go and get 'em tiger.

Why color in the lines if you're just painting it black? Ryder West. 29. Former Musician. Just let me know when you want your socks knocking off.

[archived-ryder-blog]

Less than 48h had passed since they last laid eyes on each other and there it was, a tangible proof that, throughout two days, the woman did not stop thinking about him for a mere second. Without his address, Mary still found her way to get to his mail box. Adamant and bold, after a few calls to people of their musical circle, she discovered where her ex currently lived. And instead of surprising him like a stalking groupie - which was very unlike her - she chose to leave it as a surprise.

Without any explanation, not even a note, a VHS tape had a marker written ‘play me’ on top. The fun of the game was actually imagining how far Ryder would go to find a VHS player these days, led by his probable afflicting curiosity about the tape’s content. The thought was amusing, even though it looked slightly mean to make such a constantly conflicted man crawl the walls until he could finally get to watch whatever was recorded.

The video started off with a woman adjusting the camera. As she moved with noises of buttons being pressed and complaints were muffled in the sounds, it was possible to see she was a brunette. Once she backed away, Mary’s face appeared. She had her acoustic guitar strapped around her neck as she took a seat on a stool in the middle of her living room.

“‘What the hell is Mary doing now,’” she mimicked Ryder’s voice in the dumbest way, even doing the same thing he did by pushing that determined dark-brown strand that constantly detached from his greasy hair. A strand that, in this case, was imaginary, of course. Little did she realise how, indeed, she looked like his number one fan, knowing every little gesture of his. “I’m sure that’s what you’re wondering,” the woman replied to herself. “Well,” her bare feet adjusted on the horizontal bar of the stool, keeping herself comfortable with the guitar on her lap, “you caught me writing, the other day - by the way, I’ll tell on you to your mommy, you shouldn’t sneak onto people -“ her index pointed at the camera, narrowed eyes in mocked reprimand. “And since the song was about you and I actually finished it…”

Her fingers began strumming the guitar, before true accords came out of it. The song was short, but didn’t need much length to pour out her feelings, telling exactly what she felt in that night they spent together after so long apart. How they were true and honest, how they didn’t need words to express their love. It left one question that was constantly repeated: ‘will you still love me tomorrow’. And once it was done, Mary just stopped, the whole romantic, open heart demeanour changing - maybe to conceive her vulnerability that lasted so long. “Thanks a lot, buy my CD at your neighbourhood’s record store.” Without even realising it was actually Valentine’s Day.

[morganaxxturner-deactivated2018]

Meeting the Morning Star

[archived-ryder-blog]

( — stillxbloodyxmary )

The perversion of the action caused no weight of regret. Watching his face scrunch in frustration and affliction was too amusing. All in the name of good fun. When a joke was harmless, there was no point in avoiding it. Mere seconds were enough to make her reveal her true intentions, deep down concerned the former musician would start debating which affirmation of hers was true, and doubt her sober memory of the night they shared. “Damn it,” Mary cursed quietly. “I should’ve let you list every single thing…” Her smile was more fun than the usual cheeky smirk she often had, even causing her nose to wrinkle a bit. In all sincerity, she actually felt foolish - a good foolishness, one somebody got from making a stupid joke and laughing about it before even finishing it.

“Well,” started the brunette, her palms brushing his arms as she moved away. It felt extremely hard to keep her hands off him, to have any kind of space between their bodies. Maybe that’s why she shifted from spot to spot so constantly. Maybe Mary was trying to gain some control over her urges. She had enough vices she couldn’t handle and letting herself urge for Ryder would sink her in regret whenever things went wrong. Because that day would come, sooner than later. The question was if they were capable of enduring it or one of them would flee, like she did last time. “Other than our taste for music and favourite singer - which I gotta remind you, in case you’re the one having memory lapses, is me -” she teased, “we had to have something in common.”  Although she hadn’t stopped before a mirror just yet, the actress was sure somewhere around her neck and thighs it was bound to be traces of bites. Not as evident as hers, but although scattered, present.  

