#AND IT'S MAYBE AS GOOD AS BOYFRIEND MATERIAL IN ITS OWN WAY LIKE CHEESE AND CHOCOLATE | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cricketnationrise · 4 years ago

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More Cheese than a Dairy Farm

for @adambirkholtz and also how dare you :D

_X_

1. after the last practice of preseason

“Great job guys, good work today. Take tomorrow off and get ready for classes to start, and then regular practices start tomorrow night,” Dex says.

“And the first team breakfast is Wednesday after morning practice!” pipes up Chowder.

There’s a general rush to shower and leave, guys chirping each other left and right. Nursey finally feels at home. He closes his eyes while he waits for C and Dex to wrap up so they can head to Annie’s. He’s a senior. He even knows what he wants to do after college. Life is good.

“Hey. Hey Nursey.”

“What Dex.”

“Feel my shirt.”

He opens his eyes to see Dex holding out the edge of his t-shirt with a smile and doesn’t try to fight the rush of affection that comes with it. He reaches out and rubs Dex’s shirt.

“It’s nice. Soft.”

“Know what it’s made of?“ Dex asks.

“No? Cotton? Should I know?”

Dex smirks and leans closer.

“Boyfriend material.”

Nursey bursts out laughing. He can’t help it. Coming out to him and C over the summer had been a huge step for Dex. He was so much more relaxed and, though he would never say it out loud, chill now. Chill enough to use horrible pick up lines on Nursey of all people.

“Dex that’s so bad oh my god,” Nursey manages to wheeze out between laughs. He looks up to chirp him more and sees that Dex looks proud of himself despite the fire truck level blush he’s rocking.

“You guys ready?”

Dex reaches his hand out to help Nursey off the bench. “Yeah we’re good Chowder, let’s go.”

Still laughing, Nursey just says “boyfriend material” to himself, takes Dex’s hand and they leave the locker room.

_X_

2. During Spookykegster

It’s an excellent party. They won their game last night, and there’s no practice or classes in the morning to wake up for. Ideal conditions for sure. And his best friends are on NurseyPatrol, which, to be fair, hasn’t been needed since sophomore year, and has now evolved into the best excuse to hang out with Dex and C for some quality Frog Time.

“You mind if I leave to go over to Cait’s?“ Chowder asks, shouting a little to be heard over the music.

“Ooooooh we see how it is, don’t we Dexy? Not even our epic friendship can hold a candle to the lovely Farmer. What ever shall be done?” Nursey says as he sways into Dex.

“You’re good C, take off. Come help with clean up in the morning and it’s all good,” Dex says, his hands automatically coming up to catch Nursey before he overbalances and falls.

“Bye guys! Have fun the rest of the night!”

And now Nursey has a slight problem. Tiny really. It’s just that now he’s alone with Dex. Dex who is actually wearing a costume for once. He’s dressed up as Woody from Toy Story and Nursey might be having a hard time not staring at Dex’s ass in those jeans.

It’s fine.

“You want to get another drink? Or are you going to dance?“ Dex asks.

“I think drink,” he says, moving toward the kitchen, “I need another beer I think before dancing. Want one?”

“Ayuh, sure, thanks Nursey.”

He goes and comes back, handing Dex a can as he leans back against the wall next to him. He’s drinking and scoping out a potential dance partner when out of nowhere he hears,

“Are you wearing space pants?”

“What? No? I’m wearing jea-”

“Because your ass is out of this world,” Dex finishes a little too loudly, blushing furiously.

“What’s this Dexy? You flirting with little ole me?” Nursey flutters his eyelashes and delights in watching Dex’s blush deepen and spread down his neck.

“I - well - you know - I - no?”

“Chill Dex. I know you’re just practicing, en bee dee,” he says just to watch Dex’s eye twitch at the spoken letters. “Gotta go see a boy about a dance. Catch up with you later.”

Nursey laughs to cover his disappointment and goes to dance. Now that he knows Dex isn’t serious and his beer is finished, it’s time to dance.

_X_

3. At Founders a Week before Finals

Nursey is stressed okay? Just because he’s got an internship lined up for credit for next semester doesn’t mean that he doesn’t need to study. And his Harlem Renaissance paper is kicking his ass. But once he finishes this draft he can take a break. He just needs to focus. Or another coffee? Maybe he just needs -

“It’s a good thing I have my library card because I am totally checking you out,” Dex whispers, from the chair next to him.

Nursey starts to snigger, trying to keep from making too much noise in Founders.

“You been saving that one just for me Dex?”

“Just thought you needed a little break from your paper,” Dex says, trying to be nonchalant about it, but his hand comes up to rub the back of his neck, and his ears are bright red, giving him away.

And.

Nursey can’t hold it in anymore, and starts hysterically laughing.

He’s still laughing as the librarian swoops down on them and demands they leave. What a horribly cheesy pickup line. And from Dex of all people.

_X_

4. Nursey’s Birthday

All the card says is “We’re not socks but I think we’d make a great pair.”

But, he recognizes the handwriting and it was left on his pillow so he digs his phone out of his pocket, laughing.

Me: woowwww dex

Me: this one is so cheesy if i didn’t know better i’d swear you’d have a fondue machine down there

As he changes out of his jeans and gets ready for practice in an hour his phone pings. He opens Dex’s response and promptly has to sit down. William J. Poindexter has responded with a selfie. It’s a little blurry, clearly taken while he walks home from his programming class. It’s unseasonably warm for February today, so the pink across Dex’s freckles are 100% blush.

Dex: Happy Birthday, Nursey! Hope it made you laugh.

Something about the picture makes Nursey’s breath catch. He doesn’t feel like laughing all of sudden. He doesn’t want to examine the swooping sensation in his stomach too closely. That way lies madness.

_X_

5. March

It’s been a brutal practice. But no one is complaining. They’re in playoffs. Everyone wants to do well. And Dex is a great captain. He’s really come into his own this year.

But today was like Bitty was still here; Dex put them through a whole practice of the Russian calisthenics that Bitty had adapted from his figure skating coach.

Everyone was wiped.

“Dex, you’re my best friend but I hate you so much right now. If you were a punching bag all that would be left would be a pile of sand on the ground.”

“If you were words on a page, you’d be fine print.”

He couldn’t help it. He giggled.

“Oh stop making me laugh, I can’t feel my abs as it is,” Nursey says, looking over at Dex.

“S’just the truth,” Dex mumbles, flushing abruptly and turning away to dig in his bag for his shoes.

“Fine print,” he snorts and hauls himself up to go refill his water bottle.

_X_

+1 After Winning the Frozen Four

Nursey doesn’t think he’s ever been happier. They’ve won the Frozen Four for the second year in a row. Chowder had a shut out, and both he and Dex had scored. It was truly a perfect game.

He knows he still has to get through the rest of his internship and finals but right now, he’s on top of the world.

He and Dex are crammed into a too-small booth for their combined shoulders with Chowder and Farmer (who flew out to watch the game) opposite them. Nursey feels good, floaty and glowing. They won, his friends are here, and long-established convention means he gets to be pressed up next to Dex. Not an inch between them.

It wasn’t like he was unaware his crush was getting astronomical. And it didn’t help that Dex kept feeding him pick up lines all this year. Lately, they’ve been a small torture, wanting Dex to flirt with him for real.

Whatever.

He’s here. Dex’s here. Nursey’s happy.

Dex has never looked better. Confident and loose like he usually only gets at the Haus. The lights overhead highlight his freckles and Dex’s hair, a touch too long and starting to curl after not cutting it through playoffs. Nursey’s staring. He knows he is. With a herculean effort, he tears his gaze away and tries to focus on what Chowder is saying.

“-And wasn’t it s’wasome when Bully checked that guy right before he could get to Whiskey and -”

“Breathe, babe,” Farmer says fondly, “They were there too.”

Nursey leans further into the leather, relaxing when they leave. As happy as he is, he is tired, and the booth is comfortable. Especially with Dex so close.

They’re all chatting too loudly about The Martian and he’s laughing at Farmer’s Donald Glover impersonation when Dex suddenly winks at him. Nursey almost falls off his seat. Dex leans closer, and whispers in his ear.

“Hey Nursey?”

“Yeah?” Nursey can barely breathe.

“Even in zero gravity I would still fall for you.”

Nursey doesn’t blush. Which means the heat he feels in his face must be a symptom of a fever. His throat is dry enough it might be true.

“Ha ha Poindex-” he abruptly stops talking when he feels Dex’s hand cover his own on the seat in between them and his fingers curl around Nursey’s own.

“Oh holy shit,” he whispers, “Really Dex? Now? With a cheesy pick up line no less?”

“S’thematically appropriate,” Dex shrugs and then tilts his world upside down with, “I got tired of you thinking I was joking around the other times I tried flirting.”

“Wh - I - I -” Nursey has no words. For once in his life.

“Its a good thing you’re pretty,” Dex chirps before leaning in an kissing his cheek, holy shit.

“FINALLY!”

They both jump and look around at Chowder’s shout. C’s beaming at the two of them.

“Do you know how much in back fines the two of you owe?!?!”

Dex just laughs and hides his (bright red) face in Nursey’s neck and Nursey tries not to melt.

“I think we’re good for them, C. It’s chill,” Nursey says, not looking away from where his fingers are curled up with Dex’s.

The fines are worth it.

#nurseydex #pick up lines #kegsters #frozen four celebrations #senior frogs #charmer #dex is trying really hard to flirt #nursey is oblivious #and pining #until he isn't #nursey #dex #chowder #farmer #smh #samwell men's hockey #5+1 fic

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regrettablewritings · 4 years ago

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Slapped By Legal (Matt Murdock x Reader)

@locke-writes S u f f e r

‘Twas four weeks before Christmas, in a Hell’s Kitchen home, where you sat in the kitchen, feeling downtrodden and boned. Your laptop was open, the window filled with tabs Of all the potential gifts you could feasibly nab. But this was three hours into searching and nary a perfect gift could be found As your brain began contemplating just burning the building to the ground —

Okay, maybe don’t do that. But you would’ve been lying if you’d claimed you weren’t tempted to at least fling your laptop out the window. Buying gifts for one’s boyfriend was usually a point if glee for most couples. You had coworkers who would gush about what they’d gotten their partners, eagerly asking you if you wanted to see it. Even without you courteously saying yes, they would shove their phone into your face, forcing you to not only pretend to be interested, but also to remember that the clock was ticking — and you still didn’t have anything for your own partner.

At face value, Matt would presumably be a relatively easy man to but for. He lived well within his means, both to regard his disability but also because he was just simply a humble person. Most people like that would’ve been satisfied with, like, a bottle of wine.

But not your Matt: Your Matt was Matthew Michael Murdock, a man both blessed and cursed with sensitivities that made his tastes particular — literally. You had to sit on the side of caution when it came to nearly everything: Certain materials felt scratchy on his skin; certain foods and drinks tasted like every step of the factory that had contributed to their production; cologne bothered his nose; and he didn’t much listen to music anyway, so a radio or stereo would’ve been mostly pointless.

You released a loud, aggravated groan as you flopped in your seat. You were pretty positive that no matter where Matt was at this point in time, he probably heard you. Even if it was from Queens.

Fuck this, you thought as you grumpily scrolled further along your current tab. That bastard is getting a gift card. Or a wine-stopper. Or —

And that’s when you saw it. In an instant, your posture turned upright alongside your sense of hope.

— Or that!

Everything about it was perfect: The price, the content, the opportunity -- you simply had to have Matt have it!

Christmas tended to be a rather small affair for the Nelson & Murdock crew. With nobody having any real family to speak of (or, at the very least, any family worth visiting), the four of you were more than happy to make do with your own little traditions: Ordering Thai from down the street, drinking yourselves silly without the guilt, and just plain enjoying one another’s company. Oh, and opening presents together, of course.

And the entire while Foggy and Karen expressed excitement over their gifts, you sat there with a slight hint of smugness just barely nestled inside of you. When they gave Matt his own gift, you couldn’t help but feel some relief: A mug and a paperweight in the shape of an apple. Sure signs that even after all this time, they, too, struggled with what the hell to give the guy who generally wants for nothing.

You didn’t want to silently toot your own horn, but you already knew you had them beat. Hence why you saved the best for last. And although you weren’t quite certain as to how his innate lie detection worked, you couldn’t help but suspect that he was on to you. It was subtle, but it was like it was hidden in the crook of his brow every time he happened to face your direction. Not that he said anything, of course. He wasn’t new to your breed of mischief, after all.

Two could play at this game. All he needed to do was wait patiently until your dramatic self became too overwhelmed with eagerness to bear it.

The gusto with which you presented the parcel was met with further brow-cocking on Matt’s part.

“Matthew,” you spoke, enforcing an exaggeratory accent befitting of an American’s idea of a British butler, “your Yuletide endowment.”

Matt huffed with amusement. “‘Endowment’? What, are we living fancy now?” You made no response, perfectly content to simply watch him rip apart the colorful paper with anticipation. To be perfectly honest, Matt wasn’t entirely sure what to expect from you. Normally, he could tell what something was at a distance. But once boxes and further packaging got involved whatever his senses reported back to him got all fuzzy and muddled.

But surely whatever you’d gotten was something you were proud of. After all, he’d spent the entire gift-unwrapping listening to the small, telltale signs of your excitement.

“It’s a . . .” He lifted it from the ruins of tissue paper. “. . . T-shirt?”

“Uh-huuhhh!” you chriped. He could hear you practically vibrating. Matt wasn’t averse to t-shirts. But he had to admit, it was a bit of a strange thing for you to get so excited about. Though, feeling about the cotton, he could sense some roughness. Ink. Was there a design on this? Was it a graphic t-shirt?

“Put it on, put it on!” you cheered. He did so, not able to think of a reason why he shouldn’t. Besides, well, the fact that he knew you were being highly suspicious. The brief moment it took for him to pop his head through the neck hole, he could hear rustling coming from your part of the little circle. He also heard Foggy snort before weakly attempting to stifle his obvious laugh. He heard Karen’s breath hitch as well, though not in any way that denoted discomfort. In fact, he heard heartbeats quicken and lungs practically spasming.

What the hell had you done.

“Okay, I give up, what does it say?” Matt demanded.

“Nothing!” Foggy squeaked.

Matt’s lips pressed into a thing, unimpressed line. “Yeah, that’s bullshit. I don’t even need to hear for a lie, what is it? What does it say?”

“It, um,” Karen offered fruitlessly, “It says ‘World’s Best Boyfriend’, that’s all.”

“Seriously?” Matt sighed, though not without cracking a hint of a smile. “You’re going to lie to a blind guy? And to me of all blind guys?” He heard you shuffling towards him, walking on your knees.

“Don’t worry about it, Babe,” you insisted, pressing a kiss to his scruffy cheek. In the moment you leaned towards him, he could smell a new smell on you: It wasn’t unlike the one that belonged to his brand-new shirt.

But before he could demand the truth any further, Foggy cut in with a giggle-wobbled, “Time for Christmas photos! Say cheese, Lovebirds!”

Matt could only give in; there was no point in trying to wedge the truth out of any of you. All he knew was that he knew you three were lying about . . . something.

Ah, well, he decided as he heard the click of Foggy’s camera phone going off. Perhaps there was a way to get the truth out of you . . .

It didn’t work. In spite of his best efforts (and damn, were they his best), he couldn’t get it out of you. However, that wasn’t to say that he didn’t get anything he wanted out of you. And as he began to fall prey to his exhaustion, the events of the day finally catching up to him, he snuggled his naked form loser to yours. Perhaps the truth would have to wait for another day . . .

For your part, you were proud of yourself. Admittedly, part of the pride’s source came from the fact that you were able to hold your ground in the end (Matt was just too giving of a lover to be good at torturing you). But for the most part, it came from the fact that you were able to execute your plan as you intended it. In a way, it was also like a little bit of revenge: Revenge on Matt for being one of the absolute worst people to shop for. And for that, maybe you’d hold on to your not-so-secret secret. Just for a little while longer . . .

But first, one last relishing in your success before you succumbed to sleep.

You carefully and slowly made your way to your side of the bed. Not enough to properly wake up your sleeping boyfriend, but just so that you could reach your phone from its resting place on the nightstand. Once acquired, you pressed the home button and set your sights aglow with the image you had last had your phone on before your and Matt’s little session.

It was the picture Foggy had taken earlier of you and Matt, dressed in the matching T-shirts you had acquired for yourselves. You grinned cheekily at the camera, making sure that the bubbly white writing on the black fabric was perfectly legible: “My Ass Got Slapped By Legal.”

And next to you was Matt, a smile planted on his handsome face but altogether tainted with confusion and growing insanity over what the hell you had him wearing -- an equally black t-shirt with equally bubbly white writing: “I Am Legal.”

Oh, yeah, you decided as you smiled to yourself. This was going on the Christmas cards next year.

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock imagine #daredevil imagine #daredevil x reader #daredevil imagines #matt murdock imagines #MURRY CRINGUS #i am dumb ignore me #i've had this idea in my head a pathetic amount of time

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sinceileftyoublog · 4 years ago

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30 (Technically 34) Albums We Loved That Happened To Come Out in 2020

So much has already been said and written about this cursed past year, but a few good things came out of it, including the music. Album-wise, like many before it and many to come, it was an embarrassment of riches. But even with so much time on our hands to devour new tunes, it was often old favorites, songs of comfort or familiarity that garnered the heaviest rotation. For many artists, too, it was a year ripe for revisiting or reissues of old material, looking at existing songs with fresh and new perspectives. Simply put, with so much to listen to, new and old, the prospect of ranking a finite number of albums felt not only daunting, but frankly a bit stupid. Maybe we were late to the game, but 2020 taught us that music should and can be appreciated in multiple contexts, not limited to but including when it first came out and when it was heard again and again, even if years later. The records below--listed in alphabetical order--happened to be released in some form in 2020, whether never-before-heard or heard before but in a different format. And the only thing I know is that we’ll be listening to them in 2021 and beyond.

Autechre - SIGN & PLUS (Warp)

The legendary British electronic music duo surprise released SIGN a mere month and a half after its announcement and then PLUS 12 days later. The former was a beatific collection of soundscapes that belied the band’s usual harsh noise, while PLUS embraced that noise right back, drawing you in with the clattering chaotic burbles of opener “DekDre Scap B” and lurching forward. -Jordan Mainzer

Against All Logic - 2017-2019 (Other People)

The perennially chill ambient house artist Nicolas Jaar had a busy 2020, as usual, releasing two albums under his name, Cenizas and Telas. But it was 2017-2019, the follow-up to the debut album from his Against All Logic moniker, that came first and throughout the year helped to illustrate Jaar’s penchant for combining inspired samples with club beats and tape hiss. Take the way the lovelorn vocals of “Fantasy” or soulful coos of “If Loving You Is Wrong” war skittering, scratchy percussion and cool arpeggios, respectively: Jaar is coming into his own as a masterful producer almost a decade after he released his first full-length. Oh, and bonus points for including none other than Lydia Lunch on a banger so blunt it would make Death Grips blush. - JM

Bartees Strange - Live Forever (Memory Music)

Like many, my introduction to Bartees Strange was through Say Goodbye to Pretty Boy, his EP of The National covers. Creativity and shifting perspectives shine through each song’s reimaging, like flipping the coarse, almost manic “Mr. November” into something softer, more meditative. It felt like a mere peek into what was to come on Live Forever. Bartees Strange is a world-builder. Each track on his debut unfolds and welcomes you to a wildly engaging tableau, a fully constructed vision. “Jealousy” opens with soft vocals and birdsong. “In a Cab” is the slick soundtrack to racing through a cityscape in the rain, seeing the blurred lights of the high-rises above as you pass by. “Kelly Rowland” warps wistful pop song feelings. “Flagey God” takes you into a dark, pulsing club while only a few songs later, “Fallen For You” wraps you in echoed vocals and romantic, raw acoustic guitar.

