Maybe it’s a psychological thing, or I’m creating an alter ego, but it’s fun to banter with your evil twin,” he says, rolling up his trouser leg to show me a tattoo on his calf that says “Rodger” in scrawled letters, near a tattoo of Jack Nicholson as The Joker. “He’s quite influential, that Rodger. He’s done a couple of songs on the new album. He’s off fishing today.
Maybe it’s a psychological thing, or I’m creating an alter ego, but it’s fun to banter with your evil twin,’ he says, rolling up his trouser leg to show me a tattoo on his calf that says ‘Rodger’ in scrawled letters, near a tattoo of Jack Nicholson as The Joker. ‘He’s quite influential, that Rodger. He’s done a couple of songs on the new album. He’s off fishing today.’
He has a naughty, clever, playful side. He enjoys pretending to be his own evil twin, Rodger Malik. It’s a bit like Eminem’s Slim Shady.
Description: You and James spend the day at the beach. Literally the fluffiest thing I have ever written, which is saying something.
The sky is grey and the water looks like polished steel, but James is so warm beside you that it doesn’t matter. Hand curled inside his, he looks at you with a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. His eyes are teasing, “I dare you.” You hesitate, stood by the edge of the water, the waves crashing at your feet. Slowly you unlace your boots and take them off, stripping off your socks and gripping the front of his flannel shirt in an attempt not to fall over. You look up triumphantly at him,
“See? Now you.”
You step into the water and shriek as the cold hits you. He laughs as he pulls off his boots and rolls up his trousers. You wade in deeper and he follows you, reaching for your hand. Taking his sleeve and dragging him after you, you gradually adjust to the ice-cold water swirling around your ankles.
“It’s beautiful,” you said, looking across the horizon. James didn’t reply. You turned around before you realised what he was about to do. “James!” You squealed as he flicked water at you. He laughed as you carried on yelling, hastily dodging when you retaliated by splashing him. The salt water sprayed him anyway and you both fell apart laughing, engaging in a full battle. Your jeans were soaked up to the knees and you were shivering but you didn’t care.
“Is that the best you’ve got?” You taunted, pulling out your wand. “Oh come on babe, play fair,” was his reply, holding up his hands in surrender, despite the fact he was smiling. There was a moment of silence between you as you waited for each other to make the next move. Suddenly he jolted forwards and you jumped backwards, splashing your way back onto the sand, laughing, leaving him behind.
Racing back up the empty beach, you felt the wind tearing through your hair and sped up. Yelping, you let him catch you by the waist and spin you around. Breathless, you fell together in a tangle of limbs onto the damp sand, beyond the point of caring about getting sand on your clothes. You rolled onto your back, trying to breathe through your laughter. He rested over you, gently brushing your windswept hair out of your face. His teasing smirk had been replaced with a gentle smile, his messy hair even more tousled than ever. Salt and sand dusted his damp hair and water clung to his dark eyelashes. He breathed something unintelligible as he lowered his mouth to yours. Raising yourself onto your elbows you met his lips. He tasted of salt and smelled faintly of lemons. You hadn’t realised you were shivering until then, but his mouth was so warm on your that you became acutely aware of the chill in your bones. He noticed. Leaning back with a concerned look on his face he took out his wand and muttered something, drying your clothes instantly and making them warm against your skin. “Thanks,” you smiled, snuggling into his chest as you both stood up.
A/N: I had the song Bones by the Killers in my head whilst writing this so it may be slightly inspired haha. Anyway, I’m trying to get back into writing, so that’s why my stuff has been quite short recently. Idk if its helping me or not, what do you think?
Time is precious
So the saying goes
Time is so mundane
Slaving to filthy lucre
I say, time?
Lets go waste some
Skipping on beams
of golden sun
seen in white clouds
to hear larks sing
Arms out running
through the long grass
Mouths catching rain drops
clothes soaking wet
Making stars together
in virgin white snow
Splashing in waves
trousers rolled up to knees
froth on my nose
Kicking through autumn leaves
If time is that precious
which bits are truly wasted?
Let’s waste some time
Doing the ridiculous,
As another saying goes
You’re my favourite waste of time
Request: Request for all Dead and Dying? Jeffercles, childhood friends to lovers?
A/N: Back on requests again! So, rather than make this one imagine, I’m MAKING IT INTO A SERIES! I loved the idea of childhood Jeffercles so much, I had to do more. Plus I need a cool new series to write. There is no definite whether they will be short or long. I think of them as little snapshots in their childhood and their long developing love story. Please enjoy!
The sun beamed down on the two small children. Waist deep in the river, splashing and skipping rocks. Their trousers rolled up. Shoes flooded with mossy water.
Thomas shook the water off himself and pulled off his shirt. Hercules followed suit. Thomas smiled, took a deep breath and dipped his body under the water. He resurfaced, so moss in his wet afro. A bug on his face.
Herc smiled and flicked the bug off.
“Person who reaches the waterfall first wins!” Thomas shouted. He jumped from the water to a rock on the surface and hopped between rocks. Herc didn’t find it useful to copy Thomas’s strategy. He smiled and checked back on Alex for a second then swam downstream.
“Where are you going?!” Alex screamed. His feet barely dipped in the water. A few splashes on his shoulders. “Don’t leave me here! I can’t swim! Guys, come back!”
“Shut up you cry baby!” Thomas shouted back at him.
Herc and Thomas met towards the end of the waterfall. The stream started to pull them down to the lake below. The waterfall was no more than a twenty foot jump. Not considerably dangerous to these two best friends.
