Dating Warren Peace Headcanons. (Read this on Ao3)
Summary: What Warren would be like as a boyfriend based on the five love languages.
Warren x reader - Ongoing series:
Of cupbearers and ass-kickings. (Read it on Ao3)
Summary: Reader and Warren deal with his vigilante identity and life as roommates.
Comfortable Liar. (Read it on Ao3)
Summary: Reader and Warren, two of the most infamous musicians in the current rock scene, seek to shed their bad reputations by scheming to fake date each other. Hoping that their new “lovesick” image will be enough to help them start over in the eyes of the public, they plan a series of steps to make their relationship believable.
Sky High fics:
Lost the Battle, win the War
Summary: Despite the world's many attempts at separating them, Warren Peace and Barron Battle have diligently chosen to treasure their relationship instead; but when they both get assigned classified missions, their secrets threaten to put their bond to the test.
Read this on Ao3.
Chapters: One, Two, Three, read the rest here!
Taking a deep breath and digging deep into his worst memories, Barron readied to reveal his best kept secret. “You have to know, son-”
“Don't tell me you'll start with exposition too, Ron. Just be succinct! It's not hard.” Gwen complained.
“Please, ma'am, let him open up. He looks like he really needs to.” Penny interjected with an empathetic expression on her face.
“Ma'am?” Royal Pain exclaimed in offense.
“What is it, dad?” Warren asked, ignoring the additional commentary from his potential allies.
“I know I must've crushed your childhood illusions when they locked me up. Believe me, that was never what I wanted for our family. I wanted you to look up to me, to see me save people and protect the city. Every dad wants their kid to think of them as a hero, and I tried to be that for you, I swear.” Barron breathed deeply, trying to keep his emotions at bay. “I did everything I could for us, Renie. You see, I was an absolute failure back in school. I got good enough grades, yeah, but I never really achieved anything of my own. I used to think I was never gonna get a real future, let alone a real family.” He chuckled. “So when your mother married me, I wasn't going to mess it up. I was ready. I grew up, did my part, and soon we had the family, the house, the dog, and- sure, I did some mischief here and there, but it was never anything harmful to anyone. Mostly, I tried my best to be a good dad.” His eyes twinkled with nostalgia as he reminisced.
“And I was a good supe for the Agency too. I got in trouble once or twice for blowing stuff up while on missions -which kind of gave me a rep-, but it was never serious fires, and they were always away from people. The suspensions from duty always gave me time to spend with you anyway, so I always kept using my powers for fun at work, when I could. All in all, life and work were fun back then.” He remembered with a smile, which faded quickly as he kept talking.
“That, until my last mission. I got called to check out an old building in the middle of the small town of Grimbrook, and potentially take someone in — a random villain. It was nothing new. I had scouted many places before that in similar ops; it was always the kind of mission that was mostly for recon, and to apprehend one or two people that were in the scheming phase of their grand plans, but that one last time…the place was full when I showed up; the Agency usually sent full teams for that.
“It was a small base, and I managed to render the people inside unconscious, but when I got outside towards the back of the base there was…more, and not just people. A dozen scientists were surrounding this huge thing that I immediately assumed to be a weapon. I was gonna light it up right away, but this person came up to me and started talking, explaining their plans.” Barron spoke rapidly, as if wanting to get through the story as quickly as possible. “She wanted me to listen, so I did. She said she had a way of cleansing the world of evil, and that she only had to push a button to achieve world peace. Sounds great on paper, but then she started explaining how she was going to do it, and I realised she meant to murder thousands using her giant machine, so… I did what I thought was best and- well, I blew it all up.
