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Realistic or Modern Two Giants Scream Nonsense

Sub Genres
  1. LGTBQ
  2. Realistic
  3. Slice of Life


There will be light

Giggle at a funeral



Ezra geminiy geminiy

TL;DR: Don't hate me please.
Trigger warning: Suicidality. Mentions of parental abuse and violence.

Auguste never cried.

No, really, this was a point for him. This was a thing about him that was unspoken, but it had carried him through the street gang and the abuse and the death he’d had to process all by himself.

Auguste never cried. At least, he used to cry, and then he didn’t.

When he’d finished his first ballet performance and won, he’d cried. That was the last time.

By a long shot.

See, the funeral had been open casket. And he’d been about to start sobbing right then and there.

And then his mother had tightened her grip on his arm, enough to break his attention away from his father’s corpse, hard enough to bruise later. And she’d whispered something in his ear.

“Your family is watching. And they need you to be strong. Don’t cry, you can cry when this is all over.”

So he swallowed his tears and settled into a feeling of complete numbness as he walked through the funeral, like a puppet being animated by a greater being.

He hadn’t been able to cry when he’d gotten home, because that was when his mother had her breakdown.

He hadn’t been able to cry the next day because that was when his grandparents came knocking at their door and his mother had argued long and hard with them to keep custody of him.

After all, it hadn’t been over yet. None of it had been over yet.

Auguste didn’t cry, because it hadn’t ever been over, and he was waiting… praying for the day that it could be over.

Which meant that when there was a lot of emotional stress, he kept it like a lead ball in his chest as it dragged him down down down to the pits of Hell until he was standing on some kind of precipice that he didn’t want to be on.

Thoughts were swirling around his head today.

You’re a terrible son. You’re worthless. Nobody cares about you. Everyone hates you.

Fun stuff, he knew. But hey. This is what happens when you can’t afford therapy, right? So instead, he was doing the next best thing: going on a long ass walk.

Shadows were following him. But they were always following him. On bad days like this, it felt like he was constantly getting followed. Constantly being watched with a million eyes that just wanted to watch him burn.

The PTSD was really bad today. He almost could see people following him out of the corners of his-


When his therapist had diagnosed him, she’d said that his symptoms included flashbacks and paranoia (which fed into a severe anxiety) and depression and suicidal ideation and night terrors (which led to insomnia) and a self-destructiveness.

Nowhere, had she ever said that he suffered from visual hallucinations. And quite frankly, he trusted her judgment way more than he trusted his.

A turn into an alleyway, he could hear footsteps behind him. More than one pair.

So it wasn’t just him.

“Hands where we can see them, big guy.” What a fucking pain. His hands slowly went behind his head.

Honestly, this was sad. A former gang member getting mugged by two… idiots. Seriously. None of his entire figure said that he had fat pockets or an easygoing nature.

“Wallet. Don’t try to run.” One of them was wielding a knife. Well. A little poker that probably wouldn’t be able to stab a mouse. But whatever.

“I don’t have any mon-” Auguste began

“Don’t argue with me”

Okay. Fair enough. They’d find out for themselves. He slowly reached down and pulled out his very empty wallet. Maybe there was a whole… 5 dollars? Wow. What a haul, guys.

A punch to the stomach. And then a blow to the head and Auguste was thrown to the ground. Rage seeped into his veins, as he slowly picked himself back up into a crouched position.

Something in his fucked up head clicked. Suddenly this wasn’t a mild inconvenience to his day. Suddenly, they were in Paris and these people wanted to tear apart the group that were the only ones that ever understood who he was and they needed to just fucking die die die die die die die die-

To be quite honest, he doesn’t remember what happens next. Next thing he knew, he was on top of one of the fuckers and beating their fucking heads in, blood pumping through his veins as he pounded into one of their skulls.

A falter.

What was he doing.

Paris bled away. And he was straddling a mugger, their partner trying to wrestle him off. There was so much screaming and the person underneath him was moaning in the type of pain where he was barely processing it at all.

What had he done. What had he done what-

Pain in his side.

A shove off of the person as he regained his footing. The one still standing was running away, the wallet left abandoned on the ground.

Auguste looked down. There was a knife sticking out of him, where there shouldn’t.

One thought ran through his brain.

“Huh. That shouldn’t be there.”

Shock had probably set in. And then he realized something:

He had to die.

He was just as bad as when he’d first been full of rage and anger and tried to hurt everyone around him. He’d always been compared to an attack dog and… what did you do to dogs that were overly aggressive?

When stabbed, you’re not supposed to pull the knife out, because that leads to you bleeding out faster…. He knew this.

Auguste pulled the knife out, as it clattered to the ground. He fell to his knees and collapsed as pain overwashed him. Choking him. He was bleeding out.

Why wasn’t he crying? Because this was it. This was the end.

His eyes were fluttering closed.

A woman screamed.

It wasn’t the end.


Auguste woke up, groggy and disoriented. Beeping noises, sterile smell. Hospital. Figures. It wasn’t the first time. A glance around. American television?

The memory of what happened slammed into him like a truck. And then his icy eyes slid over to a man sitting patiently at the foot of his bed.

“Hey there, son.” Oh. A detective. Probably came to take his statement or whatever.

He didn’t acknowledge him with a response. He didn’t talk to cops. Snitches get stitches and all that.

“You wanna tell me what happened, son?”

Auguste didn’t even bother making eye contact. He should’ve died. Why wasn’t he dead.

“You can talk to me.”

No. He wasn’t a fucking snitch.

“You know what day it is, son?”


“It’s a Tuesday.”

“You’ve been out of it for a whole 48 hours.”


Auguste made eye contact. His mouth opened and a hoarse noise came out. The detective quickly offered him water as he tried to sit up. “Easy, easy.”

Pain flared in his side.

Some choice words in French came out as he spilled the water on himself.

Eventually though, he managed to wet his throat.

“I have rehearsal tomorrow.”

“Son, you aren’t gonna be getting on your feet for a while. You got stabbed-”

“I need to go.”

“What about who did this to you, son.”


“Can’t you tell me?”

“...” And then a thought entered his head. He looked the officer dead in the eyes. “I did it to myself.”

Slight blink of stunned silence, and the realization dawning on the detective’s face that he wasn’t going to get anything out of the demure boy despite his seeming pliantness. Pulled into a frown.

