#& teddy.

[rorybergstrom]

📲 teddy lawrence.

rory: "im wet" ? jesus christ

rory: you can't write comments like that

rory: it's a public platform

rory: people will see it !

[rorybergstrom]

          With hands curled into fists in the other’s hair they were an image of domesticity, dirty plates abandoned to the sink for the comfort of a couch, blankets tugged over pale jeans and knobbly knees. The television set was largely ignored in favour of one another’s company, Rory’s smile infectious as he struck his index finger against the tip of Teddy’s nose, his hand lingering to trail along his jaw. “You know, in some cultures, undercooked pasta is considered a delicacy. In Italy they call it Al Dente,” Rory explained, a theatrical Italian lilt to his words, kissing his fingers as he wriggled to get comfortable against the sofa cushions, knee wedged against Teddy’s hip. “Besides, it wasn’t undercooked it was fucking gourmet. Who else can you say has ever cooked you gourmet cheesy-tomato pasta? Dick.” The title of the film they’d planned on watching had long since been forgotten, lost in the curve of Teddy’s mouth if not in footsie beneath the dinner table, heart still racing in his chest. Was this a date? Or merely cooking with friends? Things with them never seemed to be just friendly, and the way he touched Teddy wasn’t the way he’d touch Levi or Felix. “Hate to be a dick now you’re comfortable but someone left the fucking hot drinks in the kitchen and since I cooked, I think you owe it to me to play butler.” Finger-gunning, he mimed the twirling of a gun at a wild west shootout, trigger pulled like the slam of a saloon door. “On your horse, cowboy.” @teddylaws

[argentarrogance]

💬

Send 💬  for me to make you a starter with a random line of dialogue from this generator. || @thegreatunifier

" Why would you want to put yourself through something like that? "

[rorybergstrom]

         On reflection, the text he’d sent in restless agitation was perhaps a little hasty. No one was dying. There was no grand catasrophe. He’d simply woken in the dead of night with a pain in his chest so fierce he could swear he’d swallowed a needle.

          SMS from RORY, 01.14: hey man i know it’s late so no worries if you don’t see this til morning. if on the off chance you’re a) awake n b) not busy can we talk?? going for a smoke @ the knocking lake either way x

        The kiss, he realised upon reflection, had been a bad call. Or maybe he was just overthinking it. He put kisses on his text messages to Levi, to Lana, to Felix. Why shouldn’t Teddy be the same? The weight of something unsaid, heavy on his shoulders like a long-carried secret, shifted in response to his question. Perhaps the unease that he felt from his neck to his toes was answer enough, though it settled into something thinner and warmer like hot spaghetti the moment Teddy’s image came into view. “Oh. Shit. I was beginning to think you were...” With Blake. “--asleep.” Rory finished, feeling a twinge of guilt in his stomach, despite how agreeable and easy this should feel by now. They were friends. This was fine. This was exactly what Rory had always wanted. So why did every time he saw Teddy feel like a fucking rugby ball to the stomach? “Did you happen to bring a lighter, old man? My zippo’s fucked.” Hands rubbing together for warmth --- although it wasn’t cold, he was simply full of a kind of static --- Rory pulled his legs up onto the grass verge a threw a stone out, watching it’s rough back skip over the surface of the lake. “I’ve just been sat here with this joint in my mouth like... like when you’re a kid and you finish a lollypop and pretend to be smoking the stick. Or was that like, an English thing? Anyway, it’s pretty soggy now. Kinda gross actually. But I’m not a butt-sucker, I promise. I just... couldn’t light it. You can still have some, if you want. But I’ll get it if it’s a hard pass because of saliva or whatever. Germ city.”      @teddylawrence

[rorybergstrom]

