the sky was pink .

[joseph mccarthy]

The past few weeks had moulded a routine into Joseph McCarthy that he would would describe to his friends as, very LA. The warmth of the air seemed to shape these mornings into productive layers. Starting at 6AM when he would unusually stir and rise to make himself a healthy breakfast of eggs on toast with turkey bacon. Then to 7AM where he would drive to the gym to spend two hours of combined weight and high intensity interval training. He'd finish that off with a cold shower – he'd been reading the benefits of cold showering later and had actually come to prefer the uncomfortable numbing of his skin under frigid temperatures. When 10AM came, he'd do a quick grocery shop to fill up his fridge with fresh produce and meats (everything organic). He'd take the dog for a walk, or rather, he'd drag an especially lazy Homer down the sidewalk for an hour. The rest of his day would be filled with other activities – he'd been trying to pick up wood-working and had recently been working on a coffee table for his mother, sometimes he'd attempt to read, other times he'd work on his music. Today he was working on the latter. The weather outside made him feel not very nature-ful or very LA. It didn't put him in the mood for the beach or for continuing work on his mom's table. There was a shred of paper acting as a bookmark in a very intimidating looking Infinite Jest, it had been sitting there for four days now. The gloominess of the grey clouds and the way the rain freckled the large panes of glass that enclosed his house, they made him in a few slum mood. So the blonde stuck himself in the back room and leaned over his desk to write a few depressing lines on how rain melts away the candy-coated exterior of life, and how weather is one of those things that is harder to change than other areas. Though that was also untrue, as global warming seemed to be taking the form of warmer winters and boiling hot droughts. He excluded this. By later evening he was bored as all hell. He'd smoked a bowl of pot, switched on a Cops marathon and picked up his Les Paul guitar. His fingers poured over guitar strings and he plucked away a few chords, he picked up a beat quickly and tapped his foot to it. Calloused fingertips carried up and down the sleek neck of the guitar in a hyper rhythm, he became deaf to the chime of the doorbell. His fingers slipped lazily and Joseph became frustrated with his sudden lack of creativity, it was only in this lull of self-doubt that he heard the ping of the door. He thought for a second that he'd maybe ordered pizza and forgot about it, it wouldn't be the first time. Picking himself off the couch and laying the guitar where he was sitting, he slowly jogged to the door. Swinging it open and laying his glazed eyes on the small blonde that stood opposite him, he was immediately guilty. “Fuck. I forgot.. is today Friday?” ......................... tagged: aisha van buren notes: sorry!! bad boring music: syd barret

[aisha van buren]

Ever used to having things her own way, when Aisha Van Buren's plane landed in LA to be greeted by the dull grey of uncharacteristically wet weather, it put her immediately into a bad mood. Tom Ford sunglasses were already perched atop her mass of blonde hair, her toned legs exposed by especially short denim shorts, though she had just changed into these from the cashmere sweats she wore on the plane. Exaggerating the natural fullness of her lips by pouting even more, she turned to an air stewardess as one passed. "Do you know how long it's going to be like this? Like, who flies from NY to LA and has to put up with even worse weather, right?" she asked, causing the woman to fix her face into a rigid, exceptionally forced smile. Of course the cabin crew had no control over the elements, but she must have been used to dealing with bratty people who thought flying first class entitled them to ask stupid questions, because she responded with reassurance that it wouldn't last long. Satisfied by this and indifferent to the annoyance she knew she had created, Aisha slipped her sunglasses on over her eyes anyway, collecting up her YSL carry on and making her way to the departure gate.  Grateful that she had thought to steal her brother's silver, Gucci bomber jacket before she left the house, she pulled this closer around her body, cursing herself for the white tank and short shorts combo. But if she couldn't wear that in LA, where could she? She had brought little else, not wanting to overload herself for what would be a short trip, but this didn't worry her so much-- her father was flying out to meet her the next day, bringing with him an AmEx she would be sure to put to good use. Her blue eyes scanned the faces of all the people stood to meet loved ones, momentarily taken by their diversity; a little Mexican family greeting a relative in loud Spanish, suit clad drivers awaiting their bosses, bored husbands and nervous parents, all craning their necks to look for their people. Pushing the sunglasses up on top her head again, her pout returned with a vengeance as she continued to hunt for a familiar, tattooed young man. Almost before she'd left the plane, she had anticipated this, and yet it was still enraging.  So enraged was she that she vented at her Uber driver all the way tot he apartment, despite the fact that how un-conversational Uber drivers were had previously been one of her favourite things about the service. Sulking, she stared out the window at the grey concrete landscape, all lights and palm trees and artifice. She found it hard to imagine Joe being here. Still, she didn't have to imagine for long, as a few moments later she was seeing the living proof of this, in the form of her apologetic boyfriend answering the door at his LA apartment. She brushed past him, dumping her purse on the couch as if it weighed a ton, not looking him in the eye as she chucked her sunglasses into it and fished around for her lipgloss. Finally she straightened up, running the doe foot applicator of a nearly nude gloss over her lips. "You're an asshole Joe," she said, glancing over him  as quickly as she could. He always looked better in person than in memory, which was a feat, since he looked pretty damn good there too. Looking round, she put a hand on her hip, visibly judging the place. "I really hope you have rose."  ......................... notes: god she is terrible music: bach

