the sky was pink .

[aisha van buren]

Aisha rolls her eyes for what must be the millionth time since she arrived. Tempted to tell him to shut up again, she instead hits his arm with the back of her hand, narrowing her eyes at him despite the fact she was smiling. "Fine, I hate fish movies. Happy now? Make sure you get edamame beans too, they're the best bit." Jet lag was creeping around the edges of her consciousness, causing her to stifle a yawn as she stretched. Not for the first time she thought about just how far Los Angeles was from New York and it made her sad, thinking of being stuck on the opposite side of the country from him. Maybe it was for the best. Stealing a glance at Joe, she took in the contrast between black ink and pale skin, though there was the hint of a California tan brought out by the white cotton of his t-shirt. Even now that she was stood in the same room as him she could already feel the pang of missing him, anticipating how quickly the time would pass between them and she would be back on a plane to LaGuardia.  In the hot tub it was easy to see why he preferred the West Coast, even on a dreary day like this one. Sun, sea and sex, that was what it was all about, right? Both her parents had gone to school not fair from where she was right now, and she understood why they hadn't wanted her to follow in their footsteps. Who could focus on schoolwork when there were pools to jump into and beaches to lounge on? She took the glass gratefully this time, taking a long sip. "Now I know that's not true," she said, darting a reproachful glance at his swimming shorts. She had a remarkable lack of shyness for a twenty year old, and if it weren't for the fact she shared her home with her younger brother, Aisha would happily have walked around her apartment naked at all times, floor to ceiling windows be damned. She screams girlishly as she's splashed, putting her glass down to tie her hair up with the hairband that faithfully sat on her wrist. Once up in a messy bun, she closed the distance between them, holding herself just out of reach as she kissed him. "Look at you. Joe McCarthy in a hot tub in LA, I never thought I'd see the day. Suits you." She falls quiet when he says he missed her, studying his face for a clue that he might be lying, or just saying what he thought she wanted to hear. Finally she smiled, splashing him back at close range. "You too." She sighs at the mention of her father, not wanting to think of their time together coming to a close. Returning to her place on the opposite side of the tub she nods, taking another sip of wine. "Yep, the original Mr. McCarthy will be here round noon. Do you want to come?" she grinned into the glass, following it with a sip. "It could be good bonding ahead of the wedding."  ......................... notes: omg i admire your determination  music: tv on the radio

[joseph mccarthy]

After spending so much of his early twenties in New York, Joseph felt that Los Angeles was a much deserved break. His childhood was spend in toasty winters and dry hot summers, so the first two years in New York felt different and magical- especially when he woke up to powdered streets. But over the last two year it had become increasingly difficult to see the things he loved about the concrete city. He felt contained, anxious and cold. It didn't help that those two years were spent watching Aisha becoming the exposed groupie of a boy band that was constantly in the tabloids. Then last year when the band broke up, it had become unbearable to spend days in the fussiness of New York. Los Angeles was more laid back and more rock and roll than New York was. It had an element of eternal cool that couldn't be matched and an old school Hollywood that seemed to bleed onto tourists within a couple hours spent within it. He grins handsomely at her comment, feeling confident as her eyes wander over him. His thumbs cinch the v of muscle by the elastic of his swim shorts and he winks jokingly,  “even so, I'm just a helluva modest guy.” Shrill shrieks fill the steamy air around them and he splashes her a couple more times, a smile spread wide across his cheeks as he does so. He looks around when she mentions him in LA, the fact of it being just as surreal to him. The backyard is less modest than his house, looking far more 90210 than Joe McCarthy. The last home owner must have loved palm trees and unusual waterfall "art", as they were both everywhere. “I think it's important to note, that the last owner of this house was probably on Real Housewives and I have yet to bulldoze the backyard," he circles the odd features with his index finger and takes a swig of beer. He greets her lips with his own, his hand grasps the back of her head and he digs into her thick hair to pull her deeper. As she pushes back to her post he shakes her head, “come on, don't tease, come back.” He watches her decipher his words. She wasn't much better than he was, they were blth second guessing every word that came out of each other's mouths. “I really mean it, I've been dreaming about you and waking up with wood,” it's no wonder she has to read past his words when he comes out with guarded jokes. “I do, actually. How about lunch?” he stretches across the tub, his mouth and nose submerging as he gives her a gentle kick with his foot, unable to not touch her for more than a minute. “I'm kidding, I'm not sure how he'd feel about me taking his daughter's innocence bit by bit. You'll probably have none left by morning,” a smart ass grin appears again, he chugs another bit of lager and dunks his head fullt in the chlorine water. .........................                               notes: I don't want to work so this is better music: black joe lewis & the honeybears

[aisha van buren]