“I aimed for the machine and sent fire towards it before Nichols's sidekicks could use it. They got close to doing so, too, but my fire was quicker.” Barron explained with sorry eyes. “At the time, I didn't know exactly how the machine worked, nor that it shot rays, nor what it was powered by. Nichols had been vague during the brief moment she tried to win me over, what she told me wasn't anything extensive. Even so, I had an inkling that if I blew the machine up, it would explode. I admit to that. I knew, and still I blew it up, because the math said it all. Nichols was going to murder thousands. Thousands, son. Whatever aftermath the explosion from the machine was going to have, it was going to be substantially less than the number of people she was going to take out in the long run. That's what I told myself in the few seconds I had to consider everything. And that's what I've tried to live with ever since. That at the end of the day, the couple hundred people that died after the explosion are still less than what she would've killed if I would’ve given her the chance.” Barron explained his rationalisation, which came out almost out of inertia after all the years he had spent retelling himself the same.
The group was eerily silent. Shocked, empathetic, and somber expressions looked back at him when Barron searched for their reactions. When his eyes landed on Warren, his son was looking at him intently and with deep sorrow. Barron was quick to clarify. “Ren, I'm not asking for your pity. That's not why I'm telling you this story.”
“I don't. No, I-” Warren shook his head, still stunned. “It just… sucks, dad. I'm very sorry you went through that.” He commiserated. “It's fucked up, and you couldn't have known what the Agency was sending you to.” Barron visibly lost the tension from his body as he heard his son’s words. “You were on your own, under pressure, and tried to do your best. I… would've done the same.” Warren reassured, overwhelmed by the new information and his feelings of horror for what his father had gone through.
All these years, he had half-believed the media's portrayal of his dad — the unstable two-faced devil aching to create hellfire under his mask of mischief. The man who had left behind a wife and child in favor of embracing chaos. Growing up experiencing the aftermath of his dads imprisonment had made him bitter, and those years of teenage rage and rancour for how life had punished his mother and himself had led Warren to partially betray the father he knew by forgetting the real Barron. Even presently, teenage years gone by, there had been a part of Warren that had still doubted his dad's integrity. Looking at him now and seeing a vulnerable old man with grey hairs and crooked glasses made the pit of resentment in Warren's stomach become an abyss of shame. He couldn't have known on his own, his own mother having fed him the lie with the wrong version of the story all those years, but the feeling persisted. “Why did you say it was safer not to tell me?” He asked Barron.
“I thought, this way, you wouldn't grow up to seek revenge on the Agency.” Barron chuckled, his eyes teary with emotion. “I guess the fates had the prophecy written in stone.”
Warren smirked softly. “You think they sent you to Nichols on purpose?” He asked then, more seriously. “For being a nuisance to them?”
“I'm not sure.” The older man frowned in contemplation.
“They could've planned to send you to her so they could kill two birds with one stone.” Warren plotted. “Regardless… leaving you on your own like that for the trial was vile.”
“Wait, they didn't help you during the trial?” Magenta chimed in, revolted, trying to think back at her memories of the public occurrence — which were over a decade old. “Don’t they have to aid their employees?”
“They can pick and choose who they back up, unfortunately. And no, it was too public for the agency to swipe what happened under the rug, so to try and keep appearances of having supe regulation under control, they turned on me. There was a trial, and with the Agency withdrawn from it, the public media took over and focused on the lives lost instead of the lives saved. Which is fair…” He murmured the last part solemnly.
“The agency didn't even give him one of their good lawyers, he got a public DA fresh outta college. I saw the trial on TV at the time. It was a fiasco.” Project shared bluntly.
Gwen piped in too, her tone bitter as she recalled her best friend's conviction and how helpless she felt at the time. “Both the government and the agency basically blacklisted Barron after the trial. And the full story never came out, of course, so the media had a field trip making up as many lies as they wanted about him. In no time everyone knew about Barron Battle having gone berserk-pyro, lighting up a whole town to kill people for fun.”
Barron gave an expression between an awkward smile and a grimace. Penny then blissfully piped in with a curious question. “How did you survive the explosion, if the fire was so big it killed hundreds?”
“Well, thanks to my powers, I suppose.” Barron answered. “Explosions aren’t the same as flames alone, but it was my own fire that started it all. Maybe it expanded with the explosion and when it came back to hit me, it recognised me. Perhaps the flames were unable to kill the familiar body of their creator. I don't really know, to be honest, sweetheart.”
