tis-a-nom-de-plume

[tis-a-nom-de-plume]

ben-raleigh‌:

zaneholtzwrites‌:

B  E  A  U  T  Y - Directed by Rino Stefano Tagliafierro 1/∞ 

#inspo; ben raleigh

[tis-a-nom-de-plume]

There is meaning in all things. But are you paying attention?

Yasmin Mogahed

#inspo; ben raleigh #words; ben raleigh

[tis-a-nom-de-plume]

#inspo; alex cruz #sweet dreams ( are made of this )

[tis-a-nom-de-plume]

suffergettes‌:

Rita walked past the bottle of beer she’d set on the floor as the two made their exit. Numerous sets of enraged gazes greeted them on the other side, and too intoxicated from the substances she had consumed or the man whose name she did not know, the woman felt no shame. The harsh words were met with indifference, and the smile only stretched across her lips upon the man’s response. The grin lingered as they passed, and Rita eyed the woman as her expression turned to shock. 

They headed for the bar, and determined to take this bold, handsome stranger home Rita stayed close as they shifted between the bodies that seemed to have grown in numbers. She leaned against the counter, eyes sweeping around the room as he ordered shots. Glancing at the man without a name, Rita could not help the small smile that appeared on her face as a wave of momentary realization washed over her. She’d gotten on her knees. In desperate need of that shot, her focus shifted towards the bartender, and only seconds later the man was excusing himself. Blue eyes followed him to another man, the event coordinator, she recognized, but her curiosity was cut short by a hand around her arm.

“You’re late,” she said over the sound of a guitar solo as she looked up at the face of Duke Curtis. He was as good looking as he’d always been with his thick framed glasses, and charming smile. The smile he was giving her now. 

“Fuck, I know, I know. I was at dinner with this event coordinator from Chicago. He was in town for a show up at the old warehouse in Queens. Apparently he’s looking to move out here and I thought if I could get to him now then–”

“Do you have the stuff I need?” she interrupted, glancing behind her. Bart and the man were gone, enveloped by the swaying crowd, and Rita swallowed her disappointment as she turned back to her manager. 

His gaze had followed hers, but refocused when she did. “Uhh, no. I didn’t have time to grab them. We grabbed a few drinks after dinner and time just got away from me. Let’s go back to my place and I’ll explain all the details when we get there.”

Rita hesitated. Blue eyes shifted past Duke’s shoulder, eyes sifting through the crowd for a moment. “C’mon, Rita. You love the bike.” And finally she looked back at his face. That smile, though faded, found his lips again. “Yeah, okay, let’s go.”

Reaching for the small glass of amber liquid, Rita tipped her head back and downed the whisky. It burned her throat and the woman was reminded of how his tongue had tasted of whisky. Duke took the other glass, but Rita placed her hand on top of it, preventing him from drinking it. “That’s not yours.” 

“What do you mean?”

“I mean it’s not yours. Put it down and lets go.” She retracted her hand, and walked past him towards the door. Perplexed, but unworried, Duke shrugged and replaced the drink, before following Rita out into the sleepless city. 

More negotiations, and Alex practically breezed through the conversation just to get it over with. Despite his eagerness to conclude the discussion, the reporter still showed enough professionalism to not let his eyes wander back to the bar; there was no guarantee that the woman would still be there waiting for him, nor his glass of whisky and so by the time he was able to brisk walk his way back, he finally got his answer. There was no sign that she had ever been there save for the shot of whisky that she left behind for him. Alex grabbed the drink and emptied it.

Later that night as he sifted the pictures that he took from the event, Alex happened upon a shot  of one of the performers. It was an all-girl band. He paused, grabbed his magnifier and like a man on the verge of a scientific discovery, the reporter let out an excited exhale. It was the woman, her wild blonde hair slightly obscuring her face from the movement and a bass guitar strapped around her body. He looked for more pictures of her as flashes from the night before was rekindled in his memory-- the heat of her skin, the taste of her mouth and the sounds she made that were thankfully drowned out by the music outside the bathroom door. Alex thought about asking for her name but the man knew better than to ask favors from Bart.

‘We just need to do a collage on the bands performing that night, I left the pictures on your desk, Cruz, but I still need you to cut them down in half. Choose the crazy ones yeah?‘

“Crazy ones, right,“ Alex nodded as he picked up the manila envelope that contained the said photos,.He dumped the prints on his desk and began sorting through the images when his lips curved faintly as he found several images of the all-girl band that the woman from the bathroom belonged to.

“You left several photos of this one band,“ he pointed out, lifting a close up photo of the four for his editor to see. “Do you want me to choose a focus or use them as fillers?“

‘Gin Rickey?’ His editor supplied with furrowed brows. Alex glanced at the photo that he held as the older man continued. ‘No leave them in, bunch of dolls anyway, nobody wants to see punk shitheads. Let’s focus on the sex.’