[joseph mccarthy]

The absence of a schedule had caused an already forgetful Joe to become even more so. Usually he was kept in line by the barrier of the band's schedule. Between shows and recording, there was very little down time for him to fall astray. Even after Cat's Cradle had fallen out, he'd landed himself busy very quickly by finding a friend's band to play in. He'd quit that when they offered him a more permanent spot and he'd realized that making up with his best friend was more worth his time. But in the swing of a lazy Los Angeles life, Joseph was prone to forgetting. Just this morning he'd picked up his phone to realize he missed a doctor's appointment. Two nights ago he'd accidentally opted for the gym instead of a date he was supposed to go on. It wasn't until he was laying in bed that he remembered and texted the girl, who was actually (and disappointingly as he loved a good fight) forgiving. “Shit, sorry,” the apologies tumbled from his mouth like useless word vomit. He knew that she'd be entirely unforgiving no matter how much he grovelled. An image of her floated through his head, Aisha searching for him in the crowd and huffing when he was no where to be seen. It reminded him of how much he hated being greeted by a terminal full of strangers and no familiarities. He says sorry once again, his eyes catching her tiny frame slip past into the sitting area. This wouldn't have happened in their past relationship, he'd have shown up an hour before her flight so much as landed. And he'd have shown up with flowers as well as dinner plans. If this had happened, he'd have been catching her in his arms as she walked past and fawning over her. Instead he lets her past him and he swears he feels her body radiate an icy breeze as she huffs away. “I don't, no,” he grabs her luggage from outside the door and shuts the door. He readies himself for the shitstorm he's about to receive for not having pink wine. “I've got red, beer... liquor cabinet is there, wine cellar down there,” he laughs at himself, wine cellar.. so LA. He pulls her luggage inside the bedroom and pours a few drops of Visine in his eyes to tame the redness, not wanting her to have a reason to get pissy with him. “Well, what'll it be?” he emerges from the room and fully takes her in. Charmed by her annoyance, he's quick to let an arm slip around her waist and lean in to steal a kiss from her plump lips. “Something sweet maybe, to counteract the sour?” ......................... notes: ugh, lip gloss music: slow club

[aisha van buren]

