#Strange Lanky Gyrations

[leaveharmony]

Love this

Love the grooving up the walkway tying his torn shirt up like a hoodie skirt, love the fact that he did not factor that he would also have to stop into his calculations

[heffrondriving]

۪͙۪˚┊❛ ride on, ride on now to the other side of yesterday ❜ : ̗̀❥ james × jett ┊˚ ̥۪͙۪◌

: ̗̀❥ RATING: T+ // WORD COUNT: 3,910 // CHARACTERS: jett stetson, james diamond, kendall knight, jo taylor, logan mitchell, carlos garcia // TAGS: one shot, angst, mild hurt/comfort, pov second person, songfic, nightclub, alcohol, partying, drunken shenanigans, references to drugs, mature language & themes, internal monologue, love at first sight or tripped-out delirium, mildly dubious consent?, alternate universe: different first meeting // AO3

: ̗̀❥ Song inspiration + lyrics from: Boy by Reol (translation)

: ̗̀❥ [Part 4 of Cupid Got Us F♡cked Up]

Hey boy, it stings My heart just can’t get used to this Strange feeling of you not being around But I know I have to go

The way the boy’s hips sway under the burning glow of the cramped room, extraordinarily gossamer and mesmerising against the hundreds of other sweat-infused bodies strobing and gyrating and writhing to the strident beat, it’s almost enough to make you forget the week-stale perfume and cosmopolitan rejection permeating every inch of your arctic-slippery skin.

The screaming is unbearable. You choke down the last drops of your Whiskey Manhattan without biting on the cherry and invite him to dance. He laughs and pulls you in to take a clumsy seat by the bar instead.

I messed up so many times But I’ll redo it however many times And everything you denied I’ll prove however many times

In the middle of wry introductions and exchanging double-edged banter about who’s better-looking (it’s obviously you, but you modestly pass up an occasional cheapshot or two as not to turn him off to pompous egotism; the truth isn’t really welcome in these hotspots anyway) and a rather passionate dad joke about his cheesy boyband career that you’re endlessly hair-riffling and fake-laughing in dangerous schoolgirl levels to, someone comes up to slap the boy in the shoulder—some lanky unattractive blond with enough eyebrows to knit ten sweaters and is definitely a thousand hitchhiking miles away from the both of your supreme leagues (though you reign more supreme, no big duh).

We’re on top of a scale, seesawing And what’s being measured is our amount of good luck I hear the sound of the end approaching

You figure the boy will easily shrug the poor opportunistic fool away, but then suddenly he’s grinning and woolly odd-face is sticking his tongue out derisively and they’re laughing together to the tune of decades-long familiarity and you feel a burst of something like inexplicable jealous rage—how dare he—and your fists clench but before you can gear them back to take a smash hit, a froofy pink drink with fancy sliced fruits in it (exactly your guilty pleasure type but you pretend to be all huffy and insulted anyway) slides between your tetchy hands and the boy’s hooded gaze slyly flits back to you.

“On me,” he says, and smiles that perfect smile, but it’s the assuring squeeze on your skinny-jeaned thigh that makes your chest explode with something like curious obsessive desire. You won’t dare.

“Having fun, my man? is this the hottest club ‘round this side of the Hollywood hills or what?!” Far from it, babe—this isn’t even an anthill worthy enough to stomp my Balenciaga Slides on, you’d retort, but you pop a complimentary peanut or two to keep your rain from their pathetic parades. You’re roasting here too, and hypocrites can’t be choosers. “Oh, and B-T-dubs, you so owe me for actually convincing the huge scary Freight Train-looking bouncer dude to squeeze us up a good couple spots on the list, even after all that bullshit chaos you just had to cause with mister line cutter outside.”

The pounding of my heart is a teasing reminder Of what’s long overdue, let’s dance In front of this intersection of our different paths Yeah, I came here just because I thought to!

“Hey, not as much as you owe me for throwing hands with the big G-man and Kellsters to let us get off band rehearsals early for the night—I swear, I’ll be digging out gnashed teeth shrapnel outta my eardrums for weeks to come!”

“Yeah, at least that’ll give you some excuse to actually clean them, huh?”

“Fuck off.”

“Love you too, buddy.”

“I know you do, idiot...hey, wait a sec. You never even introduced me to your pop-collared buddy there, ya sly dog! Ah—‘scuse me—sorry about that—how’s it going, man? I’m Ken...wait, you uh, you look kinda familiar...have I seen you somewhere before?”

For you, I always wanted to be just right for you If I just thought about how you could do anything I didn’t need any aspirations

No shit Sherlock, you’re capital Fab Fit Fucking Famous, but you’re gonna let fugly (for fuzzy-ugly) duckling figure that kiddie brain-buster out for himself. You simply turn up your chin to an elegant degree and take a snide-coded sip while he tries to make a glib comeback, but he’s thankfully cut short and dragged back by another gormless giggling blondzo, though she’s certainly a significantly prettier sight than her companion...wait, a prettier sight you’ve seen and kissed before...and once relentlessly chased for the sake of the candid cameras and paparazzi posers, even when the game was already over and she respectfully cut the first-place ribbon from your neck. This is genuinely the last place you’d expect to see a vanilla-blue valley girlie like her, and recognising her down to the bouncing Mary Sue curls and the sweet sixteen smirk sends a painful surge of Chambord up your spluttering nose.