How his lips wrapped around the cigarette and slightly pursed to expel the smoke - that was something she enjoyed watching. Her chocolate gems gazed in silence, until his mind processed her tease, brain probably slowly awaking after a drag of nicotine, at last. Easily, her lips tugged at a single corner yet again and she chuckled. “Tell me about it, stud.” She couldn’t help but quote Grease, the movie, when provoking him. Yet before she could barely finish, she was being pulled closer and it felt like losing control of her entire self. Mary, the one who always had the answers, who was always so confident, melted the very moment his arm wrapped tightly around her and their lips touched. Heart pounding like a hammer in her chest and head, muffling all rational thoughts that could provide her any source of self-preservation or control. She feared he could so easily hear its hard beats as she could. She wondered if that knowledge would make her vulnerable - it most likely would. Nonetheless, she corresponded with the same enthusiasm. Her fingers sunk in between the dark strands of his often greased hair, now dishevelled enough to be the last concern on his mind. Tugging onto it as the exchange of affections grew stronger - and Mary’s other hand descended - a quiet noise of satisfaction leaked from her lips as the woman shortly searched for some air, feeling it already lack in her enough oxygen (or maybe it was his effect, she always felt light headed around him). 

Trying to get a hold of her desperate heart, his jawline was the focus of her kisses, whilst her freehand worked on undoing his jeans, finding some difficulty and no patience at all in between her urgency. “The fuckin’ jeans, why,” she complained to herself almost inaudibly, irritated, making more sense in her own thoughts than out loud. Once they were unbuttoned at last, she reached the brunnete’s hand and took the cigarette, almost immediately crashing her lips onto his and pushing their way towards what she hoped to be the cluttered couch. Their knees hit the furniture, her bodyweight purposely over his to make him crumble, as she felt her way through the floor, with her arm stretched out and her lips refusing to leave his, and stuffed what she hoped to be the ashtray with the burning tobacco.  Of a sudden, the woman stopped, a laboured breath, eyes locked on his dark gaze. Mary licked her lips, apparently overthinking. “You’re right. You’re not easy to forget. I tried…” This was the part one would add ‘believe me’, but the tabloids about Mary and her affairs, her outings and public scandals were all over British news. Anyone with access could know about her infamous life, pointing out the attempt was senseless. “But I swear, you’re so damn hard to quit, Ryder. I love you the same way I did two years back. Maybe more…” Why was she being so honest and exposing herself that much, she didn’t know. But impulsive and unable to think clearly, all she knew right then was the way he made her feel - vulnerable, yet invincible.

"Our favourite singer?" Ryder repeated with a quirked brow, the rest of his features remaining playful – from the lopsided smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, to the way an invisible smile seemed to touch his eyes even as his gaze followed her with some sense of carnal desire as she moved about the space. He couldn't help it; He was just as entranced by her as he was years ago, and something about that was equally terrifying as it was exhilarating. "Funny— I have a taste for her right now."

It was difficult to decide whether it was the girl or the cigarette she had so kindly provided him with that was causing the pleasantly unsteady sensation in his head. Perhaps it was both — The two things that he seemed to be most addicted to, never knowing which was more toxic to his wellbeing. Even as their lips reconnected and he gripped desperately at her hip, he didn't let go of his other vice just yet. It wasn't until their graceless stumble towards the couch where Mary yanked the smoke from his grasp that his hands were fully free to roam however they pleased. And they did roam, answering the girl's movie-quoted provoking not verbally but physically, first remaining at her hips with his fingertips just barely brushing beneath the hem of her top before promptly trailing to her backside just as they toppled to the couch.

Ryder was much too preoccupied to continue with his earlier, internal debate regarding the previous evening's events (and now, this morning's afternoon's) and what it all meant for the pair of them. No, now he was more concerned with the way his stomach curled with heat as their affections grew more urgent and impassioned. His hands continuing to rake down her flesh as though they were fighting to be everywhere all at once, they ultimately fell to rest with the side of the girl's jaw cradled delicately in his palm, his fingers flexing in strands of her hair. In that moment, the exchange felt to slow, their actions suddenly feeling more gentle and significant, and that was when Mary —to Ryder's dismay— suddenly halted.