Auguste blinked twice, a flinch, and pride at the same time that he managed to psych someone out. That he still had it in him. And then immediate guilt. He was supposed to be better than this bloody mess of dominance.


“Do you want to contact anybody?”

There was nobody for him. There was nobody that he could even fathom that might even care a little bit.

“... A cab to get me home.” Wrong answer, the pursing of concerned lips from his elder. A slight flinch as the detective shifted on the bed closer to him. Trying to become more personal and gentle. People didn’t get the chance to loom over him often. He hated it.

“Son. You need to get treated.” Broken. Weak. The detective didn’t mean it, but when did Auguste ever play by rationality? “Be nice to the nurses. They’ll take care of you.”

A half a week later, Auguste was finally allowed to contact someone to get him home.

So…. who the fuck was he going to contact?

… He didn’t have any other option.


code by valen t.


v tired

Ezra Gray







  • home (filler tab)



Fuck you, Auguste Cortes.

Yeah, Ezra meant that this time. That wasn’t just a simple proclamation, not a breathy joke between the pressing together of lips, not a tired sigh. No, Ezra Gray was mad, truly and fully mad, the type of mad that had him drinking expensive whiskey by the loppy California ocean front until he couldn’t feel anything but the buzz of the alcohol and the feeling of another stranger’s warm skin against his.

Auguste had fucked him over. Maybe he didn’t know it, or at least not the full extent of what he had done, but ghosting Ezra had really hurt him. For a while, Ezra tried not to be mad about the whole situation. Surely Auguste was just busy, or maybe he forgot to pay his phone bill again and instead had opted to disconnect until his next paycheck. Ezra tried to believe that this was the truth, he really did, but nothing explained how quickly the guy had just seemed to up and vanish from his life.

Auguste was nowhere on campus, all of Ezra’s calls went to voicemail. As far as he could tell, Auguste Cortes had just up and vanished off the face of the earth.

Fine. If Auguste wanted to disappear so badly, why shouldn’t Ezra just let him? Obviously their friendship wasn’t important enough to have them stay in contact, so why should Ezra be worrying himself insane over his whereabouts? Auguste couldn’t even send a damn ‘hey, I’m alive’ email so why, Ezra continuously asked, did he care so fucking much?

Letting him go would’ve been easier. Cutting his losses and calling the whole thing fucking quits would’ve just made his life so much better. Ezra was never one for anything long term: no lifelong friendships, no relationships, no hookups beyond a month or two. Everything about the floater’s life was just easier when there was nothing to anchor him in place besides his own free will and desires. For the longest time, there were no problems with this plan.

Of course, Auguste Cortes had to turn around and fuck him over. He had to go and make Ezra actually care, he had to go and push things past the black and white and into the hazy space between where Ezra didn’t even know what they were anymore. And then, of course, Auguste had to up and vanish in the thick of it all.

So once again, fuck you, Auguste Cortes.

Life got back to normal. Ezra pulled back the reins on his drinking after a day long bender that left his head throbbing and his chest hollow. The long string of hookups were replaced with a failed attempt to catch up on not one, not two, but three business assignments that he had forgotten to turn in. His apartment was flipped entirely, cleaned ceiling to floor. Ezra even went out of his way to get his vintage Rolls Royce Phantom cleaned and detailed.

As far as Ez was concerned, Auguste Cortes didn’t even exist.

Gang Man
hey mon frere

Oh fuck that guy.

To make a very long story short, Auguste thought that texting him entirely out of the blue was okay. No apology, no explanation, nothing. No, instead the little asshole had asked him for a favour. Originally, Ezra had scoffed. As if he owed Auguste anything after he got entirely ghosted for a week. And no, before you ask, that is not a dramatic response. Ez was deeply hurt by the whole thing and honestly, who could blame him? It wasn’t every day that he actually started to care about someone beyond the simple lust filled basics.

It was that care that kept him from blocking Auguste’s number to begin with. Part of him wished that he had out of simplicity’s sake but another part, perhaps a mildly stronger and indefinitely more irritating part, was glad that he didn’t. If he had, who else would be there in their car, the radio silenced and fingers nervously tapping the steering wheel as he pulled up outside of the inpatient wing of the hospital?

Auguste would be out any minute, sliding into his passenger seat. Likely, he’d pretend that nothing happened, that everything was entirely fine. Fuck, he couldn’t stand that pretentious shit.

Ezra got out of the car long enough to sign off on his duty as personal chauffeur to the prior psych ward patient and to throw his bag into the boot of the car. As soon as the engine sputtered back to life, Ezra cranked up the radio and pulled away from the curb, the cab of the vehicle filled with awkward tension and the soothing voice of Frank Sintatra.

He couldn’t bring himself to speak, much less look over to where the tall Frenchman was seated beside him. Ezra’s fingers tightened around the steering wheel.

“So,” he eventually managed, not reaching to lower the radio to make his voice clearer, “am I just taking you home or what? I’ve,” Ez paused slightly, tapping his thumb against the smooth leather of the steering wheel, “I’ve got plans tonight.”

♡coded by uxie♡


There will be light
I'm sorry

Giggle at a funeral

Ez's car


Ezra geminiy geminiy

TL;DR: Don't hate me please.
Trigger warning: Auguste being Auguste (mentions of violence and gangs and general mental unwellness)

So. How was Auguste doing?

Shit. He felt like shit.

Being wheeled out of the hospital was not triumphant. The five steps he’d had to take carrying his bag to the trunk of the car? Horrible. An exercise in his ability to blink the black dots out from his eyes as pain radiated from his side and not fall over semi-dramatically. A slight lean and a slight limp to the normally graceful man’s gait. Shorter quicker steps followed by shallow breaths like the panting of a dying beast and the paleness that said a lot more than his suddenly expressionless face.

There was a solid five minutes he’d had to stand there, hovering outside the door trying to catch his breath before he could bring himself to duck into the car. He looked up to Ez as he entered. His pale eyes had this kind of stare where he was definitely looking at his friend, but not seeing him. The world was moving around him but…

Well, after a week of therapy where they dragged up parts of his past in a kind of exposure therapy and getting put on pain medication and eventually his absolute refusal for further treatment kind of fucked him up just a little bit.

He tried to curl up in his seat, make himself smaller. Try to alleviate the intense pain in his side.

