[grungy rock music]

He raises a finger. One. “What’s the last book you read?” He raises another finger. Two. “And, was it any good?” 

     “You’re pretty good. How long have you been doing this?” Weekend gigs at the dive bar. Being in a band. Singing. You know, this.

tagged by.  no one ! tagging.  everyone !

aphrodite.  laughter-loving, sweet smiles, dressed in silk and satin, flower in their hair, sees the world as a runway, unapologetically sexual, the sea washing their ankles, in love with love, stirrer of passion, cunning concealed by painted lips, secret daggers, doves, revolution in their kiss, delighting in the waves, flirtatious winks, strolling along the beach, staring wistfully from a balcony, this is how to be a heartbreaker, wants to be adored, gets turned on by danger.

apollo.  glitz and glamour, art galleries, turning the volume up, being made of gold, neatly-organized music sheets, notebooks filled with poetry, bathing in the sunlight, the powerful urge to create, collecting vinyl records, beautiful cover of Wonderwall, playing multiple instruments, tasting like sunshine, healing touch, speaking in prophecies, smile mingled with wrath, shunning lies, sporting shades, hanging out at music festivals with their friends, sleeps naked, arrow to the heart, paint brushes, probably has a Tinder account.

ares.  armed for battle, wants to raise a dog with their significant other, soft spot for children, gives piggyback rides, scarred body, blood on their hands and face, willing to fight the world for the ones they love, fights against injustice, warm hugs, well-worn combat boots, boxing gloves, bandages wrapped around bruised knuckles, fist raised in protest, ignites revolutions, fear is a prison, more sensitive than what their tough shell would have you think, exhausted, damaged goods, force to be reckoned with, red roses, curses under their breath.

artemis. keen sense of a hunter, freckles like constellations on their skin, piercing eyes, disheveled braid, moonlight peeking through the shadows, the calm of the forest at night, lying on the grass and staring at the stars, mother doe and her fawn, protecting their kin, the moon shimmering on a still lake, quiver full of arrows resting against the bark of a tree, running with wolves, bonding while circled around a campfire, not being much of a people person, arrow hitting a target, popping egos, patience on 3%, touches heaven and returns howling.

athena.  discerning gaze, unreadable face, quiet museums, owl perched on their finger, armor that intimidates, eye for architecture, plays the sims for the sole purpose of building houses, studied the blade while everyone else was busy getting laid, big fan of logic, loves brain teasers, ancient buildings, sweaters in neutrals and cool colors, hair done up, can kill you with their brain, heads to the library often to research, sharpened pencils, abs that can cut steel, stoic statues, pottery classes.

demeter.  soil-covered hands, smile that can bloom flowers, skin loved by the sun, being the mom-friend, can lift you and your friends, flowers kept in the pockets of overalls, takes pride in their beautiful garden, speaks to their plants, leaves rustling in the wind, stalks of wheat, picking fruit, greenhouses, heart as strong as a mountain, values simplicity, daisies dotted across a collarbone, curls crowned with flowers, folded pile of sweaters in warm hues, pulling out fresh-baked bread out of the oven and the smell wafting through the air.

dionysus.  drunk shitposter, on their sixth glass of wine before you’ve even finished your second, seductive smirks, untamed curls, rich fabrics on dark skin, sleek-furred panthers, theater masks, stage productions, receiving a standing ovation, rose caught between their teeth, being the baby of the bunch, wild parties that last from sundown to sunup, creeping vines, inspiring loyalty, grand opera houses, masquerade balls, rolls of film, shattered chandeliers with broken glass scattered across the wine-spilled floor, pouring champagne into flutes, lives for the applause.

hephaestus.  the calloused hands of someone who knows labor, sweaty brow, flame burning in their eyes, inventive mind, broad shoulders, steampunk goggles, nuts and bolts stored away in little boxes, ashes, striking a match, blueprints for future projects, fixing up a busted up car and giving it cool upgrades, wrestles with bitterness, work boots have seen better years, wrinkled plaid shirts, iron melted in blazing fire, huge jackets, crafting masterpieces, greased-stained overalls, fascination with robotics, pain is fuel, stack of weaponry, even their muscles have muscles.

