#this sounds so pretentious but i do think that everyone can find a song by the national that really speaks to their soul

[serpentmessmer]

[listens to walk it back by the national and screams at the top of my lungs into a paper bag]

ok i'm good

[nopanamaman]

Hey, can I ask about your lyrics writing process. Recent non-PAFL songs like Cлова, The World is Smiling on Me and now Coordinate Shift are very interesting in that regard, I cant help but wonder how do you even come up with them in the first place? Is there some underlying theme or inspiration for each one that lets you thread that fine line between vapid and pretentious?

Thank you, anon, glad you enjoy the lyrics!

Tbh it all boils down to personal preference, so whatever I'm gonna say here will be highly subjective and won't work for everyone.

I try to keep the imagery interesting while keeping the lyrics themselves simple. As in I try to balance the complexity of imagery with the complexity of the vocabulary.

If you veer deep into metaphors and AT THE SAME TIME overload them with the longest words you can find in the thesaurus, then you don't want to get a feeling across to the listener, you don't really want to be understood. You want to sound smart.

Big words can be used effectively, of course. However, unless the specific point of the song IS to sound somewhat pretentious and unnatural, 90% of the time it's better to think of a simpler alternative to whichever 6-syllable word you're about to write.

[cutesyscreenname]

The Last Great American Dynasty: Chapter 1

This Was The Very First Page

Series summary:

Addiction, deadlines, a nasty divorce. In an effort to shed your skin and find yourself again, you pack up and move to a historic seaside home across the country. It's all a blur, you're hurting and spinning your wheels in a big house all alone. Until Frankie shows up on your doorstep.

Pairing: Frankie Catfish Morales x AFAB Reader

Rating: 18+ MDNI

Word Count: 1709

Warnings: allusions to former drug use, mention of divorce, not too much to warn of yet we just getting started bby

Notes: I hope we all have a marvelous time and I don't ruin everything 💀 I've been gone for a long ass time, taking baby steps getting back into things.

Also much thanks to @pr0ximamidnight for helping flesh this out (aka letting me rant at her until it came together) and @mydailyhyperfixations, @joelsgreys, and @mylostloversbookmarks for also listening to me ramble 😂 lub u 🩵💙

Chapter One Playlist 🎶📻⚓🌊⛵🎶

This was the very first page

Not where the story line ends

My thoughts will echo your name

Until I see you again

It feels pretentious to drive across the country like this when you don't have to. In fact it was a struggle to do so - insisting and arguing with everyone that you wanted, no - needed to. You could feel the eyes rolling behind your back, hear the sarcastic thoughts unspoken.

Who does she think she is, Kerouac?

Truthfully you just wanted the white noise of wind, pavement, and your Spotify playlist of guilty pleasure pop songs, too occupied by operating a motor vehicle to check the deluge of emails and texts that had been pouring in for months.

A Tale of Two Addicts

Best Selling Author Loses Control of Her Own Narrative

Authoring Her Own Disaster: Detox and Divorce

How could you blame them when the headlines practically wrote themselves?

“So let me get this straight. Not only am I not getting new pages, you’re putting this project on hold to move to the east coast so you can - what? - live out some whimsical seaside fantasy?”

You sat in your office chair, surrounded by stacks of cardboard boxes, pen hovering above the signature line of your divorce papers like a memoir you don’t want to take ownership of as your editor sighs at you over speakerphone.

“I’m doing what they told me to do in therapy, Miles. I’m changing the scenery, starting over. It’s difficult to write any pages for you if I’m too catatonically depressed to get out of bed. Take it as good news, a strategic move. Literally.”

The house has a history. That’s the reason you’d chosen it, frankly. You’d discussed the listings with your realtor over the phone, clicking through the pictures as they recounted the amenities and specs of each property.

“And then there’s the Harkness house…”

If her goal was to intrigue you she’d accomplished it tenfold, having you on the hook for every sordid detail as she regaled you with the story of a widowed heiress making a splash of scandal through the coastal town with her extravagance. She leaned into the impropriety of it all, trying to sell you with gossip, but all you heard was the story of a woman who had reclaimed her life after losing love. Perhaps the house held that energy in its foundation. Maybe if she did it there, so could you.

Pulling up the winding driveway you almost feel a page turn, a fresh start. Then the moving van crunches gravel behind you and your phone pings with a missed call from your lawyer, breaking the spell of your daydream.

It’s been a long day already, an endless stream of delays and snafus. Missing parts and tedious tinkering with finicky engines has left Frankie a mess of sweat, grease, and frustration. The sigh of a long day finally finished whistles out as he climbs the stairs to the office, ready to hand in a few leaves of paperwork and drag himself home when the sound of muffled conversation gives him pause.

“She’s ruining everything, we’ve all but flown in the film crew and we hardly have half a film without that house in it!”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Ray, she could be perfectly cooperative. We don’t know-”

“It’s for fucking NETFLIX, Tim. I won’t be made to look foolish by some scandalous, self important, Hollywood-”

“And you won’t. Let’s just give her the packet, for all we know we could have signed papers come Monday morning.”

That’s all Frankie hears before the desire to get out of there steers his body back toward the stairs. I can turn these in on Monday, not worth the hassle...

Before his steel toe can touch the second step, though, the door swings open and a booming voice sounds behind him.

“Ah! Mr. Morales! Good timing, son. You pass the Harkness house on your way out of here, don’t you?”

The question is moot, the offices and hangar located along the coast such that there’s practically no choice but to pass the seaside estate if you want to reach the town and its modest sprawl of surrounding neighborhoods.

“I do, sir.”

“Then it’s meant to be. I’m sure you’ve heard that it’s newly occupied and we have a…welcome packet of sorts…for the new owner but the courier’s service is closed. Would you mind dropping this off on your way home?”

Tim, the more even keeled of the two executives that frequent these offices, hands over a manilla envelope without waiting for an answer, traces of engine grease still clinging to Frankie's skin leaving faint fingerprints on the hefty packet. The man cuts in again before Frankie can open his mouth to speak.

“Is the jet ready for takeoff in the morning? We’re expected in New York by eleven.”

Frankie studies the name on the envelope for a long moment before looking up to meet the impatient gaze of the man in front of him.

“Ah, yeah- Yes, sir. She’s ready for takeoff. Pilot’s ready for you anytime after eight, should you decide to leave earlier.”

He only receives a slight nod before both men push past him and he’s left alone outside the office door, eyes drawn back to the neatly printed label with your name on it. Why does it sound so familiar?

Lost in a daze of curiousity, Frankie’ feet carry him down the stairs, through the hangar, and out to his truck. He’s so distracted by the strange feeling in his gut that he starts his drive with his steel toes still on and the work orders still stacked along with the mystery packet in his passenger seat.

It's been a week and you're still staring at, discovering, stumbling over boxes.

How the hell does one person accumulate this much stuff?, you think as you sit on the sofa and nurse the soon-to-be bruise on your shin from the cardboard cube you'd just rammed into rounding the corner into the living room. The house in LA had seemed so desolate when Trevor had moved out and now you sit surrounded by a sea of what now feels like junk.

Even in this vast expanse of square footage and seaside it seems the walls might close in on you at any moment.

Thoughts manifesting into reality, you begin to feel too hot seemingly from nowhere. Pulling at the collar of your worn t-shirt, you go to crack open the nearest window when a blue pickup truck rounds the bend and pulls up to your gate. Before you can take too long to squint and guess at who the hell would be at your gate on a Friday evening, the driver presses the call button and your phone begins to ring.

“Hello?”

The phone crackles lightly and a deep, dulcet voice answers you.

“Yes, ah- I've got a delivery here. Is this the new owner?”

From the window you can see the figure in the truck cab lift an envelope to read it and he confirms your name.

“Yeah, that's me. I'll buzz you in.”

“Thanks.”

You hang up and press the button to let him through, watching as he winds up the drive and stops in front of the house.

Had you forgotten to sign something? He asked about being the homeowner, so it can't be another addendum to Trevor's many demands attached to the divorce. Your confusion and curiosity gives way to a flustered state when you open the door.

The first things you notice are the rich brown orbs looking back at you, brows, lids, and laugh lines working to form a frame of sincere apology, like he knows it's unorthodox for him to be standing on your front step at this hour. The rest of him is just as entrancing - plush lips beneath a gorgeous nose, a broad frame just as soft as it is strong, and a rueful smile that has your cheeks flushing as he adjusts his Standard Oil cap to lend you a peak of soft brown curls.

“Hi there,” he interrupts your stupor and you wonder just how long you've been staring.

“I'm here to deliver this. It's from the Standard Oil offices, ah…courier service is closed and it's pretty important I guess.” He holds the envelope out for you to take, his free hand rubbing the back of his neck in what seems like a nervous habit. You can see the faint grease marks on his fingertips, a matching set of smears on the paper in his hand.

“Oh, um. Thanks. Any idea what it's for?” You take the packet from him, eyeing it curiously. It's simply addressed to you with no further indicators on the outside.

“Something about the property I suppose, not really clear on the details. Lot of history in this house, ya know?”

“So I'm told.” You smile softly, toying with the metal fastener, more intrigued by the messenger than the message at this moment.

After a brief silence he shakes his head, seeming to come back to the present, and you wonder where his mind had drifted to. “Anyway, I'll leave you to it. Sorry for the interruption.”

“Not at all. Thanks again.” You wiggle the packet lightly in your hand.

He cracks another smile and you're certain his eyes roam over you before he mutters a goodnight and turns to go back to his truck. You stay stagnant for a while, watching as he gets into the cab and pulls out of the gate, and a few long moments after that as well.

Finally closing the door, you pad into the kitchen and pour a glass of wine to sip while you open your mystery packet. As you set it on the island countertop a few stray sheets slip out from beneath the envelope. Picking them up, you notice they don't seem to have anything to do with you or the house. In fact they look like order sheets of some kind, a list of mechanical sounding items listed with costs and quantities scribbled next to them.

Next to a black smudge to match your packet and the stranger's fingertips is a carefully printed name on a line marked ‘authorized by’. You read the name aloud and your stomach flutters at the way it somehow feels familiar to say.

“Fransisco Morales…”

More to come soon, let me know in the comments or my inbox if you want to be tagged for the next chapter 😬

[dearreader]

hello fellow members of the tortured poets department.

i know this analysis is several months late but i want to continue this analysis. so if you’ll allow me, let’s discuss the question we’re all dying to know the answer to how did it end?

previous day's here:

standard tracks: masterpost

anthology tracks: the black dog, imgonnagetyouback, the albatross, chloe or sam or sophia or marcus

this song is so fucking sad. i love it so much.

the entire song is just about taylor complaining about people trying to find out what happened between her and her former muse so they can gossip about it. but she describes this as “empathetic hunger” and talks about how people are enjoying or revealing in the breakup because they don’t have to worry about that. this is something i experienced myself with my dads death and everyone asking what happened to him and ended up turning it into gossip. this is, in my opinion, a somewhat universal experience for those who have grieved. because at our lowest low when we can’t understand the world and are numb to it, someone’s asking what happened.

it’s a very hard feeling to explain and describe but this song does it well, in my opinion.

when people say they didn’t understand the album and it she just combines a bunch of big words together to sound deep, the opening line to this song is what i think of. though they’re wrong. the song is very straight forward with what it’s saying and what taylor is trying to say because she’s answering the exact question everyone is asking.

“how did it end? what happened?” and she tells you.

“we hereby conduct this, postmortem.” -> we will now begin to examine something that is dead.

“he was a hotbox (greenhouse) flower to my outdoorsman.” he grew up in a different world than me that was ‘sheltered’ and couldn’t handle being taken from that environment.

“our melodies were such we could not cure us.” they tried to work together, making songs together about their issues, but it wasn’t enough to save them. EDIT: i was made aware that it’s “our maladies” and not “our melodies” which makes sense as it’s a call back to you’re losing me and taylor saying “i was gray in the face/but you wouldn’t admit that we were sick”. i do however think the word choice is interesting, and it might just be taylor using big words to make if sound hard to understand when it’s straightforward (which is the point of the opening). but i think the two terms could go hand in hand, that they made melodies (songs on folkmore) because they were trying to work through their issues but it wasn’t enough to help. the melodies are the maladies, if you will allow me to be that pretentious.

“and so a touch that was my birthright became foreign.” he was her soulmate, they were destined to fall in love and be together. but even still they grew apart and they didn’t know each other anymore.

taylor point blank tells the public exactly what happened to her and joe. she tells us because she knows it’s the question we’re all dying to find the answer to. and then after this she describes how it felt to have the world descend upon her wanting to know what happened, “come one come all it’s happening again”, and start to talk about her. when is the new album dropping? when will she finally settle down? how come she can’t keep a man? etc. and as that is going on she’s healing from a broken heart. she’s mourning this relationship that helped save her at her lowest moment and is now gone. and as she’s grappling with that people start to poke and pry and demand answers.

but the most interesting thing about the song is that it ends with taylor saying that she doesn’t know how it ended. yes, she knows what happened, but she can’t begin to understand how it got this way. how DID it end? how did his touch grow foreign? how could this happen when he helped her at her lowest…

she still doesn’t know… and everyone’s asking her how did it end

[randomvarious]

Today's compilation:

Total 2 2000 Tech-House / Minimal Techno / Ambient

I've definitely done this before, but in order to kick off this post, I'm gonna have to rely on prolific electronic music opinion-haver Ishkur at length here, because he and I seem to be completely simpatico when it comes to our thoughts on the mostly bad phenomenon that is tech-house music:

Somehow by incorporating the strengths of both Techno and House, Tech House succeeded in appealing to neither. So the result is something frustratingly banal and monotonous when it really shouldn't be… Tech House straddles the razor-thin tightrope of something that doesn't have enough funky warmth for House yet not enough cold mechanicalism for Techno, so what comes out instead is something stiff, repetitive, and boring. It's such a disappointment, like the last season of Game of Thrones. Tech House had real promise. It could have done great things with the tools it had. And it's something everyone hoped would happen, like feeding Scrabble tiles to a dog to see if it shits out a word. But instead Tech House wasted its potential on pretentious Berlin nightclubs and that aimless, meandering noodlyness that the Brits are fond of, like a 70s prog rock solo that goes on for way too long. Technically interesting but utterly soulless… Tech House can be good. There is honestly good Tech House out there. I've even heard some. But finding it is a Herculian task of Sisyphian anguish in a Kafka-esque, Orwellian realm of Dostoevskian torment. It is possible to load up your music player with nothing but Tech House mixes, hop into your car, and drive to the other end of the continent and back and never hear the same song twice yet never hear an interesting song once. The odds of coming across decent Tech House are worse than needles made of diamonds in a rough full of haystacks.