“So.” If Ez saw the slightest flinch from Auguste at the sound of his voice… no he didn’t “Am I just taking you home or what? I’ve-I’ve got plans tonight.”

“I… I’m sorry. You didn’t have to pick me up.” He said, a quiet slur to his voice, the thickening of his accent as he struggled to remember which language he was supposed to be speaking in. “... Thank you ehm… yeah. Just… Home sounds nice.”

Nailing talking. He wrung his hands as he spoke, trying to slowly make himself even smaller in the seat.

Ez was mad. Ez was mad. Ez was mad. It was all his fault. It was all his fault. It was all his fault. He had to fix it he had to fix it he had to fix it he had to-

“I’m… I’m also… really sorry… for ehm…” Everything. For existing. For being a constant burden. “... being a terrible friend.”

That about summed it up.

Something started stirring in him, though. Why were they friends? He was… kind of awful to be around. What… why was Ez even friends with him? What did he possibly have to gain?

Well, previously, it was “sex” as the answer. A physical relationship. Ezra didn’t deal with feelings. They all knew that. And Auguste didn’t even…

He knew that he wasn’t worth breaking that streak of not giving a shit. So… What was happening here.

There was a pressure in his chest. There was a pressure behind his eyes. And in his throat.

And then that pressure forced out a single question.
“We… we are friends… right?” A quiet tremor to it. Thick with pain and tears welling up in the back of his throat. Or… something that would’ve been tears on anyone else. Because Auguste didn’t cry.

Back when he was in the gang, there had been whispers about him to new people. Auguste, the ever brooding, ever dangerously unstable fighter. When you hear him laugh, that’s when shit really was about to go down.

He laughed, once, at a joke. And everyone had frozen solid. Frozen completely solid and stared at him, with wide terrified eyes. Because apparently the last time they’d heard him laugh it’d been when there was a gun to his forehead after he’d beaten up the guy’s friend and he was telling the guy to pull the trigger while making direct eye contact.

So no. Auguste didn’t laugh beyond a snort or a chuckle here and there. And Auguste didn’t cry.

That didn’t keep him from sounding broken, though. Especially when his voice sounded so tired, and so dangerously close to breaking down into sobs.

“I… I’m so sorry I don’t know where this comes from they put me on pain medication-”

code by valen t.
Last edited:


v tired

Ezra Gray







  • home (filler tab)



Riiiight. That wasn’t awkward at all, totally not even a little bit. Ez had made the mistake of lying about his plans for the evening which, up until an hour ago when he got that text from Auguste, consisted of a heavy workout and then several episodes of trashy reality television. Sure they were technically plans, but it wasn’t something he needed to rush for and especially not something Auguste should’ve felt bad about.

As annoyed as Ez was by the entire situation, he was glad Auguste called him. Sitting awkwardly in a car together was uncomfortable but the thought of Auguste stranded alone at a hospital was somehow worse.

Fuck him.

“I… I’m sorry. You didn’t have to pick me up.” Auguste spoke in the seat next to him. Ezra gave a soft, nonchalant shrug and fought the urge to crank up the dial on the radio. “... Thank you ehm… yeah. Just… Home sounds nice.”

“You’re welcome, I guess.” Ez replied sharply, far more harshly than previously intended.

Another round of silence. Great, Ezra’s favourite pastime. Normally, he’d fill the stale air with some sort of flirtatious joke or playful touch to slice through the tension but this time, his mind blanked. This time, Ezra was rendered entirely speechless. Instead, he focused his mind onto the soft music thumping through the speakers and onto the sprawling freeway ahead of him.

“I’m… I’m also… really sorry… for ehm…” Abandoning me? Not answering my calls? Getting stabbed? Using me for a lift after ghosting me? Making me fucking care about you? “... being a terrible friend.”



Ezra swallowed and shifted slightly in his leather seat, the strap across his muscular chest tightening uncomfortably.

Auguste’s voice spoke again. Before that moment, Ezra had been dying to hear from him. Now? Well, now he wished that he’d just shut up already. “We… we are friends… right?”

Well fuck him sideways and call him Petunia, how the hell was he supposed to answer that? Yes, Ezra assumed, they were friends with a heavy emphasis on the past tense. If he had asked Ez a week ago, there would’ve been some sort of joke with the hidden message of ‘yes of course we’re friends, what sort of stupid question is that?’. But now, Ezra wasn’t entirely sure. He’d never had close friends before, never anyone to care for beyond a few drinks or a casual fuck, but he was pretty sure that ghosting your friends wasn’t something you were supposed to do.

“I… I’m so sorry I don’t know where this comes from they put me on pain medication-”

Ezra sighed, moving one hand from the steering wheel to push his hair back. “Yeah. Yeah we’re friends.” Ezra spoke those words but honestly, he wasn’t sure. “I mean at least I think so. Why else would I be here picking you up?”

Because you like him, idiot.

No, that wasn’t a valid thought. Turn it off, lock it away.

“It really wouldn’t have killed you to call, Auguste,” Ezra continued without thinking, voice soft and shaky, “I mean you just disappeared off the grid without warning. I was-” Ezra cut himself off, squeezing his thin lips together. No, he wasn’t going there.

His fingers tightened against the steering wheel again. The car began to pull off the highway, pausing at the bottom of the offramp before pulling onto a nearly abandoned road illuminated by a few scarce streetlamps and lined by houses with dark fronts and tired cars sitting in cracked driveways. Was this the right street.

“Why did you do that? Why did you just disappear?” Ezra sighed, jaw clenched and tired. “You went and tried to fucking off yourself and now you’re concerned if we’re friends or not?” His tone was bitter, icy even, but he couldn’t stop the venomous words dripping from his lips. “You didn’t care when you just disappeared last week, so why the fuck care now?”

Fuck it, this is exactly why Ezra never had close friends. Fuck this.

♡coded by uxie♡


There will be light
Fucking hell.

Giggle at a funeral

Ez's car


Ezra geminiy geminiy

TL;DR: Laughing and crying in one post? You better believe it

Auguste was shaking just a little bit. Small tremors running up and down his side.

Fear ran his entire world. Fear. The terror of the knowledge he was burdened with: he’d snapped when he was with his mother. He knew exactly how much a person could devolve and become just the absolute worst being possible.

It was this fear that kept him in line. He needed to be better than that. He needed to be better than that.

