cage the elephant, *fans thy self* oh gtfo fuck yeah.


I said you got me where you want me again

And I can't turn away


last night, she said,

"oh baby I feel so down

oh, it turns me off

when I feel left out"

last night

the strokes


"Excuse me, Miss Archer?"

It's six in the morning. No one with any self-preservation willingly wakes up anywhere near this time. Not unless stirred by the capitalist world, anyway. This is why Lila Archer sits in her makeup chair, gazing lifelessly into the mirror beneath the fringe of blonde hair. There's three cups of coffee empty in front of her that haven't done anything.

"Miss Archer?"

"Sorry." Her head snaps up, and she shakes the floating, empty feeling off. The attendant shifts nervously as she stands. "Where should I—

"Right. Right." The mousy woman is blinking at her in a way that Lila has been getting more and more used to; star struck. It's an awful feeling. "If you'll just follow me this way…"

Considering that she made her career as a supporting role in Emotional Cages, an ABC drama that may as well have been softcore porn, she should be used to taking her clothes off in front of the camera. But being alone in a strappy bikini without anyone else also scantily clothed is new to her, especially when being scrutinized so fully by an array of black, inhuman lenses.

"Just a little to the left doll—right there, that's gorgeous."

Click, click, click.


A small army of driven makeup artists flock to her face and, like she's some sort of nascar grand prix car they fix her with glitter and shadow, and are gone just as quickly.

"Perfect, perfect

Click, click.

The camera's are still going but the head photographer has moved back to discuss quietly with one of the crew. They're nodding their heads and looking at her and she tries not to let the confusion show on her face, tossing her hair and sprawling on the lush black curtains.

"Lila doll, why don't we try something different? Could you just, yes, right into the fan, that's great—

And it starts all over again.





"What a babe," Says Morgan with an appreciative double take, slurpee in one hand and beef jerky in the other.

Texas is hot and humid, and there's nothing to be appreciative about this sickly heat. What's worse is that it's February. Where is the snow? The cold?

Well, aside from the girl on the latest GQ cover.

Reid isn't particularly interested, though, as he's just bought another book on string theory—not from the 7/11, mind you, because undoubtedly the collection of books here is better defined as a collection of mindless porn—and hasn't any use for such inane things like scantly clothed women when he too does a double take.

It's not because she's pretty, though she is. Unnervingly so. There's something to the sultry bow of her lips or the definition of smoky, smoldering eyes beneath a dark cloud of glitter, something disturbing.

Something entirely Lila.

Reid spits out his coffee, right onto Morgan who squawks like a bewildered bird, and grabs for the magazine on the rack.

The rest of the glossy surface reveals the rest of Lila, as she's sprawled out on the cover of printed magazine, all whipping blonde hair and fierce expression, wearing nothing but a black string bikini.

Reid's face is nothing but embarrassment, horror, and guiltily aroused.

Morgan laughs. "Alright then, pretty boy." He teases as he pays for his food and a pack of cigarettes. "It's good to see you've got a type. I was kinda worried you were into those star trekkie, nerdy girls—aside from JJ, I mean. Whatever happened with that any—

"Morgan." Reid cuts him off slowly. "I need to sit down." He then moves back to the car without waiting for a reply.

He completely, accidentally forgets to pay for the magazine he's still clutching in his hands as he walks back to the sleek black of the escalade. There's so many things fighting for attention in his already exhaustingly alert brain that he takes a few minutes to just sit in shock in the car as Morgan pulls it out of the space one handed.

"Hey, pretty boy." Morgan looks over him from his aviators, cracking the window as he lights his smoke. "You okay?"

It's all crashing down on him.

"Can I get one of those?"

"… what?"

"Those." Reid isn't looking, but he waves in the general direction of the Marlboro's. "Cigarettes."

"Sure." Morgan answers, bewildered. "But are you—

Reid doesn't wait. He grabs one and sticks it in his mouth, takes the lighter and holds it to the end. He inhales, only to immediately choke and cough it out, struggling with the automatic windows until he's breathing fresh air.

Morgan's half-laughing, half confused, as he awkwardly pats Reid's back.

"Take it slow." He advises lightly. "This your first time?"

Reid nods as he swallows. "Yeah I just… I just really need…" What's he supposed to say? Of course, this is Morgan, his best friend. But this is also Morgan, the notorious man slut who teases him relentlessly but good-naturedly over everything. And by everything Reid meant the mainly nonexistent subject of girls and his love life.

Which isn't so nonexistent anymore.

Or maybe it is.

"Are you gonna tell me what's wrong?" Morgan asks eventually. They're already on the highway back to the county police station and half of Reid's smoke is gone and he's only taken two or three hits of it.

When the genius doesn't answer, the agent chances a quick look to his passenger. "Reid?"

"That girl," He begins, dazedly. "On the magazine cover."

