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Brad. Braaaaaaad.
Your face, sir.
It says, let me love you, you bitch.
raypersoning requested — brad/ray, song “heaven’s gonna wait” by hedley
'Cause we're just two bodies with just one heart,
We're just one body that one day fell apart
“Smells like New York should,” Ray mutters, wrinkling his nose. The subway shrieks along, white noise in Ray’s ears; their knees bump together, and he thinks of a circuit, and electricity, and eight grade science. Ridiculous little thoughts that probably won’t get beyond the back of his teeth.
He tries very hard not to look at the white envelop in Brad’s hands.
Brad smiles, humour held in the corner of his eye, and taps the envelop on the palm of his hand. Forms rattle. “Smells a hell of a lot better than Missouri, Ray.”
Ray puts his tongue between his teeth, and with a bright, disorganized smile, he says: No shit Colbert.
City Hall is six blocks away.
bbs, y u do dis to me?
Please just kiss, and put me out of my frustrated misery.
……Besides, who else makes Brad smile like that?
I’m not really expecting an answer to the question, because there really is only one correct response.
(Source: seraphed)
al;fksdhaiogwhfa
Yes.
TROMBLEY: Hey, Person, didn’t your mom put your picture up on the Wal-Mart Wall of Heroes?
RAY: Yep. My grandma did when I went to Afghanistan. I’m on the Nevada, Missouri Wal-Mart Wall of Heroes. Even got my dress blues on.
BRAD: If my mother ever distributed my likeness without written authorization, I would disown her.
RAY: Technically speaking, Brad, but didn’t your biological parents disown you when they put you up for adoption?
BRAD: Point, Ray. I was one of those unfortunates adopted by upper-middle-class professionals and nurtured in an environment of learning, art, and a socio-religious culture steeped in more than two thousand years of Talmudic tradition. Not everyone is lucky enough to have been raised in a Whiskey Tango trailer park by a bowlegged female whose sole qualification for motherhood is a womb that happened to catch a sperm of a passing truck driver.
Husbands. Totally husbands. I will accept no other conclusions.