With wide eyes complete with blown pupils and mouth slightly agape, his chest heaved in slight while he awaited an explanation only for his features to drastically soften with a small amount of concern as she began to speak. The vulnerability was clear in her eyes, just as much as the fact something seemed to be troubling her mind. He could hardly remember the last time there had been such a sincere exchange between them — It was certainly lightyears away from the guarded Mary he encountered back at the awards celebration. Back then, the possibility of finding themselves in the position they were in now seemed improbable. Impossible, even.

In a sharp intake of air, Ryder tried to seek out the words to offer something, anything, but was quickly silenced when Mary continued with her confession. He searched her eyes, waiting for the catch, for a 'but', yet it didn't come. This time, it wasn't a playful joke like the one moments ago. "Mary..." He simply murmured with the utmost sincerity, the single word sounding like an apology of itself. Careful as ever, his thumb gently smoothed over her cheekbone, and he licked his swollen lips before pausing and shaking his head just once as though in disbelief. "Why did you ever leave? I'll never understand it..." It wasn't a question he expected her to answer. In fact he didn't give her an opportunity to, as his eyes searched for her gaze to hold with intensity, confusion, but also sincerity. "I would have done anything for you — I loved you more than anything... Still do."

[wnq-writers]

You drifted out of my life like cigarette smoke; Still clinging to my clothes and bedsheets.

condescendingaspires  (via wordsnquotes)

[thunder-thiefs]

[archived-ryder-blog]

( — summerdhale )

Her eyes stared at him for a second, it was a quick glimpse of honesty withing herself, it was almost as if he had found his way in, and she allowed Ryder to see her beneath the mask she was wearing; however, that moment didn’t last for so long, because soon enough she scoffed. “Well, you’re not the first one who’s expressed the desire of being like me. They’ll either crave to be like me or in me,” with a shrug, her gaze moved to the empty crowd, a park with only a few people left behind and a ghost of the moment that they both had been in when the band was playing and everyone was having fun. 

“We’re all miserable in here, if anyone has ever told you they are happy, always happy, as if they had achieved the idea that happiness can be more than just a brief state, they are lying. There’s no such thing as experiencing joy without sadness scratching the good feeling out of your being. We’re far more comfortable with a neutral feeling, when you can’t know if things will get better or worst. We’re all miserable in here.” She replied, honest words thrown out there in the thin air that could easily reach Ryder. And as he moved back to their previous subject she sighed, feeling weak due to the alcohol on her system as she walked back to where he was standing, reaching closer to the musician as her light hues tried their best to stick to his eyes. She didn’t want to go through that, to think about him, to allow that pain she was avoiding to finally reach the surface of herself and hurt her. And despite how weak her smile was, she wore it while her index finger moved on top of Ryder’s lips, restraining him from asying anythin else. “Don’t, just.. He’s in the past, leave him there. It’s just a song, it doesn’t mean anything… at least not now.”

“Or both,” Ryder lacked any filter with his response. After all, he had expressed the exact words of ‘ridiculously hot girlfriend’ to Gabe’s face in regards to Summer back before the older male had disappeared. How he’d ever gotten away with that one, he hadn’t a clue — Perhaps it had come across as a compliment as opposed to the jealously it actually was. Then again, Gabe may have been onto him, considering that innocent mixtape never made its way into the right hands.

And then their conversation —as truthful as it was— had quickly taken a turn towards a much deeper and melancholic topic than he planned to have all evening. He should have been continuing the celebration, milking the successful performance for all it’s worth. It was almost funny how he could appear so invincible with a crowd at his feet, yet the moment he stepped offstage (or, in this case, someone joined him on said stage), he was so easily defeated. “And here I thought you were a joy to have at parties,” The musician ultimately replied with mild sarcasm, a faintly quirked brow his only response as Summer crept closer. There was an odd sense of tension that he could feel between them, and whether it was real or simply something nonexistent that he’d conjured up in his head, he couldn’t be sure — The only thing that was for certain was that he would easily take this over the side of the girl that nearly threw her beer at him earlier in the day. Taken aback by the abrupt physical contact, he masked the surprise with a smirk, and gently pushed her hand aside. “It’s never just a song,” He murmured before tilting his head in slight, and offering an alternative. “Why don’t you join the celebrating…? Come have a drink.”