Disguising her true feelings with defiance was a classic tactic for Aisha, who had spent so many years doing just that that defiance had now become part of her natural disposition. The truth was that she felt awkward around him, was embarrassed that she had come so far to see him under the flimsy excuse of needing to apartment hunt, and the fact that he had clearly forgotten all about it was compounding her feelings of embarrassment and awkwardness. It didn't help that this was an apartment she had visited only once before, so different from the kind of places he was living when they were an item and he hadn't been blessed with as much success as he had now. Not that it was ostentatious in any way, but there were hints of him living more comfortably in the quality of the furnishings, the zip code. He's mumbling his apologies but she's facing away, hoping her cheeks aren't as crimson as the heat in her face would suggest.  Composing herself, she dropped the lip gloss into her bag, its neat NARS packaging in keeping with the luxe, obvious labels on everything else in there. There's a coolness between them that, whilst emphasised by it, was not wholly down to the departure gate debacle and it made her pine for reassurance, to inwardly hope that he would come over and at the very least wrap his arms around her. "At least you were in," she says, her tone sullen though it was a good indicator that she was not scaling up to one of her nuclear tantrums. Her impending birthday was getting to her, all her little rich girl foibles suddenly seeming extremely immature. Joe seemed more grown up too, less eager to please and certainly less fawning, and this apparent maturity discouraged her usual theatrics. That, and she was banking on him giving her a place to stay for the night.  It was a very Aisha thing to do, to request something she obviously knew he would not have and ready herself for a fit when this was proven to be true. But it used to be very Joe for him to respond to this positively, for him to rush out and get her what she wanted. Again this did not happen. Though she wasn't exactly expecting it after all these years, this continued resistance to her antics was confusing to her. Superficially it was disappointing, but on a deeper level, it made him all the more attractive. Pursing her lips but giving nothing more than this in response to the list he reeled off, she was happy to see him take her luggage into his room. "Ugh, I guess I'll have--" she starts, though she can't help but jump a little as he slips his arm around her waist, her body stiffening in surprise before she relaxed into the kiss. This was more like it. Strangely nervous, she avoided looking him in the eye as she slipped her arms around his neck, standing on tip toes to kiss him again. "I'll have a large glass of red, and a whole evening of you telling me all the ways in which I'm great to make up for how terrible you are. Let's start with time keeping, and how great I am at sticking to a plan." ......................... notes: I"M SORRY I'M BEING SO QUICK I JUST LOVE THEM music: silence

[joseph mccarthy]

Joe feels slightly more relaxed than he usually does The source of this detachment is questionable and could be a number of things: the lack of tour he is on, his California living or the fact that he smoked up less than an hour ago. Or perhaps a combination of the three. Though he is generally known for being fairly chilled (or doped) out in every day life. Out of his four band-mates, he's probably known as the less picky and more easy going one. When asked for a list of requests for gigs, he's uncomplicated instrumentally and beverage-wise. But in terms of love, he's the epitome of a romantic gentleman. He constantly puts his partner before himself and goes above and beyond on every occasion. He is chivalrous to a fault. But here with Aisha, having already been burnt a couple times before, he's definitely more careful with the way he acts around her. He second guesses the moves he makes around her, cautious as to not unsettle her. It's really as if he's been caught in a lion's den, and they could shy off to safety or come running at him with their teeth blaring. A tattooed arm pulls around her small waist and his hand slips into the side of her shorts to grasp a tanned curve. He holds her a little tighter as he feels the tension from her body fall away and dips his head to peck the curve of her neck. “I fell into a Cops marathon.. I seriously thought it was Wednesday,” he pulls away from her and presses the cold tips of his fingers to his eye lids, “fucking Cops, Aish.” “You look like a dream,” he moves behind the counter in the kitchen, his blue eyes pouring over her body. After a tours in cities he couldn't pronounce the name of, he still found Aisha to be the most gorgeous he'd ever seen. It was in the simple things that made him ache, like the way her oversized lips cast a shadow over her caramel skin and the way her chest raised when huffing like a drama queen. He failed to hit her mark, in his usual uniform of black jeans and a white tee shirt. He often felt like a garbage man stealing away a brand new Ferrari. Joe poured the bottle of wine and opened himself up a cold Stella. “Above average at time management, self-confidence, adaptability, creativity and problem solving. Average at handling pressure, work ethic, and leadership... below average at playing with others,” he hands her glass with grin, tipping his bottle to tap hers and taking a slow slug. “You've been here, right? I can't remember. Bathroom, bedroom, music room, kitchen, other bedroom, other bathroom, pool,” his finger points in each direction. ......................... notes: sorry this is crap! Love them tho music: talking heads

[aisha van buren]

