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sunnylune · 1 day ago

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kiss 17 and or 18 for hellcheer

18. A kiss while laughing

🖤🖤

"Did you end up canceling your reservation then, Nance?"

"No," Nancy groaned before sucking up the last few dredges of her drink. She rolled her neck back, covering her face with both hands. "I've had these reservations for three months, and I was praying Jonathan would be better in time. Instead, he's hacking up new ecosystems into our entire life savings' worth of Kleenex."

"Bummer," Robin sighed, stirring her own drink absent-mindedly. "Vickie and I are having a cozy night in that she's really looking forward to."

"I'd take that over spraying Jonathan with Lysol every three minutes," Nancy grumbled.

"He's probably overreacting anyway," Barb interjected with a loose wave of her hand. "Men always think a little baby cold is the coming of Death."

Heather, Robin, and Chrissy all nodded in agreement.

"Jason was like that," Chrissy lamented, rolling her eyes. "I swear, he'd gripe and moan like his organs were failing."

"Was Jason your last Valentine, Chrissy?" Heather asked, pulling the attention of the entire table. Chrissy looked at each of them individually, sinking into her chair a little. Four pairs of scrutinizing eyes sized her up like hungry predators.

"I-I mean," she said, her voice small. "I've–– I've dated other guys, obviously, but––"

"None for long enough to have a Valentine," Heather finished.

"Have you ever had a Valentine?" Chrissy shot back, trying to yank the blanket of attention off her head.

"Nah." Heather flapped her wrist as she pulled from her straw. "But I don't want one, babe. I'm the free spirit. Every girl group has one."

"What does that make me?" Robin asked curiously.

"The comedic relief," Heather said with a shrug. Robin nodded appreciatively. Pointing toward Nancy, she continued, "The brains-slash-getaway driver." With Barb, "The sensible one." And, back to Chrissy, "The romantic."

Murmurs of agreement made Chrissy bristle.

"I am not the romantic," she argued, immediately regretting her decision when everyone's attention fell once again to her. "I–– I've basically been single for, like, four years now! How does that make me the romantic?"

"Because you believe in true love," Heather sighed dreamily. "C'mon, Chrissy, you can't lie and say you aren't holding out for that spark."

Blinking, Chrissy shrank even further into her chair. Staring at her own colorful drink and ruminating. Because Heather was right, and that was mildly infuriating. Chrissy was perpetually single, though not because guys hadn't expressed an interest.

It was because that instant jolt of connection hadn't run through her. Because the Hollywood drama of love-at-first-sight hadn't hit her, a strike of pink lightning igniting her inside and out. She'd settled for adequacy for years with Jason, and once the shiny newness of first puppy love had rubbed off, Chrissy was left trapped in a relationship of cooling embers and strange, unnamable guilt.

It took her a lot longer than she cared to admit to finally leave him.

"Y'know, I've got this friend," Robin started, glancing from Chrissy to Nancy. "I mean, he's a bit of a weirdo, but pretty much exactly what I picture for you. A romantic at heart. Single."

"And I do still have those reservations..." Nancy hedged, connecting the obvious dots Robin was spooning out.

"No," Chrissy stated, slashing her arms through the air in an X. "Absolutely not. I am not letting you guys set me up on a blind date on Valentine's Day."

The other four girls at the table all smiled, broad and a little maniacal.

🖤🖤🖤

Against her will, and with Nancy's extremely persuasive bullying nipping at her heels, Chrissy found herself rushing through her makeup routine the following evening. Nuggets, she was already running late, jumping into her heels and wrenching the front door of her apartment open just as the phone rang.

"Let the machine get it," she mumbled to herself, slamming her door shut and locking it. "Not a big deal. Not important. Nancy would kill me if me and this guy were both late and they gave away the table."

Not that she expected him to be late. But, in her experience, guys were always late to things like this. If they bothered showing up at all.

Her watch indicated that it was eight minutes past when Chrissy finally burst through the main door of the little French bistro Nancy had given her the address to. The Maitre'd was nowhere to be found, probably helping another couple among the sea of couples, and Chrissy took a cursory glance around the restaurant.

In all her detailing, Robin hadn't given Chrissy much of a descriptor.

"He's, I dunno, handsome, I guess? For a guy?" Robin had shrugged. "Brown eyes, I think? Shaggy brown hair? Probably in jeans?"

There.