[archived-ryder-blog]

( — asher-goldstein )

As the first notes started to come out from Ryder’s guitar, Asher closed his eyes, the tune slowly took you into an atmosphere, to a perfect time, to a memory. Memorable songs did that, they had soul and mind of their own, good song were like people that would come into your life to leave a mark on your memory, on your heart, and even if the timing of a vivid life experience and the song didn’t match, it would always find a way to relive all that and that was exactly what was happening right now.

Yes, the song Ryder was playing could get even better with some arrangements, but right at that point it was one of the best songs he had heard in time, he could already picture having an acoustic presentation, or Ryder singing this at some radio interview and how would people react to it. Even when Asher was trying to give the guy some privacy watching him play made it even more enigmatic, he felt the song, he was putting his soul and that probably was what made it even greater.

As the tune slowly finished Asher was already having a dozen ideas at the time, what they could do with the visuals, where he should have a solo guitar or how loud the bass should sound, how many batteries should this song have or how to make it even more tridimensional. This was exactly why he had come to Australia, this was what he wanted a be a part of. “You have no idea what you just compose my friend, but that song is not only a hit but it will be a rock classic.”

At the close of the song, Ryder’s wide stare (fixed nowhere in particular) gave him something of an otherworldly appearance, the small performance seeming to have mentally transported him elsewhere for the brief moment. Asher’s voice was the thing to jar him out of his self-induced trance, nearly alarming him as if he’d forgotten the other male was there with him. Immediately, the insecurities rushed back; Was it horrible? It was horrible, wasn’t it? You never should have wasted your time on it… Ryder couldn’t keep from beating himself up, and he was surprised to find that Asher’s reaction was nothing like that all.

“I—” The musician first started, quite obviously taken aback by the positive response. With a disbelieving shake of his head, he added in, “—I mean, it still needs like, some work…” While he spoke, he rubbed at the back of his neck in an awkward fashion, the guitar still tucked beneath his arm in his lap. “I wrote a bit for The Reef way back, but never anything like this, really. I’m not really —y'know— a singer…”

[archived-ryder-blog]

( — pippareyes )

When Ryder said he wasn’t biased, her first reaction was to share a good laugh. She was glad that she was having a good time around him, even if she didn’t need it just as much as in the past, when her struggles and pain were consuming her; Pippa was always interested at having fun around friends, people she cared and loved. “They aren’t, but… I’ll need a bigger shelf. And to get more money as soon as possible, talk about my brand whenever you see someone who’s into skateboard. Give me money, Ry.” Poking the tip of his nose, she smiled. “It’s about love, it’s about reading between the lines.”

Ryder tried to affect an insulted expression, as though his friend’s disinterest in having an abundance of albums lying around personally offended him, but after only a few moments of trying to hold her gaze, he cracked. It was difficult not to when she was soon poking at his nose, leaving him to childishly swat at her hand, complaining, “—Watch it, kid,” without any real threat at all. “Well, maybe you should have thought about money before comin’ over here,” He playfully lectured her, “You need blinders, like a horse… Keep you from seeing all this shite you wanna buy.”

[riverlarking]

[ryanmccann]

Visit Original Link

[archived-ryder-blog]

( — asher-goldstein )

When Ryder agreed to meet and hear his songs and what he had to work with, Asher couldn’t help to feel a little skeptical, he heard stories about how Ryder was, and even when they knew eachother, he was still a bit of a stranger to the musician. Yet here they were, the American feeling extremely honored to be there and even more excited to hear the guy play, after all, Ryder was one of Asher favorite new guitarist and he believed that he could actually start a band without Gabe, he always had. 

