#I think I would have to move to Houston and live with 5 girls

[rubbish78]

Our union president is shaking rn

Love how this one flight attendant was like: “let’s vote this bitch out of office” and she got everyone to email repeatedly for a recall

I need to be like that girl , damn like just be like bam and get shit done

Union doesn’t do shit for us!!!

We are the lowest paid regional airline in the industry!!!!!!!!!!!

[dina-thomas]

Candice Patton / She/Her / Cis Woman | Have you met DINA THOMAS yet? They’re the THIRTY-FOUR year old EVENING NEWS ANCHOR that lives around FINCH PARK. I think they’ve lived in Seattle for ONE MONTH. From what I’ve heard, they’re HEARTFELT but once you’ve known them long enough you’ll find they can also be TEMPERAMENTAL. When I think of them, I usually think of GOOD DAYS by SZA. (OOC: Jessa, 24, she/her, EST)

BASICS!

nickname(s): dee, didi age: thirty-four date of birth: june 29, 1988 zodiac sign: cancer gender/pronouns: cis woman sexual orientation: pansexual romantic orientation: panromantic residence: finch park occupation: evening news anchor for king 5 news

Dina Emerson Thomas grew up in a suburb of Houston, Texas in a huge tight-knit family that's been part of the community for decades. Her father, Maxwell, worked as a semi-truck driver for touring artists whereas her mother, Samira, was a homemaker. Her father made a name of himself within his industry, and he brought up his three children up in a good home. Dina was the name from of her great-grandmother on her mother's side, and Emerson was her paternal great-grandmother's name. So many traditional names were inherited, so it was almost as if she had a lot to live up to.

Being the baby of the family as well as the only girl meant that Dina grew up somewhat spoiled and protected. Though, she wasn't protected in the way of being sheltered. Instead, her family helped her learn to stand up for herself. They wanted to protect her, but they also knew that they wouldn't be around all the time. So instead of fending off people who might hurt her, they gave her the tools necessary to defend herself.

While her father and brothers taught her to be tough, her mother taught her to be classy and elegant. Her mother taught her to be sensitive to others and empathetic to their issues. She also taught her to love the softer things in life and made sure that Dina was aware that being a free-spoken woman didn't mean she couldn't embrace her childlike wonder or romantic side. Growing up in a well rounded environment allowed her to become the woman she is today - a lovely mix of sweet and sassy, confident and independent, caring but not too naive.

Dina did fairly well in school because there was always someone to ask for help when it came to her school work. What she didn't do well at, surprisingly, was social interaction. As outgoing as her family members seemed to be, Dina was a bit more on the reserved side in public and chose to stick to herself or the one or two friends she made that moved with her through school. Her parents worried a bit about her development, but eventually gave up, figuring she'd come into her own and break out of her shell when she was ready.

Dina was never really that rebellious teenager that would sneak out in the middle of the night, but she never did adhere to a curfew. She often came home later than she was supposed to only to get yelled at in the morning. She would excuse herself by telling them she had a poor sense of time, which didn't really work. Her parents were never awfully strict though, so they would forget about it later on. They knew she wasn't going out doing drugs. That was something she never experimented with.

Entering into high school was a bit scary for Dina. Everyone was talking about crushes on boys while she looked around and had crushes on boys and girls. Not knowing what she was feeling, she talked to her parents about it and they reassured her that they would love her no matter what. It allowed Dina to feel comfortable about exploring her feelings without worrying about if she would be unaccepted. After dating a few different people, she knew she was pansexual and felt comfortable with finally labeling herself.

When it came time to apply to college, Dina knew that she wanted to go into something that was in journalism. Her passion for telling stories kicked into high gear after spending her years in high school behind an anchor desk for the school's news, and getting the feel of what it would be like to be a broadcast journalist. After looking through her options, she settled on going to school in Missouri and eventually graduated with a bachelor's degree in journalism. Afterwards, she accepted an offer from a local station in Atlanta, Georgia where she worked hard to gain respect. In the mean time, she fell in love with Sunny Fletcher and soon found herself in a serious relationship. However, Dina called it quits after many years into their relationship when she began to feel like she was an afterthought to Sunny, not wanting to be in a relationship that mirrored her parents where she spent more time missing her partner than being with them.

Dina spent her first night after the breakup in bed, crying. She realized that she was terrified of being alone. Before the breakup, she felt like her life had been set in stone for her by Sunny's job and had too much pride to tell her ex-girlfriend how she really felt. But Dina looked at her life and kept pushing forward. Her mother started nagging her about the life that she had given up. Her father tried to support her as much as possible since she was still his little girl.

After spending many years in Atlanta, Dina felt like she needed a change of scenery to help her feel like herself again. She was ready to try to be happier in a place that didn't have memories tied to her ex. And so, Dina picked a spot on the map and drove to Seattle and wanted to make a name for herself. It wasn't long before she got a job offer to replace one of the evening news anchors who worked at King 5 News before she did. Dina moved into a small place in Finch Park and started subletting her place in Atlanta after she left it. Seattle was going to be her new home.

Now she's trying to make her life happier by going out and shedding the life she had in Atlanta. Granted, she sounds like a definite outsider in this big city. Maybe she would be better off staying in Atlanta and powering through it, but she has a plan. That plan: just be happier. Though, to be honest, asking her to describe how she truly feels at any given time would be a disaster and while she is always happy to put on the mask - whoever was necessary to be - it never feels completely natural. But she is good at hiding her emotions.

It's only been a year after their breakup and Dina is still feeling some remnants of their relationship. Dina is coping with life on her own and sometimes she gets mad at herself as she could have been making lifelong plans with Sunny by now, but she pulls herself together. And in this new environment, she's already working on getting the most out of the city. But there's one thing she forgot about Seattle before she took the leap... Sunny Fletcher also lives in the city.

HEADCANONS!

She's not a super great cook and when she knows she has to be a host, she brings home carry out and fixes them up a bit and makes them kinda fancy. Other than that, she's usually dining on takeout. That also means that she's looking forward to enjoying and exploring Seattle's exploding restaurant scene.

She really loves traveling - a bucket list goal of hers is to travel to each continent around the world.

She enjoys being active outside and exploring national and state parks. She loves hiking, and can't wait to explore more of the areas around Seattle.

Playing board games and visiting bars are common weekend activities for her.

She is a huge music fan - specifically 90s r&b! She grew up playing the piano and occasionally still finds time to play.

She's also is a huge sports fan. She follows Houston sports extensively, especially the Houston Rockets. When she isn't working, you can catch her with some sort of game on if she isn't at one in person.

She loves volunteering and is always looking to meet people around the community.

She grew up doing competitive dance and cheer. While in Georgia, her favorite activity was teaching contemporary and hip-hop-inspired routines at various dance studios in Atlanta and hopes to make that happen in Seattle.

Other activities she enjoys are working out, going to brunch, shopping and watching Netflix.

She has trouble expressing her emotions in a positive way. Meaning that she tends to avoid them and how she feels sometimes until they bottle up and explode, leading to arguments with loved ones where she doesn't have the words to express how she feels. She's a lot more sensitive than she lets on. The kind of person that would cry and then five minutes later be like "well, that was embarrassing as fucking shit, so let's never mention it again." So… she leaves. Which is how she ended up in Seattle, to be honest.

She will do anything if it's a dare/competition, case and point: reigning champion at an Atlanta restaurant for eating the most hot dogs in two minutes (and she's literally so proud about it).

Dina says she likes scary movies but actually ends up hiding her face in someone's chest for the entire movie… literally. She peeks out and then hides again. It's pathetic.

She used to help out with her grandmother's yard sales and would hustle people for twice their money on items that she had an attachment to.

(injury tw) Once broke her leg falling out of a tree she had climbed, and had her brothers decorate the cast with various doodles and drawings.

(nsfw tw) She has a sex toy collection, self explanatory.

likes: sunsets, journaling, mountains, audiobooks, homecooked meals, dancing, concerts, the spring season, oversized sweaters, found family, pizza, tea, word puzzles, solo dance parties, cheese, candles, nature, red wine, movie dates, hugs, spicy food, stargazing, new clothes, sushi, high heels, the beach, shared playlists, cats, gold jewelry, leftover chinese food.

dislikes: cooking, coffee, waffles, true crime tv shows, rainy days, driving, cherries, early mornings, intense and emotional conversations, socks, .

aspirations: make new friends in town, further her career in journalism, providing a platform for people to voice their concerns about their community, continue to report ethically while disseminating information people want to, need to, or ought to know.

pet-peeves: people who talk with their mouth full, people who don't respect service workers, people who don't use their manners, wearing wet clothes, waking up before her alarm clock, finding out she has lipstick on her teeth.

PLOTTING + WANTED CONNECTIONS

PLATONIC

Okay, so, Dina is new in town. She's extremely quiet, but she's friendly. She's not one to go out and actively search for people/friends, but she's an absolute sweetheart so she'd be more than open to friendships with as many people as possible. She works as an evening news anchor for King 5 News, but she spends most of her time in Seattle trying to make her life over, so really if anyone is willing to go out on a limb and make her their friend, she would literally do anything they want. That's just how she makes friends. Her friends, however, are going to have to be able to deal with someone who may literally lock herself in her house with a large pizza and not speak to anyone for days. Also, her friends will have to deal with her going a little overboard on making people happy. Overall, she has a good reputation and she's very affectionate and caring. Once someone is in her heart, they have a place in it forever.

While she can sometimes be a tad too intrusive, she rarely shares much about herself that she considers too 'heavy'. The kind of person that would suggest waving away issues instead of confronting them (or just jumping in headfirst without much thought), she's probably not the best person to go to for solid advice but she does a good enough job of making those she cares about feel better, even if it's only for a little while.

Surprisingly not that big on the party scene, but she does frequent such spaces since she likes having the company around, so she's probably gathered a fair amount of party friends during her stay here.

ANTAGONISTIC

As easy as it is for Dina to try and befriend people, it might be even easier for her to rub people the wrong way. Sometimes on purpose, sometimes not. And while it unfortunately isn't too hard for her to fall out of contact with friends, keeping enemies is something that she's far better at doing. She's got a knack for holding grudges and being a pain in the ass.

Peace, love, more tolerance… is what Dina would say if some people didn't make her eyes roll into the back of her head more times than she could count, if she bothered to count at all. Every now and again, Dina has these moments when she's so eager to argue with someone that she could jump into arguments she has no place being in, largely because she can never keep her opinions to herself. And why should she? In her mind, everything she says is brilliant and also the cold hard truth, and anyone that says otherwise should be ready to have Dina talk their ears off about how wrong they are. Plus, she has to flush out all that frustration she never addresses somehow, right?

ROMANTIC

Outside of going on dates here and there and maybe one or two one-night-stands, Dina hasn't really had too much of a love life since she moved to Seattle. Granted, she recently got out of a pretty serious relationship just a year ago. She is a hopeless romantic, so she wants to be swept off of her feet eventually. Also, her mom is jumping down her throat to just settle down and have kids, so she's probably going to be putting that off as much as humanly people.

I'm pretty open to any kind of connections, so hit me up on here or on Discord!

CONNECTIONS

FRIENDS - Dina is an easy person to get along with, she has a competitive streak, and hates admitting when she is wrong sometimes. She wants to have a group of friends that she can confide in when she needs to talk to someone. She can be serious most of time, especially with work, but she has a comedic side where she can be funny. They do almost everything together, go out to eat, going to concerts, exploring Seattle, and sporting events. These friends can be people that she has recently met or we can plot something else, etc.

SUNNY FLETCHER (ex-girlfriend) - tbd.

MELODY GUERRERO (co-worker) - tbd.

NATE HEWITT (neighbor) - tbd.

[mwgdollyparton]

Dolly Parton: A Biography

Dolly Parton is a country music singer and songwriter, actor, entrepreneur, and philanthropist whose career has spanned nearly seven decades. Much of her work, including her songs and film work, has addressed women’s rights, and her signature over-the-top style has become the site of much social and academic debate regarding how she chooses to express her gender and sexuality (Miller; Edwards 30). While Parton may have a complex relationship with the term “feminism,” she is nevertheless regarded as a feminist icon to many people, and therefore merits further discussion as an influential woman in music (Luu). In this essay, I will present a biography of Dolly Parton’s career with an emphasis on how she has addressed her gender and sexuality, including through a closer examination of two of her songs, as well as discussion on how she has confronted public scrutiny over her personal life and physical appearance.  

BIOGRAPHY

Parton’s love of music started at a very early age. Born in 1946 in Locust Ridge, Tennessee, Parton was the daughter of a poor sharecropper, one of 12 children living in a one-room cabin (Watson). Parton grew up “surrounded by music,” as her mother taught her Appalachian-style songs, and she sang in her grandfather’s church as she learned to compose and play guitar (Library of Congress; Watson). The genres of music she was exposed to included “…early country, honky-tonk, Appalachian music, gospel and bluegrass, and even jazz and blues,” which would prove highly influential for her musical compositions throughout her lifetime (Library of Congress). Parton began publicly performing at the age of 10 and had her first song recorded at the age of 12 (“Puppy Love,” 1959) (Library of Congress). By the age of 13, she was performing at the Grand Ole Opry and was even introduced onstage by Johnny Cash (Zoladz).

Parton moved to Nashville in 1964, just one day after graduating high school, and signed a recording contract (Watson; Library of Congress). During this time, she wrote and recorded with other musicians, and she released her first solo hit, written by Curly Putman, “Dumb Blonde,” in 1967 (Library of Congress). While Parton didn’t write this song herself, she nevertheless identifies with its critique of gender stereotypes, with lyrics including, “Just because I’m blonde, don’t think I’m dumb, cause this dumb blonde ain’t nobody’s fool” (Parton “Interview With Stern”).

 She rose to national fame when she joined The Porter Wagoner Show in 1967 (Watson). It is important to consider the gender norms at play during this time, as she was cast to replace Norma Jean, who left the job to get married, as the beautiful “girl singer” of the show, the counterpart to Wagoner’s southern humor; interestingly, Parton herself secretly married her husband, Carl Dean, against her record label’s wishes, who believed she would sell better as a single woman (Library of Congress; People). We can see with both Jean and Parton how women’s relationships could affect their careers, and how the men in charge felt they were entitled a say in such matters. Parton and Wagoner recorded many popular songs together during her time on the show, but as her fame began to outpace his, tensions grew between the two, and she left the show in 1974 (Country Music Hall of Fame). Parton left Wagoner with a parting gift, dedicating her song, “I Will Always Love You” (1974) to him; this would later become a mega-hit when Whitney Houston recorded it for the film The Bodyguard in 1992 (Country Music Hall of Fame). Leaving The Porter Wagoner Show was an empowering step for her to remove herself from a “male chaperone” and establish control over her career, and her subsequent successful crossover into pop-country, “Here You Come Again” (1977) established Parton as a superstar (Edwards; Watson).

As Parton continued releasing a steady stream of hits, her film career took off when she starred alongside Jane Fonda and Lily Tomlin in 9 to 5 (she also wrote and recorded the title song, which was released to great success). The film was a hit, and, furthermore, addresses issues of gender inequality in the workplace, including sexual harassment and the gender pay gap (Miller). Parton also went on to star in, among many other films, The Best Little Whorehouse In Texas (1982) as a brothel madame and Steel Magnolias (1989), a film that largely focuses on the close bonds of female friendships (Watson). Parton’s participation in these three films reflects her willingness to engage in a wide range of issues that affect women.

Parton continued to push the boundaries of her career, all the while continually releasing music, and has achieved great success as a businesswoman. She opened her theme park, Dollywood, in her hometown in 1986, completely revitalizing the economy of East Tennessee, which now welcomes over 3 million visitors annually (Dollywood; Watson). Parton used her career successes to finance her philanthropic pursuits as well, founding The Dollywood Foundation in 1988, which would eventually implement the Imagination Library, a program that provides free books to young children, in 1995 (The Dollywood Foundation).

GENDER EQUALITY IN PARTON’S LYRICS

Interestingly, Parton does not label herself a “feminist,” yet somewhat contradicts herself at times, saying, “I suppose I am a feminist if I believe that women should be able to do anything they want to do” (Luu). This type of “imperfect feminism” is seemingly forgiven by her fans, however, and it’s important to note that it’s certainly intentional and likely a business decision, as country music tends to have a conservative audience (Luu; Zoladz). Nevertheless, throughout her storied career, Parton has directly addressed issues of gender equality and gender stereotypes many times through her lyrics, including but not limited to “Dumb Blonde” (1967), “The Bargain Store” (1975), “Eagle When She Flies” (1991), and “19th Amendment” (2018) (Edwards). By placing feminist messaging into playful, catchy tunes, they become accessible to a wide range of audiences. Here I will discuss Parton’s 1968 song “Just Because I’m A Woman” and “Backwoods Barbie” (2008) to highlight her engagement with feminist ideas.

Parton wrote “Just Because I’m A Woman” (link to her performance on The Porter Wagoner Show here) during a period known as the second wave of feminism, in which women were fighting for, among other critical issues, equal employment opportunities and women’s reproductive rights and sexual autonomy (MasterClass). Situated thus, we can see how this song speaks to the feminist issues of the time. Parton admonishes a man who has rejected her for her previous sexual activity, calling out the hypocrisy of men sleeping around yet putting women down for the same actions. Parton sings, “Yes, I’ve made my mistakes but listen and understand, my mistakes are no worse than yours just because I’m a woman,” and “Now a man will take a good girl and he’ll ruin her reputation, but when he wants to marry, well, that’s a different situation.” She further goes on to shift the burden of shame, which is so frequently placed on women, to the man, singing, “Now I know that I’m no angel, if that’s what you thought you’d found, I was just the victim of a man who let me down.” Here, Parton’s lyrics reflect the power imbalance between men and women.

Parton’s “Backwoods Barbie” (link to music video here) confronts the stereotypes she has experienced based upon her appearance which say that she must be unintelligent or unworthy of respect. She tenderly sings, “I’m just a backwoods Barbie, too much makeup, too much hair. Don’t be fooled by thinkin’ that that goods are not all there. Don’t let these false eyelashes lead you to believe that I’m as shallow as I look cause I run true and deep.” She goes on to ask for kindness, singing “I’ve always been misunderstood because of how I look,” “Even backwoods Barbies get their feelings hurt,” and “I’m just a backwoods Barbie just asking for a chance.”

The music video for “Backwoods Barbie” cuts back and forth between shots of Parton as a child joyously running and playing, getting glammed up with makeup, and grown-up Parton, wearing her signature figure-hugging clothing, indicating that regardless of what others make of her appearance, this is making the little girl within her very happy. Furthermore, the adult Parton encounters several people participating in increasingly outlandish circus-like activities on her stroll, confronting the viewer with the ridiculousness of focusing on her personal appearance, as if to ask, “Why are my looks the topic of conversation?” It’s noteworthy that even while Parton sings about her appearance, the camera angle never sexualizes her, but rather zooms out to show her entire body, representing the wholeness of her as an individual, as we walk through Dolly’s world with her.

PERFORMANCE OF GENDER AND SEXUALITY

As a woman with a distinctive physical appearance, Parton further confronts gender and sexuality in how she presents herself. Her signature look features voluminous bleach blonde hair, heavy makeup, long painted nails, and an emphasis on her prominent chest, and has made her “…one of the most scrutinized female bodies in the history of modern celebrity” (Zoladz). The public discourse surrounding Parton’s appearance can often become quite ridiculous; for example, rumors circulated online that she does not show her arms or hands because she is secretly covered in tattoos (Zoladz). Throughout her career, she has been bluntly asked very personal questions in interviews regarding her physical appearance, and we can look to a 1977 interview with Barbara Walters as a particularly egregious example of the line of questioning Parton has endured. In the interview, Walters interrogates Parton on her physical appearance, asking Parton if her breasts are surgically enhanced, wondering why such a beautiful woman would wear so much makeup, and implying that she is a “joke” and a “hillbilly” (Parton “Interview With Walters”). It is also noteworthy that Walters questioned the legitimacy of her marriage, as her busy career keeps her away from her husband much of the year (Parton “Interview With Walters”).

Debate concerning Parton’s physical appearance has reached academic circles as well, though there is not necessarily consensus. As one scholar put it, “It is common in popular music for female singers, from Madonna to Beyoncé to Lady Gaga, to play with sexual objectification and criticize it while also trying to use it, and scholars tend to disagree widely on how successfully female singers can use sexual objectification without being imprisoned by it” (Edwards 30). On one hand, some believe that Parton is, in fact, “trapped by her own sexual objectification,” but, alternatively, some scholars note that her gender performance is “highly staged” and theorize that she has intentionally turned herself “…into a parody of a sex object in a way that both banks on gender stereotypes and critiques them” (Edwards 29, 27).

Regardless of which side of the argument one may fall on, Parton asserts comfortability and ownership over her image, admitting she based her look on a sex worker in her hometown, whom she called “the town tramp,” believing her to be glamorous; indeed, Parton has said that “more is more” when it comes to makeup, and she felt calls to tone down her look by men in the music industry was awful career advice (Weisholtz). Parton is also open about the extensive cosmetic procedures she’s had done, humorously quipping, “It takes a lot of money to look as cheap as I look” (Carter). In this sense, Parton invites society to question assumptions we make about women and how they are “supposed to” look and present themselves.

It is not only Parton’s own sexuality that she is outspoken about, however, as she has always been an advocate for LGBTQ+ fans and is considered a “queer icon,” and, despite her religious beliefs, has “…called out Christians for judging gay people, saying: ‘If you’re gay, you’re gay. If you’re straight, you’re straight. And you should be allowed to be how you are and who you are’” (Barker). Parton’s song “Coat of Many Colors” (1971) has become an “LGBTQ+ anthem” and her 2005 song “Travelin’ Thru,” which she wrote for the 2005 film Transamerica (which, admittedly, is problematic through a contemporary lens for casting Felicity Huffman to play a transgender woman) speaks about the transgender experience (Barker; Edwards). Her status as a queer icon has also been cemented, in part, by the 2018 film Dumplin,’ which tells the story of a teenage girl, a major Dolly Parton fan who struggles with body image, whose life is changed for the better when she meets a group of Dolly Parton drag queens who instill confidence in her.

CONCLUSION

Dolly Parton’s iconic career has earned her many accolades, including 54 Grammy nominations (of which she won 10) as well as a Grammy’s Lifetime Achievement Award, and she was inducted into the Country Music Hall of Fame in 1999 and the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 2022 (Artist: Dolly Parton; Watson; “Dolly Parton.” It’s awe inspiring to consider her incredible career accomplishments not only as someone who came from such a humble upbringing, but also through the lens of women in the music industry. Country music is a male-dominated, typically conservative genre (especially white, male, heterosexual), yet Parton has been able to overcome the odds and create a career during which she has consistently championed women and LGBTQ+ groups (Paulson; Barker). Dolly Parton’s tenacity, business acumen, and unswayable originality has made her beloved by fans and critics alike as she has made the message of gender equality more widely accessible, and broadened country music’s audience, paving the way for other country artists who followed in her footsteps (Library of Congress).

Works Cited:

“Artist: Dolly Parton.” Grammy Awards, https://www.grammy.com/artists/dolly-parton/17205.

Barker, James. “How Dolly Parton’s Coat of Many Colors became an LGBTQ+ anthem.” The Conversation, 29 September 2021, https://theconversation.com/how-dolly-partons-coat of-many-colors-became-an-lgbtq-anthem-168226.

Carter, Krista. “Dolly Parton’ Beauty Evolution From the ‘60s to Today.” In Style, 9 January        2023. https://www.instyle.com/celebrity/transformations/dolly-partons-changing-looks.

Country Music Hall of Fame. "Dolly Parton." https://www.countrymusichalloffame.org/hall-of-fame/dolly-parton.

“Dolly Parton.” Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, https://www.rockhall.com/inductees/dolly-parton.

Edwards, Leigh H. Dolly Parton, Gender, and Country Music. Indiana University Press, 2018,                 pp. 27-63.

Library of Congress. “Dolly Parton, 1946-.” https://www.loc.gov/item/ihas.200152702/.

Luu, Christopher. “Dolly Parton Explained Her Unique Stance On Feminism.” In Style, 29 May               2020, https://www.instyle.com/news/dolly-parton-feminist.

MasterClass. “Second-Wave Feminism: A History of Second-Wave Feminism.” MasterClass, 7 Oct. 2022, https://www.masterclass.com/articles/second-wave-feminism-explained.

Miller, Lexi. “Dolly Parton’s fight for women’s rights.” The UWF Voyager, 19 March 2022,

Parton, Dolly. Interview with Barbara Walters. Dolly Shuts Down Patronising Interview In Style. YouTube, uploaded by Happy Mag, 6 July 2021, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=If-oWqUYzlQ.

Parton, Dolly. Interview with Howard Stern. Dolly Parton Tells Howard “I Look Like a Woman but I Think Like a Man.” YouTube, uploaded by The Howard Stern Show, 16 Nov. 2023, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jv2WtFtH_uA.

Paulson, Ken. “Country music sexism: Women fight for equality on the airwaves, and country radio shrugs.” USA Today, 24 Feb. 2020, https://www.usatoday.com/story/opinion/2020/02/24/country-music-sexism-women-artists-fight-discrimination-column/4820142002/.

People. “Dolly Parton on Her Marriage to Husband Carl Dean: ‘He Loves Me The Way I Am.’” YouTube, uploaded by People, 22 Jan. 2022, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TvJcyv8fwZw.

The Dollywood Foundation. “The Dollywood Foundation.” https://imaginationlibrary.com/the     dollywood-foundation/. 

