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@tennzssee
oh , i like my boys playing hard to get and i like my men all incompetent , and i swear they choose me , i’m not choosing them . amem . hey , men ! man-child , why you always come a-running to me ? ───── fuck my life .
⋆ won’t you let an innocent woman be? amen.
⋆ penned and loved by lia ᥫ᭡ ⋆
SEX AND THE CITY (1998-2004)
5.01 | "Anchors Away"
open starter !!! where: her studio.
“ bonjour, mes amours. welcome to another episode of beyond the haystack, the only place in the world where the merde of carroll’s farms and parisian haute couture meet in the very same sentence. i am your host, tammy thibodeaux. ” the smile that danced across her plump, cinnamon-tinted lips was brilliant and dead welcoming, her turquoise eyes locked right onto the camera. “ right then, mes chers amis, on today’s episode, my most illustrious guest is going to whip up his all-time favourite tipple for us. do cross your fingers and pray it’s a proper bit of posh nosh, yeah? ” she let out a graceful little laugh before gesturing for her guest to make an entrance.
open starter !!! where: her studio.
sat on her pink sofa facing equally pink armchairs in a jet-black studio room, tamerlane listened as the musical intro kicked off—a dramatic opera aria, suddenly cut short by the sound of a crowing cockerel and a lush folk beat fading in.
with her velvet voice and eyes locked onto the camera, tamerlane spoke, " bonjour, mes amours. welcome to another episode of beyond the haystack, the only place in the world where the merde of carroll’s farms and parisian haute couture meet in the very same sentence. i am your host, tammy thibodeaux. and, mon dieu... what a week to be alive in this town. " she took a sip of tea from her porcelain cup before gesturing for the candidate to do the same.
" let us begin with what actually matters: fashion, aesthetics, and the artists who save us from this dreadful rural ennui. we’ve recently seen the cowboy-core trend take over the world—everyone wanting to play farmer in times square. but here in carroll, the cowboy is real, and let’s be proper honest, les mecs are often desperately lacking a decent stylist! " she rested her cup on the saucer and let out a soft chuckle.
" let us move to the first question, mon chéri. we see artists like zendaya and hunter schafer delivering absolute chefs-d'œuvre on the red carpets. when you look at our local fêtes, what is your vibe? is it actually possible to pull off haute couture whilst wearing knee-high boots and a massive gold buckle? "
"okay but like have you ever seen the office? that 'documentary' tv show about people working for a paper company?" where's he going with this? he doesn't even know, but he's talking about it anyways. "do you ever just feel like you're on the office where something stupid happens and all you want to do is pull a jim and look off into the distance as if you're looking straight into the camera, had that moment not too long ago." he shook his head, "i was taking care of my two cousins they're ten and eleven and they were judging my music and running wild through the store. i swear people would have thought i was their father letting them run around as if they're high on sugar. i feel like people passing by were pulling a jim and just looked at me like what the fuck is going on?"
“ and why didn’t you just pull a jim and break the fourth wall then? ” the youngest thibodeaux questioned, holding the leads of her two dogs. “ sometimes i feel like i’m doing it, you know, hein? ” she stared at the sweets and treats section of the supermarket and glanced at the lad over her shoulder. “ like i’m doing exactly that, looking off into nothingness as if i’m being filmed while rolling my eyes and making that face like, ‘well, see what i’m dealing with?’ it’s proper merde when i realise someone’s actually paying attention. i get into this mix of wanting to chuckle and wanting to hide in a hole. ”
she popped a few bits into the basket she was carrying before they turned down the aisle for pet treats and wet food. “ did you know cats get four times less treats than dogs? they’re starting a protest, a manifestation for treats, i swear! ”
THE GOLDEN GIRLS 2.03, “Take Him He's Mine”
valentina laughed softly, the sound warm and easy as she tipped her head at the comparison. “a lemon meringue?” she echoed. “that is, admittedly, adorable. and probably accurate.” her gaze skimmed over tammy with amused approval. “though i think most of the interesting women tend to come with a little sting. otherwise, what’s the point?”
at the question, valentina glanced down at the bracelet on her wrist, turning it lightly with her fingers before looking back up. “honestly? because once you put one of these on, there’s always the chance something unexpected might happen.” the corner of her mouth curved. “and i’ve always had a soft spot for terrible ideas in pretty packaging.”
