In light of the dumpster fire that has overtaken this corner of tumblr today, I would just like to take a minute to clarify my blog content and my feelings and opinions of the boys.
I absolutely adore them all. Any jokes or roasts I make at their expense are made in the same loving spirit as when I tease my brother or my real life best friends. There is no actual animosity behind ANYTHING I say or write. I would throw hands for any and all of these guys if it came down to it.
Any of my jokes or scenarios or stories in which Sam and Danny are more than platonic are PURELY wishful thinking and entirely fiction. I don’t speculate that they are anything more than dear friends… on this plane of existence anyway.
All of them are actual human beings with human flaws that I find funny, endearing, and inspiring. And, at the end of the day, even these perceived flaws are complete speculation because I don’t know them, and I am simply imagining up a set of fictional characters inspired by their likenesses and public personas.
Fan made lines have been in existence for ages. In the beginning, people would show up early and pass a sharpie around to number their hands and keep track of who had been waiting longest. As the fan base grew and competition for a good spot got tougher, the lineups naturally started happening earlier and earlier. This is nothing unique to the Greta fandom, and it was the natural progression of things as the fan base grew exponentially.
At some point, certain "fans" decided that they weren't going to participate in the normal way we did things because they weren't able or willing to devote that much time to earning front row. But regardless of their inability or unwillingness to put in the time, they still felt entitled to be at the front of the pack and decided to bring their own sharpies and write whatever number they wanted to on their hands. This caused confusion and sabotaged the accepted fandom norms so that, in the chaos, they could run and shove their way to the front.
When they broke the fandom's trust in the Sharpie system with their dishonesty, a new custom was created. Fans showing up early started bringing sequentially numbered wristbands and added them to their wrists along with a sharpie number so that it would be harder for people to game their system. Regardless of what tokens fans went with -- wristbands, sharpies, or both -- they all accomplished the same thing: Keeping a record of who had been waiting the longest.
Before Travis came onto the scene, these fan-made numbers were helpful, but never a guarantee of a good spot on the floor. Without Greta's security actively involved in the lineup, all fans were ultimately at the mercy of the venue security who were often disorganized and unhelpful and barely cared about our safety, much less any sense of fair play. Sometimes fan wristbands were honored, but more often than not, all the doors of the venue would be thrown open at once and people were left to race and push to the front. Your chances were usually better if you were part of the fan line since, having gotten there early, you would be close to the doors, but just as often as not, latecomers would find a side entrance and cut you off. This was just the luck of the draw, and it caused a lot of chaos and injury as people were rushed down the stairs to the floor or tripped on the way to the rail.
In the early days, Greta's security didn't get much involved with doors, and when they were still relatively unknown, the crowds were small enough that venue security was typically adequate. But after their SNL performance went viral on TikTok and the fandom suddenly exploded overnight, things got chaotic enough that, apparently, the Greta team decided it was time to beef up their private security force and take control of the situation.
Greta has always seemed to support the people waiting hours or days to get into the show. They've delivered pizza and hot chocolate to the line, and even catered an ice cream truck to provide free treats to people waiting. It's been revealed that they often lurk in the upper levels to peek down at us as we make our way onto the floor. They have even been known to watch security footage of the people camping out overnight when something entertaining is happening. For example, in Boise, some girls were camping, and, late in the night, they chased off a raccoon with a taser, unaware of the security cameras they were sleeping under. Security saw them the next day and told them the guys had laughed hysterically at the footage of them fighting for their lives!
So, it should come as no surprise that, when they decided to take on more security, they would hire Travis Davis, a man well-known in the 21 Pilots fandom for supporting and protecting fans who show up early and camp for good spots in the pit. Anyone who attacks Travis' methods and tries to argue that Greta "would be ashamed" of him for enforcing fan led lines can't have been paying attention at all. Travis has never hidden his way of doing things, and Greta would have been well aware of this when they brought him on. Given their history of supporting campers in line, I would argue it probably was one of the factors that led to him being hired.
Travis' arrival didn't actually change much about how the fandom did things. People were still showing up extremely early, lining up and organizing themselves in numerical order according to their arrival time, and waiting overnight for doors in hopes of having a better chance at the rail. Travis changed nothing about that.
What he DID change was the mad dash chaos at doors. Rather than allowing the venue to mix everyone up and throw open all the doors and watch us push each other down the stairs, Travis started wrist banding the 300 fans who had been waiting the longest and then taking them into the venue a few minutes early and walking them to the floor single file, preventing stampedes and injury. He didn't play favorites. He didn't care if you had been on the rail 10 times or if it was your first Greta show ever. Whoever had been sitting outside waiting the longest got the first band. End of story.
I was lucky enough to be at three of the shows he took charge of, and they were the most incredible concert experiences of my life. In addition to making sure the rush to the rail was safe and low stress, Travis arranged for cases of water bottles to be available at every show and would personally pass them at the rail to reduce the number of people passing out in the pit. My friends and I never saw him be anything other than kind, friendly, and enthusiastic to everyone around us.
During shows, he would walk the rail singing along to all the songs, constantly scanning the crowd for trouble, reaching out to people he recognized from line to fist bump and ask if we were okay, checking in to see if the people around us needed anything. In Bangor, when the venue was treating us terribly, he stormed out and had shouting match with their venue security on our behalf, insisting that they do their jobs and keep us safe.
When aggressive crowds wouldn't part to let someone get the medical help they needed, he climbed the barricade and jumped into the mob, carrying people out of danger with reckless disregard for his own safety.
When a tambourine incident resulted in me getting covered in a stranger's blood, it was Travis who came running, real concern in his eyes as he started searching my arms for open wounds and getting me clean and finding alcohol swabs for me to disinfect myself with.