“Okay, first, how do you know is not fantastic? Second, don’t worry, if I don’t like it, I will tell you.” He smiled, it was obvious that Ryder wasn’t really used to do this kind of things but he wasn’t going to make fun or push him to do it something he wasn’t comfortable with “Alright, I’ll sit over there and doodle something so you won’t see me looking at you or anything”

“I know, because... I just know.” While Ryder could fool any crowd into believing he was aggressively arrogant and confident in the way he acted, spoke, and played, it was nothing more than that — an act. Beneath that persona he’d created years ago, he had his insecurities, and they were certainly showing now as he stalled and second-guessed his own work. He was almost childish in doing so, but the moment the other male moved away, Ryder finally willed himself to proceed.

It was a song he’d first began years ago, starting off as something entirely different than what it was now, after being changed and altered more times than he could count after any emotion or experience inspired him to do so. In a way, it had been shaped by his life. It was personal, something no one had heard... until now. He began with the familiar chords, his fingers moving over the frets with expertise. Like the act of breathing, the sound swelled and diminished multiple times until leading into the vocals. His deep voice was hoarse and unpracticed, but as the song progressed, the confidence he started to gain became obvious. By the midway point of the song, Asher’s presence was nearly forgotten. It was in typical Ryder fashion to lose himself so deeply in his own mind until he practically forgot where he was and who he was with, which was the very thing that made him so memorable with The Reef. And even when he trailed off now into silence at the close, after blinking a handful of times and refocusing on the present, he still appeared to be someplace extrasolar.

[archived-ryder-blog]

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@ryderwest: Six beers and The Boys Are Back in Town gets taken too seriously at karaoke.

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[morganaxxturner-deactivated2018]

Meeting the Morning Star

[archived-ryder-blog]

( — stillxbloodyxmary )

It was an authentic moment. The naivety in the rhythm of humming sounds and rumbling words was atypical. More often than not, songs were written in solitude, darkness and, overall, drunkenness. They were heavy with bitterness, depression, a broken heart; the song’s hushed words were almost gullible. That man had an influence over her, there was no denial, and it was hard for Mary to admit it herself that someone caused a positive effect on her, even if briefly. 

Letting her beverage grow cold, the brunette was seemingly too focused on her little notebook and the keys of the piano to notice her surroundings or pay any attention to the liquid brunch on top of the varnished wood. She jotted sentences down, scratching unfitting words on a white clean sheet, only to turn her doe eyes in return to the instrument. “… will you still love me tomorrow…” The keys repeated part of the composition, fixing a couple of notes, as she hummed once again the bit of the lyrics. No kinder touch couldn’t have caught her by surprise in such an intimate moment. Startling slightly, her muscles tensed up at first, only to eagerly melt against those familiar lips. She was selfish with her music, completely the opposite of her personality when it came to sharing the process of creation. Accompanying the whole thing was more invasive than staring at her bare body - it was like stripping her soul, and about that Mary was, indeed, very sheepish. She hid her emotions all too well to suddenly reveal them so openly.

The black leather cover swiftly secreted the contents of its insides, as the former actress shut the notebook and shoved it inside the grand piano’s key case, closing it. To not appear too secretive or egoistic, she immediately redirected her attention towards the male, sliding around on the bench, holding one of his hands up so her legs could fit between his arms, then placing it back beside her, on the seat’s surface, completely facing him. “Actually, it would be ‘afternoon’,” she corrected him, not truly aware of the hours striking on the clock, but certain there was no way in the world she had woken up before two in the afternoon. Especially not after the night they had. After a pair of years apart, she did not realise how his absence took its toll on her. Much like the addict that she was, Mary completely indulged in him, satisfying a craving she thought she no longer had. After all, she did live well her turbulent life away from Ryder. But he was a missing piece of her, nonetheless. And only seeing him made her come to realisation of so; touching him only made it an urgent need.

“Can you, please, share what happened last night? I can’t remember a fucking detail.” For a moment, her eyes innocently gazed his. The brunette seemed genuinely confused, nonchalantly curious. Yet, as she assumed her ex’s lips began to move to provide an answer, the groove in his skin right between his eyebrows starting to form, her mouth curled up slowly, turning into a very mischievous smile. “I’m joking, love, please don’t have a stroke on me.” Laughing in amusement, her hands reached for both sides of his face, pulling him down for a rather intense, passionate kiss. Although Mary did use pot that night and mixed it up with a good amount of drinks, it wasn’t enough to wash her memory clear. It did, for most events, minor details that were meaningless to her, but not when it came to him. From the moment Ryder approached her, she could even remember what he rambled at the person he left behind before joining her. 

