretty good yourself."

"Where have you been? I didn't see you during the ceremony, or the dance."

"No surprise. You looked like you were going to pass out from the pressure of having to stand still for an hour. Anyway, I was in the back, with the cool kids."

I lean in. She smells of cigarettes. Chrisy smirks. "And we cool kids tend to hang out in the parking-lot during these John Barleycorn Must Die Baptists shin-digs. You know how it is."

"Yeah, I know how it is."

"Besides." Chrisy hip-checks me hard enough that I have to steady myself against the drink table. "You're doing alright without me." She motions across the room towards Anne who is huddled with a group of girls, all of them eyeballing me while smiling and giggling into their hands.

"Can you pop the collar of a tuxedo?" I ask, giving it a try. "I feel as if I should pop my collar."

Chirsy makes the judgment call. "Perfect! Looks absolutely stupid."

I become Elvis. "Uh hunka hunka," I mumble, pelvis suddenly on a swivel, index fingers pointing nowhere in particular.

Chrisy goes upside my head. "Fool." Then, with her hand still on my back, she moves in front of me; face to face. Close. Intimate. I'm tall; we're almost eye-to-eye. A big girl. She places her other hand behind my neck and, with a caress, fixes the collar.

"You haven't changed," she says. Her pretty face, inches from mine, tilts slightly. "And in a way that's very sad." She smiles ruefully.

"Now." She steps back and slaps my tux into shape. "Get over there before Red realizes what a big mistake she's making."

I make a derisive noise. "She can wait. I'm not done talking with you."

"Yes you are." Chrisy grabs a two liter bottle from the table. "Besides, I'm due back at the parking-lot. There's some very important rum waiting for coke.... Er. I mean, there's some very important people waiting for me." She backs away, doing the Queen of England hand-wave.

"Hey," I call out. "Don't leave without saying goodbye."

Then she's gone.

***

The popcorn thing is a disaster. Never quick to anger, Marco has always been more of the slow-burn type, so I can see his temperature rise by degrees as he circles the station wagon. Through the car's windows, nothing but popcorn. Crammed to the roof. Marco opens the passenger's side causing an avalanche of the greasy stuff. Gloria, his young bride, moves to avoid having it cover her shoes. Water fills her eyes, threatening to spill over.

The gathered crowd laughs and hoots, maybe a little nervous because just popcorn might have been a good gag; but this greasy, buttery Wal-Mart gunk is well over the line. Nevertheless, we can't let the night end on a bad note so we move into action. Girls swarm Gloria, cooing comfort, while us boys start shoveling. We get enough of it off the seats, but the residue is something else entirely. Marco's worried about his rented tuxedo and Gloria's dress. I rather suspect you could toast a marshmallow over his head by now.

There are blankets in the trunk of my car. We use them to cover the seats. Marco's grumbling about irreparable damage, but it’s been a long day. Time to go.

We have a moment alone, away from the crowd. I congratulate him. Shake his hand. This is my best friend. We've gone to school together for twelve years. Since kindergarten, actually. I can't remember a time when we didn't know and like each other. Soccer leagues, camping; building things, tearing things down. Bad movies and video games. Cars and girls. Between Marco and I, all the mysteries of the universe have been discussed and settled. And we aren't even twenty years old.

I let go his hand. I'll never be part of another friendship like this one.

We make no plans. He's off to start a life. I'm gone to Texas. We'll see each other again, maybe.

I say goodbye to the best part of my childhood one more time. Maybe the last time.

And he's a little pissed. And I'm more than a little guilty.

***

I still have a few days before leaving town, so I get redhead Anne's number and we make a date for tomorrow night. She gives me a quick hug then rushes away to catch up with friends. Heh. Pop that collar, son.

Brooms and trash cans are found. I help clean the offensive popcorn off the ground. Some night birds squawk, but we're doing them a favor. Eating that stuff will kill you!

The party has ended. The reception hall is closing. I'm jawing with stragglers in the lobby, all of us unwilling to call it quits. Management has to chase us out.

Magical nights like this don't happen often, so it feels odd just leaving when it's over.

But a surprise waits for me in the parking-lot. Chrisy has parked her El Camino next to my K-Car and is sitting on the lowered gate, smoking a cigarette with a plastic cup in hand, a black leather jacket draped over her shoulders against the chill.

I laugh at the sight. She motions for me to sit next to her. "What?" she asks.

"You look so dangerous. Like the women momma warned me about." I perch myself on the gate, bumping her butt with mine as I settle.

"Watch it." She holds her cup high to prevent it from spilling.

There are a number of brown grocery bags behind us. I rummage through them and grab the first bottle I find. Triple Sec. Disgusting. Almost undrinkable unless mixed with something. Almost.

"Do you mind?" I take a cup and prepare to pour.

Chrisy arches an eyebrow. She blows smoke out the corner of her mouth.

I freeze. Waiting for approval. "Well?"

"You don't drink," she says.

"Lies!" I roar. "Slander and lies!"

She shrugs. I pour. I offer my cup for a toast. Slowly, reluctantly, she taps it with her own. "To Marco and Gloria," I say. Then gulp huge.

Chrisy sips.

When my breath returns, I ask, "What's the matter?"

After a moment, she repeats, "You don't drink, Virgil. I've never seen you drink."

"To be fair, Chrisy, there are many things you've never seen me do."

"Yeah. Thank God for that. But Virgil? You don't drink."