It was a very different life to the one she had back in New York, to the one they had once shared. Even in her luxurious Manhattan apartment, even in her dad's even more luxurious penthouse, there was a sense of decadence to this city that could not be found on the opposite side of the country. The decadence she was used to was the decadence gifted to her by generations of wealthy ancestors, beautiful New England mansions and summers in the Hamptons, debutante balls and prim school uniforms. She had scoffed at her Californian cousins, whose clothes cost just as much as hers but had, in her opinion, a distinct sense of mall rat about them. She sneered at anyone with self-made riches, wrote everything Kardashian off as new money bad taste. Aisha had very much reinforced the ridiculous notion that being born into money was somehow better than ever having to earn it, and as a result, she had nothing resembling a careerpath to speak of. In a way she envied Joe his success, the way he had a talent, worked on it and turned it to cold, hard cash, all without losing his love for it. God, creative people were so annoying. "Modesty's for losers," she purred, slender fingers reaching down to snap the elastic of his shorts. He splashes her again and she dutifully screams, though she's laughing through it, using the hand that's not clutching her wine to splash him back. Once the water has settled she looks at him appreciatively, loving him in white t-shirts but loving him even more like this. There was no denying it, he wore LA well. When he speaks she glances around, a small smile on her face as she took in the decor. "Excuse you, my mom's a Real Housewife and rest assured, she would find this extremely tacky," she said, imagining the look on Daisy's face as she appraised it. She sips on her wine thoughtfully. "What would you do with it? I think you should keep it as it is, if you're going to become a Californian," she prayed she didn't sound as bitter as she was, "then you might as well have a place that looks the part." Smiling into the kiss, it turns to a smirk as he chides her for being a tease. Her favourite descriptor. Placing the glass down on the side, she pulled the hairband out of her hair, doing her best Baywatch impression as she shook her mane of blonde hair out. She laughs at his comment, though it irks her too, makes her wonder if that's really all he thought she was good for. It was true that he hadn't made any move to make this anything more than that, not really. "Have you heard of PornHub? I hear it's all the rage. Stop it!" she giggled, pushing his foot away as he kicked her. She made him feel her age and older at the same time, girlish in her ability to just be herself, but womanly in how he looked at her, the things he said. Like that. Biting her lower lip, she raised an eyebrow at him as he remerged. "Don't worry about that, you stole any innocence I had a long time ago," she said, pushing over to his side of the pool again and straddling him, landing a kiss on his lips that tasted of chlorine and faintly of lager. "Stop talking about tomorrow, I'm trying to pretend it'll never come." ......................... notes: so proud of you/WISH I HAD A FUNCTIONING PHONE. also i gave you nothing again i promise next time i will!!! music: new order

[joseph mccarthy]

His eyes watch Aisha, and she's so elegant in the way she carries herself. Her body under the influence of a different mind could be dressed very differently. She could be far more Kylie Jenner than the posh Queen she is. Maybe it's the rose tinted glasses that he sees the world through that makes her see her as different from any woman he's met. She's so on her own realm. When he pictured himself settling as a teenager, he never pictured himself loving a girl like Aisha. His past imaginary wife was more modest and mousey, she said words like please and thank you, and cooked Sunday roasts. Aisha was proud, often too proud for manners and he'd once seen her burn water. She's so perfect but so flawed and now that he'd been with her, it's hard to go backwards. He nods hesitantly, forgetting that Daisy was such a socialite. The father of the girl always seemed to stand out more, perhaps because his disdain for Joseph was so obvious. The boy turns his gaze from his yard and back to her. “Remember when we first met and you came up and said Oh my god, I love that tattoo and I forget which one you pointed at because I was so caught up in the fact that you were the prettiest thing I'd ever seen? And I thought, God, I'm going to love this girl so much I'm going to need to get statue of her in my backyard. So that's what I'll get,” he laughs a bit, reminiscing the first half of the story. “So that'll go where the giant lion is. And then I have a spot for you on my thigh for when you say yes to marrying me,” he jokes when he says this, but really means it. There is an uninked patch where he intends his artist to draw in a pretty portrait of his ex-girlfriend-future-wife. He's amused when she pulls the hair tie out of her mane after only having it up for two minutes. His hand wipes away the flecks of water that land on his face.   “Pornhub?” he leans his head to the side, “but you're so much better than Pornhub” He sets his beer on the side as she swims over, smiling softly and appreciatively. His inked arms close around her bare body, and he kisses her back gently, feeling sad when she mentions tomorrow. He wished he were a more present person. It often seemed impossible to quit wishing moments away, to stop saying "I can't wait till..." Joseph forced himself to be more here, truly not wanting it to end. He dots kisses from her lips to her cheekbones, to her neck and down to her bare breasts. “I really love you so much,” he leans his forehead into her, arms hugging her in so close he can hear her faint heartbeat. “In a non-platonic way. I know you hate when I say shit like that, but my heart's going crazy and I can't help it.” .........................                               notes: HARDLY WORKING TBH music: black joe lewis & the honeybears

[aisha van buren]