So much for being the white swan.

And if it made you happy, I would’ve done anything I even would’ve wanted to be a clown

But she thankfully doesn’t notice you, and you don’t care enough outside of the momentary culture shock to chase her down and catch up with her, either. Not when you’ve already been spared having to put up with awkward pleasantries with some passé costar. Not when she never really liked you much anyway. And especially not when you finally have your darling nightingale boy all to yourself.

Ah, has my time come already? Tomorrow is calling me I smile and wave my hand goodbye

Though, not quite; never quite yet. More flirty no-names and unfriendly faces stay in the woozy rotation, vices and vultures, drawn to the boy’s centripetal gravity just as much as you are. Pretty boy, popular boy, perfect boy like that, even with your blinding bravado and obnoxiously bedazzled confidence, you can’t help but wonder how in the wasted world you’re still managing to keep close attention to him and when his slipping inching fleeting touch is gonna drift away into a parallel reality (please, not sooner, not later), and why you’re suddenly burning up so much.

It’s the bright lights. It’s the copious alcohol. It’s the spinning too much and too close to the sun.

Top speed in the direction of love Ride on, ride on now, to the other side of yesterday Towards the direction of love

“Can we go home now?” someone puppy-whines from behind you and the boy, a klaxon siren intensity that makes you cover your top-hits tinnitused ears and wonder if the cops are closing in to bust in and declare the party as over (as if it wasn’t dead on arrival already when killjoy over here cried wolf). “I think I’m starting to get a serious breakout of hives from this abrasive glowstick plastic. Or it might be the toxic fluorescent dye leaking out and I’m about to have a major anaphylactic shock and seize out and die on the dancefloor to friggin’ Ke$ha telling me to lose my mind and lose my clothes in the crowd and I’m sure as Begly’s bike toast am not gonna take it off!”

“Oooh yeah nah, I wouldn’t recommend that, dude.” Tsk, tsk. You totally would, though. Might liven things up a little better, and you’ve honestly seen worse. Way, waaaay worse. Maybe even done worse if you remember right—but that’s not a fun scandal scoop saved for tonight if everyone’s out here making new one for tomorrow’s headlines. “Not the stripping part, and deffo not the dying part, either—most bigwig party animals are worse revivers than they are kissers.”

“Oh, ‘cause you’d know, huh?”

“Hey, I’m just saying. Take my advice—or don’t, whatever, it’s your body glitter-glazed funeral and we’re not gonna drag your rotting naked ass back home unless Los finds a nice dumpster to bury you in—if you think the overuse of spit and sheer sloppiness is unbearable on the second one, well...”

The saliva I’ve spit out The fallen leaves won’t return to their branches I’ve cut off any way to back down from this Farewell, my beloved days

This lukewarm quip is enough to make mister hypochondriac barker run with his tail between his hobble-hocked legs, knocking some preppy Erewhon-Organic-looking Crosby (who’s clearly trespassing on a group of Daisy Duke girls’ private plush lounge territory) over and ass-up—serves the hedge fund creepo motherfucker right!—as the perp takes his frantic tarantella to the graffitied graveyard they generously call a bathroom. Probably to seek out a steel wool pad and some hospital-grade antibacterial soap (in some depraver’s shady hovel in downtown LA, yeah, as friggin’ if—he’s more likely to find another rigor mortised body slumped a-la avant-garde exhibit in one of the stalls).

A ne’er-do-well who would Make all the noise in the world And never be satisfied

Cute as the nervous dimples and unmatched rabid geek energy were, your jaded eyes don’t follow him for very long. The boy’s stark enraptured face, thrown back to the suffocated skylights and shimmering with pure glee, wouldn’t let you. Slowing down into an astonishing descent with the taste of margarita salt on his sweetsoft lips sipping away the straight chlorine on yours—and you’re stuck waiting, watching forever, a bystander feeling smaller and smaller under the sinking settling shrieking realisation that the sky is bigger than they ever dreamed to cosmically imagine and one daring yesterday it’s all going to go dark, empty space and darkening vision.

This is the afterlife A masochist hurting themselves in longing And in the end, I lost it all without a trace What was “for you” was really always for me As soon as I made sure of it, the fading sky grew cold

This shooting star moment doesn’t last you very long, either.

“And how’s our wonder loverboy doi—woaaaaah nelly. What the hell happened to you? Jeez, I trust you to behave and leave you alone for five minutes...”

“I was just talking to this really cool-looking girl over there—she was with her kinda-scary friends but she’s got all these crazy piercings and rainbow hair and she said she liked Helmetie and thought I was kinda cute and I said I thought so too! And she asked if I thought I was cute, but then I said I meant I thought she was cute, not me. And Helmetie also thought she supertastic-cute, and she laughed and it was seriously the cutest thing ever! So we were like, really starting off on the right foot—and I swear, she was gonna be the one, dude!—but then I asked her what size her finger is and she wouldn’t even let me get to the buying a wedding ring part before, well. This whole mess.”