So… why wasn’t he any happier now that he was trying to be more functional and less of a burden for everyone around him.

… oh.

With this sudden epiphany that struck him, Auguste’s blood ran cold. Even as Ezra was quietly confirming that they were friends. “Why else would I be picking you up?”

Pity. Because it would’ve been really fucking awkward to say no. Because there’s a hidden agenda that Auguste didn’t know about. Pick one of the three, Ezra.

Attacking him never went well for anyone. Because there was always that one percent. That one percent chance that Auguste would attack back and be the absolute worst again and-

But why did he care so much? Why would he care about not being as angry and as spiteful as when he was in the gang if… if he wasn’t any happier now?

For the first time since he came to America, Auguste felt the rage seeping in like venom through his veins. And fuck… he wanted to make Ez hurt. Just a little bit.

Because quietly, Auguste understood something. He was a being of suffering. He suffered a lot. And he tried to make it as quiet as possible that he was suffering. Tried to keep it to himself. Keep it lodged in his chest where it’d never see the light of day.

But… why? Why would he bother when he was staring into the face of someone who was making him suffer?

A single finger lashed out and stabbed the radio’s power button. They were sitting in silence now.

There. Suffer.

“Why did you do that? Why did you disappear?” It started quiet. Auguste was shaking a little bit in his shoulders. Even as Ez continued talking. Auguste’s hand went over his mouth.

He was laughing - the sound of it some kind of hybrid between a wheeze and a cackle.

“Tu te fous de ma gueule?” He said, the smile sharp and wild. Angry. “Sorry, English, are you fucking kidding me? You’re… You’re genuinely hurt I don’t-”

Another wheezy laugh. “Right, because the great Ezra Gray gives two shits about how anybody is feeling at any moment in time. Parce que le grand Ezra Grey se soucie des sentiments des pauvres à ses pieds.”

“Mon frère, tu… You’re…” A trail off as Auguste stared at Ez’s face. “You’re fucking pulling on my dick right now, no? This… This is a joke, right? Ezra, you don’t care about sentiments or emotions. You’re the one who goes ‘Oh I’m Ezra Thaddeus Gray, if anybody shows even the slightest inkling of affection or emotion or sentiment or attachment to me I ghost them for forever because I don’t do attachments and my emotional availability is nothing’ You’ll have to… You’ll have to excuse me if this isn’t the guy who I call first when I fail to kill myself for the third time.”

He shook his head as he gave a couple of chuckles. “I already fuck this up beyond repair so I might as well be honest, no? Even if we are friends, because mon frere your response doesn’t give me much confidence that we are, then what was I supposed to do? Hi, Ezra, I know that you despise things like being emotionally available or understanding that someone is attached to you, but I try to kill myself earlier. Anyways, bonsoir. Have a nice day!”

A pause for breath.

“I know one of my failings is.. Ehm.. that I can’t conceive of the possibility that someone might actually care about me without expecting favors. But… Ezra…” He gave another shake of his head, another sharp grin. “You can’t tell me that you actually care about me. You… You’re charming and rich and outgoing and you have parents who give shits about your existence and siblings who love you and… tons of chances to have a real connection with someone.… There’s so many better options than me. I’m… I’m…”

Not particularly good looking, not really very charming, not even unique. A bit of a workaholic.

“I’m… a dime a dozen starving musician with a depressing backstory and… I… I guess I’m just fucked. Fucking… The second I leave this car you can go to the ghetto and pick up another starving musician and-and… And you can spin this exact same charm and they’ll fucking fall in with you as well. You can’t possibly feel that bad that one person doesn’t talk to you unless this is some kind of fucked control thing you want to have over me.” Another wheezy bark of laughter.

“I’m not special. And your normal is not giving a single shit about feelings, even more than this you can’t possibly even begin to empathize with the amount of bullshit I have to deal with on a daily basis. I care now, or I cared five minutes ago because despite all this which I know about our friendship it’s still the best thing I’ve got.”

And with that Auguste gave a really really wet laugh as the realization of what he’d just done sank in. Hands doing a quick wipe under his eyes.

“This is it. This is all I have. Happy? I cared because this is it. Did that fuel your narcissistic ego you fil de bouge? I didn’t want to burden you with my bullshit, and I contact you now because it’s mostly all blown over and you could pretend like everything was fine.”

code by valen t.
Last edited:


v tired

Ezra Gray







  • home (filler tab)



Ezra had been annoyed since Auguste called him, fighting the urge to scream his frustrations at the top of his lungs and to let every compounding feeling in his head out in a burst of rage. He wanted to howl into the void, begging anyone to hear him even a little bit. But that wasn’t going to happen, Ezra had really dug himself a deep, unclimbable hole this time. And then there was Auguste, turning off his fucking radio. Fuck that guy.

What he really couldn’t expect, what Ezra couldn’t have begun to anticipate, was the laughter. Deep, untamed, broken laughter, words flowing from Auguste’s lips that Ezra couldn’t even begin to understand no matter how hard he tried, vicious statements stabbing into his chest and cranking his ribs apart to keep him vulnerable and exposed.

Ezra had been annoyed earlier but now, he was fucking pissed.

In an instant, Ezra was lovingly reminded why every broken down wall had been built up in the first place. No one, no matter how much Ezra tried otherwise, would stick around. Not friends, not family, not hookups, not Auguste. Ezra had never had much of a reason to stay either, no one to capture his muse and keep him on his toes long enough for the walls to fall. No one to make his heart race or his mind churn, no one to captivate his every waking thought. Auguste wasn’t wrong about that part, it wasn’t as if Ezra was known for playing the perfect little housewife, but something about his words made him sound… incapable.

Incapable of caring.

Incapable of loving.

Incapable of anything more than hollow selfishness that left nothing but destruction and pain in its wake.

How the hell was Ezra supposed to do anything else? He wasn’t the person that people wanted to keep around for anything but the superficial, for anything more than a quick fuck or a few quick shots of expensive tequila. What was so wrong with playing that role? What was so wrong with being the temporary and never the long term that anyone really cared about? Fuck it, it was easier to stay detached when the crowds around him up and left at the slightest sign that something better had come along.

With Auguste, it had been different. Auguste cared, Auguste made him feel human instead of simply a being to be used until the enjoyment ran out. Maybe he was right, maybe Ezra had truly come across as someone that really didn’t care, his reflexive nonchalance taking the reins when he truly felt so much more than that. But at the end of the day, Ezra really had cared. At the end of the day, the walls had fallen and his heart had begun to open.