“tamerlane is far too dramatic not to use at least once,” she said with a grin, “but tammy it is.” then she lifted her glass slightly in a small salute. “and don’t worry. i fully intend to dance with someone tonight. i’d hate to let a perfectly good dress go to waste.” her smile softened just a touch as she began to step back. “it was lovely meeting you, tammy. if i don’t catch you on the dance floor, enjoy your proper boogie for the both of us.”
" see? you get me perfectly, darling. completely sweet women are just a bit bland, and downright sour ones are terrifying. there must be a balance, en effet. " and tammy truly believed she had found that equilibrium. even if there were days when she was more sour than sweet—a bit aigre-doux, truth be told—on her podcast, she always tried to be a proper sweet cherry pie. that seemed to be the truc that drew her listeners in.
" sadly, the unexpected isn't always a treat. sometimes—more often than i’d care to count—it’s just rather dull and ordinary. but i do hope today brings a proper surprise. " she let out a bright laugh, " terrible ideas in pretty packaging? quelle audace! so you really do fancy a little flirtation with fate, eh? do give it a chance today, the absolute worst that can happen is you end up disappointed with your dance partner. "
" my parents are naturally quite dramatic, but nothing tops my mother naming her children after edgar allan poe characters. it’s a bit of a family tradition, tu vois. " she shrugged, offering a grateful smile as they agreed to chuck the formalities out the window. " your dress is absolutely gorgeous, and you look lovely. it would be a proper waste not to show it off, trust me. " she beamed at the woman. " i can say the exact same to you. do have a splendid time, valentina. " with that, she stepped away, spinning on her heels, and headed straight for the dance floor.
~end.~
Open 0/5 Trying to find a little bit of peace in the middle of the happy, loud, wedding going crowd, was not easy, if it wasn't sure this stupid job he had to do, Xander wound't even be here, "Band fucking sucks too," he munbles to himself, leaning against the outside wall as he lights up a cigarret, "Is it me or weddings are nothing but a bunch of people pretending to be happy for some random couple that so happen to look at each and say, Hey you're good enough , lets get married" he says looking at the person who had just arrieved.
"Booze makes me a bitter fuck. Sorry."
That rosé twilight only made tamerlane want a proper tipple even more. another drag of her ciggy, and the smoke seemed to warm her right up—cloves and cinnamon, as per usual. love was a right head-fuck for her; a proper minefield, completely insecure. it ought to be sacred, profane love—purely filthy and deep. but here, everything just looked a bit too picture-perfect, completely lacking any real authenticité. she wasn’t about to get into all that with a stranger, though. long-winded palabres always seemed to knack people out. “ if we’re being completely honest, weddings are just that, aren't they? ” she said, shrugging her shoulders. “ a load of guesswork that cons us into believing we’ve found our soulmate, or the absolute love of our lives, and then we spend donkey's years praying we're right. ” she took another slow drag. “ don’t go apologizing for being yourself, mate. but bloody hell... who made you so bitter about love then? ”
"You lied. You like roller coasters." "No. I fucking love roller coasters." ALLIE HAYES & DEAN DI LAURENTIS | Off Campus
OFF CAMPUS | Season 1, Episode 2, "The Practice"
Tristan let out a low laugh, eyebrows lifting slightly as he glanced over at her like she’d just spoken in a language he was still half-decoding. “Presti… what now?” he repeated, amused, shaking his head. “I’m gonna take a wild guess and assume that’s either a compliment or you just called me a magician in the fanciest way possible.” His smirk deepened as he swirled the whiskey in his glass, clearly entertained rather than thrown off.
Her confidence pulled him in a little despite himself. He tilted his head toward her suggestion, eyes briefly flicking to the crowd before settling back on her. “You had me at ‘no questions,’” he admitted, pushing off the bar with an easy shrug. “Lead the way, madam.”
tamerlane’s cheeks went proper rosy from the embarrassment, sheer scarlet. even though she was a carroll girl through and through, the family carried that franco-belgian blood, so like it or not, the french was always vividly stitched into her banter. " prestidigitateur is french for magician, you're right " she chuckled, genuinely amused at herself, " désolée for that, absolute shocker. " she buried her face in her hands and nodded, bloody mortified. " yes, i did it, christ. now you must be thinking i’m just some posh little rich girl, but i swear that’s not the whole story, " even if, let's be fair, it was a massive chunk of it. " didn't even realise i was slipping into french, you see. i always resort to it whenever i’m proper nervous or a bit too comfortable, and you’ve got me leaning towards the latter, so it’s half your fault, really, " she rambled, feeling a bit smug as she flicked those pool-blue eyes up to meet his.