Ever since she was a child, Aisha was one of those people who could be instantly calmed by water. Even the most raging of tantrums would be calmed by a bath, so long as the water was piping hot and she was left on her own to reflect. She had read once that Tom Ford took five baths a day and it had made her feel a deep affinity with the man, whose designs she had religiously bought into since, seeing as they were obviously such kindred spirits. As such, being in the hot tub was a good place for her, it took the edge off her anxiety and made her less defensive than usual, the hot water enveloping her like a blanket around a baby. It was enough to allow her to laugh at his reminiscing, when usually it would bother her, this unprovoked intimacy. She splashes him again, before posing, both her hands poised under her chin. "Make sure you get my best side." Usually she would leave it at that, choosing to ignore his little trip down memory lane. But it's a sweet thought, and one she remembers well. She nods at the skull on his arm, "it was that one, by the way. I still love it, I used to doodle it everywhere." The comment about leaving a spot on his thigh for her makes the lump in her throat ever more present, actually almost hurting as she struggles to remain casual. Picking up her wine glass, she avoids his eye, downing the remaining ruby red liquid in one and making a face afterwards, not as accustomed to alcohol as she would like people to believe. Soon he's closed the distance between them and her heart is going wild against her ribcage, her body yearning to be against his though her rational mind yearned to run away from this moment of unbridled closeness. Often she shut down any chance of conversation between them, throwing herself at him to avoid having to voice her feelings. But now she was out in LA and she couldn't fuck him the whole time, much as she wanted to, so she conceded that this conversation would have to happen. How she wished she could keep on listening to him with no obligation to reply. Everything he said made her blush deepen, the intensity of his words simultaneously hitting hard and making her want to cry. Unsure of which option to go for, she did what she knew best and straddled him, kissing him roughly, stealing away any more sweet things he might have to say. The truth was that she felt completely underserving of his affections, always had but especially so now, but she couldn't help feeling a rush of such intense feeling for him as he spoke. Opening her mouth to say something back, she couldn't find the words, and so kissed him again, hoping he'd sense the urgency behind the gesture. Finally he looked at him properly. "I love you so much," she kissed him again, her eyes squeezed shut, "but I need you to stop saying things like that. There's no point, I'm at NYU, you're about to go into the studio. Stop taunting me with what I can't have." ......................... notes: LOVE THEMMMMMMM music: silence

[joseph mccarthy]

Joseph looks down to his arms whens she remarks which tattoo she says she doodled over and over. There's two skulls on either bicep, one which sports a cowboy hat and another which a snake moves through. She's nodding to the snake, one his his earlier tattoos. Since then the tokens on his body have become less random, each are easily related to a person or an event and are personal. The cowboy skull reminds him of his grandfather, who despite never riding a horse could usually be found rocking in his rocking chair with a cowboy hat sitting on top of his head. There were multiple tattoos of his mother, on his right arm. There's another early one of Lily taking up a good chunk of his shoulder, a tattoo that has given his younger sister many bragging rights. There's more women on the stems of his legs, roses pouring throughout and other prints of traditional art. Guaranteed if you were to ask Joseph why he got each of his tattoos, he'd be able to give an answer. He watches her fight herself, the struggle within her is obvious. His parents had such a secure marriage. Sure, they had their little fights but nothing that stood out for Joseph. They weren't shy to kiss each other in front of the kids or to some gestures of affection. Apart of why Joseph was so openly affectionate was because he was raised by people that were. He questioned if this was the same reason that Aisha was closed off, because the people that had raised her weren't romantic with each other. He holds her naked body, her hands pouring over her skin, which was even softer in the hot water. He had half a notion to take complete advantage and pick her up to have his way with her. But he waits, kissing her more softly than she kisses him and holding her more gently than he feels she wants. He feels his heart sink when she tells him that she loves him and the nausea follows when she makes up a pathetic excuse of why it wouldn't work. It's once again a guessing game. Are the kisses real or a cover-up? Is she trying to get out of it, or is she just scared? He doesn't give himself another moment to think about it. Instead he kisses her on the forehead and lifts her off as he stands up. “I'm just gonna see if food's here, alright?” he slips out of the hot tub and rubs himself with a towel before wrapping it around himself. He switches on a few dim lights inside the house and flicks Nick Waterhouse onto the stereo. His mood is becoming sulky quickly and he feels himself draining of enthusiasm, so he attempts to fix this by smoking a quick bowl of weed. It's mind numbing but it doesn't pick him up as sharply as he'd like, it just adds a haze. He changes out of his soaking wet shorts and into a pair of black boxers. His thumbs roll through his various social media feeds, seeking pleasures in other people's lives instead of going back outside with the blonde. The sushi arrives ten minutes later and he steps outside to waves the girl in, “food's here.” He lays out the food on the table and stands back to frown as Aisha walks in, “I might've ordered too much.” ......................... notes: SORRY THIS IS WORD VOMIT music: nick waterhouse obviously

[aisha van buren]