Watson, Jada. “Parton, Dolly (Rebecca).” Grove Music Online, 26 Nov. 2013, https://www-oxfordmusiconline-com.libproxy.newschool.edu/grovemusic/display/10.1093/gmo/9781561592630.001.0001/omo-9781561592630-e-1002225003?rskey=sFp8OA&result=1,

Weisholtz, Drew. “Dolly Parton on why she’s never wavered from her signature look.” Today, 19 April 2022, https://www.today.com/popculture/popculture/dolly-parton-worst-career-advice-town-tramp-inspired-look-rcna24968.

Zoladz, Lindsay. “Is There Anything We Can All Agree On? Yes: Dolly Parton.” The New York                Times, 21 November 2019. https://www.nytimes.com/2019/11/21/arts/music/dolly         parton.html.

[bylightofdawn]

My work decided randomly at the end of last year that they were going to move the cap for PTO from 100 hours to 80.

I am a very dedicated (read stupidly obsessed with being dependable and diligent worker bee) Capricorn that exudes so much Capricorn energy you can prolly read it from orbit so suffice to it so say I have over 100 hours of banked PTO and was at risk of losing 20 some odd-hours. This is after I took two vacations last year so yeah I was kinda not happy with this new policy.

Soooooo I requested that time off before it expires on the 15th and ya girl now has 5 whole days back to back off starting tomorrow.

I'd originally planned to make a trip to Houston but sadly, I can't afford it thanks to getting the plague after my last mini vacation in December and my check on the 31st wasn't what I was expecting it to me.

Which, eh no big deal I'll just enjoy this time and do a staycation instead for the next 5 days.

I'm going to do some spring cleaning and rearranging of my apartment. My mother has been trying to fob some furniture off on me for years so I've decided to get rid of this 96 inch metal baker's rack that was housing all of my dvds and various fandom crap like lose figures and the like.

On Sunday, i went through all my DVD's BluRays etc, took them all out of the boxes and recycled them and started to put them into a binder. I had to buy a BIGGER one because 270 something wasn'r enough. All together with some DVD's being doubled up like bluray/dvs combos. I filled up a 400 space binder.

What. The. Fuck.

And that's not counting the things I didn't get rid of because it was specialty cases or things like my Red vs Blue and Star Wars stuff or ANY Of my many, many TV shows. I think I'm going to get a separate binder for those and then keep the cases but put them in a box to free up space so I can hopefully get shit down to one book shelf so I can get a small couch or love seat in my living room.

That ain't happening tomorrow though. Tomorrow is me time, I am going to play video games, read and write and then start cracking on that stuff on Monday.

The only thing that could make this vacation better was if I could get a massage or something stupidly self-indulgent like that.

So here's crossing my fingers and hoping I make some head-way in my new JasPlo fic. I'm debating breaking my own rules and posting things as I write rather than once I've finished just to see if the stress of keeping people waiting would be enough to motivate hibernating motivation or if the stress would just make me not want to write at all.

I mean is it really the end of the world if I have a WIP that hasn't been touched in six months? I dunno. I feel like my own innate sense of guilt would eat at me and I'd prolly crater like a house of cards the first time I get some shithead self-entitled comment asking why I haven't updated.

Which, LBR prolly won't happen cause how many people are going to be reading some super rarepair fic to begin with and I don't think I attract that sort of attention so no way that would even happen.

Most of the time I just feel like I'm putting stuff out into the void. Which, I'm not complaining about but I just really doubt that sort of scenario would happen.

But....you tell that to my guilt complex. I was definitely catholic in another life and have apparently carried said guilt into my next life.

Useless Edit: I ended up getting 90% of my tv series in the binder that held 270 something dvds. When did I buy all this shit that realistically I will never watch again because I own a chunk of them on digital now anyway.

I’m going to see if I can sell the random Smallvile seasons 4-10 and random Naruto seasons at Half Priced books since I’m well past my Naruto phase and what’s her faces sexual assault scandals kinda ruined the show for me forever. Same reason I got rid of all of my Kevin Spacey dvds when I was going through my dvds. But I forgot I bought both seasons do BBC’s Musketeers and I lowkey kinda want to rewatch it now. I also forgot I had seasons 1-4 of Scrubs which is one of my lowkey favorite series ever. I’m kinda excited by the things that got kinda lost in my collection. I found my Dark Angel series and kinda want to add that to the list as well

So series wise I’m pretty set. I don’t know if I’ll be watching any of my dvd or blu rays though. I plan on taking my binder of movies over to my moms house since she doesn’t know how to run Netflix ffs so the know she will get some use out of them. Or at least more than me.

I guess this semi counts as a declutter, yes? Pffft

[hesbuckcompton-baby]

I Stayed There - Eugene Sledge x OFC Chapter 5 - And Then He Kissed Her

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 /// Chapter 6 / Chapter 7 / Chapter 8 / Chapter 9

Summary: The group attends a party, and the secret Anna's been keeping from Eugene finally comes out

Warnings: Language, mention of vomit and alcohol

Word Count: 3.3k

Tags: @cagzzz107

A/N: Character's names in bold italics indicate a change in POV

-

Mary

"I swear, I've never gotten the hang of this."

Anna stood bent forward in front of my vanity mirror, her mouth hanging slack in concentration as she took her third attempt at using my mascara without leaving black spots on her cheeks and eyelids. "Shit," She hissed as her hand trembled again and she missed her mark. I sighed, bolting up from my bed.

"Let me do it, or we'll never make it to the party," I chuckled. she sat obediently down on the little round stool, and I hiked up my skirt so that I could perch on the edge of the desk, holding her face still by the chin as I started to clean her up.

"Right, now keep your eyes open. Don't blink until I'm done."

Anna sat quietly for a moment before speaking again. "Do you think I'll have to marry for money, now?" She asked, her lips puckered slightly, her eyes held wide and round until she looked a bit like a fish.

"You already have money," I pointed out.

"Yes, I know, but it's gonna become hard to keep a hold on it, won't it, now that there's no men around."

I paused, my hand hovering in front of her face. "Well... Anna, I don't think you know anyone who isn't rich."

She let out a snort of laughter, and I had to shoot her a warning glare so that she wouldn't move too sharply and mess up my work. "You make me sound like such a snob," She chuckled.

"No, I'm not saying it like that! I mean like... It's not like you'll have to marry a rich man you don't like, because there are plenty of rich men that you do!"

"I suppose."

I finished her mascara and sighed, her chin still cupped in my palm. "Y'know that no matter what happens, Sid and I will have your back, right?"

"Yeah, I know. You'll be living off Houston and Phillips money, I'll certainly make sure to leech off you two."

"I'm serious. You were my family before Sidney was, you're my sister."

Anna smiled, her cheeks flushing a pretty, rosy pink. "You're mine too," She suddenly turned her head away, distracted. "Ooh! I almost forgot!"

Darting up from her seat, she crossed the room to where she'd left her bag by my bed, rummaging in it until she pulled out a square, black box. "This is for you, to replace the one I broke. Call it a late-engagement-early-wedding-present."

Gently pulling the lid off, I gasped slightly at the box's contents. Inside was a pearl necklace - beautiful - and just like the one she had accidentally snapped before prom when we were teenagers. "Oh, thank you," I beamed, putting the box down on the dressing table before standing up to envelop her in a hug. "I love you."

"I love you too."

-

The first time Anna and I ever went to a proper party was when we were nine. We got all dressed up and braided our hair, and stood hidden behind my mother's skirts for about ten minutes before deciding the scene wasn't for us. I can remember hiding under the dining table, sitting cross-legged as slivers of golden light slipped underneath the white tablecloth that acted as a barrier between us and the rest of the world. Occasionally one of us would crawl down to the end of the table and snatch a plate of food when no one was looking, and we'd stifle our giggles as we scoffed down grown-up food that we only ate for the mischief of it.

"You're my favourite friend," I told her that night as we sat across from each other sharing a plate of crab cakes. Anna's face just lit up, and even down there in the dimness, she glowed like the sun.

"You're my favourite friend too," She gushed.

"You're the only girl in class who likes me."

"That's because everyone else is jealous of you, 'cus you're like... the prettiest girl in... the whole country."

"Am not! Your hair's all yellow like the movie stars," I smiled. The truth was that we were both scraggly little things back then, with frizzy hair and knobbly knees and - at current - breadcrumbs and hollandaise sauce covering our chins and stuck in the corners of our mouths.

But in all the years I've known her, Anna has never stopped being my favourite friend. When the girls at school pulled my hair and told on me to the boys I fancied, when my uncle started to look at me differently after I turned thirteen and my curves came in, when I realised I was in love with Sid the week after he shipped off to the Pacific and spent the night crying into my pillow - we stuck together. I held back her hair the first time she got so drunk she puked and she brought a spare pair of pumps to the prom for when my feet inevitably started to hurt from the atrocious heels I wore.

I grew up an only child, and back in those days you could hardly breathe in Anna's house without accidentally getting in someone's way, but I have always felt that I fit with her in a way I never have done with anyone else. I just really, truly, have always loved her.

-

Eugene

There was very little I could do once I arrived at the party other than to hover around Sidney until the others arrived. I had never enjoyed these sorts of things, and my distaste seemed only amplified by the time I'd spent away in the pacific, where dressing up and drinking champagne was only a reality in the rare instance we slept long enough to dream - and I supposed even that fantasy was bittered by the inevitable moment in which I would wake up in a muddy hole covered in dirt and grime.

People always seemed to find Sidney a trifle more interesting than I - he was engaged to be married, and he knew how to tell his war stories without sounding utterly miserable - and as such I was content to stand by his shoulder with my glass permanently held up to my lips as I let him do all the talking for the both of us. It wasn't long before I noticed Mary had arrived as she practically floated towards us, her heels skimming the polished floor without so much as a squeak as her dress rippled elegantly with each movement. Sidney grinned the same boyish grin he'd sported every time he'd laid eyes on her since he was about twelve, and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pressing a firm kiss to her cheek.

"We're gonna dance, Gene," She spoke, leaning across his chest so that she was audible above the chatter around us. "Anna went to get a drink, you should go find her."

Before I could reply, they disappeared, hand-in-hand like a pair of schoolchildren towards where people were dancing to the band playing in the far corner. Empty glass clutched in my hand like a fool, I wandered about before I finally located the familiar face I had been searching for.

Anna was dressed in a gown I'd never seen before. It was a deep shade of green, like the one she'd worn to prom when we were younger, but this one seemed to do her wonders. The satin dripped off her figure, hanging low off her shoulders as the warm lights glowed against the skin of her bare back. Her hair waved and curled around her ears, framing her face, and as she spoke to whoever stood beside her, a grin spread across her face, the red lipstick coating her lips making her eyes look brighter than ever. She looked like a film star, and it was almost hard to reconcile her with the quaint photo I'd kept in my pocket all those years in the Pacific, but I couldn't find any part of myself that didn't want her to stay the way she was right now. She looked happy and beautiful, and I was afraid that the moment I made myself known, the facade could shatter.

"Eugene," She smiled, noticing me before I could speak. As Anna stepped closer, it seemed that the whole room was transfixed by her, but I think it was probably just me. "It's good to see you, you look nice," She said, wordlessly taking the empty glass from my hand and replacing it with her full one.

"And you. You look... well, definitely better than me," I chuckled, and she let out a breath of a laugh. It wasn't until I was up close that I could notice the tension in her shoulders, the way she kept shifting her weight between her feet, and the way she tilted her head to mask a slight flinch whenever someone laughed close by.

"D'you wanna go outside?" I offered, frowning.

"No, no, I can't just leave whenever I get a little edgy, I'll be fine in a minute."

I nodded slowly, taking a sip of my drink.

"How's your brother?" Anna asked, nabbing a drink from the tray of a passing waiter. "I didn't get to talk to him at Mary's house."

"Oh, he's good. Fine, I think," I shrugged. "We don't... We haven't talked a whole lot, since I got back."

She nodded, flashing a sympathetic smile. In the months after I had returned from the war, it had always struck me how considerate she always was when asking about other people's families. She always genuinely wanted to know that we were all doing well, and it angered me greatly how indelicate some people were towards her with regards to the topic, as if her being nice enough to ask after their families meant they were entitled to give their thoughts on hers.

It seemed never to get quieter in that ballroom, everyone around me laughing and talking far louder than I felt they needed to, standing just close enough to unsettle me. There was something deeply disconcerting back then about being thrust back into society and expected to just cope with it, and I could feel my glass sliding against my palm as I began to sweat.

"I, uh, I think I'm gonna head out for a while," I said. "You wanna come?"

I caught Anna glancing over my shoulder as if she had recognised someone, but her voice drew my attention back to her before I could see who it was. "No, I'll stay in here for a while, you go get some air. I'll send Sidney to bring you another drink in a bit."

-

Sid did come to see me after a while, but it didn't take long before I sent him back inside and back to Mary. I sat towards the bottom of the stone steps that led down from the back terrace, perching somewhere along the edge of where the light from inside blurred with the dim shadows that drowned the rest of the garden. Empty glass on the wall next to me, I sipped the drink he'd brought out for me as I debated whether or not I should head back inside, eager not to leave Anna alone despite how little I actually wanted to return to the party.

As if on cue, I heard the crunch of footsteps against the gravel path, and noticed Anna walking towards the fountain not far from me, her head bowed as she twiddled her fingers. I almost called out to her, before I noticed she was already speaking, and another man was already with her.

He was tall - even from a distance I could tell he was taller than me - his shoulders broad and his jaw square, his head topped with a mop of neatly cut, dark hair. He was handsome, and much like what I had thought of Anna, comparing his looks to that of a movie star wasn't an over-exaggeration. I couldn't hear what they were saying above an incomprehensible mumble, their voices kept purposely low, but his head was tilted towards her, brow furrowed as he listened intently.

They reached the edge of the fountain and I couldn't help but freeze, hoping neither of them would notice me. He said something, and she let out the same breathy chuckle she'd shown me less than an hour earlier. She looked at ease around him, leaning closer whenever he made her laugh, and I almost bit a chunk out of the inside of my cheek when she put a hand on his arm.

And then he kissed her.

It was like a bolt of anger ripped through my chest. Who was he to kiss Anna? How much did he really know, or think he knew, about her? Certainly not as much as I did (although at the time, I had been resolute that no, I absolutely did not want to kiss Anna myself, what an absurd thing to say), not as much as Mary or Sidney did. In my mind it was like he didn't deserve to be close to her like that, not when she looked that beautiful, not when after so much time we seemed to finally be getting back to the way things had been before the war. Who even was he?!

They parted after a moment, and with another kiss to her forehead, the man broke away, trotting up the steps past me and back into the party. It wasn't until my eyes tore away from him did I realise Anna was staring right at me, her face a picture of horror and guilt.

"Why didn't you tell me?" I asked quietly.

She was wringing her gloved hands together, taking a few steps towards me. "Eugene, I'm sorry, I-"

"Why didn't you tell me?" I asked again, my tone harsher, making her stop in her tracks, her frown deepening. Her mouth opened and closed again, gaping open as she tried to find something to say. I sighed. "What's his name?"

"Hank Wharton," She confessed, her chin practically tucked into her neck as she looked down at the ground, her gaze never rising to meet mine.

"Now I understand why you've been acting so guilty since I got back, because you knew I'd want to know about this but you never said. Why? Why wouldn't you-"

"Because!" She cried. "Because right up until the minute you got home I had given up on hoping I'd ever see you again, and I didn't want to dump it all in a letter I wasn't even sure you'd get!"

That shut me up.

"But it doesn't matter now, does it?" Anna said.

"How does it not matter? I've been home long enough."

"Well, you know now. It doesn't really affect you either way."

"Affect me? You're my best friend! Of course, it does!" I cried, bolting up from my seat.

"Stop shouting at me," Anna said quietly, her voice barely loud enough for me to hear.

"Y'know I thought that after everything you'd still have the decency to be honest with me about something like this, if it was me I would've told you weeks ago and you know that!"

"Please stop shouting at me," She said again, louder this time, her voice shaking slightly.

It felt like all the anger I had left my body all at once. My shoulders sagged, and all I could feel was sorry. "Anna, I-" I stepped towards her and she took a step back, her body rigid. "Hey, hey," I spoke again, my voice soft, barely above a whisper. I held an arm out towards her, and when my fingertips grazed the skin on her arm, she seemed to relax. I took another step closer, and when she didn't move I pulled her into a hug. "I'm sorry for shouting at you."

"I'm sorry for not telling you." She spoke, her voice muffled by my shoulder.

When Anna pulled away, the perfect shape of her hair came away uneven around the edges, strands pulled separate from where they'd stuck to my clothes. In the dim garden light, she looked... somehow more real. The shadows dipped into the bags under her eyes that makeup couldn't cover up, and she suddenly looked less like a starlet on the big screen and more like the girl who'd stuck her head out of her window, still bleary with sleep on that snowy morning all those years ago.

But now I understood the guilt I had seen in her, and now I couldn't help but mirror it. It felt wrong to hold her so close now, as if it were a privilege reserved for Hank Wharton, whoever he was. It was ridiculous, and looking back on it I can resolutely label myself a fool - but it seemed to make sense to me back then.

"I'm gonna go back inside," I muttered, relinquishing my hold on her. Anna did nothing but nod, and I felt my chest tighten as I turned away from her.

-

Sidney was stood over by one of the tables next to the wall, his back to me, a plate in one hand as he gathered a selection of finger food to share with Mary. I stepped in beside him and could tell he knew I was there without even looking up. That was the thing about Sid and I - somehow we always knew where the other was. No one ever believed us when we said it, but it was true.

"Well, Hank sure seems... I dunno."

Sidney sighed, his head tilting towards me as he stacked some quiche looking thing atop the food he'd already gathered. "So she finally told you."

"No, she didn't, I caught them kissing. But yeah, either way, I suppose the secret that you've all been holding out on is finally out."

"Look, if I thought it was my secret to tell I would've done. But it wasn't." He frowned.

I shook my head slightly. "I don't really care about that. Just... is he good enough?"

"Hank?" Sid asked. When I nodded, his brow furrowed, as if my simple question required much thought to answer. "He's... He's fine. Mary likes him, I'm not sure what I think. He's good looking, sure - oh, and his folks are absolutely loaded, which is a plus. I think he's good for Anna, though. She needs... someone."

I accepted this. It wasn't like Anna to choose a man who wouldn't be good for her - even her high school crushes that never came to fruition were all on boys who would've treated her right had she ever gotten the nerve to tell anyone. And yet, as I stood there by the table stacked with food, I couldn't find any appetite with which to eat anything. I couldn't find any energy to follow Sidney back towards Mary or to dance with any of my mother's friends who had always had a rather one-sided idea that I was like a son to them. I didn't really want anything. And usually, when I got like this, I went to find Anna. But already I could feel a distance between us that hadn't been there before, as if getting everything out in the open - holding her, apologising - had somehow made things worse.

I was angry. At what, I couldn't pinpoint. But when I noticed the dark pink ridges in my palm from where my fists had clenched and my nails had burrowed into the pale flesh, and when I found myself searching the room for any drink stronger than the champagne the waiters were carrying around, I knew that whatever anger I was feeling, I was already trying to drown it.

And maybe instead of my anger, I should've tried to drown anything I felt for Anna - anything more than the friendship we'd kindled as children. Because maybe if I had, everything that happened after wouldn't have hurt so much.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Pierre Teillard de Chardin

* * * *

I'll never forget this story told by Jean Houston at a conference I attended as an MIU student. Very beautiful and moving, worth a read, especially if you're familiar with Teilhard de Chardin and his writings that got him in trouble with the church because he was way too cosmic for them.

"Mr. Tayer," by Jean Houston

When I was about fourteen I was seized by enormous waves of grief over my parents’ breakup. I had read somewhere that running would help dispel anguish, so I began to run to school every day down Park Avenue in New York City. I was a great big overgrown girl (5 feet eleven by the age of eleven) and one day I ran into a rather frail old gentleman in his seventies and knocked the wind out of him. He laughed as I helped him to his feet and asked me in French- accented speech, “Are you planning to run like that for the rest of your life?”

“Yes, sir" I replied. “It looks that way."

“Well, Bon Voyage!” he said.

“Bon Voyage!” I answered and sped on my way.

About a week later I was walking down Park Avenue with my fox terrier, Champ, and again I met the old gentleman.

“Ah." he greeted me, “my friend the runner, and with a fox terrier. I knew one like that years ago in France. Where are you going?"

“Well, sir." I replied, “I’m taking Champ to Central Park."

“I will go with you." he informed me. “I will take my constitutional."

And thereafter, for about a year or so, the old gentleman and I would meet and walk together often several times a week in Central Park. He had a long French name but asked me to call him by the first part of it, which was “Mr. Tayer" as far as I could make out.

The walks were magical and full of delight. Not only did Mr. Tayer seem to have absolutely no self-consciousness, but he was always being seized by wonder and astonishment over the simplest things. He was constantly and literally falling into love. I remember one time when he suddenly fell on his knees, his long Gallic nose raking the ground, and exclaimed to me, “Jeanne, look at the caterpillar. Ahhhh!” I joined him on the ground to see what had evoked so profound a response that he was seized by the essence of caterpillar. “How beautiful it is", he remarked, “this little green being with its wonderful funny little feet. Exquisite! Little furry body, little green feet on the road to metamorphosis." He then regarded me with equal delight. “Jeanne, can you feel yourself to be a caterpillar?”

“Oh yes." I replied with the baleful knowing of a gangly, pimply faced teenager.

“Then think of your own metamorphosis." he suggested. “What will you be when you become a butterfly, une papillon, eh? What is the butterfly of Jeanne?” (What a great question for a fourteen-year-old girl!) His long, gothic, comic-tragic face would nod with wonder. “Eh, Jeanne, look at the clouds! God’s calligraphy in the sky! All that transforming. moving, changing, dissolving, becoming. Jeanne, become a cloud and become all the forms that ever were."

Or there was the time that Mr. Tayer and I leaned into the strong wind that suddenly whipped through Central Park, and he told me, “Jeanne, sniff the wind." I joined him in taking great snorts of wind. “The same wind may once have been sniffed by Jesus Christ (sniff). by Alexander the Great (sniff), by Napoleon (sniff), by Voltaire (sniff), by Marie Antoinette (sniff)!” (There seemed to be a lot of French people in that wind.) “Now sniff this next gust of wind in very deeply for it contains.. . Jeanne d’Arc! Sniff the wind once sniffed by Jeanne dArc. Be filled with the winds of history."

It was wonderful. People of all ages followed us around, laughing—not at us but with us. Old Mr. Tayer was truly diaphanous to every moment and being with him was like being in attendance at God’s own party, a continuous celebration of life and its mysteries. But mostly Mr. Tayer was so full of vital sap and juice that he seemed to flow with everything. Always he saw the interconnections between things—the way that everything in the universe, from fox terriers to tree bark to somebody’s red hat to the mind of God, was related to everything else and was very, very good.

He wasn’t merely a great appreciator, engaged by all his senses. He was truly penetrated by the reality that was yearning for him as much as he was yearning for it. He talked to the trees, to the wind, to the rocks as dear friends, as beloved even. ‘Ah, my friend, the mica schist layer, do you remember when...?” And I would swear that the mica schist would begin to glitter back. I mean, mica schist will do that, but on a cloudy day?! Everything was treated as personal, as sentient, as “thou." And everything that was thou was ensouled with being. and it thou-ed back to him. So when I walked with him, I felt as though a spotlight was following us, bringing radiance and light everywhere. And I was constantly seized by astonishment in the presence of this infinitely beautiful man, who radiated such sweetness, such kindness.

I remember one occasion when he was quietly watching a very old woman watching a young boy play a game. “Madame", he suddenly addressed her. She looked up, surprised that a stranger in Central Park would speak to her. “Madame,” he repeated, “why are you so fascinated by what that little boy is doing?” The old woman was startled by the question, but the kindly face of Mr. Tayer seemed to allay her fears and evoke her memories. “Well, sir,” she replied in an ancient but pensive voice, “the game that boy is playing is like one I played in this park around 1880, only it’s a mite different." We noticed that the boy was listening, so Mr. Tayer promptly included him in the conversation. “Young fellow, would you like to learn the game as it was played so many years ago?”

“Well. . .yeah. sure, why not?” the boy replied. And soon the young boy and the old woman were making friends and sharing old and new variations on the game—as unlikely an incident to occur in Central Park as could be imagined.

But perhaps the most extraordinary thing about Mr. Tayer was the way that he would suddenly look at you. He looked at you with wonder and astonishment joined to unconditional love joined to a whimsical regarding of you as the cluttered house that hides the holy one. I felt myself primed to the depths by such seeing. I felt evolutionary forces wake up in me by such seeing, every cell and thought and potential palpably changed. I was yeasted, greened, awakened by such seeing, and the defeats and denigrations of adolescence redeemed. I would go home and tell my mother, who was a little skeptical about my walking with an old man in the park so often, “Mother, I was with my old man again, and when I am with him, I leave my littleness behind." That deeply moved her. You could not be stuck in littleness and be in the radiant field of Mr. Tayer.

The last time that I ever saw him was the Thursday before Easter Sunday, 1955. I brought him the shell of a snail. “Ah. Escargot." he exclaimed and then proceeded to wax ecstatic for the better part of an hour. Snail shells, and galaxies, and the convolutions in the brain, the whorl of flowers and the meanderings of rivers were taken up into a great hymn to the spiralling evolution of spirit and matter. When he had finished, his voice dropped, and he whispered almost in prayer, “Omega ...omega. . .omega.." Finally he looked up and said to me quietly, "Au revoir, Jeanne”.

“Au revoir, Mr. Tayer,” I replied, “I’ll meet you at the same time next Tuesday."