What a stupid fucking mistake.

“This is it. This is all I have. Happy? I cared because this is it. Did that fuel your narcissistic ego you fil de bouge? I didn’t want to burden you with my bullshit, and I contact you now because it’s mostly all blown over and you could pretend like everything was fine.”

What did ego have to do with it? Ezra knew he’d fucked up before, not knowing how to express the feelings rattling around in his chest, but wasn’t that the opposite of ego? Wasn’t that fear of rejection the opposite of needless narcissism?

Ezra didn’t speak — he couldn’t speak— his voice stuck behind a lump in his throat. It was agony, listening to all of these words spewing from Auguste’s lips. All he could do was press his foot into the gas and tighten his grip on the leather steering wheel.

Just a few more kilometres.

Just a few more minutes.

Fuck it, he couldn’t do this.

Ezra slammed his foot into the gas, tires squealing on pavement as the entire car lurched forward into a heavy stop. Ezra was seething, his hands would’ve been shaking if it wasn’t for his iron grip. They were only a few minutes away, Ezra could see Auguste’s street from here, but there was no way he was driving the rest of the way.

“Fuck. You.” Ezra eventually spoke after a few seconds of silence. “Fuck you for beliving that I don’t fucking care about you. Fuck you for beliving that there’s no possible way that I’m capable of doing anything but hurting people. Yeah I fucking ran off after you disappeared because I didn’t know what else to do after you left.”

Pandora’s Box had been flipped wide open and now, there was nothing stopping him.

“Maybe I don’t know how to show that I give a fuck but why is that only on me? I’m trying, I fucking tried, and this is what I get.” Ezra slammed his hands against the wheel, finally turning his head to face the person beside him. “I drove across fucking Los Angeles to pick you up from he hospital after not hearing from you for a week. Why the fuck would I do that if I didn’t care? No sort of ‘casual fuck’ or ‘manipulation’ or whatever the hell else you think I’m in this for is worth the fucking anxiety you just put me through, all the fucking worry.”

Ezra’s facade began to crumble, his heart beating wildly in his chest.

“Last time I was at a fucking hospital, it was to say goodbye to my fucking sister who had been tied up to all these machines keeping her alive. I had been watching her die, Auguste, and today I thought I was going to watch you die too,” Ezra’s jaw tightened, a deep swallow causing his throat to tighten closed, “so fuck you for thinking I don’t fucking care.”

Ezra fell silent again, hands shaking as his fingers balled into tight fists in his lap, fingernails digging deep grooves into the soft skin of his palm. He squeezed his eyes shut in a desperate attempt to swallow the anxiety down and to stop the fearful tears from flowing.

“You say I don’t care, hm? Fine. I’ll go fuck other people, I’ll go be this person you want me to be. Because heaven forbid that I should fucking care about you. How dare you not be the fucking victim for once.” Ezra didn’t mean that last part, he really didn’t, but there was nothing else to say. Instead, he jammed his finger into the unlock button and turned his head to stare back at the road, hands back on the wheel. “Now get the fuck out of my car. I don’t give rides to strangers.”

♡coded by uxie♡


There will be light
It gets better

Giggle at a funeral

Ez's car


Ezra geminiy geminiy

TL;DR: Woo catharsis

There were three types of people in the world: strangers, wolves, and friends.

Ezra had lived in a weird gray area between wolves and friends. Auguste genuinely had no idea where to put him. How would he react if Auguste showed him his neck?

He knew now, at least, that Ezra was a wolf. And you don’t show your neck to the wolves, lest you get your throat ripped out.

It’d happened too many times at this rate that Auguste knew better than to try.

So instead of showing Ezra his pain, Auguste chose instead to smile and laugh. Because at the end of the day, what else was there for him to do? He couldn’t do anything otherwise.

It wasn’t the terrifying wheezy cackle from before, though it sounded awfully like it. It was wet, and too full of tears and pain and frustration to actually be convincing of a laugh. Really, it came out as somewhere between a laugh and a sob.

You can’t show the wolves how much pain you’re in, though, because that was when they went in for the kill.

“I hope you do, mon frere, find someone better than me and I hope you treat them better than you treated me. For both of your sakes.” Auguste said, as the doors unlocked.

Honestly? Thank fucking God. He was this close to telling Ez to pull over and let him just walk the rest anyways.

“I wish I could believe you, that you actually cared about me. But… You state over and over again that this is not in your nature and that you don’t care. So you were either lying to me then or you lie to me now. And considering that we are in the middle of arguing, I say that it is more likely you lie to me now.” A simple shrug in the middle of a pause in the hysterical laughter.

“I want you to be happy.” Auguste said, simple. Straightforward. “And… if what you say is true, then I don’t think you know what you want. You want me to tell you when things go wrong, you want me to be open to you about my fucked up life and to try to be supportive, but you tell me that you never get attached and that whenever someone shows you affection or tries to get close to you, that you run away.”

“I hope you figure it out, mon frere.” He said, stepping out of the car. “But it’s not going to be with me. I really hope that you find what will make you happy”

And with that, Auguste slammed the door shut and gave Ezra the brightest smile he possibly could through his tears and a wave and began the long walk home.

Because you don’t show the wolves your throat.

You don’t show them your pain, until you get home.

Auguste stood there, door closed to his shitty apartment he could barely afford behind him.

It was over.

It was over.

A sob forced its way out of his throat.

It was all over.

The end of the friendship. It was over.

It was over.

All of the pain suddenly forced its way out of him.

Ezra hated him and probably never wanted to see him again.

He was supposed to be dead right now. Three times over.

He wasn’t going to be able to ever go back home.

He had done so many awful, terrible things and hurt so many people when he had been in the gang.

Charlie, his first love, had rejected him and called him a slur.

His mother hated him, probably for forever.

His grandparents didn’t want him

He was never going to see Papa’s face again.

And then, clarity.

He sat up after sobbing for what felt like a good hour. Clear headed.

He needed to change some things in his life.

Starting right this very fucking second.

code by valen t.


v tired

Ezra Gray







  • home (filler tab)



Auguste exited the car without a fight, leaving Ezra in the deafening silence of the now abandoned cab. He wanted to scream or get out of the car and chase after Auguste and beat some sense into him or speed out of there and go find another lonely soul to keep him company. But he wasn’t about to do any of that, out of fear that whatever possibility came to him first would only prove Auguste’s actions correct.