“Well, I'm glad you survived.” She smiled at him calmly, which he returned warmly.
“Mr. Battle, did the agency have anything against you before your encounter with Nichols?” Will asked. “It just doesn't make much sense that they would've left you alone for your trial like that. Wouldn't it be good PR for the agency if one of their supes saved the day from a killing machine?”
“That's assuming the agency would want the public to know about the machine.” Layla countered.
“Exactly.” Warren agreed. “You have to remember that Boreas is a crooked fuck that would rather screw over her own people in order to keep the machine secret and use it privately later on.” He motioned at the facility under them with distaste.
“She's been a dick on so many levels.” Magenta pointed out. “In the confidential files we hacked into before this mission, it said that a “redacted” supe saved the day from Nichols. By not mentioning Grimbrook or Mr. Battle specifically, Boreas distanced herself and the agency from the mess of uncontrolled supes, and was able to secretly use all it brought her however she wanted. In the end, she keeps the illusion of her power untouched.”
“Yeah, and if those are the methods she uses to get people to trust her and think she has things under control, then it's no wonder she would choose to turn her back on Mr. Battle. It was just too useful for her to betray him in the long run.” Zach added.
“And that all explains how she gets re-elected so much.” Ethan nodded. “She's a master at controlling the narrative.”
“It's smart, you gotta give it to her.” Minerva shrugged. “Nichols is a threat to Boreas, Barron gets rid of Nichols, he goes to jail with no one knowing the truth of his story, and public perspective is lost on his case. The S.E.A. is thought to be responsible enough to keep internal affairs under control after Barron’s imprisonment, gracious too from having given up control over the case to the government, secrets are kept all round, and Boreas is the king of the chess board. Impressive.”
“Except she didn't account for me.” Warren frowned. “I'm gonna make it all public. It's about time her reign ends.”
“Woah, woah, Renie.” Gwen mocked. “I already stated that's not gonna happen. I'm not giving up on my mission, even if Barron and the rest of these idiots are. Not for you bunch of assholes.” She pointed a sassy finger to Warren's team.
“Were you not listening, grandma?” Warren stepped closer to her. “You're seriously gonna advocate for your devious fucking mission after having heard all that about the Agency?”
“All I heard is that you lot are trying to get me killed.” Gwen argued. “But I'm not falling for it.”
“Gwen, please.” Barron interjected. “I'm asking you to put your pride aside and help us. I know you can do that-”
“No, Barron! I won't! How many times do I have to remind you, these cunts sent me to jail! That little shit over there is Stronghold's son! You can't possibly expect me to give you any help in these circumstances!” She exclaimed, standing formidably in her suit of armor.
“This situation is bigger than our personal issues, Gee.”
“Don't belittle my case, Ron. The personal issues in question are, in fact, big enough for me to be deterred from aiding you.”
“I'm not diminishing your feelings, but Gwen, I know you can put them aside. I've seen you do it before.”
“No you haven't.” She denied, crossing her arms and making a wacky clinking noise with the metal of her armor that contrasted with the scowl on her face.
“Yes, I have.” Barron sighed in frustration before he kept arguing with her. “Remember when we used to hide in the girls’ bathroom in high school?” He asked.
“Excuse me?” Layla blinked.
“You used to what?” Magenta arched a brow, pleasantly engrossed in the exchange.
“Yes, well- We weren't very popular at the time, and some classes were extremely hard for us. Sometimes we just wanted to hide for a while, so we went there. It was our spot.” He explained to the amused and baffled faces around him before he faced Gwen once more. “Remember Mr. Gilbert?”
“He was an asshole.” Gwen scoffed, the memories indeed flowing through her mind again.