For some reason. Champ, my fox terrier didn’t want to budge, and when I pulled him along, he whimpered, looking back at Mr.Tayer, his tail between his legs. The following Tuesday I was there waiting where we always met at the corner of Park Avenue and 83rd Street. He didn’t come. The following Thursday I waited again. Still he didn’t come. The dog looked up at me sadly. For the next eight weeks I continued to wait, but he never came again. It turned out that he had suddenly died that Easter Sunday but I didn’t find that out for years.

Some years later, someone handed me a book without a cover which was titled The Phenomenon of Man. As I read the book I found it strangely familiar in its concepts. Occasional words and expressions loomed up as echoes from my past. When, later in the book, I came across the concept of the “Omega point." I was certain. I asked to see the jacket of the book, looked at the author’s picture, and, of course, recognized him immediately. There was no forgetting or mistaking that face. Mr. Tayer was Teilhard de Chardin, the great priest-scientist, poet and mystic, and during that lovely and luminous year I had been meeting him out side the Jesuit rectory of St. Ignatius where he was living most of the time.

I have often wondered if it was my simplicity and innocence that allowed the fullness of Teilhard’s being to be revealed. To me he was never the great priest-paleontologist Pere Teilhard. He was old Mr. Tayer. Why did he always come and walk with me every Tuesday and Thursday, even though I’m sure he had better things to do? Was it that in seeing me so completely, he himself could be completely seen at a time when his writings, his work, were proscribed by the Church, when he was not permitted to teach, or even to talk about his ideas? As I later found out, he was undergoing at that time the most excruciating agony that there is—the agony of utter disempowerment and psychological crucifixion. And yet to me he was always so present—whimsical, engaging, empowering. How could that be?

I think it was because Teilhard had what few Church officials did—the power and grace of the Love that passes all understanding. He could write about love being the evolutionary force, the Omega point, that lures the world and ourselves into becoming, because he experienced that love in a piece of rock, in the wag of a dog’s tail, in the eyes of a child. He was so in love with everything that he talked in great particularity, even to me as an adolescent, about the desire atoms have for each other, the yearning of molecules, of organisms, of bodies, of planets, of galaxies, all of creation longing for that radiant bonding, for joining, for the deepening of their condition, for becoming more by virtue of yearning for and finding the other. He knew about the search for the Beloved. His model was Christ. For Teilhard de Chardin, Christ was the Beloved of the soul.

Years later, while addressing some Jesuits, a very old Jesuit came up to me. He was a friend of Teilhard’s—and he told me how Teilhard used to talk of his encounters in the Park with a girl called Jeanne.

Jean Houston

Pomona, New York

March, 1988

[mindofharry]

Wave G.D

in which you move to california for the summer and grayson is the life guard.

based in the 80s !!!

smut and fluff !!! feedback is welcome as always <3

The sun beamed through your window, blinding you when you opened your eyes. you sighed placing a hand over your poor watered eyes, reminding yourself to buy curtains. California was good - better than your old town. but waking up blind every morning for the last week was not something you enjoyed. but you’d take that over madonna being blared at 6am by your 14 year old sister, tanya. God, sometimes you even missed it. missed the loud, chaotic energy of your small hometown, and your weird little family. but as you said, california is good. you reminded yourself, change is good. growth is good. sometimes you forgot that you have to grow to be better, and that change isn’t some evil thing. you need change to move on and become better.

Your aunt had been kind enough to let you stay in her home for the summer - she was off doing god knows what, and needed someone to cat and house sit. You were the first one to offer. Lord only know, that if you didn’t take this offer, you would’ve stayed in that town for the rest of your life. like you, your aunt escaped the town of houston. all your family grew up in houston. a town in a town, you called it. it was small, only a population of 2,000 people. not many people left either - so when you did, it comes as a surprise.

you wanted to travel, see the world. and california was just one stop on your trip.

Today was day of looking for jobs, you had put it off too many times this week. you told your mother you would get a job on the first day here - it’s been 7 days. And your mother was starting to call more than twice a day. You wanted to become a writer or a journalist - that was the dream. but that had to be put on hold for now. even though thought your aunt was paying the bills etc, you still wanted to find a job to make friends and have some cash. you saw a nice dinner about 10 minutes away from here, so maybe you’d have dinner there once you had some cash. beats having microwave dinners every night.

so with that in mind, you got up and made your way to the bathroom. it was small and quaint. exactly like the house. it was nothing special - which is what you loved. a small little home, with small little bathrooms. that’s sounded quite nice to you. After looking around your small bathroom, you turned on the shower, hissing a bit as the hot water hit your skin.

you walked out of the bathroom, leaving the water run for a minute. Opening the dresser pressed against the wall, you decided on a white crop top and denim shorts. Your mother would kill you if she saw how small the shorts were, but she wasn’t here. You grabbed a bra and underwear from the top drawer before walking back into the bathroom. you stripped down, leaving your huge t-shirt on the floor.

When you stepped in the shower, you thought about how good this summer could be. Even if you ended up not making any friends, it still could be the best summer of your life.

so you had to make the best of it.

After your shower - that you spent way too long in, you got dressed into the clothes you grabbed earlier. your hair was still soaking wet, but the towel and the Californian air would dry it. You brushed your teeth, and attached your septum piercing onto your nice. “does this look like i’m cool, or i’m going to rob you?” you asked yourself in the mirror. your mother, hated everything about the piercings and tattoos. She said quote “i feel scared looking at you, y/n”. Tattoos especially made you feel so creative and free, something about them made you feel so happy.

Running down the stairs, you grabbed your converse slipping them on. slipping you mean - pulling them on. God, they were hard to get on. you looked into the drawer and found your purse with, 20 dollars in it. “great” you sighed walking out the door and locking it.

your aunt lived in a nice neighbourhood, small houses, small families. usually people that just had kids or older people that didn’t want to be a put in an old persons home. it was nice and relaxing. different from houston, you’d admit. but nice and needed.

The walk to the centre of town was fine. You got a few looks, considering the town was so small and everyone knew everyone. You were basically the new kid at school. But so far no ones said anything bad - that you know of. The town was full of stores. Retail stores, smaller family stores like toy stores etc.

you spotted the diner straight away, running across the street quickly. Luckily spotted a sign saying they were looking for more staff - you knew diners were quite popular, so you really got your but in there. A tall woman, with brown hair and warm smile greeted you at the till. “hey, darling. what can i do for you” she asked, you looked at her name badge, lisa. A nice name for a nice lady. “i’m actually looking for jobs, saw that you were looking for staff! maybe we can schedule an interview or something?” you asked picking at your nails. lisa looked you up and down and then sighed. “well, if i’m being honest, you’re the only one in weeks that’s offered to do some work around here” she confessed, it made your heart shatter when she looked down - it looked like she was about to cry.

she sighed once again to herself “you good with people?” she asked, placing a napkin down on the counter. you nodded, messing with your hands. “i know first aid too. real good with kids, i was going to study to be a teacher” you confess, trying to butter yourself up.

lisa nodded “what’s your name?” she asked and you put your hand out to shake hers “y/n l/n. i’m looking after my aunts house for the summer” you say and she smiled. “well good. you’re hired” she grinned pulling you into a hug.

“welcome to the team, honey”

After that and a celebratory milkshake, you decided to go the beach that was a 5 minute walk from the diner. lisa said her daughter works just around the corner from her and her sons surf and do lifeguarding down at the beach. Maybe you’d run into them. they had to be maybe 16? You didn’t know anyone older than that, that wanted to be a lifeguard willingly.

You took over your converse and socks as the sand because harder to walk in. there wasn’t much wind and it was really hot so of course it was packed full of families and teenagers. Most were locals, but others travelled hours to come this beach - and you weren’t sure why, until now.

A man probably 20 or 21, was running towards you, topless. It was hard to look away, his abs were just staring at you. His red shorts clung to his thighs - he reminded you of show that had aired in september, something like bay watch. He looked like he belonged on that show. You wouldn’t mind getting to see that everyday. You now understand why there was probably more teens than families.

Grayson had spotted you the minute you stepped foot on the beach. god, were you beautiful. Your simple outfit was like the sexiest outfit he’d ever seen, because you were wearing it. Your piercings and tattoos were so incredibly hot, he’d never seen anyone like you if he was being honest. He came from a town where not many people expressed themselves, everyone except him and his twin that is - and now apparently you. Ethan, graysons twin, spotted you too. He knew grayson was already head over heels for you.

“she’s definitely new” ethan voiced climbing out of the water, pulling his shorts up. grayson nodded agreeing “yeah, might go, uh see how she is” grayson said making ethan chuckle. “sure, whatever you say bro” Ethan laughed before walking off the his chair.

Grayson began running up to you, he could see you checking him out. Good, he liked that.

finally after what felt like ages he arrived at where you decided to sit down. You looked up at him smirking cocking your head to the side.

“grayson dolan” he smiled sticking his hand out, you shook it still with a smirk on your face. “y/n l/n” you say as he sat down beside you. “you’re new to town right?” he asked putting a hand through his hair. you just nod putting your hand on the sand.

“met your mom earlier. said she had two handsome boys at the beach. she must have meant the other one” you tease making grayson raise an eyebrow, smirking. “oh yeah?” he asked resting on his elbow.

“hmm” you hummed looking down on him. “i have to say, never gotten that one” grayson said, you just shrugged “maybe you just need some humbling grayson dolan” you said standing and wiping your shorts to get the sand off.

“i’m working in the diner tomorrow. maybe you can come and i’ll humble you some more”

“i think i like the sound of that y/n l/n” grayson smirked getting up himself. “see you then, grayson” you smile walking away.

fuck, he thought. He was going to make y/n l/n his.

you arrived home smiling like crazy. you’re not even 24 hours here and you’re already head over heels for a man you know hardly anything about.

you pulled off your shoes again and through them on the floor. when you skipped into the kitchen and put on the radio, girls just want to have fun came on. You grabbed a spoon and danced around the kitchen waiting for cyndi lauper to sing. “i come home, in the morning light” you sing jumping up and down.

“girls they wanna have fun”

after dinner and another shower you watch a movie and then head to bed, waiting to see that lifeguard again tomorrow.

You woke up early on your own body clock. that has never happened before, but seen as you’re meeting a boy and having your first day of work it seems to make sense to you. you shower and use all the good stuff. you also shave - just in case, you never know.

you leave all your peircings and change into skinny black jeans and a fleetwood mac shirt. lisa said she’d give you the uniform in your locker and that you could change in the bathroom if you’d like, you agreed with that. it meant that you didn’t have to wear the uniform home. you wore your converse and placed your hair in a loose ponytail.

you walked to the kitchen and grabbed a water and apple, and ate it quickly chugging the water down afterwards. you quickly ran back to the bathroom and brushed your teeth, before running to the door and making your way to the dinner - you really didn’t want to be late on your first day.

“y/n!” lisa smiled pulling you into a hug. “good to see you again” she said pausing “go get changed and then i’ll teach you some bits” she grinned placing a hand on my shoulder and pulling me along into the locker room. “here your locker, your uniform is in there. you can change in here or the bathroom just down the hall” she said, making you nod with a smile.

lisa left and you got dress into the blue top and skirt, the collar was lined with red and there was a white apron placed around your waist. your white converse actually went perfectly with the uniform, so you gave yourself a pat on the back for that.

once you walked out the place look a bit more lively, which made you happy and eager. You wanted to get on the locals good side. “oh good! you’re ready, this is lily. she’s a little bit older than you, working here part time” lisa said introducing you guys. you smiled and shook her hand “y/n” you say and she smiled “so nice to meet you” she replied taking the pen out of her hair.

“so all you have to do in take people’s orders. then tell the chef” lisa said giving you pen and paper “i won’t put you on the till yet, but i will teach you tomorrow” she said and you smiled nodding. “be nice, smile and make small talk” she listed and then placed a hand on your back “you’ve got this. now table two needs a waitress” she said pushing you off. you walked down around the counter and to table two. “hi, what can i do for you” you say smiling.

“huh, y/n” grayson said making you look up from you paper. you smirk at him dropping you arms down to your waist. “grayson dolan, knew you couldn’t resist me” you tease making him laugh. “seducing costumers on your first day? y/n seriously?” grayson said making you shake your head.

“shut up. what can i get for you” you say and grayson smiled. “are you on the menu?” he asked leaning back. you bite your lip, trying to hide your blush. “maybe. what’s the offer?” you asked rocking back and forth on your feet. “a dinner. me and you. maybe some kissing, never know” he said placing his hands on the table.

you shrug smirking again, you tear a piece of paper out and begin to right down your address “pick me up at 7.” you say and give him the sheet.

“now what can i get for you?”

the day went by rather fast after grayson asking on you a date. you loved the job, lisa and lily so much already and knew this summer was going to be one to remember.

“y/n you did so good today” lily complimented taking off her apron. you smiled “thank you. it was actually a lot of fun” you say taking out your clothes out. “saw you talking to gray” lily said with a teasing smile.

“oh shut up! it’s only one date”

“grayson dolan does not do dates. consider yourself lucky, than man looks like wants to marry you” lily said making you roll your eyes. “now i have to go home to my husband and baby while you are out enjoying your life” lily said dramatically making you roll your eyes.

“enjoy” you say waving and walk off out of the locker room.

you say goodbye to lisa before pratically running home to get ready for your special night with grayson.

once you got home you ran to your room and placed your clothes in the wash basket, after a quick shower you pull out the one dress you packed, a white off the shoulder dress. it was nothing special, but it was comfortable and you felt pretty damn good in it - and of course your signature converse. you put your hair into a half up half down sort of look and only put on some mascara and blush. you wanted to look simple, yet cute. but the piercings and tattoos kind of cancelled out the cute.

you look at yourself in the mirror and nod at yourself. “you can do this. you can have fun” you say and place a hand on your hip. “you look good.” you say and smile and then just on time, grayson knocked on the door with flowers in his hands.

you walked down to the door and took a breath in before opening it. grayson stood before you, in a white shirt and dress pants. the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up so you could see the vains, God he looked good.

“wow. you look beautiful” grayson breathed out handing you the flowers, you blushed and smiled. “thank you, come on in” you say walking to the kitchen.

you walk back down and see grayson leaning against the table his hands in pocket. “hmm. you look so good” grayson said standing up. you just held out your hand “why don’t we skip dinner and go the beach instead?” you asked and grayson raised an eyebrow.

“sounds great”

so you both walked down to the beach hand in hand. laughing at the most stupidest of things.

“i thought you were from bay watch the first time i saw” you laugh and grayson pushed you away pouting. “so sexy” you giggle making him shake your head. “well i for one heard wedding bells seeing you” grayson teased pulling you into him. you hummed and looked up him. “you’re definitely husband material” you say walking down to the beach.

“sure” he said rolling his eyes and pulling you down. none of you had towers or spare clothes, but this. this moment is what you both needed. the cold air, the waves crashing and the birds talking. all you could hear was the water, the birds and your giggles.

you pulled off your dress rather quickly, leaving you in a black lace bra and panties. grayson was gawking, he pratically had to close his mouth with his hand. your body, was perfection. it was beautiful. Once grayson was ready he picked you up making you squeal and ran to the water.

“grayson” you giggle and hit his back lightly.

“oh shit, it’s cold” you say wrapping yourself around grayson. “oh is it?” he teased placing his hands on your thighs. you smirk knowing exactly what he was doing.

“yeah, it’s cold” you say putting a hand in his hair. you look down to his lip and bit your lip making him groan. “fuck it” he said placing his lips on yours. you moan and he lets his tongue make its way into your mouth.

“fuck me” grayson hummed into your mouth making you giggle and push his head into the water.

“try and catch me!”

You both come out of the water soaked and giddy. “put my shirt on” grayson said throwing his shirt at you.

you pull it over your head and place your hand in graysons after he put his pants back on. “you wanna come back to mine?” you asked and he nodded “no ones home. for the whole summer” you say walking backwards.

“so we can fuck anywhere” you say smirking, grayson groans and picks you up making you laugh. he pratically carried you the whole way home, only putting you down to unlock the door.

once you guys reached your bedroom he kissed you again, picking you and throwing you on your bed. you lay there looking up at him with teasing eyes. “take of the shirt” he demanded, making you sit up and throw the shirt on the ground, leaving you in a wet bra and more than wet panties.

“so beautiful” grayson said as he climbed out of his pants, leaving him only in his boxers.

grayson grabbed your face in his hands and your lips finally meet once again. his fingers tighten around your face as he begins to kiss you roughly. one hands drifts from your face to your bare thigh, his fingers glide up and down your thigh making you shiver.

“you like that, baby?” he asked and you nodded “more” you begged and he pecked your lips. “soon” he said his fingers making their way between your clit, placing his lips back on yours.

you moan into his mouth as he begins to get faster, his fingers going to your slit, him playing around with it.

“don’t stop” you moan into his mouth, he looked at your teasingly. “don’t want my cock then?” he asked cocking his head to the side. you nodded quickly, “yes gray, i do, want it so bad” you moan bucking your hips.

“cum, and then i’ll make you so full”

you cummed quickly, your hips going in all different directions. he waited for you to come down from your high before taking over your panties and bra. he sighed in content, “so beautiful” he repeated kissing your breasts and down your stomach.

“please” you begged again, making him smirk. “one second, honey” he said kissing your thighs. he pulled down his boxers and you moaned at the sight, his cock was huge and the tip was full of pre-cum. you wanted his cock in you, now.

after putting on the condom he had in his pocket grayson finally pushes into you, making you moan out. “oh fuck” you moan holding onto graysons shoulder. grayson gets slower and slower. “come on grayson. fuck me like the bad girl i am” you whispered into his ear. he groaned and placed a hand on your neck, before pounding into you. you bed begins to creak loudly banging against the wall. he wraps his hand around your neck tighter making you scream out.

“keep going, gray” you say bucking your hips.“i’m gonna cum” you cry and graysons nods going faster. “me too. come on, cum for be princess” he said pounding into you.

you both cum and grayson stays in you a little longer, when he takes his cock out you feel empty, but he just pulls you closer to him.

“who knew you could fuck like that” you tease placing your head on his chest. grayson just chuckled and kissed your head, pulling you closer to him.

“another round?”

“how could i say no, lifeguard”

[lisaleigh713]

My Doctoral Advisor

So, I haven’t been around for a bit but had a little time to sit down and explain why.  I graduated my Master’s in May and was accepted to the Ph.D candidate program.  My advisors name is Bo.  Of course it has Dr. in front of his name.  Anyway, Bo is a great looking man.  He is 50 years old with salt and pepper hair.  Bo stands right at 6 feet tall and about 200 lbs.  Bo keeps himself in shape.  

Bo is divorced with 2 grown children whom he does get to see often.  Bo is great in International Relations and I truly look forward to his tutelage and counsel.  About a month ago, I was in a piano bar here in Houston, actually looking for an older man to take me home and fuck the hell out of me.  

I had my hair down and in a light curl/wave.  I had on a dark blue eye shadow.  My lips were a deep dark red color.  My mani/pedi were of course a french mani/pedi.  I wore a dark blue with small white polka dots.  My dress came about mid thigh, no panties of course but I did wear a white garter belt with white silk stockings and white 6” heels.  I did not wear a bra as I wanted my breasts to free flow with my dance moves.

I was siting at a table sipping a very dry martini when I noticed Bo across the room.  At first I thought, “he is your advisor Lisa, leave the man alone.  Don’t get involved with him.”  But do I ever listen to myself, NO!!!  Bo noticed me staring at him once and proceeded to come over to my table.

“Lisa, strange meeting you here; this is for a more older crowd.”  “Well Doc, I happen to like men and women of all ages and thought I would just enjoy a night out with people who know what they want and do not like to play games.”  He looked stunned for a moment.  I invited him to sit with me.  Bo said to me, “away from the campus or in private, why don’t you call me Bo instead of Doc.”  I agreed wholeheartedly.

Of course he complemented me on how I looked, of course I dropped my eyes to show my submissive side, hoping he would pick up on that.  He did!  We danced a few times, slow dances of course and had numerous drinks.  Bo was getting drunk, no Bo was drunk.  I am not going to lie, I was a bit tipsy myself.  I only lived a few blocks away and could easily navigate the roads until I got home.  I had no idea where Bo lived, so I thought it might be better to go to my house.

I got us to my house and inside.  I took Bo to my bedroom with no intentions of anything sexual, I just wanted to spend the night holding a man.  I got Bo undressed and into bed and I took off my dress but left my lingerie and heels on, just in case.  

About an hour later, Bo had wrapped me up in his arms and I could feel his hard cock pressing against me tight ass.  He had a nice sized cock.  I have had much bigger but he had nothing to be ashamed about in that department.  He had one hand on my tits and was simply thrusting at my ass.  He was sound asleep.  “What the hell,” I thought.  I spread my legs opened, reached behind me, grabbed his cock and slipped it in my dripping wet pussy.

He continued to thrust away.  He was sleep fucking me.  He fucked me for a few minutes but I wanted more.  I rolled him over on to his back and then straddled his nice cock.  I put his cock in me and began bouncing up and down on his cock being careful to rock my clit against his pelvis.  I laid my breast on his chest and continued to fuck his cock with my pussy.

Bo woke up!  He looked me in the eye and I stopped.  We just looked at each other for what seemed like an eternity, then he pulled me down to his lips kissing me extremely deeply and passionately.  He rolled me over onto my back, I spread my legs into the splits and he grabbed his cock and guided it into my wet cunt.  

Bo began to thoughtfully fuck my cunt.  He sucked on my nipples but I could tell he was holding back some.  He fully laid on top of me now, my legs wrapped around his back while his kissed me.  “Bo, your cock feels so good inside me.  Now fuck me hard Bo.  Fuck me like you bought it baby.”

Bo did just that.  He sped up the tempo and made his thrusts deeper and harder and just before he was getting ready to cum he pulled out.  He pulled out with the intention of cumming on top of my pussy instead of inside.  I had to think quickly.  I grabbed his ass and pushed him up to my face.  I opened my mouth and let him cum in my mouth.  Of course I had to clean his cock of my pussy juice which made him cum some more.

After he came, he rolled off of me.  I snuggled up on his chest and we both fell asleep.  I arose about mid morning, careful not to wake Bo.  I made a pot of coffee and started breakfast.  I still had on my lingerie from the night, with the heels, when I had finished making breakfast.  I poured him a cup and me a cup of coffee along with his eggs, toast and breakfast sausage.

I went back into the bedroom where I found Bo beginning to stir a bit.  I sat the table across his stomach and laid back down next to him.  Bo started with, “Lisa, we need to talk.”  “You bet we do Bo,” I said.  He began to apologize for what I happened when I pressed a finger against his lips and simply said, “Shhhhh.”

“You are my advisor, period.  I do not expect you to treat me in different than anyone else when we are at school.  However; if you want to carry on a private relationship outside of school, then I would be happy about that.  I am your doctoral candidate on campus, but off campus I am simply a woman who is attracted to you.”

“Lisa, do you actually think we can keep all of this separate, two different relationships.”  “Bo, I can be a simply booty call or a relationship girl if you like.  The decision is up to you.  You can still see people and fuck them if you want me to be a booty call or fuck other women and have a relationship with me.  I am fine with whatever choice you make.”

I think it had been so long for Bo being in a relationship he was scared but he hadn’t fucked a woman since his wife and he divorced.  

“Bo, for right now, you just enjoy your breakfast while I enjoy mine.”  He looked at me perplexed as I only had coffee.  While making breakfast I had to of course freshen up my makeup.  I moved the covers back and placed my deep red lips against his soft cock.  I sucked it in to my mouth which caused Bo to moan loudly.  I love the feel of a soft cock growing in my mouth.

I continued to suck his now hard cock.  He moved the tray out of the way.  I was comfortable just giving him a blow job but if he wanted more, I would provide more.  I got on my hands and knees and Bo got in behind me.  He mounted me shoving his cock in my hot cunt and began pumping away.  He fucked my twat for about 15 minutes and then it was time for me to crawl on top of him.

He laid back on the bed and I crawled on top of him.  I placed his cock against my asshole and once he realized what was going on his faced looked stunned.  I grabbed his cock to hold it steady and plunged myself down on to his cock.  Bo’s cock was now deep in my ass.  He moaned aggressively.

I rode that cock like Seattle Slough.  He didn’t last long and screamed “I am going to cum!”  I sped up and plunged the whole cock deep in my ass and then began to gyrate my hips on his cock.  He came alright, and came and came and came.  I rolled off after a few minutes and then began my cleanup process.

“Bo baby, I want you to slap my ass please.”  Bo gave me a little love tap.  “Bo, sweetie, I want you to smack the hell out of my ass.  I want you to slap my ass as hard as you can.”   With that, Bo drew back his hand and rightfully slapped my ass good and hard.  “Baby, I want you to pinched and slap my nipples and tits please.”  He did as was instructed.

“Bo baby, I can take a lot of abuse and I like it very much.  I imagine your wife never let you fuck her ass or slap her around.”  He responded with a simple shake of the head.  “Well baby, I am different, if you want vanilla I will give you vanilla but if you want to explore the wilder side of yourself, I am just the woman to do that with sweetie.”

We got out of bed and grabbed a shower together.  I re-applied my makeup and threw on some black 5” heels and a completely see through black robe.  I asked if he would like a drink so I made us both a Scotch neat (two fingers).  When I gave him his drink, I had to move a bit showing my ass to him.  Without hesitation, he slapped my ass so hard I thought he was going to knock me over.

Of course my pussy got wet and my ass began pulsating.  I bent over my counter right there and said, “baby you got to even it out, slap the other cheeks sweetie.”  He slapped me again real hard.  He opened his towel, moved my robe to the side and slammed his cock into my asshole.  