A pint-sized Latino soaked in what smells like Strawberry Sangria and stale hotdog water steadily trudges towards you and the boy, mopey mouth running a mile a minute with no room to spare for a shut the fuck up. You’d honestly sneer at his sorry sloshed-up sight if he didn’t just embrace the sticky spilled drink all over the both of you without a second boundary’s worth of thought nor hesitation.

Oh, broken mirror Is there anything you can salvage of me? I don’t know, sorry

His caramel cheeks are flushed Cosmo-pinker and his face is a miserable smear of nosebleeds and sobriety, but being teetotal wouldn’t explain why he’s wearing that godawful vomit-brown paisley top and a clunky sports helmet in the middle of a goddamned nightclub. Although, thinking back on all the times you almost got concussed in between getting stampeded by staggering strangers and oversensual half-lovers and snorting bullheads spoiling for a fight, he may just have the right idea. Especially if he’s gonna keep up that honest-to-badness garish haunted sofa ‘fit and trashy pick-up line streak. No matter how adorably, hopelessly, idiotically innocent it was clearly intended to be.

Hollywood don’t do subtle, and this kid was anything and everything under god’s wilted green earth and piss-yellow sunshine but.

And if it made you happy, I would’ve done anything I just wanted to match everything you did

Strawberry shortcake wedges himself in between you two (practically plopped right on the boy’s lap and that venomous rage resurges but you’re all out of froofy drinks and you’re honestly feeling a bit sick and sluggish from the syrupy sweetness and that unfading acrid taste from three free shots and an accidental alcoholic waterboarding ago, so down, bitch!) and laments some more to his apparent wingman over a glucose-elevating order of Virgin Mudslide about his voodooed lacklustre lady luck.

Halfway through the hurricane glass, he gets so impossibly giddy over the thought of never finding true love tonight that his splayed limbs start to have a life of their own and his whirling seat’s rivets fly off like teeny artillery, prompting a serrated scowl from the shaved-head bartender and a rub on the back from the sympathetically exasperated boy as he mumbles something about “first Hortense, now this—why can’t we just have a nice boys out for once without it getting all screwed-up and messy, I swear to god...” and even you actually start to feel a bit sorry for him and his little project reject.

It’s so frustrating But I can’t even bring myself to cry I can’t even shed a tear

With this, boybestie’s promptly encouraged with a crumpled wadful of cocktail napkins, one Helmetie less, and a mollifying bro pat on the back to take it easy and breathe it out, loosen...er, tighten up and get himself back out there on the raucous runaway, and try again (and again and again and again by the looks of it, you’d willingly bet your overcharged tab). They’re the Hollywood super party kings of Hollywood, for crying out loud (whatever the hell that even meant—and Hollywood twice cancels the whole equation out...okay, you really need to lay down on the chasers before you become the next new-age enlightener. And also just lay down, in general), so he better stop the pervy twenty questions game and the shady cool cat act and just try to be himself this time. But maybe just not too much himself.

Hey, so I gave you the notice But the after-effects are getting to me I can’t just be calm and collected about this all And so now we’re both getting a taste of this irony

Nerve-twisting numbers or not, the boy makes a really good point. You’re never really yourself when you’re hanging out in these kinda jank joints, of infamous druggies and has-been thuggies and mostly junkied now-next-to-nobodies—when you’re there overdressed to unimpress for the free drinks and the easy-A lust and the wishy-washy escapism of being no one or everyone or anyone else at all, there isn’t any need to be yourself, after all. That’s the last thing any try-hard outsider would ever want in this silver-lined city, to be known for being yourself since there’s no riches in radical reality...but despite that, the boy himself strangely seems to feel right at home here, no fragile façade nor pity-love fable to peddle save that salvaged heart bleeding bubblegum songs and unsaid stories all over his hundred-dollar sleeve.

Well, don’t say you didn’t want to know I’m feeling on edge, give me something to spur me on

You can see lost scars peeking shyly from behind his apropos Tom Ford bomber jacket that does nothing to hide the soiled clothes of a wayward child stumbling skinning his knees in dirty wonderland, you can see the branching scars that cross his tempered face like fortune lines and coat his sweetest words with an aftertaste of berry-baby-bitter that makes him swallow his guilt a lot harder just so his perfect smile could be a little softer, if you step back and look closer to dim down the glaring migraine lights reflecting rainbows and district red lights all over his flawless skin, you can see he’s really built of nothing else but smouldering diamond bones and vicious tooth and nail ambitions and the prettiest little scars. He hides it well; but there’s no place left to hide in this cramped hellhole but upfront.

Pretty boy, popular boy, perfect boy, who hurt you?