“...the sex, yes, of course. I uh, I can do that.“ Alex finally managed a response as he sat back down to continue selecting through the photos. “I’ll have it ready before lunch time.”

#sweet dreams ( are made of this ) #rita frechet: 001

[tis-a-nom-de-plume]

suffergettes‌:

Rita nodded her head in understanding, and bit back the smirk that threatened to capture her features as she shook a cigarette loose from the pack. Placing it between her lips, the woman searched her pockets for a lighter before finding it within the small inner pocket of her leather jacket. Low on lighter fluid, it took a couple of tries before the flame erupted, and as she was placing it at the end of the cancer stick, sucking hard to bring it to life, the man emerged from the stall.  

Rita leaned her hip against the wall as she watched him through the mirror and only looked away to blow the smoke skyward, her focus shifting to the flickering light as a realization struck her astonishingly late: she didn’t know his name. Her lips parted as though she may ask, but Rita hesitated. There was something strangely seductive about not knowing his name, and so she brought the cigarette to her lips instead as he turned to face her. “Two minutes tops,” she replied, glancing towards the door for the first time, clearly unbothered by the commotion. Blowing the smoke out of her nose, Rita shifted so that her back pressed against the tile– facing him full on. The lack of reflective glass between their gazes made her want to reach out and touch him, and the through the haze of alcohol and smoke, another thought ran through her head. He took the cigarette from her lips, and Rita didn’t stop. 

Then he was leaning forward to capture her lips, and her hands found the lapels of his denim jacket to pull him closer. His mouth was as maddening as intoxicating as any substance she’d partaken in that night, and Rita lingered in their kiss until she needed to breathe. “Would you want to come–” 

“You motherfuckers better open this goddamn door right now or I swear I’ll piss on the fucking floor!”

The enraged voice beyond the door cut her off, and Rita swallowed the rest of her question. Clearing her throat, the woman glanced at his lips one last time before, releasing his jacket and pushing off the wall. “I think that’s our cue.”

Her kiss set him on fire and Alex had the craziest thought of never wanting to leave; they’d lock themselves in that dingy bathroom and fuck all over again. Cigarettes and sex, what a delicious combination. But she already pulled away, and the writer licked his bottom lip to soothe the ache her mouth had left, just as the voice from the other side of the door threatened to do something equally crazy as his intoxicated thoughts.

“Yeah, we should...we should go,” Alex nodded, mildly aware that the woman was on the verge of asking him a question. But the moment was lost and they were moving towards the exit, and Alex unlocked the door and was met with a pair of glaring eyes, with a line of six or so other girls behind her.

“Don’t fuck if you’re too fucking cheap to get a hotel, you’re making us piss ourselves for your shit.”

Alex could only smile apologetically, and not even that looked sincere; the buzz from the alcohol and the weed were wearing off but he felt nonchalant, and the writer was still riding the high from sex. 

“You’re free to piss on the floor,” he replied, before walking past the woman and not allowing her the satisfaction of a reply. A distant shouting of ‘what an asshole’ could be heard but he was already headed for the bar and ordering two shots for them; Alex wasn’t sure what to do next, but he knew he wanted to take this strange and beautiful, nameless woman home.

The question, however, never left his lips as Bart came into view, he was waving at Alex and the writer closed his eyes in annoyance before excusing himself. His drink was left untouched and the nagging thought of wanting to tell her not go anywhere persisted, but he didn’t say it. Instead he grabbed the camera from behind the counter and left.

#sweet dreams ( are made of this ) #rita frechet: 001

[tis-a-nom-de-plume]

suffergettes‌:

Her skin was flushed and feverish to the touch, and Rita cried out when the nameless man obeyed her demand that he fuck her harder. She rocked her hips in cadence with his movements as the heat at her core continued to build into an inferno. Cheers erupted beyond the door as the final notes gave way to the sounds of their tryst before they were drowned out by the next song. 

The light buzzed and it was as though the electricity seeped into her bones, lighting her nerves with bursts of pleasure with every deep thrust. His hand wrapped around the column of her neck, and as he squeezed, a gasp of surprise was swallowed by his mouth upon hers. She met him with parted lips, and reaching back, Rita curled her fingers in his hair to pull the man impossibly closer. The door shook behind them, and the muffled sound of an angry shout fell upon deaf ears as the two continued to devour one another under the flickering light and the eyes of their reflections. 

The pressure coiled tightly like a snake within her, and her muscles tensed as she reached forward to grip the edge of the counter. She watched him in the mirror, eyes closed as he pressed his mouth into her shoulder blade. The image sent a wave of heat cascading through her, and Rita moaned as she continued to watch him. His hand slid down her torso, dragging across her skin until he’d reached the parting of her legs; the man’s fingers found her clit and blonde hair fell over his shoulder as Rita laid her head back against him. 

