happy friday! another one for @taznovembercelebration "YES"
“So like, I don’t know any of this nerd shit,” Taako says, flipping his hair a little. “But the lil’ man wants to play, and I want him to get to play, because the next time he gets the zoomies and I have to play Risk I’m gonna fuckin’ Risk It All, you know what I mean? No offence, Ango.”
“None taken, sir! If I took offence at all of your flippant and seemingly disparaging comments made to distance yourself from real feelings and maintain the dangerously seductive comfort of irony, I’d be in a sorry state, probably!” Angus grins a great big gap toothed grin, not even looking at Taako, who just sort of accepts this as normal. Both of them look at Kravitz expectantly, and he, stunned, realized he’s meant to be formulating an answer and not just being more floored than the sad, sad fucking arcade carpet he won’t replace because he’d have to lose like, a WEEK of business.
Also it’s vintage.
“But I’m not!” Angus says, probably for Kravitz’s benefit, and also as a politer way to kick someone under the table, especially when you cannot kick under the counter of his game store.
“Right,” Kravitz says. “So you want to play DnD.”
“Oh, more than anything, sir!” Angus does a little wiggle that betrays the absolute carbonated excitement lurking under his carefully controlled little bow-tie ass calm. “But even, perhaps, if it were possible to be more than anything and then more than that again, as how some infinities are larger than other infinities, as you may remember from the siren song of calculus, I really, really want to DM!”
“You want to DM?” Kravitz eyes the ten year old. Ten? He thinks Taako said ten. He might have also said five, and that’s definitely not true. Probably. No, definitely. Five is like double toddler. Right? Double and a half?
“Dungeon Master,” Angus says helpfully, opening his mouth and taking a thrilled deep breath to elaborate ‘for Kravitz’s benefit’.
“Right. Well, sh- heck, young man, uh, I admire your enthusiasm,”
“Don’t worry, you can swear in front of me! I’m perfectly well aware of what sort of words you say in what sort of situations. In fact, I’ve been learning a lot about code-switching, and-”
“Hey, lil’man, you gotta win the sale to infodump,” Taako nudges in a stage whisper.
“Right!!!!!” Angus straightens up, vibrating like a Looney Toons arrow. “Regardless, would it be possible to DM at your game store Mr. Kravitz? I promise I would follow any rules and guidelines you set out as appropriate based on your store code of conduct, even if they’re stupid, and Taako can help me bring snacks if that is acceptable!”
Kravitz laughs, getting the hang of it now. He gets it. Maybe he doesn’t get Angus specifically yet, or even kids in general, but oh, does he recognize this flavor. And he would fucking love to enable it as far as he’s allowed.
“You know what, I do think I have an open table. I’ll put out feelers and see who’s interested. Do you mind a rotating party, or would you prefer to lock in for a certain amount of time?”
“Hmmmm,” Angus says, screwing up his face and clearly mentally flipping through his campaign notes. “Let me consider and prioritize.”
“Yeah, you consider and prioritize, maybe shop around a little, and I’ll chat with your, uh,”
“Taako,” Taako smoulders, which provides no fucking context whatsoever. Who are you to him. ELABORATE!!
“Taako,” Kravitz agrees with a smile.
Angus bolts off so fast to look at the campaign books and dice that he leaves an Angus-shaped cloud behind, and Taako and Kravitz stifle laughter, because it’s still not like, a huge store, and the little guy probably hears everything he isn’t supposed to.
“Precocious,” Kravitz says fondly.
“You don’t know the half of it,” Taako sighs. “I can’t keep up with him half the time. But man, he cares so hard it wears a hole through me and when I eat it falls out of me like a cartoon skeleton.”
“So true.” Kravitz can’t help but laugh. They’re more the same than Taako may realize. They reek of the same vibe, like the kind of candle you wanna take a big bite out of. “He’s yours?”
“Insomuch as a stray cat is yours, you know?” Taako leans on the game counter and sigh, toying with his hair again, which Kravitz recognizes is a flirting technique and is somehow still kneecapped by. “Like, you can be like, hey, who the fuck lets cats outside? They’re gonna decimate the goddamn bird population, and then where will we be?”
“Ten percent less birdful,” Kravitz says, like that’s a reasonable thing any person has ever said on planet Earth, ever.
Taako nods, which does nothing to discourage Kravitz’s bullshit.