Give me more of that conviction Give me more reasons to stand up again Give me however many and however many times

You don’t ask anymore. It might just be from one-too-many slips and slurries and shots of flaming sambuca, but choosers can’t be hypocrites and you hardly even recall if you exchanged names. Saying hi all the time and staying high all the time, some nitty-gritty details are bound to drop off into asterisks—like how long ago did you meet, and why can’t your hands stop blurring in front of you when the boy’s holding them so tightly it’s cutting off the blood circulation and keeping you numb to every sinking gripping aching touch, and why do you need to care about all these pointless questions? What was your name again...?

Well, whatever. It doesn’t really matter at all. You don’t need names to dance. You don’t need names to fuck. You don’t need names to remember for longer than a nascent after-hours, turning blood-red against yellowed eyes and evergreen veins. But you’re not so sure you want to forget, either.

If you can love someone More than the number of your regrets Then that love is something you should sing out loud Forget about what I promised you on that day

The silence speaks volumes. He spills half his vodka tonic on the jacket while grimacing from the lime and invites you to dance. You laugh and clumsily pull him into the floor, and that terrible twist of time leaves a lot of space for bad intentions as it slows the both of you into a phantasmic non-apropos waltz.

Wishing you well as I send you off Just one last thing to bother you with— I’m sorry. Well, then...see you again

Tired forehead to piercing clavicle. Phantom hands anchored and tracing gently-swaying hips, arching closer, grinding teeth. Broad blustered chests exploding in hazardous friction, challenging each other to thump a little faster, a little louder, a lot more painful, catching breaths catching up to the reverberating electrified drop before the raving crowd goes wild and they all fall down and you would too—god, why does everything burn so fucking much?—if only the boy isn’t holding every part of you together. You and the boy and you’re his boy but is he your boy? You’re not sure you’re not sure of anything anymore and you’re almost afraid to feel afraid to ask and it’s stupid and you’re stupid—stop acting so stupid, where’s your heavy hurting head, up there, up where, where did all your clever lies go off to, to throw up the poison and feel okay again or to curl up and die all alone in some other hypothetical hellhole where it wouldn’t be caught dead—as if you haven’t done this before.

For you, I always wanted to be just right for you If I just thought about how you could do anything I didn’t need any aspirations And if it made you happy, I would’ve done anything I even would’ve wanted to be a clown

You’ve been here before, danced a million ankle-breaking steps before, fucked a hundred wasted no-names before, remembered a thousand hangover ways to wake up on the wrong side of Viva La Holy Hollywood before, but you’re one-hundred percent sure plus one that you’ve never ever done this before. Never felt anything like this before. What is this, you may ask? Why ask at all? Maybe you shouldn’t. The boy’s not looking for answers he knows he couldn’t give back. But you’re still going to ask. God, you have to ask. Even if it’s just this time. Damn whatever the hell your dizzy dirty deadly cocksure fucking ego is screaming at you in every available profane language but right now, but there’s no other time to waste than now.

Ah, I’m out of time now Turn around, turn it all around, for me now

“Are you still gonna want me tomorrow?”

“I don’t know, but I like the idea of you. And I want you, right here, right now.”

What’s for what and what’s for who? I guess I’ll know when it’s all over, huh?

No promises. Nothing different. You’ve seen this shit before, a bajillion times over. He’s good at this. He’s done this before. You’ve believed it before. But you believe in him anyway.

You don’t know what else to do. You don’t know how else to think. You can’t feel anything but the boy.

Pretty boy, popular boy, perfect boy, why do you hurt?

I love this good-for-nothing lifeform with all my heart And even if this isn’t the best solution I just want to be myself...ah, it’s time now

Now you’re dancing, you’re dancing, and the cramped room crashes down around you and the lasting memory of the boy falters and the stringent beat has fallen away into a senseless static rush and you’re still somehow strobing and gyrating and writhing fucking mechanical as you hold onto him for dear life and delight and dear lies and the constellated kisses on your broken neck are stinging and numbed fingers bruising hips and grinding teeth breaking hollows and everyone and their chemical friends are watching, are watching but the glitter in your bleached-blue eyes shine like salty stars reflected against ocean indigo and something slips inside your tongue sinking the unsinkable and it’s not a pastel pill or a blotter or the sun but you gag once and get swallowed whole as everything melts down into a bad trip and he’s desperately asking for your name—what was it again, tell me tell me tell me—and you’re screaming something maybe like his name beneath his slippery scarred skin spreading with cracks and heady perfume and you’re hot and cold all over and over it’s over and going under underwater and all that’s left to think about is the all-consuming idea of him, and him, and him, and maybe, and maybe you—don’t know don’t know don’t want—you want it. Right here, right now. Maybe just enough to forget nothing, everything, anything at all. Maybe you like the idea of us.

No matter how it turns out, I’m going to go now To the starting line, top speed in the direction of love

Maybe you even love the boy, in some other dying cosmic yesterday you never dreamed to imagine before and never will again, even if you escape this pretty greenyellowredblack hole and fucking crawl out of that infinite stampede and make it out alive, alive, are you alive somehow. But you’re feeling smaller and smaller and your headspace is empty and your bloodshot vision is darkening and you’re not gonna ruin it like that. You’re not gonna ruin him like that. Not tonight.