So, yes, I 100% co-sign every single word of that. Ishkur did not teach me to think this way about tech-house, he just merely put it into words that already happened to mirror my exact thinking on the subject. In a similar way to progressive house—another genre that I don't like all that much—the sounds being made to create tech-house may be interesting and innovative themselves, but the way that those sounds are then combined typically yields something totally listless and often way too steady to be enjoyed. Like Ishkur says, the pieces are literally there to make something dope, but tech-house just seems largely unconcerned with a very crucial aspect of dance songcraft writ large—one that requires a tune to excitedly or satisfyingly grow, progress, and/or change over time.

See, to me, a lot of tech-housers really feel like people who are just cynically making dance music for the sake of it. It's like they heard house and techno and said, "oh, yeah, I can do that. That's easy. It's just looping up the same shit over and over again." And it's, like, "no, motherfucker, that's actually not at all what this is about. You really have no idea, do you?"

But guess what? They're actually not totally wrong here. Tech-house may legitimately be, overall, the most boring form of dance music that I've ever encountered in my life, but there are evidently more than enough people in this world that somehow derive satisfaction from it in order for it to have been able to successfully sustain itself for over two decades now. It's just that the people who enjoy it are like the dance music equivalent of those who, after a long and grueling day of work, like to go home and kick back with a blissful session of Lawnmower Simulator 4 😌.

So here's the second dispatch from Cologne-based label Kompakt's long-running Total series, a turn-of-the-millennium sampler that, despite it having a good deal of unique quirkiness to it, still somehow manages to bore me to absolute tears. Maybe if you've been following me long enough, you remember that I once posted about the first volume of Total, and concluded that the first half was excruciatingly boring, but the second half was fantastic. No such luck here. This is pretty much just that first half of the first Total, but doubled. Most songs start in a way that'll have you thinking, "Oh, yeah, this is pretty cool, this definitely sounds like it could be good," but then Lucy ends up pulling the football each time 😩.

Case in point, M. Mayer's "Amanda," a five-and-a-half-minute song with so much promise and a neat 80s new wave-pop edge to it too. When this thing first starts up, there is no sign that this 80s edge is going to materialize itself in any way, shape, or form, but at a little past the one-minute mark, it starts to lather itself in. And then, as you find out, this early, appetizing moment actually ends up representing the song's entire creative apex! I mean, we still have, like, over 80% of this whole tune to go, but I promise you, not a single interesting thing occurs in its very large remainder. Again, like Ishkur says, it's just so utterly aimless. This song exists because someone made it, but the idea that it has any sort of actual purpose in this universe is really questionable at best.

Like, all of this is just so maddeningly confounding to me. It's like these musicians really do genuinely find themselves on to something each time, and then rather than trying to push further, they decide that they're actually finished and just let whatever half-baked thing they've built ride itself out on an agonizingly long plateau until it thankfully takes a nose-dive off the side of a cliff. It really drives me nuts, because you can hear a possibility of something enjoyably substantive coming to fruition, but it's like there's also this inherently natural aversion to the idea of having to lift more than one finger too; everyone is just so content to glide down the bunny hill, and people are more than willing to vociferously cheer it on. It really makes not a single lick of goddamn sense to me, but there you have it—my tech-house take.

Read more Ishkur.

No highlights.

[hellishattempt]

angst superache songs as relationships with the batboys pt 3

this is the final part of the three !! i decided to try my hand at writing something for bruce and duke, even though both are like,,,, unknown quantities of the dcu. i mean, i know bruce, obviously. i own every batman game / movie and this big ass book on the batman. but duke? duke is a foreign language to me. and i speak a LOT of languages. so bear with me on this.

like before, this is gender neutral reader / no pronouns used <3

you can find part one ( dick + jason ) here & part two ( tim and damian ) here !

footnote - bruce wayne. the billionaire, philanthropist playboy is many things to many people, but to you, he's your childhood friend, and business partner. as the ceos of wayne enterprises and inkling incorporation, the two of you have worked closely, especially as bruce decided to step into his role more. having known bruce for so long, you know all about his public persona. he's a playboy, with extravagant and foreign women on his arm every night, and it's never the same woman. you're close enough with alfred to know all about bruce's "sleepovers". but you'd be lying if you said you didn't have feelings for bruce. it's stupid, you know this, to be in love with someone like bruce wayne. tonight, the two of you are hosting a gala for one of the charities you both fund. and tonight, you've had just a little bit too much to drink. "evening, brucie" you slur slightly, a glass of champagne between your lips. bruce was in the middle of what looked like an intense conversation with lucius fox, a friend and owner of foxteca. bruce looked to you, noticing your drunken state, and apologized to lucius. "we'll have to continue this later," then he turns to you. grabbing you just above the elbow, bruce rushes the two of you to a more private corner of the venue. "are- are you drunk?" he sounds incredulous. "i've never seen you drunk before. you need to sober up." bruce reaches to take the glass from your hands. as he does, you lean in and whisper into his ear "i like you, brucie." a giggle escapes from your lips. bruce's face is serious and stern. "sober. up. now's not the time for lies and jokes." you frown. "but why would i lie, when it's so clear that i'm in love with you?" a tense conversation follows. bruce likes someone else. you say, "if i waited, would that maybe help?" but bruce says patience won't change how he felt. someone calls out to bruce and he's gone in a second, his public mask back on. you're left standing alone. you leave the party silently. on monday, you're sober and yourself again. you play off your confession as a joke and blame it on the alcohol when bruce comes to check in on you. pretending you don't feel anything is easier than him thinking of you as some lovesick girl. you have to stop being pretentious and loathing your friendship with bruce. it's okay, because this taught you a lesson: love isn't precious. it's not like the novels, no pride and prejudice at all. so you'll just take the footnote in his life. he could take your body, your soul, your mind, everything from you. every line that you write for him will never be read or enjoyed, so a footnote will do. bruce, being ever the charmer and gentleman he is, asked to take you to dinner, to make sure you were really okay. friday night, exactly a week from the gala, you and bruce have a restaurant at gotham's own vigilantes and villains, a five star restaurant built by harvey dent after he was reintroduced to society. it's the only restaurant that will cater to civilians, vigilantes and the villains of arkham. harvey said he built it so he didn't have to feel so torn between his personalities. as you and bruce are sat your table, the host says she thinks you two are cute. they think you're a couple, so they buy you some booze. you two share the moscato, and laughed cause it's true to you. and you'd be embarrassed of you weren't so pleased that everyone else sees what bruce will never see. you're perfect together, but you'll never be the one. this teaches you another lesson: feelings are reckless. just like the novels, side characters end up alone. in bruce's story, you are no more than a side character. so a footnote will have to do.

jigsaw - duke thomas. duke is so in love with you, it's obvious. he wants nothing more than to be the object of your love. if changing his clothes would mean you like him more, if changing his hair would make you care, he'd grab the kitchen scissors and cut himself to slivers for you. if being polite kept you satisfied, if being less insane would make you stay, then he'd be more like his adoptive sisters, saying "thank you ma'am and mister," to you, for you. as much as you adore his affection and idolization of you, your feelings for him aren't like that. he's your brother, your best friend. he's the only one of the waynes that you feel like you can really trust, who understands what it's like to be the odd one out of the family. signal and psycho are partners in crime fighting, just as tight knit as duke and you are when the masks are off. you notice his changes, and it doesn't mean much to you. all people mature in different ways, so what does it matter that duke is molding himself to be your ideal partner? he's changed every part of himself, until the puzzle pieces aren't him at all. it's ruined your friendship, and it's ruining him. your relationship is on thin ice, and you pretend not to know it. you like the new duke. he's perfect. little do you know, duke looks in the mirror, and all he sees is a jigsaw. you take every part of him, all the things you need. then the rest. you discard. you make him into something he's not. you don't realize it, but you're the one who's made this version of him. it's like duke is your frankenstein's monster, and you're the crazy doctor. you don't notice this. or maybe you do, but just choose not to care. but duke's family notices it. dick, jason, tim, steph, cass, even damian. they all see the changes you've made. they see what you're doing to their brother, how you're damaging him. it hurts them to see him hurt. "all you're doing to make her happy? and still, she doesn't fucking love you?" tim prods. "you're killing parts of yourself to fit her, thomas." damian adds. to that, jason scoffs. "it's clear as shit you're not the issue." dick takes a seat next to duke, gently draping an arm over his brother's shoulders. "if you made her like you, would you even like yourself?" duke's mind is racing. he doesn't want to believe their words. he knows it's true, though, he just doesn't want to accept it. "pointing out all my flaws doesn't help. i'm fine," he bites out. standing, duke pushes out of the circle his brothers have formed around him, not looking steph or cass in the eyes as he storms past them. slamming the door to his room, duke basically falls into his bed, clutching his soft pillows close to his body. his phone buzzes with an instagram notification from you. you've just posted a new dump of pictures of you and duke. "shoutout to my favorite person and my best friend @duke_thomas_wayne!" he swipes through the post, photo after photo, reading through the comments when he's done. everybody thinks you're a couple. that's all that duke wants. yelling out in frustration, he throws his phone across the room. "why don't you love me?" he cries, fingers gripping the roots of his hair and pulling hard. duke thomas is nothing more than a jigsaw of your creation. but that's okay with him, because you love this version of duke. so he'll change every part of himself just to make you happy, even if it ruins him.

[mrsjavierp]

Where you belong?

Chapter 2 - Wasted Times

Javier Peña x latin!f!reader

Summary: Running away from life as you always knew to start a new position as Head Chief on a DEA Office, far away, on Colombia. There, you'll face violence, as you never thought you could. There, you'll meet Javier Peña, your stubborn agent...

Warnings (to the whole fic): +18!, angst, smut, cheating, last relationships, drug dealing, bad spanish, english is my second language, use of Y/N and Y/LN. No physical description of the reader. The POVs are shifting between reader (first person and Javi's 3rd)

(If I forgot anything, tell me, pls!)

Word Count: 1.3k

A/N: thanks so much for all your love and curiosity, I've got 4 chapters written by now, I don't know how many will be nor the ending yet.

To make it fun, lets add a song to it:

Y/N's POV - 1st Person

The weeks flew by without me even noticing: Between an apartment to find furniture, trying to catch up all that they did about Escobar before I arrived, a routine seemed impossible.

Rights and wrongs, new problems and struggling to find solutions.

And, of course, Javier Peña was fulfilling his bad fame towards bosses.

Sometimes, his name tasted like whiskey in my mouth: bitter.

Peña was, in fact, an intelligent agent... But oftentimes got blindsided by his arrogance or for being a pretentious jerk.

Sometimes, his own dick betrayed him.

"Oh, for fuck sakes, Peña! You still don't get it, do you? No, we're not sacrificing a squad like this! We need to be more reasonable! Enough with wasting DEA's resources!"

He made a noise, frustrated.

"Y/LN, things here were always like this. It's not..."

My mocking laugh interrupted him:

"¡Díos mio, Peña! (My God, Peña!) And it worked perfectly, right? And they brought me from hell just to see how beautiful Colombia is? 'Cause this stupid and dated strategy is working... No, we're doing it my way."

Murphy tried to interfere:

"Y/LN, with all due respect..."

My fist hit my table, really fucking angry. They were not expecting this kind of attitude from their "girl boss".

"¡Callarse las bocas! (Shut up!) ENOUGH!" - I screamed. - "If you want to get yourselves killed, be my guest, however, leave my office and this position! I'm not authorizing, not like that. I want to get Escobar as badly as you, but I'm not risking anything. Yes, he's a hijo de puta and would love to shoot his head, but if we do it right, we can make him pay... But with the extradition. I'm not arresting and leaving him here."

Peña left my office, probably seeing red. Murphy took a breath and went right behind.

It was Friday, for fuck's sake. I decided to dismiss all of them earlier. I needed to rest as well.

While everyone was talking their ways, Murphy knocked on the door again:

"Jefe, let's blow-off some of this and get a drink, we all could use." - pointing out Peña as well.

Peña rolled his brown eyes to Steve.

"Gracias, Steve. I'll join you. You better call Connie, she'll be the lightness that we need... No talk about work, dios mio."

Murphy smiled and called to her, to come meet us at the bar.

"You're coming, Peña?" - I invited him, as I got my belongings.

"No, jefe."

"Peña, don't take it personally. Doesn't have to be like this. Let's go get drunk, first one is on me."

He took a deep breath and came with me and Steve.

*

"Mi amor, cuatro tequilas, por favor." (My love, four tequilas, please) - I ordered to the barman, wearing my most charming smile available.

It worked out fine, actually, they came and kept coming as we wished.

Reggaeton with this sensual and smooth rhythm was being played at the sound box, yet, no one was dancing.

Not now, at least.

"Wow, nice, jefe. I think the barman is not leaving... Not without you!" - Murphy and Connie laughed and Javier turned his face, not looking at us.

"That boy is not my type anyway, mi amigo, thanks for the compliment... Well, got us drinks, so served its purpose." - I laughed, trying not to think about going home alone.

"The way you speak Spanish is so natural, so beautiful, Y/N... Are you also a latin, like Javi?" - Connie asked.

"Yes, I'm of Latin origin, but I was born in NYC... My family is pretty much a stereotype of big and latin..." - I looked at Javier, who seemed so far away. - "Javier, I assumed you were indeed, but I hate to be wrong. Nice to have a Latin fellow here."