“Oh, fuck,” she breathed against his neck as her eyes fell shut. He smelled faintly of fresh laundry, and the scent of cannabis clung to skin. She pressed her lips into his neck as she panted against him. His fingers slipped over the bundle of nerves, and as the stranger reached his peak, throbbing inside her with each slow, deep thrust, Rita fell into her orgasm, crying out as the music reached a drum solo. 

Ecstasy wracked her body, and Rita quivered as she tightened around him. Her legs felt weak beneath her, and the woman clung to him as the pleasure rolled through her. Opening her eyes, Rita gazed up at him from her place against his shoulder, and a small, slow smile touched her lips as the woman attempted to catch her breath. 

“Fuck.” She sighed, and as the banging on the door continued, laughter suddenly burst from her chest. Rita pulled away, tugging down her skirt before placing her palms against the tiled counter, and leaning into them. The intoxicants took the edge off her shock, but the color in her cheeks was further prompted by the feeling.  Reaching into the pocket of her jacket, Rita pulled out a pack of cigarettes and turned to face the handsome stranger. “Do you want one?” 

He allowed them a moment’s respite, and the laugh that escaped her lips reminded Alex what he should be doing. That, and the continuous banging on the door. He wasn’t sure if he should laugh too. The stranger offered him a cigarette, and while the nicotine-laced menthol was something he craved at the moment, the writer had other pressing matters to attend to.

“Let me just...take care of this.”  Alex went inside one of the stalls, a flush was heard shortly after, and then he emerged beside her. There was noticeable silence outside, aside from the assault on the door, which meant a new band was set to perform; Alex wasn’t sure how many songs had passed or how many bands had played since then. Time had been irrelevant since he entered that bathroom, and only now did it all began to catch up to him.

The water flowed sparingly from the faucet, and Alex would occasionally glance at her through the mirror; he still didn’t know her name, and time was running out. In his intoxicated state, however, his mind wandered to other things, like the beer she left on the floor, if it was still okay to drink, or if the bulb above them would flicker til they left. He wanted to reach for it and try to fix it. All that exertion also made him want to discard his jacket. And why won’t they stop banging on the door?

“How long do we have before they break that door open, you think?“ Alex asked, brown eyes glancing at the door through the dirty mirror; his breathing was still noticeably ragged, and he finally turned to look at her properly. A quick wipe of his hand on his denim jacket, then Alex took the cigarette from her mouth to take a hit; it was a crazy night, and, emboldened by the thought that he’d never see her again, he leaned in for one last kiss. Maybe it was better that they didn’t know each other’s names.

#sweet dreams ( are made of this ) #rita frechet: 001

[tis-a-nom-de-plume]

Got no self control And I don’t mean cigarettes and alcohol ‘Cause when it comes to you I can’t say no I don’t wanna taste, I want it all

Bebe Rexha “Self Control”  (via lilpieceofmyworld)

#sweet dreams ( are made of this ) #ft. rita frechet #inspo; alex cruz #words; alex cruz

[tis-a-nom-de-plume]

suffergettes‌:

Rita watched him, savoring the way his jaw hung open, and his eyes followed the movements of her mouth. Sobriety had long left her to the mercy of the wolves who’s jaws snapped and snarled, and the moment she’d seen him, with those bow shaped lips and brown eyes, her fate had been sealed. Rita pressed her thighs together, desperate for pressure; she continued to watch the expressions she invoked– the twitch in his jaw, the bobbing of his Adam’s apple as the man attempted to swallow, the fast, breathless rhythm of his chest. And then he was pulling her up, Spanish spilling from his lips, the words as foreign to her as the lyrics to a song she did not know, but alluring all the same. 

Her lips met his with equal fervor, and Rita opened her mouth to him, her fingers weaving into the stranger’s dark hair. She pressed her weight against him, finding that there seemed to be no way in which she was close enough. Rita wanted more. She wanted more than the taste of his tongue in her mouth, and the heat of his body against her own, and the grip of his hands on her waist. She stumbled slightly while he led her backwards, and the woman let out a gasp when her back connected with the edge of the counter. And though she had enjoyed the control before, Rita found a certain perverse pleasure in allowing him to place her as he saw fit– turning her so that she faced their reflections in the spotted mirror. 

His hands explored, and Rita did nothing to swallow the sound that escaped her throat when his fingers brushed against the peaks of her breasts. He gave attention to the sensitive flesh, and Rita pressed her hips back in response, biting her lip. The man guided her leg onto the edge of the counter, and Rita’s skirt gathered above her hips, leaving her skin exposed as his fingers slipped between her thighs. He watched her now. Her lips parted, her eyes fell shut, and Rita moaned as his fingers curled inside her. His breath teased her neck, and his mouth assaulted her flesh with both lips and teeth that it sent a shiver down her body, and back up again; she parted her legs a little wider, and opened her eyes to catch his gaze in the mirror. 