I T ’  S    O   N      Y      O        U         N        O           W        —

Ride on, ride on now, to the other side of yesterday And I’ll overtake even longing itself.

[limpblotter]

16 boyf riends

(Boyf Riends 16) “I foundyou–in the bathroom at a formal event, crying in the bathroom over how you sawyourself as ugly” (I SEE WHAT YOU DID THERE ANON, I SEE IT AND I THINK ITSGREAT)

“You know…” Jeremy smiled ashe fixed his tuxedo tie. “I never thought we’d make it here…” His eyes in aweas he took in the chandeliers and grand, gold and champagne paisley walldecals, this was easily the nicest place either boy had been.  “Prom.”

They made it to their seniorprom, of course not without some flaw. Jeremy had missed his chance to askChristine, who was already going with a group of girls as they either hadpassed up too many invitations or just got none. Michael, too, missed hischance in asking anyone out. So as per usual, the friends were together again. “Thisis going to be nuts…” Michael muttered to himself, and then nodded. He pinchedboth sides of his bowtie and ran a hand through his hair. “Let’s make this thebest night two bros can have!” They were dateless, sure, but they survived tosee their senior prom. Jeremy watched Michael bolt through the crowd of fancily dressed teenagestudents and smiled. His best friend cleaned up pretty nice in a red suede suitand bowtie. It wasn’t until he lost Michael on his sprint towards the pier sideballroom that Jeremy felt a sweat start up. “MICHAEL! WA-WAIT!” He gulpednarrowing tripping over some girl’s excessively long gown. “S-sorry” He gulped,holding up his hands defensively as her date gave Heere a look that made himwant to disappear. Squip-less Jeremy was working on the little dexterity he wasknown for. He followed the herd to the ballroom, ooh’ing and awe’ing at thedome shaped room, wall to ceiling windows giving them a perfect view of theriverside pier.

It wasn’t long before thiselegant ballroom turned into a massive, grinding house party. There was somethingvisually jarring watching formally dressed teens turn into gyrating, jitteringjuveniles who were most likely looking to get a little something-something atthe end of the night. Jeremy felt himself nervously swaying side to side, offbeat, as he tried to locate safety.

His body was a small boatlost in a sea of yachts. He was barely keeping himself up as beautiful, massiveships swayed and moved along the endless ocean of a dance floor. “Jeremy!”Called a beautiful red buoy in a bowtie coming to his way, he drew a smallbreath of relief. He stopped swaying by the time Michael reunited with him. “Theyhave milkshake SHOTS” Michael beamed chugging a small glass of pure dairygoodness down. “The music is kinda lame, what the top fuckboy hits of 2017?” “H-Heh yeah…” Jeremy rubbed his arm a bit; usually he felt a little more easebeing around Michael. Something about the atmosphere was off putting. Maybe itwas something about the music? Or the fact they were two dateless guys. Orperhaps how good Michael looked in his suit, clean cut, bright smile, and thered was the same shade of Jeremy’s favorite drink. “You ok? You look…” Michael looked Jeremy up and down, enjoying how nice helooked in a plain black suit with a red tie. Shame his look didn’t match theexpression he wore; his delicate, wispy brown brows furrowed forming a small ‘v’wrinkle between them. Michael wanted to iron out the worried line with histhumb…but … “You look constipated” Jeremy internally flinched. Was it thatobvious he was uncomfortable? “We can bounce you know, prom isn’t that great,the food looks meh at best. We can –“ “No, no!” Jeremy didn’t drag Michael out to prom just to bail. He wanted to behere. He really did, there was just something bothering him. It had been sincethey purchased the tickets and the suits together. “Actually, I think you mightbe on to something.” He chuckled, looking for a good out, thankfully even whenMichael didn’t mean to he managed to give Jeremy an escape route from this bossbattle. “I’m going to hit the bathroom.” “O-Ok Jeremy…” Michael watched as his small, lanky friend spun on his heel andzipped through the dancing crowds. He weaseled his way through densely packedbodies. He left a train of ‘sorrys’ and ‘excuse mes’ as he bumped and weaved tothe opposite end of the dance floor. He kept his eyes on the floor worried hisbig feet would catch something, a dress or someone’s heels, and send himcareening to the floor. The last thing he needed was to fall flat on his face.