Goosebumps prickle her skin in the places he's touching her, her body tense with the sudden contact. She feels a rush of all the usual things that come with kissing someone, affection, attraction, the early hints of lust, but it's clashing horribly with how awkward she's felt since arriving, making her unsure how to proceed. Everything about their relationship was stuck in limbo, since it felt like a stretch to call themselves friends after all they had been through. Fuck buddies was too flippant, didn't do justice to the emotional charge she felt lay behind all their physical interactions. But to call themselves enemies or even mere acquaintances was laughable... sometimes he played the part of the bitter ex, sometimes he felt like her soulmate. She had learned that she would have to take it moment by moment with him, that if she wanted things to change she would have to steer that herself. The problem was she wasn't at all sure what it was that she wanted, so to muse on what it was he wanted was a waste of time - not that it stopped her doing it. As if to prove her point, here they were in an intimate embrace when mere moments ago she'd been furious with him. Her fingers knot in his hair as he kisses her neck, his body warm against hers, his whole apartment warm and inviting after the dreariness of outside. She melted into his arms, and with the comment about Cops she laughs, casting away any residual anger with it. Her eyes follow him to the kitchen and she follows, hauling herself onto a counter. Those same eyes roll at his comment, though inwardly butterflies churn her stomach. She had, after all, spent a good twenty minutes hogging the plane bathroom to redo her makeup, with only the landing announcement encouraging her back to her seat. "You don't look so bad yourself. You should actually stop going to the gym so much, you're going to tip over into being one of those deranged Schwarzenegger types if you don't stop."  She took the glass without a thank you, her last remaining act of indignation. Not bothered about letting it breathe, she took a hefty gulp there and then, before heaving herself off the counter. She returns his grin as she clinks her glass against the bottle. "I said to sing my praises, I'm not here for an honest review," she said. "Once, but only briefly. How do you think I knew where to come? Add my above average memory skills to my very long list of talents." She took his hand, leading him into the living room and pushing him onto the couch. "Let's watch trash TV. My choice, you can't be trusted after your Cops marathon." She picked the remote up, flopping down onto the couch beside him, nestling into his frame as though he was part of the furniture. "Here we go! Project Runway, classic. Oh look, there's three more episodes straight after! Remember when I wanted to cancel our trip to Hawaii to watch the finale, but you settled on staying in the hotel to watch it our first night there?" She pinched his cheek, "always such a cutie."  ......................... notes: i gave you nothing and i am sorry about it music: jane eyre soundtrack... terrible movie but this is (y)

[joseph mccarthy]

Aisha's character continues to perplex him after years of knowing her. He often forgets that she's five years younger than him and still very childlike. Often she holds such a bold frontier and he finds her attitude difficult to tear down. Even her sense of style is more defined than most early-twenty-somethings he's met. Though sometimes a bit of nativity appears in forms of vulnerability and the unknown, which act as reminders to be more soft and slow with her. He would often push a joke too far or poke feelings roughly, these plays were appearing more frequently after their break up. Their recent conversation online was still heavy on his mind and he wondered if she was actually hurt, or was playing hurt. It was much easier to read her face than to trust her words. She laughs and it makes feel successful in tearing down an icy wall, he smiles as a result. She comments on his physique while he's pouring her wine and stands more squarely, flexing his upper body. “Uneducated assumption. You have to eat a ton to build Schwarzenegge amounts of muscle. I can't eat that much in a day, this'll probably just maintain... gym pro tip: calorie surplus equals muscle,” he smiles, cocks his head and winks like a salesman. “You're welcome,” he says sarcastically to her absence of a thank you and takes another longer sip of beer. Heat rises to his pale cheeks when she mentions she has been her and he struggles to remember when she was here last, “that's right, I forgot. Memory loss is also a result of muscles.” His socked feet trudge along behind the bouncing blonde and he allows himself to be dragged into the next room. He resists the urge to snake his arms around her front and press his mouth to hers, “I'm not sure if that means Cops is good or bad?” His body falls into the couch and he sinks deep into the pillows, the smell of leather engulfing his nostrils. Her body crashes down against his and his hand naturally falls onto the slope of her back. “Jesus Christ, no,” he's quick to pry the remote, hit a random combination of numbers and chuck the remote across the room. “Ah, look, Jaws, this is better,” the familiar orchestrated soundtrack fills the room, “could you think of a soundtrack better suited for us?” He widens his knees and closes them around her, his arms heave her up so she fits closer to him. “I'm looking forward to mid-fuck when all you hear is Hooper say, 'I got no spit.'” ......................... notes: no, this is nothing. music: i had to listen to the jaws soundtrack

[aisha van buren]