"I'm Tex-Mex, jefe." - he said, without any emotion in his voice.

*

As the night passed by us, tequila took us far from problems at the DEA. Actually, tequila made us laugh, even made me dance with Connie.

Javier remained quiet and distant. Something felt off about him.

My body was sweating, my skin felt hot. I knew that feeling: I was reaching my alcohol consumption limit.

Truth be told, dancing was the red flag for me.

Whenever I wanted to escape something on my mind, I went out dancing and drinking. Ever since college, ever since I started my career at NYPD, I'd love to escape like this.

I excused myself and went to the restroom, to check the way I looked: not that bad, as a matter of fact, my black dress and heels were okay, my hair a little messy, my red lipstick were lighter than it should be, so I just made a retouch.

When I came back to your table, Murphy was gone, slow dancing with Connie in his arms, Javier was distracted, still very far from us.

I took my seat, across from him.

To crack up a conversation, I started:

"They're so much in love, aren't they? It's genuinely beautiful to see them, when we're used to so much violence..."

"I've got to agree, jefe... I wish I could have that kind of sentiment, to truly feel that..." - He added, appearing bitter.

Honestly, I was bitter myself and agreed:

"Me too, Peña... Me too."

At that moment, we shared this... Look, a bit longer than anything appropriate.

"Why do you hate me, Y/N?"

I laughed, I didn't hate him. He got all wrong, thank God. My cue to go, or else.

"Good night, Peña."

Drunk and horny, I drove back to my place and went to bed, alone.

*

Narrator's POV:

The last thing he heard from her was a lame "Good night, Peña."

He drank up until the last drop of his whiskey.

Javi closed his eyes, wishing her.

No, craving.

Javier paid his part of the check and left it to one of his... Girl who wasn't his friend.

"I'm not fucking my fist, not tonight." - it was a promise to himself.

*

About 9 A.M., Javier entered the hall of the apartment complex he lived in.

Not entirely sober, his movements were slow, as he made an effort to find his door, when light, calm steps walked towards the path he passed by just a moment ago.

His head was hurting, his last night clothes smelled like sweat, sex, cigarettes and alcohol.

Took a little while until Javier recognized the beautiful woman wearing a tight gray gym set...

"This can't be happening... You've got to be kidding me..." - Javier grumbled to himself.

She was even hotter wearing those shorts and crop top.

"Peña? What the fuck are you doing here?" - she asked.

"I live in here, Y/LN... Buenos días, vecina." - Javier pulled out his keys, shaking them, wishing to be wrong about Y/N being his neighbor.

"Holyfuck..." - she cursed. - "I thought I would have some peace at home..." - and as she came, she left quickly and slammed the door to the streets.

Peña, with all the strength on his whole body, entered his place and put his body under cold water, ignoring his hard dick.

Well, how could he ignore it?

The cold shower gave what felt like shocks to his skin. It almost hurts, but he couldn't leave like this, so he fucked his fist one more time, as if he haven't been fucking some chick for hours, until dawn.

His handjob was different this time, if so, even worse than any other, his fantasy was so much closer.

Because, now, he knows...

She lives right there.

Just a few steps...

He still felt hated, however, by someone he would and could make hard.

Her words made an eco into his mind:

"Good night, Peña."

"Mi amor, cuatro tequilas por favor."

"Peña..."

Javier Jesus Peña only prays for two things, now:

That he could see his son before he died.

That his fantasies towards Y/N passed as fast as it came. His guilt and inability to do some or anything were almost killing him.

His load blew on him, while he moaned Y/N.

"Death by hard on" - he made a joke, feeling as dirty as when he walked home.

Next

[sunburnacoustic]

INTERVIEW: MUSE on ‘BLACK HOLES AND REVELATIONS’

— Ian Winterton interviewing Matt Bellamy for The Leeds Guide magazine in 2006.

It’s midday on a Friday and I’ve accidentally got drunk. Now, the floaty, vaguely tripped-out feeling may be down to the four pints I’ve just glugged down, but I’m more inclined to blame the fact that I’ve been locked in a bar in London’s Soho Hotel with a dozen journalists for the playback of Muse’s new album. It’s a fantastically weird mix of prog-rock, electro, metal and sci-fi noodlings Hawkwind would have been proud of. And, at the stipulation of the band’s management, we had to listen to it twice, “in case we missed something”.

So, yeah, I’m feeling a little odd when, in a suite upstairs, I get to meet the man behind the madness, Matt Bellamy. In contrast to myself, he turns out to be both sober and sane, not to mention thoroughly pleasant and polite. With his designer casual clothes, prominent cheekbones and scrunchy hair, you’d sooner imagine him folding up jumpers in a swanky clothes shop than fronting one of the UK’s most successful rock bands. Then again, Muse have never been associated with rock ‘n’ roll excess. I put it to him that the band’s clean living is one reason they’re still going strong a decade after their debut album.

“We’ve had some very good times on tour in the past,” he says a tad defensively. “And we were young guys and at one point we were all single, but I don’t think we need to tell everyone about it. We’ve always wanted to get attention for being good musicians and for making good music.”

And good music they most certainly do make, although it’s not to everyone’s taste. For some, it’s silly, pretentious and overblown. To those who’ve drunk from the cup, however, it’s silly, pretentious and overblown. AND THAT’S THE POINT. With Black Holes And Revelations, Bellamy and his fellow bandmates – Chris Wolstenholme (bass) and Dominic Howard (drums) – have really pulled out the stops. In between beers during the playback, I jot down the names of other bands that come to mind, producing a list that includes New Order, The Scissor Sisters, The Pixies, Pet Shop Boys, Ennio Morricone and Spinal Tap.

In amongst the electro and the flamenco, it’s still the same old Muse: Bellamy’s falsetto vocals, pounding drums and loud ‘n’ fast rock guitar. For me, all the disparate elements of the album come together on the brilliantly titled closer Knights Of Cydonia. It begins with laser-guns and horses galloping.

“We really pushed that song to its limits,” says Bellamy. “We pushed the fantastical elements so far, maybe too far, so it sounds like a sci-fi film. Cydonia is the area of Mars where they think there’s that big-faced temple thing. Mars used to be the same distance from the Sun as we are now and so some people think that maybe there was a civilisation there. I find that idea quite appealing.”

“I think that’s a little far fetched,” he laughs, adding, “It’s a slippery slope. Once you start reading that stuff it takes you over a bit. I quite like alternative thinking. My girlfriend studies psychology and she’s working in a hospital in Milan where there are patients that actually believe the end of the world is nigh and that sort of thing. It’s interesting hearing about people who’ve been completely overtaken by these theories.”

How are they going to reproduce the sound of such a wilfully diverse and bonkers album live?

“With great difficulty!” Bellamy exclaims. “But we’ve actually got a fourth person in to do some of the electronic stuff for the first time. Morgan Nicholls, who’s actually in The Streets, took over on bass when Chris broke his wrist. It turns out he’s a really good keyboard player. We decided that next time we should give him a go.”

As thousands of fans can testify, Muse are awesome live – and, unlike most bands, they’re actually better playing huge gigs. Are they excited to be playing Leeds and Reading?

“Absolutely,” enthuses Bellamy. “Reading and Leeds are the biggest rock festivals you can play.  When I was younger I remember seeing bands playing there – I saw Jeff Buckley, one of my all-time heroes, there in ’94 and I remember thinking if I could get up there it would be amazing. Also, it feels nice to be a band that can do a gig like Glastonbury but also do Reading and Leeds, which is more of a rock audience. It’s nice to be able to move between the two.”

Just look out for those giant lizards.

[whiskeyswifty]

I think what Taylor has is that she has the appeal of both a pop star and an indie artist

I’ve seen this notion make the rounds and I think I see the vision but I’m not sure I totally agree. Maybe I do agree but I just word it differently? idk if i'd call her indie, or the appeal being an "indie" appeal. indie is a combination of both the musical style that is provocative, messy, and challenging the structure of songwriting and sometimes even singing. and how the small scale operational side creates the musical style out of necessity, but that's just me being nitpicky i think. still, that feedback loop and ecosystem is kind of essential to something being indie or even indie-esque and the genre of music it produces. i think what she is instead is singer/songwriter, which a lot of people conflate with indie. sometimes they overlap, but most of the time they're just lumped together incorrectly, especially these days. the main difference is i think indie artists make music that is more experimental in sound and thereby prickly at times. they're not as concerned with resonance as they are with creating unique sounding music that challenges what sounds "nice" and "enjoyable", which sounds pretentious as fuck but it's true and also important to art in general imo. it tends to lean more towards the punk rock sensibility of an all encompassing sound that makes you feel instead of any particular lyrics, which are there to prop up the sound for the most part and can often be nonsensical or stream of consciousness. whereas a singer/songwriter leans more towards palatable, dare i say pretty music that draws you in because the main focus is their lyrics. they're telling you something. they seek emotional resonance with an audience as their main priority, leaning more towards a pop sensibility in that way. Taylor is definitely the latter in my eyes (and ears), and so indie feels like not a great fit for her ultimately.

but i do see what you mean so i'm more partial to saying she has a "small business" appeal. she's selling you pop that is pretty broad and familiar but you feel like because she offers you the illusion of having a direct line to a human person, taylor swift herself. that you're getting an intimate and specific brand of that broad and familiar thing in return. executed excellently of course, but still broad and vague. so that killer combo; she makes products that are broad enough that they appeal to everyone and draw large crowds, creating a line out the door, but also people are willing to wait for what is essentially a vague/broad thing because she makes you think that what she offers is hand crafted just for you and only she can give it to you. And i think her songs are yes about her life..... technically. but look at the lyrical content and you'll find they're very very vague for the most part (with a few exceptions). rarely does she name places, people, or even specific event details, and when she does they're very commonplace. wine, perfume, windows, movies, cars, bars, bedrooms, doorsteps, etc. but while the subjects and settings are vague, it's the emotions she is able to verbalize that are hyper-specific. how it feels to wants someone you shouldn't want, the guilt of feeling alone in a crowded room of people who love you, the self hatred of missing someone who betrayed you, the paranoia that leads to the longing to run away with someone where nobody can judge you, etc. because hyper specific details and situations are not relatable, but nearly all human emotions are. its a very masterful illusion of specificity where you line up a bunch of specific motifs or visuals to make the story feel small and intimate, but the things you choose are actually commonplace. and this is on purpose!! the emotions are pinpoint specific because that's what makes you feel seen and draws you in, as everyone feels the same things but we all think we're the only ones who feel them, and then the setting is ultimately vague enough so you can project yourself into and onto it. she could be talking about your street or your bedroom or your high school so you feel like you could be right there next to her. that's secret to the success of broad pop!

With how small her operation is, given that it's all in house and mainly her family and a few key players compared to the village it takes to manage other popstars, she technically and comparably is indie in that way! the thing is most of the time, a genuinely small/indie artist operates like this out of the inability to pay anyone to help, but she does it by choice. she has a MOUNTAIN of cash she sits on because she may operate with a small team but also outputs broad pop that, due to her small team, then has MASSIVE margins that go right into her pocket. thats the only real genuine indie thing about her, but either way, that's not what you're tapping into when you feel that small artist appeal. it feels like she's a small business because she makes it feel like she's on the other side of the counter, offering her songs to you out of the palm of her hand. that illusion of intimacy and human connection that she's able to facilitate despite being the most untouchable person in the world. indie music isn't about direct human connection like that, not on the whole. again, that's conflating indie with singer/songwriter which is about that human connection. and she is both yes! a pop star that injects singer/songwriter human outreach and connection into that pop. a gourmet creme patissiere whipped up by an extraordinarily deft and patient hand, piped into a simple and common glazed donut. and i'll take two dozen please. that's the unique magic of her.

in the end i think we agree conceptually, i'm just very prickly when it comes to the word indie because i don't feel like that's quite right.

[jack-is-a-self-decided-skrunkly]

ignore this just practicing for if i ever wanna do a cover when i get famous /hj /gen

song: hi ren

I feel like things might be falling in place. And my accounts have been kinda doing bits too, Maybe I'll actually do something great

And when I'm gone, maybe I'll be remembered For doing something special with myself That's why I don't think that we should talk, Al 'Cause when you're with me, it never seems to help

Do you think that you can amputate me? I am you, you are me, you are I, I am we We are one, split in two that makes one, so you see You got to kill you if you wanna kill me.

I'm not leftover dinner, I'm not scraps on the side Oh, your account is thriving? Delusional guy, Where are your famous posts? Where's your shoutout on Tumblr? Where are your followers, Al? Nowhere!

Yeah but, my art's not commercial like that I never chased statistics or dumb shit like that I never draw hooks for the fandoms here, they never even see me So why would I concern myself with stats? But my art here is really connecting And the people who find it, respect it And for me, that's enough 'cause this life's been tough So it gives me a purpose I can rest in

Man, you sound so pretentious Al, your drawings are so self-centered No one wants to see another skit about How much you hate yourself, trust me

You should feel so lucky! To have me inside you, to guide you Remind you to manage expectations Provide you perspective, on that thing you neglected, I get it You wanna be a big deal, next Jimi Hendrix? Forget it

Al, it's not like that Al it's just like that, I'm inside you, you twat! No, it's not Al, you're wrong, when I draw, I belong- Let me break the fourth wall by acknowledging this song.

Al sits down, and he has a stroke of genius He wants to cover a song that wasn't noticed previous A battle with his subconscious, almost everyone's did it Accompanied by art? Almost everyone's still did it.