She could be held like this forever. Only Joe could have her naked in his lap and be able to hold her in a way that suggested pure affection, his kisses gentle, his embrace soothing rather than sexualized. Softening her kisses in return, she kept her arms around his neck, clinging on to him like a koala. As soon as she speaks she knows she's said the wrong thing, she can see the flash of frustration cross his features and his touch slacken. Frustrated at herself too, Aisha doesn't even pout as he brushes her away. "Ok, get me a refill?" she asks, trying to lighten the mood but failing spectacularly since he's already walking away. With a heavy sigh she turns and sits in the tub, with only the bubbles to keep her company. It's obvious that he's taking a time out from talking to her so she gives him his space, using the time to mentally go over what just happened. She tried to focus on the signs that he was just word vomiting. He had forgotten that she was coming, he had told her about his Tinder dates. He said he hated her as often as he said he loved her, and Joe was a person who could be swept up in the moment, who would tell anyone he loved them if he was sharing a tub with them and there was any sort of chemistry. Unfortunately she knew him too well to be able to convince herself of this. Joseph was a romantic but that didn't mean that he was automatically romantic with everyone, in fact, the seriousness with which he treated his romantic connections meant he was especially protective of them. Pulling her knees up to her chin, she clasped her legs, resting her head against them. What did she want? There was no way she would get on a plane to cross the country just to say hi. But Aisha was an indecisive girl to her very core, someone who had all the opportunity in the world and felt overwhelmed by that. She switched majors, she switched boyfriends, she switched moods. Someone in her office had told her that fundamentally people like the illusion of choice but actually become quickly overwhelmed by multiple options, and Aisha was living proof that that was true. Sometimes she wished her parents were a little more restrictive, longed for the kind of parents who insisted on certain careerpaths-- Charlotte was a great example of this, someone who had all the choice that Aisha had but a hard working nature instilled in her by her very driven mother. She wondered if she too might have a solid career if Vegas had been her mom... much as she loved her own mother to death, she did not want to be a Real Housewife. It was easier to know what she didn't want than what she did. She didn't want Joe to be pissed at her, and she didn't actually want him to stop saying things like the thing he just said. Heaving herself out of the tub, she wrapped a towel around herself, pulling her hair up into a ponytail to get the damp ends out of her face. Some time had passed and she hoped he wasn't sulking with her. Finding him in boxers, she headed to his bedroom, helping herself to one of his white tees and pulling on her underwear. Returning to what could only be described as a mountain of food, she laughs, taking his hand and pulling him over to sit next to her. "Good thing I actually love fish, right?" she says, opening cartons and poising her chopsticks, pouring soy sauce sachets into the little plastic dishes they give you. She stretches her legs out across his lap, holding her hand under a piece of sushi that was trapped in her chopsticks, dripping with soy sauce. She eats quietly for a moment. "I'm sorry for earlier," she says quietly, and it's a big deal coming from someone who considers apologies to be the reserve of the weak. "I sometimes get a bit..." she starts, but stops, sniffing the air. A familiar scent lingers over him and she glances at his eyes, which she had been avoiding. Laughter spills from the blonde's full lips and she hits him on the chest, a little harder than intended. "Are you high?!" ......................... notes: i hate myself for falling asleep yesterday. also ur post was a masterpiece i wish i could match. music: beethoven's symphony 7, my absolute jam

[joseph mccarthy]

As a classically romantic person, Joseph was all too aware that sometimes it made him seem dishonest. He was quick to pull the trigger and lacked the filter that most came with. At times it seemed like he was setting himself up for disappointment and heartbreak. Especially in the case of Aisha, who was romantically the opposite of him. His outbursts of affection could easily send her running and he knew this, so why did he keep doing it? After she turned down his proposal (which, over the years he began to see as not incredibly logical), Joseph held his guard up in forms of oversharing about girls and poking fun with Aisha. He'd claimed platonic love three times now, maybe she felt him taking away the friendliness of it was fake. It was only fair that she'd think this too, after he'd jerked her around for a couple of months and sexualized her. But Joseph wasn't the type to take love so lightly. So when he said he loved her, he meant it from the bottom of his heart. As sarcastic as he could be, he was more honest than anything. He found lying difficult and was a shockingly open person. The most meaningful things to him were his friends. family, and romantic affiliations. Joe was so naturally nurturing that he couldn't help but let the needs of others fall before his. He treats a girl right, but wouldn't pipe on about how he loved any woman, this seemed a great sense manipulative. Though his honest love sometimes led to him getting hit, as being an honest man meant that he'd tell a girl if there was no chance of a future. Not a lot of people like to hear that, even if they have no feeling towards the opposite, rejection is the most bitter thing you can give someone. Joe feels that bitter rejection as he lays out colourful plates of sushi. The weed helps by masking the hurt he's feeling, pushing it into a corner and making him a bit more silly. He shoves a piece of salmon in his mouth, the pink meat is silky on his tongue. Out of the corner of his eye he watches Aisha drift into his bedroom and he makes his way to the beer fridge. “Good thing,” he agrees and clears half the freshly opened bottle of beer as he's dragged back to the couch. Her closeness doesn't feel as good as it did earlier and while he rests her hands on her tanned legs, he doesn't reach to hold her. She gets apologetic and he nods along, reaching across the table to pluck a roll of sushi and dunk it in her soy sauce. He's about to rant on about how okay it is and how not okay it is at the same time when she punches him. His reaction is to grab his chest and feign hurt, his eyes looking up at her for the first time in a quarter of an hour. “Ow,” she looks good in his white shirt, better than him and it's something he would have been sure to comment on earlier. “No, I'm not,” he shakes his head, leaning back and finishing off his beer. “Fine, I am,” his eyes are pinkish and he's so high that it goes without saying that he is. “Maybe I took too hard of a hit, but I needed to after that,” he moves up from the couch and heads back to the beer fridge, grabbing her bottle of wine as he does so. “Do you want some? Bong's in the closet, might help you feel,” he passes her her bottle and opens his own. ......................... notes: sorry i give you nothing?? music: curtis harding