“Yes, he was.” Barron chuckled. “He used to torment us every week. Back then, the lines between the hero and sidekick tracks were blurry, so for the most part, teachers just put us all in distressing situations. That’s how they saw which of us would keep afloat, and which were the kids that “weren't cut out for the supe life” that had to settle for being helpers instead of saviors.” Barron shared with the others. “Gwen and I…struggled. In some classes, like Mr. Gilbert’s, the jocks were the only ones that didn't come out of the gym with a broken this and a bleeding that… so the two of us sometimes skipped class to avoid the fuss.” He admitted. “I mean, it was ridiculous. One time I had to carry Gwen on my shoulders cause we were thrown into a pit of lava. This other time, the Coach brought out a professional supe-turned-wrestler for a training session, and I lost my big toe on my left foot from this guy's giant hammer slamming on it. The 80s were rough times, kids.” Barron sighed with his hands on his hips. The younger ones in the group pointed horrified looks at him.
“Shit, sir.” Zach muttered, suddenly very thankful for Coach Boomer.
“Yeah, I've been kinda clumsy when walking, ever since.” Barron shrugged.
“You were clumsy even before- Is there a point to all of this reminiscing?” Gwen caught herself.
“Yes, just- remember that one time more kids followed us into the girls’ bathroom to hide from Mr. Gilbert? You hated them all, so you told them to fuck off and find another spot, but that didn't end up happening. Instead, we all came together over our hatred towards the Coach, and worked alongside each other to fight back at him! You can't tell me you don't remember, it was one of the most memorable things we did in high school!” Barron smiled.
“Fine, yes, I remember! But that was different.” Gwen shook her head.
“How did you fight back?” Layla asked curiously.
“Well, we were tired of him standing on the sidelines while we got wrecked, so we used our powers together to make him fall into the trap he had brought for us that class. Lets just say he lost half of his leg and his memory. He took a break from teaching, and we finally got a break of our own.” Barron remembered, beaming with joy.
“That's…” Layla hesitated, a small grimace on her face. “Uhm, I'm happy you got that break.” She offered instead of the shocked reactions that were floating on her mind.
“Thanks! And we did so thanks to our teamwork, which is the point I was trying-”
“Your corny story was heartwarming, Barry. Still, no.” Gwen denied once more, avoiding his gaze in favor of looking out into the distant woods.
“Royal Pain.” Barron said solemnly, trying another approach and stepping closer to her. “All those hours talking of revolution in the girls’ bathroom can't have been for nothing. All those plans to extirp the system from the roots… Today is the day they become a reality! Before, we couldn't do it, because we were alone -and I was in jail, I guess-, but now we have the team we needed to succeed. Two teams. A super two-layered team. I've seen you forget your hatred for the individuals in favor of sticking it to the man, so I know it's within you.” He pleaded with vigor.
“You…” Gwen frowned fervently at him. If she had possessed fire abilities like Barron and Warren did, she would've had smoke coming out of her ears from her frustrated rage. “Fuck. You. Barron. This is absolute rock bottom for me. And I went through puberty twice!” She complained before she scoffed and finally managed to get the words out of her mouth. “I'm in.”
Even Royal Pain couldn't fight the warm hug that hit her like a tackle when Barron trapped her within his arms —big stiff armor and all. Gwen grumbled at the extra figure approaching her, “This is a two-man hug, Penny. Get away from it.”
i make more decent drawings every time i tell myself i'm only going to practice. Maybe it's the decode effect. Song is so good you literally can't make bad art when you're thinking about it.
also, i missed tonight's hotd episode to finish this. if i see any spoilers, i'll never draw again.
Pairing: Warren Peace x reader.
Series summary: Reader and Warren, two of the most infamous musicians in the current rock scene, seek to shed their bad reputations by scheming to fake date each other. Hoping that their new “lovesick” image will be enough to help them start over in the eyes of the public, they plan a series of steps to make their relationship believable.
Read this chapter on Ao3.
Read the other chapters of this series. My masterlist.