True to a point. I didn't drink in High School. And, because Chrisy knows me so well, she knows why. I come from a long line of alcoholics. Functional, but drunks nonetheless. Indeed, alcoholism broke up my family's home. I'm sure at some point in our long and cherished friendship I had told Chrisy that I would never drink because I didn't want to wind up like that. Broken.

However, moving away to college taught me a lot of new and interesting things about being broken. I had assumed booze was a wrecking ball, but it's not. It's a needle. And if used properly it can stitch you back together. Or close enough.

"Skip it," I say. "Talk to me. Hey, you still see Jeff? What's going on with him?"

"No." Chrisy shakes her head. "Nope. You talk to me. What happened? You used to be so.... Jesus Christ about drinking."

"Actually, Jesus drank like a fish-"

"-Virgil-"

"-Wine, but you had to back then. Water was full of dinosaur piss-"

"-I'm serious, Virg. What happened?"

I look away. Then I laugh. "What the hell, Chrisy? Who are you...? I mean, you're not exactly the temperance union sitting there."

"Here," she hands me her cup. "Drink."

"What?"

She glares. I obey. It's coke. Just coke.

"So?" I ask. "You're slowing down. That's just smart drinking, taking a break every once and awhile."

"No, Virgil, it's been coke all night. I stopped drinking years ago. I just pretend because.... Because I want to fit in. That never bothered you, though. You always stood your ground. I remember how they used to pressure you then make fun of you at parties when you wouldn't drink. How you always turned it around, made them look stupid. I admired you for that."

"Chrisy...,"

"Now look at you. Straight Triple Sec? Oh, Virgil. What the hell happened?"

**\*

What happened? I met a girl. She broke my heart. Now I drink. You want it expanded? Her name was Shubra, born in Indian, and about the most exotic, beautiful thing I'd ever seen. And before you say it, yes, I guess I did have to go to a foreign country to get laid.

Okay. I'm going to stop doing that. Joking, always joking. Neither of us deserve it.

It wasn't just looks, she had an enormous personality. She was fearless. And smart. Effortlessly smart. She aced every class without ever cracking a book.

But she was damaged. Abused. She could be reckless, borderline suicidal.

I thought I could save her. With love.

Oh, right. I said I would stop joking. Mea culpa.

She was my first, and I, hers. Later I would have good reason to examine everything she said for a lie, but not that. Never that. It was obvious.

I asked her to married me. She smiled for an answer.

Once, before I left campus to spend a holiday with my brother in Louisiana, she told me she was pregnant. Again, I proposed marriage. I didn't even get a smile that time.

When I returned, she claimed to have had an abortion. I asked no details, none were forthcoming.

Things got worse between us, then better, then worse; and so forth.

During one of the bad times, she came to my room. She stripped without saying a word. She started in on me and I reciprocated. I could tell it was wrong, her head was wrong. She was angry, cold, insistent. She was so wrong, but still I tried to make it right. God help me, I tried harder to make it right at that moment than I've ever tried to do anything else in my life. More, I know, than I ever will.

When it was over, she quit the bed and dressed with her back towards me. She might have left as she entered - smoldering and silent. But she didn't. She turned said something she shouldn't have.

I flew at her. I grabbed her. I pinned her to the bed. Ridiculous in my nakedness, I straddled her and forced her down with hands full of murder.

And the look on her face.... The scornful, dead-eyed look on her face....

It's a picture you can't forget. The best you can do is to keep washing it with alcohol until it fades.

***

"I grew up," I answer Chrisy, reaching for a refill.

She waits until I've poured and drank then says, "That's it?"

We lock eyes. "Pretty much."

Time passes. I look away first.

"I guess you have changed," Chrisy says, pushing herself off the gate. "And it is sad."

"Where are you going?"

"Home. It's late."

"That's it?"

"Pretty much."

"Chrisy, come on. This?" I upturn my cup, splattering booze all over the pavement. "It's no big deal."

"I know. I'm just tired. Can you please get off so I can close the gate?

I oblige, closing it for her. "Well, I'm still in town a few days. Did you want...?"

"No. I can't. I'm leaving tomorrow." She checks her watch. "Today."

"Okay." I step aside so she can get in the driver's seat. Before she closes the door, I say, "So... Bye?"

"Yeah. Bye."

The door shuts. The ignition fires. She hooks an elbow over the seat to reverse out of the parking spot. Once the grill is pointed towards home, she gives me one last look.

"Hey!" I say, loud enough to be heard over the engine and through the closed window. "Decline and fall!"

She drives away, shaking her head.

End

Blame this on anonymity, plausible deniability, and the void that degrades quality. Which is a shame because The Rainmakers deserve better. Well. It had to be done. No other band comes close to having the same impact or being as important to me as The Rainmakers. They were the soundtrack to the best years of my life. So many memories associated with their songs.... Tch. My drama teacher told me she'd 'hung out with' (implication: dated) one of the band members at KU. "The drummer," she'd said, "Pat, I think." and I couldn't keep my puppy eyes off her after that. Picture me laying on my belly on the school's stage, ankles crossed, chin resting in entwined fingers; "Tell me more about him, Ms. Scovill. He smelled nice, right?" And if Rich Ruth ever sees me coming, he'd better turn the other way because I played bass guitar in a college band and I'll become Annie Wilkes on him so fast. There's no telling what I'd sledgehammer just to get him reminiscing about Doo Dad. (I thought a Rich Ruth solo album might be a good idea, then I heard Dogleg off Monster Movie and I now know it to be a necessity).

Anyway. They deserve better than this pitiful little story, but I had to get it out there and it's the best I can do. The remaining Gone Songs won't be so contemplative.

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