“But like, seriously, his legal guardians don’t do shit, and yadda yadda yadda,”
“Plot plot lore, Kravitz agrees.
“He’s mine, sort of. He comes and eats my food, at least, you know, when he doesn’t have to fight possums for it.”
“Does the possum have a name?” Kravitz grins.
“Garyl,” Taako says, whipping back just as fast. Fuck, Kravitz is obsessed with him. Damn, he had things to do. “He used to be a binicorn in another life, but he can’t escape the cycle, so he came back as a trash gargler. His favorite cheese is provolone.”
“Ooh, mild,” Kravitz says, so outside of himself at the moment that he could pause the livestream and do football drawings and commentary on his own stupid face putting these noises in this order. But Taako laughs, so it’s worth it. He looks at Angus, who is carefully inspecting the Bucket O’ Dice, and digging frantically for one he’s spotted in the very bottom. “I almost want to go open another pound of dice and pour them in, you know, for uh…boy enrichment.”
“Boy enrichment is the name of the game,” Taako agrees. “That tiger needs beefier meat pumpkins than cha’boi can provide. I can’t keep up with him, seriously. I was hoping maybe you’d know more about this shit?”
“Yeah, a little,” Kravitz massively understates, feeling a glowing, strong bond form between him and this alleycat of a kid. “I’d love to let him find his footing here, if you want. And if people want to be freaks about it, I’m not having it.”
“Fuck yeah,” Taako mumbles. “Knew I could trust a pretty guy like you. No one’s snapped you up yet?”
“Too goth and weird,” Kravitz laments, like he isn’t having a heart attack about being called pretty. “I’m as single as the day is long.”
“Well, it’s Daylight Savings Time, bitch, and it’s about to get real dark.”
“Are you-” Kravitz can’t help but laugh. “Are you announcing your intentions to pursue me?”
“Is it working?” Taako winks.
“Yes,” Kravitz has to admit. “Yes it is."
[ID: a gameboard with 15 spaces, 1-5 taken up by stickers of a cat, a fish, "good worker", a door, and a dragon]
This time we are drawing cards and completing a game board! please share this post so people know what's up!
Choose a reward you can give yourself, choose a goal, and then draw cards here!
Each day you want to participate, draw a card (redraw if it isn't for you or doesn't feel right that day) and make something cool based off the prompt, like a ficlet, a playlist, visual art, an art object, a collage, or something else entirely! you can even count things like writing a detailed post about your thoughts on a given TAZ related subject, or even telling a friend about a real good daydream you dreamed real hard.
The point is that we get through November, have a good time, and think about TAZ. It's entirely self-paced, and self driven, no quotas, no deadlines, no stress. just making, sharing, enjoying.
If you want to share your work, @ this blog, @taznovembercelebration, and I'll reblog it when I can! November is crazy, which is why we want to help each other through it.
Again, the prompts are here.
Select a game board or make your own!
[ID: a space themed board game board with 15 spaces and the shutterstock logo still on]
[ID: a nature themed board game with 20 spaces and the shutterstock logo still on]
[ID: a space themed board game with animal astronauts, 29 spaces, and the logo still on]
Feel free to make your own board game, take your own from a quick image search like i did, or record your progress in a way that doesn't hold you to an end result.
if you have questions, send this blog an ask. don't forget to share the cool stuff that others make!! it's all about spreading a little light in the darkness.
"It's bad, Taako," Lup said as soon as the car door was shut. "It's real bad."
Taako had to be honest— he had no fuckin' clue what was happening anymore. He and Lup had never gone to different schools before and it was weird being out of her direct ring of things-that-are-happening. It was for the best, 'cus there was no way he could have survived trying to get a science degree. And he knew Lup loved cooking, but culinary arts was not for her. Ever. Keep her away from the building, thank you very much. Yeah, sure, she'd kill this degree, but it was the principle of the thing.
So he had only been getting outside reports of whatever was happening over at Neverwinter University. But apparently, it was a lot. While Taako was over here, blissed out on weed brownies, Lup was doin'… something. Again, he didn't really understand what was happening anymore. But Lup didn't even wait for an answer before continuing.
"I asked him on a date," Lup said, buckling herself in with more force than necessary. Taako took the car out of park (look at him! He could drive! Take that, driving instructor one through five.) and attempted to maneuver his way out of the parking lot.