Al, you're not original, you criminal, rip-off artist The pinnacle of your success is stealing other people's material Al, man, we've heard it all before "Uh, sometimes I don't wanna be here anymore"

Fuck you, I don't need you, I don't need to hear this 'Cause I'm fine by myself, I'm a genius And I will be great, and I will make waves And I'll shake up the whole world beneath us

That's right, speak your truth, your fuckin' God complex leaks out of you It's refreshing to actually hear you say it instead of downplay it Ugh, "Art Is all about the creative process, and if people can find Something to relate to within that, then that's just a bonus"

Fuck you, I'm gonna fuckin' kill you, Al! Well, fuckin' kill me Al, let's fuckin' have you Al! I'll fucking do it, watch me prove it, who are you to doubt this music? 'Cause I call the shots, so I choose if you die Yeah, I call the shots, and so I choose who survives I'll shoot you up in the chest and lock you deep up inside.

[punkscowardschampions]

Sylke pt.3?

Jake: We should do something together

Jake: [suggest some things you could watch or listen to]

Sylvie: Let’s watch [something he did not suggest but it’s one of our favourites, whether it’s a thing he’s seen before or not, could be either]

Sylvie: See if you pass my vibe check

Jake: Cool

Jake: tell me when to press play

Sylvie: Had to find out my VHS copy

Sylvie: 321 Go

Jake: [say something about the opening scene/credits immediately because you’re that bitch, even if it’s purely about the music, because I just know he’s gonna find a way to ref this movie and how the song sounds she said was her fave in the song he’s performing about her, so remember that everyone]

Sylvie: [me can only imagine what this film is at this point but slay slay and geek out in ways that we can’t because not been specific]

Sylvie: You can have the next pick

Jake: We’ll watch [his fave] tomorrow

Sylvie: And that’s your proper favourite

Sylvie: not the one you’d say to sound cultured or cool

Jake: We’ll watch [his actual fave lol] tomorrow

Sylvie: Cool

Sylvie: we can be pretentious the next next time

Jake: Have you [either watched a film or listened to a new album that he really wants to but hasn’t yet vibes?]

Sylvie: I went to see [the film] opening night with some friends but [the album] has been on backorder at [pete’s record shop because I can] FOREVER

Jake: I have it, but with everything, I haven’t listened to it

Sylvie: Now you have to with me

Sylvie: I’ll remember my listen party etiquette, not talk through the instrumentals, I’m a good guest too, like

Jake: If you swear no talking

Sylvie: Pinky promise, I’m not a heathen

Jake: [say something else about where you’re at in this film rn because you can’t shut up about it]

Sylvie: I first watched it a couple of years ago, I haven’t ever got it out of my head fully

Jake: I watched it at [a friend]’s house last year, nobody else was paying attention but I couldn’t not

Sylvie: It’s sticky

Sylvie: I like sticky things

Jake: Yeah

Sylvie: [the new movie] is only worth a stream if you’re bored at best though

Jake: Where did you find [this film] on tape? [Somewhere you think she might have]?

Sylvie: Good guess

Sylvie: Libi’s parents had it, it’s not her thing

Jake: Makes total sense

Sylvie: She kept the box but she let me have the tape

Sylvie: Did she talk to you about her parents?

Sylvie: it’s really weird you dated her, I can’t imagine what you talked about ever

Jake: We didn’t talk, that sounds bad, I don’t mean that we were just kissing and stuff, we weren’t either

Sylvie: It’s cool, if you were

Jake: She didn’t want to, or to spend loads of time with me

Sylvie: Photo op

Jake: Pretty much

Jake: She had fun when I took her to [some places you did, where she absolutely did not have fun] but it wasn’t about me, why she liked it

Sylvie: Yeah, it wasn’t about you

Sylvie: which sucks

Jake: It wasn’t about her for me either, not really

Sylvie: Obviously, or you could be more sad about it

Sylvie: It was messy on all parts

Jake: It’s not too weird for you, is it?

Sylvie: I have a lot of family

Jake: And I can swear off going out with any of the others, but are you cool about me and Libi or not?

Sylvie: ‘Course I am

Sylvie: even if that’s a cop-out swear

Jake: I’m serious

Sylvie: You’re also not single

Jake: If I were, I’d stay away from your extended family

Sylvie: I can say the same

Jake: I don’t have a big family, that is a cop-out 

Sylvie: 😏 okay Mr If

Jake: [say something else about this film you’re watching as a not at all subtle subject change because thinking about being single and being able to ask her out is making you all !!]

Sylvie: Making music for movies would be a cool gig, you could do that

Jake: Has Libi ever shown you any of hers?

Sylvie: God no, we’re not that close

Sylvie: I can’t decide if it’s weird or impressive or both to spend all your time doing something to not share it

Jake: Either way I don’t relate

Sylvie: No, me either

Jake: I’m debuting my new song at [the cool kid event], if it’s ready

Sylvie: Yeah?

Sylvie: How are you feeling about that?

Jake: Nervous

Sylvie: But you’ll do it anyway

Sylvie: I respect that

Jake: There’s too much I need to get off my chest

Sylvie: I feel that too

Jake: Do you write? I’ve never asked you

Sylvie: I’m always looking for ways to express myself, yeah

Sylvie: how good I am at any of them is debatable but I write stuff

Jake: What about playing? I could teach you

Sylvie: Of course you want to

Jake: It’s how I express myself, you said you’re looking for ways

Sylvie: I’ll try anything once, yeah

Sylvie: Whether I need to be sat there, enraptured by your talent, to do so…

Jake: You can do that on [the night of the cool kid event], if you need to

Sylvie: You’ve planned fainting room, have you

Jake: There’s room backstage 

Sylvie: Very cliche but

Jake: Now we’re friends you can watch from there if you want

Sylvie: The perks never end

Sylvie: I could be backstage without your help

Jake: Don’t accept my offer then

Sylvie: I won’t

Jake: What did I say to offend you?

Sylvie: You’ve not

Jake: I haven’t?

Sylvie: No, you just act like I have no friends or something, when you know I do

Jake: I was being nice, we’re friends, that’s what they do

Sylvie: It’s kind of an ego trip too, don’t lie

Jake: It’s not

Sylvie: It isn’t?

Jake: I told you I’m nervous, maybe I just wanted you nearby

Sylvie: I will be

Jake: The audience doesn’t count, with the lights I won’t even be able to see you there

Sylvie: I told you, I can be backstage

Sylvie: don’t you believe that?

Jake: I don’t need your friends

Sylvie: You’re not going to be alone

Jake: I’ll try, if something happens that’s when and where it’s going to

Sylvie: You need an escape plan, so you don’t get crowded

Sylvie: Can you finish on a solo for someone else, you could come off stage, but the audience would still be distracted

Jake: It’s my song, I can end it however, yeah

Sylvie: You want to be alone

Jake: No I don’t

Sylvie: You want to be with me

Jake: You’re the only person I can trust to see it

Sylvie: Is there anything I’ll need to do, if it happens, except keep people away

Sylvie: I can read about yours too

Jake: [give her the tea about what she is and isn’t supposed to do which I won’t in case I’m wrong even though I think I do know]

Sylvie: I’ll do that, if 

Sylvie: a real if

Jake: I know, that’s why I trust you

Sylvie: You can, you need someone 

Jake: You

Sylvie: Me

Jake: Yeah

Sylvie: Sorry

Jake: What are you sorry for?

Sylvie: That it’s me

Sylvie: you wouldn’t have picked me, if you had a choice

Jake: I do have choices, there’s loads of people I could tell

Jake: I don’t want that, I want to be with you

Sylvie: I wish it was tomorrow

Jake: We’ll just watch the film as many times as it takes until it is

Sylvie: and not sleep

Jake: I won’t be able to

Sylvie: Don’t, I’ll miss you

Jake: I swear, no cop-outs

Sylvie: I slept the day away, I couldn’t last night either, thinking about you

Jake: Neither could I, I thought about walking back to your house but I want your parents to like me

Sylvie: I want you to want me to like you more

Jake: You already do

Sylvie: Do you think I like you enough I’d have let you back in?

Jake: Not last night, tonight you would

Sylvie: You’ll never know

Jake: I’d miss the best part of the film, you’d never keep it on pause for me that long

Sylvie: Catch it on one of our many repeats

Jake: Could we spend tomorrow at your house instead, if I stayed?

Sylvie: You never had your tea

Sylvie: you need to come back so I can rectify that

Jake: What about your mother, won’t she be working from home?

Sylvie: Either I’ve depressed her so much she’s lying or she really has a meeting with her editor

Jake: Cool, I’ll start walking

Sylvie: Besides, I can have friends over for tea, what’s so wrong about that?

Jake: You have loads of friends, I know

Sylvie: They’re not invited

Jake: Just me

Sylvie: I need you, I can’t keep saying it

Jake: You can, I don’t mind

Sylvie: Will you hold me, like you did, do you mind that?

Jake: No I don’t mind, and yeah, I will

Sylvie: What can I do for you, I feel like I’m doing all the asking

Jake: You’re making me tea

Sylvie: I should’ve gone to find the drink you wanted

Sylvie: In the morning

Jake: I’ll bring some with me

Sylvie: Then we can stay in my room all day

Jake: I didn’t get to go in before, I’ve been thinking what your room might be like

Sylvie: Tell me if your guesses match the reality

Sylvie: assuming we make it further than the sofa this time, yeah

Jake: I’m not leaving you this time

Sylvie: Can we be a different kind of friends, to everyone else?

Jake: You’re already different to all my other friends

Sylvie: You too

Sylvie: I don’t have anyone like you 

Jake: It was so wrong of me to run away

Sylvie: As long as you regret it

Sylvie: it will help me cope with how much I do

Jake: It’s my biggest mistake

Sylvie: You’re making it up to me

Jake: [don’t reply for an age because your sister catches you trying to sneak out of the house at whatever o clock this is like umm wtf hun so she then makes you sit down at the kitchen table and have a LONG chat to her about where the hell you think you were going and what’s going on with you etc during which you lie and lie which feels horrible because you and your sister were close and you didn’t used to]

Jake: As you’ve probably guessed, I’m not actually

Jake: until tomorrow

Sylvie: What happened?

Jake: My sister decided to get a glass of water as I was getting [these drinks, imagine the scene please haha, coming into the kitchen like um why are you clearly on your way out with shoes and a jacket on]

Sylvie: Ah, shit

Sylvie: No wonder you were forever, what did you think up to tell her?

Jake: The truth, you needed me, but I had to lie that you’re sicker than you are

Jake: she said unless you’re dying I can see you tomorrow

Sylvie: Harsh but fair, I suppose

Jake: Can I still see you tomorrow?

Sylvie: Yes

Sylvie: This wasn’t your fault, I choose to believe you, that you were coming, that you got caught, if I don’t then there’s no point to any of this

Jake: Meet at mine or yours?

Sylvie: Come to mine

Sylvie: or the vision might never leave my head and I don’t know how I’m meant to live here 

Jake: I’ll be there by [a time]

Sylvie: Perfect

Sylvie: You can go to sleep, if you like, as we’ve been thwarted for now

Jake: I guess I should try, it’s a trigger

Sylvie: You’ll be mad at me if I fuck you up like that, so try hard

Jake: But we need to finish the film first

Sylvie: True

Sylvie: I can’t believe you could distract me like that

Jake: Count me in off pause again, whenever you’re ready

Sylvie: I’m cool, I’m calm

Sylvie: 321 go

Jake: I’m not, sneaking up on people should be a trigger, next time I’ll tell her it is

Sylvie: It should be

Sylvie: can’t call it a crime but that will work

Jake: My heart’s racing, I’ll have to do our breathing exercises

Sylvie: I can count you in for that too, I remember how you showed me

Jake: Okay, cool

Sylvie: [send a video of you very sincerely doing this breathing exercise like you’re not !!]

Jake: [send one back as if you’re only !! about your sister appearing in the kitchen suddenly]

Sylvie: [when he could just watch that one back but no you need to respond so it’s like it’s in real time]

Jake: [we’re having a lil back and forth here cos likewise and I love this shameless flirting for y’all]

Sylvie: Is it helping, Jake?

Jake: I think so

Sylvie: [send another]

Sylvie: I want you to feel better

Jake: I’ll try really hard to do that too

Sylvie: I like how you make my heart pound too

Jake: Do I or is it [the film scene that’s playing]?

Sylvie: This scene is my favourite

Jake: [tell her what yours is, clearly it hasn’t happened yet]

Sylvie: I can see that, it tracks

Jake: [talk about the next scene or scenes basically saying that you don’t remember them being so hot when you watched it before, in the most thinly coded film speak because it isn’t the film it’s your !!]

Sylvie: There’s a reason I’ve never been able to get it out of my head since

Sylvie: I can’t believe no one else was paying attention when you watched it before

Jake: They don’t know what they’re missing, and I’m not telling

Sylvie: You look like [this actor, whether he does or doesn’t really, just the !! vibe] a bit

Jake: [pose so you look like him or something like that and send her a picture, a shameless excuse to]

Sylvie: And I’m keeping that comparison to myself

Sylvie: no one else gets to reimagine [this scene] with you in it like that

Jake: [tell her a way she resembles this love interest even if it’s the most tenuous link in the world like one line she’s ever typed to you being similar to a line of this film because we just need to make that comparison too rn immediately as we’re watching this]

Sylvie: It’s like I can feel it through the screen, what’s being done to her

Jake: Me too

Sylvie: I’ve never done anything like this

Sylvie: but I want to

Jake: It feels like they’re the only 2 people in the world who ever have

Sylvie: Nothing but that is acceptable

Sylvie: I can’t fake nice for less

Jake: You don’t have to fake nice for anyone

Sylvie: You’ll still be here 

Jake: You know I’m not going anywhere

Sylvie: Just you and me

Jake: Together in Paris

Sylvie: Nobody will know anything about us

Jake: Only what they can from a look

Sylvie: [a shameless excuse to send him a selfie back]

Sylvie: What do you see?

Jake: You belong there, you’re just like the city

Sylvie: Maybe I can stay

Jake: We could live there

Sylvie: That’s my plan now, fuck Uni

Jake: They have unis [tell her how many because google is telling me everywhere from 15 to 45 and idk what the truth is]

Sylvie: Where will you be?