[aisha van buren]

Loading up her plate with more sushi than anyone would ever feasibly eat in a single sitting, Aisha briefly smiles as she thinks about how Joe it is. She said she wanted sushi, so here she was, faced with the whole menu's worth of the stuff. There was tempura and her beloved edamame, teriyaki salmon and thick slices of velvety bluefin tuna. Much like how she could never eat all this, she could never fully accept Joe's declarations and felt overwhelmed by them, deeply flattered but just as deeply troubled by the seriousness with which they were delivered, quite often out of the blue. It took her some time to process things and even longer to actually work out what she wanted to say, but knowing that he expected a response she would say whatever she could to stall for time, which often ended up causing more tension than it eased. For the first time since arriving she felt like a guest, treading carefully and not wanting to offend her host, though usually this was the very opposite of how she liked to behave. Draping her legs across his heavily inked ones, she took a bite of a California roll, surveying his tattoos as she did so. She liked looking for ones she hadn't seen before, and it was with a jolt she realized what he said earlier had been half true at least - there was a gap on his thigh that suggested intentional blankness, real estate that he was saving for something special. She felt sick with guilt. Of course he hadn't been lying, why would he? This was Joe, when he lied it was so obviously for comic effect that it was cheap of her to think he'd do it for any other reason. It just wasn't in his character. He put his hands on her legs but it's more out of necessity and she can feel his hurt, is hurt that she was the cause of it. "Don't lie to me," she says softly as he confesses, proving her theory that he was incapable. She doesn't really want to get high, knowing that if she does it will only make her more reticent, or worse, make him second guess everything she says more than he already does. "Sure, maybe after we've eaten," she says, since she doesn't want to be on a totally different planet from him. Besides, it might help to take the edge off what was bound to be a difficult conversation. Difficult, but necessary. Deep down, through all her brattiness and her insensitivity, Aisha was not a bad person. She didn't actively want to hurt anyone, and besides, she knew it wasn't fair to give him so little to go off, even if it was painful for her to open herself up in any way. The couch feels empty without him but she doesn't touch him when he returns, her eyes fixed pointedly on her plate. "You know I don't like to talk about things like that, but it's not because I don't feel it." She looked at him, putting her plate down and moving so she was sat on her knees, fully facing him, imploring him. "You have to know that I love you Joe. I couldn't have married you because it would have doomed us, that was so hard for me, it felt like you were making me choose between two ways of killing our relationship and maybe I chose the wrong one, but at least with the one I chose we could be here now, you can maybe one day forgive me and then maybe..." she drifts, finding it difficult to finish off the thought aloud. She takes his hand. "I don't regret it because I'm here now. If we had gotten married, I think it would have killed any love you thought you had for me far more permanently. And that would have killed me, because I really do love you." ......................... notes:  d r a m a t i c music: silence

[joseph mccarthy]