Travis doesn't HAVE to do all that. He could do the bare minimum of his job and let us fend for ourselves. He doesn't have to go above and beyond the way he does. He doesn't have to take our tokens and put them on stage for the guys. He certainly didn't HAVE to ask us for a copy of Hopie's memorial poster and personally bring it to the boys to show them our tribute to our fallen sister, resulting in that beautiful moment when Josh dedicated Light my Love to her memory.
But he did. He did those things because that's the kind of guy he is - a guy who visibly beams at other people’s joy. Like I said: There's a reason Greta chose him. He matches their energy in a way that's so clear to see for anyone who actually believes in Greta’s message.
I’ve been going to shows since I was 13 years old and have interacted with more security guys than I can count. I have never had the pleasure of meeting a more competent, kind, and passionate person in this role. When Travis steps onto the scene, you can literally feel the collective sigh of relief from the crowd, because those who know him feel safer in his presence. When he pulls all the security guys in for their quick pre-show huddle before Greta comes on, you can see the respect and admiration in the venue guys’ eyes, and the pride in the other Greta security guards.
And speaking of pride, you can tell he takes it in his work. When he’s up on the rail and things are going well, he stands there with crossed arms looking out over the crowd just beaming a smile and nodding his head, radiating pure happiness. It’s beautiful to watch, and his energy adds another layer of love and excitement to the room.
I can’t believe the amount of people supporting the attacks on him and blaming him for the problems at barricade. He is not responsible for our shitty behavior, and it IS our shitty behavior that causes this hate and discontent. He has gone so far above and beyond for us, and this is the thanks he gets? Accusations of pedophilia? I’d say, “You have to be joking,” except, jokes are supposed to be funny.
This fandom has been showing its dark and ugly side for a while now, hence my long hiatus. It seems like it’s always something with the so-called “Peaceful Army.” But this is too much. Too far. When Greta gives us someone like Travis, and he goes so far beyond his call of duty on our behalf only to be blamed for our aggression and have his very character attacked by strangers on the internet, how can we call ourselves "Peaceful” with a straight face?
People love to say, “Oh the boys would think this, and the boys would say that...” when they don’t agree with something happening in the fandom. But much like when this mob tries to attack Danny, I think they would be absolutely disgusted with the Travis hate. I’ll never understand how this fandom can attack the people Greta loves and sleep at night calling themselves their “biggest fans.”
I feel like young Josh definitely loved the movie “Into the Wild.” He surely daydreamed about hitchhiking across the country to find enlightenment and starving to death in a bus. He probably had his road name picked out.
I’m struggling with this one. Isn’t this the same energy as saying, “My religion says abortion is a sin, so that means you can’t have one?” I honestly don’t understand this logic. Sorry if my confusion is offensive, but I honestly am flummoxed.
Hi! I don’t know if you’re taking requests but if so, is there a way (if you want to) write one in Jake’s pov. That he’s been cheating on the reader, she’s slowly putting the pieces together, he doesn’t know the reader knows so he has to slowly just watch has she breaks and becomes distant. Until one day he comes home to an empty house, no sign of where you went, and he realizes he messed up?
And if you do please make it extra heart wrenchingly painful :)
Promises, Promises
Here, have some Jake cheating angst and tell me if it breaks your heart! It's the only time I'll be happy about succeeding in that area, I promise.
...
Pairing: Jake Kiszka x Reader
Warnings: Language, a teensy tiny bit of smut, cheating, angst, no fluffy ending, betrayal
Words: 7.4k
...
“I miss you, sweetheart.”
Jake’s voice was low and sad, and it was only the beginning of the tour. Which, thinking about it, was either gonna be the worst of it, or just the start of it. The worst of it if Jake could shake the feeling of his heart not fully being there with the adrenaline-fueled tour life, but only the start of it if he couldn’t.
Her sweet voice filtered through the phone speakers, and he watched affectionately as she wiped flour on her cheek while she cleaned the kitchen from dinner prep, not noticing that she was making a mess. “I miss you, too, Jake. But it’s okay! We have all this great modern technology to talk to each other with, and I’m still trying to get work off for a show or two.”
Her enthusiasm made Jake laugh, and then he wobbled when the bus hit a bump and accidentally dropped the phone on his chest. “Sorry, dropped the damn thing.”
“Hey,” she said, “this ‘damn thing’ is what’s gonna keep us connected for the next seven months, be nice to it.” His screen image swung around and Jake caught glimpses of their home, cozy and tempting, and all he really wanted right now, when there was nothing to keep his mind off the boredom and stiff mattress and the chemical clean smell of the bus that would fade in time with their continuous living in it.
He sighed and rolled over, adjusting his headphones to a better position. “I think I get it.”
“Get what?”
“What John Deacon was feeling when he wrote You’re My Best Friend. ‘Happy at home?’ I know I am. His best friend’s his wife? Also yes.”
The woman on the other end laughed. “Not your wife–”
Jake’s immediate thought was, ‘Not yet.’
“--but that’s understandable. Who’s the Roger Taylor who hates it because it’s not very rock and roll?”
Jake laughed. “That’s not very rock and roll, now, is it?” He thought for a second. “Honestly, I don’t think we have a Roger Taylor. Maybe Sam. But, I know he hates the bus, too.”
Finally, Y/N settled down and Jake saw that she’d come to rest in her favorite spot on the couch. “Well, both ‘home’ and I will be waiting for you when you get back,” she smiled gently, and Jake drank her in, wanting her to be in his bunk with him, sharing his heat and his air like it was meant to be. “I promise. Now, tell me what you’re excited for. Mopey Jake needs to go away. I like it when you’re happy.”
…
The post-show high was a drug.
Perhaps not material like weed or coke or ecstasy, but it was a drug all the same. They were two weeks into the tour now, and Jake had a timetable he usually stuck to these days: play a show, travel, talk to Y/N, eat, shower, dress, repeat.