"That sounds like a good thing?" Taako said.
"It's not," Lup said. "It's not a real date."
"A- and that means??"
"It's not a real date," Lup said again. "I fuckin— well, first off, Greg fucking Grimaldis—"
"Fuck him," Taako said.
"Yeah, fuck him— but he was very loudly promoting his fuckin'… casino or whatever that he's inheriting. And he so graciously invited us to an event that's being hosted there about— god, I'm too angry to remember what the stupid event is for. But he was like, oh, don't bother showing up without a date though, it's a couple's event, like I fuckin' know whatever that means—"
"It just sounds like bait," Taako said. How the hell did he leave this parking lot again? He felt like he had been turning left for like, three entire minutes.
"And then I was like, "of course, I have a date". And he was like, "oh yeah? Who?". And Barry was right there, so—"
Ah, Barry Bluejeans. Taako had heard way too fuckin' much about Barry Bluejeans. Lup kept trying to deny any romantic feelings she felt towards him, but Taako knew better. Or, well, Taako had eyes and ears and the way Lup spoke about Barry Bluejeans left nothing up to the imagination. Normally Taako would have liked to meet the man that his sister had fallen in love with but honestly, he's in a place in his life where he gets assignments about spaghetti so it's not like anything makes sense anymore.
"So it was less like you asked him and more like you are going to force him—"
"I asked!" Lup said, sitting up in her car seat. If she had noticed the several loops Taako had taken around the parking lot, she hadn't said. "After, I mean. I asked after. And y'know how Barry's like, he's gonna say yes to everything 'cus he feels bad about saying no. So I had to clarify that we weren't actually dating to, y'know, make it seem better— I don't wanna seem like I'm using him, Taako, I just— babe, if you had seen Grimaldis's face when I said that. And Barry fuckin' backed me up, too!"
Taako slammed on the brakes as someone tumbled into his car. And then onto the ground. Lup froze. Taako froze, too. And then started slowly backing up.
"Taako, we gotta— we gotta check—"
"Yeah, yeah," Taako said, pulling the car back a few inches. He shifted back into park and undid his seat belt. Lup was out of the car before him and when he opened the door, he caught the end of
"-arry!"
Aw, fuck.
"Oh, uh." Taako rounded the car, coming face to face with the new voice. It was a short man with concerningly thick glasses. He was wearing an honest-to-god sweater vest and bluejeans of all things. Lup was holding his hand, looking at the scruffed up flesh on his palm. He didn't look super injured or concussed. Taako had been going to stupid five miles and hour that this parking lot demanded of him. "It's— it's fine, Lup, really—"
"My guy, you just got hit with a car—"
"It was five miles an hour," Taako said, leaning against the driver's side door. "Nice to meet'cha, Barold."
"Uhm." Barry blinked a few times, looking between him and Lup.
"You're not concussed," Taako said. "We're twins."
"Uh," Barry said, eloquently. Man, this is the guy Lup was planning to fake-date? Good lord.
"You might be concussed, though," Lup said, turning Barry toward her. "Did you hit your head?"
"No, uh, no I'm good," Barry said. "Just, uhm— surprised! Haha."
This was awful. The worst part is that if Barry wasn't concussed, this was just his regular way of talking. Taako felt himself getting a headache. But Lup gave a smile that was all goopy and warm and, ugh. Taako kinda wished he had been going faster. He got back into the car, watching with a scrutinizing gaze as Barry and Lup talked.
And talked.
And talked.
Taako got out his phone, pulling up the group chat he shared with Magnus and Merle.
Gonna be late to game night, boys. I've got Lup and Barry Bluejeans existing in the same place.
some pre-Stolen Century office shenanigans for the @taznovembercelebration prompt: "silly!"
“Barry! Thank gods you’re in early — the Light’s missing, the whole Research department’s running around like chickens with their heads cut off, and I need help finding it before some suit on the executive board cancels the whole —”
Davenport rounds the corner of the lab, takes one look at what he sees the esteemed Dr. Bluejeans working on, and stops dead in his tracks. “Oh, Barry. Gods fucking damn it, you didn’t…”
Only then does the man himself — the Institute’s foremost planar orbital expert, one of the half-dozen patent holders on the bond engine prototype, the expected eventual Fantasy Nobel Laureate, and one of the only damn lab coats in Research that Davenport trusts — look up from his desk, blinking slowly and with visible confusion.