Jake: [places where you could do gigs, we know the vibes]

Sylvie: You’ll not replace me with some Parisian bff, will you

Jake: I couldn’t

Sylvie: I’d be so upset again

Jake: My plan’s to make sure you aren’t

Sylvie: You know how easy it is, would be

Jake: As easy as [relating it to this film so you don’t say something extra but obvs you basically are being !! with how you’re relating it to this film given that you’ve both compared yourselves to the leads]

Sylvie: Better, even

Jake: Yeah

Sylvie: I’m going to start saving, I want to leave as soon as we can

Jake: [google how much flights are and show her, the vibe being that’s all you need and you’ll worry about the rest when you get there because that bitch]

Sylvie: It shouldn’t be that cheap, nothing is stopping us

Jake: [tell her how much money you have in savings because your mum is that bitch despite being poor af and you would’ve had your bar mitzvah at like 12 or 13 and whatever amount of extended fam you do have would’ve given you money I’m sure, so even if you’re spent some of it cos you’re a 14 year old boy and not responsible, there’d be some left, even if we’re not saying loads]

Sylvie: Okay, we’re actually doing this

Jake: Nothing’s stopping us, you’re right

Sylvie: That’s what I mean, everything teachers and parents and authority tell us is just, not true

Sylvie: it’s a story we all participate in but the truth is you can do what you want

Jake: And we’re going to, I’m not saying I can’t any more

Sylvie: It’s the least we can do, the least we’re owed

Jake: I owe you more than anybody, you’re the only person who’s really been here for me

Sylvie: I don’t know what this would look like without you, I don’t want to think about it

Jake: Think about [a list of things he’s planning to do in Paris]

Sylvie: I will 

Sylvie: if you think about [give your own list back]

Jake: If I ever stop with [that scene]

Sylvie: Can we rewind

Jake: 3,2,1

Sylvie: I will never get tired of this

Jake: We’ve got until [whatever time in the am he said he’d be at her house minus however long it took him to walk there]

Sylvie: Only if you start to dream about it

Jake: I’ll close my eyes this second if you swear it means I do

Sylvie: We’ll only know if we try

Sylvie: when it’s time, we’ll count it in again

Sylvie: but if it doesn’t feel like we’re the only two people then I’m staying up

Jake: We’ll watch a few more times first

Sylvie: It would be an insult not to

Jake: Don’t talk, a scene this good deserves full immersion 

Sylvie: [a selfie covering her mouth like oop]

Jake: [not you sending her a voice note literally doing a hot shh]

Sylvie: Hey!

Jake: Pay attention, you’re not looking at the screen you’re looking at your phone’s

Sylvie: [have to ignore him now even though you don’t want to]

Jake: [you both just watching this scene over and over getting more !! it’s FINE]

Sylvie: [posting a screengrab to your socials because you have to do something about this]

Jake: [liking it because you can even though that’s the understatement of the century]

Sylvie: I can multitask

Jake: So can I

Jake: [because we all know what this boy is doing rn, he’s gotta]

Sylvie: Do you think it’s real?

Sylvie: They look like they mean it

Jake: It feels real

Sylvie: Too real

Jake: I don’t think you could fake [something he just really wants to draw extra attention to that’s happening because we’re too into it]

Sylvie: No, I don’t think so either

Sylvie: I swear I keep moving closer to the screen

Jake: I keep touching it

Jake: [send her a pic of your fingerprints and smudges all over whatever device you’re watching this on cos clearly not a tv, plus like I said you’re touching yourself rn and that’s as close as we’re getting to admitting that]

Sylvie: Jesus

Sylvie: The static from this old TV makes me feel like it could shock me, I can feel it before I’ve even touched it, in the air

Jake: You’ve probably got goosebumps all over

Sylvie: The hair on my arms is standing up

Jake: They’re that blonde I wouldn’t be able to tell by looking

Sylvie: I tried to take a picture but the flash made it invisible

Sylvie: I’ll show you when you’re here, you can feel it for yourself

Jake: [show her yours because there’s no danger of them not showing up, we can all pretend it’s not because he’s so !! at the prospect of touching her, I like to think it’s a lil vid so she can hear how !! his breathing is, try not to shamelessly moan or anything sir]

Sylvie: Your hair is beautiful, you know, so dark

Jake: We perfectly contrast each other, I can’t even be mad your mother likely isn’t Jewish 

Sylvie: It would look just like it does on the screen

Jake: Don’t tell Paris, but right now I only want to live there

Sylvie: It could be Paris, could be here

Sylvie: they could make that happen anywhere as long as they’re together

Jake: All they need is each other, just like us

Sylvie: [send him back the audio of him breathing that you stole from that lil vid and are now looping with this scene clearly]

Jake: [tell her how to add hers into it like you’re mixing a lil song of y’all’s !! breathing, not mansplaining just desperately need her to do that rn immediately]

Sylvie: [doing it, the indecency at this point is through the roof and we cannot get enough]

Sylvie: It reminds me, of yesterday

Jake: [when I just know in my entire heart and soul he’s gonna play that like an intro before his song, excuse him everyone]

Jake: It’s beautiful

Sylvie: [found dead at the gig literally]

Sylvie: Your voice cracks slightly at [a timestamp] and I want to live there now

Jake: [leaving NO doubt it’s about her and nobody left alive lol]

Jake: Stay with me there

Sylvie: It’s our place, no one else, you and me

Jake: [a line from this film because we’re so overwhelmed rn he isn’t allowed to use his own words]

Sylvie: Say it to me, in your voice

Jake: [do, and we all know how indecently]

Sylvie: [send him a new picture of you covering your mouth that has the MOST indecent vibes now because truly stopping yourself making all the noise]

Jake: [an even hotter shhh because must, it’s a casual miracle he’s not just moaning this entire time]

Sylvie: [post a selfie on your socials that’s giving thirst trap because going to have to stop touching yourself to take it and you’ll definitely want to delete this in the morning even though it’s obviously not outright inappropriate, just the vibes]

Jake: [like it with the confidence she’ll probably delete it and if she doesn’t you’re just friends and it’s fine, the way I know you’ll be staring at it until she does get rid of it though, not at all casually saving it in your phone]

Sylvie: Your eyes felt good on me, I like it

Jake: [he’s not an emoji boy but commenting one under this pic/if it’s on her stories as a message that’s like he’s breathing on her, I don’t have it but I know it exists, because you both know how much you wanna feel that, but you could just be calling her hot like ooh nice pic gal if anyone else saw it]

Sylvie: When you’re here

Sylvie: rerecord it, I want to hear us together with no tricks

Jake: When I’m with you, no tricks at all

Sylvie: Nothing but the glow of this scene playing out and unfolding forever

Jake: [post a selfie of you in the glow of said scene, not showing anyone what you’re watching so it could be anything, just yourself lit up by it, iconic because he rarely uses his socials]

Sylvie: [liking it and unliking it to like it again in quick succession because you’re just double-tapping incessantly to show how !! you are, thank god no one else but him receiving the notifications can see that unhinged behaviour]

Jake: [you know he’s in deep when he normally hates anything social media related but this is killing him]

Jake: I knew you liked me

Sylvie: I’m not going to deny it, I can’t when I know why you look like that and no one else does

Jake: Say it instead, tell me you like me more than anyone else

Sylvie: [‘Jake I like you the most, more than anyone’ full moan let’s not lie]

Jake: [We can’t lie and pretend that doesn’t send him over the edge SO hard, try not to wake your sister up again sir and anyone else who’s here, hence him saying:]

Jake: I think I’m ready to dream now, it feels like I must be

Sylvie: I need pinching too

Jake: I’ll check you for bruises tomorrow

Sylvie: Give me yours tomorrow

Jake: Lie there and wait

Sylvie: [send him a selfie lying in your bed, having made room where you want him to be very blatantly]

Jake: Good, now close your eyes

Sylvie: Only if I’ll feel your breath against my skin like the static

Jake: You’ll feel me right there in the space you made

Sylvie: Okay, where are you going to put your hands to bruise me?

Jake: [use the scene as your inspo obvs, so wherever they did]

Sylvie: I’ll be able to feel you now, comforting me

Jake: [do a voice note counting her into sleep, shamelessly so she can hear that you haven’t recovered yet from cumming that hard] 

Sylvie: [a vid so you can close your eyes about it and show him how impatiently waiting you are, unable to be still about any of this, even if your hands and what they’re doing are off camera]

Jake: Sleep well

Sylvie: Dream about me?

Jake: If you dream about me too

Sylvie: I will try, I need to stop thinking about you long enough to really fall asleep

Jake: If you can’t, daydream 

Sylvie: I am, I have been

Sylvie: Your face over every other boy’s

Jake: As long as you think about me, asleep or awake doesn’t really matter, I won’t be mad

Sylvie: You need me to keep you in my head?

Jake: You’re trapped in mine

Sylvie: I’ll be your hostage if you’ll be mine

Jake: Deal [+ calling her whatever the character from the movie is called]

Sylvie: [doing it back with the dude’s name because you have to try it]

Sylvie: I’ll keep moaning yours though

Jake: Don’t get caught like I did before

Sylvie: It has made me a little biased against your sister

Sylvie: but I’ll quiet myself down, somehow

Jake: [suggest a way for her to that’s again movie inspo]

Sylvie: [show him the pants you’ve taken off and rolled into a ball like will I won’t I]

Jake: I’ll never sleep not knowing

Sylvie: They look like they’ve already been in my mouth

Sylvie: can’t you use your imagination?

Jake: I could, but why do you want me to? You’re meant to be my friend

Sylvie: So if I show you something like that, it’s safe between us isn’t it

Jake: You know it is

Sylvie: I want to be the type of friends that can share everything

Sylvie: [so send him this pic of you really using them as a gag and DYING over it because everything about this experience including showing him has you shook]

Jake: [‘We are’ as a voice note so she can hear the effect seeing that has on you, he’ll be saving that forever too, don’t look at his phone anybody]

Sylvie: [iphones have a hidden photos folder that’s password protected thank god, put ‘em in there if you’re not lazy and reckless lol]

Sylvie: I can’t wait to share how this tastes with you

Jake: [I did not know that which shows how much I use my phone, but he will he’s not lazy or reckless, despite these antics being very much the latter lol]

Jake: You’ll never have to make me tea again

Sylvie: But have me on the counter, pick me up and show me what would’ve happened if you stayed

Jake: I’ll have you everywhere, that’s what would’ve happened

Sylvie: Dare me to go sit on the sofa?

Jake: Yeah

Sylvie: [send him a photo sitting how you did when he was there as best you can, your feet being under you meaning your knees are blocking the fact you have no underwear on]

Jake: You got there from your bed fast

Sylvie: I’m light on my feet

Sylvie: I really don’t want to get caught like this

Jake: You’re unsteady on your feet, I know that you must be

Sylvie: I am shaking for you, my entire body is convulsing to find you

Jake: You need me

Sylvie: [audio whilst you’re gagged so we all know how this ‘I need you’ sounds]

Jake: I can’t find you either but my body’s trying as hard

Sylvie: Being part of your secret means I can post every mark you give me if I want

Sylvie: remind you of us, everywhere and all the time

Jake: And do you want to?

Sylvie: Not for other people

Sylvie: but for the effect it being so public has on you, yes, so much

Jake: For us

Jake: like everything else we’re going to do

Sylvie: Yeah

Sylvie: You should make me look like a total slut, only you’ll know who for

Jake: We’re staying in Paris, I don’t have to worry about being disowned for making you look, act like, or calling you one

Sylvie: I want you to, it’s very different

Sylvie: In Paris, we can do, be and say anything we want

Jake: New lives

Sylvie: We need them

Jake: [give her a date, doing your / pretentiously but it’s when you want to go, even if it’s not necessarily when y’all do]

Sylvie: Swear?

Jake: We’re allowed to go sooner, but that’s the latest

Sylvie: I’m ready

Jake: I know you are

Sylvie: We’re not going to school the rest of the week, are we

Jake: No, I’m keeping you all to myself

Sylvie: Thank God

Sylvie: we have to be alone

Jake: We can hide in your room

Sylvie: I need to spend an entire day kissing you, you surprised me, I wasn’t prepared

Jake: I surprised myself

Sylvie: With wanting me

Jake: Wanting you this much

Sylvie: You need me like I’m yours

Jake: To be mine

Sylvie: Yeah?

Jake: That’s what I need

Sylvie: Shit

Jake: Yeah

Sylvie: Okay

Jake: You’re so good for me, you make me feel it again

Sylvie: I thought it was over too

Sylvie: however dramatic people can think that sounds, I mean it

Jake: And I understand it, unlike those people

Sylvie: That’s why I can be yours

Sylvie: You get it, I get it

Jake: I thought I’d be alone

Sylvie: Yeah, I know

Sylvie: I wanted to not be afraid of that, of any of this

Jake: We don’t have to be now

Sylvie: I don’t know how to deal with this

Jake: I’ll figure out how with you

Sylvie: Deal

Jake: That’s how I wanna face everything, us together

Sylvie: We’re going to have to, there’s a lot of shit for us to face, it can’t be done alone

Jake: When’s your next appointment?

Sylvie: [assume you’ll have one fairly soon because getting settled and sorted on meds and what not so why not]

Jake: I’ll come, support you

Sylvie: You don’t have to

Jake: I want to, I just said that

Sylvie: Alright, I just can’t even picture it right now

Jake: You’ll get used to having me

Sylvie: How is that possible, seems unreal

Jake: I’d make you swear to keep feeling like that, to never get bored

Sylvie: Is that how you feel, bored?

Sylvie: Sorry, maybe I shouldn’t ask

Jake: Sometimes I feel like everyone is bored of me

Sylvie: People have given you impossible expectations, accidentally maybe but still

Sylvie: a pedestal is an easy place to fall from

Jake: I didn’t ask for a pedestal, not yet 

Sylvie: I thought you did but I see that now

Jake: Why?