Without taking his eyes offthe floor he hurried into the bathroom and sighed. Why was this not as great ashe thought? What was throwing him off? “Come on…prom…this is fun” He glared athis reflection in the mirror, his blue eyes focusing everything in him to bringa pleasant feeling…that was until the door opened. He jumped at the sight ofChristine waddling in her red dress. “C-C-Chri-nn?!” Jeremy’s voice cracked sobad the rest of her name got lost somewhere between his throat and his lips. “Jeremy what are you doing hanging out in the girls’ bathroom? At a formalevent?” She blinked a few times, “doesn’t matter do you have a pin or something—ofcourse you don’t who would. UGH” She rubbed her face and groaned. “W-What’s wrong?” Christine turned fully and exposed her ripped lacing ribbon to her corset top. “Ihave no idea how I managed to rip the STRING to the corset…I’ve been askingaround for pins or anything to keep my top from falling off…” Her voice soundedso defeated and low, it was unlike her. “So much for prom huh…”

Jeremy bit the inside of hischeek, he mulled over solutions for a second before glancing down at his thin,neck tie. “Hey…” He slowly undid his tie and folded it in half length wise. “Youthink this might work?” Willing to try Jeremy positioned himself by the sinks while Christine stood infront of him with her back to him. He started threading the tie like a newstring, lacing her back up with care. “I saw Michael out there, he looks really neat. He was taking to Rich.” Shegiggled, “did you come here with Michael ?” “Yup, just bros flying solo.” Jeremy muttered, he was more than aware how niceMichael cleaned up for prom. “I’m surprised he’s having so much fun…” Prom wasmore Jeremy’s idea, Michael agreed because they were both dateless…and Jeremywas in need of some moral support tonight.

“Oh…really? I thought…” Shepaused but didn’t let the thought die, much to Jeremy’s dismay. “I thought youguys came together, you know…but it makes sense. Why not, you two are justfriends right? Must be nice to just hang with your friends.” Christine chimedher voice back to its chipper tone.  OnceJeremy was done she spun around and paused. “You should probably get out of thegirl’s bathroom…and join us, maybe you can squeeze a little boogey-oogy- woogytime. I might ask Michael to dance since we’re going twinsies on the red.” “Y-Yea sure.” He watched Christine, in her newly laced dress exit. She lookedequally as amazing in red. Jeremy could picture Christine and Michael dancingtogether. A perfect red pair of bubbling smiles and giggles…he felt envy buildup inside him the longer he thought about how much fun Michael was having. Howwell he was blending in. The last party Jeremy was at, Michael had stowed awayand wasn’t anywhere to be seen for the longest time.

Jeremy looked over hisshoulder and felt heat build around his face. His eyes started to water when avery old and familiar thought crossed his mind. “You look like shit.” He whisperedto himself. Just as he sniffled back the heated tears the door swung open. “Jeremy! There you are” Michael laughed, “dude why are you in the girl’sbathroom, by yourself? At…prom?” Michael’s smile was forced, one look and hefelt an old memory surface. Being alone in the bathroom with a sorry face?Michael knew that feeling a little too well. “You ok? You look…well did you atleast use the bathroom?” He thumbed to one of the stalls. “Or are you planningon using the little boy’s room?” “I’m…” Jeremy sighed, “I’m not fine.” He admitted softly. “…this sucks.” “This was your idea, its prom, we have no dates of course it sucks.” Michaelchuckled, “but hey we’re …in it together, right?” “Oh yeah, that makes me feel better” Jeremy groaned, “Going to Prom with my browho looks ten times better than me.” Who gave Michael the right to look nice?And why was he saying “my bro” like it was a bad thing. Why…did prom feel sostrange all of the sudden. He felt a hand touch his shoulder and slowly hebrought his eyes up to Michael’s.

“Don’t tell me you’re cryingin the bathroom because you see yourself as ugly?” He spoke softly, “Jeremy youlook great, any girl out there would be stoked to dance with you. Like man, you’relike …suaver than 007 in Goldeneye cover! You’re like…” He started to babbleand ramble, Jeremy felt his cheeks flush a bit.

“I don’t want to dance withanybody out there…” He kept his eyes on the tiled ground. “…I don’t know I justdo think its … we’re here together so are we really ‘dateless’?”

“a-ah..no I guess…I mean…”Michael’s babbling was now cut short. The silence hung heavy; there was astrange understanding happening. Michael started to realize what about promwasn’t jiving well with Jeremy. Neither knew how to say it, how to cross thatline of verbalizing that feeling. Suddenly the blasting bass sounds died into aslow, ancient ballad. “Heh Whitney…” “Bet everyone on the dance floor is screaming the lyrics out..” Jeremy added,it was a slow dance song. He looked back at Michael after staring off towardsthe door and noticed there was a clammy, shaky hand outstretched towards him.Michael didn’t say a word, nor did Jeremy. He kept staring at the hand as thesong ticked by. Slowly Jeremy placed his hand in Michael’s, after waiting solong he flinched before grasping his hand.

Michael wasn’t sure how tohold Jeremy…his heart made it hard to keep beat with the song. They settled onawkwardly holding each other’s waist and swaying back and forth.

“I’m glad.” Jeremy spoke up,“I’m glad I’m here with my favorite person…” He kept his head down, his faceredder than Michael’s suit.