It’s an accomplishment to craft an album of individual songs that stand strongly on their own but still feel cohesive. 2020 wasn’t all bad. It gave us Live Forever, a declaration of an artist’s arrival. - Lauren Lederman

Charli XCX - how i’m feeling now (Atlantic)

Back in the spring, many of us wondered who would put out something great in 2020’s quarantine. It was hard to imagine that the intensity of a global pandemic would really allow for artists to embrace creativity. That thought carries the same eye-roll inducing feeling of “We’ll get some great punk music out of a Trump presidency,” but of course, Charli XCX delivered. Through live workshops with fans and longstanding collaborators, she delivered songs to dance alone to in your bubble. Charli embraces the unknown of the moment but clutches onto what’s familiar. Under the glitch-pop veneer of the album, she digs into the anxieties of not just this moment of time but of the bigger questions we all confront: trajectories of relationships with friends, romantic partners, ourselves. Album standouts “forever” and “i finally understand” embrace that feeling of both looking for control and accepting the lack of it. Charli is a master at balancing this. - LL

Christine and the Queens - La Vita Nuova (Because Music)

Named after a Latin text by Dante Alighieri about missing a woman who has died, Chris’ La Vita Nuova is not about mourning a death but instead about loneliness and isolation, post-relationship or otherwise. It doesn’t bang quite like her previous two albums, but it hits harder than ever.

Read our full review here.

Dogleg - Melee (Triple Crown)

Released on March 13th, right as the COVID-19 pandemic hit, Melee was supposed to be supported by three cancelled tours–SXSW, an opening slot for Microwave, and an opening slot for Joyce Manor–and an appearance at this year’s cancelled Pitchfork Music Festival. Listening to the songs on the record, you can only imagine how they translate: the jerky momentum of “Bueno”, build-up of “Prom Hell”, gang vocals of “Fox”, clear-vocal anthem of “Wrist”, and odd groove of “Ender”.

Read “Buckle Up, Motherfucker”, our interview with Dogleg.

Dua Lipa - Future Nostalgia & Dua Lipa/The Blessed Madonna: Club Future Nostalgia (Warner)

Where Dua Lipa’s much-anticipated second album Future Nostalgia succeeded was in its disco anthems and retro, club-ready beats, so who better to bring out the best of the record than The Blessed Madonna? The turntablist masterfully curates a mix of heavy hitters of the charts and the underground that not only offers an essential complement to Future Nostalgia but transcends it. Sending the tracks out to various producers and singers for features and then adding her own samples on top, she invites you to peel back the layers, enter a YouTube rabbit hole of sample searching as much as bopping along.

Read our full review here.

Emma Ruth Rundle & Thou - May Our Chambers Be Full (Sacred Bones)

Roadburn Festival has long been on my bucket list, and since the pandemic showed me how much live music can be taken away in a flash, when it’s safe again to travel and go to a festival, I may just pull the trigger and go--especially considering it’s the springboard for such fruitful and inspired collaborations as the one between Louisville singer-songwriter Emma Ruth Rundle and Baton Rouge sludge dwellers Thou. Rundle embraces the heavier opportunities on the follow-up to her incredible 2018 record On Dark Horses with the ever-flexible Thou backing her up vocally and instrumentally. Slow-burning opener “Killing Floor” offers a familiar introduction to fans of both--sort of what a Rundle/Thou song would sound like--before grunge chugger “Monolith” introduces huge, catchy riffs and “Out of Existence” a True Widow-esque dirge, newfound inspirations for both artists bringing the best out of each other. - JM

Fiona Apple - Fetch the Bolt Cutters (Epic)

What makes Fetch the Bolt Cutters stand out among Apple’s catalog and music in general is the clarity with which Apple seethes at those who have wronged her, whether ex-boyfriends or patriarchal oppressors, and looks to her relationships with other women for peace of mind.

Read our full review here.

HAIM - Women in Music Pt. III (Columbia)

For HAIM, the title Women in Music Pt. III is suggestive that, more than their previous two records, their third centers around the experiences of being an all-female band in a historically white cis male-dominated scene, at least one that wouldn’t call catchy riffs written by a man “simple” or call attention to the faces a man makes while playing. What it doesn’t let on to is how deeply personal the record is, how, by unabashedly embracing genres and styles of music that they love, HAIM have made far and away their best album. Co-produced by the usual suspects, Danielle Haim, Ariel Rechtshaid, and ex-Vampire Weekender Rostam Batmanglij, it’s instrumentally and aesthetically dynamic and diverse, consistently earnest without devolving into cheese.

Read our full review here.

Irreversible Entanglements - Who Sent You? (International Anthem)

I’ve been captivated by Irreversible Entanglements ever since I first saw them at Pitchfork Music Festival 2018. The radical poetry of Camae Ayewa (aka Moor Mother) is the perfect front for a ramshackle mix of Luke Stewart’s spidery bass, Tcheser Holmes’ weighty drums, and a horn section that concocts tones that range from hopeful to desperate. At their best, Who Sent You? is a shining example of celebratory Afrofuturism and metaphysics that makes the urgency of Ayewa’s more concrete and political words all the more necessary. “No Más”, composed by Panamanian-born trumpeter Aquiles Navarro, is a declaration against imperialist oppression, while the stunning title track flips the switch like a Kara Walker painting, as Ayewa’s the one interrogating the police officer terrorizing her community. “Who sent you?” she repeats, never spiraling, grabbing a hold of the power and never letting go. - JM

Jeff Parker - Suite for Max Brown (International Anthem/Nonesuch)

It’s Jeff Parker’s mom’s turn. After 2016′s The New Breed ended up being a tribute to the guitarist’s father, who passed away during the making of it, Parker decided to pay tribute to Maxine while she was still alive. Suite for Max Brown (Brown is his mother’s maiden name; Max is what people call her) is a genre-bending collection of tracks inspired by Parker’s DJing, juxtapositions of sequenced beats with improvisation that certainly sound like the brainchild of one individual. Indeed, Parker plays the majority of the instruments on it and engineered most of it at home or during his 2018 Headlands Center residency in Sausalito, CA; though all of the players and the vocalist (Jeff’s daughter Ruby Parker) on The New Breed show up, plus a couple trumpeters (piccolo player Rob Mazurek and Nate Walcott of Bright Eyes) and cellist Katinka Kleijn, Suite for Max Brown is a distinctly Jeff Parker record.

Read our preview of Jeff Parker & The New Breed’s set at Dorian’s last year.

Jeff Rosenstock - NO DREAM (Polyvinyl)

Jeff Rosenstock throws us right into the spinning, manic energy of NO DREAM, his latest release from a seemingly endless well of music that never lacks urgency. It’s a reminder that though it’s been a strange year, the issues Rosenstock tackles here aren’t new. There’s no interest in making you feel comfortable here. On the album’s title track, Rosenstock sings, lulling you into a false sense of security, “They were separating families carelessly / Under the guise of protecting you and me.” But reality sets in, and the hazy guitars spin out as he spits, “It’s not a dream!” and, “Fuck violence!”

My image of Jeff Rosenstock in the year 2020 is masked up with “Black Lives Matter” scrawled across the fabric of his mask in Sharpie, performing album highlight “Scram!” on Late Night with Seth Meyers as high energy as ever. It felt like watching someone send out a beacon, both a distress signal and a call to arms. - LL

Jessie Ware - What’s Your Pleasure? (PMR/Friends Keep Secrets/Interscope)

I am not someone who goes to clubs. I don’t “go out dancing,” preferring to let loose in the privacy of my own home or a trusted friend’s house party. But Jessie Ware’s What’s Your Pleasure? makes me think I could embrace a night out like that, once the world opens up again, of course. The album is filled with syncopated disco beats that feel fresh and classic all at once. The abundant horns and strings on “Step Into My Life” are decadent, like light bouncing off sequins in a dark room. Ware’s voice is slinky and velvety one moment, windswept like her album cover the next. It’s songs like “Save a Kiss” that embrace both, allowing her to show off her range. - LL

Laura Marling - Song for Our Daughter (Partisan)

With sparse production, mostly from her but with additions from Ethan Johns and Dom Monks, Marling foregoes the comparative maximalism of the Blake Mills-produced Semper Femina, her last proper full-length, and 2018′s LUMP collaboration. The songs aren’t simple, but they’re succinct, and every element, from Marling’s finger-picked guitars, the occasional slide guitar, and that unmistakably calm voice, sometimes alone and sometimes layered, fits. It’s her most universal set of songs yet, centering around the times when we’re apart from one another but reflecting on when we were together and when we might be together again, with no guarantees.

Read the rest of our review here.

Les Amazones d’Afrique - Amazones Power (Real World Records)

The groovy pan-African collective expands upon their debut Republique Amazone and then some with Amazones Power, a tour-de-force statement of female empowerment in the face of oppression against women throughout the African diaspora. Indeed, the album is more than just songs boldly decrying FGM, though those demands ring heavily. Instead, the group goes further, delving into gender power structures in marriage on “Queens” and selectively finding strength in tradition on “Dreams”. And this time, they include men to stand alongside with them. “Together we must stand / Together we must end this,” sings Guinean musician/dancer/artist Niariu on opener “Heavy” in solidarity with features Douranne (Boy) Fall and Magueye Diouk (Jon Grace) of Paris band Nyoko Bokbae. But perhaps it’s her kiss-off on “Smile” that hits hardest: “I shut up for no one.” - JM

Lianne La Havas - Lianne La Havas (Nonesuch)

The British singer-songwriter’s much anticipated follow-up to 2015′s Blood was better than I could have ever imagined. A song cycle about life cycles--of nature, of lives, of a relationship--inspired by an actual breakup, Lianne La Havas is a contemporary neo soul masterpiece. Overview opener “Bittersweet” is an instant earworm, La Havas’ coo-turned-belt filling the space between classic and increasingly emotive slabs of piano and guitar. Funky, lovestruck strut “Read My Mind” is the soundtrack for the unbridled confidence of finding new love. Yes, the doubts begin to sow on the fingerpicked melancholy of “Green Papaya” and “Can’t Fight”, and where the album goes from a simple narrative perspective may be predictable: They break up, they don’t get back together, La Havas enjoys her independence. But the depth of the arrangements and assuredness of La Havas’ singing is a product of an artist starting to really show us what she can do. And how many people can pull off a Radiohead cover like that? - JM

Lomelda - Hannah (Double Double Whammy)

What does it mean to title an album after yourself? Lomelda’s latest album is centered around discovering more about yourself while not always having the answers. Despite the lyrical content, the album is self-assured. Hannah Read’s voice feels as steady as ever as it navigates these twisting questions, like the way the world can shift after a kiss. She finds power in softness and reflection throughout the album, like when she explores the mantra-like words of “Wonder” or through a reminder to do no harm in “Hannah Sun”. In a year that allowed for perhaps more reflection than usual, Hannah makes space for the questions that arise out of figuring yourself out, of making sense of the messiness of it all, wrapped in warm guitar, balanced vocals, and steady drums. - LL

Moses Sumney - Grae (Jagjaguwar)

“Am I vital / If my heart is idle? / Am I doomed?” Moses Sumney famously sang on his stunning 2017 debut Aromanticism, an album that saw him developing his acceptance of being alone. grae, his two-part 2nd full-length, and his first since officially moving from L.A. to the Appalachian Mountains of Asheville, North Carolina, doubles down on themes of heartbreak, but instead of being sure in his seclusion, he embraces the unknown. The album teeters between interludes of platitudes about isolation and ruminations on failed human connection, and maximally arranged clutches of uncertainty. “When my mind’s clouded and filled with doubt / That’s when I feel the most alive,” Sumney coos over horns and piano on slinky soul song “Cut Me”; it’s an effective mantra for the album.

Read the rest of our review here.

Norah Jones - Pick Me Up Off The Floor (Blue Note)

At the time we previewed Norah Jones’ 7th studio album, she had only released a few tracks from it. Turns out the rest was just as powerful. From the blues stomp of “Flame Twin” to the rolling piano stylings of “Hurts to Be Alone”, Pick Me Up Off The Floor is an album full of jazzy orchestrations and soul and gospel-indebted arrangements, Jones’ silky, yearning voice tying together the simple, yet lush and deep instrumentation. And that other Tweedy feature, that closes the album? It’s a heartbreaking portrait of loneliness, one of many on a record that still manages to celebrate being alive all the while. - JM

Phoebe Bridgers - Punisher (Dead Oceans)

Phoebe Bridgers is a master of details. Her lyrics shine when they get specific. They range from the mundane to morbid: A superfan’s ghost-like wandering under a drugstore’s fluorescent lights, a skinhead likely buried under a blooming garden, reckoning with the you in “Moon Song”’s lines, “You are sick, and you’re married / And you might be dying.” Bridgers has always been able to set a scene meticulously, and Punisher arrived with 11 songs that expanded that skill, both lyrically and musically, with her dark humor intact and a fuller sound that includes her boygenuis collaborators’ harmonies. - LL

PJ Harvey - To Bring You My Love: The Demos & Dry - The Demos (Island)

Yes, revisiting Dry’s demos as a separate entity is still worthwhile. Harvey’s powerhouse vocal performance carries the acoustic strummed “Oh My Lover”, while the comparatively minimal arrangement of “Victory” highlights bluesy riffing, call-and-response harmonies, and layered guitar and vocals. The singles, the slinky and sharp “Dress” and propulsive anthem “Sheela-Na-Gig”, hold up to their ultimate studio versions, too. But it’s the To Bring You My Love material that provides novelty because it’s never been released and more so because it encompasses the greatest aesthetic contrast from the album. From the warbling hues and guitar lines of the title track to the tremolo haze of “Teclo” to the crisp snares of “Working With The Man”, the demos show a continuity and level of cohesiveness with the diversity of Dry and Rid of Me not shown on the studio version of Harvey’s more accessible commercial breakout. (Predictably, the album’s most well-known song, “Down by the Water”, is the closest to its eventual version.) “Long Snake Moan” is simultaneously more spacious and more noisy, its garage blues a total contrast to the lurking “I Think I’m A Mother” and swaying shanty “Send His Love To Me”. And “The Dancer” fully embraces its flamenco influences, hand claps and all.

Porridge Radio - Every Bad (Secretly Canadian)

Is there a better opening line than “I’m bored to death, let’s argue”? That kind of duality is found across all of Every Bad as it grapples with the frustrations and anxiety of trying to figure it all out, whatever that might mean for you. “Maybe I was born confused, but I’m not,” vocalist Dana Margolin repeats throughout the opening track, roping in listeners with the dizzying feeling of trying to make sense of yourself. The band’s guitar and synth sound coupled with Margolin’s howl makes for a dance party filled with dread, rendering Margolin’s already strong, repetitive lyrics even more spiraling. And yet, by the time we get to “Lilacs”, a glimmer of something else shines through as the music gets more manic and Margolin’s voice begins to soar: “I don’t want to get bitter / I want us to get better / I want us to be kinder / To ourselves and to each other.” - LL

Sault - Untitled (Rise) & Untitled (Black Is) (Forever Living Originals)

Yes, Black Is still pulls plenty of devastating punches. “Eternal Life”, a segue from the gospel boost of “US”, juxtaposes a deliberate drum beat with zooming synths, both ascending like a chorus of angels, as they sing, “I see sadness in your eye / ‘Cause I know you don’t wanna die,” presenting the oppression of Black life at the hands of white supremacy in inarguable terms. Ultimately, though, it’s the anthemic nature of the songs, resistant of platitudes, that shines through. “Nobody cared / This generation cares,” says Laurette Josiah on “This Generation”. Whether she’s talking about young people in general or the latest generation of young Black leaders, the sentiment is reflected on songs like “Black”, wherein over dynamic, sinewy instrumentation, the singers alternate between encouragement, support, and love of the self and others.

Read our full review here.

Shamir - Shamir (self-released)

Shamir’s voice is a bright beacon in a sea of conventional singers. Shamir captures the effervescence of pop music and weaves it together with elements of country, alt rock, and diary confessional lyrics all supported by the emotion and range of his vocals. There’s something for everyone across the album’s 11 shimmering tracks. Lead single and opener “On My Own” feels like a declaration of self and self-sufficiency, an anthem of a breakup song. The almost pop-punk bounce of “Pretty When I’m Sad”, paired perfectly with lines like the angst-ridden, “Let’s fuck around inside each other’s heads,” feels impossible to not bop along to. The twang of “Other Side” would put a country crooner to shame. That’s the power of Shamir. His voice has the ability to smoothly convey joy, resilience, and humor. He uses elements of several genres, not just the dance-pop of his debut, to build a unique album that gives listeners so much to sift through and, of course, dance to. - LL

Songhoy Blues - Optimisme (Fat Possum)

If Songhoy Blues’ second album Resistance lacked “the grit of its predecessor,” it’s clear from the hard rock stomp of the opening track of Malian band’s third album Optimisme that they rediscovered their mojo. More importantly, they couple this maximal brashness with tributes to those who make their world a better place: fighters for freedom, women, the young. It’s perhaps the first Songhoy Blues record to truly combine the celebratory nature of their desert blues with a balanced mixture of idealism and vigor. - JM

Spanish Love Songs - Brave Faces Everyone (Pure Noise)

How can you find hope in hopelessness, or optimism when every news story points to cruelty? Is it naïve to keep searching for light in the dark? I don’t think so, and I don’t think Spanish Love Songs does, either. I’d like to think we both believe that’s not naivety, but power. It’s the embers you need to really ignite a flame. After all, this is the band with a song titled “Optimism (As a Radical Life Choice)”. It’s a band whose crunching guitars and earnestness insist that despite death and depression and addiction, the instinct to survive shines brightly above all. That relentless hope resurfaces across Brave Faces Everyone’s 10 tracks even as it works through the bleakness of everyday life. - LL

Tashi Dorji - Stateless (Drag City)

The magnum opus from the Asheville-based picker is a group of evocatively titled, disorderly songs about the desolate hellscape of America for outsiders and immigrants. Enigmatic in its nature, not exactly narrative, Stateless combines Dorji’s urgent strumming with moody motifs, captured beautifully in a studio setting for maximum emotional wallop. - JM

Touche Amore - Lament (Epitaph)

Is this what an almost uplifting Touche Amore album sounds like? It’s cathartic in a newer way for the band, especially after the beautifully rendered grief of Stage Four. Lament loses none of the band’s aggression or urgency. “Come Heroine” thrusts listeners into that urgency and introduces a moment of warmth, Jeremy Bolm’s vocals still rasping and insistent: “You brought me in / You took to me / And reversed the atrophy.” The bounciness of “Reminders” may seem close to optimism, but a sharper look at the lyrics uncovers more than blindly looking to the things that bring joy. “I’ll Be Your Host” is reflective, a few years removed from Touche Amore’s previous album and the immediacy of loss, self-aware and growing, but still raw. The album closer, “A Forecast”, takes a turn, a lone voice and piano acting as a confessional before giving way to thrashing guitars and the realization that growth and reckoning with trauma doesn’t mean minimizing it. It means learning to keep moving forward and to stop for help when you may need it. - LL

Waxahatchee - Saint Cloud (Merge)

The best album yet from Katie Crutchfield is inspired by positive personal change (getting sober, dealing with codependency issues, her blossoming love with singer-songwriter Kevin Morby) and reflections on family and friends. Named after the suburb of Orlando where her father’s from, Saint Cloud is a genre-hopping collection of stories and feelings that doesn’t necessarily follow any semblance of narrative. On opener “Oxbow” and country-tinged ditty “Can’t Do Much”, Crutchfield’s increasingly aware of the need to pick your side and your battles, whether in the relationship between two people or between the allure of the bottle and the next-day hangover. Some of the best songs on the album see her finding commonalities with others as a means towards self-love. Gentle strummer “The Eye” refers to her natural creative relationships with Morby and her sister Allison. “War” she wrote for herself and best friend, who is also sober, the title a metaphor for one’s fight to remain substance-free. “Witches” is an ode to her best friends, including Allison and Snail Mail’s Lindsey Jordan, all equally frustrated by the toxic nature of the music industry and the world at large, ultimately lifting each other up because they simply have each other.