Owning a record store was the dream, and you were living it. Running it barely felt like work, and setting up a weekly display stand in the middle of the venue was your favorite thing out of all the things that the experience gave you. It was a simple task, yet meaningful to you. The selection of albums you put up on the shelf on the wall came always from you and you alone. It represented the albums that meant the most to you, ranging from your teenage favorites to whatever it was that was on your playlist at the moment. You gave yourself free reign when it came to the task of setting it up, and the effort you put on it didn't go unnoticed.
Being in a band was the reason why you had been able to open the store in the first place, and it was also why so many people frequented it every day. Many a time, that included whoever heard a local rockstar had a store downtown and went to check it out, which ranged from young people looking for something new and cool to listen, to older people searching for a classic from the past — really, anyone of any age who in any degree knew about the rock music scene passed through your store, in search for records as well as a community.
Who really frequented your store a lot, however, were your own fans. It wasn't an awkward thing, most of the time. Yes, if they saw you in, they'd most likely ask for a pic or an autograph, but the commotion about you being so accessible and in the open wore off after your store got a few trips around the sun. After that, people generally grew accustomed to your presence. You weren't one of those celebrities who wanted to be seen as often as a red moon in order to be perceived as untouchable; you sought to be in touch with the community, as you felt that was the punk thing to do.
What still earned some fanatical fuss from your customers, however, was your weekly display. Your fans had made the habit to always take pictures of it and upload them on the internet for the rest of your following to see. That's how it had become tradition for them to listen to whatever it was you put up, and discuss it amongst themselves. Someone had even made a social media account where they posted all the weekly albums and songs you highlighted.
That's how you knew your plan would work. Sometimes, you had been known to put small messages inside the CDs or vinyl you picked, with a brief explanation of what the music meant to you. So, when it came to designing the weekly display with the songs that were supposed to be about your “secret lover”, you knew people would find and divulge whatever it was you wrote to further the fake-dating scheme.
The matter was leading people to believe you were talking about Warren specifically. Whatever music you picked, it had to hint at his pretentious grungy vibe, and his performative-type lyrics.
The first album you chose to put on your wall was a Soundgarden one. You had to start with something obvious, and Warren's band was a Soundgarden wannabe boyband, anyway. You picked their Superunknown album in Vinyl, the one with the track Spoonman, because you had found out that Trial By Fire covered it years ago — Warren had sung the backing vocals for it, sounding oddly similar to the original, but you weren’t going to admit that to yourself just yet. With a red sharpie, you just circled the song on the back of the record sleeve you put up. You rarely circled songs when you made your displays; you knew people would notice it right away and wonder the meaning behind it.
The second album you displayed was a Failure one. Another Space Song sounded pretty alike to one of Warren's most popular songs — he probably plagiarised it, you were sure. It also helped the fake-dating scheme that it was a love song. That clue was maybe vague, but you had more songs to hint at the romance aspect of your grand scheme, and it would be better if part of it looked like an exchange between you and your recipient that no one else could crack. After simply highlighting the track in red on the back of a CD, you put it up on the wall.
Forever & Ever More by Nothing But Thieves, So Far Away by Staind, Make Me Wanna Die by The Pretty Reckless, they were all tracks you highlighted on the back of their respective albums before displaying them on the wall. To be sure, you underlined the bridge of the last song, leaving nothing to interpretation. If the lyrics “I would die for you, my love” didn’t convince people of what you had meant to say, then nothing would.
After a few more records, you had even found some amusement in the task. If you had known deceiving thousands of people was so fun, you would have gotten a fake boyfriend ages ago.
To wrap it all up in a ribbon -and to make sure the discourse online effectively circled around your love life-, you decided to mischievously add a little card in a record sleeve with the words “Track 10. My Heart is yours, and so is this song.” on it, in black ink over a red piece of paper — the colors that were the most reminiscent of Warren. The album in question was your favorite band’s — you were very vocal about your love and protective nature towards them. It would’ve made you reluctant to dedicate a love song to a partner in normal circumstances, especially one of your predilects, but since the scheme was all fake, you determined that the stakes made it funny rather than dangerous, and that it would be harmless in the end to make a little pun around the song’s name.
