#swyntask

TBH, at first I figured I would not do this task, because most of my characters' sexualities are not important to them-- we love living in a world with minimal homophobia!!! but i pondered anyway and decided to use it as a way to explore June's sexuality beyond just being bisexual. Instead, this is sort of like "I'm bisexual and I have commitment issues and see sex as a sport I Have To Win (tm)"

Something like that.

So that's the basic theme that goes through this playlist. Not only do we feature some queer artists and a mix of wlw and wlm songs, but we also have a lot of domination~ and the idea of kink~ and dom/sub vibes. June would not claim to be part of the BDSM community at all-- I think in many ways she's pretty young into her sexual exploration and has mostly hooked up with inexperienced dudes and some lovely ladies, so maybe in the future she'll really enjoy that lmfao. but for now, it's just kind of something that underscores her sex life.

Good Bi: This song is what it says! It's just about being bisexual, loving being bisexual, very sex-positive, etc! Don't think too much about it, it just sets the scene lmfao.

My Body Is On Fire: And Here Is Some BDSM Vibes, kinda! "Pull my hair/pin me down/my body is on fire/c'mon baby put me out." Once again, this is very sex-positive and unapologetic about the speaker's sexual appetite. She says exactly what she wants which is very much like June. Also, June is certainly a bratty bottom at times, I think-- she enjoys a bit of domination so she can turn the tables! She likes it when sex is like a wrestling match! Fun

safeword - continuing on the theme here for BDSM vibes. This song kind of uses that language as a metaphor, like I don't actually think this is strictly a song about sex, but rather about relationships in general. This one is definitely more like, about domination-- "You're not the boss of me" -- and I simply think it captures June's general hatred of losing. In life. And in sex. :)

Kiss it Kiss it - this is a blatant WLW song and I like how whiny and demanding Renee is in this song!! I think June's favorite thing is to get eaten out tbh tbh tbh. So maybe this is just about that.

Sports Car: This was one of the first songs I ever put on my main June playlist. It just captures her vibe perfectly-- she loves speed, she loves wealth, she loves sex, she loves playing dirty and dangerous. This song is blatantly Heterosexual (tm) so I like that we have those two vibes back to back.

Breakfast: Another Bi Queen, thank u Dove Cameron! This song is again about dominating boys and like, turning sex into a game and winning that game.

My Kink is Karma: Now this song is actually NOT about literal kinks, it's about winning a break-up...but truly that is June's kink. So this could be literal and it could be figurative. Both work.

Good Girl: This song is generally about how June treats sex/her body in general, which is to say unwisely. Many nights start off with June thinking one thing (see the blackout one-shot), but then end another way because she gets too drunk and loses control. She makes bad decisions but...tbh her bad decisions are another kink. She's gotta work through that.

sex money feelings die: this is probably the 'darkest' part of the playlist, something that sort of acknowledges that the way June uses sex is a lil toxic, could be a lil dangerous, even, unlike a lot of these songs, which are very unapologetic and sex-positive. I like that the music itself reflects that. Lots of dark synth, the singer is more placid, chilled out like they are high, rather than these like bigger, expressive, passionate vocals of previous songs.

MOSH PIT: ngl I didn't have this at first and then it came on my Spotify while putting together the aesthetic and I was like OH! It references Body on Fire. So I like it as a kind of bookend song, just to like bring us to the ending. I'm silly like that when it comes to my playlists, lmfaooo. But yeah, it still fits with the general themes I've said here.

So she’d done up her make-up just like she learned from Mummy, so she looked at least 18– or old enough that people didn’t care to check her ID or stop her on the street. Alice curled her hair, and Camila lent her a mini jean skirt that hugged June’s hips, hips she just sprouted under a year ago when she got her period for the first time. Holding their shoes in their hands, the girls giggled and tiptoed through the dorm hall until they were outside. Then they squealed and ran with the Italian summer wind tugging at their clothes. June felt as wild as the air. 

With arms linked, they searched the old town. The psychic’s shopfront caught June’s eye as they passed one of the narrow side streets. Its green flame pulsed inside a lantern like a heartbeat. It was June who pointed down the street, June who suggested they all get their fortunes read, June who, wanting to prove herself to Alice, volunteered to go first.

She parted the velvet curtains. The woman in the room looked ancient, like a statue of a goddess used to dress up some rich person’s garden. But when June sat down opposite her, she realized the woman had played the same trick she had played. She was young– maybe only ten years older than June, her inexperience hidden behind thick eyeliner, too-dark lipstick, and the tricky, playful shadows tossed by her array of candles. 

She held out her hand, and June offered her own wordlessly. The psychic’s touch was cool, her skin pale, and her eyes glass-blue and large, like a nocturnal creature—someone who drank from the moon. 

“Ah. You are a summer child,” said the woman. She ran her thumb over and over June’s palm. “A…Cancer, is that right?”

June didn’t blink or look away. Only smirked a little. “Sure.” 

