#egojock

[cemeterysgirl]

ㅤㅤit was late out, with the bright moon illuminating her fresh bruises whilst the cold night air nipped at them. an unwanted reminder of her existence. as if she needed one. but the pain helped to remind her that she was, in fact, alive. whether she wanted to be or not. she was stood on the balcony that overlooked the motels parking lot, her figure being arrhythmically lit up by the flickering light overhead as she bent over the railing a tad — half-lit cigarette dangling between coffin-shaped nails before she puffed it back to life.

ㅤㅤtight fitting skirt was hiked up enough to expose the still red cheeks of her plump ass, matching scars scattering the back of her thighs as she bent over the bannister when she spotted a familiar, and handsome, face. " hey, " smoke spilt from matte black lips as she spoke, whistling to get his attention regardless of the time. " cigarette boy. " or at least that's how she remembered him. a conversation and a smoke. she was terrible at names. " you feel like sharing tonight? i'm down to my last smoke. " a veiled way of asking for company. sometimes it was just nice to be with someone that wasn't paying.

closed starter for @egojock.

[notcruel]

@egojock “Try to keep quiet…we wouldn’t want to get caught.”

It was one thing to tell her what to do in bed, but it was another to tell her to gauge her actual bliss. Sure they shouldn't have been having sex in his house. Things had changed so drastically that the fact that she was even in his bedroom was something that was frowned upon by everyone she knew. Then again, what did they know about how much they both cared about one another? "Make me." Her words challenging as she pulled him into her even more. A low groan escaping her as she smiled and moved her hips. "So what if we get caught?" Her body continuing to move as she guided him deeper. "Do you want us to stop?" Teasing she sunk down onto him completely taking him in as deep as she could. Her small frame taking as much painful pleasure as she could. "Tell me you love me."

[notcruel]

@egojock are you gonna marry, kiss, or kill me?

It was games like this and truth or dare that eventually led to trouble. This was all new with Nate, but she had liked him for so long. The countless glances during her dance practices, the walks home even if he drove, the constant flirting via text, the instagram comments, they all led to small conversations like these that felt more important than they both let on.

"I don't know." She held on to the rim of the sink she sat on now that they were alone. The question had been posed before Maddy had suddenly stood up and said she was bored. Really what she had wanted was time alone with Nate. "I don't think you want me to kill you." Her sparkling eyes fluttering as she continued to flirt, "But then again," her neck craning as she pulled him closer towards her and held on to his shirt. "I think you might get tired of just kissing me." Truth was she doubted she ever could. "So I guess that leaves the last option and I don't think you're really ready for that." Keep it casual, that's what she told herself even if she had already pictured what her life would be like if they ever got serious. "Do I get a fourth option?"

[arvinran]

@egojock : sender picks up receiver on the side of the road after their car dies.

arvin's prized possession, his chevy, hadn't worked since the day he bought it. half his paychecks have gone to replacing parts. and that's led him here: stranded on the roadside after a long shift. got soaked through by rain. cussing at a busted transmission he'd just fixed up. god damn. did he get sold bum parts? he circles around to the trunk for his tools. pops open... coming up empty. dammit. he'd forgotten to put them back in. a slam. two options present themselves: walk home or wait on a passeryby's mercy. he's about halfway through a cigarette when the latter pays off. a truck pulls up. right before extending his thanks, rage swells. 'cause he gets a clear view of who's driving. fuck. ain't no way in hell. lenora's tear-stained face flashes to his mind. fueling his fire. breath shakes. " — keep drivin, you piece'a'shit. " he'd rather get picked up by anybody but fuckin' nate jacobs. his fist burns to punch that fucker's face in. but settles on flicking his unfinished smoke into the rolled-down window. then holds up a rude gesture while retreating. he don't like bullies.

[devilscheck]

@egojock LIKED for a ONE-LINER !