Read our full review here.

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soft-hard-peaches · 4 years ago

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Reaction: Going Shopping with Ateez

note: I really miss going out grocery shopping and going out to the mall but I've gotten so paranoid becuz of the pandemic that i barely want to go across the street or see my friends. So writing this was kinda therapeutic in a sense. I hope you enjoy and fill free to send a request.

~ lots of fluff~ ~a little bit suggestive~

Kim Hongjoong

The ambient music and fluorescent lights really make you lose track of time while shopping. Not to mention the fact that you both have been almost aimlessly walking around the store looking for the perfect accent piece for your new apartment. Hongjoong is happy that you chose him for this errand instead of your roommate because you trust his fashion sense and taste in accessories. Not to mention your roommate's disinterest in "accent pieces". He's usually pretty busy in the studio or with the group getting ready for oncoming promotions, so he cherishes any time he gets to be with you.

"What about this?", he finally spots the perfect piece for you. A three mirror set hanging on a chain secured to the wall by a rounded, bronze knob. "Wow babe, this is really pretty. I can hang this in the doorway or maybe the hallway.", you respond as he gazes at your lit up expression, at awe of its simplicity. He loves your radiant smile and the twinkle in your eyes when you're happy. Moments like this makes him glad that you're together.

Park Seonghwa

Seonghwa loves the whole cute, fashionable, ulzzang-esque couple look. I mean even if he wasn't an idol, he'd still be taking super aesthetic café photos. So he was more than thrilled when you suggested going shopping for couple outfits. He loved the thought of you two going on dates with similar matching looks even if his group pokes fun of his "couples goals".

When you brought him to the mall he only thought you wanted to dress alike but boy was he surprised when you took him to your favorite makeup store you get his face made up to mimic yours.

It's not that he was against wearing makeup or anything of course but this was more than he bargained for. But at last, he loved the glee in your eyes and complied to your whim.

After your finishing touches of rhinestones under his eyes you are shocked by your discovery, "Wow...why do you look better than me, hun?"

Equally surprised by his reflection, he states, "Baeb... I make us look good I guess", with a cheeky smile, making you shove his shoulder with a shocked laugh. You wrapped your arms around him, planting a kiss on the back of his head, then went off to pay for the products you used. Seonghwa walks up to you to hold your bag of makeup, happy he made you happy.

Jeong Yunho

There are two things Yunho holds dear to him; spending time with you and food, so when you asked him if he wanted to go grocery shopping, he jumped at the opportunity. Especially since there's a 50/50 chance that you'll cook him something later. And he doesn't hide that fact either.

"Y/n, is cheese on the list? How about pepperoni? What kind of sauce do you have at home?"

"Yunho if you want pizza you can just ask?", you laugh as you carry on walking ahead of him, placing the groceries you actually need for the week in the basket.

Kang Yeosang

"Let's buy some cake please!", Yeosang danced and sang in aegyo. He knows shopping with you means he can temp your sweet tooth with his almost too nature cutesy attitude and more often than not he succeeds. In all honesty, he loves to make you blush and as shy as he is, he likes to do it in public. "Yeosang stahp...", you whine as you scan the yellow peppers to avoid looking at him.

Sensing you're trying to evade his moves, he pulls out the big guns in a last ditch effort to get his way. "Y/n...", Yeosang lowered his voice from cute and sweet to low and velvety as he wraps his arms around your waist, slowly pulling your body towards him, whispering in your ear, "Let's have some desert tonight, yeah? I know you want something sweet?"

His voice sends chills down your body in contrast to his warmth surrounding you. "Ugh f-fine, Love. Go get cake.", you stutter to him almost buckling in his grasp. He smiled coyly, knowing you would say yes and snakes the little pastry he was hiding nearby and place it in the cart.

"Love you, honey." <3

Choi San

San loves grocery shopping with you. He loves the purity and domesticity of picking out bread and eggs or standing in the bread aisle, having you explain to him the difference between jelly, jam, and preserves. He takes note of all the small things you like for example, you prefer preserves because they taste the most like the fruit.

Sometimes he even grabs his own cart to shop for snacks you'd like. "Y/n, what kind of chocolate do you like? Dark, milk, or white?"

"Milk usually, why?", you ask from the aisle behind, scouring for your favorite chips.

He swipes a few milk chocolate bars and places it in his cart, nonchalantly dismissing your question and walking back to you.

"Babe, did you know white chocolate is actually a bi-product of chocolate?", you say beaming as you link up with him, making him smile.

Song Mingi

Was once a mundane chore, turned into a fun mini date with your loveable, goofy boyfriend, Mingi. He will never let you be bored or sad when with him. If he's not dancing around the aisle with food in his hands making you laugh, he's pushing you on the cart like any mature adult couple would do to bond.

Admittedly, he knows how stressed you've been from school, work, and your personal life, so he wants to make you smile as much as possible. If all else fails, he wants you to feel like you can feel good around him, even if you're simply shopping for eggs and milk.

"Y/n, Y/n look! Ain't I the sweetest thing in the store? Wanna bite?", he suggests as he plays with some random product, making you giggle.

Jung Wooyoung

Wooyoung takes every outing as a date. Even if you're just shopping for art supplies. Whatever you do he acts like a curious puppy. He loves your interests and loves when you incorporate him in it like he does when he teaches you dances. He follows you, holding the basket as you read out the materials you need for your next project.

Poor Woo's jaw dropped when you turned to find some paint brushes, "Woah... Why are there so many types of brushes?"

You giggled at his expression, fully understanding his struggle. You wondered the same when you first started painting. It was a bit overwhelming at first, so you explained simply that different brushes have different bristles, shape, and points for different applications. He's always in awe at your skills and knowledge, truly loving how passionate you are about your craft.

Choi Jongho

Jongho loves you in all but he hates shopping. Not just with you but shopping in general. But since he's dating someone as indecisive as you are, that's just an added con. The monotony of walking around, looking at things you may not buy, the back and forth to the dressing rooms. It all tires him out fairly quick. But he is understanding of you and why you're so indecisive. He thinks you're beautiful in anything you pick out. And he tells you so whenever you show him an outfit you're considering. "You're stunning, baby girl."

"But you always say that", you nag at him.

He hates that you are insecure and will do anything to make you feel better. "Baby, how about you pick out anything. Big or small and I'll buy it for you.", he says placing his hands on your hips.

"How about the whole store?", you looked up at him smiling.

"Ring it up.", he replies, placing a kiss on your forehead, “I’ll buy you the world if it makes you happy.

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lady-divine-writes · 4 years ago

Text

A Change in the Weather AU (inspired by Cacophonylights's A Change in the Weather) - Chapter 30

Read on AO3.

(Author’s note - the above cover gives hint about this chapter, and chapter 31 :D)

Kurt appreciates drama.

He appreciates it to a degree rivaled only by his dad’s love of NASCAR and Finn’s obsession with grilled cheese sandwiches.

It might even be said, by a select few, that he possesses a flair for the dramatic.

Kurt isn’t, however, a fan of the fact that drama seems to follow him wherever he goes, comes courtesy of big ticket items, and hangs over his head like a sword held aloft by a single thread of red rope licorice.

That he doesn’t appreciate.

The drama Kurt does enjoy happens to be genre-specific, goes hand-in-hand with sweeping, over-the-top, romantic gestures, and maybe a dance number or two.

Like the situation he’s currently in, preparing to perch atop a magnificent red roan mare. Kurt has never been up close and personal with a horse before. The first thing he notices is they’re so much taller - and wider - in real life than they seem on screen. He also didn’t know he’d have to be introduced to his horse before he could mount it (though when you use a word like mount, the need for an introduction makes sense).

Their groom teaches Kurt how to brush his mare’s mane (which he is determined to braid somewhere along the way, get it out of her eyes). Then he earns her favor by feeding her sugar cubes. She plucks them one by one from his outstretched palm, and Kurt falls instantly in love.

If his future as a Broadway phenom ever hits the skids, equestrian sports are beginning to look like an acceptable replacement.

But there is a problem.

Everything about potentially riding this horse terrifies him.

Sebastian rented the horses from a stable nearby, one the Smythe family frequents whenever they’re in town. The horses don’t belong to the Smythes, but according to the man who saddled them, they might as well, as Sebastian’s family reserves the exact same beasts every summer.

Sebastian mounts his own mare with the skill of an accomplished equestrian because of course he does. Kurt, on the other hand, requires the assistance of two bubbly blond stable hands (who remind him enough of Brittany and Sam that he has to do a double take) and a large wooden block. Sebastian watches the calamity go down from his own saddle with intense interest and a twinkle in his eye. Between trying to maintain balance and not roll his ankle, Kurt spots Sebastian sporting his signature smirk and braces for the taunts guaranteed to come, which he plans to volley with comebacks he’s already preparing in his head. But when Kurt finally finds his seat, Sebastian gives him a smile that appears to have nothing devious hiding behind it.

“All set?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Kurt manages, panting from the exertion of pulling himself up and throwing a leg over, doing both so enthusiastically he nearly propelled himself clear over the other side of his horse. “All set.”

“Everyone’s first time goes like that,” Sebastian reassures him with a dismissive wave and only a sliver of innuendo.

“Even Julian’s?” Kurt asks bitterly, his ego stinging. He imagines the older Smythe boy launching himself onto a stallion’s muscular back from the ground using only the saddle horn to boost him up, then galloping off into the sunset, leaving the rest of his family in the dust.

But Sebastian dashes that image with a nod. “Yup. Julian excels at a great many things. But for some reason, horseback riding isn’t one of them.”

“A-ha. Somehow I don’t believe you.”

“I’ve got no reason to lie, babe. And besides - I have videos.” Sebastian bounces his eyebrows, apparently relishing the fact. “Lots of them.”

Kurt’s left eyebrow bobs up. “So you gather blackmail material on your brother, too?”

“I don’t see why you’d assume he’d be immune.” Sebastian’s horse, itching to get on the trail, shifts her weight underneath him. He strokes her neck, shushing her to keep her still. It’s such an endearing gesture, so unlike the Sebastian Kurt once despised … but so much like the Sebastian he’s grown to love. “It’s tit for tat, really. Lord knows he’s got tons of stuff on me. I’ve got stuff on Liv, too, but I’m smarter than to use it.”

“Why’s that?”

Sebastian barks out a laugh that, underneath the surface, is laced with genuine fear. “Are you kidding? She’d murder me in my sleep!”

“Then why have it?”

“As leverage against Julian.”

“And that works how exactly?”

“If I let something I have on Livvie slip but I can convince her that Julian is responsible …” Sebastian sucks a breath in through his teeth, his eyes going distant, like he’s imagining the outcome of such an act, the gruesome devastation that would ensue. “But I’d only do that as a last resort. Julian would have to do something particularly heinous for me to go that far.”

Kurt shakes his head disapprovingly. Poor Olivia. Kurt wonders if she knows that she’s Sebastian’s nuclear option. Sebastian and Julian must be rubbing off on Kurt more than he knows because he also wonders how much that information might be worth. “Oh what a twisted life you lead. You are truly a criminal mastermind.”

“You know it,” Sebastian says, throwing Kurt a wink. He clicks his tongue and leads his horse away, Kurt’s mare following behind as if she knew that was the plan all along.

Sebastian takes them to a rise overlooking the beach, the trail to get there narrower than Kurt likes. He’s sure his horse knows what she’s doing. This isn’t her first time walking this trail, after all. But again, Kurt’s mare is a big animal, and she lists from side to side. This trail, flush up against the cliff side, is one Kurt would think twice about taking on foot before calling it quits, doing an about face, and going off in search of the nearest coffee shop. Since there are no seat belts, the only thing keeping him from sliding off and falling to his death is the strength of his thighs.

Kurt thought his thighs were strong. Only now does he see that cutting the 30 Minute Buns and Thighs video he used to do religiously from his cardio rotation was a huge mistake.

Fear for his life aside, the view from the overlook is spectacular, but the height vomit inducing. Kurt leans forward, barely budging in his saddle to peek over the edge, and his stomach lurches up into his throat.

He has to trust his horse. She wouldn’t go running off this cliff for no reason. She wouldn’t do anything to hurt herself. But what about him? Would she buck him off? What motivation would she have to do so? Horses, like dogs, can sense the good in people, can’t they? Not just the shallow good like, “I put a dollar in a Salvation Army bucket once,” but the deep down, selfless good. Kurt isn’t a bad person, but he can be a bit inconsiderate at times, especially with wait staff.

If this horse decides to judge him, his inability to stop snapping at waiters will be the hill he ends up dying on, he just knows it.

The path takes his mare nauseatingly close to the edge for a brief second, and Kurt bites his tongue to keep from screaming.

“Whoa, Nellie,” he says in a wobbly voice, pulling up beside Sebastian’s mare, stopped on a ledge wide enough to accommodate both animals … and the two of them should Kurt decide to crawl off his horse, lay flat on his stomach, and hug the ground.

Sebastian, watching Kurt’s silent crisis run its course, points out, “You do know your horse’s name is Desiree, right?”

“I do. And by the way, I have questions about that. But whoa, Desiree doesn’t have the same ring to it.”

Sebastian shrugs. “You’re not wrong.”

“So,” Kurt starts, swallowing half a dozen times to stop his voice from shaking, “does your exceptional riding proclivity qualify you as a ‘horse boy’ then?”

Sebastian chuckles. “No. No, Livvie is the horse person in our family. Always has been”

“That’s right,” Kurt says, wrapping the reins around his hand for security so tightly he’s afraid his fingers might turn purple. “She got the pony.”

“Mm-hmm. Pony, private riding lessons, the whole bit. The trails around the beach are perfect for horseback riding. So when we’d come out here, my dad and mom would take her, and Julian and I were forced to tag along. To teach us important life lessons, they said. I think they just didn’t want to leave us alone, afraid of the trouble we’d get into unsupervised. Needless to say, Molly here and I have a special relationship.”

Kurt eyes Sebastian coyly through lowered lashes. “Should I be jealous?”

Sebastian eyes him back, wearing a way-too-suggestive smile considering the subject matter. “Tremendously.”

“I’ve always wanted to learn to ride a horse,” Kurt admits. “I think a lot of kids do.”

“Did you picture yourself as Liz Taylor in National Velvet? Or Robert Redford in The Electric Horseman?”

“More like Viggo Mortensen in Hidalgo.”

Sebastian gives that some thought before commenting, green eyes aimed at the sky, peering at strings of clouds overhead. “I can see that. I think you’d look rather distinguished in a Stetson Diamante.”

“I’ve always thought so,” Kurt says, pulling himself up in his stirrups, a proud expression on his face.

Sebastian’s eyes, tracing the clouds, find the ocean, stare off into the sunset as the tide rolls up the sand. “Julian teased her endlessly for it.”

“Julian did?” Kurt asks with a dubious tilt of his head.

“Yup. Just Jules. I didn’t.”

“Why not?” It sounds like an odd question after Kurt asks it, grilling his boyfriend to find out why he didn’t cut down his older sister over one of her favorite hobbies.

“I envied her her love of riding,” Sebastian replies without turning to look Kurt’s way, the way Kurt had expected. “You know, when kids ask their parents for a pony, it’s usually because they think it’s going to be fun and exciting, make them look cool, turn them into a superhero or something. Not her. She loved riding for the sake of riding and for no other reason. She loved horses simply because she wanted to take care of a horse, even before she ever sat on one … or so my parents tell me.” He looks at the reins pooled in his hands, the horse’s mane beneath them chocolate brown, close to the shade of his own hair. Sebastian sniffs … or Kurt thinks he does. He only sees the subtle movement, doesn’t hear from where he and his horse are standing. “I don’t think I’ve ever loved anything that way.”

Kurt nudges his horse closer, feeling too far away with the few feet of space between them. “Not even your car?”

“Oh, well, cut me to the quick, I guess.” Sebastian throws his head back and laughs. This time Kurt definitely hears him sniffle, sees him wipe a tear from his cheek with the back of his hand. But there must only be the one because when he turns to look at Kurt, his cheeks are dry. “No, Olivia is special. When you take riding lessons, the first thing your instructor tells you is that riding is less about getting on a horse’s back and flying down the straightaway and more about taking care of something other than yourself. You put your horse first at all times. Its comfort is paramount.” Sebastian looks back at the ocean, clears a catch from his throat. “To ride a horse is to put your trust in someone else, and have someone else trust you back. Whatever you do, you do to bring out the best in the animal you choose to ride. If you hate horses, you’re going to be a lousy horse person. Olivia doesn’t see things the way they are,” he says after a pause. “She sees things the way they could be. People, too. Always finding the best in everyone. She’s not a cynic like me and my brother. She inherited the lion’s share of my parents’ optimism and goodwill. She didn’t leave any for the rest of us. And she knows what she wants, has since she was little. She launches into life with both feet. So does Julian, though, in his case, he doesn’t always land on them.”

“What about you?”

A hint of the cynicism Sebastian mentioned comes to rest in the corners of his mouth, pushing it into a half-grin. “I’m not quite as brave as they are.”

“I think you are.”

“Reckless isn’t the same as brave, babe.”

“I think it depends on how you look at it, on how you define reckless. But you have so many opportunities available to you. And a built in safety net. You can afford to be reckless.”

Sebastian chews his lower lip, seems to contemplate his next words carefully. “Because I have money, right?”

“Right,” Kurt answers quickly, then suddenly feels like he’s taken a wrong turn down a one-way street.

“Money doesn’t help when you don’t have a path.”

“Yes it does!” Kurt says, wondering why it is that Sebastian doesn’t see his wealth as a boon when it’s as clear as day to Kurt. Enjoy all the things his wealth can buy him. Sebastian had repeated that sentiment last night when they were talking about Kurt going to NYADA, and taking that $10,000 check so he could get there. Which proves that wealth can definitely buy a future. A good one, even if Sebastian might be on the fence about which way to go. “It can help you build your own path. It can build you a dozen paths!”

“But where would they lead?” It’s a rhetorical question, but one that sounds like he’s pleading with Kurt to give him an answer. Not in general terms, but a specific destination. “If I don’t know which direction I want to go, what good does a path do me?”

“It gets you started going somewhere! Anywhere!”

“And what’s wrong with staying where you are when you don’t know where to go?” Sebastian asks, his voice so thick under the weight of his emotions, it cracks. This isn’t just a friendly discussion they’re having anymore, Kurt realizes. This is something else. Something Kurt doesn’t fully understand. “Isn’t that what they teach you in wilderness survival? Stay where you are until someone finds you? Hug a tree and shit?”

That remark strikes Kurt as so absurd considering the context of their conversation, he almost bursts out laughing. “Do I look like I would know the answer to a wilderness survival question?” But then that context becomes clearer, and Sebastian’s remark even more absurd. Wait … is he thinking about … staying in Ohio!?!?

“Do you think money solves everything, Kurt? Do you think those rich people on the Titanic could buy their way off that sinking ship?”