As the affection slowed down, the brunette gently reached for his wrists in order to remove his hands and open space for her to arise. Maintaining grasp of one of his hands, fingers intertwined, she moved past him, lifting his arm to the level of her lips and scraping her teeth against his wrist, nibbling it and finally letting go. “Absolutely, I need no permission.” It was a remark on her action, as well as to his retort the past night when she said she did not bite. Later on, Mary proved he was right, after all, as she could see now from a few feet away the bruised, accidental - or not - bite marks left on his naked torso and neck. Mary moved to the island in the kitchen zone of the open room, taking a pack of light cigarettes and lighting one up, then returning to stop before the real musician in the apartment, placing the cigarette between his lips. Something told her he would soon begin showing signs of grumpiness due to his prolonged lack of nicotine. “Your stroppy-highness.” With a flourished curtsy with an invisible full skirt around her naked legs, the brunette teased the act of ‘serving’ him by giving him the cigarette. “Is there anything else I can be of service?” There was a smirk on her lips, but Mary’s eyes couldn’t lie - for now, she was genuinely happy. For now, she didn’t think of the consequences, of the mere possibility of history repeating itself. For now, she loved him so much, it hurt.

It was difficult to feel that a moment like this —this intimate thing in a strangely comfortable, domestic setting— was anything but temporary, because it was them. They could pretend that they weren’t toxic and devastating for one another for as long as they wanted, yet at the end of the day, it was only a matter of time before they were bound to be fighting until someone would storm off, defeated and broken. While Ryder could feel the lingering sense of dread just around the corner, he still found it simple to ignore. Perhaps it was foolish of him to pretend that this could be a normalcy for them, but he truly didn’t care. A morning (or afternoon, as he soon found out) like this was rare and he intended to savor every bit of it while he still could.

His intention to do exactly that seemed to be made clear from the moment he approached the girl, his chin resting upon her shoulder for as long as she allowed it once pulling away from the kiss he pressed to her flesh. The abrupt end to her musical session was disappointing, yet didn’t surprise him in the slightest. After all, he would react in the same way. He was soon provided something else to direct his focus on however, when she whirled around in her seat to face him.

The lopsided grin that tugged at one corner of his mouth was quick to vanish the moment Mary feigned cluelessness of the night before. Damn actors... They were so convincing. A tinge of panic had even begun to set in as he frantically wracked his brain for memory of any sign the girl had been incognizant during their rather passionate session, wondering just where he’d begin with a dramatic retelling of every one of their activities. His brow furrowing, he was seconds away from stammering out a few unsure words when a smirk appeared across her face. Immediately, he narrowed his gaze, a solid frown forming upon his features. “I knew I couldn’t possibly be that easily forgettable,” He sighed, attempting to mask the fact she had him so easily convinced.

The only thing to be nearly as disappointing as her cruel joke was the point in which the impassioned kiss she’d pulled him in for ended. When it had broken off, he didn’t let her rise from her seat until he’d stolen a final peck. “You do like to bite and scratch...” And there was no denying her claim that she needed no permission to do so, and he never once complained about it either — Last night certainly proved that.

He’d be lying to claim that he didn’t stare as she moved away towards the kitchen, even if he shook his head and ultimately glimpsed away, blaming drowsiness for his longing gaze. Her notebook just so happened to be the thing his attentions landed upon once looking away. The temptation to peek into the prized pages in secrecy was strong, but he never would — Mary was appearing back at his side too soon, the cigarette burning making him question which he craved more; the girl or the smoke between her lips. Both would be the answer, especially as she provided him with one of the two, and he wasted no time in taking a desperately long drag. “Hm, I might have in mind a thing or two,” He cryptically answered, his arm snaking around the girl’s waist and his hand bearing the cigarette dropping to his side. Smoke seemed to fill the air between them as he ducked down to capture her lips in yet another passionate and decidedly urgent kiss.