Audrey Horton-McCarthy had not came to dislike Aisha as easily as Joseph claims his mother had. When Aisha had said no to his proposal, Joe was a wreck. He locked himself in his teenager bedroom and listened to nothing but sad songs for a month, refusing to do anything but smoke pot and eat foods with no expiration date. Though, Audrey, knew how incredibly fleeting her son could be as she had raised him to be that way. She had a feeling that the proposal had started has a thought and before it could fully generate in his mind, it was out in the open and exposing itself to Aisha before it had fully progressed. It reminded her of a time when Joe was ten and had tied his bike to the back of his father's car, and before he even thought of the consequences he had a grade two concussion. Joe's heartbreak was equal to his concussion, but perhaps it had more of a long-term effect as it still was a topic of discussion at family dinners two years later. Audrey's dislike for Aisha was an exaggerated one, one more made up in Joe's eyes when he mistook his mom's annoyed eye roll for her thinking how horrible the young blonde was. Joe was one to feel strong emotions. He loved strongly and when he was sad, he hurt strongly. Right now he was both, but more so the latter. The young women kept her hands to herself, realizing that he didn't want to be touched. If she did reach forward with her hands, he would stand frigid. At least, this is what he told himself. His blue eyes watch as she curls up and she begins to apologies. Another emotion plays – guilt and stupidity. He thought he knew Aisha better than most of the people in her life. He considered himself to be an expert on Aisha Van Buren. But if he was so wise in this area of study, then why was he letting split-second thoughts pour out without thinking. Even he did feel his love to be true, why was he saying it? Last time he had gotten so deep in a conversation she was shutting a door in his face and leaving for good (well, he thought). So why was he taking this second chance so forgranted and doing the same thing all over again. Perhaps it wasn't her that needed to change, but him who needed to adapt. The cool tones of Nick Waterhouse steal the air. The singer some how makes R&B seem old and Californian, remaking a brand out of old and new. She takes his hand and he holds it limply, the encouragement of his mind forcing him to hold her delicate fingers with more strength minutes later. He slips his other hand onto her neck and leans forward to peck her chubby cheek, “I forgive you.” He says and he's unsure if these words are all that true. “Listen, you're not my anything, so I should really stop expecting you to reciprocate the feelings I have for you, ” he's lost in thought so he pauses, taking a sip of beer to help his mind come up with the language for how he feels. “I think about you all the time. I think about you when I'm awake and when I'm asleep, I dream of you. I thought about you for two years straight. I wondered how you were, what you were doing, what you were thinking. It didn't help that I could give a quick Google search and see that you were fine. I should have taken a hint when you moved on so quickly,” he feels his chest hurt, the heartbreak felt so physical. “I love you, but I should have let that go when you did. And I'm sorry I keep bringing it up, or blurting it out, it feels shittier every time. I'm going to stop saying it and move on from it, alright? Good.” ......................... notes: mushy dramaz music: nick waterhouse

[aisha van buren]

The mismatch between them was palpable. Like a militant vegan dating the butcher-owner of an abattoir, their differences were few but major. Joseph's ease with emotion and openness clashed harshly with Aisha's desire for things to go unspoken, creating conflicting interests even when fundamentally there were none. As a couple they had been truly head over heels for each other, and each knew it-- and yet it remained a bone of contention that Joe would express this and she would not. It was hard enough for the girl to admit to liking seafood, to admit to strength of feeling was an extremely tall order, and whilst Joe had always understood this most of the time they were together, there were times he'd eased it out of her, she had felt safe to say the words. But in this post-break-up world she felt no such security, and even in the face of his openness she struggled to meet him like for like.  Not being stupid, she could also see how this reluctance to vocalize her feelings would come across as her having none, though she was frustrated that he didn't know her better than that. He says he forgives her and she sighs heavily, forgiveness not being what she wanted. What did she want? Why did that question come up so often? Because she never answered it, she supposed. His being stoned doesn't help, and she has the distinct feeling that she would be just as well talking to the wall. Sighing again, she substituted speech with heavy exhales. Letting his hand go she fell back onto the couch, defeated. His words wash over her like a cold shower. There's so much she wants to say but she doesn't trust herself to do her feelings justice, causing her to stay mute... at least, until he makes an allusion to Elliot. Sitting up bolt straight, her tone becomes harsh, "don't even pretend what I had with Elliot is comparable to what we had. Don't even go there." But how was he to know how different it was? She had worked hard to make the relationship seem sincere, at least to anyone who cared to Google it. Unable to help herself, she climbed into his lap, holding his face to make him look at her. She kissed him briefly, still holding her face as she spoke. "I didn't move on. I wouldn't be here if I had moved on." She sighs yet again, her frustration at not knowing how to say what she wants to say bubbling up inside her and making her want to scream. It was as if they spoke different languages, and she was far from fluent in his. "Just listen to me. I love you. I love you like you love me, more than you love me, probably. I do want to be Mrs. McCarthy," she laughs awkwardly, trying to dispel thoughts of her father, "I want to wake up to you every morning and go to sleep with you every night. I think about you constantly, there wasn't a minute I spent with Elliot that I didn't compare you two only for him to come out looking bad. But you've avoided me for forever and now you're moving to LA and I know it's not about me, of course it isn't, but I can't help but feel that in some small way it is, that you're running away from me. Which I wouldn't blame you for. Just please, stop, stop making out like you want this and I don't. I understand if you want to move on, but please don't use the excuse that your feelings weren't reciprocated, because they are. Tenfold."  ......................... notes:  so mushy. music: nick waterhouse too. so good!!