“They kinda did,” Kurt says sheepishly, face scrunching apologetically knowing that’s not the answer Sebastian wants to hear. “They were the only ones allowed on the lifeboats, so …

“Yeah. Right. Okay,” Sebastian says, each word clipped within an inch of its life. He turns away in frustration, focusing on the sunset as if he has to watch every last minute of it or suffer dire consequences.

“But you’re not on a sinking ship,” Kurt continues, watching his step with every word. “You can literally choose any direction and go. You wouldn’t have to know what’s there or even have a reason why. Just pack a bag and start walking.”

“You make it sound so simple,” Sebastian mutters grimly, followed by something else Kurt doesn’t catch, although he does hear the words know what you want to do.

“It sounds to me like you’re making excuses,” Kurt counters but not unkindly, “and I don’t know what for. To tell you the truth, I feel like I’ve entered an argument already in progress.”

Sebastian bristles, his back going rigid. Kurt holds his breath, unsure what he’s about to do. Would he turn his horse around and leave without a word, abandon Kurt there on the top of this rise in the dark?

No. Kurt is confident he wouldn’t. Sebastian isn’t that person. Not anymore. He wouldn’t do that.

Besides, Kurt’s mare would simply follow his. He’s really in no danger unless Sebastian comes up to him and shoves him off his horse.

Kurt isn’t convinced his thighs would protect him.

Kurt’s words seem to take the steam out of Sebastian. When he turns around to face Kurt, he looks tired. Worn down. “I’m sorry. Kurt. I’m not trying to start a fight. And don’t think I don’t understand where you’re coming from. I do. I really do. Maybe not from first hand experience but I get it. And you’re absolutely right. When you don’t have money, when you have to worry about where your next meal is coming from or how you’re going to pay your rent, it sucks. Money greases so many wheels, can take you to so many places. I’m fortunate. So fucking fortunate. But there’s something to be said about having an identity that doesn’t revolve around money.”

“I don’t … I don’t think I understand.” Kurt says it, but then he realizes that’s not entirely true. On some level, he does. For a good portion of his high school career, he had to contend with being known as the one out-and-proud gay kid. To most people, it was his sole descriptor. But there’s so much more to him.

Just like there’s so much about Sebastian’s situation that Kurt doesn’t understand.

“No matter where I am, if I’ve been there longer than a week and you ask someone about me, ask them to describe who I am, they’ll tell you I’m some rich douche. That’s it. That’s what I am. That’s who I was at Dalton. It doesn’t matter that I was a straight A student, 5.0 GPA, on the lacrosse team, that I was a Warbler, or any of that. I’m an asshole and I have money. That’s it. That’s my identity. But not you,” Sebastian says, his voice becoming hard and soft at the same time. “You’re Kurt Hummel. You’re a trail blazer. You’re compassionate and brave and talented ...”

“Who told you that?” Kurt interjects, squashing uncomfortable laughter with disbelief.

“Blaine for one,” Sebastian admits, though from his expression, he would rather pry up his fingernails than say that name. “The Warblers, your friends at that public school you went to, your teacher Will Schuester, your father, your stepmother, Finn and Puck. You do your own thing no matter what other people say. And even if they knock you down, you stick up for them. You ran for student body president on a platform of stopping bullying. I would never do that!”

“You don’t want to stop bullying?” Kurt asks, appalled enough to overlook the fact that Sebastian knows any of that. But when Sebastian shoots him a You have got to be kidding me! look, Kurt is immediately confronted with the reality of who he’s talking to. Sebastian was a bully! He blackmailed and schemed. He photoshopped vulgar pictures of Kurt’s stepbrother, and tried to steal his boyfriend. He’s only recently redeemed himself for any of that. There are people who would still consider him a bully - Kurt’s friends, people he loves - who haven’t had the opportunity Kurt has to get to know him.

But it’s also an unfair question. From what Kurt has learned, Sebastian wasn’t always that way. The person he was while he was at Dalton - that person was created, and by someone other than himself.

“I would never run for student body president in the first place!” Sebastian yells. “I don’t care about other people’s problems! I can’t be bothered! If I went to your school God forbid and people bullied me, I wouldn’t want to help them! I’d want to watch the place burn to the ground!”

“That … that’s not true!”

Sebastian leans towards him threateningly. But not threatening to hurt him. Threatening to make him see the truth. “Isn’t it!?”

“I …” Kurt puts a hand to his head and closes his eyes. Sebastian’s words pound in his brain. They connect a bunch of dots, but they also leave other sections of the overall picture blank. “I’m sorry, I … I don’t know what’s going on. We’ve gone from horses to your sister to student body president to arson and I … I think … I may have missed the point somewhere.”

“The point I’ve been trying to make,” Sebastian says slowly, bringing his mare closer to Kurt’s, “and very badly is that money is a wonderful thing to have. But it shouldn’t be your identity. You need to be something more. Money will never make you a whole person if you can’t be one without it.”

Kurt nods, relieved to have it summed up so nicely before either one of them accidentally says something they’ll both regret. With his own deadline of NYADA looming, Kurt forgot that Sebastian said he hasn’t chosen a college yet. What if that’s not the entire story?

What if he doesn’t know what he wants to do with the rest of his life? And what if that scares him?

“Okay,” Kurt says, accepting Sebastian’s hand when it finds his. “I … I think I get it. That makes sense.”

“I’m glad. Because believe it or don’t, I didn’t bring you up here to start an argument. I just wanted to watch the sun set. Show you one of my favorite thinking spots. To be honest …” Sebastian shakes his head “… I don’t know where half of that came from.”

Kurt gives Sebastian’s hand a comforting squeeze. He hopes that Sebastian might be willing to bring this subject up again at the beach house when they’re both a little more level-headed, better equipped to handle it. “Where would you say you fall on that spectrum? Between being whole and being not?”

“I’d have to say I’m extensively ventilated …” Sebastian brings Kurt’s hand to his mouth for a kiss, disarming smile locked back in place. “But on the mend.”

Kurt watches Sebastian run his thumb over his knuckles, hesitant to give his hand back, even with the darkness settling in around them. “You know,” Kurt says, “this picture you’re painting of who you are … if I wasn’t here, seeing it for myself, I don’t think I would ever believe any of this about you.”

Sebastian frowns, looks like he’s about to rush to his own defense, but he stops. “I guess I didn’t really give you the chance to find out for yourself.”

“Why isn’t this the foot you put forward all the time?”

“Because … I don’t like being vulnerable with people.”

“You don’t have to be vulnerable. But nice would be …” Kurt searches his head for the perfect word, but only comes up with “… nice. You know what they say - more flies with honey and all that.”

Sebastian sputters. “There you go again with those archaic expressions! Who on earth wants to be surrounded by flies? Being this version of me is too much work for too little pay off most of the time. For what I usually want, my methods get me results quicker.”

“So … what does that say about me?” Kurt asks. “You and I have been at this for months. And it’s not as if I rolled over for you the first chance I got.”

Sebastian tugs Kurt’s hand, brings him close enough to give him the whisper of a kiss against his cheek. “That says you’re worth the effort.”

***

It’s been well over a week since the Smythes descended on the beach house, and as much fun as it is having them there, Kurt is steadily becoming paranoid. He wouldn’t have had Olivia not made that remark about keeping an eye out for her mother. Now he’s convinced that every look Charlotte tosses his way holds significance.

A silent warning.

That she knows about him and Sebastian, and that the two of them are royally screwed - Sebastian more so than he, of course. Only she’s too nice to shred him to pieces in front of the family, so she’s waiting to do it in private.

He won’t know for certain until she corners him and they talk.

So he does the mature thing.

He avoids being alone with her at all costs.

He doesn’t hide behind curtains or vault over furniture when he sees her approach. He simply makes certain he’s never by himself for longer than a few minutes. That amounts to trips to the bathroom and any time he needs to change clothes, which (and he’s not proud of this) he’s done twice as an excuse not to talk to her. With Sebastian’s new found need to be with Kurt every conceivable second, that takes care of every time else. Still, in the confines of the beach house, Kurt knows it’s impossible to dodge Charlotte forever. He just hopes he can figure out what he’s going to say when the time comes, how he’s going to defend his and Sebastian’s actions.

How he’s going to make being a boyfriend-for-hire in order to deceive her in specific sound not so bad.

Sitting on Sebastian’s lap on the porch swing, Kurt’s favorite place in the house to be hands down, he’s finding it difficult to relax. Even though she’s nowhere where she can see them, Kurt feels her eyes on him. Several times he pops his head up and scans the beach to see if she’s walking along the shore, but no. She’s not there.

This is all in his head. He knows it. He’s building it up to something bigger than it needs to be. But if he doesn’t deal with things soon, he’s going to give himself a nervous condition.

“Hey, babe. I have to run to the bathroom,” Sebastian says, sliding his hands underneath Kurt’s rear and relocating him to the far side of the swing.

“O-okay,” Kurt says, a knot starting in his stomach, like a stop watch zeroing out before a tie-breaker race. “Don’t take too long.”

“Yeah, alright. I … won’t,” Sebastian says, giving Kurt an odd look before heading towards the door to his room. Kurt watches him go, crossing every finger on both hands and his toes in his socks, praying Sebastian returns before Charlotte discovers he’s alone and swoops in. Kurt doesn’t see her, hasn’t seen her for most of the day actually. He’d be hard pressed to say whether or not she’s even there.

Kurt and Sebastian ate dinner on the porch, intend on sleeping out there, too, in the tent still set up in the far corner. Did he see her before dinner? Or did Greg take her out to eat? They’d been discussing an Italian place not too far from the beach. They could be there, enjoying a romantic evening alone, with not a single thought to the deceptive practices of her son and his boyfriend. Or did she go shopping with Olivia? Olivia mentioned wanting to hit Yankee Candle for apple pie scented wax melts after stumbling across one of Kurt and Sebastian’s vanilla scented votives. That’s a possibility.

Unfortunately, there’s only one way for him to inconspicuously check. He’d have to go inside and take a peek for himself. If he texts Olivia, he runs the risk of her coming out to ask him what’s up with her mother in tow.

Kurt gets so wrapped up in thinking about where Charlotte could be that he misses her sweeping through the door right as Sebastian leaves, stopping her son to give him a kiss on the cheek.

“Hey, Kurt!” she says brightly, striding across the porch toward him, wrapped in the coziest looking, camel-colored, cashmere duster. He’s been looking for one just like it - not super chunky the way knitted dusters tend to be. This one looks soft, and clingy in all the right places. And that color - super complementary. Once she’s done verbally disemboweling him, he’ll have to ask her where she got it. “I was hoping I’d get you alone! You and my son seem to be locked together at the hip lately! I’d need a crowbar to separate you two!”

“That seems to be the consensus,” Kurt says, banishing the image of sweet matriarch Charlotte Smythe wielding a crowbar. He shouldn’t be this nervous around her. She’s never given him reason to be. She treats him like he’s part of the family. Besides, Sebastian and Julian both agree that Olivia is the scary one. Not their mother.

Then again, where do they think Olivia gets it from?

“That’s not a bad thing. I remember being your age, locked at the hip with my boyfriend,” she reveals, a speck of wickedness coloring her smile. “But as much as I adore my son, I was hoping I could talk to you - one on one.”

Kurt’s stomach flip-flops the way it did during his NYADA audition. The only difference is, at his audition, he had a pair of gold pants to give him strength. He loves borrowing Sebastian’s Ralph Lauren lounge pants, but it’s not the same. “Absolutely. What’s on your mind?”

“Well, I feel like you may be avoiding me … just a little,” she says, bringing a hand up, putting her thumb and forefinger together for emphasis.

“Oh, uh … no. No I haven’t. Not … consciously,” he fibs, but she stares him down. Even if she doesn’t know about him and Sebastian pretending to be boyfriends, she knows that Kurt has been lying about something. Charlotte is an intelligent woman. Kurt is not about to disrespect her. “I’m sorry if it seems that way. That wasn’t my intention.”

She stays silent a moment longer, scrutinizing him the same way Carole does him and Finn when her motherly instincts tell her not to trust them. And Carole’s instincts are pretty much consistently on the nose. But Charlotte may not feel comfortable scolding her son’s boyfriend.

She may have decided to let the guilt eat Kurt away for her.

“Sebastian says you have quite a fondness for this old swing,” she says. “But before you came along, he’d never come out here. Ever. You would think he was afraid of heights or something the way he avoided it, and my son is definitely not afraid of heights. In fact, if someone were to ask me what Sebastian is afraid of, I’d have to say there isn’t a thing … except losing you. And your good opinion of him.”

Kurt goes temporarily speechless. He wants to say he knew that, but he can’t. Because he didn’t. “Really?”

“A-ha. So imagine my surprise when I found out that the two of you weren’t actually an item.”

Kurt’s eyes pop open. He hopes he looks stunned, hurt, maybe even a little too scandalized for words. But he knows he’s not that good an actor. Not yet. Give him a couple of semesters, maybe a year abroad …

But right now, he probably looks exactly the way he feels.

Busted.

“That’s … that’s not …” Kurt tries, but he can’t get the rest of the words out. They physically refuse to leave his tongue.

“It’s not what?” Charlotte asks in that stern way mothers do when weeding out the truth.

When they know for a fact that they’re being duped.

“You’re … you’re right.” Those words are a bit harder to say but at least they come out. “We weren’t a couple. B-but we are now,” he adds, praying that makes everything right, that he didn’t inadvertently toss Sebastian under the bus and lose him everything.

“As of …?” she presses.

Oh God, Kurt thinks, losing the feeling in his entire body. Even his tongue goes numb. Nope. He didn’t lose Sebastian everything before. But he may right now. God, he wishes he’d thought to talk to Sebastian about this! Gotten some sort of story straight. “A…after the gala?” More like after they got to North Carolina, but Kurt is not about to split hairs.

Charlotte, who had been sitting with her legs crossed, an elbow resting comfortably on one knee and her chin cradled in the palm of her hand, straightens in surprise.

Oh no! Kurt panics, knowing by the look in her eyes that she’s putting two and two together, time lines readjusting, figuring out just how long they haven’t been a couple.

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry for lying to you! It’s … it’s all my fault!” he says, hoping that if he keeps her attention locked on himself, that if he can somehow spin it so he’s the perpetrator here and not Sebastian, she’ll forget that they were going to empty out his bank account and take back his tuition money. They can’t do that! Not after what Sebastian told him today! Not after everything he might be afraid of! “Are you angry? Disappointed? I’ll make it up to you somehow! I swear!”

“Calm down, dear.” She has an exquisite poker face. Kurt has to give her that. He doesn’t have a clue what she’s thinking. But the parts of her expression that aren’t blank are slightly sad. “I’m not disappointed. Or angry.”

“If you don’t mind my asking,” Kurt says, feeling like he’s walking on eggshells made of plate glass and battery acid, “how did you figure us out?”

Charlotte smirks. “Well, whether they like it or not, I know my children. And to be honest, because he’s my youngest, I probably know Sebastian best of all. Which is how I know this arrangement the two of you had …” She wiggles her forefinger between Kurt and an invisible placeholder that represents Sebastian “… whatever it entailed, wasn’t your idea. But I can appreciate you throwing yourself on that grenade, and don’t think I don’t know why.” Kurt is about to launch into a new line of disagreeing, but Charlotte sighs uncomfortably, and that makes him hold back. “Kurt, I’ve walked in on my son mid-coitus more times than any mother should, and what I saw when I walked in on the two of you … that wasn’t Sebastian. Not the one I’ve seen torturing himself with different sexual partners for years. The giggling, the smiling - that was different. It was honest. It’s what I’ve wanted for him for longer than I can tell you. And I was so happy to see it. But in a way, because of that, I knew it wasn’t real.”

“But … why didn’t you say something earlier?”

“Because of all the boys my son knows, he chose you. So he had to have a reason. And aside from that, I like you, Kurt. My husband husband likes you. We think that you’re good for our son. So I thought that, given enough time, what you two were pretending to be might become real.” Charlotte smiles. “As it turns out, it did.”

“Yes, it did,” Kurt agrees shyly.

“And I don’t want you to worry. Sebastian is safe. And that’s not contingent on you or on anything the two of you do. Gregory and I, we both bear some responsibility for Sebastian hatching this little scheme. Ultimatums don’t always work the way you intend them to.” That should sound like she’s admitting defeat, but the wink she gives Kurt admits anything but. “Just make sure you get what he promised you.”

“I did,” Kurt assures her. “It and a lot more.”

“Good,” she says. “Very good. You know, being a parent, you raise your kids the best way you know how, in the hopes that they grow into adults that can make good decisions on their own. I may not agree with all of the decisions my children have made, but they are their decisions to make. I can’t micromanage their lives. I have to trust them.”

“I think my dad would agree with you,” Kurt says, thinking back on all the times his father stressed that Kurt was an adult, that he’d be out of the house soon, and that his decisions were his own. And as much as Kurt appreciated the sentiment, the look in his father’s eye when he said it, one he probably thought he was covering so well, gutted him.

“Your father is a good man,” Charlotte says, giving Kurt’s hand a pat. “And from what I can see, he did a wonderful job raising you.”

“Thank you,” Kurt says, feeling way more at ease now than he did when this conversation started. “For what it’s worth, I think you guys did an amazing job as parents, too.”

Charlotte’s smile dips, wobbles at the corners, and Kurt wonders if he said something wrong. She sits back in the swing, turns her head slightly away. She gazes down the beach, the same way Sebastian does when he thinks about something sad, watching the water rush in to meet the shore, then out to join the waves. “Thank you, Kurt,” she says finally. “That does mean a lot.”

***

Julian’s demeanor has been changing in increments.

Kurt thinks he may be the only one who notices since he’s spent time alone with every member of the Smythe family and no one else has mentioned it. But Julian has become sullen.

Downright sulky.

He hasn’t gotten on Sebastian’s case recently half as much as when he got there, hasn’t flirted with Kurt in the past few days other than to tell him he looks good wearing his clothes (a black Henley Kurt thought was Sebastian’s, which had found itself in Sebastian’s room due to an unfortunate dry cleaning mishap).

The change started about the same time Kurt began to notice that the long phone conversations Julian had been having with Cooper - the ones that started in the family room or in the kitchen after dinner but eventually sent Julian outside searching for privacy - seemed to happen less and less, and with no estimated time of Cooper’s arrival in sight. Kurt reminds himself that Julian and Cooper’s relationship has always been a volatile one, so maybe this is just the way things go between them.

But it’s still heartbreaking.

Julian seemed so happy when he first arrived, first told them about Cooper spending the summer with him, and now ...

Kurt hopes that their flame hasn’t burned out so quickly, the way he feared his with Sebastian would, the thrill of the chase gone, the shine of the taboo beginning to take on a matte finish.

“Hey, gorgeous,” Julian says, catching Kurt off guard and staring as he makes his way up to their towels spread out on the beach. Kurt wasn’t staring at Julian, even though he’d been looking in the man’s direction. He was just staring, lost in his own thoughts. But he’ll never convince Julian of that. “Why don’t you take a picture? It lasts longer. In fact, I have a few I can text you, save you the trouble. They’re organized by various states of undress …”

“That’s a surefire way to end up with a broken screen,” Olivia says while Sebastian scoots his towel over, scoops up his boyfriend.

“Happen to have any of you in a Franciscan robe?” Kurt counters. “Maybe even a kaftan?”

Julian smirks, and even though it makes him look as handsome as ever, it doesn’t brighten his face, doesn’t reach his eyes. “You know, I might.”

“I wouldn’t put it past him,” Olivia snickers, “so be careful what you ask for. Even if he does, nothing says it’ll be PG.”

“Speaking of, what are you two gentlemen doing tomorrow night?” he asks. “I mean, between the sex, sex, and more sex.”