"Say it like you MEAN IT or I'm OUT-"

[redemptioninterlude]

“ i just need you to know that you’ve never been ‘nobody’ to me. you’ve never been nothing. ” @egojock // nate is not about that mushy shit nor saying things he doesn't mean but it's the truth bc they've always existed within each others periphery . rue has always known how fucking weird the jacobs family is tho .. and how weird Nate is by proxy

SUBJECT: prompts for the heavy hearted meme NOTIFY: @egojock REGARDING: nate jacobs

the bury her fucking alive. leaving rue to have to confront just how little she really meant to the world. why alamo maybe picked her because... who's looking for the girl who's family doesn't know where the fuck she is anymore? who's looking for that one who's already had issues with another drug dealer, oh, an addict, a crackhead, you know what happens to GIRLS LIKE THAT. the ones that dared to be poor, who didn't have the femininity and the whiteness behind them to hold to the light and be declared as not only pitiable, but someone worth looking for.

it takes her FOREVER to get out.

no phone, no way out, she walks. it reminds her in a way of her time with laurie, that one time in the desert. she walked and walked and almost fainted from the lack of water, she feels the sort of HORROR you're meant to feel when reading of biblical figures suffering their trials and tribulations. but rue was anything but holy, and right now, the only thing on her mind was trying to get the fuck away from this shit. rue doesn't know how long she walked, but she does see the time in the car of the girl who picks her up. the first out of like, 5 cars that just passed her by. it's 4:14, and she asked to be dropped off at like, any gas station, she's thankful, she's sorry, she knows she smudged dirt all over that poor girl's car.

and when she's there she like, convinces someone to let her call someone else. she thinks, hard, honestly, about who she bothers to bail her out, who'd come all the way out to... fuck. she squints, reading the gas station sign and pegged herself like, maybe 30 minutes, 2 hours LA traffic far from the city. shit. who's close? who can make it without giving her SHIT? it's weird when she calls him, first. usually, she's like a texter, and the fact that she remembers his number? probably because that shit's been the same since 5th grade for him. but she dials, her lips pressed thin as she asked with a shaking voice if he could come by to get her. he says yes, in a move that still always surprises her, and hesitantly, she says she'll see him soon, before she hangs up.

he whistles when he sees, her, rue still trying to dig out the dirt from the ridges of her clothes, the creases of her shoes. the look she gave him was quietly pained, climbing into that cyber truck with an internal cringe, but right now, whatever, she could feel all moralistic about this shit LATER, unwilling to be both a beggar, and a chooser. "... i really fucked up." it's like that roll down of all the previous conversations. do you believe in forgiveness? who would you be if things could be different? "i-i've been working at this fucking... club. the one that cassie's at." the nervous glances, the way her stomach clenches. "t... the cops caught me. from that shit with that dealer, and like... they said i had to do it, this... this recording." fuck. fuck. fuck. "o-only laurie fucking robbed them, shot someone and like, alamo fucking killed someone and now..." now they're gonna kill me. she knows none of it makes sense, her head in her hands, her frustration, bubbling.

it's all her fault, she did this shit, she BURIED A BODY, oh my god, what the hell has she done. "and i'm fucking... i'm nobody. they can do it, they're gonna fucking kill me, oh god-" she could be sick. the sickly sour feeling of it, crawling up her throat.

“ i just need you to know that you’ve never been ‘nobody’ to me. you’ve never been nothing. ”

nate, always surprising her with the reflections he brings into it. she'd ask what he did see her as, then, but rue right now couldn't handle that. the good, or the bad, she's too FUCKED UP on regret to take any of it well. still, she half smiles, because that caustic horror had really sat ill within her as she crawled her way out. that if nobody cared, if nobody remembered her, if she was nothing... who'd even notice? would her existence really have only added awful things into this world? things... things had to be better than that, right? the tear that leaks feels horrifying ; she swiped at it, quickly, her voice cracked around that " thank you-" her throat closing, her ache pinching harder. "s-same to you, man..."

[redemptioninterlude]

HIGH: for our muses sit on top of a roof together, sharing a bottle of booze or a joint. — @egojock // set in s3 or whatever timeline u think fits best, getting through all the heavy shit the best way they know how because recovery is not linear

SUBJECT: locations + situations meme NOTIFY: @egojock CONCERNING: nate jacobs

honestly? it's kind of been a SHIT TIME for everybody lately. and rue could tell that nate was no exception. it's odd, being over at lexi's and seeing the way that the cameras would pop off from the window at night from cassie's apartment. that in a way, she was doing all the same things from high school again to catch the attention of some boy giving her attention. only now? the attention was from everybody who added themselves as a subscriber to her account. every ping of a new sub for her was a form of a dopamine hit to the brain... and fuck, if rue didn't get that part of the whole thing.

everyone's falling in with their own addictions to something. with nate, she wondered what that might be. despite the both of them knowing each other for years, nate was always swimming within his lane, the one in which he could control for himself. but the world now was not the world it once was ; and she hears from lexi in hushed tones as she makes rue a tea at night that like, nate's in trouble. in fact, his whole little PROJECT that they'd broken ground on? actually got rejected in front of the board of approvals when it came to the land agreements and something something or another. legal talk that made, like, no sense to her, but definitely was the nail in what hammered home why cassie wasn't returning back to their mcmansion.

and when she goes over, it's like, maybe unexpected. but after nate made that offer about helping to pay off her debt, she figured that she at least owed him THIS MUCH. it's not, like, pity or anything. if she really thought about it, she and nate had known each other at this point for like, 18 years. shit like that... it could feel crazy, couldn't it?

