I'm Linden, 23, any pronouns, and just doing my best.
Here I'll post and reblog stuff about Joker Out, always happy to appreciate the creativity of this fandom. You can expect some art and some writing too!
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Jure never took much notice of his nails before. Besides using his nail brush to clean motor oil or dirt out from under them he left them be. Now it's become a bi-monthly occasion for Jan to remove the remaining polish and clean up his cuticles before painting them a new color.
Jan always did his nails at the rehearsal space when they are taking breaks or waiting for food and Jure had a tendency to hover, intrigued by the process.
He didn't even ask Jan to start to do his nails. Jan must have noticed his interest and one day when he finished his own turned to Jure, took the closest hand, and started to file away at the edges.
Jan ended up being very gentle and Jure liked the end results, so he never stopped the other after that day. Plus, he really likes how the polish stands out on the pale soft flesh of his guitarist neck.
Kris nearly takes a fall but Nace manages to catch him.
“Just forward please, not downward,” he comments as he gets them back onto the sidewalk. He’s glad this part of the city is as empty as it is at this late—or early?—hour. He’s sure Kris wouldn’t enjoy getting recognised in this state. Or perceived.
Kris mumbles something.
“What was that?”
“Hnggg,” Kris makes, then inhales. “Three—three albums we have now.”
Nace chuckles. “We do, yeah.”
Kris reaches up with his free hand dangling at his side, that’s not locked around Nace’s back. He pushes three fingers into Nace’s face. “Three.”
“I got that part, yeah.” With his head, Nace nudges the hand away.
Kris huffs a little laugh. “Pretty dang cool.”
Nace hums in agreement. “I will find it even cooler once I’ve deposited you in your bed.”
“Your bed.”
“Excuse me?”
Kris begins to lean even more heavily into him. “Your bed.”
I told you this one would be longer. My longest yet, in fact - 483 words.
Can I beat this record? Probably.
Day Four: Drunk
“No need to stand on ceremony!”
Jan’s voice is so sudden and so close to his ear that he nearly upends his shot glass in shock. He half wishes he had – at least it would’ve given him a perfect excuse not to have it.
“No, I –” he tries, only to come up immediately against the problem of what the fuck do I say?
He’s only been with the band a month, and this is the first big night out he’s been on with them. It’s been easy enough to hide not drinking so far, but with an open invitation for everyone to stay round Bojan’s later, he can’t even use the plausible deniability of having to drive home.
It’s not that he can’t tell them. He will – he’ll have to – but it’s the inevitable why that he’s dreading. He can’t do that tonight.
If Jan notices anything amiss, he doesn’t mention it, instead just gesturing to the shot glass. “You don’t want it?”
“Not really,” he admits. Maybe he can just say he doesn’t drink sambuca. It’s technically not a lie. Or that he doesn’t do shots – also not a lie. Or –
But then Jan is plucking the glass out of his hand and downing it before he can settle on an explanation.
“Problem solved,” he says with a shrug, setting the glass down out of Nace’s way. He leans one elbow on the bar, facing him. He’s very close.
“Thanks.”
“And if you need any other problems solving, I’m happy to step in. I think just about everyone wants to buy you a drink tonight after you solved that set up issue at last night’s gig.”
For a second, with Jan’s dark eyes seeming to stare straight through him, Nace is sure he must know the truth. Perhaps he’s been watching him more than Nace had realised. Perhaps he came over on purpose to help him out.
Unsure what to do with the wave of uncertain gratitude swelling up inside him, he instead goes for the driest tone he can manage. “My hero. How will I ever repay you?”
Jan grins. “All you have to do is dance with me.”
“I can manage that,” Nace says, but Jan’s hand is already wrapped around his to pull him away from the bar before he can even finish speaking.
They’re almost at the edge of the dancefloor when Jan casts a look over his shoulder at him. His smile is sly now.
“Oh, and maybe carry me home, if it turns out you need me to solve a lot of problems for you tonight. I bet you could easily manage that.”
It strikes Nace that it’s suddenly very hot, though he doubts it has anything to do with the packed venue. “Of course.”
He feels Jan squeeze his hand and hears “Then it’s a deal” before he pulls him onto the dance floor.