[joseph mccarthy]

Joe finds Aisha a very difficult person. She so very far from the person he is, which is part of a reason why he loves her but also a reason why he wished he didn't. When she gives him a sense of security, it is so magically rewarding that he could be set on a high for days. He's not generally a person that needs a lot of reassurance. He's done well for himself since he was a teenager, marching to the beat of his own drum with hard work and determination. He was the kid that wanted to so strongly wanted to be a rockstar as a child, that when people told him he couldn't he simply went back to his garage and turned the amp up. He felt needy with Aisha and that was unsettling him right now. His fingers trembled and his heart raced, he felt himself pulling back from his usually vulnerability for her sake. He was growing weary of giving so much and receiving nothing back. She gets sharp in response to Elliot and it's his own cockiness that knows she's right. Elliot was the complete opposite of Joseph. Where Joe was reserved with the press, Elliot loved every minute of the limelight. While Joe was in it for the love of creation, Elliot was in it for the fans. How could Aisha love someone who was so right-wing from him? How could you go from a genuine human being to a plasticy Ken doll. Or was this him being narcissistic and thinking he was better than anyone else? Deep in his thoughts of self-doubt, Joe wished he had taken more of a hit so that he was so numb he could just lay there and not absorb any of what she as saying. He was so alive for the moment as she clamoured onto his tattooed legs, though his lips felt lost as she kissed him and his hands struggled to find their place. Half an hour ago she had been stripping her clothes in front of him, her curves so sleek and perfect that he could spent the rest of his years happily studying her angles. The frustration that appeared on her perfect features as she shed a final layer had him weak. As the words licked off her tongue he felt the beat of his heart grow more powerful and his brow bowed as he listened to her. It's the honesty and reassurance that he's needed. He feels his core relax and himself feeling warmer, the colour appears back in his features. Joe's hand lifts to knead the slope of her neck to her shoulder and he closes the inches of distance between them with a long kiss. “Thank you,” he searches for words of honest comfort to cure her illusions of his avoidance. “I wasn't avoiding you, I was very fixated on getting over you. Clearly, that hasn't worked out so well,” he laughs slightly, his fingers softly soothing her hair, “I know you do, I really know if I think about it that it's not just me. I just need to hear it, I don't know why. I like the sound of you saying it. I'm not running from you, I'm trying to run to you. And I honestly realize, that maybe that's not the best thing, I pace it out my steps.. I think it might be too much of a leap for you. I'm living here, but that doesn't mean I'll never be in New York. And I don't want to see anyone but you.. god, I want you in my peripheral every second. But this is going to be harder than last time, you're right, because music will get busy and then shit will hit the fan completely. I want you with me and I want you to finish what you're doing. What ever you choose to do, you'll be great. I'm here for you 100%, I'll do anything to reassure you of that. Your move.” ......................... notes: this a) took to long b) is p bad c) il them so much sorry so mush music: mothers

[aisha van buren]

Aisha let herself fall into the couch, readjusting herself as she went. It felt like an effort to stay sat up straight on her knees as she had been before, the emotional weight of their conversation draining her of physical energy. It has hard to say why she found this so difficult. Whilst Joe's ease of character was very obviously rooted in his upbringing, he was very much the sum of his parents and their open affection, it wasn't so simple as to say her parents' separation had damaged her. To the contrary, Aisha had grown up with the steadfast belief that her parents loved each other and were merely apart due to logistical issues, though it was a fantasy she was finding harder and harder to indulge as she got older. But her parents had poured so much affection into her childhood, Daisy had been besotted with her children and had given Caesar no option but to follow through and do the same. Where Vegas had decided her daughter was better off without Caesar and all the disappointments he brought, Daisy had scheduled daddy time and given him absolute hell if he was so much as five minutes late. So she couldn't pretend she hadn't been raised with love and affection, buckets of it. She also had a very protective younger brother, who tended to act older than his years in his dealings with her, sheltering her from the world as best he could. If she had to hazard a guess, she would attribute her commitment issues to a combination of her control freak desire to have everything go exactly the way she wanted it to, and her underlying belief that she was not worth loving, that her selfishness had made her unfit for the purpose. She leaned over and picked up the bottle he'd brought out, sloshing far more wine than was probably advisable into her glass, the crimson liquid making a satisfying glugging noise as it was poured. She wasted no time in taking a hefty sip, hoping that she could get a little inebriation of her own to combat his obvious highness. Putting the glass down as she settled into his lap, it broke her heart to have him so weakly responsive. He was a tactile person, moreso than she, and to have her touch so minimally reciprocated was a novelty she was not much a fan of. As she speaks the ice thaws, his body melding to hers in some subtle, reassuring way. His hand finds her neck and they're kissing, but it's not the fervent one she's used to by now, instead it takes her right back to when they were together and she can't help but cling on to him, one hand on his cheek as her other hand was on the back of his neck. He starts talking and she forces herself to stay with it, to face up to the emotional honesty between them. It's a lot and she opens and closes her mouth a few times, trying to find the right words, trying to suppress her inner saboteur who only wants to pick holes in what he's saying. Finally she kisses him again. "I'm in. I'm all in," she says, her response pathetically short in response to his but feeling like a huge thing to say. "I'm getting a place here, you're always welcome at mine there, we'll make it work. I can promise to try to temper my need for public attention and replace that with giving you the attention you deserve, so long as you can handle the fact I'm still going to be the moodiest, most difficult girl in America." ......................... notes:  omg i truly gave you nothing, so so sorry!! music: 'UK's Toughest Teenage Prison'.