“The Light’s missing? No, that can’t be right. I’ve got it right here, Cap!” His voice is a little hoarse, and genuinely oblivious.
Gods, Davenport thinks, maybe there’s no damn lab coats in Research that he trusts. These pure scientists, pure mathematicians, and pure arcanists — they never think anything through. Maybe engineering would fix them. Would fix this.
“Barry, I —” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Dr. Bluejeans. I have nothing but respect for, for your discoveries in this laboratory, as does any member of the Institute, but — but — but does this look like where a tool of the gods is supposed to be studied?!”
So originally i was going to write for this but my friend had a great idea to do ppls pets instead so here is aubrey little with dr. Harris bonkers phd, fitzroy maplecourt and snippers, and magnus burnsides and steven the goldfish.
my first fic for @taznovembercelebration. twirls hair. I’m most likely gonna be veryyyy inconsistent (aiming for Sunday, Monday, Wednesdays, and Fridays but no prommy) and very likely gonna be pretty johavi centric so well theres that. but it’s okay it’s gonna be very fun yayy!!! yippeee! Enjoy 💖💖💖
Memory falters on the third anniversary of the Day of Story and Song.
Avi’s memory was far, far too good on the first anniversary. Every single memory seemed to plague his mind that first night, his voice stuck in the cracks of his broken heart that no amount of drink could fill. The second anniversary went much, much better, as Magnus dragged him out of the house to enjoy the musical festivities celebrated all in Johann’s— his Johann’s— honour.
When the third anniversary comes around, Avi’s in his home, but there is no drink in sight. The living room window is open, sunbeams and symphonies from a nearby celebration fill the house with music and life. Avi hums along to every note, all of it memorized so deeply he’s convinced that each piece has been etched into his soul. Avi sits down on his chair closest to the window and lets his eyes rest. The afternoon festivals tend to be a little too happy than what Avi is ready for, so instead he waits by the window, listening to the sounds of bards trying their best to match Johann’s greatness.
Avi’s hums verberate in his chest. He follows along with one piece, the closest to him, and matches along with every note possible. This piece, oh how popular it’s gotten, is one that Johann had written after Magic Brian had died. The rumours surrounding the piece have been strange, and it was one of the first things to make him laugh in his first year of depression.
“…Can you believe they think it’s some secret love song you had for him?” Avi whispers. To nobody, to somebody, but not to everybody. “It’s a little funny, honestly. I’m not mad. You’ve written plenty enough cheesy love songs for him that I can actually make fun of you for. No need to make up another one.”
It’s kind of an embarrassing habit, Avi knows. Gods forbid anyone, especially Magnus, heard that he still falls into this little spell of talking to a lover who’s no longer here. Avi wouldn’t hear the end of it. That’s why he reserves it for quiet days like these. Alone and loving.
Avi strains his ears and listens. One, two, three… there! “Hah. They always fail on that one, you know? Yeah, you probably know. You probably get pissed about it all the time up there. Maybe, just maybe, you didn’t have to show off all the time, even in your intimate compositions.” It’s a silly jab, he knows that Johann wasn’t necessarily showing off. He was just that good, in private and in public. There was no need to pretend he wasn’t.
Still, Avi loves to poke fun at him and the performers. That connection, however frail, is easy and hard to forget. I mean, come on, it’s impossible to forget their banter from back then. It’s Avi’s own little form of song, something so unique to them that he remembers it like the back of his hand. Johann says something serious, Avi teases something about the way it was said or why Johann said it, and Johann would quip back.
Avi tries to imagine what Johann would say in response.
Not my fault they can’t reach my fucking level.
Wow. That sounds… weirdly mean. No, no, Johann wasn’t that rude. How silly.
I wasn’t showing off, dude. And it was barely intimate.
Ugh, no. Johann didn’t sound like that. He didn’t sound like that at all. Did he?
Avi feels his heart pound in his chest.
Hah, right. I think it cements my place as the best violinist ever. These guys can’t match my level if they tried,
That felt more right, but the voice in his head didn’t match. Johann’s voice was deeper than that? But, no, it wasn’t too deep. And it couldn’t have been that monotone, right?