Jeremy might have said thisbefore but it sounded so much more…than before. No this was different this was…Insteadof saying the millions of things he could have said Michael opened his mouthand started to sing, off key, “…I don’t have to look, very much further. I don’twanna have to go where you don’t followwww” “Oh jeez, Michael, I’m trying to say like…” This was what he was missing, theworries slid away from him. A truly genuine smile formed on Jeremy’s nervousand slightly sweaty face. He didn’t want to be dateless at prom, he didn’t wantto be here with his bro…He wanted to be here with Michael. Jeremy couldn’t getanother word past Michael who was belting every note as if to drown out thegiddiness. “God, Michael…” Jeremy cautiously leaned into Michael’s chest andresorted to hugging him as they swayed to the Whitney Houston song in themiddle of the girl’s bathroom.

Slowly, Michael’s armswrapped around Jeremy’s small frame and locked him into a tight hug.

Tonight, Michael wasn’talone in the bathroom.

[overactiveimaginati0n]

Reverie - Prologue

Photo source 

A/N: Ok so this is something I have been working at for a while. Although he doesn’t make an appearance in this Prologue, it is a Shawn Mendes fanfic. Anyway, hope you enjoy!

Prologue

9 months ago 

A lithe blonde girl glided through the flashing lights, tailing a brunette girl into the sweaty mass of people. The crowd swayed, a gyrating chaos of bodies moving to the thumping beats of the music emanating from the DJ station and towering speakers set up against floor to ceiling windows that made up the entire back wall of the house.

From the crowd, the two girls were intercepted by a tall guy, with buzzed blonde hair and hazy eyes.

“Scotty!” Ruby grinned in excitement and pushed onto her toes to greet him with a peck. She flicked a strand of her rich brown hair over her shoulder and turned to her tall honey-haired companion. “Scott, you remember my cousin Cassie, right?”

“Of course, what’s up Cassie?” He pulled the blonde girl into a warm, lopsided hug, washing the smell of beer and whiskey over her. Ruby and Scotty were old high school friends, and dated on and off. At the moment they were currently on.

Cassie had liked him instantly when she had met him a few weeks ago, upon her arrival at her aunt and uncle’s. According to Ruby, he was a ‘crazy cat’. Actively seeking a break in the music industry, Cassie had gathered he worked hard and partied harder.

They followed him through the booze-sated dancing crowd to a large group gathered around a couch in close proximity to the DJ decks. The twinkling lights of the valley illuminated through the window behind them.

“Yo, Scott. You ready for your set?” one of his friends called across the circle.

“You know me dude, always ready.” Scott held up his beer towards his friend then took a healthy swig from it. He was on the DJ roster for tonight, and thus their invite to the ostentatious party in the hills of Hollywood.

He introduced the girls to his group of friends.

“Guys, this is Rubes - well, you all probably know her.” A few of the people around the circle rolled their eyes at the comment. Scott and Ruby’s love life was infamously a rollercoaster. “And this is Ruby’s cousin, Cassie. Special delivery all the way across the Atlantic.”

Around the circle, his friends raised their cups and bottles in greeting. 

As more than one appreciative gaze flickered over her, across the room one particular set of eyes was fixated on the tall golden haired woman. Involuntarily, Matthew’s eyes had been drawn to her since she arrived. Observing her as she sipped her drink with a lopsided smirk, he had entirely tuned out the conversation of his two friends. 

She was angular, but soft at the same time, he noted. She was tall, somewhat on the lanky side, but not without a hint of womanliness in the contours of her body, the gentle inward sweep of her hips to her waist. Long, lean legs, tightly wrapped in dark denim that hugged the line of her curves. The thin white blouse she wore dropped into a deep plunge at both the front and back, exposing her back and swell of her chest.

She exuded a kind of asserted confidence as she perched on the arm of a couch, cup dangling from her hand and talking animatedly. Obviously not an L.A. girl, she was way too demure for that. No, she was definitely from out of town. But not innocent. Maybe she was from New York. Big city girl confidence maybe? Either way, there was something undeniably captivating about her.

He watched as her brunette friend turned to her, offering her a cup filled to the brim with liquid. Ruby raised her cup towards Cassie.

“Fuck the international publishing industry.” Ruby’s rouged lips quirked into a smirk.

“Cheers to that,” Cassie tapped her cup to her cousin’s.

This morning she had received yet another rejection from a publishing house. She had been working on a novel for what seemed her entire life. She had always had faith that she had something as a writer, but doubt was beginning to creep in. With her rejection count racking up above twenty now, it was stinging more than she had anticipated.

“And fuck shitty admin jobs and ungrateful bosses.” Scott chimed in, leaning into Ruby who pouted, her bottom lip sticking out. Ruby’s company had called just hours previously and let her go from her job, so her day had been equally as crap.

Cassie took a few healthy gulps of the liquid inside.

“It seems like the Family Baker luck was running thin today, hey?” Ruby joked.

“Well, I’m not technically a Baker.” Cassie reminded her with a laugh. She had her dad’s surname, not her mother’s.

Ruby gestured in dismissal. “Eh, mere technicalities. You’ve got Baker in your blood, and there’s no way you can avoid that, whatever you’re called.”

Pretty soon, Scott was signalled for the start of his set. The sounds of the decks under his control reverberated throughout the entire space. The colourless aesthetic of the room was the perfect landscape for the strobe lighting that flared, flashing explosively in time to the powerful beats of the music.