[joseph mccarthy]

As Joseph gives himself away, he silently wonders what that 100% looks like. His emotions are in it and he is completely dedicated to the blonde. She could ask him for the moon and he'd rush to the hardware store to find the biggest length of rope he could get his hands on, so he could lasso the great star and pull it down for her. Though he knew the way he picked their future looked different from the way she was setting herself up. Aisha had been raised in sunshine and gold, where as he had been raised in sunshine and mud. This was the way he pictured himself raising his children and living through his middle-age. As she expected marble, he thought a brick bungalow in the middle of nowhere would do fine. He'd invest his money in his children and quit music when they were born. But perhaps that was also an unrealistic thought, as his dreams were so tightly knitted with guitar strings and notes. But then, if he didn't quit, what would happen to his family? These thoughts of forever were a long time away. The truth about forever, he thought, is that is was a sad thing. As he watched her chug her wine, he forces himself to be present once more. She pulls her drink from her lips and he's kissing her again, his mouth sore with the sour of grapes. Her hand is warm on him as he speaks, he softens into her touch, his head tilting into her palm. His eyes watch her thoughtfully, as her sofa-cushion lips pout open and closed and her jade eyes look lost. He stops and she starts by kissing him, he loves the touch of her mouth on his. His hands find their places on her as she begins to talk. He can see the toll being open has on her. She's the type that will send food back to the kitchen no problem, but she seldom says one hundred honest words. Yet here they are again, peeling back layers. Her exhaustion looks painful and he wonders if it feels like she's being cut open. He laughs a bit at her last remark, “I think I might get bored if you were anything else.” He sighs, tipping his head into her chest and sighing again. “Fuck, I'm tired,” he groans, pressing his weight onto her so he's laying on top of her. “Let's not get like that again for another year,” He grabs a fistful of fabric and rests his head on the hill of her chest, “or five, I could go five more years without being a judgmental bastard. Just keep flattering me.” Joe lifts his head to look at her, his body shimmying up so that his lips are back on hers. Deep and soft, it some how feels a thousand times better than when he kissed her hello. “I'm going to ease back on the compliments though. I'm afraid if I call you gorgeous one more time then your ego will pop and I'll lose you to the stars.” ......................... notes: sorry this is this music: mothers still

[aisha van buren]

Continuing her habit of avoiding eye contact with him, Aisha turned her focus to the window. The distant lights of Los Angeles were a stark white against the rich navy of the night sky, and she realized just how much time had passed, since it had been light when she arrived. Time tended to fly by in his company, the ease of his conversation and the warmth of his touch enough to let the minutes slip into hours, into days, without her feeling a need to check the time. The t-shirt smelled faintly of his cologne and strongly of the washing detergent he used, and she was momentarily overwhelmed by the Joe-ness of everything, the abundance of food, the t-shirt, the music, the masculine starkness of the furniture, not to mention the man himself. She polished off the glass of wine like it was water. Definitely drunk now, Aisha's whole body language eased. Like an elastic band slack from overuse, she was slightly slumped against him, her lips and teeth stained ruby by the wine. She takes in the eagle spread across his chest, tracing a manicured finger against it. It was by far the most imposing of the tattoos he'd had since they split and that annoyed her. It was a symbol of his difference, how much he had changed from her Joe. Wanting to undo this, she stopped kissing him for a moment. "Tell me why you got this," she said, alcohol encouraging a bluntness that was usually masked with some sort of flirtation. If anything she sounds accusatory, adopting the tone of voice a wife might upon finding the smudge of another woman's lipstick on her husband's shirt. She's tired and it shows in her languorous body language. Resting her head on his shoulder, she lifts it abruptly as he laughs, only to laugh along with him. She strokes his head as he buries it in her chest. "God, you're such a masochist Joe McCarthy," she whispers, more to herself than to him. "Me too," she agreed, letting him push her back onto the couch and stifling a yawn as she does so. Her fingers are still intertwined in his hair as he grabs the fabric of her shirt, and she could sleep like this, she thinks, sleep like this every night for the rest of her life. A weak laugh escapes her and she nods enthusiastically. "Please. Five years at the minimum, handsome," she said, conceding in the mildest way possible. She yawned again. The truth was that they hadn't really clarified much, she would still be meeting her father tomorrow and she would still be getting on a plane back to the other side of the country not long after that, but it felt like enough of a blood letting for one night at least. He kisses her again and she kisses him back with more energy than she thought she had, hungry for him to know that she relished physical intimacy between them even if she wasn't so great at the emotional. "If you ease up on the compliments I'll fall straight out of love with you, like that," she clicked her fingers to illustrate her point, "it's really the only thing I like about you. That, and the fact you're packing." ......................... notes:  it's like I'm TRYING TO GIVE YOU NOTHING (I'm not I promise) music: australian wife swap