Avi’s eyes open and he straightens up on his seat. The music from the outside world becomes loud, far too loud, and suddenly he doesn’t want to hear it. He can’t hear it. How could he stand to hear it, when he’s struggling to hear his boyfriend’s voice clear in his mind? Why couldn’t he remember what Johann really sounded like?
Avi. His own name. Avi would remember what Johann saying his name would sound like, right? Avi, Avi, Avi, Johann would always say his name like that, under his breath, like it’s the most important word in the world. Avi imagines it in his head, and he thinks that’s it. That’s Johann’s voice. No need to worry, he’s still there. Avi hasn’t forgotten Johann.
…but the inkling of doubt clouds Avi’s mind like a familiar static.
Avi stumbles out of his chair. He reaches and shuts the window closed again, and suddenly, the thought of ever opening them makes him feel sick. Avi casts away any thoughts of music or festivities and he tries to focus only on Johann, Johann, Johann as his hands search his living room. His brain scrambles to pick up each and every memory of Johann, searching deep for the memory of voice. Yet every memory sounds slightly different. Some sound completely stranger to him. Some sound almost like a parody of what Johann must have sounded like.
Avi opens the junk drawer of a console table. His hand dives into the garbage of years well-lived until his fingers grasp a smooth, round object. He picks it up with trembling hands. Shortly after the Day of Story and Song, Lucas Miller had created small copies of a device that recorded the knowledge sent out by the Voidfish. Including the bard’s final inspiration.
He had sworn off of using it during that second year, after he listened to it nonstop during his first year of pain. Avi wonders how terrible of a mistake he has made. Avi clicks the button right in the middle and his pounding heartbeat roars in his ears so loud that he worries he won’t hear Johann’s words. But they shine through. They always do.
“You’re going to have to fight. And… you’re gonna win!” Johann’s voice pierces through the silent room. Avi’s breath hitches in his throat. He has a low voice, as Avi remembered, but has it always been as deep as that? His voice is passionate, as all were on that fateful day, but even then his distinctive flat tone gives him away. The voice is so familiar, yet jarringly surprising to hear.
How could Avi forget Johann’s voice?
“Oh, Johann,” Avi cracks. Tears swell up in his eyes with no second to recuperate. He presses the button once again, and he listens to Johann’s voice. His heart aches to remember every single little inflection in every syllable, every tone, until Avi could never forget it again. How could he forget it? When all that Johann ever asked for was to be remembered, his boyfriend can’t even fulfill that only three fucking years later—
Avi pulls the device to his chest and sobs. “Johann,” Avi cries out. Repeating his name and pressing that button over and over and over and over again. Until it drowns out any piece of music in remembrance of Johann that plays outside. Until memory falters, and an obsession relapses.
Kravitz steps back. Too far. The bed catches his ass, which hopefully looks like he sat down intentionally and didn’t reverse kneecap himself. Closet guy straightens up, long, gorgeous hair all over the place, and he spits hair out of his mouth and eyes Kravitz, steely, but also nervous, like Kravitz might be angling to kick his ass.
Kravitz might. He hasn’t decided yet. He’s a little panicked, and he doesn’t like, WANT to call the cops, obviously, but there’s a fuckin’ dude in his closet and he’s been home for like three hours now. He’s played dad rock as high as his phone could go and danced in his boxers, and showered, and changed into pajamas, and eaten popcorn like both a horse and the tender but misunderstood delinquent girl feeding that horse and maybe that’s not necessarily something he wanted some kind of malignant fucknugget to witness.
“Who the fuck are you and how did you get in my apartment??” he demands, grabbing the nearest heavy object and brandishing his shitty lamp that makes an annoying noise when it’s on like it’s some kind of newfangled glaive-mace.
“Who the fuck are you and where am I?” closet guy retorts aggressively, in a funny accent Kravitz can’t really place. Maybe it’s fake. Is this guy fucking with him? He’s too tired to be fucked with. He won’t allow it.
“My apartment, asshole, keep up!”
“Answer the first question!”
“You first!” Kravitz juts with the lamp, which is unfortunately a little flaccid, what with its flexible spine and all. He should have grabbed a shoe and just chucked it.
“I don’t remember what you said!” the guy admits, which, okay, Kravitz kind of gets it, and it’s sort of hard to stay serious, even with his hackles up as they are. “Why are you dressed like that?”