In the middle of the restaurant, a guy sat alone at a table for two. Eyes obstructed by messy bangs, he thumbed absently at the petals of a bouquet. Shaggy hair (maybe a little longer than shaggy, actually) – check. Jeans – check, though he had a nice black button-up tucked into them. He looked a little bit more like a rocker than Chrissy was expecting, but it wasn't as though Robin described anything about his aesthetic. Just that she thought they'd look good together.

Chrissy didn't question why. Maybe she should have?

Taking in a deep, slow breath, Chrissy waded her way through the tables before she could lose her nerve. Swallowing something thick and anxious in her throat.

"Hi," she said, breathless despite centering herself. The guy glanced up, eyes widening in shock. "I am so, so sorry I'm late. Initially, it was my own fault, and then it was the bus's fault, and normally I'm early, I swear, but everything just fell apart today."

The guy blinked, lips parted, as he took her in. Eyes raking over the curl of her hair, the fit of her dress. Staring in obvious wonderment, making Chrissy suddenly feel entirely self-conscious.

"Shit," the guy breathed, bringing his gaze back up to her face. "You're gorgeous."

"Oh, um. Thank–– Thank you––"

Oh, God. Oh God, she couldn't remember his name.

"Aw, fuck, sorry, sorry," he said, jumping to his feet. Holding out the bouquet, he said, "These, uh, are for you."

Carefully taking the flowers, Chrissy blinked in surprise. She sort of expected roses, because that was the norm. Instead, in her hands was a beautiful bouquet of red carnations.

"Thank you," she said again, much more softly as the man once more jumped into action, helping her out of her coat and pulling her chair out for her. "Did, um. Did Robin tell you my favorite flower?"

Her question was soft enough that he didn't seem to hear her as he took his own seat again. Tucking a finger into the collar of his shirt, he stretched it a little against his neck as he cleared his throat.

"Sorry," he said. "Sorry, uh, just–– You're not exactly what I imagined when you got described to me."

Chrissy smiled a little, pursing her lips. He still had that awestruck look in his eye, so the small part of her that thought she should be offended was easily wiped away.

"Did I live up to your expectations?"

"Exceeded them," he admitted easily. Making a sound like a bomb exploding, he wiggled his fingers in an arc to emphasize his shattered expectations. "Entirely. Which, I know, I know, makes me sound like a total asshole. Just–– Fuck, this is gonna sound so much worse than I mean it, but, uh, you aren't exactly the type of girl people think to try and set me up with."

In spite of herself, Chrissy giggled. And the guy's eyes brightened, lips parting around a broad, beautiful grin.

Oh, he had dimples. This was dangerous.

"I understand," she admitted. "Honestly, I was expecting you to be different, too."

"By that, I'm sure you mean you're floored by my dashing good looks," the guy said, tucking his fist under his chin and batting his lashes at her. Chrissy laughed again, hiding the sound behind her carnations, as the waiter approached.

"Lovely of you to actually join us this evening," he said with a halting smile. Chrissy tucked her lip between her teeth, chastised, though that certainly wasn't how the waiter meant it. She was barely late. "May I get you started with something to drink?"

The waiter left after taking their drink orders, promising to return with the first course of their meal.

"Can I admit something without judgement?" Chrissy asked.

"This is a judgement-free zone," the guy promised, gesturing to himself. "Obviously."

"I, um. I'm so sorry, but I completely forgot your name."

He laughed. This big, broad sound that filled the candlelight between them, spilling joy across the fancy linen tablecloth with sound that Chrissy couldn't help but mirror.

"Eddie," he said, reaching across the table with an outstretched hand. For some reason, that didn't sound exactly right. Too simple of a name for such an interesting man, maybe.

"Eddie," she repeated, letting his name sit on her tongue for a long second as she reached out and put her hand in his. Something electric rushed up her arm, and Chrissy gasped a little as she looked at their clasped hands.

A moment, a breath, and she finally found the wherewithal to say, "I'm Chrissy. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Eddie gave her a curious look, head tilted to one side as though letting her name roll through his skull, but his eyes kept gliding back to their clasped hands.

Did he feel it, too?

"Trust me when I say," he began, "that the pleasure is all mine, Chrissy."

Conversation flowed like water between them. Picking up little snapshots of their lives like flower petals and rushing them downstream. Each one a little piece of the bouquet she had sitting on the table between them, smiling its gorgeous, red-toothed smile with every new modicum of information.