Instead, he waited and watched, keeping his car far enough back to stay mostly out of view, though he was certain that Auguste was more concerned with not passing out than watching for him. Ez knew he should leave, he didn’t owe Auguste anything, but he couldn’t bring himself to do so until Auguste dipped safely into the apartment complex and out of sight. It was only then that Ezra cautiously pulled away from the curb and circled back to the highway.

Ezra drove in silence for a few minutes, his mind numb and his fingers sore from tightening his knuckles into two perfect fists. Was Auguste okay? Had he really been the one to fuck up? Fuck the silence, his mind was too loud. Ez pushed his thumb into the radio and cranked the volume dial, his ears craving any sort of input besides the deafening quiet and the sound of car horns on the busy roadway.

I said that's life
(That's life)
And as funny as it may seem
Some people get their kicks
Stomping on a dream
But I don't let it, let it get me down
Cause this fine old world, it keeps spinnin' around

A soft, broken laugh from Ezra’s lips, choked back in a successful attempt to stop the tears from flowing down his cheeks. How fucking ironic that the universe chose this of all the songs to play through his speakers.

Another press to the dial. The silence was better than whatever that ironic shit was.


It had been weeks since Ezra last spoke to Auguste. Hell, it had been equally as long since Ez had even seen the guy at all and honestly, he was kind of okay with it. ‘Out of sight, out of mind’ had become Ezra’s unspoken mantra.

For a month, he considered calling, texting, showing up at his apartment, anything to hear that Auguste was okay. Ezra just couldn’t bring himself to follow through. He’d type in the number and hang up before he even hit dial or type a message and delete it before he could hit send. Maybe it was for the best that Auguste was nowhere to be seen. Ezra had finally learned his lesson about caring too much.


Ezra’s eyes darted up to the top of his phone screen, scanning the reminder outlined in red font.

Auguste music showcase @ noon. Don’t forget, asshole!

A sad pit formed in Ezra’s stomach. Shit, that was today. There was no way he could go now, that would be way too awkward. Slowly, Ez sat up in bed and locked his phone, trying to ignore the thoughts racing through his head. Yeah, it would be awkward to go but, on the other hand, he paid good money for those tickets.

It wouldn’t be… entirely wrong to go, right? To support his other peers, not Auguste.

If he didn’t go…

Fuck it, he wasn’t about to waste that cash.

Ezra dragged himself out of bed and began to get ready for the day. Yes, for the day, to go support his peers, to not waste his good, hard earned money.

Why are you looking at him like that? It’s true!

♡coded by uxie♡


There will be light

White stripes count as color, right?

Parking Lot


Ezra geminiy geminiy

TL;DR: I'm not crying, you're crying.

Auguste promised himself after sobbing on the floor for what had amounted to a whole hour and thirty minutes that he'd make some big changes to his life.

First big change? He’d grown his beard out.

Second big change? Going to therapy again.

“But Auguste!” Someone who definitely was not Ezra might object “You can’t afford therapy!”

Well no, but listen. He was being forced into it. After the whole “I tried to kill myself and yes this is a repeated experience” lie that he told the police, they’d gone and gotten a judge to force him into therapy.

So anyways, he was medicated now. Hooray!

And today was his big music debut. Which was honestly something that Auguste had genuinely looking forward to.

He’d heard the rumors flying around - the great ballet prodigy was trying his hand out in music. The quiet snaps of people who were doubting him and were here to watch him fail.

Watching them change their tune was the most gratifying experience in the world for him. After all, he didn’t usually have many fans in the crowd - people saw him when he was in ballet and immediately thought he’d be too big and clumsy to move in a particularly graceful way.

It was the best thing in the world to turn a crowd to his favor.

The first strums of the guitar sending electricity through his limbs, perfectly in time with the beat from a backing track. Alright, it was show time.

He turned and began singing into the mic and watched as everyone’s attention shot to him.

Auguste saw the exact moment when he won the crowd over from trepidation to ecstasy

We’ll name our children Jackie and Wilson raise ‘em on rhythm and blues.

They were clapping… on the 1 and 3 but still. Clapping was clapping.

He gave the brightest smile as he leaned away from the mic for a moment. The bridge into the next part as he let out a high and wild howl along to the bridge.
Cut clean from the dream last night, let my mind reset.” He made direct eye contact with someone in the crowd, he couldn’t see their face due to the stage lights. But he gave them a wink as he popped the t. Watched as they cheered louder with a smug grin. “Lookin’ up from a cigarette and she’s already left.

Start diggin’ up the yard to see what’s left from our little vignette. For whatever poor soul is coming next.

Auguste couldn’t stop smiling between lines of song, even though his stage persona was supposed to be rather dour to help his singing style of not really expressing much or smiling at all.

We’ll name our children Jackie and Wilson, raise ‘em on rhythm and blues.

And then silence.

And then cheers.

Auguste lit up, his eyes brightening.

“So how’s it goin’ out there.” A slightly bashful grin and the pulling locks of hair behind his ear that hadn’t gotten picked up by the messy bun of hair. “Thank you for comin’ out tonight. I’m gonna play a couple of songs for you tonight and then I’ll be out of your hair.”

It was bleeding a very careful down to earth strand of charm. Something very… Auguste. More down to earth and kind of dorky. Like he was completely unaware of the flirty wildness of how he became mid performance.

“That song was called Jackie and Wilson. This next one is going to be about love, I guess, at… at its most momentary and-and futile. And shallow. And useless. And empty. It’s called Someone New.”

He played the opening chords, singing as he went from the quiet and humble talking stage persona to the flirty wildness as if a man possessed.

Go and take this the wrong way.
You knew who I was with every step that I ran to you.
Only blue or black days
Electing strange perfections in any stranger I choose.

Would things be easier if there was a right way?
Honey, there is no right way.

He threw another little wink at the guy that he’d been flirting with earlier during Jackie and Wilson. Why not? It wasn’t like his heart was given to anyone at the moment.

And so I fall in love just a little, oh a little bit
Every day with someone new.

He gave himself a little exaggerated swagger during the chorus. A tiny swing of his hips as he played his guitar.