she fancied casual things like this, where she didn't have to put on her usual little private theatre or act the part, and he was giving her exactly that. she spun on her heels and took the lead, " grab a bottle of chablis or some proper bubbly, let's celebrate this the right way. " she guided them towards the side of the grand house, away from the crowds where the pressure wasn't such a suffocating paradox. the lass kicked off her heels and chucked them under a bench, finally able to just chill before turning her attention back to the lad, wearing a proper smile this time. " i feel like i haven't introduced myself properly, without all the pompous rubbish this time. i'm tammy, nice to meet you. "
she couldn’t help the giggle that slipped past her lips when the woman angled the compact mirror toward her. “you’re sweet,” valentina said, smile curving easily at her mouth. “most people are usually a little intimidated by me, which, honestly, i can’t blame them for. i tend to prefer it that way.” her gaze flicked down to the bracelet before returning to the petite blonde. “but every now and then, a girl does just want to dance.”
the other woman’s persistence only made her smile grow. “i’ll absolutely save you a dance,” she promised, her tone warm and just a touch playful. “i’m valentina, by the way.” she tilted her head slightly, eyes bright with interest. “and what do i call my new dance partner?”
tamerlane was proper nodding her head to the beat of queen and david bowie’s under pressure, her golden locks flying all over the shop in perfect time with the tune. " i’m like a lemon meringue, me, " she said, catching the brunette's eye. " look dead sweet, but you get that proper piquant little zing on the first bite. " the other girl burst out laughing, which made tamerlane’s face go all thoughtful for a second. " i don’t get cold feet easily, but the real question here is... why do you fancy this? why d'you want it? " for tamerlane, she always just wanted a proper boogie—it was her way of letting off steam and chucking her frustrations right out the window.
" charmed to meet you, valentina, " she beamed, her face breaking into a massive, cheeky grin. " my proper scary-sounding name is tamerlane, but i prefer tammy for rendez-vous like this, if you catch my drift. " she let out a little chuckle. " i bloody well hope you do dance. if it’s not with me, then with absolutely anyone, as long as you get on the floor and have a right laugh. "
sprado
LOCATION: Hawkins Wedding Reception WHO: Open (3/3)
Tristan lingered near the edge of the bar with a whiskey balanced loosely between his fingers, looking completely out of place among all these rich folks. Everything seemed too perfect, too expensive, too carefully put together. While he spent a good portion of his life with his uncle, moving from town to town…bouncing between motels, cramped apartments, and townspeople he barely remembered. So standing here at the wedding reception full of money and carefully rehearsed smiles felt like he accidentally wandered onto a movie set. Still, he cleaned up well when he wanted to, after all his uncle taught him how to blend in. His tie hung slightly loosened around his collar now, dark sleeves rolled to his forearms as he leaned against the bar watching couples drift across the dance floor beneath soft golden lights.
A faint smirk tugged at his mouth as he noticed someone nearby looking just as overwhelmed, or bored as he felt. “Lemme guess,” he said casually, turning slightly toward them, “you’re either hiding from your family, escaping a drunk ex, or trying to figure out which fork you’re supposed to use at these rich people events.” His tone carried easy charm, warm enough to invite conversation without pushing for it. Tristan lifted his glass slightly in a mock toast before glancing back toward the crowd. “Personally, I’m about ten minutes away from stealing a bottle and disappearing into the gardens where nobody can ask me what I do for a living.”
tamerlane had been born and bred in this opulence, to the point where it was a right old struggle to tell herself apart from the image her parents had drummed up. no, that was a total porky. it was far too easy to see herself beyond those imaginary borders they’d drawn for her—borders made of glinting gold and crimson. tammy had been a proper let-down; first to herself, then to the folks. perhaps that was the reason—the pure honte of it all—that kept her tucked away at the bar, out of everyone’s sight, knocking back drinks whose names she’d clean forgotten the second they hit the coaster.
“ bang on the money! what are you then, some kind of prestidigitateur? ” she leaned in towards him, dropping her voice to a whisper. “ if you’re looking for a leg up, the rule is work your way from the outside in. always start with the cutlery furthest away. ” a wink and a bit of a laugh, and there she was, ready for the show and her theatrical little games of make-believe. “ we could knock those ten minutes down to right now. we can go have a jar without any questions starting with ‘what, who, how, or why,’ n'est-ce pas? ”