He fucked me hard for about 5 minutes when he pulled out and said, “get on your knees, I want to cum on your pretty face.”  I did and he did.

We had a wonderful Sunday together were we wound up fucking a bunch and I introduced him to some more things I like that his wife would never do.

We do have a relationship now but it is casual.  He has been dating some other older women and I continue to fuck who I want but when he calls, I drop everything to ready myself for him.  He is teaching me and I am teaching him.  What a wonderful exchange of ideas we now have.

Love and Kisses;

Lisa

[shelovescontrol91]

In order to lure Camila Cabello to “Cinderella,” Kay Cannon borrowed a page from Prince Charming’s playbook. Sony told Cannon she could direct the film — she had already been writing the screenplay — provided she could convince the pop star that “Cinderella” should be her acting debut. So off Cannon went to Miami to meet with Cabello, having packed a glass slipper she’d bought on Etsy, even though her producers told her that would be “weird,” she says.

“I was there for, like, 30 seconds. And I’m like, ‘I hesitate to do this!’ And I pull out this glass slipper. ‘Does it fit?’”

However embarrassing, the gesture worked. In May, Amazon Studios bought “Cinderella” from Sony — with Cannon’s blessing — and it will premiere on the streamer on Sept. 3. While it’s disappointing that the movie musical won’t primarily play in theaters, the director, who has a daughter too young to get vaccinated, sees only the bright side.

“If the goal is for people to feel joy,” Cannon says, “I think we’re going to reach more people.”

At 47, Cannon is among the still-too-small group of women directors who have a Midas touch for mainstream, feminist comedies. After getting her start as a writer for “30 Rock,” Cannon wrote the three “Pitch Perfect” movies and directed “Blockers,” an emphatically R-rated comedy with a dirty mind and a loving heart.

In summer 2017, Cannon had just completed filming “Blockers” when her agent told her that James Corden wanted to speak with her about a “Cinderella” project. She jumped at the chance — but only because she wanted to meet the late-night talk-show host, not because she had any interest in fairy tales or princess culture. In fact, Cannon was certain that any new “Cinderella” would be a non-starter, since Disney’s 2015 live-action version, starring Lily James, had grossed more than $540 million worldwide so recently. “Nothing’s going to come out of this,” she remembers thinking.

But when Corden and his Fulwell 73 producing partner Leo Pearlman pitched her the idea of a “Cinderella” musical with contemporary songs, saying she could rewrite the fable however she liked, she immediately changed her mind. “I have no poker face,” Cannon says. “And I was like, ‘I want to do this!’”

Cannon’s “Cinderella” has a thoroughly modern message. Ella isn’t interested in marriage, wanting instead to travel the world and be a designer.  Cannon also toned down the canonical cattiness of Ella’s stepfamily, and upped the story’s comedy potential. All the while, characters such as the stepmother (Idina Menzel) and the prince (Nicholas Galitzine) are singing songs like “Material Girl” and “Somebody to Love” and “Pitch Perfect”-style mashups like “Whatta Man” with “Seven Nation Army.”

At every step, her guiding principle was “How can it be different?” “I wanted people to get their money’s worth,” Cannon says, “or why do it at all?”

In an interview with Variety, Cannon talks about how COVID-19 affected “Cinderella,” her experience as a woman director and how things have changed in comedy.

The Cinderella story has been told and retold, and had just been a live-action movie when you signed on to write this. How did you want your version to be different? And is it significant here that Camila Cabello is a woman of color?

Yes, I wanted to make sure it was incredibly inclusive. And her being Cuban Mexican is no small thing, and what she represents to millions of people — not only her fans, but to millions.

The story has mostly been told and retold almost exclusively by men: I feel it when I watch. The 2015 Kenneth Branagh “Cinderella” was hugely successful, and it was beautiful. And I love the Whitney Houston, Brandi “Cinderella.” It just feels a little told from their gaze. And I really felt like it was important to me to tell it through my gaze.

Can you talk about creating the Fab G, and what you wanted from that character?  

So many amazing actresses have played that role — so I’d written that role to be a man. And, quite honestly, the only one who fit all of everything I wanted was Billy Porter; I wrote it with him in mind. He’s just such a great singer. He’s just so talented. Because I wrote it specifically for Billy, the character kind of came easy. I just wrote it in his voice, and tried to make it funny. I had actually had another song in there, and then as soon as Billy was confirmed, we picked “Shining Star.”

Is the Fab G gender non-binary?

We talked about it. In having many conversations with Billy, I was like, “I think the answer needs to come from you.” He has said “they/them,” and “magic has no gender.” Non-binary for sure.

You started filming in England in February 2020. Tell me about shutting down because of COVID.

We had shot the ball the first week of March, which is something I do not believe I would have been able to do coming back — and it wasn’t a super-spreader. I’d shot all of the Fab G stuff, and all the basement stuff.

It felt like something out of “The Amazing Race” — like, pack up all your stuff! I’d been in the U.K. for like four months, and my family was there. My daughter was going to school there, and my husband was the writer on set. So we packed everything up, and then Camila and her family and my family, we flew back. My husband’s family is in Maine, and so we just stayed in Maine the entire time.

That sounds so nice, actually.

I did all of post in a boathouse in Maine. It was pretty awesome, actually.

During the break, what were you doing?

It was like getting a second prep, really. I was working with my editor, Stacey Schroeder, and we were putting together what we had. And then I was able to see what I needed and what I didn’t need. And I was doing a ton of rewriting, and I was doing a ton of prep that we didn’t necessarily have. Because I had all the opening, I had the finale, I had “Somebody to Love,” I had “Am I Wrong,” “Material Girl” — all these big numbers.  

Movie theaters have reopened, and this was obviously made with a theatrical audience in mind. How did the Amazon of it all happen?

Sony is a business, first and foremost. I know that Sony loves the movie, and that partnership was really great on that level. So I think it was hard for them to give it up, but I’m really quite happy that people can see this in this safety of their own homes with loved ones. And it is a wonderful theatrical experience, especially with the music and the sound and everything. And it will open theatrically in some theaters.

It not being a wide release in theaters means that we’re not healthy yet. And so that’s what’s the most upsetting — that we’re not healthy.

As you were moving from being a performer to being a screenwriter, did you always have directing in mind, or was that something that you discovered you wanted to do?

I was led to it. When I was at “30 Rock,” by like Season 5, I really wanted to direct an episode. And I was too chickenshit to ask. I was the writer/producer who was always on set — at that point, I’d spent my 10,000 hours on set for sure. And it wasn’t until I had a meeting with Nathan Kahane at Lionsgate, and he was like, “You should be directing your own stuff.” I have such a respect for academics, and I never went to film school, so I just didn’t think I could do it.  And then once he put that in my head, I was like, “Yeah, you know what? I can do it.'”

And is that how “Blockers” came about?  

Exactly. Yeah, they sent me the script with an offer to direct. And with no questions asked. I didn’t have to do any kind of auditioning.

That is very rare! Obviously, things have gotten better for women directors in the past few years, after years of the most appalling statistics. What obstacles do you feel like you’ve faced as a woman director?  

Especially with “Blockers,” I had a very good experience. I feel like the obstacles I have to face really are from the powers that be that still fight me at every level on what women want to watch, or think is funny. Or what is funny — forget gender.

My stuff happens to have female leads, and it’s female driven. So the jokes are coming out of women’s mouths. And I cannot tell you the amount of fighting I have about what they think is going to work, and what they think isn’t going to work. And there’s a lot of like, “I have all the expertise, you do not have the experience.”

And it’s just like, ‘I’ve been working in the comedy side for 15 years now — successfully.” And so what ends up happening is, I fight and fight and fight, and then I just do it and get it in. And then it gets put in front of an audience and the audience laughs. And then they have to say, “OK, that does work.” And you might not think that that’s that big of a deal. Maybe that’s creatively for everybody. Maybe it’s not gender specific. I tend to believe that it is gender specific.

Is that at the studio level?

From my experience, it’s mostly the studio level. And maybe I’m just sensitive to it or whatever. But I just feel like there’s a lot of conversations about what is funny out of a woman’s mouth. What’s allowed. And I feel like no matter how much success I had with “Pitch Perfect,” I think it’s still as much of a fight now as it was then. Which doesn’t make sense to me.

With “Cinderella” too?  

Oh, especially with “Cinderella.”

And now we’re back on the record after going off for a bit! I rewatched the “Black Tie” episode of “30 Rock” yesterday, which you wrote with Tina Fey, in which Paul Reubens plays an afflicted prince. That was the moment in Season 1 when I realized, OK, I love “30 Rock.”

[Affects Prince Gerhardt voice] “THANK YOU FOR COMING TO MY BIRTHDAY.”

That was the first thing I ever wrote! You know, professionally.

An unbelievable calling card to have as your first screen credit.

Yes! I was asked recently who is my Fab G, and my answer is Tina Fey. I wrote stuff as a friend she was reading. And I never thought that she would consider me for her staff, and she just grabbed me and was like, “You’re gonna do this!” I thank her every day for giving me that opportunity.

There are so many conversations right now about what’s acceptable in comedy. As a screenwriter who’s done mostly comedy, how do you feel about that?

Right now I think we’re in the muck, and I think we’re striving for equality. And we’re trying to work things out! Of course we should look back at things that were done 15 years ago, and be like, “Oh, no!”

I don’t know if this is a story I should tell. But I can remember getting notes to put the f-slur into “Pitch Perfect” as them being bullied like by the cool athletic guys. And I was like: “No! I can’t do that.” I think I put it in for a draft, and a friend of mine read it, and she’s like, “You cannot have that in.” And I was like, “It’s a note I was given!” I was told to do that, you know?’ And then like realizing, no, it’s unacceptable. You cannot use that word. Even if you’re trying to show that it’s awful, don’t do it.

You have to have your moral compass, and know what’s right for you. And there’s just some things we just shouldn’t tolerate anymore. And they’re just not acceptable. I’m certain if I looked back at stuff that I would cringe, you know? Or just, that’s how people thought then. And I was one of those people. But certainly now if you know better, you do better, right? Is that too soapboxy?

This interview has been edited and condensed.

[demivampirew]

Keep Calm and Go to London Chapter 7

Synopsis: This is the story of (y/n), a successful actress, musician, musical producer and songwriter. After battling depression and breaking up a long relationship, she seeks for a change of air, escaping LA for a while going to visit some friends in London and there she meets Henry. -Disclaimer: some chapters are mostly smut. 

Previous Chapters:

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Triggers: smut

Tag list: Here’s the incredible people who showed me support (thank  you   so much for that) and people who asked me to tag them too  ☺️   (I   think I will write a few chapters of this story, if you want me to  tag   you, tell me ☺️   ) @cavillanche @mary-ann84 @henry-owns-these-tatas @yespolkadotkitty @dancingwendigo   constip8merm8   penwieldingdreamer iloveyouyen  littlefreya  wondersofdreaming  alyxkbrl solariumss  sweetybuzz25 @thethirstyarchive @agniavateira   @honeyloverogers @hell1129-blog   @lunedelorient​  @michelle-1185���

Henry was in the kitchen preparing dinner and you were in the living room playing with Kal. He enters the room announcing that the dinner was almost ready. You got closer to him, grabbed him by the hips and kissed him. You were listening to a playlist made by Henry of some of his favourite songs. You could recognize most of the rock ones, but had absolutely zero knowledge when it comes to country music. You decided to change the music and "I Wanna Dance With Somebody" by  Whitney Houston started playing while you started dancing to the rhythm. Henry watched you dance, standing by the kitchen door with his arms crossed and a grin. You looked at him and made gestures for him to join you but he refused. You continue insisting while pouting.

"Somebody oo Somebody oo Somebody who loves me yeah Somebody oo Somebody oo To hold me in his arms oh I need a man who'll take a chance On a love that burns hot enough to last So when the night falls My lonely heart calls"

You put extra emotion to the movements when the song hit that part and Henry couldn't resist it any more, he sighed and joined you. He took your hand and made you turn around, and then put you closer, he was trying to dance, but clearly had no idea how to do it, but you thought that he couldn't be cuter. He might be a bad dancer, but at least he tried for you. He prepared a tomato, basil and cheese tart that looked amazing and tasted even better.  For dessert, he prepared English Trifles, which were delicious. "If you ever ended up unemployed, you could easily find a job as a chef" you joked and he smiled at you and you could see that he blushed a little bit. After dinner, you went back to the couch, so you could be close and talk so more. You could listen to him talk for hours or even days. His voice was music to your ears. And you especially loved when he talked about his family, he loved them with all his heart and you could see that. His nephews and niece were his soft spot. He loved to be an uncle; play with them, watch movies with them, read books for them or help them with their homework. He showed you lots of pictures of them that he had on his phone and some cute videos too. You also talked about Kal and he told you the story of how he got him and you couldn't help yourself but feeling a little jealous about the fact that his ex-girlfriend was involved in such a precious moment in his life. You never were the kind of girl that hated his boyfriend's ex, unless that they truly deserved it, and you definitely didn't hate her, since Henry still cared for her even if he wasn't in love with her anymore, but you envy her a lot, which you felt it was silly since it happened so long ago. You didn't allow Henry to notice how you were feeling and decided quicky to change the mood, so you stood up and put up some music. Henry looked at you as you started to dance to "Into You" by Ariana Grande. You regretted immediately not have put on a dress, because it'd be sexier than with tight black pants and a sweeter, but still worked. You could see on his face that the desire for you was growing quicker and quicker.

"Tell me what you came here for 'Cause I can't, I can't wait no more I'm on the edge with no control And I need, I need you to know You to know, oh"

The song was playing while you sat on his lap and stroke his face while lip-syncing to the lyrics and he put his hands on your waist and stared at you with lust. You got up again for the final part of the song, grabbing his hand, making him stand up. You dance around him, moving sensually and gracefully. When the song ended, you searched for other one and soon enough, "Love On The Brain" by Rihanna was playing aloud. You put your arms around his neck as he pulled you closer to him and with a big smile on his face, he placed his forehead on yours as you two smoothly swayed to the tune.

"Must be love on the brain That's got me feeling this way (feeling this way) It beats me black and blue but it fucks me so good And I can't get enough Must be love on the brain yeah"

You could not get the song out of your mind as Henry made sweet but passionate love to you. It seemed like it was going to be his last day on this earth because you had sex three times that night before falling asleep, you wrapped around his arms. The next morning, you woke up with a kiss from him in the back of your head. You turned around and he was looking at you with sleepy eyes and smiling like a child on Christmas Day. He caressed your face and wished you a good morning. You said it back and smiled. As you were waking up, you notice that Henry got the famous - infamous- "morning glory" and you pointed out and he suddenly became red as a tomato as he apologized to you. You laugh and asked him if he had lubricant and he gave you a suspicious look but searched in his nightstand and got a little bottle, he blushed even more. Then, you ordered him to lay down on his back and close his eyes. He did what you told him to, and you lay down next to him. You put lube on your hand and then grabbed his member and started to stroke it slowly. Your mouth was on his ear, as you started to speak softly, almost whispering. " Concentrate in my voice... in my warmth breath close to your ear...in my voice...in my lips, do you remember them? Yes, of course, you do. How would you forget them? My beautiful lips that surrounded your beautiful cock and made you go to new realms of pleasure... and my tongue, let's not forget my tongue, it's the real star in here, isn't it? The way it sweetly but firmly strokes your penis and all of you is magnificent." You moved your hand faster and the slow again and so on. Herny was moaning and breathing heavily. "Do you remember last night? When we did it for the third time because you still couldn't get enough of me and my body. You wanted me so bad...and the feeling was mutual. I wanted you inside of my as much as you wanted to be there." You said and kissed his neck. That sent him over the moon. The noises were louder and louder. "You pounded me hard, as you played with my boobs and then kissed me like there's no tomorrow. Remember our amazing night, baby?" you questioned and he released. "Fuck" he exclaimed and grinned. He had sperm all over his stomach. You kissed him and he grabbed your face to make sure the kiss was a good one. After that, he got up and prepared a bath for the two of you to enjoy together.

[loveisblindfanfictionbka]

Love Is Blind: Chapter Fifteen

“Houston, we have a problem,” Robyn said as she heard the phone line pick up.

“What happened?” Melissa asked.

Robyn sighed as she ran her fingers through her hair, “Leandra, can you hear me?”

“I can hear you, Sis. What’s going on?”

“I’m pregnant.”

“What!” Melissa and Leandra exclaimed simultaneously.

Robyn rushed to turn down the volume on her speaker, “Stop screaming. And you heard what I said.”

“What? How?” Melissa asked.

“You know how. Don’t ask me nothing stupid like that.”

“You know what I mean. You and Chris have been getting it in like that?’

“No. I mean yes. Ugh.... we do not have sex regularly but we have had sex since Leandra’s party.”

“Oh my God, I’m gonna be an Auntie again.”

“Uh wait, don’t get too ahead of yourself.”

“Why not? It’s not like you’re not gonna keep the baby. Right?”

Robyn fell silent for a few moments.

“Robyn? I know you heard Mel,” Leandra said, “you are gonna keep the baby, right?”

“I don’t know.”

“What you mean you don’t know? You’ve wanted a baby for the longest, the opportunity finally arises and you’re hesitating.”

“I don’t think we’re ready for a baby.”

“You both have stable jobs, steady income, and completely settled lives. You’re also in an awesome relationship. What’s the problem?”

“This changes things, Le.”

“Shit changed once y’all started fucking. It’s not like you didn’t know it was evitable.”

“I knew it could happen by a freak chance but we’ve never had unprotected sex and since we first had sex, we’ve fucked maybe 5 times.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really. It’s not like we live together or anything.”

“Sure but I still thought it would’ve been more often than that. How does Chris feel?”

“I haven’t told him yet.”

“Does he know about the possibility?”

“He’s the one that suggested I get the test done.”

“Really? What made him think that?”

“I told him that I had been getting dizzy and stuff and he said my stomach felt hard.”

“Ah. Why didn’t your doctor test you the first time?”

“Because I didn’t even consider it a possibility. I just thought it was vertigo, this doctor’s appointment was originally just to get some balance tests done then Chris got to be all, “are you sure you aren’t pregnant,” so I agreed to have my doctor test me. I wasn’t expecting it to be true.”

“So what are you gonna tell Chris? I’m not anticipating you have a long time to make a decision, you’re probably really close to the cut off for an abortion.”

“I don’t know what to do. I was supposed to call him right after my appointment but I need to get my head together first.”

“Maybe you should talk to him in person and decide what’s best for the both of you.”

“He’s gonna want to keep this baby.”

“Well then you have to deal with that and if you don’t want to have a baby, you need to tell him why because you both need to be able to ok with whatever the decision is going to be”

“Ugh...this wasn’t supposed to be my life.”

“You’re saying it like this is the worst thing to ever happen to you. You and your husband are working things out, you have a daughter and quite possibly have a new baby on the way. Where is the horror in that?”

“He wants to get married again.”

“To you, right?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

Leandra chuckled, “why is that unfortunate? Are you still on this never getting remarried schtick?”

“It’s not a schtick. It’s really how I feel.”

“What’s so horrible about marriage?”

“You can watch what my last marriage became and really ask me that question.”

“But it’s your last marriage. If you’re truly over it like you claim, what’s the harm in considering marriage again?”

“The harm is I don’t want to.”

“Ch….I need you to start being a lot more honest with yourself, Robyn,” Melissa interjected, “you have up this front that you are healed and moved on but you’re still holding onto the pain of the past. If you aren’t gonna appreciate this second chance, why are you even entertaining Chris?”

“Because I love him.”

“Then love him completely. I’m sorry but you are gonna have to trust him and if you can’t, you both need to move on. You are too old to be playing games.”.

“I’m not playing games.”

“So what is it?”

“You’re right that I don’t trust him but it’s because I don’t know him. I’m not dealing with the same Chris from before. I’m still learning him, hell, I’m still learning myself at this point and I don’t see marriage in my future until I can look at him and see him, not his past mistakes. I don’t want a marriage full of comparison.”

“And that hasn’t happened in all this time?”

“I just found out why he left me in the last few months. We’re still maneuvering past that and you think we’ve had time to focus solely on who he is now? And now I’m pregnant by someone I’m not even comfortable enough to marry again. We’re not ready for this.”

“I get what you’re saying, Robyn,” Leandra replied, “but are you really sure you want the baby to be caught in the middle of that?”

“The baby already is. I never wanted to raise children in instability like I was raised or Chris was raised. Having children is not my problem, not being able to properly raise them is.”

“You already have Anesa.”

“Chris already has Anesa, I love that little girl like she’s mine but she was already a packaged deal with him. As new as our relationship is, it's not like I would’ve adopted a child in the climate we’re in if Anesa didn’t already exist. I can’t undo that. I can’t control what children he’s gained in our split but I can control what children we have together. That’s a completely different situation.”

“Robyn, I know you’re trying to be all logical with this but I really think you’re gonna regret it if you decide not to have this baby. You’ve always wanted children and I know for a fact that that dream hasn’t died. There’s never a perfect time to have children but how you deal with it when it happens makes anytime the right time.”

“I don’t know if I can do this.”

“It’s not just you. You need to talk to Chris. And I mean go to him right now and tell him what he needs to know.”

                                        ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chris ran his hand over his head as he opened Robyn’s front door. He had told Robyn to just call him when she left her doctor’s appointment but he still made the trip to stay at his condo near Columbia just in case she needed him to physically be there for her. The smell of food swept past his nose as soon as he closed the door and locked it behind him. Taking off his sweater, he hung it in the nearby closet before making his way to the kitchen. Robyn had her hair wrapped up in a turban and the hem of her black maxi dress swung across her bare feet as she moved about the kitchen. He leaned against the wall before loudly clearing his throat. Robyn paused and smiled at him, it didn’t quite reach her eyes, “Hey you.”

“Hey. You ok?”

“Yea, I’m fine.”

“How was your doctor’s appointment?”

“It was interesting but we’ll get into that later. Did you eat?”

“Nah, I didn’t have much of an appetite.”

“Oh. You got here fast. I wasn’t expecting you for another hour or so.”

“I was at my condo.”

“When’d you get there?”

“I drove down earlier after Anesa went to my sister’s house.”

“Why?”

“I just wanted to be prepared in case you changed your mind about me going to the appointment with you.”

“Oh. That’s sweet. Thank you.”

“Are you sure you’re ok? You seem very nervous.”

“I’m fine. Honestly. Would you like to have dinner with me or you still have no appetite?”

“I can take a couple bites.”

“Cool. Can you set the table?”

“Sure Babe.”

Dinner was eerily silent. Chris did take a few bites but he couldn’t help but feel like tonight was not gonna be a good night. Robyn glanced up from her plate a few times but kept returning her eyes back down to the table like she couldn’t take looking at him. Chris set his fork down and wiped his mouth with a napkin before sitting back in his chair, “Robyn, look at me.”

She started to fidget with her silverware and take tentative bites as a way to continue avoiding his eyes.

“Robyn, I know you hear me. Look at me.”

She glanced up at him and Chris leaned forward onto his arms, “what’s the matter with you? You look petrified. Did something go wrong at the doctor’s office?”

“Not wrong per se.”

“So what is it? You haven’t looked at me or said a word since I got here. You’re making me nervous. Is it something serious? Are you sick? Did-”

Robyn held up her hand to stop his inquisition, “I’m still trying to wrap my mind around what happened and I wanted to approach this topic with you in a more relaxed manner.”

“You haven’t relaxed since I stepped through the front door. Clearly, whatever happened is not being processed well.”

“I don’t want you to take what I’m feeling the wrong way.”

“I understand that but we still have to talk about it and clearly a few minutes isn’t gonna change your feelings that drastically. Whatever you learned is still new and fresh, it may take awhile for you to completely wrap your mind around it and that’s ok. Is it something we have to immediately talk about?”

“Considering my decision window is small, yes.”

“Oh.”

“Chris, I’m pregnant.”

His eyes widened as he forced his mouth to stay closed. It was clear he needed to be calm because Robyn looked like she was about to fall apart.

“OK. So what’s the part that you are petrified to tell me?”

“I don’t know if I want to keep it.”

“Oh.”

“You sound disappointed.”

“I mean this is sudden but I don’t want to say something without thinking about it first. What makes you unsure?”

“Us. We’re really just taking the training wheels off this relationship and this is a big thing to have to deal with at the same time. We’re still learning and getting used to these evolved versions of ourselves and now there’s a baby. I mean- I don’t know.”

“What are you afraid of the most?”

“That we’re gonna ruin this baby. I never planned on having children outside of the marriage, more so for my own sanity than anything else. Parenting takes a lot, it requires so much of both people involved and the possible added stress of having to maneuver a newly developing relationship concerns me.”

“Do you not think we’ll be good parents?”

“You’re already raising a child so you have experience. Me, on the other hand, I don’t. This is all completely foreign to me and I know I’ve always wanted children but the circumstances are not ideal.”

“I can understand your concerns. They are logical and very important but you’re neglecting one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“Nobody knows how to be a parent until they actually become one. Parenting is trial and error, just like any other relationship. If I let my concerns about whether I’m doing this dad thing or husband thing wrong keep me from having children or a spouse, I would’ve never been a father or a husband. None of us can predict the future and you’re giving yourself regret over things that haven’t happened yet. Would us being married make this easier for you?”

“No.”

“So why is that the basis of your argument? You don’t want to get married prematurely, I understand and respect that but that’s a completely separate thing from us being parents. I know you want the two things to exist in tandem but life doesn’t always work out that way.”

“We were so careful.”

“I know but nothing is a hundred percent guaranteed except for abstinence. You have sex, you take that risk.”