When you were done, you stepped back to behold your creation. There were multiple copies of each of the CDs and Vinyl you picked, so that they could be sold to the public — your displays weren’t just for show. A random customer -a fan, probably- was going to purchase the one of each that you had doodled on, and they were going to find the clues to post on the internet. Now, you only had to wait.
Not long, it turned out. Out of nowhere, another one of the pieces of the scheme fell into place. While you were staring tensely at the display like a weirdo, the sound of Warren’s voice reached your unalert ears. Snapping towards it faster than you would’ve liked to admit, you proceeded to marginally deflate from the realisation that his voice wasn’t coming from his physical presence in your shop, but from one of the TVs that were set up around the premises.
There were multiple screens around the store, some running music videos, some advertising promos, and some, like the one you walked over to, were constantly being taken over by your store workers, who liked to play interviews of their favorite musicians on them. As much as you hated to admit it, Warren’s fans were everywhere, one of them being your top employee. He was a lanky guy with light long hair who was too good at his job for you to be annoyed by his antics.
“When was this?” You called his attention, nodding at the screen where Warren was talking to a blonde interviewer about his current endeavours.
“Hey, boss.” Joe replied, straightening up from where he had been taking out some of the new shipments from a box. “Uh, today, actually. It’s from a radio show that had him on this morning.” He commented, glancing at the TV with an earnest devotion that made you pity him. Poor Joey, he was too good to be a fan of a guy so crappy. You were about to ask him if he was open to exchanging him for some other rockstars that you could actually vouch for when you remembered you shouldn’t be heard publicly talking crap about Warren anymore.
“I see.” You muttered instead, vaguely.
“He’s working on a new album.” Joe added dotingly, summarising the part of the interview you had missed.
With a feigned hum of interest, you pretended to care. “Really?”
“Yeah, they’ve only been working on it for a few months, but within a year, we should be listening to what they come up with.” He smiled wide.
There was a couple browsing for records nearby, and upon hearing the exchange between Joe and yourself, one of them stepped closer to watch the TV as well. “Oh, Trial By Fire? I love them!” She said, casually enough to have you wondering if she knew that you too were a known musician.
“You do?” Joe jumped at the invitation to fuss over Warren. “They were in the city back in March. Did you have the chance to see them?”
“Yes!” The woman grinned, gesturing at the man who was with her a couple of steps away. “With Brian, my husband, we both got tickets. One of the best gigs I’ve been to, I have to say.” She said vehemently.
“They were good.” Brian agreed when he walked over to where the rest of you were, in front of the screen that was showing Warren’s big head — or was that the size of the TV? Surely, it was his anatomy, you thought.
“Just good?” She teased.
“Pretty good.” Her partner smirked. “Would've been great if they hadn’t taken off their shirts so much.” He joked, making his wife roll her eyes with amusement.
“That’s half the fun.” Joe said dreamily. Your chuckle brought their attention to you.
“Well, unlike you lot, I like my artists for their music, not their abs.” Brian added to the jests, and then nodded your way. “Grudges is more my vibe. I’ve seen you guys a bunch of times. Big fan.”
“Thanks.” You gave him a smile. They did know you, after all, you realised. “And, hey, you don’t know that I don’t have abs too.” You replied playfully, making them laugh. “Fine, I don’t; but my bandmate Jessie can’t say the same. She’s as jacked as those guys, I can testify to that.”
“See?” The woman nudged her husband. “We’re on the same boat.”
“No, no, Dana. It’s still different, ‘cause the girls from Grudges don’t sell their music on the basis of being thirst traps.”
“Come on, honey, don’t talk about them like that.” Dana glanced at you. “They might be friends.”
You didn’t know how to address that. Sure, you were building on the plans to come out as a public couple, but you hadn’t yet thought about what to say about Warren if someone brought him up in the wild. Did you hint at a possible fake crush that you had on him, or was it better to feign ignorance about everything from his side of the world?
