THE PRINCE OF TIDES

𝙱𝙴𝙻𝙰𝚂𝚂𝙾           is  a  private,     mutuals  only  writing  account  for  the  titular  character  of  apple  tv+’s  ted  lasso.     as  of  right  now,     this  account  will  stray  little  from  canon,     but  it  will  also  contain  a  multitude  of  hc’s,     and  personal  opinions,     that  will  affect  my  portrayal.     this  blog  is  meant  to  be  a  place  of  positivity,     so  i  will  be  selective  with  who  i  follow  back,     in  order  to  keep  my  dash  a  happy  place  for  myself.     and  for  the  sake  of  my  own  comfort,     i  will  also  only  be  interacting  with  those  over  the  age  of  eighteen      as  far  as  my  activity  goes,     it  will  fluctuate  as  a  result  of  me  working  a  full  time  job,     and  attempting  to  have a  social  a  life.     my  askbox/im’s  are  always  open  to  mutuals,     please  don’t  hesitate  to  reach  out!     any  important  links  will  be  listed  below!

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ROMANCE:     love poems. flickering candles. conversations in the meadow. roses. midnight meetings. silk dresses. long phone calls. spilling your heart out. curtains blowing in the breeze. cheap paperbacks. the sun’s reflection on the water. smooth jazz. waiting for something to happen. blushing cheeks. kisses in the rain. faded polaroids. noses bumping. floral perfume. a restless spirit. oil paintings on canvas. hiding under an awning during a thunderstorm. candlelit dinners. horse drawn carriages. sunset views. smeared lipstick.

ACTION:     streetlights reflected on rainy pavements. a phone alarm. rapid texting. the smell of smoke. aggression. the natural instinct to fight. dramatic reunions. distant gunfire. funerals in the rain. the coppery scent of blood. solitude. fierce protective instincts. doomed to fail. driving too fast. near death experiences. inner turmoil. running through crowds. expensive watches. tired eyes. overnight plane rides. cold cups of coffee. dangerous secrets. lying through your teeth. bullet holes.

HORROR:      a distant farmhouse. congealed blood on the hardwood. ice picks. tilted headstones. bare feet on the carpet. splintering wood. masks that hide who you really are underneath. quiet summer camps. ghost stories. locked rooms. sharp knives. a full moon. the scent of rust. grasping hands searching for something to hold. last minute decisions. bags under your eyes. a cross hung on the wall. crawling maggots. the carcass of a dead animal. an abandoned hotel. blood-soaked clothes. broken bones. the sound of glass shattering.

ADVENTURE:      gnarled rope between your fingers as you hold on for dear life. glittering gold in a dark room. snakes. an incoming sandstorm. the consequences of your actions. hidden secrets. an unopened door. a leap of faith. squeezing your best friend’s hand. shelves of dusty books. ancient curses. the smell of fire. crumbling buildings. complicated puzzles. mystery novels. footsteps echoing in a large room. smudged lenses on glasses. warm skin. doing what’s right. dirt under your fingernails. scribbled notes. cobwebs blocking your path.

COMEDY:      friends you’ve known for years. crowded comedy clubs. crescent moons. open mics. out of tune pianos. a messy desk. leather messenger bags. stacks of papers. huge sweaters. bitten nails. ordering takeout every night. dog-eared pages. unmade beds. hand movements and broad gestures. the smell of the subway. colorful graffiti on brick buildings. big dreams. enthusiastic phone calls. rejection letters. the heat of stage lights. pulling pranks. restless sleep. cold showers. laughing until you’re crying. half-finished ideas. tiny apartments. velvet curtains. cheap alcohol.

consciousness  comes  with  a  pounding  headache.     arm  slings  over  his  eyes  to  shield  himself  from  the  streaming  sunlight,     something  in  which  he’d  usually  opt  to  bask  in.     hungover  ted  is  a  creature  all  too  different,     though.     uncomfortable  groan  teeters  from  lips,     half  awake  man  shifting  to  bury  his  face  further  into  the  pillows,     craving  darkness.     instead  sleepy  form  finds  another  form  to  his  side,     something  that  has  eyes  snapping  open  like  he’s  been  struck  by  lightening.     it  takes  him  a  second  to  digest  his  surroundings-     a  hotel  room,     in  vegas,     sitting  up  beside  a  still  slumbering  richie  tozier.     cue  the  mental  panic.     he  kicks  at  the  sheets  encompassing  his  legs,     twisting  about  until  he  all  but  falls  off  the  bed,     crashing  onto  the  thankfully  carpeted  floor  below.          “     oh  my  god-     ”          he’s  trying  to  keep  his  voice  hushed,     not  to  wake  up  the  other  man,     even  after  the  loud  crash  his  body  just  caused.          “     oh  my  god-     ”          he’s  still  clad  in  boxers,     that’s  a  plus.     means  they  didn’t  do  anything  too  wild.  .  .     wait  a  second.