“Have they been having a lot of sex?” Olivia asks offhandedly while she scrolls through her phone.

“As far as I can tell. I don’t know one hundred percent. They haven’t invited me to join in.”

“We don’t have any hard and fast plans,” Sebastian says, diverting the topic of conversation away from his and Kurt’s sex life. “Why do you ask? And before you say anything, threesomes are out.”

“Airiel Down is playing at Red Hat,” Julian says, reaching into the pocket of his shorts for his phone. “I got two tickets. I was going to take Cooper, but he hasn’t …” Julian’s voice waffles, goes minutely hoarse.

Olivia’s eyes dart his way.

No. That didn’t go unnoticed, Kurt thinks when her gaze shifts to Sebastian, and then Sebastian looks at Kurt. All three of them had heard the same thing.

“Anyway, anyway,” Julian says, pushing past it, “no reason for them to go to waste.”

“Are you sure? I mean, you could still go. Scalp the other ticket,” Sebastian suggests, but from the tone of his voice, it sounds like he’s asking another question entirely.

“I’m sure, little bro. No worries.” Julian chuckles, but it’s as dry as the sand they’re sitting on. They watch in silence as Julian types out a text and attaches the electronic tickets. A second later, Sebastian’s phone in his pocket beeps. “Your boyfriend here needs a night out, and exposure to some of our fine North Carolina culture.” Julian grins. For a moment, he’s closer to normal than he’s been in days. “Besides, you two need to give that beautiful ass of his a break.”

#acitw #acitw au #kurtbastian #sekurt

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italianfish · 5 years ago

Text

Here’s some things that I’ve overheard recently

- Michael Jackson part 1, before he came around

- That’s a sexy gauge

- We have cones in our eyes??? *Turns to friend* Show me your eyes.

- What’s ROYGBIV? Is that a person?

- I put the jewish inside of him

- The air in my house is polluted with sleeping pills

- One day someone will react to my gay jokes

- One day someone brought a tub of ice cream out of their backpack in the middle of class

- Hey Francis (Talking to a blow up alien)

- Why do you like assholes

- Aladdin doesn’t have nipples

- Support your own god damn neck!

- I saw my friend in the bathroom and he gave me orange juice

- FORM THE EQUATOR!!!

- Yes, indeed my good sir

- Sharing your wealth is the way to become poor

- I’m sorry I don’t have calcium in my body

- Why the pancreas?!

- I watched this show and these characters exploded and it was my favorite show

- Someone is going to lose a pancreas

- A: Don’t lose your pancreas B: I’ll try to hold onto it

- She knew how to multiply! And I was like “You’re only three!”

- Come on Moser, hitting the nut won’t do anything

- I work with a prostitute

- I love crunchy pancakes

- You are a big neon doof

- Look I can spit, I’m cool now

- ‘Ay! Trout!

- In her free time she did her taxes

- Hey! You like Raisin Bran?

- If you get a rooster you’ll be hungry, unless you eat him

- It smells like Hawaii

- If A claims he’s a god and Jesus says he’s the son of god... Does that mean Jesus is A’s son?

- We managed to convince our sub that this was a film and lit class so we watched infinity war all period

- A- So let’s keep the duck B- It’s a vulture...

- Did you just call me fuzzy?

- I didn’t recognize you with your clothes on

- He looks like a punk rock jazz drummer

- A- British! British! B- I HAVE A NAME!

- Stop putting your dog in the oven!

- Did you expect it to be that good of a cactus?

- I relate to Squidward so much

- He was like the dad that left to get cigarettes and never came back

- We’re literally following Marty Mcfly

- My elbows are funky fresh

- A- You shank em’ B- No! That is the exact opposite of a solution!

- Unicorns caused global warming

- A- No balls in class! B- But we’re in health

- The crazy chellos are back

- See! I do have friends!

- It’s a train, a train of love

- A- Why do they keep getting rid of the babies? B- I don’t know, abortion

- You have to earn the bucket hat

- My friend brought in 7 bucket hats

- Hide the forks!

- The turtles tried to cross the road once

- I’m scared of turtles

- So does everyone just carry a sword around in their back pocket?

- When you’re fishing, anyone in a bucket hat has authority

- She has cheese on her hook!

- Are your knee pits moist?

- Why are you molesting me with water

- I was born vaccinated

- I was born to be a little spoon

- Why do I look like a hispanic man

- Can I tickle your knee pits?

- You’re going to get eaten by the ocean

- A- You’re a hot mess B- Hey! At least I’m hot!

- They’ve developed a handshake! Isn’t this a problem?!

- We’re in the OG thirteen colonies

- A- I’m not used to seeing those big grassy structures B- You mean trees?!

- My name is bagged milk

- You only drink bagged milk once, in Canada

- It’s not expensive, you’re just poor

- I forgot I’m a lady

- That’s you after I poop

- I want to be Brazilian

- I figured out what the voice was! They’re playing Bingo

- A- Do “coo coo” B- CAW

- It’s probably in a nice aisle, aisle 9

- So inside the bag there are 3 more bags full of milk

- Mom we got the bagged milk

- He told me I looked like Nicholas Cage

- Her bio says inhale the kale

- I feel like an easy bake oven

- The bags just like, left

- But what about the unicorns

- Look at that potato! That looks free!

- Everyone! Find a piece of metal and lick it

- I’m the toilet man

- Go fetch me grapes

- All girls want to molest this

- He ate a whole pancake out of an Applebee’s dumpster

- Why did he eat turf

- I’m on a mission to find dairy products

- I was going to go to school and pretend to be a witch

- Remember when you put the lotion in my mouth and I drank it?

- We’re playing quarter baseball

- Pretend you’re sleeping

- The ultimate frisbee association

- My mom picked me up from school so I could go to ultimate frisbee practice

- They got a $2000 grant for a barely existing ultimate frisbee team

- She’s ultra mom

- The dodgeball guy called my friend a walrus

- We did a dramatic reading of an adult novel

- He was buying materials to make a whip

- Grate her down like a piece of cheese

- We sat in a circle and named our most Jewish quality

- 4 is the cosmic number

- I hate being a fertile woman

- Excuse me I’m Jewish

- Surprise disco duet

- I shook like 7 tents

- She’s the strings teacher, we keep her in the basement

- Whenever we finished a test and we said “I’m done” he would say “I’m done! You’re finished!” his last name was Done

- I thought the fire hydrant was a turkey

- I asked him if his password was like an anniversary or something and he said “It’s the date of my grandparents death”

- He gives us weekly quantum physics lectures

- Bruh! That looks like a lunchbox!

- No offense but this guy would make out with a floorboard

- You seem like the kind of person to kiss a floorboard

- You sound exactly like my pediatrician

- Lots of poop, no sock

- She’s not doing her work, she’s looking at Peppa pig

- Yo neighbor, I need some sugar

- White moms are really easy to scare

- Even though it’s part of Asia, ITS NOT

- Why was there a hanging waffle?!

- I got complimented on my croissant

- You can sell your liver

- Bernie Sanders reminds me of a muppet

- WHY IS THERE A HELICOPTER IN THE KITCHEN!!!!

- What are you going to do? Hunt squirrels?

- *A bunch of AP students shouting “Linguini”*

- I got bitten by an iguana in Aruba

- We got an actor to join the hammock group chat

- Say goodbye to your ovaries

- I’m half a butt cheek away from death

- Are you one of those people who puts ice cream and pop tarts in a blender

- Yo! You got any shoes I can eat???

- That’s how you segregate your trail mix???

- He has a six pack of ribs

- I’m so done with books about African children

- Do homies kiss

- I’m here for the num nums

- Don’t touch my pizza you savage!!!

- HURRY UP AND MEDITATE

- What are you for Halloween? Jewish?

- Do ducks have tails

- He was the one that broke the constitution

- Oh god now there’s Hitler on my paper

- God given right of ruling... Manifest destiny in China

- Do you shampoo your eyebrows

- This isn’t Bayblade!

- Bob Ross wasn’t an artist, he was an art therapist

- If anyone on the team is a jellyfish, it’s definitely Brandon

- It’s your fault that I’m not going to college!

- I’m having spinach for dinner! I’m so excited!

- I locked him in his toolbox

- Let’s rent a midget for a day and we can throw him against a wall

- I know how to utilize money, but do I know how to utilize it well, that’s another question

- Man, that place needs a Chick-fil-a, and I’m going to make it

- We should have the purge in school one day

- If you’re weird enough, people won’t want to rape you

- Flex seal it with tape

- Oh yeah, I got vinegar all over my sweatshirt

- Don’t say “Have a good day”, because I’m not having a good day

- Well maybe someday you’ll have cancer

- What’s up guys, I’m from Richie’s pizza, and today I’ll be showing you my body count

- An obo sounds like a clarinet with Down syndrome

- I DONT HAVE ANY MARINARA SAUSCE ON ME RIGHT NOW

- WE WILL SMUGGLE OUR KIDS TO AMERICA

- I’m the jolly black giant

- You pissed off a priest

- If we get a lot of money, I can take her boyfriend to prom

- Ted Bundy would share a lot of ideas with you

- They’re doing a milk experiment... But with marinara

- A- That’s not a color! B- But it’s on a crayon!

- Hey what’s up cheese goblin

- I’m letting my toes breathe

- I’m just saying, tinfoil doesn’t taste that bad

- YOURE EATING IT YOU UNGRATEFUL SWINE

- When I was away were you in my house? Because it’s happened before

- How do you say I have scoliosis in Italian?

- I’m gonna give give birth to a duck, right here, right now

- Are you comparing a 3D printed violin to genocide

- I HAVE NOTHING AGAINST BLACK PEOPLE

- Brother from another mother, TELL ME ABOUT THAT

- I’m a vulture, just vulturing

- I’m going on a field trip to the sewage treatment plant on my birthday

- You’re making my vagina angry

- Competitive Just Dance team

- Oh no there’s spaghetti falling out of my pockets!

- (Yoda impression) Take anger out on minorities I must

- I can turn off the lights and you’d still be white

#overheard #i just overheard #conversation #funny #funny conversations #haha #long post

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buckymcbuttfacebarnes · 6 years ago

Text

a silent plea (2)

read part 1 here

summary: (bucky x reader) bucky fears that he is falling behind in life. his best friend, y/n is on the cusp of beginning an entire life without him despite his desire to stay close to her. the two of them struggle to find a way to maintain their close bond while trying to repair the mess that bucky has unintentionally made of himself.

[a/n: y’all this is literally angst city LMFAO]

(masterlist)

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

He had slept most of the day. In and out of a groggy sleep on your couch with its pretty throw pillows. He turned on the television, turned it off, then on again. In and out, in and out. Threw up, fell back asleep despite the steady pulse behind his eyes, between his ears. He drank water, brewed a pot of coffee. He took his coffee black and scoffed at the sight of the flavored creamers in your fridge.

Probably Luca’s, he thinks spitefully.

He makes sure he gets up before you get home, setting an alarm for four; you get off work at around four thirty. Your commute home would probably take fifteen to thirty minutes, leaving him time to get dressed and pick up after himself.

And so, at four o’clock he sends you a simple text:

don’t eat, dinner is on me tonight

He orders food, then he showers. The water is hot and when he breathes in it feels like the steam is cleaning his sluggish insides, regenerating everything. It helps dissolve his headache and the grimy feeling that had somehow managed to slink its way beneath his skin. He uses your shampoo, conditioner, and body wash. The scent, mildly floral, makes his stomach feel warm. He smells like you now.

When he gets out he throws on a pair of Luca’s sweatpants and one of his ugly t-shirts that you had probably folded.

“Welcome home, honey!” Bucky calls, his voice sounding too clear; mocking. The domestic life you shared with Luca was a tragedy in his eyes. Chronic pessimism was one of his greatest faults.

“Shut up,” you say good-naturedly, trying to hide the amused smile on your face. “I’m starving.”

“Well c’mon and take a seat, doll. Dinner is served,” Bucky is still seated on the couch, same spot you had left him in. Only now his clothes are different, brown hair wet and secured in a bun settled at the base of his skull.

“That shirt looks a little tight,” you mention as you grab a slice of pizza from the open box on the coffee table.

You pretend not to see the way the material stretches over his biceps and his broad chest, the way you can see the muscles in his back ripple when he turns away only for a moment.

He pretends not to notice your lingering gaze.

“Not my fault your boyfriend’s got a shrimpy body.”

You take a bite out of your slice, rolling your eyes as you chew. “You want something to drink?”

“A beer.”

You return from the kitchen with two bottles of water.

“This isn’t beer,” he objects in a childish tone, waving the plastic bottle in front of your face.

“You’re right. It isn’t,” you say flatly.

He scowls playfully, but takes a sip of the water all the same.

“You plan on staying here again tonight?”

Bucky smiles and nudges your side with his elbow. You wince dramatically and shift away from him. “Only if you’ll have me,” he coos.

“Doesn’t look like I have much of a choice.”

“See, now that’s the spirit...We should do something tonight. You know, now that Lucas, or whatever you call him, isn’t here to ruin it.”

“I’m ready to go to sleep.”

He stares at you open-mouthed as if in shock. “Your job and Lucas has robbed you of all your joy.” He reaches his hand out to touch your face, you swat his hand away. “Where’s the Y/N I used to know?” He sighs wistfully, gazing out into a distance unseen to you.

Truthfully, you don’t really know where she’s gone...you hadn’t really even realized that she had left, that some part of you was missing.

But he, Bucky, he noticed everything. He noticed from the moment you started dating Luca...well, actually, from the moment you’d gotten this job that you were somehow moving on without him. You had robbed him without even really meaning to.

It had been a good three years now. Three years and you had a job that you loved. Somewhere along the way a man came into your life and you loved him too. In the mix of all that, it was hard to keep up with one another. It was hard for you to keep up with him—Bucky knew that was the real truth. But still, he had nothing but time for you. He’d make time for you simply because he knew that he could. To expect you to sacrifice that luxury, time, which was already eaten up by work obligations and your relationship with the biggest asshole he’d ever met, was selfish and stupid. Bucky just couldn’t do it. And so that is why he made the time for you, so you didn’t have to worry about it. He showed up at the house unannounced (much to Luca’s apparent chagrin), he sent you funny texts that you always responded to, sometimes he would show up at work at the end of the day and ask you to grab a quick slice with him. You always did because you were his best friend. You loved him.

You punch his arm and he laughs.

“There she is.”

Even though you roll your eyes, you smile. And its that wide goofy smile that he had always loved to see on your face. That smile was the reason he told bad jokes and watched corny movies.

“We need to talk about this.”

“About what?”

“About you showing up at my house like this.”

“It’s just like old times,” he says lightly. He does not want to talk about this.

When you sigh your shoulders rise and fall with the flow of your breath. Up and in, out and down. “What’s going on with you?”

“What do you mean?” His head tilts when he asks you this even though he knows exactly what you mean.

“You know exactly what I mean.”

Damn it.

“The drugs, the drinking...You can’t keep showing up at my house high off your ass, Bucky.”

“Why not?” He asks like an insolent child.

When your expression remains blank he looks about the living room as if to make a point, “I did pretty good this time!” Good thing he picked up around the house before you got back. Even washed a few of the dishes he had used throughout the day. “No throw up on the floor.”

You don’t appear amused. In fact, you look a little worried. Your gaze flickers to the stubbed out cigarettes that lay pitifully on the coffee table in a half-crumpled napkin. God dammit.

“C’mon, Buck. Be serious for two seconds. This has been going on for like three months now...You show up and you’re so fucked up you can’t even speak.”

Last night was the mildest it had ever been. There had been worse instances.

“It hasn’t been three months,” he denies with a shrug of one shoulder. He takes a bite out of his pizza.

It’s was a four cheese. Your favorite.

“Yeah, it has.”

“No, it hasn’t.” There is a long silence in which you stare at him before he continues again, “Look, this has only happened like four times—”

“Four times this month.”

He hates the way you say it. How flat your voice sounds...like a mother reprimanding her child for the eight hundredth time. Oh, but the way you look at him (lips drooping into a slight frown, concern written into your pretty eyes). That’s the worst part. Sympathy is the last thing he wants. You should know that.

“Fuck, okay, I’ll just stop coming here then.”

“What?” Your eyebrows furrow, there is a faint little crease that appears between your brows. You look surprised.

“That’s what you want isn’t it?”

“God, Bucky,” your voice is so calm and light in his ears, yet he still can’t help how defensive he grows. You shake your head, “That’s not—I’m just worried about you.”

“Don’t be.” The words come out needlessly harsh.

He sees you fumbling for a response. The shock is so visible on your face even though you try to mask it with a confused looking smile. It doesn’t work. He can see right through you. He always could...just as you could see right through him.

“Alright?” He can’t help the way he snaps. “Don’t be.”

“You realize what you’re asking me to do right?” Still you try to put forth that mask of amusement and confusion, a tactic that he knew all too well. It didn’t work to ease the sudden drop in his stomach or lift the dip in his mood. “How could I not worry? You’re my best friend.”

When you smile he frowns.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t pity me, I don’t want that.” He talks over your objections, “I am so tired of you acting like you have all of your shit together, Y/N. Stop looking at me like that!”

Now your confusion appears genuine, “Like what?!”

“Like you feel sorry for me.”

“I don’t look at you like that.”

“You’re doing it right now!” Bucky is surprised by the desperation that he hears in his own voice. Pleading and tired and pitiful. Like a kid that’s lost his way, trying to discover the right path back.

“Bucky, what the hell? Where is all this coming from?” You sound desperate now too in a way that is so similar to him that for a moment he is sure that he is calm again. But then he feels it again, the boiling heat that makes his stomach churn and his jaw wind up tight.

He stands up and despite your asking him to calm down and stay, he leaves. He doesn’t want to say anything more.

The sound of the door slamming behind him rattles your bones and makes your head hurt. You sit back on the couch, neck resting against one of the larger cushions as you try to reason with the sudden ambush that had just occurred. It was an onslaught of emotion that you weren’t prepared for...that maybe even Bucky himself wasn’t prepared for.

He seemed just as surprised as you were.

hey homie u asked to be tagged so here u go! thanks for reading<3

@wisestydia-15

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky imagine #james buchanan barnes x reader #james buchanan barnes x you #bucky barnes x you #bucky angst #bucky fluff #Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes fanfic

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easyfoodnetwork · 4 years ago

Text

Anxiety in the Deep End

Drowning my worries of germy kitchen surfaces and ethical COVID-19 concerns in the blissful oasis of a vacation rental pool

Alanna Bennett is a screenwriter and culture writer living in Los Angeles, and vacationing for the first time in Palm Springs.

I stood, face dripping over the fake-marble countertop, staring at a black washcloth and wondering if it might kill me. It looked clean. Freshly washed and crisply folded, the cloth had surely been placed in the guest bath by the cleaning crew our AirBnB host assured us had scoured the property the morning of our arrival.

We’d tried to be diligent. We’d gotten tested, bought extra antibacterial cleaning supplies, and vowed not to enter any grocery stores in the desert resort town where we’d be spending the weekend, lest we drag in germs from home base. We’d promised ourselves we’d wipe down the entire place before leaving, just to be sure we weren’t poisoning this community. Upon arrival we did the same to protect ourselves, taking cleaning wipes to door handles in case any remnants of COVID-19 clung to the brass.

We are so tired, please just let us have this and trust that we were safe.

Absolutely nothing is simple in 2020. Merely existing, which already requires Herculean patience, now carries added layers of coordination and fear. The boogeyman’s in town, and he’s invisible and very mean. It has been a constant bludgeon to the psyche. We are in the middle of a prolonged assault at the hands of not only the United States government, but also the very air around us. Grief has permeated every pore of daily life. The concept of a functioning society feels like a myth.