“They’re not friends.” Joe came to your rescue unknowingly, answering on your behalf after a dubious pause from you. “Otherwise, she would’ve introduced me already.” He half-joked.
With a smirk, you regained your voice. “I’ve met a lot of bands across the years. At festivals, on the road, at talk shows…but I can’t say I have all their phone numbers or anything. Most of them are friends of a friend, rather than my own.” You gave an answer that you hoped sounded more generalised than anything. The group nodded understandingly. “Their music is good, though.” You gestured to the TV, on which Warren’s interview had ended. The video was on a loop, so you watch it begin again. Joe loved loops.
“Wait, you’re a fan too, and you never told me?” Joe gaped.
“Didn’t want to take your spot as groupie number 1.” You joked.
“Oh, we’re gonna have so many discussions about this.” He beamed with excitement, which died in a single second when his gaze landed on the TV for the millionth time.
“What?” You frowned at his sudden shift.
“It’s that part again.” He explained dejectedly. “The one when he breaks the news.”
“What news?” Brian questioned curiously.
“Oh! I know.” Dana gasped dramatically in recognition. “I read about it online, earlier.”
“What is it?” You asked again at their ominous answers.
“Well, he- Just see for yourself, I can’t even say it.” Joe defeatedly turned his whole body away from the screen, and Dana silently stared at the TV in an akin sorrow, leaving you and Brian to watch the interview to satiate your curiosity.
“...not a fan of Neruda, considering his sketchy tendencies, but I do read some poetry from time to time. Mostly, though, it’s novels I take with me on tour, I don't know why. Notes from Underground, A short stay in hell, those are some of the last I took on tour earlier this year.” Warren was commenting.
“A bit of a somber theme you had going on, there, Hades.” The interviewer joked. “So, to answer that one fan, then: you don’t really read romantic poetry.” She summarised. “Maybe that’s just an acquired taste for us corny people that are in relationships — not to mock you at all!” she chuckled apologetically. “Being a bachelor must be fun, as a rockstar.”
“No, no, don’t worry.” Warren assured her before giving his voice a cryptic turn. “Actually…well-”
“Oh, don’t tell me you’re about to share something personal with us.” The interviewer gasped, eager to get an answer. Warren stalled playfully, giving her a smirk.
“I…” He drew it out theatrically. “Might have found someone.”
“No way!”
“Gerard Way.” His pun was followed by a more serious confirming nod. “So, I don’t think it’s the relationship thing that’s keeping me from being more engrossed in romantic poetry.” He circled back smoothly. “I do get it, but it’s…I don’t know. It just doesn’t entice me as much as the more…somber topics, like you put it. There's a certain romance in that too, the way I see it. I guess that’s where I find love, in the morose and infamous.”
“Well, that’s alright. One just has to find the one person who gets you and echoes your interests.” The woman told him. “So…did you?”
Warren smiled charmingly, and with a mischievous, mysterious twinkle in his eye that both interviewer and spectator couldn't quite solve, he nodded, “I might have.”
“Ugh.” Joe clutched his heart dramatically, drowning out the rest of the interview. “There goes my chance.”
You couldn’t help but chuckle quietly. Momentarily, the knowledge that Warren was supposed to plant his own seed to make the dating scheme grow escaped your mind. Now that you remembered, you had to concede that he did so expertly. Did he take acting classes? You had to ask him — if only to mock him about it.
“Come on, man, none of us ever had a chance.” Brian told Joey.
“Babe, you’re married.” Dana reminded him, flashing him the ring on her left hand. “And speak for yourself.”
“Oh, so you think I’m just not enough of a catch?” Her husband asked her with lifted brows.
“He is bisexual.” Joe quipped. “So, technically, we all had equal chances.”
“His sexual orientation is not the issue.” Dana fought a chuckle.
“Ouch.” Brian held the left side of his chest.
“I meant that neither of us three is at his level in terms of stardom.” She stated, and then gave you a look that you wished she hadn’t. “Only one of us truly ever had a chance. In this room, at least.”