"Yeah, the one you're still holding?" This is true. He's clutching it almost to the point of shaking in his hands. Morgan chortles. "You're really getting so worked up over that magazine? Reid, it's a magazine. I know you haven't exactly had any experience, but come on man. It's just a picture—she's even wearing clothes! I mean, you have watched porn, right?"

Again, no answer.

Morgan continues his monologue with a sigh. "It's okay to want to have sex with her, Reid. That's natural—

"I did." The genius says, flatly.

For a few moments, Morgan doesn't even register this. He's checking his windows and going thirty over the limit—who's going to pull over an FBI agent, anyway—and ashing his smoke.

And then, he floors the break.

There's a cacophony of horns behind him but he's staring open mouthed at Reid.


"I did have sex with her." Reid points to the picture, suddenly worried for Morgan's sanity. "The girl in the picture."






"So," Jessica stirs her coffee. She's all smiley after the GQ shoot's success, smiley and wiggling and adjusting her sunglasses. "So."

"So." Lila repeats. Jessica is staring somewhere between her eyes and her boobs. She's no Michael Ryer, but no one could really replace him. But Jessica does a good job.

"I feel like we've been friends for a long time." Jessica grabs her hand, still smiling but looking a little apologetic. It comes off a bit fake, because she's smiling underneath it all.

"Are you psychoanalyzing me right now?"

Lila looks straight into Jessica, like reaching for her soul.

Yes, she is.

"Yeah, me too." Is all the actress says, squeezing the hand in hers once.

"And I think it's about time you told me," There's a twinkle in the brunette's eyes. "About that boy."

"I'm sorry?"

"That boy!" Jessica chirps. Her laugh sounds like a bird, or a bell, maybe. It's a nice laugh; perhaps a little average. Sort of like the rest of her.

Lila shakes her head. This cynicism isn't good for her. It's not good for an air-head actress who just won her first Golden Globe in what should have been some second-rate angsty romance. It reminded her a bit of Emotional Cages. A role she didn't deserve that she got any way.

"What boy?" She acts coy, though she knows which one the brunette manager is referring to. The one photo she has of her and Spencer, that is now shared with US weekly and therein the entire world.

"From that picture?" There is nothing on Lila's face that looks like recognition, so the smile fades from Jessica' face and turns into nervous embarrassment. "Oh, uh, you probably don't remember. I'm sure you've got quite a few of those—

"Yes, quite a few." She agrees.

The waitress finally, finally, shows up after what could possibly be thirty minutes. She's apologizing, it's busy, big section, angry starlets, and Jessica is sniping back at her, and Lila is staring into her coffee. The exchange takes a few seconds, delayed only by profuse apologies, before they roll into orders.

"Oh, and hold off on the whip cream, no strawberries—do they use butter in the grilling?"

"I… I'm not sure.."

"Oh, well, make sure they don't. And a cappuccino, with a side of skim milk. Actually, make that soy."

The waitress nods fervently, before turning to Lila.

There's a moment in which Lila stares back, unsure of what she wants. And then, "Oh. Oh."

Jessica must have remembered not to order for her this time.

"The eggs benedict." She decides upon with a look at the menu.

"With cinnamon." Jessica cuts in. "It's good for the skin." She reminds.

"With cinnamon." Lila agrees. "And could I get an orange juice with that too—

"How about a mimosa?" Jessica interrupts once more, smiling delightedly. "To celebrate. Oh, that sounds like a fantastic idea. Could we get two of those?"

"And the cappuccino ma'am?"

"Oh, forget about that." Jessica waves her off. "Now, where were we? Oh, right. Celebrating. Speaking of celebrating, you've missed quite a few parties. It's good to make an appearance every once in a while. James Cameron is having an exclusive party to celebrate Avatar's awards. Cast and crew only. You're invited, naturally so it'd be good publicity to put in an appearance." Though Jessica forgets to mention that her role is barely credited and barely better then an extra.

"When?" She asks half-heartedly. Though she likes Sam Worthington and all those guys, it doesn't sound too appealing.

"Oh, this Saturday."

"This Saturday?" Lila looks up, startled. "Oh no, I can't. I'm going back to Maryland for my grandfather's birthday."

"That Saturday?" Jessica repeats, dismayed. Lila nods. "Well, it can't be helped then, I suppose. I'll be sure to tell them…"

It's somewhere between wishing fervently to be in Maryland right now, nestled in her family's lovely country home and wishing fervently for Jessica, for Hollywood to just disappear that Lila Archer throws up all over her Louboutin's and the floor of the Aroma Bakery and Café, 7373 West Sunset Boulevard.




See, people they don't understand

No, girlfriends, they can't understand

Your Grandsons, they won't understand

On top of this, I ain't ever gonna understand...

don't you hate it when this shit comes out of fucking nowhere? I watch one episode in season four and suddenly its like... (has anyone ever read forever then some's baby think it over?) "-THE GENETIC GOLDMINE THAT IS THE WEASLEY LONGBOTTOM BABY-" or maybe its just the spencer reid baby. hahahaHAHAHAHA

review, skanks.