[archived-ryder-blog]

( — pippareyes )

“It doesn’t matter what you’ll say to me, I’m certain he isn’t and I’m too happy to feel bad about my sins. You’ll have to deal with it,” flashing her tongue at Ryder, it took her a few seconds to chuckle after her words. “You’re biased, I know that… and what can I say? We’re here together, now I have to deal with the fact I’ll end up with so many vinyls I won’t know where to place them in my room.”

With a dramatized sigh, Ryder gave up the hopeless argument with a roll of his eyes — though it wasn’t so much an argument as it was playful bickering over something so trivial. “I’m not biased,” He proceeded to complain in a mumble, however seconds later decided, “—Alright, maybe a little biased... Still, you say it as though too many albums are a bad thing.” Naturally, his own living space seemed to be formed around his own record collection. If he owned any smaller of a flat, it’d be bursting at the seams with albums. “What’s so great about this art of yours anyway?”

[archived-ryder-blog]

When Ryder had first invited the other male to drop by, the intention was to finally crack open that old notebook of his and share the songs he'd kept locked in his head and in his guitars for the very first time. Like the sense of relief that comes with a weight lifting off ones shoulders, he was prepared to let the carefully crafted words and music live in someone's mind other than his own, yet he had his reserves. As a result, he was stalling, with his most treasured guitar tucked under his arm while his wide-eyed stare remained on Asher. His notebook (one of many) lay open beside him on the sofa, exposing the pages and the scrawling upon them completely.

"I mean, it's not very fantastic..." Ryder was mumbling on about the song not yet played, very clearly doing all he could to draw out the moment, "And you don't have to pretend it is either." Pausing for a moment, he peered down at the frets with the intention to play, but quickly halted to request, "Could you, like... look the other way?" ( — @asher-goldstein )

[himphobic-deactivated20210108]

[beautiful-nightmares12]

[archived-ryder-blog]

( — summerdhale )

His words brought her back to reality, as if a shock went through her spine making her vivid, even sober for a few seconds, which helped Summer to come up what she was answering Ryder. “I don’t miss him, neither should you,” she commented, still moving through the stage. Those words were a lie, or at least, they partially were. She could develop reasons and an entire conversation about someone who was no longer in her life and Ryder’s, they could discuss memories and the lack of them from the moment Gabe had left, but she didn’t want to reminisce the past. Despite how much her body seemed to crave for it, Summer was doing her best to bury it all inside of her mind, even if she was doing it the worst way possible. “He left, it was his loss not mine. You won’t see me crying, wondering if he didn’t love me, if there’s something wrong with me. I’m not this kind of girl. Aren’t we having a fucking good time?”

She had been the one to leave others behind, she always believed no one could break her heart. And someone had proved her wrong; Summer hated it, and she didn’t want to talk about it. But maybe the alcohol was working against her, and no matter how much she wanted to ignore it all, Ryder was making it harder than before. “When it all feels too much, you’ll write about it. That’s what I’ve been told… and guess what? Not a single word has been written yet.”

"Then I wish I could be more like you," Ryder responded with all sincerity. Perhaps it was the fact that he finally —finally— had someone to sympathize with (or at the very least, someone that was suffering the same loss he was) that caused him to crack open. It was the need to relate and no longer feel alone when friends, family, significant others all left him behind. For a moment, he felt the need to remind Summer that this wasn't the first instance where Gabe had abandoned everything, but he quickly reasoned that some things were best left in his internal dialogue.

To answer her question, yes — He was having a good evening, up until the adrenaline and thrill of the performance could no longer distract him from his usual despondence. However, instead of offering a verbal response, he merely shook his head. "The writing doesn't happen by magic the moment you feel something. The best artists and poets are miserable bastards, but their work isn't always a reflection of their own experiences." Rambling, again... With a sigh, he offered something else; One final though on the subject of Gavril. “Who needs ‘im anyway? All this—” The event, the performance, “—still managed to happen without him... And it seems as though it inspired at least one person.” And with the pointed look he gave her, it was obvious who he meant by the ‘one person’ who had been previously humming and moving about the abandoned stage.