It was a spin cycle that was making him dizzy.
Usually, it was what kept him grounded, what kept him real. But something was off this time. Maybe it was boredom - doing the same thing even when the life he lived should have been filled with excitement and adventure. Maybe it was the ticking itch brought on by being cooped up for hours a day in the bus. Maybe it was the temptation of the validation he saw his brothers getting offstage, that he got as well but tried to ignore. Maybe it was that post-show high.
Maybe he was just an awful person.
Either way, the excuses didn’t help assuage the guilt that coursed through his body, hand in hand with the pleasure he was receiving from the stranger on the ground that had her lips wrapped around his cock.
His hand held her hair. Too fine. It wasn’t the grip he could get when it was Y/N going down on him. And this woman didn’t know that pressure on the tip with her mouth, but pressure on the shaft with her hand was preferable to him over his entire dick in her mouth. Nothing was the same, and yet - that was part of the excitement, wasn’t it?
“Shit - shit, I’m gonna come,” he hissed, not wanting to draw attention to this sordid act, just right around the corner to the open green room, where his brothers were.
He let out a tortured, breathy moan as he shot off, and the stranger swallowed everything. She looked up at him through her lashes and licked the last drop beading at his tip. “Was that good?”
Jake felt sick to his stomach, not recognizing his own voice when he let out a fake chuckle and said, “Yeah. It was good. Thanks.”
This wasn’t who he was. Wasn’t who he wanted to be.
He swore it wouldn’t happen again.
…
“Did you and Y/N break up?”
The question came late, and by that time, it was a non-factor in decision making, considering that Jake’s shirt was already pushed up to his neck so that this venue volunteer could kiss down his skin in worship - going down, down, down until she reached her prize.
But it still caught him off guard. “Uh…” his brain scrambled to come up with an answer, with just a fucking word. All he had to do was say yes (or no, but Jake had very little faith in himself, and he knew deprecatingly that he would never).
The woman stopped her ministrations for a moment and furrowed her brow. “I thought…I thought that when you took me back here, that you had. I - I definitely don’t want to be a homewrecker.”
“You won’t be,” he lied. Well, maybe. If Y/N didn’t find out, then she wouldn’t be. “We…” Jake gulped, and all the sudden his head felt floaty, like he could do anything and it would be okay. This was life. “We did.”
The words didn’t weigh on him until after he finished himself off, jerking himself furiously as this woman presented her tits to him like he’d dreamed of when he was still young and rockstar-dom was made up entirely of what the media told him it was.
Didn’t weigh on him when he got his fingers wet, returning the favor to her moans that were just a little too high for his liking. Didn’t weigh on him when he watched with a chuckle as she tucked the tissue she wiped his come off with into her purse with a wink, “For the memories.”
But when they did, when ‘the memories’ came back, he actually vomited into a trash can right off stage from the guilt, the venue workers jumping back and Josh glancing over with concern as he hopped back on stage and started playing again, shaky and distracted.
“Are you okay?” Josh had asked after the show.
Jake nodded unconsciously. “I’m fine.”
…
Rumors were not a new thing.
It was part of dating a rockstar - the rumors. All the time, you saw tweets about Jake being caught shooting up in a 7/11 across the country from where they actually were, or claims of someone who’d had wild sex with them in hotels when you knew they’d been on the bus all night.
And you weren’t an insecure woman. You knew Jake loved you, and you talked all the time over the phone, so it wasn’t like you weren’t aware of exactly what he was up to when it either came directly from his own mouth or his brothers’.
But this, what you were seeing, was just a little bit too exact to skim over.
They had come up on your dashboard. You knew that keeping up with fan behavior via social media was dangerous, and that the risks were great. But it didn’t stop you.
‘I swear, his dick was average size, but it was better for sucking that way. And he didn’t let me fuck him, but he did get me off. Guitar fingers are definitely a thing.’
A series of reblogs followed, each deepening the seed of doubt in your chest. Starting off with users calling the OP a liar, and then some saying that if she was telling the truth, she was a homewrecker, and then another few posts that outlined similar experiences in different places. The girl tried to defend herself, saying that Jake had been the one to initiate with her and that he said he was single, and that he’d broken up with you. A little further back on her page, you found another post, when she detailed a tryst she’d had but withheld the name at that point. When, and where, and how were detailed to a fine point that made you a little sick because they sounded exactly like the things Jake did to you.
There was a photo of her that night with the band - she was a venue worker (which made her story all the more plausible, but you didn’t want to think about that) - and Jake was definitely pulling back a little bit, something off in his facial expression. The woman herself was stunning - just Jake’s type.
But no. You weren’t gonna throw yourself down that rabbit hole with nothing more than a fan’s story on the internet to go off of.
You picked up your phone as the record player started playing you and Jake’s favorite Queen album.
You free to talk soon?
…
“Hey baby! What’s up?”
Jake’s smiling face appeared on the screen, his background the light-colored wood of the headboard of the bed at the hotel they were at.
It made your heart clench - his happiness. Not because he was happy, but because for the first time, you felt like you were missing out, like you weren’t contributing to that happiness. “Hey, Jakey. Nothing much. I just…” you swallowed, suddenly tearful in a way you did not want to be. “I just miss you, is all.”
“Aw, sweetheart. We’ll see each other soon. I’ll take you out on a date the day we get home, and then…” Jake bit his lips, and he stared at the camera with a loaded gaze. “Well, we can be creative with what happens next.”
You let out a giggle, but it fell flat. Jake obviously knew something was wrong, because the suggestive expression dropped, in its place a frown and a worried brow. “What’s the matter?”
It was such a simple question, and yet there was no easy way to answer it. There was also no way to make the question on the tip of your tongue any less harsh or any more tolerable.