With the exception of protesting to defund the police, my boyfriend and I have largely been trapped inside since early springtime. We’d both been wrung out, two Black people frayed by living at the cross section of the pandemic and the race war. There was no escaping that. Around July, though, I started to notice more friends and acquaintances taking trips out of town. These were the people who, like us, had been diligent about COVID-19. But as the new “normal” sunk in, the psychic toll continued to rise. The cabin fever became too much. Suddenly, everyone I knew just had to be elsewhere, if only for a moment. All over the country, those with the means to do so temporarily fled to Joshua Tree, Crater Lake, Big Bear, Woodstock. Each missive from these trips felt like an acknowledgement of unspoken compromise: Yes, we will avoid most of our friends and family; yes, we will forgo crowds except in the name of justice; but also, we are so tired, please just let us have this and trust that we were safe.

The drive between LA and Palm Springs was quick enough we wouldn’t have to stop.

It’s a tremendous privilege to travel during a time like this: Travel is always a luxury, but the gap between those who can afford to move around for pleasure and those who can’t is wider than ever. Many people are immunocompromised, live with someone who is, are elderly, or have older loved ones who’d be more vulnerable to the virus. The decision to travel at all now hinges on the crucial question of whether you can do so without putting somebody else’s life at risk.

But pulling off a trip safely felt like it could open up a whole new era of possibilities. As if it could show us what constructing a life under COVID might look like next. It could give us something to cling to as the world waits out an effective vaccine. Though we are neither doctors nor epidemiologists, three factors stood out as my boyfriend and I started discussing whether we could vacation responsibly: testing, cleanliness, and isolation. We established self-made guidelines — don’t go far; get tested beforehand; clean like crazy; and stay physically far away from as many local businesses and other humans as possible — and set about looking for our own personal bubble.

We set our sights on Palm Springs. A common weekend getaway from Los Angeles, the drive wasn’t long enough that we’d need to use a public bathroom along the way. In order to feel the rewards of being away from home, our main goal would be a good pool. The pandemic complicated that search immediately. We found plenty of places with access to pools and other amenities — the problem was, most of them were too public. Personal space was not something we could compromise on.

After weeks of looking around, we found a house that worked for the slice of summer we were attempting to capture: a mini-universe that would allow us to ditch the drain of our normal routine, to spontaneously abscond to a place that is simply not where we usually are. When that location is equipped with trappings you don’t have at home? Incredible. The diamond-shaped saltwater pool was what clinched it. At this private vacation home, I wanted to outrun my anxieties, escape the claustrophobic drudgery of my daily life. I wanted, above all else, to be elsewhere. But I’d forgotten to worry about the washcloths and towels.

At this private vacation home, I wanted to outrun my anxieties, escape the claustrophobic drudgery of my daily life.

Spontaneity is not a required element of giving in to vacation-brain, but it certainly helps. Who doesn’t want to step away from their lives at a moment’s notice? It’s a kind of relaxation all its own — get frustrated on a Monday, do some aggro Airbnb-browsing on a Tuesday, and cruise out of town by Friday. The pandemic complicates this. An overwhelming influx of others were trying to escape their bubbles, snatching the best properties out from under us. With markedly higher stakes, a last-minute zip out of town requires a whole new level of organization and consideration.

Before booking, I double-, triple-, and quadruple-checked multiple grocery-delivery services to make sure we’d have access to food without having to enter a grocery store. We planned on grilling, and then living off the leftovers and select takeout. No dashing out to neighborhood bars or dawdling at tourist-trap restaurants. A mix of excitement and anxiety hit the moment my finger left the “reserve” button. There was the thrill — a place I’d never been, with a person I’d never been anywhere with. The release, of being somewhere other than my home for more than a few hours at a time. But also the fear — would a vacation house be the thing that finally took me down?

The views from the car were as strange as our new reality.

I’d never been to this part of the desert before.

Boyfriend and I got dual testing appointments on the Monday before our departure. Several friends had recommended the drive-through testing center that’s taken over Dodger Stadium. We rolled up to several lanes of traffic and an hour wait. Inching toward the testing site, Mayor Eric Garcetti’s image loomed on jumbotron screens telling us that Los Angeles would fight the COVID-19 crisis together. The video played on a loop, with audio you could access through your car radio or by downloading a sponsored app. Garcetti was periodically replaced by instructions for the test in both Spanish and English. Eventually a long grabber pole extended from a makeshift trailer and handed us our test kits. Phlegm deposited, we tossed the materials into an electric-blue waste bin and went about our days. The results landed in our inboxes 24 hours later. Both negative, a small relief that momentarily curbed the hum of background anxiety I’d grown accustomed to.

The blue sky was sharp against blond hills as we arrived in Palm Springs on Friday morning. We’d left Los Angeles shortly after daybreak to give ourselves plenty of time to explore the area’s various tourist instatraps by our lonesome before I had to work at 10 a.m. Given temps in the 100s and our desire to avoid other people, we wanted to give ourselves the chance to cruise through downtown before locking ourselves away in our little corner of the desert. The main stretches of town were deserted. Shopping centers and restaurants stood empty, the occasional jumbotron telling people to wash their hands and keep a safe distance. The restaurants bore banners, reminding passersby, “WE DELIVER.” I read them as “WE STILL EXIST.”

A private pool was our top priority.

Our Airbnb was a sweet ranch home in a deeply suburban subdivision. The decor was of the “LIVE, LAUGH, LOVE” variety — either a painfully ironic mission statement or a galvanizing display of perseverance, depending on your perspective. One wall of the dining room bore a sign in script that simply said, “GATHER.” We did not. Instead, I wiped down the dining table and settled into a day on Zoom while my boyfriend explored the house and settled in for a nap. Blissfully, the bed was as massive as a hotel’s.

Starving from the trip — we couldn’t duck into stores on the way for a quick snack — we settled on Mexican for lunch from a local place called El Huarache. We got two orders of asada fries topped with cheese, guacamole, and sour cream, and split an order of asada hard tacos. I threw in some horchata for good measure, and we wiped down every inch of the packaging before diving in. When our grocery order came in from Shipt an hour later, my boyfriend wiped that down too, while I tried to focus on writer’s room Zoom pitches instead of my ambient worry that the wooden table I was sitting at might secretly be a corona carrier. Overall, Friday didn’t start out so different from a typical day at home in the pandemic. It was a weekday, only elsewhere.

The elsewhere was what mattered. I couldn’t leave my psyche behind in Los Angeles, but a change of scenery can still pack a punch. Maybe that change is even more powerful now. At home I don’t have a saltwater pool that reminds me of the existence of the word “aquamarine,” or a sectional couch that in better times could easily fit 10 people, or pillows quite this fluffy. At home I don’t have a yard, or a pool, or even in-unit laundry. At home I am simply at home. This was at home, but different. At home but better — at least for the weekend. In a stroke of luck, that Friday ended with a work Zoom happy hour, so at 5 p.m. sharp my boyfriend handed me a perfect tequila sunrise crafted with Casamigos he’d brought from Los Angeles. By the time it wrapped we were both verifiably tipsy, and we christened the weekend with a jump in the pool. The saltwater was a balm against the heat of the night, and it finally hit — we were away.

The restaurants bore banners, reminding passersby, “WE DELIVER.” I read them as “WE STILL EXIST.”

Sadly, you cannot live in a swimming pool. The escape provided by a body of water and a body full of tequila is only temporary. Once we dried off, the anxiety was waiting for us.

There are certain things you give in to trusting when you travel. This is particularly true when you are traveling right into somebody else’s home. You do your best to trust that the sheets are clean — that the towels won’t poison you with a deadly virus — that the cleaning crew did their absolute best. I wiped down door knobs, the action feeling a bit like the crossroads so many people I know find themselves at with COVID-19 right now: Committed to not getting other people killed, but also determined to find the small compromises they can get away with. Seeing a friend here, taking a trip there. The small releases of the pressure valve. As I grabbed that black towel to dry my face with a knot in my stomach, I told myself that I had to unclench. There’s no point in a trip like this if you don’t let go of some daily worries. Caution is crucial, yes. So is picking your battles — and not instinctively giving into what the Atlantic dubbed “hygiene theater,” especially when the CDC insists that although it’s possible to contract COVID-19 via surfaces or objects, the “primary and most important method” of transmission is person-to-person. But tell my brain that after four months of wiping down every item that enters my home.

It felt almost hilariously pedestrian to find ourselves intimidated by the house’s propane grill. How to use the thing was a mental rollercoaster that had nothing to do with a deadly virus, or being Black people who’d passed multiple pro-police, pro-Trump sentiments on the way into a strange suburb. We just didn’t want to accidentally blow up ourselves or the beautiful house we were staying in. You know you’re in deep with anxiety when the question of whether you’re going to cause a literal explosion still counts as vacation escapism. At least for a moment, we weren’t thinking about the dystopian tragedy of the world around us.

We opted to have local groceries delivered rather than bring our own from home.

I was sous chef as my boyfriend moved our dinner plans to the kitchen. We’d chopped onions, potatoes, peppers, ears of corn, broccoli, asparagus, and Italian sausage for the grill. Now, we threw most of the vegetables into a wok and sauteed them in olive oil and seasonings. We threw the corn and the greens — the broccoli, the asparagus — onto sheet pans in the oven. We tossed shrimp with Old Bay we’d brought from Los Angeles and tossed those into frying pans along with the sausage. For the potatoes we raided the spice cabinets, sprinkling masala along with salt, pepper, and garlic. Simple as it seems, it wasn’t the kind of meal I usually have the attention span to create for myself in my daily quarantine life. It was as if purposely misplacing ourselves gave us permission to sink our brains into an activity we’re usually too drained to do together, inside a beautiful kitchen equipped with all the accoutrements I have been too lazy to buy. We ate in front of a Katherine Heigl movie from 2009 — and fell asleep in front of it not long after. We’d do the same thing at home. But that’s vacation for you — it still felt like release.

The next morning, we chopped the leftover peppers and onions and threw them into a scramble accentuated with bacon and sausage. We ate in front of Avatar: The Last Airbender while talking about the myriad chaoses of this era. I could feel the anxiety bubbling back up within me. The trip was a planned escape from that, but there’s no running away from your own brain.

We tried our best, though. After breakfast we slathered ourselves tip to tit to toe in sunscreen and jumped in the pool.

We spent at least five hours in that pool on Saturday. The temperature hit 105, but the gentle saltwater inoculated us. I reacquainted myself with what it means to give yourself over to the water, to just float with your face barely above the surface, trusting that it won’t consume you. We both revisited the flips and handstands we used to do in the summer waters as children. At times, we just threw ourselves over spaghetti-shaped pool noodles and let those carry us wherever they pleased. There was an ebullience, a lightness, and a sense of respite.

The end of the day brought the kind of exhaustion I’d missed: not brought on by the news cycle or a steep decline in fresh air and vitamin D. I’d been using muscles I hadn’t used in years. My energy had been provided and then leached away by the sun, the water, the heat. After showering, we collapsed, freshly moisturized, onto the massive couch, and ordered two big cauliflower-crust pizzas from Blaze.

We spent as much time as possible outside.

The next morning we took one last dip, one more momentary escape. Then we got to cleaning — again. Basic etiquette demands clean-up at the end of any weekend trip, even in the best of days. I wouldn’t strew detritus around a hotel room for housekeeping. Here’s hoping that the better days saw you following whatever instructions your Airbnb host left — stripping the beds, most likely.

We followed the instructions, taking the trash out and piling the used towels into the designated hamper. Then we set about our own tasks. We wiped down every surface we’d touched — nightstands, kitchen counters, cabinets, stove knobs. Remotes, light switches. Doorknobs came last, just before our final sweep-through to make sure we hadn’t forgotten anything.

We slipped back into our own apartments — carting along those same tired brains, slightly more sun-kissed.

Then we were back in the car, hurtling homeward. Hoping against hope that we’d made the right moves. Not knowing what the next weeks and months may hold for this still-new COVID world: whether travel home for Christmas to see our families will be possible or responsible; whether that starched-black washcloth would come back around to bite us in three to five days.

I wish I could say that we made another big, nutritious meal when we landed at my place, but we snapped right back to our usual exhaustion. We unearthed some leftover empanadas from my fridge and went to town on them. We ordered more takeout two hours later, and wiped down every inch of the packaging. Life slipped back into the claustrophobic resilience of our COVID routines. We slipped back into our own apartments — carting along those same tired brains, slightly more sun-kissed.

Weeks later, I’m still thinking about that pool. The cool, gentle way it held me, suspended me in space. Disappearing under its waters felt like slipping out of my current world and into another, even if just for a moment. The gift of awayness. It’s common, I think, to crave something slightly sideways from your daily state of being. Now my thumb instinctively clicks that small square on my phone. It swipes and swipes, exploring options. It daydreams. It reaches for what might be next, even as our own world sits just out of reach.

from Eater - All https://ift.tt/3aGvHrW https://ift.tt/3aCLwQs

Drowning my worries of germy kitchen surfaces and ethical COVID-19 concerns in the blissful oasis of a vacation rental pool

Alanna Bennett is a screenwriter and culture writer living in Los Angeles, and vacationing for the first time in Palm Springs.

We are so tired, please just let us have this and trust that we were safe.

The drive between LA and Palm Springs was quick enough we wouldn’t have to stop.

At this private vacation home, I wanted to outrun my anxieties, escape the claustrophobic drudgery of my daily life.

The views from the car were as strange as our new reality.

I’d never been to this part of the desert before.

A private pool was our top priority.

The restaurants bore banners, reminding passersby, “WE DELIVER.” I read them as “WE STILL EXIST.”

Sadly, you cannot live in a swimming pool. The escape provided by a body of water and a body full of tequila is only temporary. Once we dried off, the anxiety was waiting for us.

We opted to have local groceries delivered rather than bring our own from home.

We tried our best, though. After breakfast we slathered ourselves tip to tit to toe in sunscreen and jumped in the pool.

We spent as much time as possible outside.

We slipped back into our own apartments — carting along those same tired brains, slightly more sun-kissed.

from Eater - All https://ift.tt/3aGvHrW via Blogger https://ift.tt/2YeR66N

#Blogger #cooking #Eater #food #recipes

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casey-mitchell · 7 years ago

Text

--- LETTERS YOU ARE PROBABLY NOT MEANT TO READ (PART I)

It’s a small notepad, and not the first of its kind. The pages were brown, made out of a recycled material, and the cover a lighter shade, a cardboard-type surface where he would write down a month and a year, underneath which would be a random shade of color enclosed in parentheses for easier documenting.

Many others of the same variety were stacked in a box underneath his bed, containing letters in his (barely discernible) too-cursive handwriting. Letters the world was never meant to read, but after the Bad Year---or rather, the Bad Day---it had been suggested to him that writing ‘letters’, as it were, to himself, but especially to people he’d like to talk to, would be helpful. People who made him feel some kind of overwhelming feeling, whether sadness of joy or anger or confusion.

He was never good at verbal communication, or at least, getting his intentions across. Something usually got in the way, and if it wasn’t his lack of good timing or his general incapability to empathize with the situation, then it was his trouble with words. This was a way to express his feelings without the pressure of having to say the out loud.

Due to recent events, and in no particular order, some of these letters will now be disclosed. For your consideration:

Dear Debbie,

I think you have cool hair. It’s red, like a fire tree, which I thought was especially funny when you wore that green shirt during lunch to be ‘festive’. I also think you have a very soothing voice, like those jazz singers Dad likes so much. I hear they have to smoke a lot of cigarettes to sound like that, but I wouldn’t recommend smoking a lot of cigarettes or even just one cigarette because those are bad for you. My boyfriend used to

My friend

I used to know someone who smoked a lot, but he stopped doing it too much, which I was glad to hear, but I don’t know about that anymore. Also, I have to tell you something, and I want you to promise me that you won’t get mad.

I hated you when I first saw you because my dad loves you now which probably means he doesn’t love me or Reece or my mom anymore, and I hated thinking you were gonna be my new mom when you’re just 10 12 years older than Reece, which is weird, because 12-year olds can’t be moms, I don’t think. But then you started talking to me and you asked me what I wanted for dinner and I didn’t know what I wanted for dinner but you made me my favorite (my favorite is the flat pasta noodles with roast chicken strips and red sauce and lots of the white powdery cheese) and you told me that you knew because Dad told you what my favorite was. Which was surprising because I didn’t think Dad knew about my favorite things at all! And also, you were nice to me, which I liked. And you tell good jokes, which I also liked.

I wish to see you again, and if Dad were to marry you, I think I would be okay with that. Maybe. I think so. I just don’t know if Mom would be okay with that, but you don’t have to worry about her coz she’s not your mom.

Love, Casey J. Mitchell

Dear Mr. Carlson,

I don’t know why you won’t let me see Jericho anymore. I thought I was doing a good job of looking after him and walking him outside like we used to. But then you won’t answer my calls anymore and I tried to visit your house the other day, but no one was opening the door for me. I’m very worried. I hope you’re not mad at me. I promise I didn’t do anything bad to Jericho. Please, I want to hear from you soon.

Love, Casey J. Mitchell

Dear Mom,

I’m sorry me and Reece aren’t spending Christmas at home this year. I asked you several times if you wanted to come with us to California, but you called dad a Limp Dick Fuck-Up, A Dickless Son-of-a-Bitch, and a Cocky Bastard With Wrinkly Ballsacks, which I’m not sure why you keep referring to his genitalia that way, but you sounded mad, so I didn’t ask you anymore.

Also, I just wanted to tell you that I know you are having a very hard time because of what Dad did, but I know you love him still because you would not be hurt in this way if you didn’t love him still. I love Dad still. I was angry for a while. I might still be. But I can’t be angry if I know the thing I’m angry at him for is something that I am also guilty of. Don’t worry, Mom, I’m also angry at myself for that. I am very angry, actually. So angry, that sometimes I want to break my face in the mirror when I look at it but breaking mirrors means bad luck, and I don’t want more of that.

Anyway, I will call you when we get to Los Angeles. It’s supposed to be warm there, so I might take a nap first when we arrive because I get sleepy when it’s warm. I hope Nana and Uncle Paul and Uncle Mike and Aunt Katie make your Christmas happy even without me and Reece even if you never look like you’re happy when we’re there, anyway. But I love you very much, even when you’re a little mean sometimes, but I know that’s just how you say ‘I love you, too’. I will see you soon, okay? I love you, I love you!

Your Casey

Dear Kevin (@thenameis-kev),

I want to say I’m sorry again. I know I said it a lot before, and you said I can’t fix what I did with ‘sorry’, but I need to tell you that I really am sorry, though. I don’t think I can be sorry enough so I’ll stop for now. I just want to let you know that I wish I didn’t do anything. And you were right, even if I did do it, anyway, I should have told you the first time. I just get so scared. Of what Wesley will do. Of what you would do. I didn’t want to hurt you because I know what I did was bad, but I got scared. And I got confused. Not about what I was doing, but what I should do after I already did it. I love you. You know that, right? I still love you because you are nice to me and you are not like Wesley, who’s not at all nice. I know that now. He is not nice. He is NOT nice. He’s a jerk who makes me feel bad all the time and I hate him and I HATE him but I don’t hate you. I could never hate you and I didn’t do what I did because I hated you. I guess I just did it because I hated Wesley for making me do things I don’t want to do and I hated myself because I did them, anyway, and so I guess I needed to do bad stuff to someone, too and I’m sorry that you were that someone I did the bad things to. But I’m stupid and I wish I didn’t because you don’t deserve that. I was mean and I was terrible and I was selfish and I was stupid, just so stupid, still so stupid and dumb and I don’t like myself very much right now I wish I did not do anything I wish i just told wesley to go away i wish i wasn’t myself right now because i don’t like it i don’t like this feeling but i have to feel it because i made you feel it and i’m so so so so sorry i’m sorry i’m sorry i’m

Dear Reece (@reece-mitchell),

I’m sorry I was being a jerk at the gas station. I was just in a bad mood because we’ve been in the car for several hours and I was mad because it didn’t end up being several hours because it was just three two hours and I was already bored and I hate your car. I wish you have a better car. Like that one friend you had when you were still in school. He had a cool car. But I appreciate you driving us, anyway. I know you hate airplanes because of the thing that happened before even though I still like airplanes but I didn’t want to ride alone. I liked being in the car with you, though. You being in it with me makes it less bad. I’m sorry I was a jerk again. I’ll try to be less of a jerk next time.