Sylvie: It’s easy to imagine someone who gets the kind of attention you do must like it

Sylvie: too simplified, clearly

Jake: I didn’t hate my whole life, it’s just hard to like everyone only telling you what they think you want to hear and nothing else

Sylvie: And boring

Sylvie: Everything and everyone being so one-note

Jake: Yeah, it’s flat after a while

Sylvie: How are you going to grow and get better if you’re just told you’re amazing, end of

Jake: You’re amazing, but I’ll tell you another time

Sylvie: I won’t mind, I swear

Sylvie: and I won’t only humble you, in contrast, that’d be no fun either

Jake: Tomorrow

Sylvie: [however long it is now]

Jake: We’re meant to be getting [however many hours] of sleep

Sylvie: You too

Sylvie: GOT to think of our health at all times now

Jake: I can’t stop thinking, but it’s about you

Sylvie: Does it make me a bad friend if I’m happy about that?

Jake: A bad future doctor or nurse, but you’re not a wannabe at that

Sylvie: You get enough of that at home, I figure, I’m not going to patronise you

Jake: Then I’d say you’re a good friend, Vie

Sylvie: And you wanna stay up with me ‘til one or both of us passes out?

Jake: Yeah

Sylvie: 😁

Jake: We’ve still got the end of [the film] we got stuck in a loop

Sylvie: Ah, I left it running when I came down here

Sylvie: I’ll do ONE more loop and then we can finish, promise

Jake: One more?

Sylvie: What’s your lucky number?

Jake: [tell her, because I assume it’s to do with your bday like most people and we haven’t given you one yet]

Sylvie: [whether that number is one digit or 31] that many times then

Jake: What’s yours? We should add them together

Sylvie: [tell him because likewise no bday yet but you’re clearly ending up with a big number and we’re thrilled about that]

Sylvie: I’ll be extra careful going back up the stairs

Jake: [not you working out how long the scene is and thus how long y’all will be spending having this rewatch for because you’re likewise thrilled about it]

Sylvie: Okay smart boy

Sylvie: see how much brain power you preserve when we skip school? It’s good for your health, I DO care

Jake: I told you, you’re good for me

Sylvie: [show him you’re upstairs by a mirror selfie where you’ve written your combined lucky number on your mirror in lipstick, casual]

Jake: Ready when you are

Sylvie: 321 Play

[willsimpforanyone]

Percy Jackson imagine being daughter of Nemesis and loving music and song writing and surprising everyone at camp.

tysm for being patient!! i got a bit sidetracked into percy convincing her to play live but i hope it's okay!

-----------------------------------

people at camp halfblood can be a little presumptuous

they hear 'daughter of nemesis' and assume they know exactly what they're gonna get

you're fine with that

better to be underestimated than overestimated

plus it means you already have a bit of a reputation before they meet you so people are less likely to screw with you

there aren't many people in the nemesis cabin anyway

it became kind of a pact that the few of you would have each other's backs, even if the others in the camp didn't trust you

so when you had free time between sparring and other activities you felt comfortable enough to bring out your notebook

it was one you'd had for years filled with lyrics and songs and melodies that had become your comfort

it wasn't uncommon for one of your siblings to find you lying on your bunk, headphones on and biro tapping out a rhythm on your notebook

it was one of these times when your brother brought someone back to the cabin

your eyes were shut and your music was blasting so you were almost completely deaf to the world

in fact you were lost in the music that you'd made

a smack on your leg made you open your eyes to see your brother gesturing to take off your headphones

and someone else

percy jackson was standing behind him, looking a little awkward

you sat up, scowling lightly but tugged off the headphones

'what do you want'

'where's my sword i let you borrow when you broke yours?'

you reluctantly stood from your bed, headphones now blasting some kind of rock, and shuffled over to your dresser, grabbing said sword and handing it over

'polished and sharpened, as agreed'

percy coughed lightly and you raised an eyebrow

'uh, what music is that?'

you shrugged and checked your phone (magically altered so it didn't attract monsters)

'uhhh it's green day'

he shook his head

'yeah i like green day but what was the music before that?'

you froze

almost no one had heard your music outside of your siblings

you cleared your throat but you brother jumped in before you could pretend it was just some obscure artist

'oh yeah! that's her singing, she made that song'

percy's eye widened and a small smile formed on his lips

'wow, it sounded really good! i mean, you sounded really good'

you death-stared your brother

'um, yeah, thanks, glad you like it i guess'

your brother winked at you and ushered percy out the cabin

lying back down on the bed you tried to focus back on the music but for some reason percy refused to leave your head

a few days later you were sparring with your sister in the arena

out of the corner of your eye you spotted a tall, black haired, green-eyed guy staring at you from the seats

percy flushed immediately at you seeing him and sat down, pretending to be interested in the stones

this split second distraction was enough for your sister to flip the blade out your hand and press the point of her dagger against your chest

'okay great job, i gotta go give that guy-' you pointed up at percy '-some karma'

your sister grinned and nodded, walking away

percy made you lose your concentration and now he was gonna have to deal with being confronted about it

it took a minute for you to scale the steps and come face to face with him

'hey jackson, why you staring?'

you almost laughed at his bright red face as he stammered over his words

'we-ell i i don't- you just- you're really good-'

he took a deep breath and pointed at your shirt

'i like that band too'

you blinked

'almost no one knows this band'

you didn't mean to sound so pretentious but it was true

he shrugged and smirked

'well i do, i think their second album is my favourite'

passing your gaze over the rest of the arena you spotted your brother, the one that bothered you the other day, waving and grinning at you

you gave him the middle finger and sat down next to percy

'nah, i prefer their third album, to me it just feels like they'd settled into their sound more'

that was it for the next two hours

you and percy going back and forth on your music opinions and occasionally hardcore judging the other

at some point you'd pressed together, one earphone for each of you listening to the bands you both liked

eventually percy coughed lightly

'so, you make music, right?'

you shrugged

'yeah i guess. why?'

he shifted to face you a little more

'well, would you ever play live, like the apollo kids?'

you rolled your eyes and laughed, shouldering him roughly

'yeah as if, you're a lucky bastard that i let you listen to my stuff, the whole camp doesn't need to hear it'

he nudged you back, a little gentler

'you're really good, you deserve to show the world your talent'

'mhm sure, you sure it's not just because you think i'm cute?'

percy's stammering was adorable and you smirked

'yeah you're not as subtle as you think you are, jackson'

he took a deep breath and grinned

'my point still stands, you're talented no matter how cute i think you are'

'maybe, some day'

he nodded

'no pressure but wow the camp would be so surprised'

you considered for a moment

'well i do like taking people by surprise'

percy chuckled

'yeah i see that'

you laughed

'okay, well it's nearly dinner time so we gotta go be segregated by our parents, but i'll see you tomorrow?'

percy stood up with you, taking back his earphones

'a unique way of putting it but yeah, i'll see you tomorrow. maybe by then you'll have a better opinion of nirvana'

you threw him the middle finger as you left

'don't push it jackson'

---------------------------------

thank you for requesting, i hope you enjoyed!

[broken-clover]

😭 omg i would love to see a scenario/hcs about the polycule taking care of aria during her pregnancy or after the birth

It's a bit different than what I'm used to, but fun to think about! A happy snapshot where things turned out a bit better...

-It wasn't necessarily a surprise, but Sol and Asuka did panic a little at first. Mostly because, well, Aria's always been a bit sickly, and she's so small, is that really safe for her?

-It's a sentiment that sticks around for quite a while, even if they're less obviously vocal about it. They're hovering over her constantly to make sure she doesn't strain herself in any possible way. It's charming for like a week and then after that Aria has to constantly tell them off about it until the concept sinks in

-Once they're sure that they're all committed to it Sol's immediate next question is if they can name the baby after a Queen song, or just anything to do with his favorite band

-He comes up with a long list of names that only gets longer and more tangential as he keeps getting turned down (if it's a boy, maybe Roger, or Deacon, Oscar, Romeo, William, Saul, Izzy? If it's a girl, then either Tiffany, Dorothy, or Delilah)

-Meanwhile, Aria would really prefer something cuter, maybe flowery-sounding. Asuka has no real preference, although if Aria's doing the heavy lifting, no pun intended, then he thinks she should get most of the say...and secretly he really doesn't want to go with names like William or Dorothy, he finds them pretentious (besides, who's to say they might not have more later?)

-They ultimately come to a group agreement, Aria picks a name she likes that Sol can make a reference out of, and Asuka picks the middle name so he has some sort of contribution (he goes with the name of his maternal grandmother. He has no intention to honor either of his own parents). The full name they go with is Daisy Yui Hale(-Bulsara-Kreutz), and Sol can nickname her 'Dizzy.'

-None of them came from a very good family, and fret about their lack of real experience with good parental figures, but Asuka in specific is terrified he's going to end up like his parents and end up being neglectful or drunk

-Asuka is very by-the-book in terms of his caretaking, he's more confident if he has tangible instructions to follow. Sol is much better at the 'emergency ice cream, pickles and five-alarm chili grocery runs' part. If anything, they actually compliment each other nicely, although they sometimes bicker about whose approach is best.

-Any calming down the guys have done over the last few months is immediately out the window once it comes to the part where they actually have the damn kid, Asuka's hyperventilating in the backseat with a paper bag, and he's not even the one doing the hard part. Aria's actually pretty calm about the whole thing.

-Little Dizzy makes for the most adorable little thing ever (although I suppose everyone says that about their babies) but good lord, are all babies that tiny? They are? Man, it's weird to see that firsthand

-(Aria's secretly glad she has two extra pairs of hands, they can take turns while she can sleep)

-For all their worries the guys take to it pretty naturally, Asuka has been sitting in the corner cooing over the baby in his arms for twenty minutes before he even realizes he's doing it

-Taking care of a kid is still a lot of work, of course, but they got very lucky, Dizzy's pretty much the calmest baby they've ever met, and very curious (Aria jokes that by the time she's five, she'll have figured out how to build a rocket)

-Even if his naming plans were thwarted, Sol still intends to impart his music tastes on Dizzy early. He got a baby mobile covered in forest animals for her nursery and jerry-rigged it to play music-box renditions of classic rock songs (he originally planned on just using the regular songs, but Aria and Asuka argued it wouldn't be relaxing. He vehemently disagrees, but they compromised)

[struggling-with-time]

Why did it have to be Him? [George x reader]

Paring: cc!Georgenotfound x Fem!reader (platonic) (cc!Wilbur Soot x Fem!reader)

Summary: You're George's friend, who he is very much in love with, but you are dating Wilbur.

Warnings: Angst, sour!George

Words: 1.7K

Masterlist: George's Masterlist - Wilbur's Masterlist - Full Masterlist

A/N: Heavily inspired by Him by James Marriott. Please request if you have any ideas. REQUESTS ARE OPEN. Request here.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

George opens the door and greets her with a hug. “It’s good to see you again.” She returns his wide smile, god she looks happy. It makes him want to frown, but he doesn’t at least not as long as she’s looking.

“Thank you for inviting us!” She tells him as she hands George a bottle of wine. It’s the cheap brand they used to share when they were both younger. He laughs slightly when he notices.

“Of course, you’re always welcome.” He tells her as she passes him by. He watches as she hangs her coat. He follows her with his eyes as she moves along the hallway.

“Eh-hem.” A cough brings George back to the person she brought with her.

Wilbur.

“Oh.” George tries not to let his face fall. But a change is more than noticeable to the man in front of him. “She brought you. Well, come in.”

And like that his host face is back on, ever the charmer with the famous pretty privilege. George turns away from Wilbur heading back up the stairs.

“You coming, Wilbur?” He calls after the taller lad.

George waves a quick hand to his guest, before heading to the kitchen. Knowing he’ll find her there, and he can put the wine away.

He sees her immediately, her head looking into his fridge searching for a drink. George walks over and puts a hand on the fridge door. Making her look up at him.

God, why does she have to look so innocent?

“Soo…” He trails off.

“Soo…” She replies.

“Wilbur huh?”

She slams the fridge door, making George pull his hands up in a defensive position.

“We are not having this conversation again George.” She rolls her eyes. She lets out a sigh. Then she takes the bottle of cheap wine from his hand and reopens the fridge to put it away.

“I was just going to ask if you have been any places lately?”

She huffs at his question, an eyeroll just in sight, but not present.

“We have. Thank you for asking.”

George smiles at her response. He reaches over the counter to take a bag of crisp.

“And that didn’t happen to be the arcade, did it now?” He opens the bag, ignoring the eyeroll that she is finally giving into.

“And what if it did?”

George offers her the bag, and she takes a handful.

“I’m just saying, we both know what happens after the arcade. Then it’s the beach trip.” He watches her carefully. “Then a fancy dinner.” She eats a chip. “Then the short camping trip.” She winces. Got her. “Then the promise to meet his parents.” She tugs her arms closer to herself. “And then the inevitable excuse about him either not having time, being in the right mental state or…” George trails off.

“George c’mon he’s your friend. Don’t talk about him like that.” She dusts her hands off from the crisp dust and picks up the drink she settled on.

“So, there is no reason you have been looking for camping gear I take it.”

She brushes past him on the way out of the kitchen.

“You disappoint me!” George calls after her, as they join the others in the living room.

She sits down beside Wilbur, and George nearly scoffs at the way Wilbur is sitting. He’s the tallest in the room, and he sure knows it.

Pretentious fucker.

Why did he have to introduce the two of them? Why did George have to be the one to lead his friend down that path? Why did he have to absolute watch the girl he’s head over heels with fall for another guy? And why did it have to be him? Why of all people did it have to be fucking Wilbur?

Wilbur throws an arm over her, but he doesn’t even look at her. George is. George is the one looking at her. Not him.

It takes George under one drink to want to rip Wilbur’s arm off. But it takes the rest of it to calm him down. This is why it isn’t you. George reminds himself.

Wilbur starts talking about his future and his plans for said future. His plans. And how she fits into them. George seethes at the thought. She only fits into his grand scheme of things as an afterthought, an add on. An accessory. The guy is a prick. But an ambitious and successful one at that too.