So you didn’t ask it.
“Nothing. A little bit sad that I don’t have your dick in my mouth right now, but I’ll live.”
Jake immediately flipped the switch again and caught on to your bribe. “Oh yeah? I’m a little sad my dick isn’t in your mouth, too, sweetness.”
You hummed, trying to force down the knot of worry in your throat. “I’d love to show you just how much I miss you, Jakey. Kiss you up and down, get you nice and hard, and then show you with my tongue. Would that make you happy?”
“So happy,” Jake groaned. You could tell that he was working his dick over with his right hand, the movement of his shoulder the only visible sign. “You know I love it when you show me that way.”
Normally, his pleasure was your pleasure, but you couldn’t feel it. You couldn’t feel anything with the thought lingering around that these noises had been heard by someone else, had been made by someone else. The words coming out of your mouth were just words. There was no heat behind them, no passion, but it didn’t seem to matter to Jake.
He went along as you kept talking him through his little masturbatory session, letting him touch himself and taking pleasure only in the fact that you knew it was you he had in your mind.
Hopefully.
“Show me what I’m missing, Jakey. Come on, baby. You always look so fucking pretty like this, and all for me…” The sentence held double meanings. You just wanted some affirmation, so that’s why it was confusing that getting it didn’t pacify you the way you thought it would.
“All for you, baby. I’m yours.”
Something inside you snapped and you found the words coming out before you could stop them. “You mean that, right?”
Jake’s screwed-up face told you of his impending orgasm, but his eyes flew open at your searching statement. “What?” You stared at each other for a few seconds, and then Jake dropped his dick to recenter the camera. “What?” he asked again.
“Jake,” you started off, heart flying, not knowing how you’d gone from talking Jake to orgasm to this in the span of just a few breaths, “you would…you would tell me if you weren’t happy, right?”
“I - uh, yeah. I mean, you know everything about me. You’re the first one I turn to when I’m down.”
There was something in the way he answered the right way to the wrong question that set your alarms off. Because that’s what he did when he had a secret. “No, Jake. I mean not happy with me. With us.”
Jake’s brows furrowed even further. “I don’t understand. Are you not happy with us?”
And there it was again - that damned avoidance tactic. “Jake, I don’t think there’s an easy way to ask this. So I want you to know that I love you, and I trust you. I just…” You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose in your fingers. “I don’t know. I need some validation right now, okay?” With a nod of agreement from Jake, you finally just blurted out, “Are you cheating on me?”
You hated that you weren’t convinced by Jake’s reaction - perfect in every way. Seeming almost too perfect, but you were certain that it was all in your head. “No! What the fuck, Y/N, no! I wouldn’t,” he promised, but it didn’t slip your notice that his eyes never met yours through the screen.
The doubt was still there.
…
“I swear, Y/N, I would never. What - or, why would you ask that? Is there something wrong?”
Jake’s heart picked up a few notches because shit that came out of nowhere. He thought the call would lift his spirits a little, get him back into a headspace where he’d stop chea–no. He wasn’t cheating. He didn’t fuck them, he didn’t kiss them. It was just…release. And it’s not like anyone could blame him for seeking it out. Besides, he didn’t do it often, and everyone had their vices.
Y/N’s voice was small when she answered. “I don’t…it was something I saw, okay? It’s stupid. I shouldn’t have asked.”
Jake almost hung up. Watching her tear herself up over this doubt that something she saw had created (which was a different stressor altogether) was not what he thought he’d have to deal with. Not tonight. She wasn’t supposed to know. She wasn’t supposed to be dragged into any of this.
“You’re scaring me, Y/N,” Jake said on an exhale. “I just - I don’t understand why you’d believe anything like that. Why now of all times?”
“I don’t know, Jake, okay? I just - I got insecure. I’m sorry.”
Her apology felt like a nail in his chest - if anyone should have been apologizing, it was him, and it should be now, and he should actually stop what he was doing so that everything could go back to the way he loved it.
“No,” he said instead, “don’t apologize. I - it’s okay to be insecure sometimes.” He gave her a weak smile, hoping it wasn’t too nervous. “I mean, I have the sex appeal of a Greek god, who wouldn’t be insecure?”
His joke didn’t land, and her frown never left. “I love it when you’re happy, Jake. But I really, really hate it when you’re gone like this.”
“I do, too, sweetheart, trust me.” He didn’t realize what he had asked her to do, he was too busy reeling from an interrupted orgasm and the scare of a lifetime. “I do, too.”
…
“I can’t get a kiss as thanks?” the woman asked coyly as Jake’s chest continued to heave from exertion. He left for the bathroom without answering, returning with a wet cloth to wipe the woman’s stomach off. There would be no more evidence of what he’d done out there in the world, not after their PR manager had shown him a fandom trending photo of a crumpled up, come-stained tissue that had emerged with his name attached to it.
He’d fucked her thighs just now, and somewhere deep in his psyche the gravity of him getting closer and closer to breaking his rules was not lost on him, but he chased the thrill all the same. He hated himself every second of it, but he still did it.
“Not even a kiss on the cheek?”
Jake shook his head. “No, sorry.”
“A kiss down-under?” she teased.
His mouth started watering, thinking of Y/N’s thighs wrapped around his head and the taste of her flooding his mouth. He couldn’t. That felt too much like cheating. But he also felt like an asshole, leaving this stranger here with nothing, so he sucked in a breath that definitely would have been a sigh and stroked her thigh. “No. No kissing, anywhere. But I would never leave you dissatisfied, and I’ve never had a complaint about these…” he said casually, making a show of licking his fingers, and then watched as her face morphed from a teasing grin and into something much more wanton.
Fuck, it would never get old.
…
If it was a prank, you decided that it would be a cruel, cruel prank. Not one that could ever even be found remotely funny.