“Oh, I’m sure that…” You scrambled for any kind of answer that wouldn’t ruin your plotting. “such aspects wouldn’t be on his mind when choosing a partner.”
“Someone with his face isn’t going out with anyone with this face, though.” Joe lamented, gesturing at his melancholic expression. “I don’t know why I even…”
“Come on, Joey, don’t beat yourself up.” You squeezed his arm. “And I’m sure he’s not vain.” You lied. “Anyone that holds the title of your favorite musician, I’m sure holds to a higher standard.”
“So he’s not just into supermodels and famous actors?” He questioned wistfully.
“I’m sure he’s not.” You shook your head.
“So you don’t know for sure.” He lamented. “Have you heard him say that?”
“I’ll ask, if you want.” You rolled your eyes affably.
“So you do know him?” Joe gasped. You cursed at your oversight.
“No, I-” You halted. With three pairs of wide eyes on you, and seeing the multiple questions forming behind them, you decided you had risked the integrity of your scheme enough for the time being. Without another word on the matter, you fled.
“Have a great time shopping, thank you for coming!” You hurried to say the words and bolt up the stairs towards the second floor of the building, your living quarters. Hoping that they wouldn’t think anything of the awkward exchange, and that Joey would be professional about your potential link to Warren, you stayed in your living room couch for most of the rest of that afternoon.
You wanted to curse at Warren for nothing in particular. He was so much better than you at handling the acting and the unprompted lies in the face of incessant questioning that it made you enraged — or envious, you couldn’t tell. However, you had to give it to him, he was good. Way better than you, in fact. It was humbling to realise that after all your fuss about him being the volatile piece of the puzzle, it might end up being you who’d be more prone to mess things up.
Perhaps acting classes weren’t such a bad idea, and you wondered whether Warren would be nice enough to give you some tips on it, or if he’d just tell you to get lost and not bother him with your bullshit self-improvement intentions. Then you wondered if you could get his number from your manager Sam to find out. He would either block you immediately, or give you the time of day. Would he, though? You didn’t want to admit it, but after all the admiration from Joey, you were feeling kind of small in comparison. If he was a big rockstar with enough charisma to enrapture the world -even despite his obvious bitch face during your first encounter-, then who were you to approach him outside of the professional setting of the meetings your teams would be holding? Yet, in the end, your sudden urgency to contact him weirded you out and was discarded completely. Why did you suddenly want to talk to him so badly? You needed to gather your bearings and find out how to get over yourself so you wouldn't be left behind by the guy you were undermining only a few days ago.
After calming yourself down during the course of many hours, a decision was taken by you. You’d just have to fake it til you made it look like you were as good, or better, than Warren. It sucked, but that was what you had. If you got too concerned with acting classes and trying to look as smooth as him when you lied, you might lose the focus on the plot, and that was what needed actual refinement. It took you by surprise today, but after some getting used to, you should be able to play the part of the doting girlfriend well enough. After all, how hard could it be to pretend that the guy Joe and the married couple were gushing over was likable? You just had to replicate the example they had given you.
In any case, panic wasn't going to take over you — you couldn’t afford it. Your career was on the line, and if you had to publicly yell at the top of your lungs that you were Warren Peace’s secret lover, you’d just have to rehearse it at home as many times as you needed so that it sounded realistic when you stepped out into the world.
Omg omg this is my own boy, wearing the little dress that I wore as a child when I got baptised. My mom saved it so that my progeny would wear it, and her wishes came true (I hope).
So I spent several weeks a while ago trying to crochet the famous butterfly cardigan (spoiler alert, it didn't work, I sucked at it), and now I see that these online fast fashion shops have already replicated it. That's so crappy. Fiber arts are so difficult and time consuming, and here's big consumism machine taking jobs away from knitters/crochet artists — cause it's an art. And now that art is being spit out by corporations as a soulless, cheap mess.
Well, we should certainly make sure that everyone knows about this image, or how will they know not to post it? It's not like "That image of Musk looking like a Nazi" would narrow it down.