The wine is giving her a pleasant sense of warmth, though even now she's a little concerned about staining her pearly white teeth. Her appearance was something she would be the first to admit she fussed over, taking multiple selfies a day only to stare at them for so long that she hated them, could pick out a thousand flaws on a picture she originally liked. It was one of the starkest differences between herself and Joe, the latter always seeming at ease in himself, wearing his monochromatic uniform and running a hand through his hair at most. It was this ease in himself she envied most. Whilst she was vain and definitely self confident, it wasn't as easy as Joe's casual indifference, it was practiced, something she had honed over the years. It had been easier when they were together, when he was so free and generous with his compliments that she didn't have to rely on herself to build her self esteem up. He really was the ideal boyfriend for someone who was as unsure of herself as Aisha had been, and though he'd probably cringe to hear it now, he played a big part in shaping the person she was to become. She rolls her green eyes again as she's lectured about muscle gain. "Blah blah blah, I don't care, just don't do it. Only guys are into that look, no girl wants to date the Incredible Hulk," she said dismissively, waving away his comments. She studied him through squinted eyes as he obviously struggles to place her last visit - this, too, is unsurprising. It had been fleeting, him stopping off to pick something up last time she was in LA, and she hadn't actually made it past the living room. She remembered how annoyed she'd been at not being invited in and given the grand tour, how much she'd sulked all day. No wonder he had repressed the memory. She chose not to press the issue, instead trouncing into the living room with him in tow.  With her body against his and his hand in the small of her back, it's easy to slip into old routines, to feel like they're where they were before he proposed. It was a fantasy she occasionally enjoyed indulging with him, cautious not to say or do anything that would prompt him to bring up their current situation. "Ugh, I hate fish," she moans as he changes the channel, despite Jaws not really being a film about fish, and the fact that she loved fish. Letting herself be heaved up, she let her body go slack, a rag doll draped across him. "About that. I'm on my period," she says, another lie. She pulls herself up to his face, giving him a short, sweet kiss, before dotting another couple around his cheeks. "Aren't you so excited to have a whole night of just talking to me? If you're really well behaved, and I mean really well behaved, I might even treat you to second base."  ......................... notes: N O T H I N G music: jaws soundtrack too, now

[joseph mccarthy]

Joseph balances the beer and his sort-of-not-so-sure-probably-not girlfriend, taking occasional sips of the golden lager and inches of her body into handfuls. He takes a moment to think of how they got here, and he's not quite sure. He's thinking in his mind how many times he's seen her since they reignited whatever this was. It had to be five or six times, but it seemed like they'd been going at it much longer. He's insecure about their time spent together so he tends to relish it. Minutes feeling like hours and hours feeling like days. He's positive one day it'll click for her and she'll realize limbo is not where she wants to be, so she'll book it off to somewhere or someone far more interesting. Famous as he is, he's aware that she's seen and fucked more famous people than him. That uncertainty of why she's giving him her time is constant and as much as he tries to hide it, sometimes the insecurity shows through. Her body feels warm against his and it's an old comfort that comes welcome. The weight of her is light, easily manipulated as he pulls her toffee frame up closer against his tattooed body. He grins at her comment about fish, his chest vibrating with a chuckle, “really? I picked up salmon this morning, thought it was a favourite?” It's a flicker of his good-boyfriend habits. This morning on his grocery run (obviously thinking it was Wednesday), he had picked up few Aisha related foods. He was full aware of her dietary pickiness and had picked out old favourites, not knowing if she had gained disdain for them as well. He tilts his eyes are her comment and purses his lips in judgment. “So excited,” he says enthusiastically, his hand reaching under her shirt to tuck under her bra. “Really excited,” his hand lifts off her warm skin and the strap slaps down. He takes a sip of his beer and gets caught up in the Jaws plot line for a minute. “Come here,” he lifts her chin with his knuckle and presses his mouth against her cherry pillow lips, indulging for a long moment. “You know who missed you more than I did?” he asks as he parts, “do you hear that?” Below the murmurs of shark-related dialogue, is the rumbling of an old man snoring. “Homer, look. Look, Holmes!” across the room a cushion moves, and the tan pug opens his pink mouth to yawn, his eyes blink tiredly. ......................... notes: nothing but doge music: gary clark jr

[aisha van buren]