George excuses himself. A lie about needing more to drink, despite everyone clearly watching him descend the hallway and stairs to the outside. Not the kitchen.

He grabs his jacket, throws it on and opens the front door, letting the heat seep out and into the cold February night.

Against his better judgement, George takes a seat on the steps leading to his door. He pats his sides down, feeling the box against his hand. He fishes it out.

It’s a box of cigarettes, he knows he shouldn’t. But honestly, there is a lot of things he shouldn’t do in the world, yet he still does them. And thus, the logic applies to this situation too.

“You need a lighter for that?”

George snaps back around to look at the doorway. There she stands in all her glory. Illuminated by the soft light of the indoors. George blinks, savouring the moment, remembering it for the days she isn’t around.

She turns around for a moment, throwing her own jacket over herself, and fishes a lighter out. She hands it to George.

He lights his cigarette.

She hovers her hand over his package.

He nods.

She takes one.

George hands the lighter back to her, and there they sit. Two friends. One so in love with the other it’s laughable. The other so alienated by that thought alone. Two strangers.

The chill air hugging them close, letting them huddle into themselves in hopes of fighting against the cold. A losing battle.

But neither moves.

However, she talks.

“I didn’t know you smoked.”

George looks at her, she’s already looking at him.

“I can only say the same to you.”

“Touché.”

And like that the subject is left hanging. Last year they would have confronted each other about the bad habit. But that is last year, and so many things have changed.

“I didn’t think I would come down here again you know.” She tells him. “Not after the new year’s party.”

Ah, the new year’s party. The one George hosted. The one where he got into a shouting match with Wilbur. The one that ended with him losing a long-time friend, and a sort of co-worker turned friend.

“Not your finest moment.” She smiles at the absurdity of the memory. George hates it. Because for him it was the moment, he realised she would never see him the way she sees Wilbur. Or any other guy for that matter.

But what irks him the most, is that Wilbur was the one who made him reach the conclusion. That Wilbur, of all people, made him come to terms with his feelings.

“Not my finest moment.” George agrees. Or admits? He isn’t completely sure which it is, but it’s there for the night to welcome, and the night does.

“I wasn’t joking when I said I was disappointed in you.” He looks at her, she turns her head away.

“I know George.”

“I didn’t take you for being someone who falls for the bullshit he spews.”

She doesn’t say anything, he knows she should. So does she.

“And where are you gonna end up when you break up? The muse for his next song.” George snorts. It’s harsh, but he’s right.

“You don’t have to be a dick about it.” She snaps at him.

“I don’t.”

The night falls silent once again. The only sound coming from their staggered breaths.

George trashes the last of his cigarette bud against the front steps. She looks at his hand, then at him.

“Why did it have to be him?”

She doesn’t say anything.

“Why did it have to be Wilbur of all people?”

“… I don’t know.”

“Please, anything. Just any reason. I get it’ll never be me. But why did it have to be him?”

She flickers her own cigarette away, following that with her eyes now instead of George.

“Out of everyone you could have had, why did it have to be him?”

Her eyes are back on George, he can see the way she’s clearly trying to muster up a response that will satisfy him. Yet he can’t help to keep pressing on.

“Was it because when you looked at him, he thought he could be so much more than me?”

It was no secret, ever since she had started seeing Wilbur. After George himself had introduced the two, George and Wilbur had sized each other up, at every single chance they got. From view counts on twitch, to subs on YouTube, to financial gains, to arcade games. Anything they could compete in, the two had had a sudden interest in beating each other.

“Was it because he wasn’t me?”

Her breath hitches.

George Freezes.

She scrambles.

George watches.

She’s standing.

George sitting.

They wait.

“I think it’s time I leave.”

George swallows.

She nods to herself. Before repeating. “It’s time we leave.”

Before George knows, her phone is out of her pocket. A number dialled, and steps are coming down the stairs.

Wilbur has arrived. He looks down at the single cigarette bud beside George. Then he looks at George.

“You know those kill right? It’s a bad habit.”

But George doesn’t listen, he barely ever does anymore when the guy opens his mouth. Instead, he does what he does best. He watches. He watches her. He watches her as she grabs Wilbur’s hand. He watches her, as they become them. And he watches them, as they disappear down the street.

While George says he’s disappointed in her.

George is only disappointed in himself.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

[ivyaugustetc]

free therapy for the dps fandom

soooo one of my lovely besties @pretentious-strikes led me to a certain link to a certain video that, in seven minutes and fifty-six seconds, restored my will to live?

so here i declare, i have FREE THERAPY FOR THE DEAD POETS SOCIETY FANDOM and it's this: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2Lv6DCkloAM

okay okay let me point out the highlights:

0:28—todd saying "if i ever see neil's father again, i'm gonna kill him." TOTALLY CALM AND OUT OF THE BLUE AND EVERYONE IS JUST LIKE "...yeah"

0:32-1:29—Mr. Keating showing up and LEADING THE MEETING (RECITING THOREAU AND EVERYTHING)

1:30-2:40—TODD READING HIS POEM TO THEM GROUP JDIDOIFJEIOWFBEJWKFJB, FOLLOWED BY EVERYONE CLAPPING AND CHEERING FOR HIM UGH SO SWEET

2:52-2:56—Keating hugs todd simply because HE'S PROUD OF HIM FOR READING UGH I LOVE TO SEE IT

3:01-3:15—um some kind of cult ritual involving random noises?

3:16—Todd saying "you girls have never had so much fun" towards Chris and Ginny (i think) in reference to the odd cult ritual and IT'S SO FUNNY AIDOIEF HE SOUNDS SO UN-TODD LIKE IT'S CRAZY

3:31-3:58—just them walking through the snowy woods singing a random song that none of them really know the words to very loudly and it's really fucking chaotic and adorable

4:00-4:09—they recite a random poem/verse with keating as they slide down onto some frozen over pond with a frozen waterfall ITS SO PRETTY OH MY GOD

4:16-4:40—them all just sliding around on ice and yelling them THEN I SAW THE CONGO CREEPING THROUGH THE BLACK, CUTTING THROUGH THE FOREST WITH A GOLDEN TRACK thing with keating

4:50—the director starts to play some funky irish music and IMMEDIATELY THEY ALL START DANCING

5:01—Keating square dances with Meeks, Knox, and Pitts

5:11—Keating notices Knox and Chris dancing and leaves them be while looking at them like they're adorable (which, in this scene alone, they are)

5:12-5:28—just knox and chris dancing together. i think this is the closest we ever get to seeing the most fanon version of knox on screen because they both genuinely look so happy as their dancing and jumping and spinning together. it's actually pretty wholesome to watch

5:29—KNOX AND CHRIS KISS AND I KINDA FOUND IT ADORABLE IM SO SORRY BUT. SHE LOOKS HAPPY. they go back to dancing a moment later and chris is so fucking adorable i can't

5:50—todd almost falls and recovers so gracefully u go babe

5:48-5:53—you see chris jumping and spinning by herself for a good five seconds and it's the most adorable thing ever

5:52-5:58—todd and chris dance together for a brief second and it's adorable i'm pretty sure he saves her from almost falling and she laughs about it

5:58-6:02—just pitts doing a lil jig and being the cutest fucking human on the planet <3

6:03-6:05—meeks floats across the screen for a second doing his own lil jig and it's hilarious and adorable at the same time

6:10-6:12—todd square dances with ginny for a sec and it's adorable

6:17-6:20—chris does a random dance move that's adorable and pretty sexy of her if you ask me

6:19-6:37—they form a sudden conga line/circle and jump around for a few second UGH IT'S SO CUTE

6:46-7:02—they all form a line and dance in it for a good bit. you see todd dancing with ginny at the end and it's so precious jesus christ

7:05-7:19—charles and ginny dancing together <3

7:22—todd yelling YAWP!!!!, causing a chorus of similar YAWP!!!!!s from everyone. literally my favorite part of the entire video i get so many chills oh my god

7:29—keating yawps from the top of the waterfall and they all yawp with him JDIEWJIFEOWJIJO

7:30—an adorable thumbs-up from keating

7:34—someone (i think todd) yells SPEECH!!! at keating and he yells back "what can i say???" in some accent and they all find it hilarious

7:46—keating salutes them and bows. i love that man <3

YEAH I LOVE THAT VIDEO A LOT. um i hope you like this guide to therapy and here's a fun drinking game! take a shot every time you read the word "adorable" in this post because it happens a lot. stay carpe diem you fools <3 much love

[raindownforme]

Theater Kid

Ted Nivison x reader [she/her used]

It wasn’t odd for me to be left alone in the big open space. Most nights I was there into the late hours when my teachers were too tired to remember I was there. But tonight they’d actually forgotten, so I busied myself by sweeping the giant black stage. The push broom had been left near the side lighting panel, so I chose a few flood lights to turn on to better see the flooring. The lightbulbs hummed to life above me and I went back to take center stage as a starting point. I turned to look towards the house but, as I stared out into the seats, I saw someone standing who hadn’t been there before.

“You turned the fucking floods on.” His voice echoed across the near empty space and I shushed him as quickly as possible. Fucking actors always having to be the loudest.

“Jesus Christ Theodore shut up. Haven’t you ever done this before?”

“No. I don’t stay after school cleaning like a weirdo.”

“Well you’re here. And I’m not a weirdo! It’s a shared space. If anything you should appreciate me.”

I watched as he awkwardly picked up his backpack and walked down the aisles towards me. He stood at the foot of the stage, staring up at me, which wasn’t that much of an angle for him. He was an abnormally tall person, especially for a highschool student. Of course it only added to the strange charismatic spell he held over almost everyone else in our shared department, and I hated it. I hated the way he never talked to me but talked to everyone else. I hated the way he would sit on the desks and the tables in the classroom and the makeup room and on the edge of the stage and when he caught me looking he would give me this wide, crooked smile. I hated how loud his stupid improv club was that he got to lead was because he was the only student good at it. I hated how I spent every day inside the workshop and the prop hallway and the sound booth and the set alley and the lighting booth and he never payed a bit of attention to it. It was everyone else but me. And even knowing how close I’d gotten to being the stage manager, I knew I’d always be one peg under him.

“Did you hear me?”

I blinked myself out of my angry thoughts, trying to catch up with the real world. “I’m sorry?”

“I said you don’t have to call me Theodore. Ted is fine.”

“Oh.” I rolled my shoulders back unsure of what was the appropriate next step. “Well my name is-“

“y/n I know.” He cut me off. I stared at him in confusion, simply having assumed he didn’t know who I was. “We have like five classes together. We’ve done every production together since freshman year. You’re the one in charge when I come to set days. I sit across from you in the makeup room during lunch. And I know you do all your homework at the director’s desk.”

I stared at my feet as I felt my face flush. It felt like I couldn’t make words. It didn’t make sense that this guy I thought was a prick for the last three years knew me? But I knew that I liked him knowing me. And that was the worst part; I’d been fine with thinking he didn’t know me and didn’t want to because it gave me a name to whatever this feeling was. And now I don’t know. I looked back towards him, trying to think of anything to say. “You don’t care about tech.”

“I- what?” I couldn’t tell if he was angry or confused, and I wasn’t sure which was worse. Staring at him again I noticed the strange tint to his face, which seemed to be turning pinker by the second. I could see my reflection in his glasses and I realized how awkward of an angle we were at.

I bent down on my knees to meet his eye level. “You don’t care about tech. You’re the guy who’s a lead character and comes to rehearsal just to fuck around when you’re not needed act all high and mighty when really you never do anything.”

He narrowed his eyes, as if thinking, and then slapped his bag down on the stage near my feet. “Give me a fucking broom.”

We spent the next while peacefully sweeping up the stage. At some point I switched to the nail detector (which was really a long stick with a magnet on the end) and began going around the edges and crevices to try and find anything. We crossed paths a couple times, shoulders brushing together or brooms clinking.

Eventually I had passed him just enough that he stopped me in my tracks. He grasped my forearm gently, but I stared at his hand. I didn’t seem to want him to let go. “Here.” He took an AirPod out of his ear and handed it to me.

“Ooooh fancy actor boy has AirPods.”

“Literally shut up and appreciate me.” I smiled as I walked towards the trash can. I didn’t know what was playing, but it seemed like some indie bullshit I probably would have admitted to liking if it wasn’t coming from Th- Ted.

I sighed as I leaned the broom against the wall. “I think we’re done here. I can put away the broom in the morning if you don’t know where it goes.”

“I got it.” I watched as he took the trash can under one arm and the broom to the designated little outcropping in the workshop.

“I think that’s the first time I’ve seen you in here.”

“Eh.” He shrugged and stood up straight to look down at me better. “Freshman year someone smacked me straight across the face with a roller. Worst acne I’ve ever had.”

“Oh. Ouch. Still on the handle?”

“Nope.”

“Wet or dry?”

“Wet. With paint. Fresh paint.”

“Ooh. What color?”

“Forest green.”

“Euch. Nasty.” I chuckled as I rubbed my hands up and down my arms. It wasn’t uncommon for this part of the school to be the coldest, especially surrounded by walls of exclusively concrete and a single garage door, and the seasons still changing as we neared the end of winter. I felt a shiver run through my spine, and Ted looked at me funny.

“Is it cold in here?”

“For some of us.”

“Here.” Ted shrugged off the heavy bomber jacket he had been wearing and draped it over my shoulders. It was warm on the inside, much warmer than I’d been expecting. It almost fit, but I guess his torso and arms were just slightly larger than mine. I looked back to him to say thank you but instead he was staring at me with this dumb look. He was smiling and his head was tilted slightly, and his face was pink again, but darker this time. I felt my face heat up as we stared at each other.

“We should leave.”

He seemed to snap back to reality. “Right. Yeah no right god it’s- what time?” He flicked his wrist out to move his sleeve in order to see his watch. Of course the pretentious bitch wore a stupid watch. “It’s like 6. I guess it’s eating time.”

