joseph kavinsky
fancast: ash stymest- He was unmistakable: the sort of raven boy who was clearly an import from elsewhere. Everything about his facial structure — the long nose; the hollowed-out, heavy-lidded eyes; the dark arch of his eyebrows — was completely unlike the valley faces she’d grown up with. Like many of the other raven boys, he sported massive sunglasses, spiked hair, a small earring, a chain around his neck, and a white tank top.
- He was always moving. There was something erratic and vulgar about the full line of his lips, like he’d swallow her if he got close enough.
- Kavinsky himself stood near it, bottle in hand, shirtless, the floodlights erasing the ribs from his concave torso. [...] Pressing one hand to his concave chest, he fetched his white sunglasses from his back pocket with the other. He put them on, hiding his eyes. The lenses mirrored the furnace around them.
series: maggie stiefvater's the raven cycle
shipping: - m/m preferred, but i wouldn't mind finding my kitty kowalski
- 15-25 yo preferred, character will be aged up to 18 for 18+ partners
- no non-con, we can talk about everything else
warnings: spoilers, language, violence, misogyny. per the canon, the character generally also carries warnings for substance abuse, child abuse, and a variety of felonious behaviors (including b&e, kidnapping, unsolicited groping, assault) but i will warn beforehand |
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I like it when skinny queer boys like to watch, [he says. and he shows teeth. even though the fangs are strictly metaphorical, there's something sharp about his grin. he leans forward, near enough that the witch boy can smell the cigarettes off his breath and see his pupils blown out huge and hazy from the drugs.] You know, they like it when there's a little bit of fucking spontaneity. I'm thinking-- [he takes another half a step forward. the toe of his shoe drifts in between the toes of credence's shoes.
he's barely blinking. it's his superpower.]
You wanna be in the passenger seat with me? They got a lot of girls with no titties can do the other kid's car.
no subject
It's instinctive to flinch and lean back. Not to step away, because that would mean more punishment than he'd already get, but to keep his distance with a slight twist of his back. The other smells like cigarettes and something else, something he can't quite place, but that doesn't matter. Not after the suggestion, and Credence hopes he can some how scrape himself off from the metaphorical pavement. He clenching his fists as tightly as he can, balling them up tightly to ground himself, he tries to keep his voice even. It almost works. ]
I don't mean to be rude, but I--I don't want to be made fun of.
[ That has to be what this is. Either that or this whole thing isn't real, and--
--wait, did he call him queer, earlier? Does he know? He knows. Somehow, somehow he knows. ]
no subject
Not just 'cause it ain't what a real man would do. [somehow, kavinsky seeps into the space that credence made between them. it's hard to say how he does it. he doesn't step forward; after all, credence hadn't even stepped back. he doesn't exactly lean forward, either. his skinny shoulders drift back, his hipbones emerging under the thin fabric of his wifebeater as sharp as ceramic knives. maybe the lewd jut of his pelvis is it. his thumbs in his pockets, forefingers pointed down on his dong like a neon sign.
he always needs the attention.
whatever it is, he erodes into credence's as surely as spilled oil takes over a lake. around them, everyone's watching, and no one's watching. they're all drunk, yelling. credence is terribly out-of-place, but in a morass of lost children looking for some new high— at the same time, he blends in perfect.] But because it's what you wanna. Isn't it, baby?
no subject
Even if he wanted to, he doesn't think he could. Because Kavinsky - and that's his name, that's what he's heard looking out his window like he's trapped in a tower - Kavinsky is right.
He doesn't want to. That's why he's here. That's why he went out. It's not quite blacking out like he does sometimes when things get real bad, but there's still that voice and that soft feeling if he closes his eyes. Which he does, the moment Kavinsky says baby.
This isn't real. This isn't real, but here's Kavinsky, beautiful, stunning, wonderful, dangerous Kavinsky is insisting he comes along. He's calling him baby. This is the second time, and Credence wonders if he can keep track. Maybe the words will keep him warm on bad nights. ]
I... [ Slow, now. Don't take your time, but choose your words. None come to him after a small beat, so he just nods. It's exactly what he wants, and he even tries his best to smile. ]
I'm Credence.
[ Let's go. ]
taking liberties w how creed is dressed just lmk if not ok (cw misogynistic language, drugs, etc.)