She found out that he was a writer, and that he was in a band, which made sense. Robin was always finding the artsy types to pull into her circle. He grew up in a small town, just as she had, and they bonded over the absolute shock of discovering how much bigger the world was when they finally left home for good.

In turn, she told him about the studio she was hoping to open someday.

"Music or art?" he asked.

"Yoga," she admitted, and Eddie laughed again.

"Do guys ever take yoga classes?"

"Sometimes."

"And, uh, do the pretty instructors ever give discounts to, y'know, guys they went on a really fantastic first date with?"

Pretending to think it over, Chrissy tapped her bottom lip with her finger. Searching the ceiling for the answer she already had waiting on the tip of her tongue.

"Not normally first dates," she said with a shrug. "But, you know, fantastic fourth, fifth, and sixth dates? Then we might be able to work out a deal."

Eddie's responding grin was so bright, it lit up the entire restaurant.

The food was probably really good, everything a preset menu that the couples around them seemed to genuinely enjoy.

Chrissy didn't taste a morsel of it. Far too wrapped up in the existence of Eddie, she ate blindly and quickly, ready for the conversation to continue before she finished whatever part of the meal was in front of her.

"You took the bus here, yeah?" he asked after paying for their meal. Chrissy nodded, and Eddie helped her into her coat. "Can I drive you home? And I swear, I have no ulterior motive except to, y'know, spend more time with you."

Grinning, Chrissy popped up onto her toes and pressed a kiss to his jaw. Watching in fascination the way color suddenly pooled in his cheeks, staring down at her with that same unmitigated awe.

"I'd like that," she agreed.

Though Eddie turned the radio off completely when they got in the car, the drive was never silent. The brook of their conversation widening into a creek, then a stream, flowing faster and easier and pooling more and more petals of conversation in the basin.

She directed him to her apartment, and Eddie turned off the car entirely to walk her to her door.

"This was really great," he admitted. "I, uh. I'm really glad I took the chance, Chrissy. You're kinda amazing, you know?"

Chrissy grinned, tongue caught between her teeth as she shrugged. Feigning nonchalance.

"You're pretty fantastic yourself, Eddie," she said.

"Thanks," he chuckled, hazarding a step closer to her. "And, uh. Is it–– Is it cool if I, like, call you in the morning? Maybe we can get breakfast."

Still smiling, Chrissy took her own step closer. Having to crane her neck back to keep looking at him.

"That would be perfect."

"Nowhere near that fancy, though," he pleaded. "Like, I'm a fan of being pampered as much as the next guy, but those wine prices? Yeesh."

"Maybe we just don't get wine with breakfast, then."

"I like the way you think, sweetness," he murmured, still grinning. Chrissy, too, couldn't stop smiling, even as she leaned in. Their teeth clacked, a laugh escaping them both at the awkward angle, before Eddie's hands came up to cup her jaw and guide her into a proper kiss.

Incredible.

Sparks ignited up the entire length of her spine. Sitting, warm and bright and real, in the base of her skull as Eddie kissed her softly. Meaningfully. Pulling her close when her arms wrapped around his shoulders and holding her tight.

Holding her like maybe he didn't want the night to end.

And maybe she didn't, either.

"You know," she said, brushing her fingertips against his jaw, "you could always come upstairs. I have wine. And eggs. For breakfast."

"Yeah?" he breathed, tucking a strand of her hair back behind one ear. "You have enough breakfast for two, you think?"

"Definitely."

Chrissy's machine was blinking red when they found their way through her front door, but that was at the bottom of her list of cares as she led Eddie back to her bedroom. Bypassing the wine entirely.

Not that either of them seemed to notice.

The next morning, after waking up with Eddie in her arms, then spending an entire morning rolling around in bed, Chrissy finally donned a robe and made her way into the kitchen to pull breakfast provisions from her fridge as Eddie found his way into the bathroom. Pressing the little red button of her machine out of habit.

"Chrissy!" Robin shouted through the speaker of her phone. "Oh, my God, I hope you haven't left yet. But you probably have, because you're notoriously early. Ugh! Okay, okay, whatever, you'll listen to this when you get back, but please, please don't be mad at Steve. He didn't stand you up, I swear. He came down with whatever baby cold ailment Jonathan has, so he's, like, having a full-on crisis. The world is ending and whatnot. I'm sacrificing my own evening with my girlfriend to take care of this full-grown man, but he definitely wants to reschedule! Just, um, call me, or whatever, when you get home. Sorry. Sorry! He sucks!"