I have so many prompts I want to send! 😅 Can I have 8, 16 and 19 for Jance please (separately or together)? 🤩
Hello friend! Thank you for these prompts, you can always send as many as you like 🤭
You know how glacially I write, except this week, I've been a glacier battling the air being on fire in this heatwave, so with apologies for lateness, here's the first one:
16. taking a photo of them smiling/in their element
“That’s a good one.”
Under the whirring of the coffee machine Nace is seeing to and the clatter of the dishes Jan is washing, they’ve been working alongside each other in companionable silence for more than a few minutes, but the sound of Nace’s voice draws Jan’s attention straight away, as it always does. He looks over to find Nace with his phone in his hand – clearly not as hard at work as Jan had thought – and judging by the way he’s peering from the corner of his eye at him and grinning, Jan’s reaction is exactly what he was looking for.
Jan barely has time to raise an eyebrow before Nace is turning his phone towards him. He grabs a tea towel to dry off his hands, already squinting at the picture on screen before he can take the phone for himself.
It’s of him the night before, lounging on their sofa and grinning so widely his eyes are screwed almost shut. Igor had left for a quieter environment after their first few guests had arrived, but Pino is sprawled on Jan’s lap, clearly taking a short breather before another excited lap around the room for attention. He can’t remember what he’d been laughing at, but honestly he seems to spend so much more time laughing than not when they’re with their friends that it could have been anything.
He hears a spoon clink against a mug and looks up to find Nace has finished making the coffee. He’s still grinning, clearly pleased with himself.
“When did you take this?”
“Last night,” Nace replies innocently, clearly dead set on being a troll even this early in the day. Jan’s face must clearly show how unimpressive he finds this, because he laughs and adds, “Not sure. It’s timestamped, though.”
Returning his attention to the phone, Jan brings up the information. It’s from surprisingly early on, so the glass of wine in his hand is likely only the first. It was probably Vita’s stunning victory over Jure in Jenga – the first of several – that had set him off this particular time then.
Returning to the photo itself, he notices then that something seems a bit off. It takes him a moment to pinpoint it, but when he realises what it is, he zooms right out. The photo is actually of both him and Kris – smiling just as brightly – side by side on the sofa, and Jan remembers then how his oldest friend had collapsed helplessly into his side shortly after, equally lost in laughter. Nace must have taken it from the doorway while they were both distracted.
“Your bias is showing,” he says, flashing the screen at Nace to show he’s been rumbled. Nace’s grin remains unrepentant as he slides Jan’s coffee towards him.
“We’re all allowed our favourites, Janči,” he throws back over his shoulder as he takes his own mug to the kitchen table and sits in what has by now become his usual seat. It seems Igor has been waiting for this moment, as he leaps up almost immediately to settle himself into a contented loaf on the tabletop, graciously accepting Nace’s attention.
“I won’t tell the others you said that.”
“I think they might know already, given that it’s you I moved in with.”
Jan crosses the room to lean over and hand the phone back, offering no more reply than a roll of his eyes – there’s no point trying to deter Nace from his prodding until he wears himself out, after all.
He expects that Nace will stow the phone in his pocket again now that Igor is dividing his attention, but instead he keeps it firmly in hand, going back to gazing at the same photo. Jan turns back towards the sink when it seems that there’s nothing further to be said, but of course it seems to be exactly this that prompts Nace to speak.
“You know, maybe I’ll get this printed for the fridge.”
He looks over almost automatically towards the growing collage of photos they’d started assembling on the fridge from both their old flats. They’re pictures that have never made it to social media: a selfie of the two of them nestled up together in their hotel room in Paris, a photo of Jan swimming in the sea in Thailand, an action shot of Nace at a family gathering, dangling his cousin’s excited toddler upside down by the ankles. Sometimes it’s just the two of them, sometimes they’re with others, but this new photo will fit right in alongside the rest in this growing montage of their lives intertwining.
The fact that it’ll be the first photo taken in their first home together doesn’t pass him by.
“Sappy,” he shoots back past the lump that definitely isn’t growing in his throat. He’s smiling though, and from the way Nace laughs, he knows he knows it too.