Robyn sighed, “Chris, I don’t know what we’re gonna do.”

“How close to the threshold are you?”

“About 3 weeks out.”

“So that puts you at about 9 weeks, correct?”

“Yea.”

“So what do you want to do?”

“I don’t know.”

“So what can you live with doing? There is an aftermath to every decision you make and you have to be able to live with it. I want this baby but I can’t and won’t force you to make that choice if it’s not something you want to do.”

Robyn sighed, “God, why is this so difficult?”

“Robyn, you really gotta think about this. And it’s unfortunate that you would have to make a decision so soon but it’s important.”

“I know.”

“Is this why you didn’t call me right after your appointment?”

“Yes.”

“Uh huh.”

“Are you upset with me?”

“Why would I be? At least you talked to me about it and didn’t make me feel l didn’t have a say so in this. There’s nothing to be upset about.”

“But you are upset.”

“I’m nervous and a little disappointed but that has more to do with my own expectations than you.”

“You expected me to be happy?”

“I expected a little less melancholy, yes but after talking about your stance on a marriage the other day, I wasn’t expecting you to do cartwheels and backflips if that’s what you’re thinking.”

Robyn chuckled, “The idea of this baby, the presence of this baby is a joyous thing to me but the circumstances and the responsibility that comes with this baby is what’s tamping down my happiness.”

“I understand that.”

“You seem to understand a lot but you’re not telling me what you’re feeling.”

“I’m preparing my emotions for the ultimate decision, I'm really riding on neutral because it seems the safest thing to do right now.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, Babe. It’s just how I learned to deal with difficult situations, especially ones that don’t seem to have a right answer, you know.”

“I know.”

“I’m a little uncomfortable asking you but did they just do a pregnancy test or?”

“I have a sonogram if you want to see it. It’s not a lot to see though.”

“May I?”

Robyn pushed back from the table and went to grab her purse. She handed him a small envelope as she leaned against the back of his chair. Chris carefully took out the grainy photo. The doctor circled where the baby was located.

“How you feel?” Robyn asked softly.

“I’m good. You?”

“I’m good.”

Chris squeezed the hand that she had resting on his shoulder and tilted his head back to kiss her chin, “we’re going to be ok, no matter what we choose to do, ok?”

“OK.”

“You trust me?”

“Yea.”

“I’m not going anywhere. We’ll get through this regardless of what happens. I promise.”

“Thank you for listening and not getting upset.”

“Of course. I always want to be that safe space for you. You look like you need a hug.”

“I do.”

Chris stood up and took her into his arms. Robyn buried her face in his chest and Chris rubbed her back, “We’re gonna be alright, Baby. I got you.”

[calypsoff]

Thirteen.

Staring off into the thin air, I am in stuck in the third meeting this week about my album rollout, which is great, and I am used to it but I have been meaning to see Chris now that he has moved to Texas, I promised him I would and then something comes up. Chris moved pretty quickly, he went back to Virginia and then up and left, he let his parents sell the apartment and he got the money for it, but I miss him so much. We are in April and we saw each other in February, I am annoyed. I have been in Barbados for most part but then I had to come to California, the album is done but we are trying to get the rollout of it done perfectly. I am annoyed because I like to live up to my promises and I am not, I keep saying this week, and then the week after. It’s a mess, I want us to work so much but how can I leave a man without sex and without me for all this time. It’s too long, it does worry me so much because it’s been so long “so Rihanna, what we are proposing on the dates from the forth May, seven days, seven countries, seven shows. Inclusive for fans to tour with you but also see these private shows, just fans. This is all fan based” shaking my head “I am busy on that day” I think the fuck not, that is Chris’ birthday and I will not miss his birthday for anything “album rollout is during then Rihanna what do you mean you are busy?” Jay Brown is being dead ass “it’s my boyfriend’ birthday. I need to spend time with him” Jay Brown chuckled “right, so you held off recording because of that and now this, ok fine. We can move it, sixth May?” shaking my head “start off on the tenth May, I need time to gather myself. It gives me time, gives us time. I just want him to remain a secret” they need to accept that also “give us time?” Jay Brown repeated “yes, I have not seen him for months now, well weeks or whatever. I have been here day and night doing this with you, this is my last meeting, and I am going Texas, so Tenth May or nothing!” I didn’t mean to shout but I got annoyed, the room fell awfully silent “Tenth May it is” I need to calm my ass down, but I am frustrated, I just want to see Chris so badly.

Getting into the SUV, shuffling down so Jen can get in “I wasn’t expecting the little outburst” Jen sat next to me, I sighed out “I know. Because I heard that date and I am like it’s his birthday. I cannot do that to him, imagine me being overseas and I miss his first birthday with me, he did so much for me, and I want to repay that. I feel the strain in this relationship already and it’s really upsetting me. Chris is so hard headed, I want him with me, but he won’t. I should be happy he came to New York that time, but he is stuck on being his own boss. He just moved to Texas, I promised him a week ago I would come to see it, but I haven’t, I have cancelled twice so when he said that I just switched, my bad but yeah. I just want to see him because I got to be back here to film my first single off the album” clasping my hands together “I get it, so you’re going there for how long?” she asked “just for the night, I will be back. The jet is waiting, I am dropping you off first” she cooed out “right, I get it. I don’t think Jay Brown was ready for that, but I did over hear him speak on you being in this relationship. He is shocked you both are together; they are intrigued about him to be honest because he is very much a secret. But don’t feel like it’s being strained?” shaking my head “Jen, he has moved to Texas going on a month now and I haven’t been there, it’s bad and we have had our little arguments here and there and he’s like oh you’re too busy for me, and then it’s like having phone sex sometimes just doesn’t work because I am like I want to be there. Yes I can jump on a jet and just go there but then I can’t settle because I have to be back. Maybe it’s my fault because I rushed to do another album, but I want to get out of this contract” I need to relax “it’s ok, you have a good time and see him. It will get easier for you both, I am sure of it. If you both can get through this then you will get through anything” Jen is right, let me calm down.

“Thank you for dropping me off now go and be with your man, you miss him a lot I can tell” she can tell, I am yearning for him. I have been so needy with him since my birthday ended, I just wanted to see him but he became busy with moving his things around also but he just left Virginia so quick without a care, I am so happy he did because I know he is safe “thanks Jen, I will see you soon. I will only be there for a few days, maybe two but I need to get the music video shot so I can spend time with him for his birthday. I want him to meet everyone, get in the circle. For his birthday I am taking him to a Lakers game, he likes Lakers and always has and I think that gift he will adore so much. So that is one of his surprises, but before that I want him to come to LA, before his birthday. I want him to just meet you guys, just spend time with me but I have to talk him into it, he very much likes to be a man’s man and he should do everything, but I want to spoil him to death, like spoil him a lot so I got courtside seats, which means?” Jen let out an oh “that means going public” nodding my head “which means we go public so I need to speak to him when I get to Texas and we can discuss but I don’t think he will have an issue. So that is why I want you all to see him first, like properly get to know him. So that is his gift, one of them anyways. And then Jay talking about tour, no nigga, I am busy getting dick during then” Jen and I cackled “well I am excited to meet him, and I think he will adore that gift. I will sort him out, he needs to let you spoil him. Because if he gives, maybe you both won’t have this split. He is stubborn, I can tell already. His ass could come to Cali” rolling my eyes “he is cheeky, he said oh well where do you want me to live? You don’t even have a home. I am like you are cheeky, but he is right. He went to Texas because it is cheaper, so there you are. That is Chris, but I adore him and I can’t wait to jump on him” Jen cooed out “take care baby, have fun” hugging Jen close, I cannot wait for them to meet him, they will love him.

I am very much tired, but I am glad to be on the jet going to Texas. Let me check on Chris, I did say I am coming today but you never know with him, he doesn’t believe me. Placing my phone against my ear, Rich asked if he should come and I declined. I should be ok, it’s gated, and we won’t go anywhere so it’s fine “coconut head” he answered “hey poppa” Chris snorted laughing “you like calling me that, why? I mean I know why but still” if he knows why then why ask “because you my poppa, my hard headed baby. But I am on the jet coming to you, this time I am coming” the phone line went silent “TJ! You need to get the women out of the house now” I swear I am going to kill him “code 5!?” TJ shouted in the background, I swear these boys are annoying “I am coming there, and I will sort you niggas out, I swear” I hate them “yeah bro, she is coming so get the girls out” I hate him “don’t piss me off, because you won’t like it” Chris chuckled “I am done, but you see how my niggas ride for me? We got a code 5 on you, but you really coming? Man, I ain’t shaved, my pubes are grown, why didn’t you tell before” I rolled my eyes “you didn’t believe me when I mentioned it remember?” he let out an oh “I am excited to see you” I miss his face “also that house plant better be alive when I get there, I got that gift to make your home a little more like I would be there” Chris snorted laughing “uh yeah, we call the plant code 5 too” all of them niggas at that house are annoying “I can’t wait to sort you out! I will see you soon” he gets on my nerves “call me when you get close to the place, I will wait outside the gates for you and get you in ok?” I feel all giddy now, he will be there waiting for me.

I be doing all this myself now, I get everything sorted with getting the SUV and everything like that, I don’t need anyone to do this for me because if I rely on them I would never be here “he should be at the gate” I said to my driver, I hope he is here “there, he is there” I clapped my hands, the driver stopped and put the window down “Christopher” I feel so emotional, it has been so long and it was never meant to be this long. Watching Chris walk towards the back as he opened the door, I am literally jumping off the seat right now “did you tell him to say my government?” he climbed into the SUV “oh my god” I lunged at him, wrapping my arms around his neck “I missed you so much” this is it, the water works have started. Chris snaked his arm around me “I missed you too” he grabbed my legs and picked me to sit me on his lap “you look so good, you got the red lipstick on too” he would notice that, moving my head back “and you kept your hair long, for me. I don’t care, you can look however you want, I missed so much” pecking his lips “you let me down several times” wiping his lips with my thumb, I don’t want to cover it with lipstick now.

Chris lifted the hood up on his jacket “it’s a little busy here so, let’s keep you like this” it smells like him so I don’t mind it “hopefully nobody has a Rihanna foot fetish, they we doomed. Thank you, I will take this” Chris took my carry on suitcase, Chris held onto my hand and honestly my heart skipped a beat, I just missed him looking after me. His presence around me so much, it’s nothing like facetiming. I needed him here with me, holding me like this “welcome to Houston, me and Beyonce are best friends now” he is annoying, walking into the building with him. I can’t even look up because Chris told me not too, he said it’s bust “y’all hear that? Rihanna is releasing a new album, apparently but we don’t support Rihanna here, it’s all about Beyonce” I would kick him if I could “you funny, I rate Rihanna” some guy said, Chris let go of my hand as we stopped walking. Looking up at him, we are getting the elevator “Rihanna sucks” he grinned “dick” I am just going to side eye him, I will get him back. Putting my head down as the elevator opened and people left, it is kind of busy here and I thought it was quiet.

I am so glad that I can take this hood off “you suck, I hate you” unzipping his jacket “well that is my chance to annoy you. You look so beautiful, wait. Hold your face there” looking up at him, he picked at my face “this is what happens when you cry” he blew the eyelash away “does my makeup look bad, I couldn’t help it. I have missed you like crazy and I feel bad because I didn’t come here quick enough” he shushed me “it’s cool, you’re here now so shall we. Barry and TJ are here, on their best behaviour they promise, so come in. This is the little walk way, the first door on the left is TJ’ room, I will take you to the couch you will be sleeping on” he know damn well I won’t be “come” following behind Chris, it looks nice already. Bigger than the old one, very vibrant “code 5 here?” TJ said “she is” Chris looked at me smiling as I walked into the very big open planned living area, I have seen it on facetime but it’s bigger in person. TJ’ mouth hung open as the game they were playing paused “hi” I said smiling, Barry got up from the couch “welcome to the place” he made his way to me “I get it, you see me as Rihanna” Barry laughed “uh yeah, it’s a little weird to split the Robyn from school, but it’s good seeing you” he hugged me, they will get used to it “don’t mind TJ, he has some crush on you” Barry stepped to the side “Rihanna is in my living room, you look bomb” I chuckled “you’re not being loud now huh” he shyed away, he is shy “that is cute” Barry and Chris busted out laughing “I think we need Rihanna here forever, wow” he is so quiet now.

I am most intrigued to see his bedroom, I swear if that is a mess I will be angry “so we are entering where all the sex happens, you are the third woman to enter this room” he is winking at me like I won’t kick him, walking into his bedroom “oh ok, I see you Chris” I am amazed how clean this bedroom is “oh this wall” I pointed “yeah, I am still doing it. I am doing graffiti one wall and keeping the rest white, anime characters I like and then Lakers, we got to add that in. But we getting there, got the mirror here and I been waiting on you. I got this longer mirror for when you come, you can do your thing, your makeup or whatever. I got a little spot for your clothes” he opened the door “here, it’s a closet. I got the desk with the Macbook, the box here is mock ups of the clothing brand we are doing currently, so yeah. It’s not that busy because my mind is busy so I wanted my room to be minimal. It’s busy without it being busy, if you know. This bed, it’s bomb. Brand new, I spend most of my lonely nights here because my girlfriend is too busy for me” Chris walked into me, wrapping his arms around me “I have missed you, the hugs. The love, I am only here for one night” I didn’t add that before “maybe two max” hopefully that makes it better “deadass!?” he moved back “so after all these weeks I get a few days, how does this progress? Man I ain’t had sex in so long, I ain’t had you here. I ain’t going to argue” he putting his hands up, he is not happy at all.

[mor-beck-more-problems]

The Best Little Pit-Stops in Texas || Morgan & Deirdre

TIMING: Current

PARTIES: @deathduty & @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: Morgan shows Deirdre her old haunts in Houston. You really can’t go home again, but sometimes you leave good behind.

CONTAINS: Houston vibes, softness

When the El Real Mexican Restaurant built itself out of an old two screen movie house, they’d kept the neon marquis intact, equal parts nostalgia and kitsch. In college, when Morgan was wringing out a day’s worth of food from $10 tacos al carbon and endless chips, she had enjoyed making a point of admiring the puns and jokes posted under the neon lights: We’re jalapeno these spicy tostadas! We’re nacho kidding, $5 margs when you order new loaded nachos! When Morgan brought Deirdre there on their second night in town, it read: In Queso You Didn’t Know: Closing Dec 26. We’ll cilantro you again someday. Guess you really couldn’t go home again. “And here I thought it was packed because it’s a local institution,” she mumbled.

They parked across the street between a Half Price Books and a Jack in the Box. Houston was still twilight blue at six o’clock, and she could see the shift changes at the local eateries: aprons going up, textbooks and phones coming out. In the other parking lots in sight and on the eating patios of other restaurants, clubbers strolling for a bite to coat their stomachs before hitting the streets and rainbow flags dangling limp and content from shop windows. Morgan slid into Deirdre’s side as they picked their way along the crawling traffic. She had envied those young people so much, almost in tears with how badly she wanted to be a part of them. She would never know what it was like to be that young and alive and free. But with the woman she loved pressed close, she felt a piece of what she had been aching for. It wasn’t their stuff, or even their numbers, though she did miss knowing that she had enough people who cared about her to fill a room. It was something else, something like the love they grew between each other, but not quite. “I would bring girls out here and get them to buy me entrees I could take home to refrigerate. Even if nothing came of it besides a kiss or an hour fumbling around, it was nice to have a hot dinner I wouldn’t have to cook later. And we were pretty safe out here. Girls didn’t get the same kinds of looks as guys, and this part of town is designated as the gayborhood. As long as you weren’t walking alone and looking obvious, it was fine for me. I’d cover the cheap drinks, obviously. Sometimes with magic counterfeit money but--” she put her finger to her lips. “And if things were going really bad, I could pretend to be really riveted by whatever they were screening up on the wall.” Morgan pointed, in case the projection was getting lost in the organized chaos of evening rush. “Besides having the best tacos for your buck, it was a good spot my dad liked to take me to. Not when it was like this, but when the place first opened and the lunch special had everything even cheaper and we could pass by all the fancy shopping centers on the way home. We can too, it’s really close to the hotel, actually. This time of year everything is decked out in the most incredible lights. It’s like something out of a movie. Anyways--” she smiled thin, not sure what she was trying to get at with all this local geography discourse, “It’s only fair I bring my actual best girl here, while it still exists.” She did feel a little hollow, knowing this would be the only time they were going to be here. None of her childhood homes were still standing, and the apartments she had lived in weren’t worth driving to as far as she could reckon. What else was left of the place she’d been bound to for most of her life but these transient commercial spaces? Morgan frowned as they were seated and the chip bowl was put in front of them. Despite not feeling the November warmth, she had been too preoccupied with her family drama to brood over her life being over completely. Here or anywhere else. What was she planning on doing here besides playing tour guide to her old shadows? Morgan reached for Deirdre’s hand, trying to get a read for how she felt about being here. “How are you doing…?” She asked.

Deirdre’s eyes raked over a labyrinth of people. She didn’t like crowds, usually; noisy, chaotic things. It was a sea to get lost in, a force to feel small under. But there was one tiny delight in that. She could watch the humans flutter about their lives; she would know them, their fear, and happiness and anger, and they would never notice her. All her life, she had been stuck as the observer. Though it was not a role she chose, it was one that suited her. For all the charm that rolled naturally off her tongue, there sat her own fears and insecurities, inscrutable to the fellow watcher. Things changed when she met Morgan, and she wasn’t so much a shell floating through the lives around her as she was someone living for once. “I’ve never really been to a Mexican restaurant before,” she explained on the walk there, “I’ve never really been anywhere, I suppose.” And she hoped that in the quiet of her voice, Morgan would realize just how much she’d given her. It was in that way, that despite the loss that rattled in her chest, she could summon warm smiles and enthusiastic bouts of affection. Her life began with Morgan, after all. She would not let her girlfriend’s end with old, bitter memories. For every reminder of them she could find, she held Morgan closer, kissed her longer, gripped her tighter.

The restaurant’s closing date, announced brightly with a joke in neon lights, wasn’t something she could love away.

She pressed herself firmly to Morgan. It was one part imminent closing, another part restaurant. They never visited any after Morgan’s death; Morgan couldn’t taste anything and Deirdre never ate much to begin with. And though days of stealing fries off Morgan’s plate were replaced with longer walks and frequent picnics, Deirdre wasn’t so oblivious that she didn’t know what this meant for them. What it meant for Morgan now, entering a restaurant she loved, and couldn’t enjoy fully before it would be gone forever. Though Deirdre was caught up in the spectacle of the crowd and the interior, her mind wouldn’t drift from what must have been plaguing her love. The lights above were warm-tinted, strung delicately across the old ceiling, just one scream away from littering the heads of everyone below. “Well, now I’m offended I’m not the only girl you bought drinks for with counterfeit money,” Deirdre feigned a huff, chuckling as her eyes followed where Morgan was pointing. Sure enough there was a movie playing, one she couldn’t recognize or hear, but she was mesmerized by the moving shapes beyond her anyways. Action she didn’t know the plot to, logic she had yet to unravel. There was something odd about stumbling into a movie halfway, played as a backdrop, that she couldn’t put her finger on. By the time they got their table, she still hadn’t quite figured it out. Morgan cut across the table, hand against hers, and Deirdre snapped from her daze. “How am I…” She breathed, incredulous. Then she softened, turning her hand so their fingers could intertwine. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that…?” She smiled gently. “This place is special to you, uneventful dates for free dinner aside...or perhaps, even with those. A place you came to with your father. And it’s…” Deirdre glanced around, then back at the entrance. “I could buy it back, from whoever they sold it to. I could make them keep it open. I’ve tried it before…” She turned back to Morgan. “That old antique store in my town. The place I saved up my allowance for, the place between all the pubs and houses? I tried to---well, it doesn’t matter now, I suppose. It closed. But I could save this place, if you wanted that.”

Morgan heard the quiet notes in Deirdre’s voice, a shy admittance she didn’t know how to read. Would it be better if they had some perfunctory appetizers and left? Was she overwhelmed, or unhappy? Morgan pressed Deirdre’s knuckles to her lips and scooted her chair close so they met nearly side to side in the corner. “I’m...a lot of things, but mostly fine.” She hadn’t been thinking about what it would be like to be here when she called ahead for a table, only that it was already by the Menil Art museum and the Rothko Chapel she’d shown Deirdre earlier and that whenever she thought of the Montrose area, all cramped and flourishing and safe, she always tasted the char of perfectly seasoned chicken fajita meat and the sour tang of tequila on her tongue. From here. It had seemed essential, and she’d never had a bad time there, even when she and her dad guiltily brought Ruth along for their early lunches a few times. Why wouldn’t she make room for something that had always been reliable and good? But now they were here, and Deirdre didn’t like crowds, and Morgan didn’t get anything out of the tortilla chips except crunchiness and pointy ends poking the roof of her mouth. The inside was just like she’d remembered. Rainbows of margaritas, salsas, and November ‘winter wear’ spilled all through the open eating space. The usual cowboy movies and Bonanza specials had been traded in for Christmas-y movies, even though it wasn’t even Thanksgiving yet. Morgan recognized Jimmy Stuart in The Shop Around the Corner at once. He was one of Ruth’s favorites, and this was one of the few films they had been able to agree on. It should have felt like she was falling back into old, comforting steps.

But all the workers would be out of work after Christmas. The red and green paper garland would be thrown away or sold. The building would become something else. Everyone eating here would funnel into other places, some to boring franchises, some to mom and pop places still surviving under the radar. And all the energy Morgan had shed in this place on dates and lunches and lonely comfort outings would be cut loose and aimless, a ghost of their own. And Morgan couldn’t taste anything or smell the full potency of the steaming skillets passing by or even tell how much hotter it was inside. She didn’t know who she felt more sorry for, the El Real or herself.

“You didn’t answer my question, babe,” she said gently. “If this wasn’t such a great idea in practice, there’s plenty of other places we can go and ways we can spend our evening. Or if I can do something-- I’m just checking in, and I don’t want all of this to be about me.” If not out of kindness, then for this: the more she lingered on herself, the more she felt like a ghost herself.

She softened at Deridre’s half-told story, releasing what little determined resolve she’d been holding onto. “You don’t have to do that,” she murmured. “That would be...I mean what would we even do with the place, except give it back to the old owners, I guess…” Which was a thought that did make her happy for a moment, enough that she couldn’t hide it. “I could never ask that, and it’s not like we’d get to enjoy it often…” But that wasn’t the point. The point was to let Morgan get to keep something, some place that had mattered to her. Even the schools she’d gone to were no longer standing as they once were. Was keeping it something she wanted? “Tell me more about that place of yours. I want to know, even if I can never see it. Especially because I can’t see it.”

“I’m worried about you, my love.” Deirdre replied easily, sighing with relief as Morgan scooted next to her. As soon as she could, she took Morgan’s hands in hers, firm and steady. “We haven’t really been to any restaurants since…” As her sentence trailed away, she offered a small smile, her brows furrowed with worry. “Maybe I’m just thinking about it too much. Tell me if I am, but I know how much you’ve lost in your life, and how hard things are now and I just...worry, I guess.” And it was frustrating, that they had to be seated in two separate chairs, half-blocked by a table. Al’s had booths, at least. And pie. “I’m okay. More than okay, really. I get to spend time with you, in your home, and all the places you love. I get to fill and color my understanding of you, and that’s magical to me. Knowing you always is. I’ll be okay, no matter where we go or what we do. But if I can do something for you, Morgan….” Her eyes drifted to the movie again; the action had shifted, new actors showed their faces. She knew less than she did before, and the strange, unnamed feeling crept back into her stomach. She slumped and turned back. “This doesn’t have to be about you, if you don’t want that. You know I like you…” Deirdre grinend and nudged her. “And you know I like hearing about you, but if you just want to eat some tacos and have fun, we can do that.”

In a show of good faith, Deirdre reached across and plucked a chip from the table. And then she ate it, slowly, as if it might bite her. There were a lot of things she had never tried before, and she was embarrassed that tortilla chips existed somewhere on that list. Not drenched in nacho toppings, at least. Though nachos themselves were something she only just tried this year. “These don’t taste like potato crisps, I suppose.” She swallowed, trying to dust the salt from her fingers. “We could give it to someone who wants to run it,” she offered, debating on another chip. “We could talk to the owners, talk to other people. And it isn’t really about visiting it…” Deirdre turned her attention away from the so-called “endless” chips, which seemed like they really did have an end to her, several, in fact, and looked to her girlfriend. She knew that she understood, and so she didn’t elaborate on metaphors and symbolism. “If you want that,” she whispered, “change is inevitable, I know. But sometimes you can keep something just as you knew it, just as you loved it. There’s nothing wrong with wanting that.” The story of her little store, a world of its own mysticism, was one of less hope. “It’s not interesting,” she began, “I-I told you about the old books I bought, haven’t I? The ones my mother burned. I got them from there. It was...well, I wasn’t allowed out, much or at all. But this store wasn’t so far from the farm, and yet not too close either. And the few times I had errands, I had just enough time to spare to duck inside and get lost among the trinkets. The owner never complained about seeing me there, or letting me stay.” She knew some kids who were yelled at for accused stealing, more that turned up their noses at the dust and smell. But the old man never paid her much attention, and that, she figured, was a kindness. “I never visited it much when I started highschool, but I passed it one day and noticed a sign and...I-I thought it was money problems. I stole some cash from the family--they never noticed it was gone anyway--and left it inside for the owner.” Deirdre shook her head, “he just used it to retire. Now there’s a bookstore there. It’s not a...thrilling story. Or one I like.”