We are vain and we are blind I hate people when they’re not polite

Rita did as she was told, and tore open the foil, spitting the severed piece from her mouth; her hips jerked when his thumb found the small bundle of nerves, and the woman cursed under her breath. He steadied her, and bent over the sink, Rita stared back at his reflection as the handsome stranger pressed into her, eliciting a ragged sigh from the singer. She gripped the faucet for support when he thrust forward again, and her breath fogged the mirror with her mouth so near the glass. Her eyes shifted from his face to the movement of his hips and Rita watched the erotic scene as she matched his rhythm. 

Psycho Killer Qu'est-ce que c'est

Reaching back, Rita guided on of his hands towards the hem of her shirt, and upward until it came to rest upon her breast. The doorknob jiggled behind them as someone attempted to enter, but Rita ignored, or perhaps didn’t notice. Blue eyes found his once again, and a single word was spoken on the breath of a moan. 

“Harder.”

He fucked her as she asked, his thrusts deep and hard while she guided his hand over her breast; Alex clung to her, a firm hand kneading her flesh as he ignored the door, hips rocking back and forth as the song reached its climax.

A new song had played, and whatever movement outside the bathroom door was once again drowned out; the lights above them flickered, casting shadows on their forms as they moved like beasts, hard breaths and skin slick from sweat, and Alex placed a hand around her throat, tightening just a little before pulling her up, moving her face to the side so he could taste her mouth.

The soft twisting on the doorknob progressed to a series of knocks, then turned into a shaking of the door as someone from the other side called out; Alex picked up the pace, thrusting his hips forward almost violently, panting as he pressed a hand on the dirty mirror for support. He was in desperate need of release.

Alex shut his eyes as he focused on the sensations, his forehead on her back; occasionally he would resurface to press an open mouth against her shoulder blade, teeth digging into her jacket with enough pressure to leave faint marks the morning after. Alex moved to a steady rhythm, and his hand slid from her breast down to her slick opening, fingers moving in circles as he urged her to come. 

Amidst the relentless banging on the door, and the riotous performance of the band, Alex reached his peak, lost in bliss as his thrusts became deep and slow; his body trembled, and his mouth agape, breathless from the exertion and bewildered by it all, a strange euphoria brought about by an intoxication of drugs and alcohol, and an equally intoxicating woman. 

#sweet dreams ( are made of this ) #nsfw #rita frechet: 001

[tis-a-nom-de-plume]

suffergettes‌:

She liked the way his lips parted, his eyes focused on her mouth, and Rita felt the strong reach out and touch him. His jaw, his chest, his hair, his hips, anywhere. Running her tongue across her bottom lip, Rita attempted to soothe what the bottle hadn’t. It didn’t work, and the woman watched the stranger watch her, muscles tense as her heart raged within her chest. The smirk had left her lips, and Rita’s gaze drifted to his mouth when he answered her question. The way his words rolled off the tongue in a beautiful, foreign lilt made her heart stutter. 

“You don’t know…” She repeated, glancing back up to those brown eyes. The room tipped slightly, and the light overhead pulsing with dying energy gave her high a certain intensity. The next song began beyond the seclusion of the bathroom, and Rita couldn’t help but smile. It was one of her favorites. The bass strummed as the stranger leaned in, and the woman stepped forward to meet him halfway. She liked the feathery way their lips met, and when he pulled away, Rita stared back at him, her gaze bright and expectant.

He leaned in again and Rita stepped closer, to press her body against his. His mouth was hot against her own, and the woman parted her lips allowing him to deepen the kiss as a hum escaped her throat. Her hands came to rest upon his hips, and the stranger’s grip in her hair, and the way the cold seeped from the bottle through her shirt and into the skin gave Rita a certain desperation for more. Her hand shifted between them, and she pressed her palm against the front of his jeans. 

I can’t seem to face up to the facts I’m tense and nervous and I can’t relax I can’t sleep ‘cause my bed’s on fire Don’t touch me I’m a real live wire

Breaking the kiss, Rita pushed him until he was a backed against the door. She gazed at him for a moment, before reaching up to press a kiss against his lips. And another. Then another, and she lingered, deepening the kiss as her hand smoothed down his body until she’d reached the band of his jeans. Her lips moved from his mouth, over the edge of his jaw, and down the column of his neck, biting, and teasing the skin with with her tongue. Reason and inhibition were lost, and the strange, desperate, desire that had struck her fueled Rita forward as the woman lowered herself onto her knees, set her beer aside, and began to unbuckle his belt. 

It fell away, and her fingers worked the button, and then the zipper. She paused then, tipping her head back to catch his eye, before leaning forward to press her mouth just beneath his bellybutton and following the trail to the band of his underwear. She teased for only a split second, and it was her own impatience that urged her to pull the clothing down, and run her tongue over the length of his cock, before wrapping her lips around him.  