I couldn't help myself when I saw the prompts for today. I mean, come on. when do rain and smoking not go hand in hand?
word count: 115
˚ ✦ . . ˚ . . ✦ . ° ˚ . ★⋆. ࿐࿔ . ˚ ੈ✧̣̇˳·˖✶ ✦
The air inside was heavy and hot, but it quickly got replaced by the fresh breeze outside when Jan opened the window. He leaned against the wooden frame, taking in the scent of summer rain, before he turned his focus to the cigarettes waiting for him.
Jan lit one and inhaled the thick smoke with a pleased hum. Without him even noticing, Kris had made his way from the bed to the window, right beside him, their bodies sticking together from the sweat the moment he leaned his body against Jan's.
He gingerly placed the cigarette between Kris' lips and sighed happily at the feeling of his lover exhaling against the side of his neck.
“Oh my god, it’s pissing!” Someone exclaims as the door is opened. Jan turns in the direction of the guy exiting the bar. “Shit, sorry, I didn’t know anyone was out here.” The door falls closed. “Didn’t know it was raining.”
“You’re good,” Jan tells him around the cigarette in his mouth. He lifts his hands around it to finally light it, but the lighter doesn’t spit out more than a spark. He tuts. Another futile attempt.
The guy next to him does a quick job at lighting his own cigarette, then holds his lighter out to Jan. “Need a hand?”
“Hm,” Jan makes, “thanks.”
“Weren’t you on stage just now?” The guy asks once both their cigarettes are lit. The noise of the pouring rain almost drowns out his words. “What was it… Joker something?”
Jan nods. “Joker Out.”
“Ah, that.” They blow out cigarette smoke almost simultaneously. “You sound great. Good concert.”
“Thanks,”Jan responds through what can only be described as a self deprecating chuckle. “Might be our last.”
The guy lets out an alarmed noise. “How come?”
Jan takes his time breathing out smoke. “Our drummer might quit.”
“Oh. That’s frustrating.”
“Yeah.”
They smoke in silence for a moment. Frustrating indeed. Then the guy holds out his hand to Jan. “Nice to meet you, by the way.”
Jan eyes the hand, eyes him. “Nice to meet you too.” He shakes his hand. “Sorry, what was your name?”
The guy smiles. “I’m Jure.”
"Only" 356 words? I'm getting the hang of this drabble thing!*
(*That's an absolute lie, wait until you see tomorrow's.)
Day Three: Smoking
It takes Nace a moment or two to locate Jan when he steps outside, but once he’s worked his way past the chattering clumps of other smokers, he finds him a little further down the building, leaning up against the wall and seemingly lost in thought. He can’t help but think he looks like a model with his head tipped back like that, throat exposed. Or a work of art, maybe. Or, no – something otherworldly.
He almost stops, almost just stands and stares, but suddenly Jan is looking up and offering him a smile, so he urges his feet to pick up the pace again and heads over to join him.
“The others are voting to move on,” he says by way of greeting, remembering what he came out here to do. “The choices so far are Freedom or Electric City.”
“Now?” Jan’s voice had surprised him that first day with how deep it is, but he’s noticed it always sounds rougher when he smokes, in the same way it does when he’s just woken up.
“About twenty minutes, I think. Jure’s just bought a drink and he won’t let it go to waste.”
“Ah, good. Enough time to finish this then,” he says, gesturing with his cigarette, still burning down between two of his long fingers. He’s still smiling. “You want one?”
It’s been ages since Nace last smoked. He’s not given it up as strictly as the drinking, but he knows how bad it is for him. How much healthier he feels without it, even when he misses it. He should absolutely turn around and go back indoors to help the others figure out their next move, not stay out here and smoke and be mesmerised by Jan’s pretty dark eyes and how his lips look around his cigarette and wonder what his hair might feel like between Nace’s fingers or how warm his mouth might be or how his body might feel pressed between Nace’s and that wall –
“Sure, why not?” he manages, reaching to take the packet almost before Jan can get it out of his pocket.
One cigarette can’t hurt, surely.
“Bro, we should do something for our birthday.”
Kris frowns at Jan. “Our birthday?”