Morgan bowed her head. She couldn’t bring herself to lie to Deirdre, and she wasn’t ready to say, no, I’m sad, because restaurants make me sad now, because there’s nothing for me in them and I feel awful goading you into ordering enough to make the effort of going out feel worth it. But Deirdre already knew. Maybe it was just common sense or maybe it was some deeper sense she had discovered from spending so much time with her, but Morgan was certain even hiding her face wasn’t going to fool Deirdre for a second. “Since I stopped being able to taste anything I used to, yeah,” she mumbled. Was she spoiling the evening? Was there a version of them that was already laughing and cuddling and making the most out of the tortilla chips? Watching Deirdre try one for herself almost made Morgan cry. She was trying, even with what she was carrying from the past month and a half, she was trying for her. Couldn’t Morgan try a little more too?

“You might...be right,” she admitted. “I wasn’t really thinking practically when I got the idea. And I’ve missed this place ever since I left so maybe I wasn’t even really thinking at all with my new normal brain. I’ve wanted you to see it for yourself way before I… I could’ve been more thoughtful, more careful about this.” A waiter passed by balancing three cast iron fajita skillets on his tray and Morgan imagined her mother’s disappointed face behind her, shaking her head. You know better.

She kept her fingers locked in Deirdre’s as she told her story. She didn’t speak much about her teenage years, Morgan only knew the story of the boy and his dog, her first kill, and that she took her vows at fifteen and only after was she allowed to go back to school. It seemed to Morgan like those years didn’t really exist, but had been corded and knotted around steps and demands and expectations, and Deirdre herself was tucked away somewhere, too numb and hurt to come out. But of course it wasn’t that simple. Of course she had summoned the will to be kind for someone else as long as it was a secret. She had tried, even then. “Oh, my love,” Morgan whispered. “It was still kind and worthwhile, you know that, right? You know--”

Their waiter appeared, holding his pad awkwardly, clearly torn between interrupting a moment and having to do his job. Morgan flashed him a perfunctory smile and ordered a white chocolate pina colada, the shrimp street tacos, and 2 tamales a la carte, rattling off some alterations that would make it safer for Deirdre. Then she asked for the check to be brought as soon as he had the time, even if that happened to be before the food was ready.

When he was gone, Morgan slid her arms around her girlfriend. “I’m coming up with a plan and I want to know what you think,” she said into her shoulder. “You tell me what else is bothering you, because I know there’s something. And we talk it out or we put it aside, and you tell me what you think about how everything tastes, and we don’t even have to finish if you don’t want to. And then…” She hesitated. “I know nothing is ever going to be the same for either of us, we can’t get those places or those feelings back all the way. But there is a place I had that was like yours. One that we can actually share equally. It’s a little more of a drive, but I want to show you, and be a part of it with you,  if you’re still up to it. But you tell me what’s making you sad or worry besides me first. I’m just gonna wonder anyway. How does that sound?”

“No, it’s not like that--” Deirdre groaned in annoyance at the space between them. Swiftly, she  pushed their chairs together, wooden bottoms clashing and finger pinched between them. She hissed in pain, drawing her purple fingertip to her mouth as her other hand settled for resting on Morgan’s thigh. “It’s not like that,” Deirdre repeated. “I don’t care about practical thinking or--Fates, Morgan, I was just worried about you. Of course I want to visit all the places you love, even if we can’t enjoy them together just the same as we would have some months ago. I’ve just been worried about you.” She swallowed thickly, fraught with concern. Was she thinking about it too much? Maybe it hadn’t even crossed Morgan’s mind until she brought it up. But, no, she knew her girlfriend well enough, she hoped. And how could she ignore small frowns or wilted sentences? Wasn’t this whole town just one big reminder of everything Morgan had lost? Was she okay with playing the tour guide, or did she muster the energy to walk just because Deirdre wanted to see everything? Or was it her mother; the meeting still stuck in her mind? Deirdre swallowed, and remembered that she didn’t need to be the silent thinker anymore, tasked with finding her own answers, she could ask. But the story of the stupid antique store lodged in her throat, her questions jammed under. “Probably not. He didn’t care as much about that store as I did, and he didn’t recognize me when I asked. It was a pointless endeavor and I spent months sick with guilt and worry about the money.” It would have been better if she left it, and slowly, the thought occurred to her about her questions too. Maybe Morgan didn’t want to talk about it or---

How long had that server been standing there? Deirdre shifted in her seat, she hadn’t even looked at the menu. It was by miracle, or the power of how well they knew each other, that Morgan ordered for her. Better, because she both didn’t know how to pronounce anything and didn’t know what she would be mispronouncing in the first place. As she’d learned recently, it wasn’t just acceptable to ask for the best thing on the menu, accompanied by their most expensive drinks. As he left, her eyes fell back on to the movie--in a new place, someone was crying now. Deirdre reached across and popped another chip into her mouth, shocked again by the crunch. She considered Morgan’s plan as she tried to chew respectably. “If you’d like me there, I’d love to go,” she turned to her girlfriend with a small smile, “but it’s not like that. Not for me. It doesn’t matter that I can’t steal the food off your plate while you’re gone to the toilet, or that we don’t do breakfast at Al’s anymore. That doesn’t---I miss it, in a way. But not like that. Not like you’re saying it. It’s not gone for me, it’s not lost. Time spent with you, my love, is always the most precious thing to me. It’s never so much mattered where or what we were doing, as long as you were happy, and I’m with you.” Her attention shifted back to the damned movie, and she frowned as she searched for the words to explain it better. “It’s worse for you, because you know what’s missing. Like a...movie met halfway. There’s dialogue and story and characters and I only know half of it. I’ll only ever know half of it. And the people…” She glanced around the crowd, caught in their own worlds, as humans so often were. “...don’t really care about the movie on the wall. Which is a shame, I bet they’d really get it if they watched it all the way through.” Deirdre sighed, slumped against her chair. “There is something on my mind, but it’s about you. And we don’t have to talk about you if that’s not what you want; if it’s too hard. We don’t have to do that. And it’s not like you’re making me sad, nothing like that at all. It’s just how badly I wish I could...fix it all for you.” She sniffled, suddenly aware that her eyes had begun to water and leak and she turned away to blink it gone. “Sometimes, I love you so much I cry about it, I guess.” Her laugh was shaky, and her humor weak. “Sorry, I’ll just, uh---”

“No, it was. It was still kind. It says nothing about you that it didn’t take, and everything about him, the part that’s wonderful is that you tried…” Morgan whispered, her words coming all out in a rush, slipping in before the subject closed. She fixated on Deirdre, letting everything else fade. The world released itself from her so fast, like it was always waiting to. She followed her gaze and listened to the crunch of more tortilla chips (so addictive, no matter what mood you were in), completely absorbed. Deirdre wasn’t far off and Morgan didn’t know if she was pained or relieved that the wrinkle knot on her forehead was because of her and not some cursed memory or dreadful epiphany. She was sniffing and blinking back tears of her own by the time Deirdre was doing the same. She untangled herself so she could wipe her cheek and the corner of her eyes.

“We don’t have to pretend. It’s okay,” she said softly. “And you’re right. It’s...I used to be in the movie. I was part of the story and everything was loud and close and intense, or, at least that’s how I understood it was supposed to be. Because I didn’t let myself act like anything more than a second string player in my own life because I was so cured and afraid. But even second string people get to have coffee and look at their special someone for a coat because they’re cold, and I’m just...not a part of that anymore. And that’s been true for the last—almost seven months now? But I was getting used to that in White Crest and I at least have people I’m a part of. Well, a couple, maybe—” Her mouth pulled into a grimace as she thought of Remmy and Nell. She pushed them away, this was hard enough already. “But everyone I used to have here died. The places I lived in are gone. Hell, my first elementary school is Costco now! I barely had an existence here, and yet that sad hopeful life seems so far and so much better than whatever it is I’m doing here right now. But it’s not just that. That would be easy. I could just tell you I made a stupid, terrible mistake and I want to go home. But I can’t, because I really do want you to have this. I don’t have a lot of anything, but what I do have feels special, because it’s mine, and I love you, of course I want to give you whatever I can offer. And you have been so deprived and shut away from the world, and look at you now, in the fourth largest city in America!”

The waiter returned with the drink and the food, and flourished out the check. Morgan caught it before it met the table and slid in her card, urging the young man to wrap things up.

“And you’re finally having tacos! Real Tex-mex tacos! And Christmas tamales, I don’t even know why they’re a December tradition, but they are! People look forward to getting bags of these like they look forward to those red Starbucks cups. You’re not just having everyday Houston nonsense, but something seasonal and special too. And I want you to be a part of it and I want to make it good. I didn’t really get to find out where all the good things are in the world when I was alive, but I know these places, I know when my lonely, miserable life was just a little better for having something hot and nice, and being surrounded by tables so crowded or just the right kind of sparse that I could trick myself into feeling like I belonged somewhere for an hour. I just—” She cut herself off and waited for her body to still, for her voice to loosen up again. She wouldn’t pretend to be okay when she wasn’t, but she wouldn’t make them a point of interest in a busy restaurant either. She waited, tears coming loose from her eyes. She waited some more, taking Deirdre’s hand into her lap. At last, with all the control she could muster, she confessed, “I don’t know how to explain the way I want to share all of my good here with you. I want you to be in the movie too, and I want to know where it’s the same and where it’s different, so it all becomes new. I feel like you understand what it’s like to be stuck on the outside, in the audience, a beat behind everyone else. And I want to show you something more and better than that. We deserve that, especially with how much shit is following us back home, if there’s anything left in me that can work my will into the world, I will show you that we can have more than watching from the fringes. And I need to be able to work my will somehow. I was born a witch and I need to know what I want counts for something and what I want is that. But I can’t share something I’m not a part of. And as horrible and selfish as it is, I hate feeling left behind. It shouldn’t even be possible, to be left behind in your own hometown, in a place you love. But I am dead to at least half of my tiny slice of world here, and that’s just what’s still standing. And I hate it. I’m finally brave enough to embrace everything there was around me and now it’s...it’s something I can only get through a screen and I hate it.” She paused again. Waited again. “But there might be something we can save, and share, and someone who would appreciate it. And when you were telling me that story, I just thought, if I can’t be alive or make this as good as I wanted, maybe I can at least save something with you. Something I can almost be a part of.” Her voice lilted up, watery with hope. “I like the idea that doing something outrageous and kind is something that we could do together.” She sniffled and smiled through her tears. “I don’t mean to be such a baby. We can talk about what’s on your mind, whatever you want to tell me or ask me. But you um, you should tell me if you like how anything tastes.”

Deirdre’s brows knit together with concern, brown eyes glistening at the mercy of new tears. She listened, and she nodded, and she opened and shut her mouth like a fish out of water as she tried to find the magic words to send the pain away. How was it, that for as powerful as a declaration of love was, the words ‘I love you’ could be so meager? Love was all she had, and yet, not enough. Her food had arrived, and their check taken care of, but Deirdre’s attention did not stir. She held Morgan’s hand tight, pressed the back of her knuckles to her cheek to take care of any tears, and paid no mind to her own crying. She shifted her fingers and cupped Morgan’s cheek; suddenly, the bustling world around them dissolved in her senses. She didn’t say she loved her, she didn’t want to interrupt, but she spoke it clearly with her body—from the warm gaze of her eyes right down to her legs, twitching to entangle with Morgan. “Houston is the fourth largest city in America?” She said eventually, lamely. And embarrassed by her inability to find the magic words, the restaurant rushed back into feeling and she turned to her food. She needed two hands to eat, just another way this restaurant foiled her; first the chairs, now the fork and knife. She took up the respective utensils in her hands and started cutting into the yellow rectangle on her plate. “I love you,” she looked back at Morgan as she swayed her food, “so much. A lot. The most. More than I know how to say, more than I can fathom. More than you can. Just—“ She sighed with helplessness, giving up on the food. “So, so, much. It means everything to me that you’re here, that you try, that you want to.” She dropped down the fork and knife, and wrapped her arms around Morgan, where they much preferred to be. “I wish I could do more for you.” Deirdre buried her face into her neck. “I wish I could go back in time and pluck you away from all that terribleness. I wish I could fix it now, with just the right words. I wish I could do more than love you. And I know that means a lot already, I know because your love means the world to me, but I just wish there was more I could do for you. I could feel it, when you were showing me around. It was like only a part of you was there, and the other was some place too far to reach—a place I can’t go. And all that time I just kept wishing I could do more, and none of that is your fault, and I promise I don’t blame you in the slightest, but by Death, I just wish so badly.” She sniffled. “You gave me life, Morgan.” And lifted her head up to meet her girlfriend’s eyes. “A real one. A good one. One I’m proud of, one I look forward to, one I can tell people about. And you’re right, I’m not in the audience anymore, I haven’t been for some time now—long before we ever landed here, and even right now. And I owe it all to you, my love. The world is so alive to me, for once. And it means something to me now. And that’s you, you did that.” She breathed with happiness, fluttering a wet laugh. “Is it bad that I almost wish it was half-dead to me too? I don’t want to be any place you’re not, even the world of feeling.”

Loss was inevitable. Deirdre knew Morgan’s life didn’t have to be ruled by it, but it would be stained. An immortal, she would lose everything all over again, all the time. And Deirdre was pained to think about it, as if her own heart had been thrust out. “I’m sorry,” she swallowed, “about everything. I love you. I want everything to be better for you, and this feeling isn’t new. When you were alive and cursed I wanted it so badly I...Fates, even if you were normal, whatever that means, I’d worry about splinters. Curse all the wood, it attacks my girlfriend, doesn’t it know she hurts?” She laughed shakily, pressing her forehead to Morgan’s. “You make everything good, my love. Always. I know your life has been unkind to you, and I don’t know how to make it all better, but we’ll figure it out together. One day at a time. Whatever we can do today that’s good, we can give whatever you want. Do whatever. I love you.” And so she kissed her, fierce and desperate and stopped only when she remembered where they were. Chased by another quick kiss, she turned back to her food and resumed her sawing.

“I know I say it all the time, but just being with you is perfect for me; more than, even. I’m so thankful that you want to share this with me, and I’m so excited for it, but just in case you don’t feel like it...or if you’ve felt like you’re doing a bad job or something...I just wanted to make sure you know the truth: I love you. Any moment with you is good and perfect, and everything I could want and more. All of this has been amazing, every second. That’s that. And, actually, if you won’t think me too dramatic to say it, there was something on my mind—“ Deirdre frowned, interrupting herself. “Why is this so hard to cut?” Bite finally freed, she stabbed it with her fork, astonished at the strangely tough exterior. “I suppose I should taste this first.”

Morgan melted into all of Deirdre’s words and touches so readily she had to stop herself from mewling out loud and climbing into her girlfriend’s lap so they could be as close as she wanted. “I don’t want you to miss out on anything, I want to feel things with you and be...alive. Somehow, just a little more. I don’t want to be where you’re not either, I just don’t know how,” she whispered, clinging to Deirdre as much as she could. If she squeezed enough, she could get the right sense of Deirdre’s back and shoulders, she could press back enough to feel her forehead. “But I am so happy that you are here, and your world is alive. I can’t tell you how much I’ve been wanting that for you, my love. It doesn’t feel like it’s as much as you deserve, I want you to have more, I am so happy that you have this.” She had just hoped that they would be able to inhabit that world together. When Deirdre kissed her she returned with even more fire and longing. She could at least pull and suck and pinch hard enough to be brought a little closer to life. “I love you too, with all I am,” she whispered, feeling lightheaded as they parted.

She was so entranced by Deirdre’s face, the gentleness in her eyes, the devotion in her smile. There was no doubting her sincerity, not after the year they’d had and the honesty they nurtured between each other, but it still seemed like a strange violation of universal order that this love in all its tender, articulate wonder could be hers. So entranced, in fact, that she didn’t realize that Deirdre was about to put the tamale into her mouth, corn husk and all, until she asked. “Oh!” Morgan startled herself out of her crying. “Babe, no, let me help.” She took the fork and prised off the shredded husk and popped the piece into her mouth. The texture was soft and familiar, even hot, still, despite how long they’d spent talking and crying and gathering interested stares. Morgan unwrapped the rest of the tamale from the husk and laid it out. “The husk is just part of how it’s cooked and served. You don’t eat it, babe. Although you could re-wrap the  tamale in it and inch it down as you eat, but that’s more trouble than what it’s worth.” She leaned over and kissed the corner of Deirdre’s mouth, right where she smiled. “But when you try the shrimp tacos, I’m gonna have to insist that you eat them with your hands the way the good mother of earth intended.”

She watched as Morgan unwrapped the food, staring at the revealed insides. That would make more sense, she figured, and chewed the piece Morgan offered her. The flavour was new, but the texture was nice, pie-like, even. “I’ve never had food that required stripping first. It seems like a—“ Deirdre was going to call it a hassle. But then she chewed. Wordlessly, she cut another bite off and brought it to her mouth. She chewed, and swallowed, and went in for another again. “This is good,” she breathed. She hadn’t been expecting bad food, but she hadn’t really been hoping for much at all. She swallowed another bite, eventually putting down her utensils—as if they got in the way of her explanation. “No, this is really good. I—“ Her eyes drifted to the tacos; Morgan had made those a few times, and so she was no real stranger to them. But she had always tried to eat them with a fork and knife. It was how her family had raised her to eat; her mother didn’t like using her hands to eat, she said it was barbarian, like the humans. There was some superiority woven into using a knife to cut into toast, instead of doing what was logical and grabbing it with her hands. But that was her mother, of course. And she wasn’t here. “Right. With my hands. Like how you’re supposed to eat it.” But she’d only just gotten used to eating pizza with her hands. Deirdre contorted her hand awkwardly above the plate, alternating between various claw shapes as she tried to guess at what would be the best way to pick one up without spilling everything inside. “The only thing I’ve really eaten with my hands is fruit, and then only because I plucked it off branches, and it’d be odd to bring a fork outside. But meals, real meals, were always a fork thing. My family enjoys their etiquette.” Which, though she had explained to Morgan once before in less words, she felt like it might absolve her from embarrassment at her display of confusion at the taco. “Which was weird—“ she gave up and turned to the drink instead. “Because all other fae I knew were a lot more wild in their dining habits; they lived in the forest. It’s like my family wanted to be better than everyone, even their own community.” The piña colada was good, naturally. And bolstered by its sweet flavour, she finally picked up a taco and bit into it. “This is also good.” By the time she finished it, her smile had doubled in size.

“What I was trying to say…” Deirdre began, eager to get the words out before the food distracted her again, and it was very distracting food. “...was that I don’t want to be something else for you to lose. I know I can’t help it in some regards but...as long as you want me, Morgan. I imagine I can do that. Even if that’s more than 500 years, I could find a way to stay. If you wanted me to.” And no longer able to ignore the call of tacos and tamales, she dug back into the food.

Morgan dabbed at her eyes as Deirdre went on, occasionally shooting a wave or a thumbs up at a spectator from the surrounding tables. The attention always made them self conscious, and by the time Deirdre had her first proper bite of a taco, the world had rendered them invisible once again.

She itched to take her banshee into her arms and kiss her greasy fingers and carry her off to bed, but the surprising joy in Deirdre’s smile stopped her. Deirdre’s smile was always a little mischievous, whether it was tender or impish, there was a little curve in the corner that hid just how wide it might stretch, like a delicious secret. Even when Morgan made her laugh by surprise, that curve stayed coiled up. But now Deirdre’s smile spread like it had an appetite of its own. Looking at Deirdre enjoy her plate was like seeing her face new. “I guess this means we’ll have to make our own table rules and split the difference,” Morgan said. “I wouldn’t mind picking fruit with you sometime. You must know all the best spots back home.”

Morgan couldn’t help but reach for her banshee as she gave her reassurances. Even more than five hundred years. Even as long as Morgan might last on the face of the earth, Deirdre would wait until they might be together. When Deirdre paused to wipe her mouth between bites, Morgan took her face between her hands instead and kissed her, firm and steady as a promise. “I won’t hold you to that, if only because there’s a chance I’ll never stop wanting you, however many years I last. But thank you.” Kissed her again. “Thank you, my love. Now come with me. I know just the place I want to save with you.”

The bookstore was an hour away from midtown. Morgan cruised through the eight lane freeway with ease, slipping off and taking the quieter back roads when she sensed traffic getting heavy without distress or comment. The night sky blazed orange with light. Even when they’d left the construction zones and the sentinel lines of streetlights on 290, every grocery store, shopping center, and movie-plex had its own cluster of lamps blasting away the shadows. The commercial strip Morgan took them to was small, with no lights save for the ones inside and two flickering orange poles from the city. The names of the shops were all painted on the windows and awning, personal and to the point: Kelly’s Tea Room, Macey Family Fitness, Acre Wood Hunting Supply. The one Morgan parked in front of was named Twice Told Tales.

Like any good second hand bookstore, the charm of Twice Told Tales was in the mess. Wooden shelves, clumsily constructed, bowed and slumped against the walls, their over-stuffed shelves dribbling paperbacks out the middle. They looked like sleeping old men whose shirts had come loose. Toys from the children’s section at the back corner littered the floor: plush dolls and generic blocks from the dollar store, mostly, with the occasional donated Disney princess or superhero action figure, fists raised, ready to light up as soon as you stepped on them. There was an old fashioned bell rigged to the door, chiming happily as they entered. Morgan laced her fingers through Deirdre’s hand and started weaving through the shelves on her old route, fiction first, then fantasy and science fiction, then romance, then the children’s corner, and back up through science, math, and then art and art history. There was no one else shopping and the woman who ran the store was nowhere to be seen, probably doing office work in the back, but Morgan kept her voice hushed all the same, as if she might shatter the place if she spoke too loudly.

“See, my family had this idea to conserve the energy we put out into the world as a family as much as possible. I thought it was because they valued being intentional with your actions, a lot, but it was probably just a way of trying to minimize the curse. Like, how much can you suffer if you don’t have that much going for or against you, right? The answer turned out to be ‘still a lot’, but they tried. And, anyway, the part that affected me was no buying books new. Or many books in the first place. Fortunately inter-library loans are a thing so I wasn’t completely deprived or anything, but getting to have a book I got to love and keep for as long as possible was a…stars, ‘treat’ doesn’t cover how excited I was. Yes, it was a special occasion, only a few times in the year. Birthday and Yule, and maybe one more time if I could prove and argue that I had been really, really good and had earned it and swore up and down not to let it become too much of a distraction.” Morgan sighed, her eyes reflecting the streetlamps like tiny stars full of wishes. “One of the books was Anne of Green Gables, I remember it because the copy was leather bound and there was this incredible, full color illustration of Avonlea inside and it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, and I’d bring the book to bed with me just to look at the picture and imagine being there. Literally falling asleep with my head on the cover. And I got that one, and any other books from that period of time here and… Frankie!” A young looking tabby, about Moira’s size, leapt down from its roost on a shelf and presented itself for them. Meowing so calmly, it seemed to be offering customer service. “It’s not the same Frankie I knew, obviously, but the lady here just keeps adopting tabby’s and naming them the same.” She looked up at Deirdre, giving her hand a squeeze. Was she really here with her? Did she feel how special this place was? Did she like it?

“I’d like it if you never stopped wanting me, I hope you won’t. Because there’s a good chance I won’t stop wanting you either.” Deirdre smiled softly. The food was done, delicious to the late bite, and she welcomed the Houston night air into her lungs. She didn’t know where they were going, she never really did. But it wouldn’t have mattered if she knew the place by heart or in casual passing, her excitement bubbled and overflowed like milk in a pot. Her version of simmering down was trying to read road signs as they blurred past. Morgan drove like she was going home, even in White Crest there was still some double-checking of street names, trying to decide if it was a left or right turn. She peeled off the giant freeway into an exit Deirdre hadn’t even noticed, though she had occupied herself with softly commenting every odd observation—some witty, some nonsensical, some common sense. She wasn’t so much talking to Morgan as she was letting her brain run loose. Beyond them, her pot continued to boil.

For all that she imagined of the place, their destination was better. Their destination was always better. Her eyes danced over every book spine, every dusty shelf. She almost wanted to tell Morgan to walk slower, she needed to commit it all to memory first. She needed to think about where Morgan stood before, what books she touched, and if they were still here for her to run her fingers over. In her awe and excitement, she hadn’t even remembered the name of the establishment. They should go back out, and come back in, let her revel in the chime of the door. How many times did it jingle for Morgan? Could she know? The store was cramped, every inch filled with something. She thought of the massive freeway, and tried to figure how many of these stores could fit in there. Then she listened. She looked to Morgan, and then back around the store. Between the shelves, did a younger Morgan skip with excitement through the sections? Did she look up, brows furrowed in concentration as she tried to pick out the perfect book—the best book. If she only got just one, it had to be good, didn’t it? But how could she pick, faced with options that literally fell off the shelves for her. Deirdre imagined Ruth in the corner, impatiently tapping her foot. Or maybe it was Hector, as excited as his daughter. Did he pick titles off the shelves that he thought his daughter would like? Did he marvel at how something so simple, so inconsequential, sparked such innocent excitement in her? Did he feel guilty? Deirdre turned back to Morgan, just quick enough to catch the expression on her face. Guilt, she decided. He could have made a world where she made that face all the time. Deirdre felt herself wanting to herself, she couldn’t imagine anyone feeling any different. What monsters those creatures must be, that would ever deny Morgan this.