She was saltwater, the way he couldn’t get enough of her mouth as he kissed her, and when her hand shifted down to feel him, Alex’s eyes flew open. He found himself pinned against the door, following her mouth in desperation with each brief kisses she pressed against his lips, and even as she moved to his jaw and bit his neck, he only wanted more. And then she was on her knees, and Alex tried to catch his breath as he watched in astonishment.

It was hypnotic the way she looked at him, piercing blue eyes that let him know who was in control, from the first time she laid his eyes on him, the drink she bought, up to the crude way she helped herself in undoing his pants; this woman was strange and powerful, and in his inebriated state he thought of spiders. Was he a fly caught in the web or the mate that gets beheaded after? Alex’s mouth hung open in pleasure as her mouth worked him, and the back of his head hit the door with a thud. His hand gripped the doorknob, the soft click of the lock drowned out by the music and his ragged breaths.

You start a conversation you can't even finish it You're talking a lot, but you're not saying anything When I have nothing to say, my lips are sealed Say something once, why say it again?

A string of curses in Spanish flew from his mouth, and Alex grabbed the back of her neck, urging her up and meeting her in a rough kiss. “Que se siente tan bien,” he groaned. Alex kissed her again, the bottle thrown aside and smashed against the tiled bathroom wall as he moved them away from the door and pressed her against the counter. Alex spun her around to face the mirror; his hands roamed, smoothing down her shirt before slipping underneath to knead her breasts. And as he bit her neck and moved along her shoulder blade, his hand that gripped her thigh shifted inward, lifting her leg to rest her knee on the edge of the sink as Alex slipped a finger, then two.

Ce que j'ai fais, ce soir la Ce qu'elle a dit, ce soir la Realisant mon espoir Je me lance, vers la gloire, okay

He watched their reflection in the mirror, her face, his hand moving in and out of her, and Alex pressed kisses on the side of her neck and tugging her earlobe with his teeth. It was almost feral how he touched and explored her body, his eyes were heavy from lust, and the alcohol and drugs removed any inhibition he might have had earlier; Alex was lost in the music, in the intoxicating scent of the unnamed woman, and the building pressure and need for that release.

His free hand searched his pockets, in his jeans, then his jacket, and when Alex found it, he brought the foil packet to her mouth and told her to bite and rip it open. His thumb circled around her clit as he busied slipping the condom on; he helped her back on her feet, hands resting on her lower back and hips, bending her over the sink as he entered. 

#sweet dreams ( are made of this ) #nsfw #rita frechet: 001 #/whew...what even.

[tis-a-nom-de-plume]

#diego luna #/he looks like a baby...baby boyyyy #sweet dreams ( are made of this ) #reflection; alex cruz

[tis-a-nom-de-plume]

suffergettes‌:

Rita’s gaze dropped to the bottle in his hand, and the smirk on her face grew more amused. She reached for it, and her fingers brushed his as she took the beer. Bringing it to her lips, the woman kept her eyes on him as the cold liquid ran down her throat. The music sounded far away, and the woman found herself unable to think of anything other than the man standing before her, the bottle at his bow shaped lips. She had the urge to step closer and without the voice of reason, Rita did so. She could feel the heat from his body. 

Rita suddenly became aware of how fast her heart was racing, and the woman held her breath as she held his gaze. Maybe it was the liquor, or maybe it was the high, or perhaps a combination of the two, but like the sound of good music made her hungry to play, this stranger invoked a similar desire. Though it was the desire to be touched. Shadows were cast by the faulty lighting overhead, and something about it aided the devil on her shoulder. 

“Is that all you came for?”

Her lips curved into a smirk and Alex couldn’t help but swallow, his jaw twitching at the question the stranger threw at him. He watched as she drank from the bottle, and his own lips parted in wanting. Recklessness hummed sweetly in his ear, as hypnotic as the woman’s blue-eyed gaze, and suddenly, it got harder to breathe.

“I don’t know,” Alex breathed, the admission slipping from his mouth as electricity buzzed through his bones. That or it was the faulty lighting above them, zapping as it neared its end. He took a quick drink of his beer, the cool liquid passing down his throat but failing to alleviate the heat from his body. He felt feverish. Alex tightened his grip on the beer bottle, and through the haziness of intoxication, he leaned in.

The first kiss was brief, and Alex closed his eyes for a moment when their lips met-- it was delicate and almost uncertain. He pulled back, brown eyes staring widely at the strange and beautiful temptress before him; the next one was more deliberate as his hands anchored around the back of her head and the curve of her waist, and Alex pried her mouth open as the bottle pressed against her lower back. 