Love Always, your brother Casey J. Mitchell

Dear Kevin,

I don’t understand why, when a loved one dies or if someone gets fired from their job, people say I’M SORRY when they really mean to say I WISH THAT TERRIBLE THING DID NOT HAPPEN TO YOU but people just somehow feel it would be easier to apologize for something they didn’t do and we tell them it’s okay but it’s really not okay. I know I hurt you and I told you I was sorry because I did do something wrong, but you didn’t say it was okay. Which is fair, I guess, because I didn’t think it was okay, either. I still don’t think it’s okay, actually. But I want it to be. I want it to be okay so bad and I don’t know how to make it okay.

I wonder now if a loved one died or if you got fired from your job and I told you I was sorry even though I wouldn’t have anything to do with it, if you would tell me IT’S OKAY at least just so I can hear you say it. That is bad of me to think, isn’t it?

Your C

Love, Ca

Casey

Dear Jack (@jackoconnors),

Thank you for the magnet. It has now found its home on my fridge and it’s doing a very good job of holding a takeout menu from Papa John’s up so my brother can call for pizza when we’re hungry. I am also proud to say that a little piece of Maine is in my house and it’s all thanks to you!

Oh, by the way, I meant to ask you when the best time to go to Maine is. I’ve always wanted to go there but I always want to go everywhere but now I want to go to Maine even more because I want to see the lighthouse on the magnet. Is that the lighthouse you went to when your dad yelled at you? I still feel bad about that. My dad does that, too. Sometimes. Well, not so much anymore because we don’t see each other anymore. Not a lot, anyway. I was just at his house in California, though. We talked and it was nice because he was nice at that time. I’m sorry I’m talking about my dad when your dad yelled at you. That was inconsiderate, right? I am trying to figure out.

Anyway. I hope you like the magnets I gave you and that you have more drawings to use them for. Or maybe you have your own takeout menu from Papa John’s. Or I don’t know where you like your pizza.

Love, Casey J. Mitchell

Dear Kevin,

I wish you are happy right now and I miss you and I saw a bird today and I remembered you hate birds and I miss you

Casey

#sp

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sweetcontradiction · 7 years ago

Text

Sunset on September 12

Synopsis: Happy Two Years

“Good morning, darlin’”

Miranda smiled as she opened her eyes, rubbing them with her fist as she adjusted to the sunlit room. Patting his ever familiar skin she grinned, not moving her head from the comfort of his chest as she replied.

“Good morning…”

As she kissed his chest, Miranda stayed put basking in the sunny September morning. Feeling her boyfriend’s hand move south and resting on her ass, she smirked. The same routine tended to happen every morning they woke up together. She didn’t know whether it was a comfort thing or whether he just really liked her rear end but either way she didn’t mind.

“Happy anniversary, honey.” Anderson smiled, his head leaning down to plant a series of wet kisses on his girlfriend’s forehead.

Her ears perked up, her body now conscious enough to process the date. She immediately turned her body around and leaned herself up on her elbows as her boyfriend’s hand crept under the material of her booty shorts.

Leaving a sweet simple kiss on his lips, Miranda ruffled his bedhead, smiling to herself when he gently smacked her from behind.

“I can’t believe it’s been two years…”

“I can!” Anderson quipped, his gaze not leaving Miranda. “It’s been a long long time…”

He laughed as she playfully smacked his bare chest before she slung her arm across his stomach and lay back down; her head finding his strong shoulder and her fingers the straggly hairs of his chest.

“I didn’t even know you this time two years ago…” she sighed, completely amazed at how she had turned her life around in the space of 24 months (or he had).

“But you were close to knowing me…”

“I wasn’t even gonna go to Spencer’s show! I was crying in the bathroom twenty minutes before I had to leave!” She cringed at the memory. “I was planning a date night with Cher and Delty cuddled up in bed.”

“And somehow you ended up in mine.” Anderson laughed.

“Hush. You’re lucky you didn’t disappoint. You know nothing comes between me and my babies.”

Rubbing her thigh with his spare hand, Anderson smiled and left a kiss on top of her head. If you had asked him two years ago where he’d be today, he never would have believed it. But as much as he thought about how the blonde laying in his arms had turned his life around, he too thought about just how far she had come. She was shy, tentative, apprehensive about every man who came her way when he first encountered her. Insistent on no relationships, on no men wrecking her life again and yet here she was laying in his arms celebrating two years together joking about it.

“Are you happy about where we are?”

“What do you mean?” Miranda asked, her fingers fiddling with the hairs on his chest.

“Where we’re at…in our relationship.”

“If you told me that night, I’d be waking up to your face for the millionth time and would be kissing you good morning for two years, I would have laughed in your face. But I wouldn’t change it for the world. You were worth it.” she smiled.

“You cheese.”

“I know…” she grinned, grabbing his arm with her hand. “I can’t help it. Do you feel the same?”

“You never get old to me.” he told her honestly, his tired blue eyes looking straight into hers. “I knew that day you were gonna be someone special.”

“Look who the cheese is now!”

Anderson laughed, feeling her legs wrap around his as they laid tangled in each other’s limbs.

“Did you really think that?” Miranda asked after a moment of consideration.

“Of course I did. When I was onstage I saw you dancing with your beer in hand and knew you were someone I wanted to get to know.”

“That’s not true!” she teased. “No narrative is as perfect as that!”

“Okay…I saw you in the crowd and thought you were hot. That better?”

“Yeah.” she smiled, leaning up and leaving a kiss on his cheek. “If it makes things any better, I thought you were hot too!”

“I know you did. You didn’t take your eyes off me. My band laughed when you came to find me backstage…”

“I DID NOT!” she laughed, flipping herself over and sitting upright on her elbows as her ass touched their bedsheets. “I went backstage to see Spencer…you just happened to be there.”

Anderson smirked, nodding his head to let her know he would go along with her version of events. Deep down he knew it was a mix of both; she wanted to congratulate her friend but she also wanted to know who the guy she had just watched sing was. It hadn’t taken her long from the second he finished performing to ‘bump into him’ backstage. But maybe fate was crazy like that.

“Do you remember what I said?” she asked. “After Spencer introduced us?”

“Hi, you were amazing out there and I’d really like to get in your pants tonight.”

“Shut up. I’m serious.”

Anderson smiled, resting his hand on top of her lower back so that she’d cuddle into his side. As she snuggled in and patted his stomach, he kissed the top of her head before continuing.

“You told me your name was Miranda even though Spencer had just introduced you and I knew who you were anyway. I liked that. Then you handed me your beer and said I must be thirsty after performing.”

Miranda grinned, her top teeth touching her bottom lip as her boyfriend recalled their first encounter perfectly.

“I didn’t even like that kind of beer!” he added. “But I drank it anyway because I liked you.”

“Is that when you knew?”

“Knew what, babe?”

“That you liked me?”

“Not really.” he admitted. “When you left to go get yourself another drink, that’s when I realized. I couldn’t take my eyes off you!”

“I noticed.” she smirked.

“I prayed you’d come back and that it wasn’t an excuse for you to leave. As you walked away that’s when I knew I wanted to see you again, get to know you properly. And also when I got my first glance of that cute ass of yours.”

Miranda laughed, raising her butt under the sheets slightly as his fingers spread out to cover its entirety.

“But I did come back. Everyone always wanted something from me but you wanted me. I couldn’t wait to talk to you some more.”

“Shame the only action our tongues got was each other’s throats when you got back.” he laughed.

Miranda joined in with his laughter, her arm growing tighter around his middle as she thought back to their first breathless kiss. One she prayed she’d be able to relive time and time again. And that wish had come true. Two years later and she was still left in awe.

“I felt guilty about that…”

“I was the one that made the first move…you had nothing to feel bad about.”

“I thought you’d think I was easy.”

“It didn’t even cross my mind.” Anderson smiled, his hand pushing a strand of blonde hair that had escaped her pony tail behind her ear. “It only made me like you more.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

His grin grew as Miranda’s body leaned up, her tiny frame making its way up his chest in a desperate bid for his lips to meet hers. As she crashed them against his, Anderson smiled into the kiss, both his hands resting on her lower back as she refused to pull away. With her legs now straddled on either side of his hips, he took the opportunity to flip them over. Still refusing to pull her tongue away from his, Miranda’s lustful eyes fluttered as she wrapped her arms around his neck, her feet pushing into his boxer clad butt in an attempt to pull him closer.

“Let me take you back to two years ago, baby…”

__________

Miranda grinned as her boyfriend walked back into their bedroom dressed in her robe. With the pink satin material draped around him, she didn’t even notice the breakfast tray he was holding.

As he made his way over to her side of the bed, he pecked her swollen lips before leaving the tray on her thighs. When he had jumped back under their sheets, Miranda chuckled as he kept the dressing gown on.

“It suits you, babe.”

Anderson laughed, running his hand down the cerise material before blowing her a kiss.

“Those are yours.” he instructed, pointing to the eggs co-ordinating with her own side of the bed.

Miranda nodded her head, thinking it was a little weird he was assigning their food but kept her mouth shut. He clearly wanted the day to be perfect so she wasn’t going to harp on about a detail so small.

As she looked down at all the food he had prepared; the fruits, the bacon, the eggs and orange juice; an exact replica of the first breakfast he made for her, her heart swelled. The effort he had put into celebrating today made her love him even more than she thought was possible. But as she dug in, eating a few grapes and apple slices, taking sips of her orange juice and devouring the bacon, she felt her stomach cramp at the sight of the eggs. Her mouth turned queasy at the thought as she looked down at them, boking subtly. She knew she wasn’t going to be able to eat them for Anderson’s sake.

“You’re not eating your eggs?” Anderson asked, his heart sinking a little.

“They’re making me feel nauseous…”

“Did I cook them okay?”

Even with his encouragement, Miranda knew she couldn’t suck it up and lie.

“They look amazing, babe. I don’t know. I just don’t feel like them.”

Anderson nodded his head in defeat, a little taken aback but Miranda thought nothing of it. It was a special day, both their emotions were bound to get the better of them.

“You have any plans for the day?” she questioned in an attempt to change the subject.

“I don’t think so.” he began. “As long as I spend it all with you.”

He didn’t miss the wide grin on her face.

“Maybe we could go for a walk around one of the trails later…” he suggested, his hand resting in her inner thigh. “With the dogs.”

Miranda nodded in agreement, leaning over to delicately kiss his lips as a thank you for breakfast and his other plans. She was sure that until that time came around, they’d be spending the entire day in bed. As she leaned over to press her naked body into his, Anderson grinned but stood up, taking the tray from the foot of the bed and walking over to the doorframe with it.

“I better take this downstairs in case we knock it over.” he laughed.

Miranda agreed, licking her cracked lips at the thought of a second round.

As Anderson left the tray on the counter to clean up later, he threw the leftover bacon to the dogs, confident at least one of them would eat it. He figured what Miranda didn’t know couldn’t hurt her but his heart ached as he threw the first boiled egg into the trashcan residing by the refrigerator. Carefully, he removed the top of the second slit eggshell from its lower half. As the two parts slowly separated, he sighed, seeing the diamond sparkling from the egg white. In one swift motion, he transferred it into his own hands, examining it to make sure it wasn’t dirty. With the ring in his palm, Anderson groaned. Things never went according to plan when it came to them.

___________

“Babe!!” Miranda shouted as she waited by the front door with Cher in her arms. “What are you doing in there?”

Seconds later Anderson appeared, Delta Dawn walking by his feet as he adjusted his jacket and made his way over to her. A quick kiss one the lips later and they were good to go with both dogs in tow. Ideally she wanted Thelma and Louise to join them but they had fallen asleep by the fire and she didn’t have the heart to wake them.

As the sun began to fall and the sky turned a variety of oranges and pinks, Anderson took Miranda’s hand in his; the dogs strolling in front of them. Making their way down the scenic path, Miranda felt her stomach begin to churn. She had waited all day for this time of day to happen, all day excited for their memories but more importantly about what lay ahead.

She remembered when he had pulled in her for a kiss when the sky was almost identical to today’s, finally giving in to the temptation after they had watched the sun set together. Now, that same slightly boring activity was sacred, something she’d cherish until the day she died. She could never forget how she had watched the sky dance with pigments of pinks and reds before she was caught by surprise as Anderson pulled her in for a kiss. A kiss she never knew someone could experience, one that could knock you to your knees.

After forty minutes of mindlessly wandering around their land, Anderson smiled when they reached the lake. As his gaze met the deck chairs Miranda had set up, complete with beverages and a grill, he couldn’t wipe the childish grin off his face.

“I thought we could watch the sun set together…”

“I love you.”

Pulling her in tightly, Anderson attacked his girlfriend’s lips, his hands wrapping around her lower back, ensuring her body was as close as it could possibly be. Miranda threaded her fingers through his hair before residing them safely in the contours of his back, wishing the kiss could last forever. From two years ago today, she could feel the love that had slowly blossomed intensify. A similar sunset on the exact same day had changed her life, become a monument in her heart.

When she pulled back, her face pink from lack of oxygen, she bit her lip. She watched as the dogs neared the edges of the lake, their toes dipping in but then running back to land - too afraid to take the plunge. She figured there was no time like the present.

“Mike…” she said hesitantly. “I have something to say.”

“Well, that’s funny because I have something to say too…” he smirked, his hands reaching out to take her smaller ones in his own. He played with her fingers, stroking each one individually before his eyes met with hers. He winced as he watched them fill up, part of him worried she already knew what he was going to ask. His only assumption was that she’d say yes but now last minute doubt was setting in. “Let me go first.”

“I really think I should —“

“No, I’ve got to say it now.” he insisted.

Miranda’s eyes slanted as he whistled and the dogs came running over - a trick he had taught them after he moved in. She smiled when Delta lay down by his feet, her tongue hanging out in satisfaction.

“Two years ago you walked into my life and I prayed you’d never walk back out. That morning I woke up thinking it was just like any other day; another day being lonely. But that night I met you and I don’t know, I guess everything fell into place, the stars aligned and I knew I wanted to keep you in my life. That you could make me smile when no-one else could.”

“Mike…”

“No, don’t interrupt.” he laughed at her. “Everyday since then I’ve done everything I could to keep you in my life, do everything I can to make you happy because you make me happy. And I want it to stay that way…forever.”

Miranda’s eyebrows rose as her boyfriend knelt down to Delta. She wasn’t sure if his proclamation of love was to her or her four-legged baby but her breath hitched in her throat when he took something shiny off her purple collar.

“Miranda…”

“Oh god, oh god, oh god.”

“Will you marry me?”

As he knelt down on one knee, his hand shaking a little as he held the band of silver out to her. His face squinted when her eyes filled up, her hands cupping her own cheeks as she thought it through in her head. She had formed the words but they weren’t coming out. He saw her chest fill with air as she took a deep breath before closing her eyes, words finally escaping her lips.

“I’m pregnant.”

Anderson’s knees almost crumbled beneath him as he looked up at the hysterical blonde. Neither of them knew what to say, both of them overwhelmed by each other’s bombshell.

“You-you’re what?”

“I’m pregnant.” she repeated. “I set this all up to tell you and —“

“B-b-but. We weren’t trying…“

“I know…” she smiled awkwardly. “I guess God had a plan for us.”

With the ring still in his grip, Anderson placed it safely in his clenched fist as he stood up, his knees muddy as he engulfed his girlfriend - and maybe soon-to-be fiancee - in the tightest hug he could manage. Her feet flew into the air as her red summer’s dress blew in the wind before she wrapped her legs around his middle, her face burrowing into the crook of his neck as she let a few tears fall. She knew he would never reject the news but part of her was terrified to see how he would react.

“When did you find out?” he breathed, his hands cupping her face as he brought her back onto solid ground.

“About a week ago…” she replied nervously. “But since it was so close to our anniversary, I figured I’d wait.”

“And you’re okay with you know — being pregnant?”

The massive grin spread across her face was the only answer he needed.

“I love you.”

Miranda was taken aback as her boyfriend cuddled himself into her chest, his face resting in the soft familiarity of her boobs. Her own eyes leaked when he lifted his head and saw he was tearing up. He had completely forgot about his own announcement.

“How many weeks, I —“

“I have something I need to say first…” she winked, falling to her knees so she was at his level. Coaxing his clenched fist open, her heart flipped when she saw the shining diamond in his grip. It was greater than anything she could have ever imagined. She didn’t even want to know how much it set him back.

“Yes.”

Anderson’s face lit up as he took the diamond out of his hand and placed it on her left one, both of them crying as it slid on perfectly. With the sun setting before them and the dogs watching on, Anderson thanked his lucky stars his pregnant fiancee couldn't eat her eggs that morning. This was better than he could have ever dreamed it. Sometimes love truly did act out of spite.

After embracing for five minutes, no words being spoken as they relished in the unprecedented silenced joy, Miranda lifted her head up. Her tear stained face smiling goofily at his. The grass was wet from the day before; soaking their knees, their food by the grill surely rotting and their refreshments getting warm but she didn’t care. Her life couldn’t be any more perfect than it was right now.

“I’m going to be so fat at our wedding.” she laughed.

“I can’t wait!”

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the-scot-blog1 · 8 years ago

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Scrolling through Twitter one afternoon, I stumbled upon an amazing little feature by blogger Liam McNally – he had posted a text post with a number of different film titles from each year of his life. Bloody brilliant.

So I’ve decided to give it a go. I’ve been on this wonderful planet for almost 19 years now, and although I wasn’t alive for the release of Jurassic Park, there have been a fair few phenomenal films in my lifetime.

This is my longest post to date – I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. (2730 words – bloody hell).

1998: Pleasantville

Oh my God. I didn’t realise how difficult this post was until I searched ‘1998 films’ into Google. The Trueman Show, Saving Private Ryan and The Wedding Singer all in the one year? God, anyone alive and kicking back then must have been having the best year of their lives.

But despite the 10 minute long decision process, I’ve decided on Pleasantville. I watched it when I was very young and hadn’t ever worn a bra, much less watched anything like that bath scene. Despite my mortified eyes however, the film will always be one of my favourites. I remember seeing the main character for the first time and just constantly thinking god, this is a weird film for Spiderman and Elle Woods to be in.

1999: 10 Things I Hate About You

Again, this year is bloody difficult. The Iron Giant, The Mummy and Toy Story 2 – they just don’t make films like them anymore. Although I wasn’t a fan of Star Wars Episode 1 – it has to be one of my least favourites. Anyway.

10 Things I Hate About You was one of the first chick-flicks I ever watched. I knew Heath Ledger as ‘the strangely cute singing guy from that movie’ before I knew him as the Joker. I felt like I related to Kat – I wasn’t big on getting a boyfriend, and I was pretty much destined to be a wee bit strange since birth. Plus her name is so cool.