hera.  resting bitch face, dressed to the nines, cows grazing on a pasture, cool rain, loving and hating fiercely, hand clutching a string of pearls, large chandelier with glittering crystals, plays the sims for the sole purpose of killing off their sims, romance to realism, pictures of the sky while flying on a plane, files that under fuck it, downs glasses of wine as they relax with a scented bubble bath and netflix, like their selfie or you’re grounded, knows 57 convenient ways to murder a man, dark eyes that penetrate your soul, marble and gold.

hermes.  devil-may-care smile, always up-to-date on the latest technology, will steal your french fries, does it for the vine, shitposter, puts googly eyes on everything, meme hoarder, long drives on the highway, ma and pop diners, spontaneous road trips, folded maps, fingers dancing across the keyboard of a laptop, shooting hoops on the basketball court, chatting up strangers as you all journey to your own destinations, goes jogging in the morning, mixes redbull with coffee, menace on april fool’s, hoodies and sneakers.

poseidon.  storm with skin, colorful coral reefs, waves crashing against the shore, stroking the soft fur of a cat, their heart pounding as their horse’s gentle trot speeds into a gallop, tousled locks, clothes smeared with paint, owns several sketchbooks yet always yearns to own more, leather jackets, fondness for diy projects, handwriting that flows across the page, nimble fingers playing the strings of a violin, velvety singing voice that haunts your dreams, mood as ever-changing as the sea, the roar of a motorcycle, compass with a spinning arrow.

        ❛ hmmm. nah, i don’t think - ❜ 

        ❛ oh! oh, there was this one. i don’t remember the name though. it went ohh wee ohh, all the time.  ❜

     “Ohh wee ohh — ? Is that the song that’s slightly off key?”

     June feels proud of herself! She knows plenty of women who would have risen an eyebrow, asking for further elaboration. Don’t people already use scrunchies? What else do you tie your hair with? June however, knows the difference. She’s ‘up to date’ with the kids as she thinks in this kind of world, if you’re lost - you’re lost.     “I would hope leg warmers make a comeback.~” She says smooth, “but not in gaudy colors, more natural tones.”

     “But gaudy colors are half the fun!” Plus the image of millennials wearing bright, ugly leg warmers over their skinny jeans is just too good. Add that to the Hypercolor t-shirts, and he’s starting to wish he worked for Vogue or Elle or anything that gave him power to dictate fashion trends, because this is what he wants to see on runways this fall.

     “Are there any songs your job’s ruined for you? Like, anything that’s been played so many times it’s just irritating now?”

    “Okay then let me break this down for you.” For this guy’s lack of faith in Derrick’s vast Star Wars knowledge is disturbing. He’s been a passionate fan for most of his life, and no one is going to tell him Greedo shot first when there’s clear evidence to the contrary. 

    “In the original version of the film, there’s several close ups of Han’s blaster as he pulls it out of the holster. Greedo already has his blaster on Han but hasn’t fired. There’s a reason why. Solo is no use to him dead. When Jabba placed the bounty of his head, he wanted him alive. Plus, the only time Greedo is even shown shooting was in the special re-release because Lucas wanted to change it to Han retaliating instead of making the first move. Which screws with the whole continuity. That’s the only reason we’re even having this argument right now. Han shot first to save his skin. Period.” 

It’s a solid argument. It’s got facts, fiction, and if it were an MLA formatted paper, he imagines the works cited page would be wicked impressive. But this is Star Wars they’re talking about, not some entry-level course on critical thinking. As far as Scott’s concerned, there’s only one opinion that matters here.

     “You should smile more.” It only takes two seconds before he’s backtracking. “And I don’t mean that in like a weird, misogynistic way, I’m not— It’s just— you look really nice when you smile,” and he winces because that doesn’t really help his case. “I mean, it’s nice when you smile. I wish you had more reasons to smile.”