Frankie interrupted them, which was all the better for Deirdre, who knew her eyes were watering. She laughed shakily, turning her head to hide a sniffle. “You’re so happy,” she sniffled again, trying to cover this one up with a cough as she met Morgan’s eyes. “It’s the most beautiful sight.” She greeted it with a kiss, as if thanking her lips for smiling. And another kiss to her temple; for her eyes, which glittered with brilliance. And then another, to her lips again, simply because she enjoyed kissing Morgan and wanted one more. She reached out slowly to the orange cat with a soft smile, letting it sniff her fingers. “I like Frankie,” she proclaimed, the cat hadn’t done anything in particular to earn such praise, but Deirdre had long since forgotten that she wasn’t supposed to like animals. Whatever happened in White Crest, whoever she was there, whatever she was under the thumb of rules, it was as if that woman’s skin had been lifted off her shoulders. She felt free, happy. “So I have Anne of the Green Gables to thank for the fact you’ve read the same old books I have.” Though Morgan had read more, obviously. “How did you pick books out?” She asked finally, pulling one off the shelf for herself, knowing she’d never be able to stuff that thing back in. She flipped through its slightly worn pages; someone had dog-eared a passage, and Deirdre stopped to look at it, wanting to know what someone thought was special there. “There’s so many books,” she continued, “how did you pick? Was it the prettiest cover? Did you read a couple of pages tucked away in the corner?” Show me, she was asking, in much more words. She wanted to know. She wanted the place where Morgan was happy, and the only problem she had was picking a good book, she wanted that world to be the one they knew best—like a full-color illustration of Avonlea. She wanted the gentle strokes, the soft greens, the wide fields and the old-fashioned house that always looked warm and cozy. She wanted to say they could have that. “My mother always thought second-hand books were tacky. Like the humans didn’t even care enough to keep them in the first place. The books I got from that antique store were all previously owned, just like everything else in there. That, itself, was a story. When it was replaced with a bookstore, even if I spent my time there, I never wanted to take a book home.” For various reasons, some that included an angry mother, hateful of personal possessions, others that could be summed up by the dog-eared corner that she pointed to. “People do care, don’t they?”

Morgan wiped Deirdre’s cheek and took her hands once again. “I am unspeakably, dangerously happy,” she said. Laughter bounced on the edge of her lips as she kissed her back. “It’s this place. And maybe a little bit you. Or a lot a bit you.” Frankie padded over to them and brushed against Deirdre’s legs, giving them a polite meow of inquiry again. Morgan scratched the cat’s ears and let it get a sniff of her, beaming as it purred and asked the same as Deirdre. “Frankie likes you too, I think. There’s something about bookstore cats, they just know how to develop an excellent sense of character. Maybe it’s the place.This is a room where things that are lost or unwanted go to belong together and find new homes. It feels nice because anything can have a space here, even people, just by turning up. I think people who don’t get that are just missing out. People do care, yeah…” Her voice trailed off in a whisper, awed and thrilled by the wonder bubbling up in Deirdre. The emptiness and the drab fluorescent lights and the cheap peeling tile under their feet transformed themselves just by being reflected in her face.

Morgan came back to herself with a sheepish grin. “If I can tear you away from your new best friend Frankie, I’d like to show you how I picked out my books….” She reeled her tight into her side and laid their hands against one another, hers on top, guiding it toward the spines. She walked them back to the front of her path, in generic fiction and literature, and hopped onto her toes to steal another kiss. “So, it may be shallow, but I did, to a certain extent, look at their covers. But I also--don’t laugh--tried to feel them. Their textures, their softness, but also their energy. I’d look, and I’d brush my fingers along the spines, up and down and zig-zagging to make sure I got the ones turned sideways too.” She guided Deirdre’s hand as she spoke, teaching her fingertips how to glide over the different shapes and sizes. “I knew I had something promising when my eyes and my hands aligned. Like when you look at someone you love, when you spark inside. If the energy is right, it feels like that, but quiet, it’s just a possibility of that, there’s something inside that wants to become a part of you, but you don’t know if you want it back yet. So then, and only then, I’d pick it out and read a few pages.” She looked at the shelves around them and the steady path of Deirdre’s fingers, and back to her love again. “What feels good to you, Deirdre?”

Deirdre put her book down, she felt guilty for not slipping it back in its place for a moment before her worries—big and small—were swept away by Morgan. “Oh, my love,” she laughed, kneeling down to give Frankie better attention. She was rewarded with the cat weaving between her legs. “You said that about the shelter cats too.” She glanced up, beaming. “And those strays that followed us around that one day. And, just about any animal we come across together.” It occurred to her then that Morgan had never really been speaking to the wisdom of the animals, but of Deirdre’s character. She flushed, and continued to dote on the taby. “But maybe it’s this place. I like this place.” It smelt questionable, like dust and books and something kind of like mold—maybe a byproduct of the Houston humidity. It looked like it’d been robbed; upturned, downturned, spread out like a sloppy storage room. The walls, shelves and floor were as worn as the books. And yet, charming. It wasn’t carelessness that led this store to its current state. It was worn by touch and love, claimed by time, plagued by too many treasures to fit between its shelves. It did need a little saving, a little fixing up, then it’d be just right.

“Mm, I don’t know. Frankie and I are getting along so great.” Her lips curled with mischief, easily awash with eagerness at Morgan’s offer. Even she couldn’t keep up her teasing under the promise to be shown—led—into Morgan’s world. “Okay,” she brushed herself off and stood up. “Show me.” Deirdre smiled and listened. “I’m no witch though. The only energies I feel are death, and I’m not so sure I want to pick a haunted book…” Now, one with a bone stuck between the pages would be nice, but human bookstores usually didn’t offer that. Though she didn’t think it would work for her, she followed Morgan’s steps. She imagined herself as the little girl, beyond excited to have something of her own. What would she pick? Her fingers brushed over the spines of dozens of books; soft, smooth, wrinkled. Some with indented titles, carved into their covers. Others with the embossed kind, some with glitter. All of them wanted attention from her, not unlike the threads of death she could feel at a cemetery. The glory of stories was that she could tug on any one, and be led into something new and exciting—a different world. Books and visions had that in common. So, she waited, she ran her fingers carefully along more books, considering each one. What feels good to you, Deirdre? She paused, fingers pressed to the spine of a humble book. Its title was not long or flashy, not indented or embossed. The book was not thick, though not so small it got lost sandwiched between larger company. What stood out to her most was where her fingers had landed: they obscured the rest of the title, leaving only a red M. There was only ever one thing that felt good to her, every time, without fail. The book was unassuming, but Deirdre grinned as though she found treasure. She pulled the book from its place, flipping it over in her hands so she could look at the cover. From there, she knew she’d chosen the right one. “She looks like you,” Deirdre commented, tilting the book to show Morgan the little girl on the cover. She had brown hair, a blue dress and stack of books, sitting as though she knew more about the world than she ought to—possessed of great, Morgan-esque quality. “Matilda,” Deirdre read. “This one feels good.” Good felt like Morgan, after all.

Morgan squeezed Deirdre as she picked out her treasure and melted with delight just looking at it. “She looks like you,” Morgan said. “Straight hair, dark eyes, and so rapturous and intense in her expression. It’s kinda like your face right now.” She brushed her fingers over Deirdre’s features as she spoke, caressing each corresponding piece of evidence to her argument. Confident she’d made her point, she jumped up to kiss her girlfriend’s cheek again. “Matilda had to hide her books from her parents too, you know. They didn’t appreciate how kind or thoughtful she was, so she--” Morgan caught herself, biting her lip. “If you don’t know the story yet, I won’t steal the satisfaction of the ending from you. But it’s good. My copy was a lot more heavily used than this one, practically falling apart, but it was one of my favorite books growing up. I actually committed myself to learning levitation spells because I wanted to be just like her. And you know--” she brushed her hands over the book cover. “I can feel the good vibes from this book too, even like this. Come on.” She rushed them to the counter and rang the service bell, fighting back delighted giggles. “Hello! Mrs. Benson!”

The woman who came out the back was decidedly not Mrs. Benson. She was around Morgan’s age, with a suburban mom bob and clear frame glasses. “Can I help you?”

“O-oh.” Morgan’s smile fractured and she thanked the universe for her lack of blood flow. “I just um...we’re ready to check out, if that’s okay. I’m sorry I yelled I just, I used to come here a lot. I didn’t know Mrs. Benson super well, and I guess she had to retire eventually, but she was a really nice old lady and I was just hoping to say hi or something.”

The woman’s face broke into a laugh. “Morgan the Gorgon! I’m sorry, that’s so inappropriate of me, but it’s you, right? It’s me, Shelley! We had Chem together!”

While Morgan remembered that name being chanted at her as she was chased down the stairwell and pelted with cans and paper balls, she didn’t remember Shelley, exactly. Was she and academic rival? Had she been someone Morgan had tried to impress with tarot readings and custom crystals? The high school girls blurred together, and the innocence of that time mingled with the pain, like indigestion flaring up in your throat after swallowing a cheesecake. “Hey!” She said. “How--wild! Seeing you here! What made you pick up the torch for this old place?”

“Well, my mother, bless her heart, doesn’t have a head for business, but the last thing Memaw wanted was for the only used book place out here to get bought up or disappear. Lucky for me, I managed to learn a thing or two from her before she passed.”

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” Morgan murmured.

Shelley scoffed. “She’s smiling down from heaven at us. I mean look at us. Look at you! That’s a high fallutent city girl if I ever saw one. Both of you!” She reached out to take Deirdre’s hand and shake it, reintroducing herself as if the last minute didn’t count on account of not being personable enough. “Memaw would be so pleased,” she went on. “You were her favorite of all the regular kids.” Shelley nodded towards an exposed wooden post filled with polaroids and printed pictures of smiling children through the ages. Only two had managed to get frames on them, one that was clearly a younger shelley, posing with her grandmother, and one that made Morgan gasp: unmistakably her. She clutched Deirdre’s arm tight. The girl in the picture was so cringingly embarrassed, not just at the occasion (The Best Reader of the Year award, which amounted to a cheaply printed certificate from Office Max and a free book) but at her own happiness. The promise of a free book, a gift that had been earned in the structure of rules and work had filled her with so much excitement. It was as certain as a spell. Better, even, because she hadn’t even needed to believe, she just had to max out her library card reading more than the other kids and report everything to Mrs. Benson. It didn’t occur to her until she saw the apathetic faces in the gathering that this wasn’t a very enviable achievement. But by then it was too late, and however much she tried to stay aloof as the other eleven and twelve year olds, she failed, miserably. “That’s me,” she whispered. “Deirdre, it’s me.”

“Simpler times, huh?”

Morgan nodded, her attention still stuck on the picture. The attempts to make a slightly oversize shirt look cool, the sweatshirt tied around her waist, the permanent stains on her thrift store jeans. It was all so wrong and brought her so much trouble then, but from here, she just looked like a child. A girl still growing, twisting herself crooked trying to get something right.

“Would you like this gift wrapped or anything, ladies?” Shelley asked.

“But that sounds like you,” Deirdre argued with a soft whine. She eyed the cover again, unable to see anyone but Morgan, with her books, underappreciated for all the intelligence and kindness that existed within her. But Deirdre’s argument leapt out of her in a yelp before it had formed, swept away by Morgan. She laughed her surprise, placing the book on the counter. Though she’d been reading more with Morgan around, she had never felt excited to read a book she picked out since she was a child. She ran her fingers along the fraying edges and thumbed the pages. In a different world, she might have been embarrassed to be reading a children’s book. In this one, she was thrilled. Deirdre bounced on her heels, grinning as she waited.

Her smile gave way to one more tense, more confused. No one told her what a Memaw was, but she managed to put it together herself. She shook Shelley’s hand, momentarily considering snapping a finger for her revisiting of a clearly tasteless nickname, and introduced herself quickly. “Deirdre,” she managed, before Shelley was off to the next thing. Her eyes followed Morgan’s, and Deirdre nearly forgave her for mentioning the gorgon thing. “It’s you,” she whispered back, reaching up to pluck the picture off its nail. Matilda was fine in her cartoon form with her long hair and book pile, but this was the real Morgan. Deirdre’s grin grew back. “Can we get a copy of this?” She asked, interrupting Shelley. “Or keep it, I suppose.” She turned to Morgan, asking silently for her opinion. “It’d be nice if Morgan could be up on that wall forever, reigning over all the other children. But original photos have a particular charm.” She continued to smile at her girlfriend, held close to her. “What do you think?” She whispered, exhibiting great restraint in simply squeezing her arm instead of kissing her like she wanted. There was another question, about how much exactly Shelley should know about their relationship, or if Deirdre should make it a point that she came out of this interaction thinking they were just really good friends. “Don’t worry about gift wrapping it,” she finally addressed Shelley’s question, leaning across the counter. “I did want to ask something about, hm, donations.” Her eyes trailed over the peeling tile, the chipping paint, the books overflowing into disorganized stacks. Then it settled on the emptiness; book stores were not the most popular visit during the night, but she could almost reason it wasn’t the most popular visit full stop. “For the store.” She offered Shelley a bright, winning smile. “If Morgan wanted to put something forth, in her name. She could do that, couldn’t she?”

“If you want it it’s yours!” Shelley said. “All the kids in those pictures are old like us or moved away. Not much to appreciate. And I’m running out of room for the new kids…” Shelley went on longer, explaining who these children were and how often they came and what her ideas were for posting their pictures, but Morgan didn’t hear. She picked up the framed photograph, fingers brushing over her frizzy hair and her sloppy oversize shirt tucked into her stiff jeans. She didn’t wear grunge well, but at least the 90’s were kind to her Goodwill wardrobe.

“Thank you, Shelley,” she said. She tucked herself close to Deirdre, leaning her head on her arm as she broached the subject of donations. “We would,” Morgan tacked on. “It could be anonymous, of course, but what my girlfriend is trying to say is that we would like to give you something toward keeping this place open for another generation or two, and maybe even a facelift, or a more advantageous location?”

Shelley’s eyes widened at the mention of girlfriend, but Morgan forgave her when she didn’t comment. Shelley gestured to a donation jar, admirably half full but not exactly promising for the long term. “We’re always accepting donations at Twice Told Tales. Check is fine, if you, uh, ladies are feeling extra generous.”

“Perfect!” Morgan said. “But what would it take, do you think? Would sixty thousand help you guys out? Or a hundred thousand?”

Shelley blanched, trying to figure out if Morgan was being serious. “Are you...Well, it would certainly go a long way, a very...if mean, if you’re serious, then...I could check the books and give you a more comprehensive estimate, but I couldn’t possibly…”

“We’ll start with the book--” Morgan fished seven dollars out of her wallet and handed it to the woman. “Keep the change. And I’ll set you up with a hundred thousand now, and you can email me about what’s best for the store.” Morgan happily wrote out a check and stuffed it into the jar. “And, well,” Morgan looked hesitantly at Deirdre, trying to ask for her approval in advance, “If you don’t mind, babe, I’d like a plaque or something, with both our names on it. You can call us donors or patrons, I don’t really care, but I want people who come in here to think of Deirdre too when they think of this place.” She stuffed the check in the jar. “Can we make it a deal? A little extra funding for the store in exchange for its continued upkeep and care, along with a little recognition?” Her eyes flitted to Deirdre again, adding emphasis on the deal. They could make this different. They could make this one good thing stick, and for once, a legacy didn’t have to be something shrouded in pain and suffering.

“We?” Deirdre blinked, eyeing Morgan. She didn’t correct her, or argue, but in her silence she asked if that was okay, if Morgan was sure. This place was special to her, and it would be kept alive through her kindness. Deirdre thought herself an accessory, at best. But when Morgan didn’t correct herself, Deirdre stood up straighter and nodded. “We would,” she repeated, and pressed a kiss to Morgan’s temple as she so desired. If Shelley had any real issue with it, she certainly couldn’t after their hefty donations—and maybe that was a justice of its own sort. “Think of…” her voice caught, and she looked at Morgan for the second time with confusion. “A-a plaque would be nice,” she swallowed. Nervous not because she disagreed, but because the generosity of it, the thoughtfulness, had made her heart warm in a way that always startled her. “If that’s good to you, Shelley.” She smiled, “it sounds perfect to me.” All she had on her was a few hundred she planned on paying for the food with, and so she simply stuffed that into the jar, careful to avoid the cheque. Her gaze fluttered to the different places their plaque could lay; on the wall where the picture once was, by the door, in the corner where people would wander to read. They would know this place was special, if they didn’t get that already. They would know two women cared deeply about it. This place was good already, it didn’t need their money for that. But it would be better because of them, and it wouldn’t face financial struggle in a way so many other businesses fell victim. They could leave good in their wake. “You know, Shelley the smelly—” Deirdre grinned; and maybe some petty revenge too. “Did they ever call you that in highschool? Terrible name, really. Anyways, I know you have a lot of great ideas for this store. So why don’t you figure out how much they all cost and we’d be glad to finance them. The next time you visit your grandmother, will you put some extra flowers in for us too? Tell her we said thank you? I know she’s already been able to rest easy with her store in such good hands.” Her gaze raked one last time over the tiles, the walls, the shelves and the messy books; whenever they returned, there was no telling what this place would look like. Her heart throbbed for the scenery to be lost, but not all loss was bad. Some of it was merely change—like the tides of life and death.

Deirdre pulled closer to Morgan. They could save something, they could make it good, and she kissed her girlfriend, free. She repeated, “do we have a deal, Shelley?”

Shelly nodded, stammering out her agreement. She was so stunned, the dig at her name didn’t even phase her. “Yes, that’s, sounds great. Deal!” She didn’t have any sense for the magic threads wrapping around her words or the delight that burned through Morgan as the agreement was sealed.

“You’re a good woman, Shelley,” Morgan said. “Thank you for letting us help. You take care now, alright?” Her voice drawled softly as she picked up the old parlance of her childhood. She spared Shelley one more smile, more than a little satisfied with her own magnanimousness. She left on Deirdre’s arm, keeping her cool sense of superiority until they got back to the car. When they were safely inside, Morgan took Deirdre’s face in her hands and kissed her hard. “I love you. Thank you for doing that with me. I know it’s just one little store, but it’s part of my home now it’s a little bit mine and a little bit yours too. Something good is ours.  Not the worst way to end the night, right? How do you feel…?”

“Thank you for sharing it with me,” Deirdre breathed as they parted. “You didn’t have to, but I’m so glad you did. It’s a special place, it really is.” She reached for Morgan’s hands, eager to take them in her own, tight in her grip. “I feel happy,” she confessed, unafraid of what it meant. To them, happiness was a dangerous thing, even as often as they felt it. They knew how easily it could be taken from them, how the robbing of it could come disguised as righteousness. But there, right then, Deirdre was happy despite it all. If Ruth was somewhere, scowling at her daughter for such flagrant displays of selfish delight, Deirdre hoped she could see how much they didn’t care. “Thank you,” she repeated, “for everything, for all of tonight. For bringing me to the restaurant, for showing me this store...for letting me come along for this trip, even. I’ve loved seeing your home, Morgan.” She grinned, reluctant to part but aware that at some point, they really had to get back to their hotel. Not for rest, but because there was love she simply couldn’t share stuffed at the front of their rental. “Fates, I’d be fine if you had more planned, but I’d really like to take you back to the hotel…” She leaned across and kissed Morgan earnestly, in a way she thought might make Shelley blush if they were still inside. Parted, she grinned with a tease. “...to do some chaste reading.” She waved their new-old copy of Matilda around. “And to make love to you, either-or.” Deirdre leaned back into her seat, gripping Morgan’s hand. Whatever laid beyond them, and back home in White Crest, they’d done good here. And with luck, they could do good elsewhere. A legacy that was more than loss and pain was suddenly something Deirdre wanted, and something else she felt like she could have. She had Morgan to thank for that, she had Morgan to thank for a lot of things. “I love you,” she smiled; for now, those three words would have to carry the weight of it.

[my-infp-world]

INFP Music Collaboration Project: Complete!

The INFP Collaboration Playlist Project is now complete! 

In total we had about 200 songs submitted and that completely blew me away! Thank you all so much for participating, I had no idea that it would get this many responses! 

Thank you especially to @rokokokokolores,  @stillnotknowing, @anypassingthought, @2nerd4this, @sonsoftie, @aseratreasures, @infp-relatable, @lunagirl0013, @idunno-justpicksomething, and @namhamjoon (please let me know if I accidentally forgot to tag you)

These are just the participants who were okay with being named but also thank you to all of the anonymous participants!

Here’s the final playlist from everyone’s suggestions, including some of mine that I threw in even though some of you beat me to the punch for a few songs.

Here is the INFP Music Collaboration Project!

Spotify Link: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2F8xgXYEKiJSBOo7g8IvON

I was thinking of doing another one of these in the future but just make up my own prompts and put them all in one form and leave it open for a while or forever and just update the playlist twice a month or something like that. If you have ideas, just drop a comment or an ask if you want it to be anonymous. 

For those who want to know what the playlist turned out to be, here’s the list of songs with their categories below this break:

PROMPT #01: A SONG YOU LIKE WITH A COLOR IN THE TITLE

Silver Dagger - Live at Cecil Sharp House - The Staves

Today I Sing the Blues - Aretha Franklin

Pink Moon - Nick Drake

White Flag - Joseph

Black Swan - BTS

Indigo - Origa

Everything Black - Unlike Pluto

Red Sun - DREAMCATCHER

Yellow Lights - Harry Hudson

Red Hill Mining Town - U2

PROMPT #02: A SONG YOU LIKE WITH A NUMBER IN THE TITLE

.stage 4 fear of trying. - Frank Iero

Symphony No.5 In B-Flat, Op.100: 2. Allegro marcato - Sergei Prokofiev

One More Time with Feeling - Regina Spektor

100 Bad Days - AJR

R.I.P. 2 My Youth - The Neighbourhood

+THNX190519+ - CL

100 Ways - Jackson Wang

Day 1 â—‘ - HONNE

18 - Anarbor

Two - Sleeping At Last

Three Tree Town - Ben Howard

PROMPT #03: A SONG THAT REMINDS YOU OF SUMMERTIME

Fumes - EDEN

Summertime Sadness - Lana Del Rey

T-Shirt Weather - Circa Waves

ME! (feat. Brendon Urie of Panic! At The Disco) - Taylor Swift

Dream - Priscilla Ahn

Carnival Hearts - Kayla Diamond

Yam Yam - No Vacation

Motivation - Normani

Wake Me Up - Avicii

PROMPT #04: A SONG THAT REMINDS YOU OF SOMEONE YOU'D RATHER FORGET

Alligator Alley - Michael Daugherty

Because of You - Kelly Clarkson

Sincerely, Me - Mike Faist

Cheerleader - OMI

Viva La Vida - Coldplay

Supermassive Black Hole - Muse

Over You - Ingrid Michaelson

PROMPT #05: A SONG THAT NEEDS TO BE PLAYED LOUD

Shine A Little Light - The Black Keys

Dynamite - BTS

Prelude in E-flat minor - Dmitri Shostakovich

Sick of Myself - Matthew Sweet

Salute - Little Mix

Smother - Daughter

Ship To Wreck - Florence + The Machine

I Am The Best - 2NE1

Baba O'Riley - The Who

Mr. Brightside - The Killers

King - Years & Years

I Wanna Dance with Somebody (Who Loves Me) - Whitney Houston

I'm Coming Out - Diana Ross

PROMPT #06: A SONG THAT MAKES YOU WANT TO DANCE

Rain - MIKA

My Songs Know What You Did In The Dark (Light Em Up) - Fall Out Boy

Jump in the Line - Harry Belafonte

We Are the Tide - Blind Pilot

I'm A Believer - Radio Edit - Smash Mouth

PROMPT #07: A SONG TO DRIVE TO

So Much More Than This - Grace VanderWaal

Open Road - Lost & Found Music Studios

Vasoline - Stone Temple Pilots

Walk in the Night - Kaori Kobayashi*

Fáinleog - Live - The Gloaming

I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles) - The Proclaimers

Kiss - Prince

Olalla - Blanco White

Sweater Weather - The Neighbourhood

PROMPT #08: A SONG ABOUT DRUGS OR ALCOHOL

Whiskey and Morphine - Alexander Jean

Meds - Placebo

High - Sir Sly

June - Florence + The Machine

Here's to Never Growing Up - Avril Lavigne

Void - The Neighbourhood

Clouds - BøRNS

PROMPT #09: A SONG THAT MAKES YOU HAPPY

Love Wins - Carrie Underwood

Shukumei - Official HIGE DANdism

Boy With Luv (feat. Halsey) - BTS

The Man Who Can't Be Moved - The Script

Love Come Down - Kalafina

Here Comes The Sun - Remastered 2009 - The Beatles

You Are the Best Thing - Ray LaMontagne

Pokemon Theme Song - The Breaking Winds Bassoon Quartet

PROMPT #10: A SONG THAT MAKES YOU SAD

Someday - From "The Hunchback of Notre Dame"/Soundtrack Version - All-4-One

How We Love - Ingrid Michaelson

Everything You Ever - Neil Patrick Harris

Bluebird - Sara Bareilles

The Christmas Shoes - Newsong

Amen - Amber Run

Empty - Ray LaMontagne

In Dreams - Roy Orbison

The Beach - The Neighbourhood

PROMPT #11: A SONG YOU NEVER GET TIRED OF

Kimi Ga Hikari Ni Kaeteiku - Kalafina

Memories - Maroon 5

No Choir - Florence + The Machine

Should I Stay or Should I Go - Remastered - The Clash

Love On Top - Beyonce

Keep Your Head Up - Ben Howard

PROMPT #12: A SONG FROM YOUR PRETEEN YEARS

Fight Song - Rachel Platten

Samson - Regina Spektor

One More Sad Song - The All-American Rejects

No One - Alicia Keys

Poison Prince - Amy Macdonald

Love Story - Taylor Swift

7 Things - Single Version - Miley Cyrus

Rude - MAGIC!