“You’re also a warrior,” she continued. Now her thumbs ran over the calluses at the bottom of June’s fingers that she earned from gripping her racket. “You thrive under the sun, is that right? It sets your blood on fire.” Her fingers slipped down to touch her racing pulse. June’s expression fixed itself in place.

“What’s your name?” she asked. 

June’s tongue pressed against the back of her teeth as she considered lying. But whatever, right? This woman probably heard Alice call her name anyway, and that’s where all these inferences came from. Psychics were all scam artists, even the real ones. “June,” she said.

The woman’s eyes gleamed. “A summer child.” 

“You said that already,” said June. She flicked one of her loose curls out of her eyes pointedly. 

“Ah, but it is more true for you than your sisters,” she continued. June clenched her teeth. “It’s all here in your hand. Here, your love line.” Her finger felt like water gliding over her palm. “This short, dramatic arch which points to your calluses– your heart doesn’t point toward any one person. You have a passion for victory. Because you’re a warrior. And your lifeline…” 

Her finger paused at the base of her wrist again. Then the woman closed her eyes. Her lips pressed together, her browline crumpling. 

“What?” said June. 

Something in the room changed. The candles dimmed, a chill stealing through the open window. The goosebumps crawled up her arm as the psychic continued to stroke her lifeline, as if comforting a dying animal. 

“What?” June demanded, and the woman shuddered. 

“You’ll burn up, then you’ll let go,” said the woman. Her eyes opened, and she looked ancient again, the shadows collecting in the heavy bags under her eyes. “And like the summer, you’re not meant to last.” 

June stared. The woman pressed her thumb into the center of her palm. “It’s broken,” she added sadly.

June jerked her hand back, but the woman caught her wrist.

 “This is bullshit,” June said. “You’re trying to scare me.” 

“It’s important you hear this,” the woman urged. “You are a summer child,” she repeated. “And you will die before you reach the autumn of your life.” 

June jerked her hand again and got up, her ankle nearly folding in her wedge sandal. She caught herself, though. “That doesn’t even mean anything! I did this as a joke.”  She sneered. 

“You will die before the end of your twenty-first year,” the woman insisted. “Be careful, June.” 

“Oh, please. You’re a joke, too,” she scoffed. 

June turned and pushed through the curtains back into the foyer where Alice and the other girls waited. As soon as she saw the others, June laughed. 

“What? What did she say?” Alice asked, reaching for June’s hand.

“Oh my god, she’s such a fraud. Trust me, I’ve met real psychics before,” she declared. “Who wants to go skinny dipping?” 

*

June didn’t think about the prophecy, except for all the times she did.

Sometimes, she’d be one bottle of whiskey deep with her brain see-sawing between her ears, and someone cute would splash rum and coke into her empty cup. She’d bring that cup to her lips and tease her tongue against the liquid like it was poison, as the psychic’s words returned to her like a hungry tide. 

What if she passed out and never woke up? 

What if someone found her curled in a bed of her own puke? 

She’d be just another party girl who didn’t know when to stop. But why did she have to stop? She wanted to invent new boundaries just so she could break them. Then, like accepting a dare, she’d knock the whole cup back. 

Sometimes, she thought about it when Mummy took her to the spa, and she lay with her back exposed, a stranger placing hot rocks on either side of her spine like building a temple to a foreign god. She thought about the rocks sizzling fresh holes through her until she was limp Swiss cheese. Think of all the ways she could die, right here while trying to relax: smothering herself on a pillow, burning up in the tanning bed, having an allergic reaction to the different creams slathered all over her face. She left the spa feeling like she’d survived another battle, her youth intact, even fortified, against the years battering her over in great, invisible waves.

She always thought about the prophecy before a match point. 

When she faced her opponent, her heart roaring and her skin flushed with red splotches, June felt like her body turned into a screaming fire alarm. What if it’s right now? What if my heart explodes on the court? The world would sum up her life in a viral headline. Her legacy, another freak accident in a long line of von Drake freak accidents. 

Then, taking her battle stance, June gripped her racket tighter and thought, And what if it’s tomorrow, and the last thing I did in my whole goddamn life was lose? 

Jessie's story has always been, in a way, a ghost story; a story about the non-literal ghosts that haunt her long and lonely life and how the absense of them is present in everything she is and everything she does. To write a character who is functionally immortal, I really wanted to explore what that would mean and the weight of it, when so many of the people she has truly loved were mortal. I have a whole collection of poetry that relates to this idea that I have always linked with Jessie, and several of those poems pick up on this theme of 'the haunted house' in which the fabric of a life is haunted by the absence of the people that once made it a home.

I came across this poem by a contemporary, fairly unknown poet on tumblr recently and it encapsulated so many of those ideas, along with the vivid imagery of the items described that I felt I could almost feel reflecting those quiet moments when Jessie is alone in her house, clocks ticking softly, a mirror that she can barely see herself in that used to show someone she loved, empty chairs around the table that she's always desperate to fill.