“I’m in my pajamas!” Kravitz says, defensive. He knows the old, old Death Note t-shirt and Jack Skellington pants, which he got from the defunct K-mart mumble years ago, are not like. Flattering. BUT!! Listen. His vintage monogrammed pjs are in the dirty pile. And the dirty pile has gotten a little big, cause things have been nuts at work, and he’s worn out and exhausted and other words for fuckin’ wiped. What is it people say now. Eepy? Baby you’d best believe he’s eepy to the core like some kind of fucking blood disease.
Man. Maybe he should get his vitamins checked.
But also fuck you, closet guy, he’s in his own home, and no one was supposed to witness him tonight. He’s done being seen and perceived. You hear him? Done!
“Is that…so.” The guy squints at him. Kravitz would be assuming what the fuck he’s judging Kravitz on, but he kind of got lost in the attractive freckles and his long elegant fingers, and the gap in his teeth. And the hair, despite the fact that it is still all over the place, isn’t a minus. “I am Taako, prince of the elves.”
“Oh, okay, and we’re back to zero,” Kravitz says, cheerfully realizing he’s going to have to fucking call 911 because he truly cannot figure out what the better option is. Except. He’s going to get strangled in his fucking Death Note t-shirt from 2013 because his goddamn Jack Skellington pants don’t have pockets and his phone is in the kitchen, actually, and they may not put that in his eulogy but everyone is going to know anyway, because of cringe osmosis.
He doesn’t usually believe in cringe. Funny what imminent death does to your philosophy.
“Why is that?” Taako squints at him, tucking hair behind his ears. And, shit, maybe he’s done costume work for whatever the fuck this is, maybe he’s had some insane plastic surgery, but his ears truly are crazy pointy. Not even elf in a movie pointy, like ten, twelve inches long, and they flick when Taako touches them. Kravitz reorients some facts, none of which add up, and he struggles.
“I’m Kravitz,” he says, against both his good judgement and his judgement he uses when his good judgement is dirty.
Taako squints at him harder. Kravitz wonders if he should put the lamp down, especially considering it knocked over his wifi router which is blinking frantically like some kind of crying electric beast, but honestly whatever at this point. Like, is he going to die? Shit, then at least he doesn’t have to work tomorrow, you know? Sorry mama, he promises he cares, mostly.
“Assistant head of sales,” he adds. Taako considers this at length.
“I think I took the wrong portal,” he decides. He turns back to the closet, which reveals that he has a tail, actually, for real, as far as Kravitz can gather, and puts his hands on his enticing hips in frustration when he finds Kravitz’s bullshit mess of Work clothes, Dress Up clothes, Play clothes, and Nobody Can See Me Fuck Off clothes. And also four wigs, his heated blanket, the printer he’s mad at, an embarrassing amount of hangers, and two paper boxes full of dumb garbage he can’t let go of from two moves ago. And some glitter. Shut up is why.
"What the fuck is going on?" Kravitz demands.
"Well," Taako says, with deep conviction, and doesn't finish. He turns back to face Kravitz. That tail flicks dismissively, still somehow incredibly appearing to be legitimate. Kravitz eyes him over, takes in his elaborate and scrumbled suit-gown of purple and gold gossamer and his thighs high boots and his golden eye makeup and also the way he keeps glancing at Kravitz's pajama pants.
"Well?" Kravitz prompts. "You realize you're in Austin, Texas?"
"Nah, uh," Taako looks a little pale now. "Chaboi was in Phandolin, in uh, Faerun, the fuck is a Texas?"
So true.
"Don't you dare tell me you hopped through a portal in my closet like reverse Narnia."
"Narnia?"
Man. Maybe Kravitz will hit him with the lamp. Shame he's so pretty.
"I don't have time for this," he mutters. "You always watch those fantasy movies and they just handle it, but I don't have- what am I supposed to do, call in an elf prince personal day? If I'm going to take an elf prince personal day you can bet- sorry, I…" Kravitz winces. Just because he wants this to be fake doesn't mean there isn't a situation at hand.
"I mean, Taako is all for an elf prince personal day if it means what I think it means." Taako grins, showing surprisingly sharp teeth, which Kravitz feels totally regular about, no details thanks. "I was running from some assholes who wanted to murder me. I mean, I don't necessarily think monarchy is the way of the future either, but you don't see me assassing about it."