Your fingers trembled as they hovered over the play button, unsure if you wanted to expose yourself to the heartbreak again. But no. You had to. Just to make sure you were hearing what you thought you were hearing.
The button was pressed.
It was quiet for a second, just the hum of an appliance somewhere. And then, from the silence, a groan. A familiar groan. Another sound was growing, too. Wet, sloppy, near pornographic sounds of what you knew intimately to be a dick in someone’s mouth.
One big breath drawn in, then, “You’re really hot. Hotter in person.” Whoever the woman was, she was drunk. Her words were light. Clear, but woozy still.
There was a chuckle from the receiver, and you tried to rationalize that the boys spent a lot of time together - it wasn’t that far-fetched for them to pick up certain mannerisms, or sounds (like groans and chuckles) from each other. Hell, it wouldn’t be that far-fetched for Danny to pick up a burner phone and send you an audio of Sam just to embarrass him. Stranger things had happened.
The blowjob sounds started up again, this time a little quicker, a few more gags. Another groan. Still achingly familiar.
“Will you fuck me?” she whined. “I know you want to, and I want you to, so much.”
A quick breath was drawn in from the man, and then, in a voice slurred drunk almost to the point of unrecognition, “Yeah, sweetheart. I’ll fuck you. C’mere, let me see that–”
Almost to the point of unrecognition, but not quite.
It was clearly Jake.
…
Jake knew that Josh had seen him. That Josh knew about his infidelity and watched him actively choose to be unfaithful. And he never said a single thing, but Jake could always feel the judgment radiating off of him when he smiled his smile and took a girl’s hand and led her away on an excuse, as if all four of them weren’t aware of what was happening.
But he never stopped him.
After the last fuck-up - when a fuck-up became the fuck-up - when he’d found Jake hungover to hell with an equally hungover fan in one arm, a bottle of Patron in the other, and a used condom on the bedside table, he proceeded to get Jake up and drag his ass to the shower. When the icy water had hit his barely conscious form, Jake had sputtered and gasped.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!”
Josh shot him a disappointed stare and shook his head. “No, Jake. What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He lowered his voice to a hiss and pointed towards the closed door. “That’s a fucking fan out there. And you just fucked her.”
Jake cringed away from the words as if Josh was pointing a knife to his throat, and violently swung his head back and forth in a way that made him nauseous. “I - no. No, I didn’t,” Jake slurred, still a little drunk but sobering up by the second with the weight of what he’d done. “I didn’t - I said I wouldn–”
“Yes, asshole, you did.” Josh’s words were venomous and angry, but he drew back before things got too heated. “You did. And you can’t take it back. None of it can be taken back.”
He’d left Jake shivering and wet in the hotel bathroom, and hadn’t directly spoken to him at all the next few days.
Jake wasn’t particularly eager to hear what his twin had to say when he did deem Jake worthy enough to speak to - whether it was because he was still upset at being forced to acknowledge the reality of his deeds, or because it was his brother and he didn’t want to feel mothered, he didn’t want to examine - so he tried to shake his grip off the next time Jake played to a barricade bunny and whispered something into security’s ear as they exited the stage.
Josh wouldn’t be ignored, though, as usual, and Jake snapped, “What?”
Pulling him in so that his words were a mere whisper at his ear, Josh delivered a line that sent shivers down to the marrow of Jake’s bones. “If you think she doesn’t know, you’re even more of an idiot than I knew you were.” And then he left, and Jake stood still as workers bustled around him, his victimless headspace evaporating even as he grasped onto those few words that had been the foundation of his continued sin.
She doesn’t know. She doesn’t know. She doesn’t know.
He wanted to think that there was no way she could know, but after the come-tissue had emerged, Jake realized his mistakes were everywhere, and that each ear the story had been whispered to, no matter the trust, no matter the ‘you can’t tell anyone’s, was evidence. Spread across the country like little seeds of indiscretion that would grow into billboards advertising his treachery to those who wanted it - who capitalized on it - and to those who would wilt away from him at the sight.
She doesn’t know. She doesn’t know. She doesn’t know.
Jake let the woman kiss his neck, her palm wandering to massage him through his pants.
She doesn’t know. She doesn’t know. She doesn’t know.
Pants unbuckled, legs tangled up.
She doesn’t know. She doesn’t know. She doesn’t know.
“I can’t do this. I’m sorry,” Jake croaked.
The woman’s eyes grew wide with realization of his reason. “Oh, shit.”
…
It was only a Michigan music blog that had always been foaming at the mouth to see them fail. But when the blog was reposted to three, four other blogs, and then added onto by various opinion blogs - well, all the sudden, that one Michigan music blog’s distasteful gossip piece about Jake living the true life of a rockstar was blown all over social media sites and right into their faces.
Jake couldn’t stand to look at Josh, and his sadly smug little, ‘I told you so’ face. Like Jake needed a reminder.
“Fix it. Go home. Take a few pictures, get a few videos with her, and stop the gossip,” their PR manager had said, pacing the green room before a show. “You already had the tissue shit, you don’t need this. Your reputation is on the line, Jake. Fix it.”
Jake had wanted to snap. Wanted to bite back, ‘Isn’t that your fucking job’ like an ass. But he sat in silence because the responsibility was his, and only his, and somewhere deep down he knew that - it was just easier to ignore when he was still reaping the rewards instead of the consequences.
“Peace, love, and unity, guys. Please. You already gave me a hard lot to gamble - I can’t sell that unless you guys do.”
Jake was handed an envelope with a ticket inside. Confused as there wasn’t a break in the tour for another month, Jake hoped and prayed that his mistakes hadn’t cost them a show, just for him to go home and relax for a few days with explicit instructions to use his girl as a prop for their reputations.
As if he hadn’t used her enough.