#sweet dreams ( are made of this ) #rita frechet: 001

[tis-a-nom-de-plume]

suffergettes‌:

The line for the bathroom extended down the dim hallway, and Rita occupied herself by reading the posters stapled to the wall. Some were outdated, others promoted upcoming events, and audition calls, but nearly all of them were graffitied in one way or another. The blonde found herself smiling at a particularly clever joke scribbled on a flier for venue in Jersey looking for bands to fill their bill. Tearing down the flier, Rita quickly scanned it, before folding it up, and placing it in her back pocket.  The line moved steadily, and by the time she’d reached the door the hall was deserted. This band was pretty good. 

Flushing the toilet with the toe of her boot, Rita opened the stall door just as someone was walking in. Her eyebrows rose in mild surprise as the woman tossed blonde hair from in front of her face. The substances in her blood made everything move slowly, and the flickering light overhead made the everything feel surreal as she smirked and moved to wash her hands. 

Working double time On the seduction line She was one of a kind, she’s just mine all mine Wanted no applause Just another course

Cold water ran over her skin, and blue eyes found his in the reflection of the mirror. “Are you lost?” She studied his face, closer now than she had been at any other point that night. His eyes were that shade of brown that people wrote songs about– the shade of brown that people fell in love with. And his mouth, her glance was fleeting, but Rita felt her cheeks grow warm as her mind wandered.  “This is the women’s bathroom, you know,” she teased. Shutting off the water, the woman turned the towel dispenser only to find it empty. Instead, she wiped her hands on the back of her jean skirt. Rita moved towards him, until she was close enough to smell his cologne. 

‘Cause the walls were shaking The earth was quaking My mind was aching And we were making it and you

“And you’re blocking the door,” she said, her voice only an octave above the music. 

Alex was hyper focused now, noticing how big and tired his eyes looked, or how his mouth curved downwards into a permanent frown. But the sound of the flush from one of the stalls pulled his attention from staring at his reflection, a woman then came out and he found himself gazing at the stranger from earlier. He still owed her a drink.

Are you lost?

Yes. 

“No,” he replied, despite his realization the Alex was in the wrong place. He watched her watch him, the mirror a buffer from the intensity of her eyes, and when she pointed out his mistake, the writer only nodded.

Their proximity allowed for a closer inspection, and Alex let his eyes roam her features. Though heavy lidded from intoxication, he could tell that she had blue eyes; the gentle slope of her narrow nose, and her slightly upturned lips gave her face an arrogant air. That, and the confidence she exuded, could make a man run. He almost took a step back. Alex realized he’d been staring at her mouth for too long.

Looking back up, Alex offered her the beer that was meant for Bart, and he brought the bottle he’d been drinking earlier close to his lips. He needed something to occupy his mouth, and the beer wasn’t quite cutting it. 

“I owe you a drink.”

#sweet dreams ( are made of this ) #rita frechet: 001

[tis-a-nom-de-plume]

suffergettes‌:

Rita was transfixed, eyes glued to the stage as she sipped from the bottle in her hand. Her fingers twitched at her side as the urge to play swept through her, and the woman was hit the sudden, jarring reality of the tour that would start the next morning. Years of commitment, countless shows, a steadfast, and  belief in her music had led to a real opportunity– to the cusp of everything she’d dreamed of. In her mother’s words, a childlike fantasy. And perhaps it was, but it was one she’d been chasing for so long that Rita couldn’t see beyond it, she couldn’t let it go. 

The band reached their finale, and as the final notes faded, the crowd erupted in a cacophony of shouts, whistles, and applause. Rita joined in, her voice rising up among the others. When they eventually vacated the stage for the next act, Rita brought the beer to her lips only to realize the bottle was empty. Glancing at the crowd around her while she walked towards the back of the venue Rita acknowledged the familiar faces she passed, but didn’t invite conversation, and no on attempted. The next band was setting up, and the space was filled with the din of conversation. Setting the empty beer bottle on the floor, Rita leaned against the wall and glanced at her watch again. This is getting ridiculous. Her eyes searched for Duke among the moving bodies, and instead she found the man from the bar. 

He was standing with Bart Sheppard, the event organizer, and Rita watched as they talked, a thin cloud of smoke curling up between them. She leaned her head back against the wall and kept her gaze on him, until, feeling her eyes, he glanced in her direction. Rita didn’t look away and she stared, unabashed, as Bart continued to talk, none the wiser of his conversation partner’s ebbing attention. The shadow of a smile touched her lips, and she winked at him, before, having to pee, Rita pushed off the wall and walked away as the next band started up. 

From what Alex could piece together, Bart was managing one of the bands that performed that evening, though the man was being coy at which one; he was offering the journalist an exclusive for another event sometime next month, but his attention was elsewhere entirely. Brown eyes looked ahead as he found the woman once again, or rather, she found him again. Amidst the slow moving bodies, the intoxication and the high, Alex watched as she stared at him, confidence radiating from across the room, while all he could muster was a look of mild confusion and definite fascination when she winked at him. He still owed her a drink.

