inbox.

[needlebomb]

( video / text / voice / action )

Comments

[needlebomb]

validation is as much of a side effect to self expression as getting rich is.

i'd read whatever you wrote.
you should show me what you've done sometime.

[confiscated]

yeah? i'd do it for a 1:1 trade
you read my shit, i read your shit

consider it a creative challenge

[needlebomb]

no deal.
what even gives you the impression that i have anything to share?

[ other than the fact that marcus is rarely seen without his journal in his hands. ]

[confiscated]

so u cant write for shit?
thats ok to admit

[needlebomb]

if that's how you want to take it, sure.
but i don't write things with the intent to share them. it's all personal.
if that's a dealbreaker for you, then so be it.
if you change your mind and want to show me what you've done, let me know.

[confiscated]

so it's ok to ask for someone else's journal but not offer your own
i get it. we'll see if i come around to the idea of letting u in my head, then

when did u start ur journal anyway?

[needlebomb]

i didn't ask to read your journal. i asked to see your art.
big difference.

i've had it for as long as i can remember. started in the boy's home. just wanted to keep a log of all the important stuff i was forgetting.
when did you start yours?

[confiscated]

long time ago.
i've kept three

one from before, one from after
i don't have the first one anymore
but i arrived with the second one
so i've been adding to it too.

gonna need another real soon

[needlebomb]

have you written about me?

[confiscated]

yeah

have u written about me?

[needlebomb]

that's private.

[ hypocrite. ]

what do you mean by "one from after"?

[confiscated]

bitch.

that's private.

[needlebomb]

how is it private?
you brought it up.

[confiscated]

it's private bc i say so

[And you were a little bitch just now, so.]

you want an answer, gimme something in return
barter with me, info style
otherwise, tough luck ever finding out

[needlebomb]

friendship isn't supposed to be transactional, you know.

[confiscated]

yeah but i feel like im offering up a lot and not getting much back

two way street.
but fine, after is after death
im a dead kid from the 90s
i haunt shit and make kids cry

happy?

[needlebomb]

i'm not trying to be withholding.
i've told you more about my life than i've told anyone in quite some time.
letting you in as much as i have has been a pretty big deal for me. sorry if that doesn't feel like enough for you.

[ dot dot dot. ]

are you fucking with me?

[confiscated]

does it sound like i'm fucking with you?

[needlebomb]

it sounds like you're pissed at me for not letting you read my diary, so you're making shit up to embarrass me.
that's what it sounds like.

[confiscated]

u don't believe in ghosts?
out of everything possible in the world
this is me fucking with you?

[needlebomb]

i think american youth of the 1980s are only going to survive in a future stacked against them if they move into it with a tight grip on a healthy amount of skepticism.

prove it.

[confiscated]

how the fuck am i supposed to do that, genius?
recite a ghostly oath?

you really want me to prove it?
i can, if you do
but just think about what you're asking
hate for you to not like what happens

[needlebomb]

go ahead.
skinny blond dudes with mommy issues haven't scared me before.
you're not gonna be the first.

[confiscated]

[We'll see about that, skinny little street rat. Tate doesn't respond simply because he doesn't see the point. There's nothing he can do via text; but there are other alternatives coming to mind. He's half annoyed he has to get up and get to it, but there's pride on the line. And a little bit of pleasure to come out of this, since he so rarely gets to freak anyone out anymore. He pulls on his sweater and takes the quickest route to the Down.

He's not fast enough with it to startle Marcus in any way should he knock on the door, so he skips that. He just straight on enters the motel room, staying out of sight in the process. He lingers like a transparent shadow against the wall and watches Marcus as he's laid out on the bed. He tilts his head for a second, then reaches sidelong to flick off the light switch. Subtle, possibly explainable, but this is just the start.]

[needlebomb]

[ By this point, Marcus figures Tate has just - ghosted him, forgive the pun. Once Tate's silently, invisibly infiltrating his room, Marcus has mostly forgotten about the conversation they had a good half hour ago; he figured the mommy issue thing might have crossed a line, and rather than apologize for saying it, he just lets things die. There'll always be time to talk to Tate later.

He's wearing his new sweater when Tate arrives. Wrapped up in it like it's keeping him warm, eyes only half-open as he lays in bed, knees curled up and attention largely focused on his phone. The light goes out and Marcus doesn't move, doesn't think anything of it - a hotel like this, he's only surprised the lights haven't gone out sooner. It does cause him to sit up, though, sighing as he looks at the curtains over the window, wondering if it's worth going over there and opening them up. He clearly decides it's not, but still takes the time to fish out a cigarette from his pocket, lighting it with a match, his hand cupped around the flame. ]