“There’s a weekend of travel next week. The others are staying on the bus as planned. You’re gonna fly in and fly out, okay?”
Jake heard himself agree, heard the others agree, the door shut, the silence.
Josh scoffed, getting up and ready to dress. “He still thinks it’s just a rumor.” Sam and Danny followed quietly, not wanting to get into the middle of the brewing fight.
“And what the hell would you know about it?” Jake challenged, springing off the couch to poke his brother in the chest, going from 0-100 real fast. “Why are you so damn invested in–”
“Besides the fact that I can’t stand watching you destroy Y/N?” Josh shot right back, unwilling to back down this time. “Besides the fact that I can’t stand watching you destroy yourself?”
Jake scoffed and rolled his eyes, scathingly biting, “Oh, fuck you, Josh. What do you want? A medal? A congratulations for being a nosy bitch who can’t mind his own business?” His doubt and guilt flashed, and these days, he found himself saying the same thing, over and over, out loud because the thought was no longer enough. “I haven’t destroyed anything.”
He could feel the weight of three sets of eyes, pinned to his form, as if he was transparent and they could see the uncertainty that clung to his every thought like a leech.
“I know that you feel shitty every single fucking time you cheat.”
Jake snatched his phone up and had half a mind to leave and calm down before the show. “You don’t know shit.”
But Josh again stopped him. “Stop trying to run away when you’re actually being held accountable. We both know she deserves better than this Jake. This Jake isn’t a good person.”
Josh’s arm was violently brushed off, and Jake lashed out, feeling like a cornered stray with no way out of the room. “You know, you seem awfully concerned about my girlfriend, Josh. Are you sure I’m the only one who needs to be held accountable here?”
“That’s shit–”
Jake looked at Sam and Danny’s discomfort and continued. “Honestly! You guys act as if you’ve never done something you regret doing, and now all sudden you have a - a what? A moral line you aren’t willing to cross?” Jake laughed bitterly. “Or is it just because you all like her better than me, since obviously I’m not being particularly well-received around here.”
“Shut up, Jake.” Josh’s tone was cold, exasperated, and callous. “Stop playing the victim for once. No one forced you to put your dick in those womens’ mouths. No one made you cheat. That was you,” Josh accused, getting right up in his twins’ face, “That was your choice. If you weren’t prepared to face the conse–”
Danny caught Josh as Jake tried to shove him down. “Jake,” Danny warned, and Jake took a good long look at all three of their faces. They all knew. He was aware. But he saw the disappointment - right there staring him in the face - from his brothers and knew that they wouldn’t have his back on this one.
He was alone. Alone and empty and guilt-ridden and ripping at the seams.
“You think I haven’t considered the consequences?” Jake snarled, voice high and defensive. “I stopped. I stopped because I considered the consequences, doesn’t that choice count for anything with you guys?”
Sam spoke for the first time, all too used to letting the twins’ shit blow over his head. This, though, was the first time he felt like he had to choose a side. And he didn’t like the fact that neither had all the people he loved on it. “We don’t count for anything in this, Jake. We aren’t the ones dealing with your…choices.” Sam chose not to voice what Josh had no problem putting into words.
Jake wet his lips, mouth suddenly dry with the tension that was all his fault. Yet again. “I - everything is the same as it was, right now. I still have Y/N. Why are you acting like I’ve already lost her? Like she’s already left?” He was desperate. He just wanted some assurance that everything would be okay - from anybody.
“You honestly believe you’ll still have her when this all comes to light? And it will, Jake. It–” Josh cut himself off and shook his head. “I don’t want to do this.” He gave Jake one last look - this one more pitying than angry - and then turned to leave again. Sam and Danny followed him out, and Jake was once again alone.
Alone alone.
He could only look at the envelope with the plane ticket that felt like it might be his only chance to keep things from crashing and burning at his feet, and hoped that the shit Josh was spewing was all just in his head.
He shook his head to clear it. He’d deal with everything later - right now, he had a show to play.
…
“I just need to know,” you said weakly into the phone, days after the audio had come into your possession, “if that was real. Please. I don’t - I’m not sure who sent it, but the only people who’d be allowed where Jake was and have my number to send it to are you, Sam, Danny, and your manager.”
“I don’t know–”
“Don’t fuck with me, Josh!” you snapped wearily. All you wanted to do was bury your head in the sand and not come back up until the sun had risen on a new day where you had no knowledge that the audio file existed, and Jake was present and faithful and loved you like you loved him. “I’ve been fucked with enough. I just want the truth - was that…was that really Jake in the recording?”
Josh said nothing. But nothing was enough.
Fresh tears welled up in your eyes. “And the other claims…the other rumors that made it to that blog - were they also…?”
Josh said nothing at first, then swallowed audibly. “I’m sorry, Y/N,” he said softly.
“Oh god.” You hung up the phone before you raged against everything you thought had been true and concrete. It was tears first, then anger, then rage, and then only a horrifying, nauseating numbness that settled into your bones like a coat of dust.
What was there left for you to do?
…
Jake knew something was horribly, horribly wrong when Y/N called him just a few minutes before a show. She knew their schedule, and she respected it, so this meant that there was an emergency or that Jake’s whole world was about to be blown to smithereens.
“Hey sweetheart!” he greeted with a pasted-on smile. In less than 72 hours, he’d be able to hug her and tell her just how sorry he was and explain the entire thing - he just had to act like everything was okay until then. Until he was there. “I’m just about to go on, is there - what’s wrong?”
She stared dully at the camera, not acknowledging his words at all. “Jake, I want to give you a chan–”
Sam poked his head around the corner Jake had escaped to. “We gotta go. Opener ended early.”
“I - look, baby, I have to go. But I promise, I will see you soon, and I’ll call after the show, okay? We’ll have time to talk, and I have some good news!”