“Yeah, like—” Jan takes an inconveniently timed sip of his beer, “—like our band birthday. Anniversary.”
“Bro, that’s almost two years away.” Kris takes a drink of his own beer. The party is dying down. People are leaving. They’re both so fucking drunk they’ve lost all energy.
“Hmm, you gotta plan early.”
“What’s your plan then.”
Jan sinks deeper into the couch next to Kris. “Like, huge.”
“Hm, how huge?”
“Kardeljeva huge.”
“Heh,” Kris makes, “yeah right.”
“And with like, a theme. Sci-Fi. Or Karneval.”
Kris pushes Jan’s head away from his shoulder. He’s getting too warm. “That’s so dumb.”
“I know.” Jan slumps into the other direction. “I’m still workshopping it.”
"Perhaps writing dialogue only will help me keep the word count down," Ana told herself, like the absolute liar she is.
Clocking in at 456 (!) words, please enjoy this next "drabble" about an issue with the Karneval promo that threatened to derail the entire thing.
Day Two: Karneval
“You’re probably wondering why I called you here.”
“You... didn’t? Muca, this is our rehearsal space. Of course I’m going to be here on rehearsal day.”
“Let’s not beat around the bush. I need you to look at this.”
“... isn’t this one of those Ikona postcards of Bojan?”
“Other side.”
“I – oh. Oh.”
“Yes.”
“But –”
“I’m sorry it had to come to this, Krisko.”
“This is a letter of resignation.”
“Yes.”
“Why is it on the back of one of Bojan’s postcards?”
“Because it was that or one of the Spar cans, and I just couldn’t get the right angle for that to work.”
“You can’t do this! Especially not with Karneval coming up!”
“You’ve all left me with no choice.”
“You know I’m going to just file this in the bin, right?”
“Do what you have to. It won’t change anything. I have to leave.”
“But why?”
“It’s all there in the letter.”
“Yes, which you appear to have spilled one of those cans on, so this whole section is just a blur.”
“I – oh, shit. Well, it still counts.”
“Jure.”
“Kris.”
“What’s this all about?”
“...”
“...”
“... alright, fine. If I have to spell it out.”
“Please do.”
“It’s the cannon.”
“The cannon?”
“Yes. The cannon.”
“I’m sorry, that still tells me absolutely nothing.”
“The cannon? The cannon?”
“You can put as much emphasis on it as you want, I still don’t know what you’re on about.”
“The cannon from the promo shoot? The cannon we hinged our entire final scene on? The cannon that you all insisted Jan needed to go in?”
“You –”
“Jan!”
“But –”
“I was right there, Krisko! I can’t believe you guys overlooked me!”
“Jure, we didn’t know you wanted to be the one in it!”
“Really? There was a dangerous job and not one of you thought ‘oh yeah, Jure would be perfect for this’? It’s like you don’t know me at all!”
“Was the spinning board not enough?”
“Please. As if they compare. There’s no sense of danger.”
“...”
“...”
“Look, if danger is what you want, what if we just... come up with something else for next time for you?”
“You can’t convi-”
“I’m thinking those tightrope skills and some knives. Juggling, of course. Probably fire in there somewhere too.”
“...”
“Well?”
“... I’m listening.”
“Fantastic! Alright, we’ll sort the details out when the others get here. Just one sec –”
“Wait, you promise me knives and fire and then you disappear? What’s so urgent?”
“I’m just going to run your resignation note through the shredder.”
“Bojan won’t be happy when he sees that.”
“That’s his problem. I’ve been waiting ages for an excuse to get rid of some of these postcards.”
“Do you think he’ll still wanna eat it?”
“What are you talking about, of course he will.”
“It doesn’t look exactly edible.”
Kris pulls a face. If it’s at the sight or at the comment, Jure can’t tell.
“Well,” Kris begins again, “we know it is edible. It’s your fault for trusting the ambitious recipe would hold up with gluten free cake.”
“Hey! I thought it would maybe be a bit dry. I didn’t think it would completely fall apart.”
Kris’s phone pings. He snorts. “Bojan says it looks like it’s been in a car accident.”
Jure sighs. “Sorry, Nace.”