I nodded and walked back out towards stage left, Turing off all the lights except for our single ghost light that had to sit center stage. It cast a hazy shadow over everything. I watched Ted walk towards center where the lightbulb stood. He started to reach for his bag but I heard the song change in the AirPod. He made eye contact with me as a slow waltzy song moved through my ear. He extended a hand to me and I tentatively reached for it. His hands felt good in mine. They were soft but worn, I and I could clearly feel the lines that ran through his palms and his fingers.

He took one of my hands in his and his other hand placed itself gently on my waist. “Have you ever waltzed before?” His voice was low and raspy, trying to be as quiet as possible.

I whispered back, “no.” He began to shuffle us around, pulling me left and right and pushing away and pulling me. I felt surrounded by the way he smelled and the way he held me gingerly, like a glass figurine. I stared down at my feet as to not step on him, but he took the hand that was holding mine to gently lift my chin up.

“It’ll be easier if you look up at me. I know you can hear the rhythm.” He began to hum the song as we continued to move. The song began a flourish ending as he threw me out in a twirl, then pulling me back in to his arms. I felt him dip me to the ground as the ending came. I let my self dangle, my head up side down, staring at the ground, then gently lifted my face back upwards. Ted was mere centimeters away from me. I could feel his breathing on my neck.

“Ted. I should-“

“Yeah. No no I know. Yeah.” He lifted me up slowly until I was sure I was flat on the floor. I grabbed my backpack, holding the straps.

“Do you want your jacket-?”

“Keep it. I can get it back tomorrow.”

“Today’s Friday.”

“Right. Monday then.”

I nodded and walked towards the door. I could hear his heavier footsteps behind me, gaining quick due to his longer legs. The door clicked shut behind us, and the cool February air rushed through my skin and hair. I watched Ted take a keychain out from the pocket of his back pack. He looked at me and frowned.

“Did you drive or do you have a ride?”

“Oh yeah. No they’ll uh. They’ll be here in a bit.” I dropped my bag and sat on the curb with it on my lap to try and stay warm. Ted’s jacket was lovely but not lovely enough.

I heard Ted drop his bag and watched as he took a seat next to me. He looked over at me. “What? I’m not gonna leave a pretty girl out alone at 7 at night in the winter. Besides my parents probably think I’m at the game anyways.”

Now that he mentioned it, I could hear the sound of cheering and drum line off in the distance.

Did he call me pretty?

We both waited on the curb for probably another 10 minutes before he started talking again. “There’s no one coming is there?”

“Ted-“

“I never see you leave because you always leave last. After anyone who could possible give you a ride has left. You’re one of those kids.”

“I’m sorry one of those kids?”

“No I didn’t-“ he exhaled and closed his eyes. “You don’t have anyone waiting for you. So you just walk.” We were both quiet for a moment, taking in the cold as it burned your skin. Ted stood up and extended a hand to me. “Get in the car.”

“Im sorry what?”

“Get in my fucking car. I’m not going to leave you to get kidnapped on the way home so you’re coming with me to get food.”

“See now this feels like kidnapping.”

“Oh my GOD get in the car.”

I reluctantly climbed into the passenger seat of his car, looking at the very minimal personalization that had been done: a couple stickers on the back window and a glasses case in the center cup holder. I watched as he reversed out of the parking spot, extending his arm against my seat to better turn around. I did my best not to stare, but I wasn’t sure what else to look at. He stopped before going into drive, asking if I didn’t mind McDonald’s even if there was a long line.

“Sure. It’s not like there’s someone waiting on me.”

He frowned at my response, but nonetheless kept on driving. “Well, there’s also a Dairy Queen, Sherri’s, maybe a Taco Bell-“

“Sherri’s.”

He glanced over at me with a confused look. “Really??”

“Come on, you know sitting in a dirty trashy restaurant at night is the total teenage coming of age moment.”

“Yeah but a Sherri’s? The food isn’t even good enough to justify.”

“You only say that because you haven’t tried those loaded hash browns.” I jokingly placed a hand on his shoulder, but I felt him tense at the contact. I retracted my hand and he sighed, moving to turn on his right blinker.

Ted swiveled his head to check for passing cars, but he grinned at me as we made less than a second of eye contact. I turned my head away towards the window next to me, trying to swallow whatever heat was rising towards my cheeks. I watched us pass cars and headlights as we approached the poorly lit parking lot. I jolted as ted’s plastic bumper lightly scraped the ground. He mumbled something under his breath as he pulled into a spot.

“I hate this stupid lot. Always scratch something coming in.” He unbuckled his seat belt and got out quicker than I expected. I went to unbuckle and get out but as I reached for the door handle, Ted opened it for me from the outside.

“Oh.” I stared at him for a second and he grinned at me.

“I know. Such a gentleman. Now get out of the car before I break your heart.” He winked at me, obviously joking, but I still felt my heart drop out of my chest.

“HA.” I pushed him away from me gently, but my fingers burnt at the touch.

I heard Ted shut the door behind me as I walked into the restaurant. There was really no one inside other than a group of kids tucked away in a booth in a far corner. I watched as the hostess approached me, saying I could sit in any table I wanted. I heard Ted walk in behind me and I turned to look at him, but he was staring at the group of kids in the corner.

He sighed and closed his eyes. “Oh shit-“

“HEY. TED!” One of the kids started yelling at him from the booth. The other boys laughed at him as the maybe two or three other girls giggled. I looked between Ted and the boy, who seemed incredibly belligerent or under some sort of influence. He waved his arms in a wide span over his head, as if telling Ted where he was. “NIVISON! COME SIT OVER HERE! COME ON FUCK THE LOSER! GET OVER HERE.”

Ted looked at me, making a prolonged eye contact, then back to the kid. “No thanks! I’ll see you later.”

He linked arms with me and rushed over to the other side of the restaurant, tucking us into a small booth by the window. He said almost nothing, staring just out at the bushes. A waiter came by, dropping off two thick plastic menus.

“Anything to drink?”

Ted mumbled, but I was sure the waiter wasn’t able to hear. “Water for him please. And how much is a vanilla milkshake?”

“$2.50 for a small.”

“A small vanilla milkshake then. Please.” I smiled gently at him, and the waiter seemed to straighten himself a bit, more self assured than he had been two minutes ago.

“Of course. Right away.”

The waiter walked away and Ted stayed quiet. I slid my hand across the table towards him. “Theodore-“

“I’m not friends with Jake. I mean I was when we were younger.” He was looking me now. Well not exactly me, but my extended hand at least. “He joined the football team and some other sorts and we just stopped hanging out because of time. And he does still wear the lettermen’s jacket but....” he dropped his voice and leaned in, I copied and leaned closer to him. “He got cut from the team because he would show up drunk so now he goes to games just to drink under the bleachers and pick up cheerleaders from the other schools. He tells anyone who asks that he got a brain injury and can’t legally practice but still goes for support.”

“Oh my god.” I blinked, my voice still at a whisper. “That’s terrible.”

Ted nodded eyes wide. He looked over my shoulder, tapped my hand, and then sat up. I sat up too, assuming it was the waiter, but stared at how close his hand was to mine.

“Okayyyyy one ice water and one vanilla milkshake.” I moved my line of vision towards the drink set in front of me. It had the standard glass cup and whipped cream topping, but on top were red and pink heart-shaped sprinkles. I stared at it, and Ted must of noticed it as he took my hand firmly in his, lacing our fingers together on top of the table. The waiter stared at it.

“Hey I think we’re ready to order if you don’t mind.” Ted’s voice was louder than I expected as it took command of our whole corner of the restaurant.

“Uh yeah. What can I get you two?”

“You said you wanted the loaded hash browns, right babe?” He turned to me smiling, but I had no idea what he was thinking.

“Y-Yeah. Those are the ones.”

He gave me a giant goofy smile, and turned back to the waiter. “We’ll have two orders of that please. And an extra straw for this milkshake if you don’t mind?”

“Uh yeah. Coming right up.”

The waiter walked away and Ted sighed, relaxing his grip on my hand but not quite releasing it. “Fucking creep.”

“What?”

He looked back at me, confused. “You didn’t notice he was flirting with you? He put heart shaped sprinkles on your milkshakes.”

“I guess he’s not that good at it then.”

We sat in silence as I drank the thick vanilla shake. Ted cleared his throat and looked towards me. Our hands were still together.

“Well what can we talk about together?”

“I don’t know, theater kid shit?”

“Alright.” He though for a second. “Fine. Movie musicals.”

“Oh. Oh my god I hate the greatest showman.”

“No you don’t!”

“Yes I do! PT Barnum had no excuse to be an asshole and the whole thing is just him being an asshole to his family who somehow accepts him again.”

“I think if you have a shitty life you could have the right to be an asshole, and he wasn’t that bad! He loved his wife, and the music is good!”

“Okay some, some of the songs are good, and the whole kiss with the red head was totally not his fault. But just cause you have a shit home life doesn’t mean you can be an ass. I would think it would make you want to be nicer so other people don’t experience the same treatment, you know?”

Ted pauses, seeming to consider, then nods and moves to take a drink from his water.

We spent the next while talking about random topics: stories, tv shows, movies, books, anything. At some point the waiter came back and set the food down without a word. Ted released his hand from mine to grab his fork, and I stared at the place his fingers had been. My hand felt cold and unfamiliar as I set it closer to my plate. I ate slowly, suddenly feeling uncomfortable, but Ted ate quicker than I thought he could.

“You were right these are delicious.”

“I told you, only good thing they have.”

I was probably close to finishing when the waiter came and slapped the receipt on the table. “We close in ten.”

As he walked away Ted chuckled. “It’s Sherri’s. They’re open 24 hours?”

I shook my head, smiling, as I dug around for some cash. I grimaced at the amount I had, realizing I would have barely two dollars left. I looked up, prepared to go broke, but Ted had already gotten up with cash in hand.

I reached out and grabbed on to his t-shirt as he walked towards the register. “Theodore, wait-“

“If I get to be your fake boyfriend I can pay for our fake date.” He smiled and continued walking. I rustled through all the small bills and coins I had. I was still holding them in my hands when he came back and sat down across from me.

“Y/N, i told you-“

“But, tip-“

“I got it. Finish your food.”

We sat in silence for a little longer, and as soon as I was done he stood up, shouldering the backpack I’d brought in with me. He stood next to me, holding out his arm towards me. I giggled as we linked arms and walked to the door. I made eye contact with the creepy waiter and watched as Ted flipped the guy off.

The air was cold as we exited the building. I probably would have shivered again if not for Ted’s jacket still around me. I used my free hand to pull it closed in front of me. We were silent getting into his car, but as he turned his key over to start the engine he looked to me and smiled.

“Thank you for an amazing fake first date.”

I laughed and felt a small heat rise to my cheeks. “You make an excellent fake boyfriend.”

He turned up the music as we pulled out of the parking lot. I could hear him scrape his bumper again, but he didn’t say anything about it this time. “So, how do I take you home?”

“Oh. You don’t have to! I can just take the bus-“

“y/n. It’s late and it’s dark and it’s cold. Please let me take you home.” We were stopped at a red light, and we paused, staring just at each other. Ted’s face was bright red, and I’m sure mine was too. But even when the light turned green, his face was still red, and I’m sure mine still was.

A car behind us held a sustained honk, and Ted jolted out of his stupor and peeled out across the intersection. Of course Ted wasn’t a bad driver. He was a highschool driver, so he drove to look cool half the time. Meaning right now he was driving with one hand at the top of the wheel and the other arm rested against on top of the center console. I made the judgement call to reach over and take his free hand in mine. I did so loosely, allowing him to let go if he wanted to, but if anything he laced his fingers with mine tighter. I looked down at our hands, smiling, then back towards Ted’s face. He was smiling widely, but when he saw me looking he made a stupid attempt of trying to play it off and act like he wasn’t smiling, but I started laughing so he eventually fell into laughter with me. We didn’t talk much on the way to my house other than me giving directions every now and then. He didn’t let go of my hand the whole time, except when he had to put the car in park.

I stared out his window towards the front of my dark building. I knew no one was home, and it was probably pretty cold inside since I usually forget to turn on the heater before leaving for school.

“I guess this is me.” He watched me throw my bag over my shoulder as I stepped out of the car. “Thank you Theodore. For everything.”

“Ted.”

“What?”

“You can call me Ted.”

I smiled at him. “Right. Thank you. Ted.”

I shut his car door and walked up my sidewalk, but I turned when I heard another car door shutting behind me.

“y/n, wait.” Ted was walking towards me, hands shoved in his pockets as the giant man toward over me. “I, uh, I really enjoyed being your fake boyfriend tonight.”

“I enjoyed it too-“

“And I enjoyed sweeping the stage with you. And holding your hand. And dancing with you. And driving you home. And arguing over food. And laughing. And sharing music. And pretty much everything. And I don’t want it to be because I’m your fake boyfriend you happened to be on a fake date with because we happened to be in the same place at the same time.” He sucked in a breath as he took my hand gently. He stared at our fingers and palms pressed together. “I want to do all that stuff because I’m your real boyfriend. I want to dance with you and take you on dates to shitty diners and act all jealous because it’s real.”

I could feel my face burning. “You were jealous?”

He laughed a little bit. “Oh my God, yes, I was jealous, he was flirting!!” I laughed, gripping his hand a little harder, then pulling it downwards. “Ouch! What the-“

I placed a kiss on his cheek, and I watched him short circuit as his whole face turned red. “Theodore, I would like to let you know, I am free tomorrow night for a date if that’s what your asking.”

“OH. Okay! Yeah is 7 okay?”

“7 is perfect.”

“Yes! Yes yes!” He pulled me in for a hug and kissed the top of my head. “Oh my god! Okay. Tomorrow, 7!”

I laughed, still trapped in his arms. “I expect dancing.”

“Oh absolutely.” He pushed me back a bit, smiling as he stared at me. “I have to go home. I have to get ready!”

“For a date in 24 hours?”

“Yes! I have plans to make!” He kissed me on the forehead again and ran back to the car. Hand on the handle, he looked back at me, smiling. “I can’t wait.”