2000: X-Men

At the time of watching, I was right into Harry Potter. I loved the idea of special schools dedicated to supernatural people – it made my own secondary school even more boring. I’d often just sit in class and daydream about being able to fly or have the ability to imitate people.

But in all honesty, the one person I was most envious of was Quicksilver. And not because I wanted to save the world or any of that pish. No. When I sat in my third year physics class, the smells from the cafeteria always decided to sneak up the vent and attack my nostrils. I would get so unbelievably hungry, and my stomach would always tell my classmates just that. So I used to daydream about running faster than time, sprinting down into the dining hall, grabbing a steaming hot spicy chicken panini (and maybe some soup, if I could manage) and munching it before heading back up to class. Yeah – I wanted superpowers so I could eat my lunch early.

2001: The Princess Diaries

AH. I’ve got a feeling film directors are deliberately messing with me right now. Legit, I had a look at the films from 2001, and I was floored. What an amazing year. The first Harry Potter movie came out this year – the beginning of an absolute era. Shrek debuted as well – but I was always slightly offended when people heard my Scottish accent and compared me to a giant green ogre when I travelled abroad. The first Lord of the Rings film came out as well – see what I mean about them messing with me?

But despite all of my favourite film franchises beginning in this year, I gotta say, the Anne Hathaway/Julie Andrews combo that is The Princess Diaries absolutely stole my heart. I had never related to a character more – I had frizzy hair, buck teeth, oversized glasses and a tendency to prioritise spending time with my cat over hanging out with real-life friends. So when she went through her beautiful princess transformation, I was floored. I mean, I’m still waiting for that to officially happen, but I’m still holding out hope that I have a long lost relative that’s gonna tell me I’m a princess (no, not you mum).

2002: The Pianist

Originally, I had written the first Spiderman as my favourite film of 2002. But that quickly changed.

The first time I watched The Pianist, I was 13 years old in a stuffy history classroom. I still hold the belief that this was definitely not the right time to watch this film. It felt as though my teacher didn’t have any material to convey how horrific the Holocaust really was, and so instead she stuck on one of the most distressing and hauntingly beautiful films of all time. I didn’t fully appreciate it back then – I cried when I watched the horrors that took place in the ghettos, and got even more upset when immature people around me started to laugh.

But I watched it for a second time a few years later. Although I cried again, I gained a much deeper understanding of the film. I still listen to the soundtrack when I want to write a particularly moving or sad chapter of a book. The film has such a disgusting beauty to it, it is astounding – it makes me question my morals when I say it is one of my favourite films.

2003: Peter Pan

Again, there were so many amazing films this year – I can’t explain my guilt at not choosing Finding Nemo or the last instalment of the Lord of the Rings trilogy.

But I found my first love in the live-action remake of Peter Pan. Just a few years after it was released, I found myself watching it time and time again. I was young, and there was a boy with messy hair and a fairy to keep him company. Honestly, I was head over heels. I grew to absolutely despise Wendy Darling. How dare she take away my Peter, with her stupid bow and annoying accent. And the fact that Lucius Malfoy was Captain Hook just made it that little bit better.

2004: Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban

You’re lying if you say that this isn’t one of your favourite films.

Again, it was tricky not choosing The Incredibles or Mean Girls – even The Notebook made it to my shortlist. But the way the Weasley twin’s hair sat and the introduction of the marauders just made my life complete. Except for Pettigrew. Fuck you, Pettigrew. I’d read the book before I saw the film, and while I was slightly disappointed with the previous two, I didn’t stop talking about PoA for months. In fact, I still talk about it. It’s great.

2005: Sky High

This year was going to be beautifully simple – I absolutely love Star Wars Episode III. In fact, it was possibly the only film I was certain of when I started this post. But, never the less, I looked at the list of 2005 films anyway, and was reminded of the best thing I’ve ever watched. Ever.

Remember earlier in the post when I said that I frickin LOVE schools for supernatural people? WELL HERE WE GO AGAIN. I watched Sky High recently with my friend Ross, and even although the acting was abysmal and my cringe levels were off the chart, I couldn’t help but smile. As if the flying school bus wasn’t enough, the euphoria I felt when Will and Warren won Save the Citizen was something I don’t think I’ll ever feel again.

2006: Pan’s Labyrinth

I feel like if I choose any film other than this, my Spanish teacher would kill me. Again, it’s another film that we watched at way too young an age in my opinion. Sure, it looks all mystical with fairies and creepy monsters with eyeball hands, but it has this underlying story-line of the horrors of war and escapism that you can’t fully understand until you’re a bit older.

I watched it again when I was 17 and studying Advanced Higher Spanish, and knew the film as ‘El Laberinto del Fauno’. I could go on for 20 minutes about this film and its director (which I did by the way, in the final exam).

2007: Ratatouille

WHAT A FILM BTW. I’ve always loved Disney – my sister and I would spend nights staying up way past our 8pm bedtime watching Aladdin and Peter Pan, with a fair few stolen After Eight mints from my mum’s bedroom too. This film just completely blew me away – the animation was new and cool and it was set in PARIS.

Even now, ten years later (omg ten years wtf) I still think about the scene where Remy combines the cheese and grapes, and little fireworks and swirls form in his mind. I once ate a McDonald’s chip and then took a sip of my strawberry milkshake, and legit I’m pretty sure that’s what happened in my mind.

2008: The Chronicles of Narnia – Prince Caspian

Enter stage left – my second love. At the age of nine, Prince Caspian had everything I could ever want in a guy (or so I thought). He had a sword, long hair, an accent I had never heard before and he fought Peter Pevensie (I seem to hate a whole lot of Peters).

I thought it was the coolest combination of Lord of the Rings and Harry Potter, and it was while watching this that I began to have a crisis about my true Hogwarts house. I had always thought myself a Gryffindor – I had the scarf, the pens and the egotistical ‘I’m-better-than-you’ attitude that all young Gryffs seem to adopt. But I found myself siding with Edmund Pevensie about a whole lot of things. I didn’t fully accept Slytherin as my true house till a good few years later.

2009: Star Trek

I watched Star Trek before I even touched Star Wars, and I was absolutely hooked. It was what introduced me to science fiction, really. After Star Trek, I moved onto Doctor Who, and although I couldn’t really get into the Star Trek TV series, I found my love of sci-fi growing.

It was my love of Star Trek that caused me to accidentally find Star Wars. My brother would constantly go on about C3PO and lightsabers, and I decided very early on that it wasn’t for me. But after trying (and failing) to find Star Trek online, I accidentally found Star Wars instead, and thus began my love of the Skywalkers and giant wookies named Chewy.

2010: How To Train Your Dragon

Other than Aladdin, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III was one of my first (of many) cartoon crushes. I thought he was the most adorable lil guy ever – he was clumsy, dorky, and absolutely loved animals. He was perfect. I thought the animation was absolutely incredible, and the Scottish accents were just a bonus. I much preferred being compared to Gerard Butler than a green ogre, in all honesty.

And don’t even get me started on how he looked in How To Train Your Dragon 2 – oaft.

2011: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part Two

HPDHP2 is right up there with the Prisoner of Azkaban. I remember heading to the midnight release of the last Harry Potter book – I was decked out in a Scream robe that we’d stitched a Gryffindor badge onto, with curly hair that reached my shoulders. And yes, I won the costume contest. But I remember staying up that night and reading the book until 7am, and having to head to school the next day without a wink of sleep. And yet I didn’t care – I had just finished the last book in a series that completely shaped my childhood.

So when the movie hit the cinema screens, I was praying that I wouldn’t be disappointed like I was with some of the others. And apparently, my prayers were answered. Even although the Deathly Hallows is split into two parts, I always consider them the one film. And it’s most certainly my favourite.

2012: The Perks of Being a Wallflower

This film really got to me. I bundled up in warm clothes to see it in the cinema with my friend Ailish, and it was the first ever film I had cried at. I’d read the book before hand and cried my eyes out, but the severity and meaning of the story didn’t hit me until I watched the film. Logan Lerman and Emma Watson were two of my favourite stars at the time: I knew Emma from Harry Potter obviously, whilst Logan stole my heart as Percy Jackson.

But what struck me most was the way I related to these characters. I often found myself standing next to the wall in school dances, watching people having a good time but being physically incapable of joining in – it was as if my feet were constantly glued to the floor. It was comforting to know that I wasn’t alone in this, and it lead to me being able to open up to my guidance teacher about my struggles with anxiety.

I also wrote about the original book in my piece ’13 books to help get over a break up’ – check it out.

2013: The Hobbit – The Desolation of Smaug

When the making of the Hobbit was first announced, I was ecstatic. But my excitement somewhat wavered when I heard they were turning into three films. It was a small book – tiny in comparison to the three Lord of the Rings texts – how on earth would they stretch this wonderfully small work into three different films?

And yet somehow, they managed it, and subsequently made one of my favourite films of all time. Why, you ask? The barrel scene.

2014: Guardians of the Galaxy

Not gonna lie, this one was a toss up between the hilarious Chris Pratt and the absolutely adorable Baymax. But, as much as I love Disney’s tale of superpowers and love therapy in Big Hero 6, it didn’t win this year for me. The best thing about the film is without a doubt the soundtrack – even four years later, I still listen to it when I wanna get psyched.

I wanted to cosplay as Gamora for last year’s MCM Comic Con in Glasgow so bad, but then I realised that I’d more than likely sweat off the green body paint and the leather would more than likely get quite uncomfortable.

2015: Star Wars – The Force Awakens

Up until 2015, I was losing interest in Star Wars. I’d watched the films countless times, but as much as I adored them, I couldn’t stop thinking about the shabby effects. So when Finn, Poe and Rey lit up my local cinema screen in December 2015, it was as if I was born again. I suddenly dived back into the world of lightsabers and gun-wielding Wookies, and I genuinely haven’t looked back since.

And although I cried my eyes out when that thing happened, I agreed with it – it was about time.

2016: Finding Dory

I actually travelled Australia for a month last year – I left school and just decided to get away from everything and everyone for a little while. So after I met my brother and we began to explore Sydney, we decided what better place to watch the latest instalment in Finding Nemo than the place where it’s set??

I was slightly disappointed to find out that Nemo and Dory did not, in fact, stay in Sydney for the duration of the film, but even so – it was just amazing.

I was going to write a segment for 2017 but then I realised – I legit haven’t watched any new releases yet. I’ve simply not had any time. And yes, that means that I haven’t even watched the new Beauty and the Beast. For shame.

But even although I haven’t watched anything yet, there are tonnes of films that I’m looking forward to – Guardians of the Galaxy Vol 2, Spiderman Homecoming, and Star Wars: The Last Jedi to name a few.

Hey, maybe I’ll revisit this post at the end of the year and add in my favourite film.

I’m tagging the fantastic Emily and Lucie in the ‘Film for every year of my life’ tag.

What are your most loved films from these years? Do we share any favourites? Or do you think my choices are just downright wrong? Let me know!

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18 films in 18 years: My favourite stories since I was born was originally published on Ellan

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erinmansfield · 4 years ago

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Does Pull Up Increase Your Height Best Cool Tips

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Can We Increase Height By 6 Inches

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#Does Pull Up Increase Your Height Best Cool Tips #Grow A Few Inches Taller

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carriejonesbooks · 6 years ago

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When I was a kid at Bates College, I spent a lot of my time feeling like less. My family had been kind of poor after my step-father died. My nana would stand in line to get us big orange blocks of commodity cheese for the week to supplement our $30 grocery budget Every week my mom would yell at her that we didn’t need that. She always took it.

My mom didn’t answer the phone because she was so afraid of credit card companies calling. She’d make me do it and lie that she wasn’t there.

I still hate answering the phone, even the cell phone, even when it has caller ID.

Anyway, when I went to college I wanted to forget all that. I wanted to be an intellectual like everyone else. I wanted to have gone to private school in Manhattan or Conneticut, have a summer home in the Hamptons and clothes that weren’t from K-Mart, which was sort of the WalMart equivalent back then, but worse.

I got over all that because I knew it was pretty shallow. What I had a harder time getting over was class issues that had less to do with materialism and more to do with hatred and intellectual history.

In one of my directing classes, one of the sexier straight guys actually announced about Beckett, “People who are not wealthy don’t care about this. A truck driver doesn’t watch public television or listen to NPR. They don’t care, they’re too busy humping and eating and drinking.”

My dad was a truck driver. He watched public television. He listened to NPR. I didn’t want to think about him humping. He ate food. He didn’t drink. His parents had been prohibitionists.

In one of my playwrighting classes the professor announced, “The working people of this country don’t give a shit about nuclear power. They don’t give a shit about a man of color.”

When I was in elementary school my dad would bring him with him to protest the same nuclear power plant that my step dad was helping to build. He helped me try to get New Hampshire to recognize Martin Luther King Day and do a hundred other civil rights things. He cared.

And one of my college friends would love to say, “Carrie is too poor to be pro intellectual.”

He’s a minister now. That still doesn’t make what he said right.

And one of my female poetry teachers told me over and over again, her voice trilling up with her patrician accent, “Carrie, you have the potential to be a poet, but your voice is too raw, not refined, not artistic enough.”

My voice was poor. My cadence was public school. I was not from rich. Every sentence I spoke showed that.

They still do.

Those are just four of the incidents that made me both angry and intimidated and focused, but in the back of my head it just inflamed my self doubt. I could never be a poet because I wasn’t wealthy, private-school educated, my parents weren’t intellectuals. I could never move people with words because my words were too stark and my sentences too short. I would never fit in because I didn’t have the background that most of the other students had.

And then two things happened. I read Sherman Alexie, a not-wealthy Spokane and Coeur d’Alene who despite his issues with women, impacted me positively. Maybe because I never met him.

And I met Seamus Heaney in real life.

Seamus Heaney came to our college at the invitation of Robert Farnsworth, who was an awesome poet and professor. He met with students, he gave a reading and we all got to hang out with him at a reception.

“I can’t go,” I told my boyfriend at the time.

He bit into his pizza. He was always eating pizza. “Why not?”

“Because it’s Seamus Heaney,” I answered staring at the little bits of sausage on the pizza before I plucked them off.

“So?”

“Seamus Heaney!”

“So?”

I didn’t know how to explain. Seamus Heaney was THE poet, the Nobel Prize winner. He was Irish for God’s sake. Those people were gifted with words. They had so many amazing poets… Heaney, Yeats, Wilde, Clarke, Moore. I was from New Hampshire. We had Robert Frost but pretty much every New England state tried to claim him.

Heaney wrote things like:

“A hunger-striker’s father

stands in the graveyard dumb.

The police widow in veils

faints at the funeral home.

History says, Don’t hope

on this side of the grave.

But then, once in a lifetime

the longed for tidal wave

of justice can rise up,

and hope and history rhyme.”

You will regret it if you don’t go,” my boyfriend said. “I’m going to just be playing Leisure Suit Larry anyway.”

So, I went, as anxious as if I was going on stage myself. Heaney transfixed me with his amazing baritone and bear-like presence. And his words… Of course his words… And when I met him afterwards, I was terrified until he grabbed my hand in his and said, “So you are a poet?”

And I said, “No.”

And all he did was nod and say, “Oh, yes you are.”

But in his eyes was this knowing, this connection, and maybe it wasn’t really there. Maybe I just saw it because I wanted him to understand me, because I wanted someone to get who I was and who I wanted to be. Or maybe not?

I don’t know, but one second later my professor said, “Oh, yes she is. I told you about her. She is like you.”

And then one of them said something about growing up not wealthy and I can’t remember the exact words, but what I do remember is that I finally felt understood. Later, I looked up Seamus Heaney’s past, about how his dad was a farmer and neither of his parents were big on words really, not in the intellectual way that everyone in college seemed to be. I found out that he was like me a little bit not because he was a poet and I was trying so desperately hard to write just one decent poem, but because we were both human, that we both came from humble places, that we both looked in people’s eyes when we said hello.

And that was enough for me. That was enough for me to believe in myself.

Seamus Heaney performed a miracle when I met him. He made me believe that I could be whatever the hell I wanted to be and that it didn’t matter how hard I had to fight or work or not fit in. What mattered was that I wanted the miracle of being a writer, of metamorphosis from Carrie the poor neurotic kid from Bedford, New Hampshire into Carrie Jones, the neurotic best-selling author who lives on the coast of Maine.

He gave hope and miracles in his poems and in his person and I am so thankful for his existence and so sorry for the world’s loss.

“The main thing is to write

for the joy of it. Cultivate a work-lust

that imagines its haven like your hands at night

dreaming the sun in the sunspot of a breast.

You are fasted now, light-headed, dangerous.

Take off from here. And don’t be so earnest.”

I wrote this post back in 2013 when Seamus Heaney died, but in one of my student packet’s this week, I referenced Heaney and then yesterday I saw this Liam Neeson video (randomly) where he was talking about Heaney, so… there you go. I’ve reposted it.

Here’s Seamus Heaney reading his own poem, “Blackberry Picking.”

Do Good Wednesday

Scary, right?

People are fixing it.

You can help with poetry and kids. These images are from Get Lit’s website and Get Lit is making a difference.

“Get Lit was founded in 2006 after Diane Luby Lane created a one-woman show about the power of words and toured colleges with iconic Chicano poet Jimmy Santiago Baca. After the show closed, she couldn’t bear the thought of cutting off the work completely. She started teaching classic and spoken word poetry in two high schools, Fairfax and Walt Whitman. When the semester ended… the students wouldn’t leave. They insisted on meeting after school. The rest is history. Today, the curriculum has expanded to almost 100 schools, and the Get Lit Players are the most watched poets on the internet. Curriculum requests flow in from Mexico to New Zealand.”

Get Lit “uses poetry to increase literacy, empower youth, and inspire communities.”

Get Lit works – 98% of Get Lit Players go to college, and 70% get scholarships!

Here are Get Lit’s specific needs and how you can get involved.

Writing News

Carrie’s super excited about the upcoming TIME STOPPERS book coming out this August.

This middle grade fantasy series happens in Acadia National Park in Bar Harbor, Maine and it’s all about friendship and magic and kids saving their magical town.

An imaginative blend of fantasy, whimsy, and suspense, with a charming cast of underdog characters . . . This new fantasy series will entice younger fans of Harry Potter and Percy Jackson.” – School Library Journal

“Sticks the landing . . . The world building is engaging . . . between the decidedly wonderful residents and the terrifying monsters who plague them.” – BCCB

“Amid the magic, spells, adventure, and weirdness of this fantasy are embedded not-so-subtle life lessons about kindness, friendship, and cooperation.” – Booklist

“A wild and fresh take on fantasy with an intriguing cast of characters. Dangerous and scary and fun all rolled into one. In the words of Eva the dwarf, I freaking loved it!” – Lisa McMann, New York Times bestselling author of The Unwanteds series

“Effervescent, funny, and genuine.” – Kirkus Reviews

It’s quirky. It’s awesome. It’s full of heart. You should go by the first two books now. 🙂

Time Stoppers

Time Stopper Series

Time Stoppers Front and Back Covers – US versions

CARRIE’S BOOKS

For a complete round-up of Carrie’s 16-or-so books, check out her website. And if you like us, or our podcast, or just want to support a writer, please buy one of those books, or leave a review on a site like Amazon. Those reviews help. It’s all some weird marketing algorhthym from hell, basically.

OUR PODCAST

Thanks to all of you who keep listening to our weirdness as we talk about random thoughts, writing advice and life tips.

We’re sorry we laugh so much… sort of. Please share it and subscribe if you can.

Please rate and like us if you are feeling kind, because it matters somehow.

Love

The Poet Who Saw Me – Wednesday Writing Wisdom When I was a kid at Bates College, I spent a lot of my time feeling like less.

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