There’s an art to life’s distraction.
To somehow escape the burning wait, the art of scraping through.
Some like to imagine the dark caress of someone else. I guess any thrill will do.
Would things be easier if there was a right way,
Honey there is no right way

And so I fall in love just a little oh a little bit,
Every day with someone new.

No, in fact, he did not write this song about Mr Thaddeus and his ridiculous swagger. Even though he was sure if the guy was in the crowd, he’d want to think it was.

He was kind of glad that Ezra sure as fuck wasn’t going to be in the crowd for this one. That would’ve been really fucking awkward.

During the round bit he heard one of his friends from music class doing the round.

His face split out into the widest grin as he shouted the lyrics back at him perfectly in time and in key.

“Fair play, mon frere.” He said in between lines.

Love with every stranger, the stranger the better.” He continued singing till the end.

‘Thank you very much. Thank you very much. Ehm… I’ve only got two more songs for you all, but I’d like you thank you again for coming out and… ehm. Supporting me. You’ve all been lovely tonight. I’ve been having a great time.”

And then he did a cover of Say My Name by Beyonce, crooning softly into the mic, at one instance, pointing it to the audience for them to sing along. His face lit up in another bright grin.

And then the opening chords of his last song started, and he slung the guitar behind him.

My lover’s got humor, she’s the giggle at the funeral.” He started, gripping the mic and softly crooning into the mic, he took it off the mic stand as he gripped the empty spot where it used to be, moving around it carefully.

“‘We were born sick’ you heard them say it.” He sang, doing a little air quotes around the sick. His movements becoming larger and larger as he paced around, and intense as the fire started seeping through into his singing, giving it more and more of a bite.

She demands a sacrifice.
Drain the whole sea.
” A gesture of go down as he stared at the crowd with that deep intensity.
Get something shiny.
Something meaty for the main course.

The demands of a god to his flock as he continued the commune.

No master or kings when the ritual begins.” He got soft again as he sang directly to some dude in the front row, down on one knee. Stage lights. He couldn’t actually see who he was singing to but hey. The effect worked either way.
"There is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin.
In the madness and soil of that sad earthly scene.
Only then I am human. Only then I am clean.

The intense passion and fire that he had inside of him showing its face as he stood to stare at the rest of the audience and belted out three Amens and going straight into a growling

Take me to church, I’ll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies.” As he thumped his chest.
“I’ll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife
Offer me that deathless death
And good God let me give you my life.

As the song’s big chords ended out he raised a hand and gave a breathless “Thank you again for coming, hope you all have a lovely night.”

And then the set was over and he hustled off stage with a final wave goodbye to cheers and applause.

He took off the stage makeup and went outside to get his bike and go home.

And that’s when he saw two elderly people walking towards him. Spanish immediately clicking in his head as they were speaking rapidfire.

Grandparents. They were his grandparents. And they were proud of him

They were so proud.

They were crying.

The woman was… short in Auguste’s eyes. But that meant she stood at around a 5’8 as she gave him a hug.

And his grandpa was 6’5 and also hugging him and saying that he was so proud and they had so much to catch up on.

And if Auguste was crying… well, he thought at least that he’d have an excuse because he finally had a family again.

code by valen t.
Last edited:


v tired

Ezra Gray







  • home (filler tab)



Ezra shouldn’t have come. No, Ezra should’ve deleted that notification and gone back to mindlessly scrolling through Instagram. He should never have cleaned himself up and thrown on a somewhat polished outfit, never should’ve gotten into his car, never should’ve made his way into the stadium.

But he did.

He did get cleaned up, he did put just a little too much effort into looking impressive, he did roll up to the stadium with a small orange ticket in hand and a numbed expression on his face. Ezra blended well enough into the crowd that even the people he did recognize stayed away, either in a flurry of excitement or after a recoil from the soured expression creasing lines into the pale skin beside his lips.

“...and please hold out your wrist for me,” the woman behind the ticket counter spoke sweetly.

Ezra did as he was told, though he didn’t bother to acknowledge the girl besides a quick thank you and a careful gaze of her being. She was young, likely a year or so younger than Ezra, warm skin surrounded in a halo of dark curls. She, who’s name was obviously Jada by her nametag, was pretty, Ezra’s type on paper. There was a second that Ezra considered playing his cards onto the table and scoring this girl’s number. So much so, in fact, that Ezra had bent down slightly to hear the melody in her voice as she talked about the performers ahead.

From the corner of his eye, movement caught his attention. A figure hovering slightly above the crowd, tall enough that the being could be clearly seen. But there was too much silver in his hair and there was a woman by his side. Too old to be Auguste, though there was something about them that felt familiar.

Ezra hadn’t noticed that he had rather rudely jerked his arm away from the woman, slightly smudging the phone number that she had been writing onto his admission band in neat scrawl. He mumbled an apology and shoved his hands into his pockets. Into the crowd Ezra disappeared, at least as much as a 6’5” man can, to follow the hoard down the stairs into the sloped stadium and onto the flat floor at the bottom.

His previous plans had Ezra in the front row with a bouquet of flowers in his arms and a playful grin on his face as he cheered on his friend on stage. But now Ezra found himself in the centre of the crowd, doing his best to shrink away into the sea of people.


Ezra turned his head to the guy beside him, another attractive face that seemed to be quite literally bouncing with an abundance of energy. Ezra offered a soft shrug in response and forced a friendly grin onto his face.

“I guess so. What about yourself? You seem,” Ezra’s eyes trailed the man beside him, earning a soft blush in response, “enthused about it all.”

The man nodded, cheeks splitting with a wide grin. “I love indie musicians. You never know what you’ll find in places like this. Oh, and I’m Shawn by the way. Do you go to LAU too?”

Ezra gave a nod and extended his hand. “Ezra Gray, and yes I do.”

The two continued to speak, exchanging information about their majors (Shawn was in art history), family (two brothers and four sisters, too big of a family for Ezra’s liking), the music they liked (softer beats, preferring male artists), small talk about the weather (too warm for Shawn’s liking, he was used to the colder weather of Sweden). Eventually, the house lights began to fall and the music began to play.

There he was on stage, guitar slung over his shoulder by a strap, hair pulled back and a beard on his jaw. Ezra really hadn’t expected so much to change physically in a month, yet somehow the person standing before him was a completely different entity than the person he’d left behind that night.