"Well, no monarchy here." Kravitz can't help but be glib. He finally puts the stupid lamp down. Just on the bed. No way he's sleeping anytime soon. This makes the cord pull taut. His sad router just slumps onto the floor. Taako jumps and inspects its flashing lights, alarmed but also kind of fascinated.
"No?" He glances at Kravitz, and back at the lights. "Sick. That sounds easier."
"Well, it's not like there's no- we don't have to do politics. Hey, Taako, if I take this as nonfiction, which I am not committed to, and do not faint, which I am also not committed to, what the fuck am I meant to do next?"
"I mean either we take that elf prince personal day, really make it count, or uh, you magic me back home, mister?"
"Magic isn't real!" Kravitz runs his hands down his face, excruciatingly aware of the comedy of the situation.
"Ah," Taako says, really tasting the gravity here. "Guess there's no option but to fuck me."
"Now hang on," Kravitz says, struggling not to laugh.
“Man,” Taako sighs, as quietly as possible. “This is the second time I’ve been a hostage this month.” He’s not tied up this time, at least, but he’s sitting in the back hallway of the bank and regretting his choice of errands today. The guy next to him nods.
“You too, huh?” He’s pretty, and goth, very serious-with-a-side-of-secretly-goofy, and Taako wants to crack him like a nut. Shame they’re busy waiting for the supervillain of the week to either get got or get his private island and fourteen pounds of gummy worms, or fucking whatever. “It’s ridiculous. They need to spend less money on making flashy superheroes and more on just–security, infrastructure, safety, you know, mental health initiatives-”
“Or maybe we need to break down and be supervillains ourselves.” Taako shrugs, with an I’m JOKING I PROMISE…unless? Air about him. He’s sick of it.
“Really?” Handsome asks, laughing a little.
“Really,” Taako says, still kind of joking, but also kind of not joking. “Taako can barely get his errands done when there’s no Captain Backwards Lightning Man in the way, you know? It’s enough to make a guy wanna destroy some well-placed props.”
Handsome laughs.
“You’re Taako, I take it?”
“In the flesh, skele-fellow. You?”
“Kravitz,” Kravitz says, and then, “Probably. If I’m going to be a villain, you don’t know that, and I’ll have to erase your memories, or something.”
“Or we could be a team,” Taako teases. “We could be the only ones who knew each other’s secret identities. You could come over for chicken alfredo, I could go to yours for game night, little bit of blackmail to keep things spicy-”
Kravitz laughs, and covers his mouth, but it must not be too loud, or maybe the gummy worm accords are going sour, because nothing comes of it except an embarrassing amount of affection from Taako.
“I wish I had a power worth doing anything drastic about,” he admits, looking at Taako for comiseration or approval or something else that might lead to romance.
“Yeah? Cha boi’s in the same boat, so keep paddling. Dumber supers have done worse.”
“Really? I mean- about your power, I remember, uh, Pickle Monster.”
“Who could forget.” Taako shakes his head solemnly. “Yeah, no, I can read minds, but only if it’s food related.”
“Seriously?” Kravitz grins. “I love specific powers, but that sort of thing drives me nuts in practice. Like- surely the universe could have been kinder?”
“Would it ever stoop so low?” Taako snorts. “No, seriously, try me.”
“Okay,” Kravitz says, screwing up his nose in the cutest stinking way Taako has ever seen. “What was my dinner last night?”
Taako looks him directly in the eye, feels that weird connection he gets with people sometimes, the sort of way that makes him sweaty and lonely. He steps right into Kravitz’s doorway, looks around his home, wonders if there’s more than meets the eye. Surely. It’s welcoming enough, maybe just because Kravitz is inviting him in, in this moment. Much less of a trespass than it usually is.
He watches the memory unfold, and feels fond over this dork, who looks so business goth put together on the outside.
“You air-fryered tater tot nachos,” Taako says, and Kravitz blinks, surprised, and Taako’s shunted right back out.
“Really? You really got that much?”
“Oh, honey-nugget, I got more than that, I’m just trying to-”
“How much do you get?”
Taako grimaces.
“Pretty much everything, especially if emotions are, uh, involved? You- uh. You poured frozen tater tots in the air fryer, dropped one on your bare foot and started bleeding, went to put a pokemon bandaid on it, and when it beeped for you to turn the food, and you tried to test one, because your timing was off because the package didn’t have air fryer instructions, you dropped it on your other bare foot and burnt it.”