‘So what do you think, Alex? Can you talk to your editor about it?’

"I uh, I’ll see what I can do.” He was disoriented at best, missing some key parts in the one-sided conversation that Bart seemed to be unaware of-- the man was too fond of talking. The woman was gone, and Alex looked around the room  for her. 

‘What is it, saw someone you know?’ Bart inquired and the journalist shook his head. Alex idly lifted the bottle to his mouth when he realized that it was empty, a quick shake of the one Bart was holding also confirmed that they needed a refill. 

“I’ll grab us some more,” Alex offered and didn’t wait for an answer. It was a handicapped game of cat and mouse, and though it was clear which one was the cat, Alex was very much a willing prey. Intrigued as he was, inebriation was coming on fast; Alex hated owing anything to anyone, and it included this. He would only buy her a drink, he argued, return the favor and that’d be the end of that.

She was nowhere to be found at the bar, and Alex would be lying if he said he wasn’t disappointed; two shots of tequila and a beer to wash it all down, the journalist had forgotten that he was supposed to be returning to Bart Sheppard. The sound of the rhythm guitar beckoned the people to flock back to the stage, and once the drums sounded off, the bar was almost deserted.

Taking more than her share Had me fighting for air She told me to come but I was already there 'Cause the walls start shaking The earth was quaking My mind was aching And we were making it and you

Shook me all night long Yeah you shook me all night long

The AC/DC cover was pretty good to listen to from where he was, and Alex leaned over and grabbed the camera from behind the counter; he took a few photographs, a wide angle shot of the band with the audience in the foreground before handing it back to the bartender. He finally remembered Bart. Glancing around to where he left the man, the event organizer was nowhere to be found, so Alex ambled behind the audience, two bottles in hand as he looked for him.

He wandered about, ending up in a narrow corridor which Alex believed led outside; pushing open the door, the writer found himself in a bathroom instead, the flickering light of the fluorescent making him squint as he caught his reflection in the mirror.

#sweet dreams ( are made of this ) #rita frechet: 001

[tis-a-nom-de-plume]

#sweet dreams ( are made of this ) #inspo; alex cruz

[tis-a-nom-de-plume]

suffergettes‌:

Rita stood pressed against the edge of the bar as it grew even more crowded. Apparently others felt similarly about Journey– that or the first wave of intoxication was ebbing, and the attendees were looking for a fix before they fell into that flat post drunken torpor. Though she had yet to even ride the first wave, and the woman was anxious for the taste of liquor on her tongue to keep her body from floating away with the high. He was overworked though, and the bartender opened bottles, and poured clear and brown liquor like a man possessed, until finally he reached her. Reaching onto her tiptoes, Rita leaned her body over the counter to speak her order directly into the man’s ear. When his dark eyes scanned the crowd looking for refreshments, Rita watched to make certain there was no confusion. He smiled slightly, and with a curt nod the man moved away, filling two double shot glasses with whiskey, and leaving one for the woman’s enjoyment, before moving down the bar to deliver the other. She didn’t loiter to see the other glass reach it’s destination. Scowling as the liquid ran down her throat, Rita slid the glass away, reached for an unclaimed beer the bartender had opened only moments before taking her order, and disappeared into the throng of people as the alcohol entered her bloodstream. 

Someday love will find you Break those chains that bind you One night will remind you How we touched And went…

The band finished their mandatory cover, and as the next song started up with the the sexy, deep sound of the bass guitar, Rita slipped into the crowd of people beneath the stage, her eyes trained up at the bassist’s fingers as he strummed a raw, almost improvised, rhythm that moved through her like a current. She brought the beer to her lips, and watched, her body moving at its own accord as the drummer toyed lightly with his cymbals. The lead guitarist, seemingly struck with inspiration, began to riff, followed closely the consistency of the rhythm guitarist, who secured the tempo. They were live jamming on stage, and Rita hardly realized she was swaying along with the bodies around her, too entrapped in the intricate music. 

Alex had a tendency to fixate, and once he noticed the woman from the bar, she was all that he could see; his gaze followed her as she leaned forward, half of her body already on the other side of the counter, and painted lips moved to whisper something in the bartender’s ear. 

The bartender moved on autopilot, swiping glasses and pouring drinks, and Alex watched the woman as she watched someone else-- he’d forgotten that he needed to order a drink himself. When the woman received her drink, the journalist almost missed the man going his way, the double shot of whiskey placed directly in front of him.

“I didn’t--” he tried to explain, but the bartender only tilted his head towards where the woman was earlier. She was already on the move, and Alex was only able to catch her hand as she swiped the unmanned bottle of beer on the counter. 