The message ended. Chrissy stared at her machine, confused, just as Eddie emerged from the bathroom.

"What have you got?" Eddie asked, grabbing her hip and smacking a wet kiss to her cheek. "Not to, uh, toot my own horn, but I am the fucking greatest at making a mediocre omelet."

Waggling his eyebrows for effect made Chrissy giggle, rolling her eyes, before she remembered Robin's message again.

"Hey, Eddie?"

"Hmm?" He'd slunk out of the kitchen, making his way over to her tape collection and digging through the music.

"Who set you up last night?"

"Uhh?" He popped a tape into the player, shimmying his hips a little as the music started. "Billy did. Of course. Which, honestly, I'm surprised he wasn't just being an ass. That'd be exactly the kind of bullshit he'd pull to make me make a fool of myself. He did tell me your name was Kristen, though." Rolling his eyes, Eddie took her hand in his and spun her across the kitchen floor. Pulling her back against his chest with a sultry grin as they began dancing off-tempo to her Fleetwood Mac tape. "Whatever. He's an ass, and you turned out to be fucking perfect. I'll have to thank him." Snorting, Eddie shook his head. "Never thought I'd say that out loud."

"How late was I?" she asked. "Last night."

He blinked down at her, eyes narrowing in confusion.

"Did he give you the wrong time or something?" Eddie asked. "He told me to be there at six-thirty."

Chrissy looked over at the carnations on her counter. They were so beautiful. Her favorite flower. She'd just barely managed to get them into a vase last night before she was practically attacking Eddie to get his shirt off.

He was still gorgeously, beautifully shirtless, in fact. She let her fingertips trail against his sternum, swallowing heavily.

"Eddie," she breathed, a tiny bit of anxiety taking root in her lungs. Those carnations weren't for her. "I don't know anyone named Billy."

Eddie pulled their impromptu dancing to a sudden stop.

"What?"

"I was supposed to be meeting up last night with a guy named Steve, I guess," she said, nodding toward her answering machine. "My friend Robin set up my date for seven, but Steve got sick and didn't show. She called me as I was on my way out. I, um. I think maybe we highjacked each other after we both got stood up."

For a long, long moment, there was only the sounds of Stevie Nicks's vocals in her apartment.

Then, all at once, Eddie was throwing his head back and cackling.

"Wait," he said, pulling back far enough that he could look down at her. "Wait, wait, wait, baby, please, please tell me you're joking."

"I-I'm not," she stuttered, looking down at Eddie's bare feet. "I'm–– Nuggets, Eddie, I'm so sorry. That... I really thought––"

"Whoa, hey, babycakes, are you–– Wait, do you think I'm upset?" Putting his hands on her shoulders, Eddie swooped down to catch her eye. She looked at him, something wrapping around the anxiety in her throat. The utter happiness in his eyes had it slowly bleeding away. Dripping down her esophagus and choking whatever response she attempted. "Chrissy. C'mon. How fucking funny is that? We both managed to end up at the same place, at the same time, and neither of our dates show? But we don't even notice because we're having too much goddamn fun? That's incredible, if you ask me."

"Yeah?"

He leaned down, kissing her senseless all over again.

"Yeah," he chuckled, spinning her across the kitchen again. "Sounds an awful lot like fate, if you ask me."

kiss roulette!

#dancing crying singing #I love love!!#happy valentine's day #hellcheer

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sunnylune · 3 days ago

Text

A Crash Course to Kendrick's Super Bowl Performance, from a Black Woman

Note: this does NOT go in depth into all of the song's lyrics. I don't have time to recount two decades of his discography. This is just a summary of the performance itself.

Let's start with the first visual we get:

UNCLE SAM - most notably recognized from WWII American wartime propaganda, Uncle Sam is the personification of American patriotism and freedom. The term "uncle" is also evocative of Uncle Tom from Uncle Tom's Cabin, an abolitionist book that aided in inciting the Civil War. Uncle is also a very common term (both endearment and derogatory) towards Black men (eg. "unc"). Samuel L Jackson was fantastic.

Uncle Sam also resembles a circus ringleader, notable for my next point:

THE GREAT AMERICAN GAME - no, not Super Bowl. The GAG is us the people being pitted against each other: through late-stage capitalism, through the culture war, through class warfare, through being built of the backs of slaves. We are all players in the GAG because none of us on this site were the oligarchs seated at the inauguration.