“No, Jake,” she insisted, “this is important. I know about the rumors and I just want you to tell me that they aren’t true.” Her voice sounded strained, urgent, and despondent, “Because if you don’t explain now, then I–”
Their manager popped in as Sam left. “Hey, bud, we’re on. Danny’s just gone out to the kit.”
Jake took one last look at Y/N's face, growing desperate without Jake’s attention, smiled through his growing feeling of being overwhelmed, and accidentally avoided the question in the heat of the pressure. “I promise we’ll talk soon, okay? I love you.”
It slipped his notice that she never said it back.
…
Despite the rather ominous FaceTime call he’d just had, Jake couldn’t help but to give into the stage’s freedom. He felt invincible up there usually - he was a star, he was the attraction, there wasn’t anything he really could do wrong, now was there?
Of course, shining through the cracks in that armor of stardom he donned, there was still that nagging little point that reminded him how he felt now didn’t detract from the awful things he’d done. There was also something else, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on, looming in the back of his mind. Like he was forgetting something. Like he’d lost something and hadn’t found it.
But it was negligible, and he knew that as soon as he purged himself of his sins, he’d feel normal for the first time since they’d started this tour. That he’d feel whole.
…
Your moment of moral dilemma had passed by.
He’d been given the chance - so many opportunities - to give what you were asking him to give. A hint. A clue. Just a morsel of guilt or the simplest word of confession would have made you stay, made you listen. But Jake apparently couldn’t give you that, not even when directly asked.
The deceptive smile, the continued facade - it was all too much for. The truth was sitting on a golden platter in front of you both, and Jake chose to turn his nose away, yet again.
The lies hadn’t stopped, and for the life of your relationship, you couldn’t imagine that they ever would.
…
There was an apprehensive build up of tension that slowly overtook that blissful feeling of freedom from his iniquities that made Jake’s hands shake and his heart palpitate. The interaction he’d had with you hung heavy from his shoulders, and made his head wander. In the fog of pre-show jitters, he couldn’t remember - you’d asked him something. Why couldn’t he remember?
There was a sour twang from his guitar that he frowned at, and then he blinked rapidly, focused, and played on.
…
You gave yourself two days to get all the shit that meant anything to you packed up and ready to load into the small UHaul you’d rented. The first couple of hours had gone by in a blink - of course you were gonna take the things that were yours specifically, so you didn’t initially have any problems.
Except then you got deeper, and all the sudden, it wasn’t about taking your soap and your clothes, it was about taking the sushi roll mat that Jake had gotten you as a surprise so that you could have sushi home dates. It was about the Mufasa painting jokingly hanging beside the TV because Jake had admitted he’d cried until he was 13 years old at that scene. It was the movie night classics you both loved, cased up and put separate from all the others you had accrued for easy access.
It hadn’t hit you just how hard it would be - releasing yourself from this relationship - until you were untangling the strings and found it difficult to tell just where you ended and Jake began. Until you were seeing your home bereft of your presence, but still containing little facets not of only you, nor of just Jake, but of the both of you intertwined to where there was no point in trying to undo it.
…
Jake played to the crowd, no one's face sticking out to him as his next mistake, but all of them blurring together in his mind as it focused on one person - who wasn’t even there. It was a high and a low, a slow-motion film and a high-speed chase, an oxymoronic night. Jake wanted to stay onstage forever - living like a god to these people, reveling in their worship, in their starry-eyed exaltation - and yet, as tempting as that prospect sounded, his promise pinged around in his head, and not even the magnetic pull of the stage could keep from fulfilling that promise.
…
You’d gotten nothing but pity since this all had come about. Pity from Josh, pity from your parents, pity from your best friend, pity from yourself. You didn’t need pity anymore, you just needed freedom. The longer you stayed there, the more you wanted to pick up the phone and see Jake’s face, hear his laugh, be a part of his life. Your key quite literally held the decision between staying and going. Between living in a home you’d never trust the same and starting anew but with an ache and an emptiness in your heart.
You decided once you were all packed up and ready to go, that you’d give your key to the maintenance worker and ask him to give it to Jake when he got back. You’d be going on a trip, you’d say. You just wouldn’t be coming back.
…
Jake called Y/N - perhaps not as soon as he got off-stage, or when he got undressed, or when they stopped at a bar afterwards for a few drinks. And then he didn't want to wake her up when they got back to the bus at 2 am, so he waited until the next morning, when they had a break to fill up, walking outside the bus where Sam was smoking.
A giddy excitement and a horrible anxiety surrounded her contact information, and Jake suspected there would be until he could finally come clean. Her face, so lovely and happy in her contact photo, smiled up at him as he watched the phone ring on a call.
It rang out.
Jake tried again.
It rang out.
Frowning, he figured she was busy, and came to terms with the fact that he’d just be forced to anxiously wait all day by his phone for her return call. He sent a message instead, but it immediately buzzed back with an error alert.
“Hey, do you have cell service out here?” he asked Sam, who was also on his phone. Sam blinked and looked up at him, then down at his phone again.
“Yeah, full bars.”
Jake looked down and saw that his phone said the same. “Huh.”
He knew he had SMS messages enabled, so it should have gone through. He tried another message, but the same error alert appeared again. A bad feeling bloomed in his chest again, the same apprehensiveness he’d felt last night at the show. What was he forgetting? What had he missed?”
“Is everything alright?”
Sam’s question came out of nowhere, and the timing of it only deepened Jake’s insecurity about the bad feeling. “Um. Yeah, maybe. I think so. Just…I dunno. I think my phone’s being weird.”
Sam nodded, and his gaze lingered on Jake for a moment longer than usual, but Jake thought nothing of it.
He’d call again later, but they were on the way to the airport now, anyway.
He’d see her soon.