HIGH: for our muses sit on top of a roof together, sharing a bottle of booze or a joint.

she convinces him first to sit on the roof. it starts on the balcony, but like, this place is built kinda weird and she could see from there that you could get out from one of the windows and she'd announced, solemnly, that they were gonna go out from there. a pause, added, to tell him only if he didn't JUMP. but the bottle of liquor helps. she has weed, too, and the fact that he took a hit didn't surprise her, so much as she found it painfully ironic that her 17 year old self would have never been able to envision something like this together. how could she? they were always, it seemed, fighting over the same girl, the same moment. everything reflected back at them, in their worst and best, within each other.

rue doesn't talk about the debt. or his parents, or the fucking awkward wedding that had all these moments where things just felt like, out of control for so many people in the room. how there'd been some crazy UNDERCURRENT that came with some woman whisper hissing at cassie about an investment, or like, her little work emergency. instead, she talked about their coming up.

"you know, you used to draw like, this craziest crayon pictures in grade 2. i dunno why, but like, i could tell your parents hung every single one of them up. i always wondered what it'd be like to have that kind of support growing up and like, i wonder what you woulda done if it wasn't about the whole business from your dad. do you ever think about it? like, if you didn't have all the expectation there. what would you be doing?" who would you be? would be be happier? prouder? MAYBE with cassie, maybe not? who could say. there's so many what ifs to process. "sometimes i wonder if we made different choices, would it still end up the same? i hope not. i keep waiting for that moment we can hit the redo button, yanno?"

[petitsdieu]

🦪... a kiss to distract them from stitching a wound ... @egojock

There's no shortage of emergencies tonight, they've waited long and are lucky they can sit hip to hip in a singular bed in a room instead of the exposure some other patients obtain in the hallways. Matching gashes like friendship bracelets or whatever name makes whatever they are now. A physician, who finally comes in makes a stabbing guess ... couple? Hara doesn't have the to reply. She can feel her heartbeat in the lengthy wound on her arm. She can't tell her blood from what's his ... they've no doubt mixed at this point. The ways bodies come undone is rarely pretty, elegant, or precise. They'll gush where they must.

She really does try to stay present but only waves of dialogue reach her. "We'll do your girlfriend first..." Her gaze stays pin-focused on the needle and how the more she stares at it the bigger it gets. "You're going to feel a pinch." They lied. It feels like burning or an axe coming down into the tender meat of her. "Stay still." After the first injection, her body's twisting to go. They don't have a second pair of hands to spare, Nate's will have to do.

She doesn't know what comes first. His hand on her nape, steadying her, or her hand on him. Either way, his forearm gets sandwiched between her clinging and her cheek. They're close enough to recycle each other's breath. It’s the only thing keeping her in place. The numbing-attempt of lidocaine feels worse than the pain it took to put her here. Of course it would be, it's addressing already un-made edges. Each respire allows them to fall in closer. Nose-to-nose. Lash-to-lash. She doesn't think she'll make it through this. Her pained sounds progress the same way a song does ... like the chorus heading for the bridge. And it goes off her trembling mouth and into his wrist.

Another bridge to cross is between pain and pleasure. When their mouths meet, it's an analgesic pull. He feels magnanimous first. Her, him, another type of bleed. Just two hurt bodies attempting to escape the pain ... or transform it into something they can metabolism. Her mind can start to swap what takes priority to feel.

Her hand slides from his arm to ledge on his cheekbone. She can deepen the kiss the more of her floods back to her. Whatever he gives her, she returns the fervor with half her weight ... which is all of her right now. Her leg parts to get half an inch closer ⸺and half an inch away from the physician's necessary infringement. She whimpers into his mouth as the first stitch lands. Her hand moves again, this time squeezes onto his shoulder. By the second tug to flesh, the taste of him distracts more of her away.