#effronterous

@effronterous/ @lcgisticsSend 💕 for what my muse would say when accepting a proposal from yours. 

Understand: it’s not like anyone deliberately let them go to Vegas unsupervised. But it’s late, and they’re drunk, and even Frank has been pulled away to other matters.

( it’s fine, will be fine. they handled Reno alright, and Rod only confessed his feelings in the awful Serbian-Russian-German slurry that hardly anyone understands. How bad can Vegas be?

famous last words, haha )

Danny has been glaring, maybe, at the people Rod talks to. ( it’s fine, it doesn’t matter. no one wants him these days, haha ) Rod has been acting out, maybe, to get Danny to look at him instead. There’s-- a little bit of a problem, a little bit of a scuffle, some split lips before Danny grabs him by the wrist and hauls him away.

They end up-- somewhere. Still within the neon lights and the musical bleed-over from at least three different clubs, leaning against each other. Daniel Liu is not, objectively, that much taller than Roderick S. Kasun, is more Present than Rod has ever seen him; has not let go of his wrist. 

Danny says ‘You should marry me.’ and Rod says “Yeah, okay.” like it’s that simple, like there is a world where there are not consequences for leaning in and tasting the blood and liquor of Danny’s lips.

@effronterous/ @lcgisticsdetective starters

Of all the hotels in all the towns in all the world, he is in this one; listening to the rain pour down and watching the neon-half-light stream in though the cracked Venetian blinds.

Liu is not much taller than Sweetheart is, and drunk, which is only surprising in the sense that he wasn’t drunk sooner. ( Liu is-- pretty, in the way that good honest detectives get themselves into trouble over. Sweetheart is neither good nor honest, objectively, but it doesn’t seem to be keeping him out of trouble here )

Sweetheart is here because his intended hotel is closed on account of arson, and Sweetheart is here because he makes poor choices when pretty faces are involved; like lying to criminals about people they ask you to find because you’re curious. It’ll end predictably one day, but for now he can lean on the wall next to the window and admire the way the rain softens the harsh edges of city light on high cheekbones.

“You know, I get that a lot. Doesn’t seem to have stuck yet.”

The last time he saw Daniel, there were eight tallies around the tattoo on his left forearm. When he reaches for the cigarette smoldering in the ashtray for atmosphere, there are twelve.

@effronterous​ Platonic touch meme; or: for a guy who has never had an emotion in his life, how dare you, Rod sure is easily emotionally compromised

There’s protocol, theatrics involved with meeting with Bosses. How you stand and where you stand and how much of their face you look at. Gestures, handshakes– like this, some half-conscious ritual when he stands to greet Danny Liu, mouth already half-tilted in a crooked smile. He is not supposed to be here, but he is not supposed to not be here, either. Complications.

( Liu is a Boss but he is not his Boss, and there’s the problem. He likes him too much, like this too much. He is a knife and he knows it, he knows it, but Danny jokes, and smiles, and will give you a drink before he shoots you. 

There is not a lot of kindness in the Life. An brief absence of violence is– well. more than he deserves)

He really ought to get out of New York for a while, bleed(ha) off some of this misplaced affection before it gets him shot.

To say that he didn’t plan beyond coming through that door would be a vast understatement. A part of Magnus wants to think that Rod would be proud, if he wasn’t kicking his ass to the moon for tracking down his person. 

(He doesn’t know what else to call it, and the lines between them are muddy. ‘Boyfriend’ seems silly to throw at an immortal, too faint when you could die any day. Person. Person. Once upon a time, he and Rod thought they were each other’s person. Then reality kicked down the door.)

Magnus hesitates a moment, rocking on his heels before the decision is made and he sinks into the booth across from him.

“...I’m not old enough to drink.”

woof woof

@effronterous/ @lcgisticsRichard Siken Starters

“Sure.” 

Roderick can do that, isn’t really all noise and flash and aggression, doesn’t have to talk, honest.

He isn’t holding Danny’s hand, really, just his arm. There’s a cut, a bandage, low enough light in the room to see the way Danny’s blood shines through. ( he’d offered iratze, once, had his stele half-way out of his pocket before he remembered. no runes for downworlders, haha ). He drags his thumb over the bandage, watches the way the light changes, does not think about blood and blood and what it means for the both of them.

Roderick understands this ends in heartbreak, he does. 

It’s just– nice to sit with Danny’s arm in his lap, their shoulders touching. Even in the silence, even in the dark, even knowing it can only last a little while.

There’s a little sideways breath of laughter, a line he read somewhere in the archives, another drink. “Dionysus has ruined us.”

That’s the reason, surely, surely, why he’s like this; why his chest hurts so much when he shuts up and barely leans into Danny.

@effronterous/ @lcgisticsGuide to troubled birds starters

“Ah, what’s a night on the town without a little attempted murder?” Or– slightly more than attempted, given why there is no longer a rug in this room.

“You’ve got a little–” He’s already going to have to replace this jacket, so he doesn’t think much of dabbing at the cut on the other man’s collarbone with his sleeve. Between the broken glass and the busted table, he’s frankly surprised neither of them are bleeding more. ( having Danny lean on him is--interesting. something to think about as he guides the both of them to the corner of the room least visible from the windows )

Sweetheart does not smoke, generally, but he likes the look of it. It takes him a minute to dig the battered lighter and equally crumpled pack of cigarettes from his pocket, and another to light it between his lips with the faint frown of concentration using that particular ignition source requires.  ( it’s the aesthetic, you know. down-on-his-luck private detective smoking in a dark room with someone whose legs go all the way up )

There is a little blood from his split lip on the cigarette when he offers it to Liu, but it’s hardly the worst thing to happen tonight.

@effronteroussoft reaction meme

Roderick S. Kasun has an apartment of his own, is not that drunk, should be going home. ( Roderick S. Kasun does not do well on his own, is welcome here, somehow even if he does bleed on the pristine white furniture )

It’s not the shoulder. He can deal, has been dealing, with the shoulder for years. It’s the shoulder and the way his ribs are purple going to green and the faint numbness in his fingertips. ( it’s the way that the part of his mind that tells him Danny will not kill or abandon him for being weak and the part that says he will have agreed that he might as well check )

Danny looks-- annoyed, when Rod knocks on his bedroom door, which is regular. Roderick S. Kasun is terrible, is a nuisance, is going to be sick.

“Can you--” His voice comes out strained with the effort it takes not to joke or bolt, shirt half-undone and the harsh edges of the bruises on display “help me?”

Guilt, pity, a remembering--Danny Liu is not, objectively, that much taller than Roderick is, but it’s as good an excuse as any to see as little of his face as possible. Rod tucks his chin towards his chest and watches that spot where Danny’s shoulders meet his throat, does not think about how much less it hurts to have Danny’s hands on him than he thought, does not get shot, does not get abandoned.