so i'm really struggling with muse for lena atm, if you wanna plot pls yeet yourself at me? because i love her so much y'all and i don’t wanna completely lose muse ya feel?

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@missricci
so i'm really struggling with muse for lena atm, if you wanna plot pls yeet yourself at me? because i love her so much y'all and i don’t wanna completely lose muse ya feel?
text | cleo
cleo: i'm already halfway
cleo: i and my tummy are ready for this yummy goodness !!
lena: great i'll see you in a minute!
lena: thought you might need it after all that time in the lab
ivy had been parked on a bench for about two hours now. her dixon D3400 camera affixed to her hands, she’d been trying to capture something worth using. the writer’s block was in full force; so it was time for her tried and true method of finding inspiration from her surroundings. people watching was a great way to do that. sometimes, she’d be intrigued by one person in particular passing by; then she’d raise the camera to her eyes, and snap a picture. she would never USE that film without consent, of course, it was just something for her to look back on for inspiration. like when an unreasonably tall man walked by, ivy found herself absentmindedly taking a picture. when she put the camera down, she realized that somebody had approached the bench at the wrong time, and might have just seen her suspicious looking photo-taking. ❛❛ i’m not a stalker. ❜❜ she said quickly, NERVOUSLY — just like a stalker would? ❛❛ oh, god, that probably makes me sound even more like a stalker. but — i’m not! ❜❜
irises land upon ivy and her trusty camera. lena's lips formed a curve, betraying her lack of surprise at the camerawoman of the hour. the people-watcher, ivy meyers, stealing snapshots of a society, a moment that could never be repeated again, for once time is lost it cannot so easily be regained.
“you can just say i look HOT ivy,” she teased, dropping down onto the bench next to her without asking or being prompted to do so. “after all, i already know it.” (yes, she knows the picture ivy was taking was of a passerby behind her, but who was lena to resist an opportunity to jokingly stroke her own ego?) “but yeah, it does make you sound a little stalker-ish, no stress.”
text | cleo
cleo: is this an invite for me to come and steal some?
cleo: if so, count me in
lena: yeah course it is i'm not an asshole
lena: i wouldn't tell you i made cookies and then not share
text | cleo
lena: i'm making cookies, just fyi
lena: i'm not so mean that i won't share
sorry for the shitty formatting but like this for a text from lena? your girl needs a pick-me-up
message | lena 😍
monica: no im at the store ill just grab
monica: oop me TOO
monica: wanna get high later and make pancakes?
lena: girl you KNOW i do
lena: how are we so in sync it's crazy???
→ text to: That Bitch™ (lena)
autumn: hasdhjf lenaaaaaaa
autumn: dont worry yourself i dont want to be a burden
autumn: really im totally fine
lena: autumn babe you're never a burden
lena: and i wholeheartedly do not believe you so i'm coming
lena: see you in 5
( ✉ → sms )
OPHELIA: scary to think that i'd actually dance to the spotify top 50 songs
OPHELIA: but i'd only make that sacrifice for you
OPHELIA: i don't wanna end up in the emergency room today, so maybe stick to soda??
LENA: we need to fix the playlist at that party
LENA: aw, lia
LENA: ...and just soda, i promise
message | lena 😍
monica: im making some food to send over to juniper's house
monica: a lasagna and some cookies
monica: and i didnt know if we had milk
lena: i'll grab extra on my way back, then
lena: i was planning on going anyway bc your girl has a serious pancake craving
→ text to: That Bitch™ (lena)
autumn: i also had a shot or three
autumn: jk two shots
autumn: of vodka
autumn: anyway life is pain how are you doing
lena: i'm okay
lena: but i'm coming over. like, now
lena: you need some half-decent hangover care and the only fucker i trust is myself
message | lena 😍
monica: do we have milk at home?
monica: this is iMPORTANT
lena: yes we have milk
lena: why?
( ✉ → sms )
OPHELIA: please i just want a ride home
OPHELIA: i do want to see your take on a silly hat. and i agree, berets are cute
OPHELIA: lena? drunk? would've never seen that coming!!
LENA: aw man i hoped we could dance again 3
LENA: it was fun to dance with you!
LENA: i have one of those american 'soda hats.' what if i put wine in it???
( ✉ → sms )
OPHELIA: please remind me to NEVER attend a house party again
OPHELIA: i got here, was handed a beer within 20 seconds and there was fog everywhere for some reason
OPHELIA: now i'm wearing some guy's sombrero cause apparently it's "silly hat night"
LENA: i'm coming right now. go nowhere, do nothing, yes i'm quoting eleanor from the good place because i'm obsessed
LENA: i'll bring a dumb hat for myself and if i see one person in a beret i am starting a fight because berets are not dumb
LENA: okay maybe i've had a couple drinks already
@aberncthys
→ text to: That Bitch™ (lena)
autumn: i have eaten my weight in ice cream and smoked my weight in weed
autumn: i know you might be concerned about me from those texts BUT
autumn: i really think you should be proud?
lena: the ice cream part is admirable
lena: the weed bit is a little concerning but i can get over it
lena: i think overall i can be proud of you
song
send ‘song’ and i’ll talk about a song on lena’s playlist !
you got: alors on danse by stromae (link)
lena is more of a cynic than she will permit ANYONE to see — she prefers to be people’s sunshine incarnate, to prompt people to have a good time, rather than force them to suffer in the revelation that they’re all drinking or inhaling their problems away. besides, that’d be no good for her, the girl who runs along with the party crowd because she enjoys not seeing the darker edges to the world, especially now.
there’s a couple of lines that really struck me for her (roughly translated):
‘when we say ‘till death do us part’, we say divorce.’ — lena’s parents split when she was young. this is her genuine view on love and marriage, which is difficult when she’s one to fall in love so quickly.
but is it the music or the problems, the problems or the music? it grips your guts and grips your head, you pray for it to end; but it’s your body, this is not heaven — what’s making her head hurt so badly? what secretly makes her feel as though she’s going to die if she smiles to someone’s face one moment longer? is it the mounting pile of people’s problems she’s trying to help, her own, or the blaring music that’s drilling into her skull even as she has her fifth glass of wine? she doesn’t know and maybe she never will.