Kravitz’s mouth drops open.
“Sorry?” Taako says, even sweatier. “You opened the door, kemosabe.”
“Right,” Kravitz says, with a conspicuous glance at his shiny boy shoes.
“I wasn’t trying to intrude,”
“No, I, get it, I, could have picked something else.” Kravitz clears his throat and loosens his black-on-black rose patterned tie. “Mine isn’t nearly as interesting.”
“Seriously?” Taako snorts. “Maybe you have an eight foot vertical leap, or your snot is acid.”
“Is acid snot better than mind reading?”
“Dog, everything’s better than mind reading, do you know how fucking loud the world is all the goddamn time?”
“Touché.” Kravitz glances at the noise from the bank lobby, but nothing seems to come of it. He shifts his feet, looking at them again. “I mean, they were good tater tots.”
“Sometimes food that hurts fucks harder.”
“So true?” Kravitz laughs. “I wish I had super healing, or super-not-being-a-dumbass, but, you know,”
“Man, if I was super-not-a-dumbass, I really could take over the world. Watch out, Townsville! Pew pew!”
Kravitz looks at him with some kind of goopy eye disease that could be confused for fondness, if you were stupid, like Taako.
“I just- so, see, I have this knife?”
“Yeah?” Taako looks him over for said knife, which he does not manage to produce. “Taken, was it?”
“Mhm,” Kravitz sighs, glancing at the lobby again. Some loud discussion is going on, between the somebody of police and TToday’s Evil Baddoer. “I can cut these little rifts with it, nothing huge, because it’s just a big fancy pocket knife, but I can store stuff in there, which is kind of neat. One time I climbed through and found myself somewhere else, but it was really difficult, on account of the small blade and all.”
“Yeah?” Taako’s heart pounds. “Seriously? Does it have to be the one knife?”
Kravitz pauses, and then turns to him directly.
“I’ve only done it with the one knife, I guess. And a grapefruit spoon.”
“What if-”
“Oh my god.”
“Hear me out-”
“Oh my god.”
Taako casts about for literally any kind of blade, fucking at all. There’s a letter opener that looks like a sword on the Mortgage Guy’s desk, and Taako checks out Super Badguy in the lobby, and then slowly, painfully, starts sneaking his way toward it. Kravitz chews his fingernails behind him, and truly fourteen thousand ice ages later, Taako returns, and hams up presenting the letter opener to Kravitz.
Kravitz stares at it, and hestiates.
“What’s the worst that could happen?”
“It doesn’t work and you’re mad at me,” Kravitz admits, painfully honest.
“What if it does work?”
“I’d take you out for dinner,” Kravitz admits, fully focused on the silver blade.
“What kind?”
“Any sort of food you’d like?” And Taako steps into his mind one more time, slips in through the door, and finds himself in a nice restaurant across from Kravitz in a cute dark purple button up, slut that he is, one button open, just a hint, just a peek, and they kiss over the dessert, which costs way too much for crème brûlée, but Taako won’t tell him that, no sir.
And he zhoops right back out.
“You have to do it,” he says, a little breathless. Kravitz looks at him, alarmed, and back at the letter opener, whcih he finally takes. He moves it around in the air, getting a feel for it, and then SWIPES–
And a flickering, dark tear in reality appears. Kravitz covers a gasp, Taako doesn’t, and certainly they’ll be spotted soon, but Kravitz tears and rips and hacks into the rip in the universe, and once he gets it big enough, tears at it with his hands, and then gets a knee in there, and there’s a sickening non-sound as it widens ever so slowly, achingly, and Taako watches with deep, embarrassing affection as Kravitz manages to clamber through, looking like an absolute idiot, and turns and reaches an arm out for Taako.
Fucking ROMANCE.
“I’ve, gotta-”
“We’ll go around and help from the other side, Taako,” Kravitz promises. “It’ll just be way easier if I get literally anything sharper.”
“Oh,” Taako says, relieved. And he jumps into Kravitz’s arms, because he has the chance, and it’d be more embarrassing if he didn’t take it.
Any kisses between the jumping and the rescuing are off the record, and also private. So there.
[id: gameboard with 15 spaces, 1-6 taken up with stickers of a cat, fish, "good worker", door, dragon, and "kapow"]