…
Jake had been fine until the maintenance guy. Had taken the missed calls with a grain of salt, had disregarded all the error alerts with a mental note to call his providers when he got the chance - but when the maintenance guy caught him after walking by his window, giving him a key to their apartment and saying something about a trip, that bad feeling grew into full-blown panic.
He’d thanked the guy politely, voice tight and skin itchy, and then rushed up to their door, shaky hands having trouble inserting the key in and turning, but as soon as he stepped inside, he knew something was off.
It looked bare. It looked like a thief had come in the night and taken things, but he - he couldn’t name what was missing. Maybe Y/N had rearranged? Had the walls always been this color?
Why the hell did his home feel like…not home?
“Y/N?” Jake called out tentatively, peeking into the kitchen. His heart started pounding when he saw the dinky old coffee maker she refused to part with out of its usual spot. “Y/N!” he called more urgently, darting down the hallway to their bedroom.
It was empty. The bed was made, but her side table was bare of everything except the lamp from the set he’d bought when they moved in together.
He flung their closet door open.
Her side was empty.
He checked the bathroom.
There was only one toothbrush in the holder. And it was his.
The ring holder that stood sturdy next to the toothbrushes caught his eye. There was a glint, and Jake’s blood ran cold. He counted them up.
One topaz set for their first anniversary. Two emeralds set for their second. Three sapphires set for their third.
Jake had been thinking about amethyst for this year.
“Shit,” Jake whispered, mouth dry with panic and regret. “Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.”
Shaky hands held his phone - pushed her number - listened for her voice to pick up.
“Pick up,” he breathed desperately, digging the heel of his hand into his eyes to try and stop tears. “Pick up, sweetheart. Please.” The room absorbed his plea, though, and he was only met with the empty sound of a listless ring. “You promised.”
Even as the words were released into the air, they were attacked by all of the empty promises that had dried up on Jake’s watch.
The call rang out, and Jake’s heart dropped 6 feet under. She wasn’t going to pick up. And she wasn’t going to call back.
Jake felt a chill run down his spine, the apartment cold and devoid of the warmth and love that had once filled it, and his legs wobbled precariously. After catching sight of his gaunt face - disbelief and hopelessness written into the lines of what he felt like was his being - in the mirror, Jake didn’t want to look at himself anymore.
He stumbled out of the bathroom, and unconsciously sat down in his normal spot on the couch, a space next to the arm empty from where Y/N usually sat, and dragged his fingers through his hair.
How the fuck was he gonna fix this? How did he even start?
There was a noise from the corner of the room, and his gaze snapped over to where their record player and vinyls were, and saw that a sleeve had fallen off the stand. His mind was numb, his body was on autopilot, and he couldn’t think clearly. But he was drawn over to the records regardless, and as he picked up the fallen sleeve, his heart clenched. The worn cover was familiar to him, and knowing that she took her stuff - knowing that she had cleaned out all the things that meant anything to her and that she thought of as hers - this was painful. This was…
A Night at the Opera stared up at him, the tracklist numbered and drawing his eyes towards what they always called ‘the tour song’.
Happy at home, oh, you’re my best friend.
He had been planning on asking her to marry him one day.
Jake hadn’t realized that he was crying until his tears fell onto the sleeve and beaded on the design. He sniffled and blinked, causing more wetness to escape his eyes, and then furiously rubbed them away, a horrible hollowness in his chest.
No one was there to see his tears, though. She wasn’t there anymore, and his tears only begged the pity of the walls that felt bare to him now.
P.S. To the user who asked to be on my taglist via my form but did not provide your username - I don't know who you are, I'm sorry! You can edit your response in the form or just shoot me a message :)
I am so fucking proud of G for this one. She really outdid herself.
Funny story: one of the first conversations we ever had, she insisted angst wasn’t her forte, and it was one of the reasons we teamed up as writing partners and betas - to combine our strengths. (Because angst is my fav. Along with comedy which - I know- it confuses me, too.) Anyhow, I remember telling her not to sell herself short and that I believed there was an angst writer in her. When I’m right, I’m right.
The other thing about this fic that makes me laugh is reading back to the very beginning of its conception when we challenged ourselves to a word limit.
Someday we will succeed at that challenge, but when all was said and done, I threatened to divorce her if she even considered cutting any of Promises Promises. Oh well, there’s always next time. 😂😂😂
@hyperfixated-gvf you’ve grown so much as a writer, and I’m SO proud of you I could scream. You complete me. ❤️ ❤️ ❤️
So, I don’t want Jake to shave, I appreciate that he did me the profound kindness of yeeting me out of his lane and has left me to stan Danny in peace.
HOWEVER. If you all want him to shave it so bad, there’s quite a simple solution. Just start calling him “the other Josh.” Problem solved.
If you please, sir, continue to grow out that stubble into the same ratty thing Sammy is sporting, and then convince Dan the Man to do the same so that I may lose my sexual attraction to you all one by one and be released from this torment. Thanks in advance.
i see the younglings post things like “are you still on tumblr at 30?” and “go take care of your kids instead of reading fics”
and i just feel sad
because you have a bunch of young people who are terrified of getting older.
they think age is going to change them, into something boring, something different, something grey.
and i just want to tell them, reassure them:
you will still be the same person.
isn’t it wonderful?
you will love the things you love for so many years. you will find joy in the same things, decade after decade. you will feel the same inside, through all this time.
yes, the body will change. yes there’s more responsibilities, less time, even less energy.
but there’s no magical age where you stop enjoying that specific story, that specific game, that specific hobby.
It’s the way I just know that someday, when I’m in the nursing home, I’ll see some kid getting interviewed for rolling stone like, “My first guitar? Oh I pestered my mom into buying me this old secondhand 2029 Gibson Jake Kiszka and I drove the whole family to the brink of insanity with it.”