There's a flash of the old Joe in his comment about the salmon, her absolute favorite food, and it almost makes her feel sick with nostalgia. She used to brag constantly to anyone who would listen that he was the best boyfriend in the world, a fact she demonstrated by sometimes mentioning things in passing just to see if he picked up on them, which he always did. They would walk past a florist with a beautiful display of red roses, she would comment that she preferred white ones... a whole six months later she would come home to a bunch of snow white roses, with them her favourite box of chocolates (with all her loathed orange creme ones picked out). Not for the first time she kicked herself for letting him go, this side to him one that made her fall in love with him all over again every time it shone through. Not that she had any inclination to say so. Instead she shrugged, avoiding looking at him since she knew he could tell a lie a mile off when he could look her in the eye. "I guess salmon will have to do, then." What she said next was classic, vintage, textbook Aisha Van Buren. Despite not being on her period at all she had said the comment convincingly, it had come out without her even really thinking about it, and when she stopped to consider why she had said it it was all too obvious. It was a test. Dating her must have felt like an eternal finals week, test after test after test, except they were never so easy as to clearly identify themselves as tests.Instead she would make what seemed to be an innocuous comment, only to fly off the handle when the right answer was not provided. Or she would truly put him on the spot, often publicly, asking him difficult questions and expecting speedy replies. His response was a neat dodge, she'd give him that. Narrowing her eyes as her bra's pinged, she wondered whether he had clocked the lie or not, only to have his lips meet hers again. All was forgiven. Just as she was about to confess, her attention is directed to the dog. Laughing, she waves across the room at the sleepy pup. "Oh my god, he's even more adorable than I remembered!" Getting up, she padded across the room to the dog, crouching down to scratch him behind his ears. Another wave of nostalgia hit her like a tsunami as she sat down on the floor, encouraging him to climb into her lap. In fact, she actually felt the hot prickle of tears starting to form and she fanned her face with her hand, laughing at her own ridiculousness. "God, I'm pathetic. I didn't realize how much I missed him, is all," she said, glancing up at Joe and trying to kid herself that she was talking about the dog.  ......................... notes: actually embarrassed by my keenness, pls do not feel pressured music: supernanny.

[joseph mccarthy]

There were three women in his life that would always remain a constant: his mother, his sister and Aisha. The three women that he would forgive in a heart beat, try right their wrongs for them, and do practically anything for. Aisha could call him twenty years from now from a bar at the early hours of the morning as he lay in bed with the mother of his children, and he'd still drive to pick her up. For him, she would always be the girl he loved so much he couldn't resist asking her to marry him. She'd be the first girl who had him feel true a true broken heart, a sadness so real that he felt as though his heart was actually rotting and dying away on him. Aisha Van Buren would always be the girl that got away, and he would remember both her sour and sweet side with a forever fondness. As Aisha over thinks his reaction to her comment, he truly doesn't think much of it. He holds an awareness to the fact. Quickly weighing whether to poke at her and see if it's a lie, or just to leave it. He leaves it and doesn't prod, as after all there's a chance she's telling the truth and he fears unsettling her mood. Instead he chooses to settle on the present intimacy, though admittedly further would be nicer. Joseph fills his arms with her, forearms resting on the small of her back and her head on his chest. Homer wags his curly tail happily at the attention, his tongue lapping out into a faux smile. The ultimate ladies' dog, the pug had been with Joe since the beginning. A dog older than his history with Aisha. It's obvious of the affections the round dog has for the girl, as he plops off the couch and climbs on to her lap. Joe feels bare without Aisha, his body missing the heat of her and the closeness of their bodies. He pushes himself up to sit, and rests his chin in the palm of his hand to watch the two of them. Surprised by Aisha's sudden flow of emotion, his heart fills with love for her. “God, I love you,” he hears himself say. As he repeats the words in his head, he frowns discouragingly more at himself than at her, “in a totally platonic way.” He pushes himself off the couch and squats down to join the pair. A stray tear leaves a streak in her foundation and he's overwhelmed with warmth, “still a total ten even when you're crying over a dog.” Missing the contact between them, he reaches out to pull her in for another kiss, “I know, I know, Homer. Just can't keep my hands off, it's embarrassing.” ......................... notes: pressured to reply because i want more music: gary clark jr

[aisha van buren]