Competition always turned into collabration.
Thomas pulled Hercules out of the water. “Ready to go?”
Hercules smiled, held Thomas’s hand and pushed them off.
Thomas screamed. “we ARE GOING TO DIE!”
Hercules laughed and coughed when they hit impact. They broke the water’s surface like grass and fell several meters below. Thomas resurfaced coughing and sputtering out water. Panic all over his face. “ARE YOU TRYING TO GET US KILLED? I can’t swim, Herc, help me!” Thomas doggy paddled.
Hercules knew full well, even at the age of eight, that Thomas was a very competent swimmer. So, he decided to give him a little scare. “Herc! Where are you? We left Alex to drown!” Thomas swam around in circles, ducking into the water to search for Herc.
Hercules dodged Thomas’s line of sight. He resurfaced for a second for more air, then he went back under. He swam down and stared at Thomas’s naked ankles. He threw his hand around one of them and pulled Thomas down.
“ALEX! SAVE ME! THERE IS A SHARK!”
A distant shout from Alex, “I’m already dead!”
Thomas was pulled under, Herc’s grasp around his ankle. Realizing the sheer panic of Thomas, he let go and put his arms around his waist. He pushed Thomas up to the surface, and carried him to shore.
Thomas, now crying, laid out on the sand. He looked at Herc and shook his head. “I hate you.”
Herc tried to smile but only was able to frown. He sat down next to Thomas and put an arm around him. He hugged him. “I’m sorry, Tommy. I was trying to have a bit of fun. I won’t do it again. I was afraid I lost you.” Hercules squeezed Thomas.
“Are you guys still alive down there?!” Alex screamed.
Herc and Thomas smiled and laughed at Alex. Herc stood up and pulled Thomas to his feet. He threw his arm around his best friend. “Let’s go home.”
The two boys walked with drunken miscounted steps, one foot swinging in front of another. Their arms around each others shoulders. Herc gave Thomas a nuggie against his protest of him fixing his hair. “I still hate you, Herc.” he said darkly.
1. They’re often alone, trying to find their inner aesthetic, so try to avoid groups of girls.
2. Look at her trousers. Is she wearing oversized denim trousers, rolled up at the ankles? You might have found an art hoe.
3. The glasses are also a very important. Obviously, not ALL art hoes wear glasses, but I have seen 60% rocking them. I am talking about massive glasses, in dark colours, mainly used for seeing.
4. Art hoes tend to have great eyebrows. It’s a thing, apparently.
5. Try to spot a känken backpack, especially the color warm yellow is appreciated. Often matched with oversized clothing.
6. The socks! Art hoes wear obvious socks that are meant for seeing. They will be bright and colorfull, and highly pulled up.
7. Now, the shoes. Dc martins are popular, as well as worn out converse or any type of sandal. Some go barefoot too.
8.If you have found one, try to peek into her warm yellow känken backpack, does she carry a moleskine around? Are there any mini succulents in her front pocket?
Now that you have succesfully found an art hoe, you might wanna start talking to her. Try subjects as: aesthetic, feminism, vincent van gogh, monet, highschool, or vintage shops. Some of these must work.
so what if Peggy and Angie are both kind of new to this girls-with-other-girls thing and they start doing research
(no, not that kind of “research” – well, yes, that kind too, but also the other kind)
and one night they go to a lesbian bar in Brooklyn that they heard about after some very careful inquiries among the Griffin Hotel’s inmates (most of whom are in a position to know) and it’s fun, but they notice that the couples tend to be one woman in a dress and one woman in men’s clothing
“Well, surely it isn’t a requirement,” says Peggy, back in Angie’s apartment.
“I dunno, English,” Angie says. “It might be kinda fun.”
The next time Peggy walks into Angie’s room, ready for a night on the town, she finds the little waitress decked out in the very finest from Sol’s secondhand store down the street: unfashionably narrow trousers rolled up twice at the cuffs, boys’ wingtip shoes, a too-big khaki uniform shirt bloused out at the waist. Angie’s hair is tucked up under a newsboy’s cap, her thumbs are tucked under a pair of bright red suspenders, and she’s grinning like the tiniest, snottiest, trouble-makingest punk kid who ever got in a back-alley scuffle over a game of marbles.
“Heya, hot stuff,” Angie says, trying to pitch her voice deep and sounding like a twelve-year-old with a cold. “You wanna go dancin?”
And for a moment Peggy remembers another tiny, smart-mouthed punk kid: always swimming in his uniform, always falling behind, earnest and deathly awkward but with a twinkle of mischief in his eyes for all that. The memory surprises her with its uncomplicated sweetness; there’s a flash of pain, but it’s faint, and for the first time pushing it away doesn’t feel like betrayal.
“Yes,” Peggy says, and smiles, slipping her hand into the crook of Angie’s proffered arm. “Yes, I do.”
Balder splashed down into the incoming wave with a kick to his feet, sparkling up a scattering to seawater to the sky. He laughed and spun round as the water receded, escaping his feet to leave him half sinking in the sand.
“Yang-pa, you can see all the way to the bottom today!” he called up along the beach to his foster-father. The cove was quiet but for the lull of the waves, the rustling wind, and the young boy’s shuffling feet amid the sand. The water returned, rising up behind his ankles and foaming outward to tickle salt upon his skin beneth his rolled up trousers.
“Ha!” he shifted his feet one at a time, a little startled at the return of the chill water, splashing the water up further.