Replenished drink in hand, Cassie was feeling the benefit of a night of distraction from her failing attempt at a writing career. When Ruby grasped Cassie’s hand, she didn’t need convincing to join the movement of the chaotic mess of bodies. Laughing, they danced together, the music and lights washing over them.

Matthew was struck by the golden-haired woman’s unusual beauty. As she and her friend weaved into the crowd, it brought them within feet of him. She had seemed generically beautiful at first - just another tall blonde girl. But, that wasn’t true at all. Her features were arranged in a unique way. An elfin nose, spattered with freckles, high cheekbones that looked sculpted, jawline descending to a point. 

What captured his gaze the most, though, were her eyes. Treading the line of almost being oversized, they glowed a vivid green, only intensified by the flickering lighting of the party. Physically, in terms of form, she was ideal. But her face; well, that was special. The difficulty of Matthew’s job was constantly searching for something without knowing what it was. But he had no doubt, now that she was in front of him, that this stranger was it.

The hot mess of the crowd had brought a sheen to Cassie’s body. Retreating from the dance floor with Scott’s friend Bonnie, they gravitated towards the counter with the goal of a refill. Replenished drink in hand, Cassie chatted away. Moments later, a hand unexpectedly fell to on the crook of her elbow.

Cassie turned around, surprised to come abruptly face-to-face with an unfamiliar man. A little older than the majority of the crowd here, maybe 35, with carefully groomed light brown stubble, a navy t-shirt and a pair of black jeans; he was understated yet chic.

“Sorry to interrupt you,” he raised his voice over the music. Now he was closer, he realised that her green eyes were also flecked with distinctive gold speckles. He also acknowledged something discerning in her emerald gaze that warned him she wasn’t likely to be taken along for a ride. “I’m Matthew March,” he held out his hand in greeting.

Okay, well he definitely isn’t chatting you up, she thought, a handshake is never an indicator of attraction. Cassie shook his hand firmly. “Cassie Valentine; what can I help you with Matthew?”

His eyebrows raised. Ignoring the question, he said, “Oh, you’re British.” He felt that he shouldn’t have been surprised. Now he was in her presence, she had that hard cosmopolitan air, mixed with a refinery that was instinctively Old World.

“Yes - well, partly. My mother’s American,” Cassie supplied.

“So you live here now?” Matthew asked. Cassie quirked her head to the side and took a sip of her drink, calculating what was motivating this strange conversation.

“I visit my family out here every summer,” gesturing toward Ruby, who was now watching the interaction very closely. “I’m just working out the next step.”

Matthew nodded, his black hair wafting with the action. “And what do you think that will be?”

“I don’t know, I was thinking vodka shots?” she laughed; he quirked a smile but offered no direct response. What he did say next was unexpected to say the least.

“Have you ever done any modelling?”

Cassie’s eyes widened. “No, never.”

He reached inside his jeans and pulled out his wallet. He handed her a business card.

“I work for IMG Models. I think you’re just what I’ve been looking for, if you’re interested give me call tomorrow.” He pointed to his number on the card. “We can set up a test shoot - headshots, build a portfolio, find a management team…” He gestured casually as if these were a completely normal activities to offer to someone at midnight in the drunken haze of a party.

Cassie looked at him speechless, a rare occasion.

She looked questioningly at Ruby, with a look that clearly asked her ‘is this a joke you’ve set up?’.

Ruby hopped up from the couch and grasped the business card from Cassie’s hands. “I’ll make sure she gets in contact.”

“Great,” he gave a brief half-smile. “I look forward to getting something arranged. Nice to meet you Cassie.” He nodded at her and then headed away into the crowd, his smile growing as he headed to the exit, pulling out his phone. Yes, he had found her. She was the exact answer to the past months’ problems of bratty, catty, unsophisticated models.

Cassie was jarred by Ruby’s piercing squeal, and call for celebratory shots.

At that moment, the celebration seemed to Cassie a tad premature. She humored Ruby though, raising the miniature sized cup of shimmering alcohol, never fathoming how much that evening’s proceedings would alter everything.

A/N: Let me know thoughts! xo

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It’s not quite the ‘Shinsuke hams it up like the big ridiculous drama queen he is accompanied by a jacked dumbass with an air guitar’ scenario I long for but it is pretty amusing anyway

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His tron is a lil more 80′s than I remember it being, suddenly?

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Sensei’s having an extremely normal one

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Ok King Shinsuke suddenly having a troubadour is the kind of arbitrary nonsense I can get behind, for once.

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I’m not familiar with Shinsuke’s new bard but I have to appreciate his enthusiasm for the sheer weirdness of the moment

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It’s possible this might set an unrealistic expectation RE how you’d be welcomed to Tulsa

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LOL

I like that Cesaro is just...used to it now

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The shocking return of the Ministry of Silly Walks (JPN branch)

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Yunno....as one does....

(does that count as a tiddy deathray?)

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How...did they get down from the tiny airplane?

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