Sat on the floor with a lump of a dog in her lap, Aisha couldn't believe quite how she was reacting to this. She had often been rightfully accused of apathy, and when she wasn't being totally apathetic she tended to err on the side of disdain or mild approval. This overwhelming amount of emotion was confusing for her and she found it difficult to channel, much as she had when she had been in a relationship with Joe. She had constantly been overwhelmed by the strength of her love for him, and instead of saying so and trying to deal with it collaboratively, she instead devised tests for his affection, or she would blow up because he glanced at a girl on the subway. It was ridiculous, really, since he was the most loyal person she had ever met, but it gave her a chance to put some distance between them, distance she would try to use to compute her feelings. It never really worked out for her. Wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, her cheeks were tinged pink with embarrassment. She was the type of person to consider outward displays of emotion as a form of weakness, an unhealthy trait for someone who had been in a relationship with the complete opposite type. "Shut up," she said instinctively when he said he loved her, writing it off as him teasing her though she'd felt her stomach twist when he first said it. The platonic bit makes her look at him through watery eyes, her head tilted to one side as she tried to work out which bit was more truthful. There was no way of telling. "He's just so cute," she says weakly in her own defence, the hand that was stroking Homer going lax as she gives in to the kiss. He pulls away too soon, and she laughs. Letting the dog go in case she found herself crying again, she pushed Joe back to where he was, clambering on top of him and resuming her position as his human blanket. She watches the movie in silence for a while, enjoying the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. Like every cliche ever, she buried her face against the white cotton of his shirt when scary scenes played, peeking through her fingers to see if they were over. After a while, she propped her chin up on the back of her hand, considering his face from her very close vantage point. "I'm not really on my period, by the way," she confessed, the sight of blood pouring into the sea on screen reminding her. "Like I'd fly to LA just to hang out with you," she added with a grin, though she obviously would. Using the hand that wasn't under her chin, she traced her finger against his chest, drawing shapes that inevitably turned out to be hearts. "Do you think you'll stay here? I mean, after you're done recording and stuff. Are you not coming back to New York?" ......................... notes: here, have nothing music: nada

[joseph mccarthy]

To see an emotionally exposed Aisha was a rarity. It was one of the few things out of their two years together that he never got to see. Maybe he'd seen her cry with happiness over a new purse, but he'd never seen her weep so emotionally. Not even when tears threatened his own eyes after a heavy scene in a dog movie. He gushed with total love for her tear stained face, her cheeks the loveliest tinge of pink. He found thrill in the saltiness of her plump lips as he kissed her, as if he could taste true feeling and wasn't guessing whether or not it was real. Guessing what was real or not was a new thing. Before he never had a reason to guess, because he had nothing to compare it to. He told her he loved her and she said it back, it was true. But now when she says that she loved him then, Joseph questions it. The relationship with Elliot was worth comparing. Even as he watches her catch tears with her fingers, he questions if that was something the other guy had seen. He laughs when she weeps over how cute Homer is. The pug's black nose sniffs the side of her face and his sticky tongue licks away the saltiness. “He's a dog. Look at him, taking advantage of your state,” his hand pats the pug's round end. The tears don't last long and he's being ushered back to the couch. As she settles herself down on him and presses her face to his chest, he wonders if her mascara will stain his white shirt and if it does would he wash it away. His hand resumes itself on her back end, slipping beneath the lace of her underwear and helping himself to a handful of her warm curves. His head turns with hers to watch Jaws, he's relaxed in a blanket of warmth. His lids get heavy around the scene where Richard Dreyfuss appears, his breathing slowing as he fades in and out. “Hm?” his eyes struggle open and he gives her ass a squeeze as he comes back to, “I didn't know how I was going resist all of that.” He grabs his beer - now a bit warmer and less zesty – and finishes it off. His arm hugs her in and he presses his lips to her golden hair. He's caught slightly off guard by the thoughtfulness of her question and a soft smile grows on him when he connects the dots. “LA has more of a scene that I like. It's half the flight closer to my family than New York. There's more nature, more zen and more room. I'm not thinking about moving back to New York. That being said, it'll always have a spot in my heart and I'll be visiting,” he yawns sleepily and throws in a boost for her confidence, “so long as you'll have me.” He taps the beat of the song he was playing with earlier into her back end and gives another yawn, “are you hungry? Want me to cook or order something? Could go for a swim if you wanted, or get in the hot tub. Both are warmer than the air... if you say yes I vote you go nude,” he looks down for a reaction, “actually, I beg that you go nude. Please go nude. You're a total goddess and you should walk around naked 24/7.” ......................... notes: love them music: black joe lewis & the honeybears

[aisha van buren]