The bartender was long gone, back to keeping up with the demands of the patrons; Alex picked up the glass and emptied it in one go, before signalling for two beers and handing over his camera for safekeeping. He moved away from the bar and walked to the crowd enjoying the music, the sea of bodies moving and swaying in the pulsating lights as the deep sound of the bass guitar dictated how his heart should beat; he found her, dancing alone, eyes on the stage as Alex took a swig from his bottle and watched her.

He was intercepted, though he was mostly just standing there in the middle of the crowd; Bart took the other beer he was holding, assumed that it was his and thanked Alex. Alex didn’t bother correcting the man, and for his generosity, he was handed another joint as Bart whisked him away to the side, back to the far corner where they stood earlier. He gave one last glance at the woman and followed suit.

#sweet dreams ( are made of this ) #rita frechet: 001

[tis-a-nom-de-plume]

suffergettes‌:

The music inside seeped through the brick wall leaving Rita with a dull, muted version an original song as the next band started up. The other members of Gin Rickey had left after their set equipped with half hidden smiles, and vague excuses as they left Rita to meet with Duke. It was a lazy and thinly veiled attempt at matchmaking, and contempt swept through her as the joint slowly burned away between her lips. It was a running joke, one that somewhere along the way, had begun to bother her. The other girls, though harmless in their teasing, believed Rita needed more sex in her life, and furthermore, that she needed help in securing it. Their attempts to follow through never surpassed half hearted plans such as leaving the opportunity open, but sometimes it annoyed her nonetheless. She didn’t need their help to get laid. 

The music continued, bleeding through the wall, and the woman began to hum along under her breath as her boot tapped against the asphalt, following the bass’s rhythm. The joint had dwindled to nothing, and tossing it aside, Rita finished her beer before walking across the alley until she could toss the bottle into the dumpster. Teasing a hand through her hair as she pulled the back door open, she left the chilly night air, and sound of traffic behind, The next song was a cover of a new Journey single that Rita couldn’t remember the name of. She’d never thought too highly of the trend chasing band. 

Here we stand Worlds apart Hearts broken in two, two, two Sleepless nights Losing ground I’m reaching for you, you, you

The marijauna made the seconds drag on, and Rita slowly pushed her way back to the bar as thoughts swirled around her head in a lovely fog. Her body felt almost weightless, and as the music filled the room, she was charged with a new, electric energy. People brushed past, and her skin tingled with the memory of each body that pressed against her. Hot, and thirsty, she finally reached the bar to find it swarmed with others who had realized their need for a drink, and when she managed to reach the counter, the bartender was far from earshot. The final ingredient to the perfect high was a shot of malt whiskey, and as she leaned over the counter and hollered in attempt to gain the bartenders attention, her eyes shifted to a man on the other side. Her gaze lingered until she found a detail. His mouth was shaped like a bow. A gentle slope, and a taught bottom lip that made her stare a little too long. She finally looked away. 

Someday love will find you Break those chains that bind you One night will remind you How we touched And went our separate ways

The organizer found him in the far corner as Alex attempted to take a rather stylistic angle of the event, and despite understanding that Bart was just fooling around, it irritated Alex that he had to block the camera’s view with his goofy grin. He snapped a picture anyway, which seem to pleased the man. 

‘How you liking my event so far, Alex? Hope you got my good side.’ A smack on his arm forced the journalist to smile amicably, nodding that he already got what he needed. Bart tugged on his printed tie, which was an odd choice of attire given the way everyone was dressed, and Alex was ready to ease his way out of the conversation when the man pulled out a joint from his suit pocket. ‘You got a lighter?’

Alex smoked that joint like a man in need of life support, his head was already throbbing from the noise, and he wanted something to keep the edge off; Bart kept yapping on about making it big, organizing events that don’t just showcase bands but solo acts as well, ‘But none of those fags in dresses, I don’t want none of that shit.’

He excused himself, citing the empty beer bottle in his hand as his reason to leave, but it was the familiar beginnings of a homophobic rant that got Alex running. He was high, but not high enough to not get himself into trouble. The journalist pushed past the crowd that he allowed to trap him in earlier-- he was in need of a drink and fast --and Alex didn’t let a crowded bar stop him from squeezing in and finding a spot. Brown eyes followed the bartender who was on the other side, too far to notice him, and as he secured his camera on the counter, Alex felt someone watching him.

He turned to look, and Alex caught the fleeting gaze from a blue-eyed woman; she was tall, her messy blonde hair falling down her shoulders that swayed just enough for the writer to be almost certain that she’d been staring at his general direction before looking away. Unsure of what to do in that situation, he took a quick sweep of her profile before getting distracted with the passing bartender. 

#slur tw #sweet dreams ( are made of this ) #rita frechet: 001

[tis-a-nom-de-plume]

#sweet dreams ( are made of this ) #inspo; alex cruz