It hurt to see him doing so well. Ez was happy for him, he really was, but there was something about seeing the man he cared so much about thrive under conditions that excluded Ez that caused a burning ache in his chest. It was a selfish thought, Ezra knew this, but the acknowledgement of the sentiment didn’t make it any less true.

Ezra stared blank faced at the stage as Auguste sang his songs trying his best to ignore the incessant thumping of his heart behind his ribs.

You aren’t here for him.

He doesn’t want you.

He doesn’t need you.

Auguste’s eyes drifted his way and Ezra found himself forcing a stoic expression, hands curling into worried fists in the pockets of his jacket. His gaze came closer, closer, closer. His gaze landed on fucking Shawn who, somehow, seemed to only become more energized by the mindless flirtation of the musician before them.

Ezra felt fucking sick. Not angry, not sad, not numb. No, he felt as if his body was giving out on him, refusing to work if it had to witness this shit.

He remained through the set, trying hard not to read into the lyrics and the playful gazes that came his way before washing right over him and onto the idiot beside him. The second Auguste left the stage and Auguste left the stage, Ezra began looking for an exit. The room was closing in on him, causing an uncomfortable tightness in his chest and unfamiliar quiver of his fingers.

“He was totally flirting with me, right?” Shawn chirped lustfully, rushing a hand through his blond hair as if somehow Auguste was checking him out through the walls. “He totally was. I should find him, get his number.”

Ezra’s fists tightened more, a deep swallow causing his jaw to tighten. “You couldn’t pull him, kid. All of that was just a performance,” Ezra reached a strong hand out to clasp the guy’s shoulder, squeezing a little more forcefully than intended, “don’t even bother trying. You should probably stay in your league, yeah?”

Shawn was rendered speechless, standing like a scared child lost in a Walmart clothing rack as Ezra turned around and pushed his way through the crowds. Behind him, the lights went down once more and some other musician began to play. Ezra didn’t give a fuck. Screw his five bucks, it wasn’t worth it to sit through more of this shit with Auguste about.

Ezra pushed through the doors after a few minutes of wiggling his body through the crowds. He offered a nod to the woman that had taken Jada’s place and continued his march through the stadium foyer. A few more paces to the front door, a few more minutes until fresh air and freedom.

There were people crying, three of them. Ezra recognized the older set as the people he had seen earlier and the third…

“Auguste.” Ezra spoke before thinking. Trapped in his own awkwardness, Ezra cleared his throat and took a few cautious steps towards the trio, it wasn’t as if he could just turn around and pretend he hadn’t seen him. “Hey, uh…” Shit, Ezra, say something. “Sorry, I don’t mean to bother you and your…” Ezra didn’t know who these teary eyed strangers were. “Company. I was actually just leaving but, um, since you’re here, I just wanted to say that your performance was great.” Ezra awkwardly shifted on his feet. “You really looked at home up there on that stage. Oh,” Ezra then turned and extended his hand to the two people from earlier, “excuse my rudeness. I’m Ezra Gray, pleasure to meet you.”

♡coded by uxie♡


There will be light

White stripes count as color, right?

Parking Lot


Ezra geminiy geminiy

TL;DR: And then Ezra showed up.

Auguste was crying. He was crying and his hair was being petted and told that everything was alright and it was just making him cry harder and his grandparents were holding him like he was their last hope and-

And it was not a pretty kind of crying. It was an ugly sob of all of his pain getting washed away as he realized that he was loved and had been loved this entire time. That people had in fact wanted him, they just couldn’t get to him.

And then something came crashing into this feeling of cathartic release.

Ez’s voice was one that Auguste was not expecting in the slightest. It was a shock that he even came to be quite frank.

Why in the world did he show up-

Why in the fucking world did he think now was a good time to pick a fight?

Auguste wiped his face, not quite loosing the red rimmed nature of his eyes, his face falling back into the broodingly stoic pain of before the breakdown… too quickly for him to correct it again. He was trying to be better about that.

His grandparents took a glance at how his face suddenly went from so painfully expressive to gearing up for something unpleasant. And then they looked at what appeared to be a 6’5 douchebag speedwalking their way.

Now see, Auguste’s grandparent had his same white streak in graying hair, and was thin as a rake. And these pleasant warm brown eyes that had seen genuine war - that had fought tooth and nail to become a self made man after the war and provide for his family for years to come.

And Auguste’s grandma was more than willing to hit someone with a shoe if needed.

So when they saw a 6’5 douchebag with an asshole’s smile, and they saw their long lost grandson’s face drop, they moved in sync - in the way only people who’ve been united for very long amounts of time could be in sync. Well, they put Auguste just a little bit behind them, and stared at Ezra with hatred.

“¿Quien diablos eres tú?” Came a sharp bark from Auguste’s grandma. “Julien. Quién diablos es éste. ¿Cómo te acaba de llamar?”

Auguste winced just a little bit. “Ehm… ehm… mi nombre es Auguste ahora. Et… ehm.. Y él es…”

He trailed off. “Un amigo?”

A blink. A beat of silence before he realized suddenly that Ezra had indeed actually said something worthy of a response. “Ehm, sorry Ez I don’t think they speak much English. Thank you… Yeah. I… work on this for a long time. So. It means a lot. To have… ehm… people come to my set.”

Was that too formal? Last he’d seen Ez he’d gotten kicked out of his car because quote unquote “I don’t give rides to strangers.”

That meant they weren’t friends right? So. What the fuck was this then?

“Auguste, ¿tenemos que llamar a seguridad?” Auguste’s grandpa had a tight grip on Auguste’s arm. Not hard enough to bruise though. But a protective gesture.

“Non! No! Nononono. Está bien.” Auguste said quickly.

“¿Te ha hecho daño?”

“Ehm…” Auguste trailed off. Quick change the subject. “Ezra! Meet my grandparents! This is ma mémé and mon pépé. Mémé, pépé, estes es Ezra.”

"... Dice que es un placer conocerte." Auguste quickly tacked on at the end.

"... Pleasure is all mine." There was a heavy, heavy Spanish accent accompanied to the gravelly passive aggressive statement. And an iron grip to the handshake, verging on painful.

His grandmother was not much better in that regards, staring him down with a brutal kind of murder in her eyes and not even bothering to say it's nice to meet you too.

Yep, this was going great.
code by valen t.

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