Scrunching her face up as Homer licked her cheek, she couldn't help but wonder if Tom Ford Traceless Foundation was something the dog should really be ingesting. It was unusual for this to be her first thought, the slight blonde not even seeming to care that her makeup was likely ruined by this little cry she had indulged in. That was another feat only Joseph had pulled off, making her feel confident and comfortable enough in her own skin just as she was, rather than slathered in makeup. She could still remember the first time she showed up to a date with barely a scrap of mascara, and how he had kissed her and told her she looked better than ever. By contrast, Elliot had asked if she was ill the first and only time she had dared to do the same thing around him. Comparing the two was farcical, since they were about as opposite as two people could be. Here with Joe, she wondered why she had put up with Elliot for so long, since she knew what it was to be treated well. She supposed she knew even then that Joe was the exception to the rule. Draped across him with his hand tucked into her shorts, she's about as comfortable as it's possible to be. She puts her head back down against his chest as he talks of Los Angeles, the fact that everything he says is true does nothing to temper the lump in her throat. Already having been emotional enough, she stifles her natural reaction, which was to cling to him and beg him not to. She forces a smile, looking up at him again with a tilted brow. "Maybe. If you think you could stand sharing an apartment with Tate," she said, deciding not to mention that she would have a place in LA by then. Too keen. She sits up, arching her back, catlike as she stretches her plane-cramped muscles. The truth was that she would absolutely kill for some salmon right now, but she doesn't want to admit it, her defensiveness in full swing after her wobble earlier. "Let's order sushi. I'll give LA that over New York, it's way better for sushi, especially sashimi."  His next comment brings a smirk to her face. "Hot tub it is, and though it's a shame to waste my brand new bikini, I think I can manage that." Shrugging off the bomber jacket and kicking off her shoes, Aisha stripped down to her underwear there and then, playfully chucking her tank and shorts at him. She wandered over to the window, glancing out at the inviting water. "Do you have nosy neighbours?" she asked, feigning concern. "If you don't I'll be much less into this. Anyway, grab me a towel, I'll meet you out there." Bossy as ever, she slid the door open and stepped out, the mild chill immediately causing her skin to prickle. Lowering herself to the edge of the hot tub, she sat with just her feet in the water for a moment, peeling off the last of her clothes before slipping into the warm water. "Joe, I forgot my wine," she yelled, submerging herself deeper in the water, its warmth like velvet against her bare skin. ......................... notes: LOVE THEM music: rupaul season 9 premiere!!

[joseph mccarthy]

These newfound insecurities had Joseph wondering if Aisha was a different person than she claimed to be. In the flesh, as he sought a hint of truth to her expression when he told her about his preference to Los Angeles over New York, was she suppressing something? He half wanted her to be upset over the distance this would cause them, even just a bow of her brow would do it for him. If he had to guess he'd say that she cared, as it would take a heafty fraction of thoughtfulness for Aisha to even ask about New York. But still, while fragments of his old affections for her still existed, they were overpowered by thoughts of doubt. Elliott, the YouTube videos, and even the birthday shout out all made him think that maybe she was trying to puppeteer him. “Tell him I'll even bro out over football, just for him?” he speaks in reference to her brother. He liked Tate and thought he was a funny little asshole, no matter how sarcastic he might get about his dislike for the youngest Van Buren. He watches as she stretches, her feline frame exposing her bony ribs as she arches. “Alright, Aisha "I don't like fish" Van Buren,” he mocks the sound of her voice and pulls himself up as she slips off. His hands catch her clothing and he laughs, holding back a compliment as she exposes her tan physique. Even after playing with Cat's Cradle at the Victoria's Secret Fashion Show, she is the most striking thing he's ever seen again and again. “Oh, yea. They're total perverts,” he says in regard to his neighbours, whom he's actually never met as the house next door lays vacant most of the time. He eyes follow her scantily clad body as she skirts outside and his hands run through his blonde hair, What had he gotten into. As Aisha shouts for her wine, Joseph gets taken by his grumbling stomach and orders almost an entire menu of sushi. He chucks her clothes on top of her luggage, slips into a pair of swim trunks and tops up their beverage. “Sorry, I am but a mere mortal and look better clothed,” he grins sheepishly, setting her glass beside and pulling himself into the opposite end. “God, you,” he feeds her already massive ego, holding back his need to touch her as warm water surrounds him. He sighs deeply and leans back, his feet kicking up to splash water at her. “Really glad you came, I've been missing you like nuts,” he admits, the beer feels colder as he sips it within the heat of the tub. “Is daddy Caesar picking you up to look at places tomorrow?” .........................                               notes: sorry this is so bad!!! But look, I love them so much I couldn't wait till I was on my laptop to reply. music: black joe lewis & the honeybears