the sky was pink .

[joseph mccarthy]

A sleepiness rolls over Joseph. Of course, a result of the weed he's smoked but also from the emotional half an hour he's just lived through. Joe doesn't handle stress easily, it's a trait that he and Aisha actually have in common. It's partially the reason it has been so easy to move to Los Angeles, as he found the bustle of New York to be too much. He often finds touring to be a nightmare, as much as he loves playing music for fans, the demand of it gets to him. Though he's not an anxious person when he stresses, he does tend to retreat and smoke more dope that his usual dosage. Being in the limelight irks him and being known for being so good natured, it can be exhausting to keep up the brightness of his appearance. Though exhausted, everything seems much easier now. With Aisha succumbing to her wine, he notices her movements getting slower and her words becoming less guarded. Joseph finishes off his beer and begins to also feel the muddling combination of his two vices. The cold tip of her finger brushes against his hot skin and goosebumps softly raise on his chest, it feels soothing. When she mentions his tattoo he has to look down at it, forgetting what was on his chest completely. “I read somewhere that eagles were symbols of honesty and I liked that,” he smiles sheepishly, raising his shoulders into a shrug, “my artist also had a really good sketch of it he wanted to tattoo on someone.” He presses his head to her, she smells of a mix of florals and chlorine. Drunk and high, this is probably the best he's felt in ages. Despite having a few spells of insecurity, the moment has come full circle and has rectified itself. Aisha feels warm in against his bare body, and her hair is still damp as he strokes it off her face to kiss her again. “Lucky for you, you're pretty hard to resist talking up,” he adjusts his weight, afraid that he'll crush her with his leanness. “Yea?” he laughs into her neck, pressing his lips against her and sucking her bronze skin. He lifts himself from her, his arm easing behind her and lifting her small body with him into a kiss. His lips push aggressively into hers and his hands wander between the shirt she wears. “You're perfect,” he says, breaking contact with her mouth for a moment as he slips the white shirt over her head, “how could I get sick of you?” ......................... notes: bad & bougie (BUT THREE PAGES) music: the raconteurs

[aisha van buren]

Aisha did not struggle with the burden of an expected sunny disposition. It was often presumed, and Joe was included in this, that the young girl craved fame, that she was hungry for attention. Whilst she enjoyed and certainly felt deserving of the limelight, this was not true. Knowing how easy it would be to get famous, if Aisha really craved that she could use her father's connections to make sure she appeared in all the right people's instagram feeds, that she was followed by mega celebs represented by Caesar McCarthy. In fact she had a slew of followers eager to capitalize on her father's reputation as a PR genius, B and C list celebrities who thought that maybe getting close to her would get them closer to him, and thereby give themselves the best chance of moving up the ranks. The truth was that it was yet another thing her daddy could give her, and as a result the idea had become tedious. Like so many things in life, fame was yet another commodity Aisha could tap into if she so desired, and this knowledge prevented her from doing so.  It didn't help that she could see the impact a little public attention had on others. Joe was another person who did not crave mass attention, and the truth was that the scandals that followed Cat's Cradle had made her sad for him. Brought up in a family of musicians, she knew that all he wanted was to be able to play music for a living, and whilst fame was a nice indicator that your talents were being appreciated, she knew that he would mostly find it invasive. His response is proof of this and she smiles with him. "Good answer. Here I was thinking you were just a patriot," she said, her fingers tangled in his hair as he rests against her. He feels so sturdy against her, the weight of muscle reassuring and appealing in equal measure, his ability to lie on top of her without crushing her with his weight yet further testimony to the strength of his core. This was a new thing, or at least an exaggeration of an old thing, and she wondered where it had come from. Still, she couldn't complain. Lifted into a kiss, she pressed herself hard against him, her tongue meeting his as she deepened their embrace.  Before long the shirt was being lifted off her toned physique, her bare skin against his as compliments spilled freely from his lips. It was true that she would never get sick of his compliments, but it wasn't vanity. The truth was that she rated herself enough that she needed no verification from others, but his compliments reassured her in a different way - instead of making her think she was pretty, they made her aware of how pretty he thought she was, and that was worth so much more. It felt like a promise that he would stay. Kissing him hard, she finally pulled away, her hands still on his perfect face. "I don't know, I really am the best," she said evasively, though she followed it with a laugh. "Please come apartment hunting with us tomorrow. My dad doesn't hate you, and--" she paused, before the wine did away with any lingering inhibitions, "-- if I'm going to get a place here, it needs to be somewhere you're comfortable. All things considered." ......................... notes:  three pages omfg. is that a record? music:  the smiths

[joseph mccarthy]

Aisha's need to be obviously on his radar was never a problem until after their break-up and re-connection. Isaac and the rest of the band hadn't been shy to tell him that she was using him and he supposed, outside of their intimate walls, it may seem that way. Though far from the status of fame he was at now, while he was dating her previously they were on the rise and she hadn't been shy about exposing so on her social media platforms. His friends liked to prod at the fact that she seemed to gush over him in public by taking snapchats and instagrams of their quick time in the spotlight. This hadn't been an issue for Joseph until recently, as before he just took it for who she was and nurtured it. After seeing her time with Elliott so well orchestrated online, it was threatened the security he had for her intentions. Then recently, by asking for a youtube video, exposing their relationship on her tumblr and asking for a online shout-out... these didn't help her cause. As the blonde liked to point out when Joseph brought it up, her father was the head of a massive PR company. He knew in his mind that it likely boiled down to her own insecurities with him, but it didn't stop him from being hesitant to let their relationship hit gossip columns. His movements get a little rougher with her and he feels that previous emotional exhaustion scraping away as his mind is hyped up with endorphins. He grasps her back-end and he pulls her onto his lap, his lips on hers and his tongue deep in her mouth. His hands aren't shy as they crawl all over her warm curves, they're overly ambitious as he tugs at her underwear and sucks on her collarbone. He's back on her lips when she pulls away, his eyes begging her not to make him stop as she holds his chiselled jaw in her feminine hands. She mentions her dad and he breathes tightly through his lips, his forehead tipping down and shaking. Caesar McCarthy was a funny man for Joseph. Funny as in, not so funny at all. He was usually the parent whisperer, as he was polite and well-humoured during a introduction dinner. But he couldn't seem to get a read on Caesar. Maybe it was because her dad was convinced that he was a way back cousin. It's a thought that Joe had considered when he'd first learned of her dad, but after a deep look at his family tree he realized there was no way. Joe scoffs with a laugh, “sure, your dad doesn't hate me.” He kisses her neck, trying to distract her from her own question, but it's probably useless. “I dunno if I'd know how to act or if I'd be of any use... I'm comfortable where you're comfortable,” it's the wrong answer and he knows it, “I have band practice tomorrow at one.... but sure, fine, they can live without me for a few hours. Would love to.” ......................... notes: just checked, our dasia & desmond record is 4. music: the band