[the coarse pad of his finger flicks past credence's throat. an instant of friction. he grips the collar of credence's shirt and takes him down a button, then two. the cold air kisses credence's clavicle, and then kavinsky turns, jerking his head.]
What's up, fuck buckets?
[that, that latter cry, is apparently more for the crowd than for credence. kavinsky raises his arms like a victor presiding over the finish line, rather than someone who's yet to finish his race, but kavinsky doesn't care. and he is in fact, spectacularly good at not caring. a shout goes up. some of it in adulation, some in jeers. a few people are just asking for more pills. kavinsky cuts a swathe through the red sea of skinny teenage human bodies, and finds his way to the white mitsubishi parked curbside. the black knife spraypainted up its side.]
You know how to open the door, Credence? [he asks, yanking open the driver's side. no gentleman here. then he turns his head the other way, shouts.] Skov! Len! Fuckers! Pick a bitch!
perf
The night air is cool but welcoming with how hot and flushed he feels like he is, and he swears Kavinsky almost touches him, enough for him to feel how warm the other is despite looking like a statue, jaggedly cut and pristine.
Sure, Kavinsky is called a gutter rat by everyone else, but to Credence, walking just a few steps behind him like a shadow and murmuring apologies as he makes his way through the crowd that seems to swallow him up after Kavinsky parts it. Like a God. No--like a wizard. So full of magic, he's put a spell on all of them.
Credence finds himself smiling, his daydreams cut off only as he's jarred by the other's voice. Right. Right--door. He opens it and slides in, feeling unworthy of the leather beneath him. He's trying to take it all in. ]
Mr. Kavinsky, sir, this is absolutely thrilling. [ And, before he can stop his mouth: ] It's like when I dream about it but it's real.
[ They haven't even gone anywhere. That's the most exciting part. ]
tw suicidal ideation
little does he know. little does he know!
clunk. he shuts the door, and suddenly the noise of outside muffles out to near-nothing. strapping in, he puts key to the ignition, and the car starts with a deep-throated rumble that shivers through every bone in credence's body, fucks with the cadence of his heart. kavinsky pulls the car out of park, and rolls her gently through the other kids as they move aside to let him get to the starting line. a couple other cars are there already. in here, the melody of the music is loud.] 'Mr. Kavinsky,' [he says,] is my fucking dad.
[there's so much disdain in his voice. there has to be a story there. one that he isn't going to tell. they roll up to a stop beside the other two cars. there's a girl strutting up in front of the headlights, all exposed leg and tawny tummy.] Put your seatbelt on unless you wanna die, [kavinsky says.] No difference to me, sweetheart. Last good advice I ever give you.
no subject
He can feel it, though, and he can see why the other races so much. The car comes to life, and not just the music, but Credence feels like the whole world suddenly does, his ribcage rattling like his heart may just tumble out from the sheer noise alone.
His pulse is racing. It's the same feeling he gets when he looks at Kavinsky through the windows, the same nervous energy he gets when he's not sure what tomorrow will bring. It's thrilling. Thrilling, and terrifying, and once he clips that seatbelt on he doesn't realize he's trying not to smile. ]
I hope you win!
[ He has to shout it through the music, and he's not even sure he's been this loud his entire life. This is Kavinsky's world, though, isn't it? Boys and girls and sweetheart just thrown around casually like that. ]
no subject
the car smells densely of fresh leather, kavinsky's cologne. the space feels even closer with the reverberations roaring through it. through the windshield, credence can see a girl in a tiny skirt starting to walk up to the starting line, a pair of panties in one hand, a beer in the other. but kavinsky's looking at him. his pupils are as big as full moons, and there seems like an incipient movement in the hand he has over the gearshift, like he's this close to reaching across for the boy next to him. but he doesn't.
his hand, the veins braided over his bent knuckles, all of him is as still as a corpse when he remarks,] What'll you give me if I do?
no subject
[ He says it without meaning to, the words tumbling from his lips in a delightful tizzy. The engine is practically rocking him, soothing in a way that's almost dangerous, and Credence isn't sure how it's possible to be so exhilarated and terrified and soothed at the exact same time.
His Friend, the one beneath the surface, the one that whispers to him--it's gone.It's gone, replaced by adrenaline and fear and euphoria, and they haven't even properly started. He can't even wipe that smile off of his face, sitting on the edge of the seat in anticipation. ]