Sweat and euphoria mingled in the scent of Teddy’s skin. The bits of him he could catch glimpses of every time he tore his eyes from the stage were glowing, glitter-smeared and heat-streaked, their eyes like milk saucers against white backdrops. Rory didn’t know the name of the band, but he didn’t need to --- the feeling was enough --- a Hawaiian shirt left open with pride not profit written in sharpie on his chest. His hand found Teddy’s and squeezed the fingers tight. “I’m going to win you something!” was promised, over-enthusiastically, a wad of gum lodged behind his teeth and eyes that thrummed with an ecstatic adrenaline. Should this feel weird? To be holding his hand in public, to be wrapping his fingers into Teddy’s hair as he pulled him closer, foreheads knocking clumsily. “We’ll find the ugliest fuckin’ teddy-bear at the fairground, and I’ll win it for you. Even if I have to spend, like, all the cents in my wallet. I’ll do it.” It didn’t feel weird, or too soon, or any of the things he’d presumed it would feel. It didn’t feel forced like it could with others, or leave a nervous itch in his skin. It felt easy as breathing. “I want you to meet my mum. Is that weird?” @teddylaws

[rorybergstrom]

          Their eyes kept catching. No matter where he was in the room, eventually his gaze still seemed to trail back to Teddy while the other was mid-laugh or else nursing a beer, a weary tiredness etched into his skin. Rory didn’t need to be told it was Bash on his mind --- the other’s disappearance flickered like a gas flame that burned beneath his brain, too, flaring up every so often in the brief moments their eyes would meet. He wasn’t avoiding Teddy, per se, he’d merely failed to verbally acknowledge him --- that is, until four beers in, his disposition a little lighter, Rory found himself ceasing his flirting with Claire or Julia or whatever she’d introduced herself as, made his excuses and idled over to the figure he’d been glancing at all evening. “Hey,” Rory began, though perhaps he couldn’t be heard over the blare of The Velvet Underground, so he leant in closer, clearing his throat and uttering ‘hey’ again, almost startling the other into dropping his beverage, hands reaching to clamp around the other’s wrist to halt the beer can’s falling. “Woah, shit. Didn’t mean to, er---” he drifted off, fingers still lingering hesitant on Teddy’s hand, and he was tempted to merely take the can, place it to one side and link their fingers together. That’s how he knew he was drunk. But now his fingers had idled too long and so he merely made a show of righting Teddy’s sleeve, hands meagrely brushing his skin beneath the fabric. “How was your time on the trip?” He was too enthusiastic in the way he leant in, close to Teddy’s ear, pressing down the inner lobe to be heard over a bassline.  “Haven’t seen you since... Well, y’know.” The smile that lifted his lips seemed false despite its sincerity. He couldn’t help but want to know the details of the other’s life, tried to tone down his eagerness to talk to him, to simply be around him despite the coarseness that had coloured their previous encounter. “I’ve got glitter in my bumbag if you want any. That’s not a euphemism for drugs, by the way. Although--- think I actually do have some eccy.” @teddylawrence

[maggotmouth]

          neon glare, cherries and peaches, comic book themetunes on a constant circuit. time never seems to pass in the stretch along the pier that houses arcades, casinos and karaoke bars. it reminds bridget of that scene in percy jackson -- the lair of the lotus eaters -- where fringe-jacket clad men from the sixties remain locked in a timeloop, eyes glued to a slot machine. “did you ever win on one of those things?” she asks, idling by the claw machine as she routes through a striped bag of pick n’ mix candy in search of a stray cola bottles. she’d picked them out first, left now with sherbert saucers, liquorice and gobstoppers. “i always think of the aliens in toy story when i see one. heard they’re rigged so that you can never actually win, they just take money in and give nothing back. like capitalism.” her on-brand political activism is perhaps ironic at this stage, and even bridget finds herself cracking a toothy grin as she passes the bag towards teddy. “would you waste fifty-cents trying to win me something? please. i want the ugliest toy you can find. then we can do the car chase game but not put any money in... just pretend we’re driving.” the way she says it is almost dreamy, a childlike nostalgia lighting up her eyes as she chomps on a sugar mouse. “i used to do that all the time as a kid. we never had money for the arcade so i’d just pretend to be playing by like, smashing buttons or whatever. kinda fucked up that i spent so much time in casinos, actually.” bridget notes, idly sucking on the straw of her irish coffee, half tipsy with the taste of it. “my mom loved them. she was addicted, i think.” @teddylawrence