This is also seen as Kendrick's stage was a Play Station controller. Not only did it remind of circus rings visually, but it was a game battle stage. The Great American Game is a battle royale of the commoners for the amusement of the rich whites.

Remember the foods / Them color was tin and brown / But now they 100 and blue - For this I'll just say, look what the last election said about lowering the price of eggs... and look at the prices now.

The revolution about to be televised / You picked the right time / But the wrong guy - Election 2024 once more. *Edit to add, the first part of this lyric is in reference to the Black Liberation Song "The Revolution Will Not Be Televised" by Gil Scott-Heron. Thanks to everyone who mentioned that.

THE FLAG DANCERS - yes, the dancers formed the US flag... off of the backs of Black people. Not a single white person in sight, and that's true of the cotton pickers in the fields. Plantations are part of how the US came to economic prominence after being a "backwater" colony. Remember tobacco? Cotton? Our bloodlines do. *Edit to add: they also all piled out of a clown car. The US flag in a clown car? Brilliant.

The red and blue dancers are also notable for representing the Crips and Bloods, two infamous street gangs. The dance in Not Like Us is the Crip Walk. I recommend researching more on your own time about them, but just know they are a large part of the stereotype of Black people being "ghetto."

TOO LOUD, TOO RECKLESS, TOO GHETTO. Do you really know how to play the game? - This is exactly what Black people, especially Black men, get told all the time. It's why we change our names on resumes if they sound "too Black." It's why we codeswitch in non-Black company. This is especially rich considering how non-Black people love our culture and love to make money off of us, as the latter part of the quote points to. And it's even more profound during the Super Bowl-- the NFL is majority Black players.

STREET LIGHT A CAPELLA -- "thug" stereotype dancers to counteract the a capella connotations, with Uncle Sam then saying that Kendrick figured out "bringing other street guys around being a culture cheat code." Yes, this is a direct hit at Drake (listen to "Not Like Us") but also politically. Look up "model minority". Notably I would point to Candace Owens, or the Miami Venezuelan political group that's been in the news recently, especially as this directly led to Kendrick being surrounded by...

DANCERS IN WHITE -- it's white America. That's... that's the allegory.

NOT LIKE US TEASER -- Kendrick says "Not Like Us" is "their favorite song." -> he means white people specifically here. It comes after he's surrounded by all white dancers, the women around him who are his call and response are also in white (my opinion, they represent the industry). He's saying "Not Like Us" is the favorite of yts because it is about BLACK MEN FIGHTING. This again is reflected in the video game stage and ringleader Uncle Sam.

SZA -- instead of giving what they want, we see SZA. She's one of Drake's exes and Kendrick has always supported her.

ALL THE STARS -- This was in the first Black Panther movie, which I recommend you watch. Rest in Power Chadwick. Notably, this movie was incredibly mainstream as a major Marvel movie, and then we have Uncle Sam say...

"THAT'S WHAT AMERICA WANTS: NICE AND CALM. DON'T MESS THIS UP" -- translation: Marvel (the industry, America, etc.) wanted a safe, semi-pop song because white American likes safe pop songs, not Kendrick's usual heavy rap style about his life as a Black man! Don't mess up what you've got going mainstream for having this "Black rap feud" with Drake, who is an R&B model minority to white people because he's safe.

So what does Kendrick say?

IT'S A CULTURAL DIVIDE / IMMA GET IT ON THE FLOOR -- He was warned not to be political or apologetically Black for this Super Bowl performance, but he is using this big stage opportunity to speak out.

40 ACRES AND A MULE / THIS IS BIGGER THAN THE MUSIC -- 40 acres and a mule are what the freed slaves were promised. Instead, this land went to white sharecroppers. Research Jim Crow laws.

THEY TRIED TO RIG THE GAME / BUT YOU CAN'T FAKE INFLUENCE -- rig the election, rig the industry like with model minority Drake, rig the Great American Game with culture war to distract from active class warfare.

NOT LIKE US -- the only thing I'll mention because it made me holler is Serena Williams crip walking on Drake's metaphorical grave. She's another one of his exes.

TURN THE TV OFF -- exactly like he said! The TV is a distraction, the Super Bowl is a distraction, the mainstream news is often a distraction. Turn it off and get with your people!

GAME OVER — could not see this on my stream but at the end of the performance, the lights in the stadium spelled this out. The world is watching, America…

In conclusion, Kendrick Lamar is a visionary and thank you for coming to my TED Talk.

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