Bohemian Rhapsody - Queen

PROMPT #13: A SONG YOU LIKE FROM 70s

Lean on Me - Bill Withers

Cat's in the Cradle - Harry Chapin

More Than a Feeling - Boston

Killing Me Softly - Frank Sinatra* 

PROMPT #14: A SONG YOU'D LOVE TO BE PLAYED AT YOUR WEDDING

How Sweet It Is - Michael Buble

This Will Be (An Everlasting Love) - Natalie Cole

I'm A Believer - Radio Edit - Smash Mouth

Hold You in My Arms - Ray LaMontagne

Never Stop (Wedding Version) - SafetySuit

PROMPT #15: A SONG YOU LIKE THAT'S A COVER BY ANOTHER ARTIST

Skinny Love - Birdy

That's the Way It Is - Cassidy Janson

Angel - Darren Hayes

Titanium - Madilyn Bailey

There Must Be An Angel - ORIGA*

Mr. Tambourine Man - The Helio Sequence

Rude - Scott Bradlee's Postmodern Jukebox

Bad Guy - The Interrupters

PROMPT #16: A SONG THAT'S A CLASSIC FAVORITE 

Africa - TOTO

Beautifully - Jay Brannan

Creep - Radiohead

Cupid - Sam Cooke

Your Favorite Thing - Sugar

Livin' On A Prayer - Bon Jovi

I Will Always Love You - Whitney Houston

PROMPT #17: A SONG YOU'D SING A DUET WITH SOMEONE ON KARAOKE

For Good - From "Wicked" Original Broadway Cast Recording/2003 - Kristin Chenoweth

Take Me or Leave Me - Idina Menzel

Something To Believe In - Jeremy Jordan

Dancing with the Devil - Wolf Gang

Holding Out for a Hero - From "Footloose" Soundtrack - Bonnie Tyler

PROMPT #18: A SONG FROM THE YEAR YOU WERE BORN

A Thousand Miles - Vanessa Carlton

Drops of Jupiter (Tell Me) - Train

Waterfalls - TLC

Good Riddance (Time of Your Life) - Green Day

Wannabe - Spice Girls

PROMPT #19: A SONG THAT MAKES YOU THINK ABOUT LIFE

Memories - Maroon 5

Men Of Snow - Ingrid Michaelson

The River - Kyla La Grange

Saturn - Sleeping At Last

Landslide - Fleetwood Mac

The Fear - Ben Howard

Dog Days Are Over - Florence + The Machine

The Good Part - AJR

Build It Up - Ingrid Michaelson

PROMPT #20: A SONG THAT HAS MANY MEANINGS TO YOU 

Freckles - Natasha Bedingfield

Happy Home - Lukas Graham

Barely Breathing - Duncan Sheik

The Road - Hurts

Lost in My Mind - The Head and the Heart

Love Like You (feat. Rebecca Sugar) - End Credits - Steven Universe

PROMPT #21: A SONG YOU LIKE WITH A PERSON'S NAME IN THE TITLE

Esmeralda - The Hunchback of Notre Dame Company

West Side Story: Act I: Maria - Leonard Bernstein

Nina Cried Power (feat. Mavis Staples) - Hozier

Sweet Caroline - Neil Diamond

Roxie - Renae Zellweger

Grace - Florence + The Machine

PROMPT #22: A SONG THAT MOVES YOU FORWARD

Sukiyaki - Kyu Sakamoto

Fuckin' Perfect - Melanie La Barrie

Who's Got a Match? - Biffy Clyro

Into The Fire - Thirteen Senses

Bang The Doldrums - Fall Out Boy

I Was Here - Beyonce

PROMPT #23: A SONG YOU THINK EVERYBODY SHOULD LISTEN TO

Neon Gravestones - Twenty One Pilots

Danzon No.2 - Arturo Márquez

Most Girls - Hailee Steinfeld

(Finally) A Convenient Truth - Get Well Soon

Stand by Me - Otis Redding

PROMPT #24: A SONG BY A BAND YOU WISH WERE STILL TOGETHER

Such Great Heights - Remastered - The Postal Service

To the Beginning - Kalafina

Here Comes a Regular - 2008 Remaster - The Replacements

Night Rather Than Day - EXID

Wonderwall - Remastered - Oasis

PROMPT #25: A SONG YOU LIKE BY AN ARTIST NO LONGER LIVING

Waiting for the End - Linkin Park

All Along the Watchtower - Jimi Hendrix

Human Nature - Michael Jackson

The Longest Time - Billy Joel

Love, You Didn't Do Right by Me - Rosemary Clooney

Before Our Spring - JONGHYUN

PROMPT #26: A SONG THAT MAKES YOU WANT TO FALL IN LOVE

girls - girl in red

Conversations in the Dark - John Legend

Just like Heaven - The Cure

On The Street Where You Live - Frederick Loewe

Still into You - Paramore

PROMPT #27: A SONG THAT BREAKS YOUR HEART

Five Variants of "Dives and Lazarus" - Ralph Vaughan Williams

Black Woman - Danielle Brooks

Eyes Nose Lips (feat. Taeyang) - Epik High

Empty - Ray LaMontagne

Just a Dream - Carrie Underwood

Landslide - Fleetwood Mac

Requiem - Laura Dreyfuss

PROMPT #28: A SONG BY AN ARTIST WHOSE VOICE YOU LOVE

Hurt - Christina Aguilera

I'M OKAY - SAAY

So Much More Than This - Grace VanderWaal

Pretty Hurts - Beyonce

Just like Heaven - The Cure

i'm lonely - Luz

Skylark - Aretha Franklin

Never Let Me Go - Florence + The Machine

Ship To Wreck - Florence + The Machine

PROMPT #29: A SONG YOU REMEMBER FROM YOUR CHILDHOOD

Going Under - Evanescence

Muddy Hymnal - Iron & Wine

Rush - Aly & AJ

Smooth (feat. Rob Thomas) - Santana

Who Let The Dogs Out - Baha Men

She Looks So Perfect - 5 Seconds of Summer

PROMPT #30: A SONG THAT REMINDS YOU OF YOURSELF

Never Let Me Go - Florence + The Machine

Vienna - Billy Joel

The Pros and Cons of Breathing - Fall Out Boy

In Dreams - Roy Orbison

Car Radio - Twenty One Pilots

Sweet Nothing (feat. Florence Welch) - Calvin Harris

Lonely Dance - Set It Off

*Could not be found on Spotify

[starforsharon]

Sexy Little Me

This is how Hollywood turns a pretty Texas girl into Sharon Tate, the star.

By John Bowers for "The Saturday Evening Post"

1. Two of Sharon Tate's three pictures have been produced in Europe. Although Texas-born, Sharon spent her adolescence abroad, and much prefers London to Hollywood.

2. Sharon will be shown off to American audiences for the first time in DON’T MAKE WAVES. On the set, she reacts prettily to a compliment from co-star Tony Curtis.

3. At 6 months Sharon won Dallas’ “Miss Tiny Tot” award.

4. Portraying a Las Vegas showgirl who becomes a superstar in VALLEY OF THE DOLLS, Sharon had to wear a 10-pound jeweled headdress which “gave her a headache.”

5. This picture of Sharon and her father, Maj. Paul Tate, at a 1965 Fort MacArthur party is from a large “family events” scrapbook that Sharon dutifully keeps.

6. Relaxing on the set of YOUR TEETH IN MY NECK, Sharon listens attentively as the Polish-born Polanski explains how she can improve her performance in the next scene.

May 6, 1967 – Sharon Tate had finished her last scenes for The Vampire Killers (later to be called Your Teeth in My Neck), and had no film work for the moment. At 95 Eaton Mews West, London, she moved about in the late afternoon looking for something to do. She sat Buddah-style on the living room floor and put on fake eyelashes, one eyelash at a time. She worried that a sunlamp treatment, taken a few hours before, was going to make red cracks in her face. “Doesn’t it seem to be getting all red on the cheeks? Look close now.”

She wore a gray sweat suit and furry boots, having been to her daily gym class that afternoon. She didn’t like the gym class, but Roman Polanski, her director, had told her she must go. She frowned into a hand mirror, thinking she saw a red streak. She started to bite a fingernail, but stopped. Roman had forbidden any more fingernail biting; she had a tendency to bite them down to the nub. She went to the refrigerator, and amidst Wyborowa vodka and Carlsberg beer, brought out the makings for a salami sandwich. She would not drink a beer because it might bloat her, and Roman was taking her out for dinner.

There was no place in the apartment for her to settle back and relax now. Everything inside had a transient look, as if the tenants would only be there a short season. A complicated stereo set sat on crates; Bach on top of a stack of records, Cannonball Adderly on the bottom. There were no pictures, no pets, no cozy heat. Upstairs on the wall was a framed citation stating that Knife In The Water under the direction of Roman Polanski had been nominated for an Academy Award. As Sharon reached for a folder of still photographs from The Vampire Killers to show a male visitor, she stuck up her bottom in a way she has; as she went through the photos, she pooched out her bosom. But she did it by reflex. Her thoughts were totally on her director, who was not there. She had been in three unreleased films – 13, Don’t Make Waves and The Vampire Killers, all with different directors.

If she caught the public’s fancy in any of these pictures, she would become a movie star. And she was pleased with her work in The Vampire Killers. She was in a nude bathtub scene in it, and in a brief sequence in which she got spanked.

The phone rang; it was a strange female voice with a French accent. “Is Roman there?”

“No, I’m sorry he isn’t,” Sharon said, in her accent of the moment, which was English. “Who shall I say is calling, please?”

“Oh – I just wondered if he were in. Tell him Barbara. Thank you very much..”

The dull London afternoon turned dark, and still no Polanski. He could be cutting The Vampire Killers, or he could be tied up in London traffic or he could be sitting in a café. She took off her furry boots and put her feet into his house slippers, which rested at odd angels by a mammoth bed that cost over $600. The slippers were far too big for her. She wondered if tonight she would be thrown with people who would overwhelm her with their wit, their awesome knowledge, their self-confidence. When she was out in public with Roman, she never felt adequate enough to open her mouth. She could only talk to him alone. Her problem was that she had always been beautiful, and people were forever losing themselves in fantasy over her – electing her a beauty queen, imagining her as a wife, dreaming of a caress. Most people had fantasies. But a few people, like Polanski, took charge.

At the age of six months Sharon Tate was elected Miss Tiny Tot of Dallas, Tex. Her mother had sent in photos of the beautiful baby to contest officials. Sharon’s father was (and is) in the Regular Army, and was then stationed in Dallas. (Both her parents are natives of Houston.) As Sharon grew up, the family moved around in Army style, her father frequently absent from home. She remembers that when her father would return from an overseas tour, and she had reached a nubile age, her mother’s first command would be, “Now you, Sharon Marie, button up that night gown when you come out of your bedroom. Daddy’s home.” Her father was very strict with her as she budded through adolescence, turning thumbs down on potential boyfriends and making her stay in nights. He was very strong and knew how to take charge.

But most people continued to do things for Sharon without her lifting a finger. At 16 she was elected Miss Richland, Washington, and a short time later named Miss Autorama. At the age of 17 she was in Verona, Italy, where her father was stationed, and the prizes mounted. At Vicenza American High she was a cheerleader and baton twirler, and was chosen Homecoming Queen and Queen of the Senior Prom. The Vicenza yearbook for 1961 shows her as a very pretty, large-eyed girl, with hair somewhat darker and hips a little broader than now. She daydreamed at this time about becoming a psychiatrist and a ballerina, and had little to do with her classmates. Yet if any far-out stunts or fads were proposed, this terribly quiet girl was ready to lead the way. “If miniskirts had come in then, ” she says, “I’d have worn the shortest one.”

Today the fad among young girls in cosmopolitan circles is to use the old Anglo-Saxon words in everyday conversation, and Sharon Tate leads the way. But back in Italy at 17, she was just starting her worldly knowledge. She watched the on-location shooting of Barabbas, a film about ancient Rome, and the family scrapbook now includes still pictures of Jack Palance and Anthony Quinn in the movie costumers they wore in Italy. As she walked in Venice one day, she was spotted by the choreographer for the Pat Boone Show, which was being filmed in Italy. She next appeared very briefly in one of Boone’s TV shows, and his glossy smiling face now rests in the album with a fond inscription for Sharon.

When the Tate family moved from Italy to Southern California, Sharon decided it was time to live on her own. She was 18, and she paid a visit to Harold Gefsky, then agent for Richard Beymer, a young actor she met in Rome. “She was so young and beautiful,” Gefsky, a softly-spoken man, said in his Sunset Boulevard office, “that I didn’t know what to do with her. I think the first thing I did was take her to a puppet show.”

He also got her work because her father, in Calvinistic style, had only given her a few dollars to sink or swim. One of her first jobs was dressing up in an Irish costume and handing out Kelly-Kalani wine in Los Angeles restaurants at $25 a day. She also appeared in TV commercials for Chevy cars and Santa Fe cigars. People who knew her during this period agree on one thing. She was the most beautiful girl in the world. “Everywhere I took her she caused a sensation,” Gefsky said. “I would take her into a restaurant and the owner would pay for her meal. Photographers kept stopping her on the street. I’ve lived in Hollywood since the mid-Forties, but I’ve never seen anything like it before or since.”

But at this point no one, except perhaps Sharon, knew if she wanted to be an actress. Then one day Gefsky took her by to meet his friend Herbert Browar, who was connected with TV’s Petticoat Junction. He thought possibly Browar could fix her up with a minor role, something to tide her over. Browar took one look at her and rushed her in to see Martin Ransohoff, head of Filmways, Inc.

Ransohoff has a strand of hair combed over his bald dome. He wears loose sweaters, torn windbreakers and breeches that are baggy in the seat. He first started producing TV commercials in New York when food particles were glued onto Brand X’s plate to show the differences in detergents. He branched out into TV programs with such commercial winners as Mr. Ed, The Beverly Hillbillies and Petticoat Junction. He then tackled movies on the order of The Americanization of Emily and The Loved One, which got mixed reviews but generally made money. He founded the company in 1952 on $200, and today it operates on a budget of over $35 million. He will talk about Oswald Spengler or H. L. Mencken and then croon into his ever-present phone, “Helloooo, Bertie, baby. Where’s the action, kid?” He chews gum till his head rings, smokes two packs a day and sends everyone to the wall with his adrenaline. He can be gratuitously cruel in speaking of others – “She’s got a lunch pail for a mouth,” he said of an aging actress, “and if we take out insurance on her, it’ll have to be that she’ll die.” Then he can take his twin sons to a football game, clean up a dog’s mess in his Bel Air living room, and talk to anyone in the world who has guts enough to call him. A rich man’s son, he sold pots and pans from door to door while going to Colgate and claims the experience taught him what the public will or will not buy. He had little interest in films before he became involved in them, and his favorite actress in the old days was Deanna Durbin – who, coincidentally, was also Polanski’s favorite. Both vividly remember her pedaling a bicycle down a shady street and singing through a dimpled smile. Not everyone has had pleasant dealings with Ransohoff in Hollywood, but all agree he is a super salesman.

When he first saw Sharon Tate, he squinted his right eye and did something that was very impulsive, even for him. “Draw up a contract,” he shouted. “Get her mother. Get my lawyer. This is the girl I want!”

He had not seen a screen test, not even a still photograph. She had hardly opened her mouth. But Marty Ransohoff, like the rest of us, has his fantasies – and Sharon Tate walked into one of his fondest ones. “I have this dream,” Ransohoff said, “where I’ll discover a beautiful girl who’s a nobody and turn her into a star that everybody wants. I’ll do it like L. B. Mayer used to, only better. But once she’s successful, then I’ll loose interest. That’s how my dream goes. I don’t give two cents now for Tuesday Weld or Ann-Margret..”

“I think he’s just trying to pull one over on the public,” Gefsky said.

Sharon signed a seven-year contract, and Ransohoff took charge. Gefsky, a nice man, bowed out. At first she lived in complete fear of Ransohoff, and did as she was told. “She wouldn’t even eat a hamburger if he told her not to,” a friend from that period said. If Ransohoff said she was to appear on The Beverly Hillbillies disguised in a black wig, she appeared. If he told her to go on a moments notice to Big Sur, New York, London, she went. Off and on she studied acting.

Jeff Corey, one acting coach, said, “An incredibly beautiful girl, but a fragmented personality. I tried to get reactions out of her, though. Once I even gave her a stick, and said, ‘Hit me, do something, show emotion’ ..If you can’t tap who you are, you can never act.”

Charles Conrad, another acting teacher, said, “Such a beautiful girl, you would have thought she would have all the confidence in the world. But she had none.” Among her friends, however, she began to refer to herself as “sexy little me.”

Ransohoff tried to place Sharon in The Cincinnati Kid – his own movie – but failed when the director demanded Tuesday Weld. He packed her off to New York to study under the personal direction of Lee Strasberg at the Actors Studio. “She was only with me a few weeks,” Strasberg said, “but I remember her. She was a beautiful girl.” In New York Sharon had a romance with a young French star, who offered her relief from her Texas style, Puritan upbringing. The actor was tall, dark and very nice. When they broke up, the actor bungled a suicide attempt.

Sharon continued to fear Ransohoff. Once, while driving at a high speed near Big Sur, she turned her car over four and a half times, but somehow managed to crawl out with only minor injuries. Her first thought was that Marty would be mad. The first picture he finally placed her in was his French made 13, in which she plays a chillingly beautiful, expressionless girl who goes about putting the hex on people. Completed many months ago, ’13’ still rests in the can waiting for a 1967 release date. Ransohoff flew Sharon back to Hollywood for her second film, Don’t Make Waves, in which she plays a beautiful, deadpan skydiver. Sharon’s first two directors were older men. Britishers – very polite, very nice and understanding with a novice actress.

And then Ransohoff began dickering with Roman Polanski, the Polish director living in London, to make a picture. Polanski, a tiny, baby-faced man whose explosive manner and Beatle-like appearance belie his much-admired skill as a maker of art films, wanted to do something with Ransohoff called The Vampire Killers, a spoof of horror movies. He wanted to play in it himself, and, as in all his movies, he wanted a beautiful girl in a supporting role.

“How about Sharon Tate?” Ransohoff said. “I was thinking more in terms of Jill St. John,” Polanski said.

At Ransohoff’s instigation, Sharon and Polanski had dinner together. He looked at her from time to time, but said nothing. On a second dinner date he was painfully silent once more. Real weirdo, she thought. What’s he waiting on? She found out shortly. Walking in London’s Eaton Square, he suddenly put a bear hug on her and they fell to the ground, Polanski on the bottom. Sharon clouted him and stormed off. “That’s the craziest nut I ever saw,” she said. “I’ll never work for him.”

But Polanski apologized, and they saw each other again. One night he took her to his apartment which had even less furniture than it has now and no electricity. He lit a candle and excused himself, flying upstairs to don a Frankenstein mask. He crept up behind her, raised his arms, and whinnied like a madman. Sharon turned and emitted a terrible scream. It took over an hour for her hysterical weeping to subside. Not long afterward Polanski informed Ransohoff that Sharon would do fine for The Vampire Killers. On the set he treated her as if they never saw each other at night. He cajoled, flattered, got angry – which ever worked – and never had lunch with her. During the nude bathtub scene, he snapped still pictures of her. Still enthusiastic, he had her pose all over the set in the altogether, and then sent the results to Playboy. She plays a gorgeous redhead in The Vampire Killers – and she shows

Roman Polanski walked into his apartment in a sharp blue blazer and high-gloss shoes, carrying a briefcase. He had a good-sized nose and searching, deep-set eyes, and he nodded briskly to Sharon. “A Barbara called,” she let out daintily. “Do you know who that could be?”

“A Barbara?” he called from the kitchen, out of sight. A pause. “You didn’t get any last name? Always get last names. I don’t know any Barbara that would be calling. Sharon, Sharon. There’s no liquor here. Always see to it that we have enough whisky. Can’t you do that?”

Sharon went on the phone to order some, worrying about which brands to specify. She didn’t want to be embarrassed by asking Roman – although he would certainly tell her. He knew the correct whiskey brands in London, the good pastrami places in Manhattan, and the right topless spots in Hollywood. He learned a country’s customs and its language in a couple of weeks. He took a bath now upstairs, calling down for Sharon to fetch him some tea. Later he descended the stairs in a cowboy outfit and boots, ready for dinner. Some movie friends had shown up, and he led the party on foot toward Alvaro’s restaurant.

At the restaurant Sharon basked in the eyes that roved over her. She listened big-eyed to Polanski explain the difference between the sun’s heat and that on earth, apropos of Truffaut’s Fahrenheit 451. The only trouble was that it was difficult to digest pasta in such a giddy atmosphere, and she complained of her stomach. After Polanski figured out how to work the waiter’s ballpoint pen, he signed the check.

In a dreamlike state, Sharon began slipping into her fox fur coat in the foyer. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a tall Englishman with a prep-school tie and large teeth popped up and put his arm around her. “Ummm, you have a sexy feel, love. Don’t we all love to touch you now..” She squirmed away.

Out on the street, she said, “Roman, a complete stranger began hugging me in there.”

“Yeah? Really?” A short distance away he suddenly spied a blond in fox fur who had the same duck walk that Sharon has. “Hey, there goes Sharon,” he said. “Let’s get her and put the two of them together!”

“Don’t you dare,” she said, her anger flashing. Another day, away from Sharon, Polanski said, “I’m trying to get her to be a little meaner, She’s too nice, and she doesn’t believe in her beauty. Once when I was very poor in Poland I had got some beautiful shoes, and I immediately became very ashamed of them. All my friends had plain, ordinary shoes, and I was embarrassed to walk in front of them. That’s how Sharon feels about her beauty. She’s embarrassed by it.”

Sharon has a quarter-inch scar under her left eye and one beside the eye, the result of accidents which she keeps having. As Polanski drove with her one night in London, meticulously keeping on the left in the custom of the land, an Englishman with a couple of pints under his belt hit him from the right. The only one hurt was Sharon, whose head bounced off the dashboard, spraying blood on slacks, boots and fur. An angry red wound appeared at the start of her scalp, and it will leave another whitish scar on her head. With blond hair combed down over her forehead to hide it, she skied at St. Moritz. And then she caught a jet for Hollywood because Ransohoff had called. She must redo a few scenes for Don’t Make Waves. She grumbled a little. She found she could grumble to Ransohoff now. She hated Hollywood, and she didn’t want to leave Polanski. Also, she hated to fly. She had to be drugged to endure it.

And then she appeared beside Ransohoff at La Scala restaurant in Beverly Hills. She had a black costume that looked more like a slip than a dress, and her blond head caught glints of movie-star light as she turned this way and that. “Oh, there’s David! David Hemmings. David, David!”

David Hemmings, who had been featured with her in 13 and had gone on to star in Antonioni’s Blow-Up waved. Other celebrities flicked glances her way, at each other, to the door to see what majesty might enter next. Occasionally they looked down at food or drink. The place was as crowded as Alvaro’s in London, the customers practically the same. Ransohoff wore an open-neck sport shirt and shapeless coat, and he talked business. “Listen, sweetie, I’m going to have to cut some stuff out of The Vampire Killers. Your spanking scene has got to go.”

“Oh, don’t do that. Why would you do that?” “Because it doesn’t move the story. The story has got to move. Bang, bang, bang. No American audience is going to sit still while Polanski indulges himself.”

“But Europeans make movies differently than Americans, ” she explained to the producer she once feared. “Blow-Up moved slowly. But wasn’t it a great film!”

“I’ll tell you something, baby. I didn’t like it. If I’d have seen it before the reviews, I’d have said it’d never make it. It’s not my kind of picture. I want to be told a story without all that hocus-pocus symbolism going on.”

“But that one scene, Marty. When the girl show’s her, ah –” (only Sharon said the Anglo-Saxon word). In Hollywood, New York and London they all talked now about Blow-Up, dwelling on that scene.

“Yeah, I got to hand it to the guy for that one.” Ransohoff said, chuckling. “He pulled a good one off there.”

“Oh, I want to do a complete nude scene,” she said. “Say you’ll let me!”

“OK, OK,” Ransohoff said, bored, looking toward the door. “Yes, yes.”

“Do it now. Don’t just say it.” Then Sharon got bored.

Early in the morning Sharon appeared before the camera at Malibu Beach, redoing a scene for Don’t Make Waves. The sun had a hard time getting through the wisps of fog, and strong klieg lights helped out. In a sequence with an undraped David Draper, “Mr. Universe”, Sharon stuck out her backside and shot out her front. Magically, a button or two came undone on her polka-dot blouse, and after close examination of camera angle, director Sandy Mackendrick decided to leave it that way. He gave Sharon guidance in rubbing mineral oil over Draper’s bare back, as the scene called for. “Treat him like a horse,” he said. “Pat him just as you would an animal. That’s the way..”

She lovingly went over Draper’s muscled back, and then went ��ugh” when the camera ceased to roll. The scene was done over and over. In her tiny trailer dressing room, she took a break and smoked daintily. “I’m happier when I’m working,” she said. “I don’t have time to think to much that way.”

One thing to think about was a visit to her parent’s home in Palos Verdes Estates, an hour’s drive away. (Her father was stationed in Korea, her mother and two younger sisters were at home.) Driving to the house one night in a heavy seaside fog, she became quieter and quieter, her words less Anglo-Saxon. A passenger beside her remarked, as the car neared its destination, that the fog reminded him of snow. “You know what it looks like to me?” she said. “Vomit.”

Her mother – a pleasant, plump, dark-haired woman – turned Sharon’s face this way and that. “Have you had your blood count recently, honey? You look so pale to me.” What did she think of Sharon’s becoming a movie star? What did she think of Roman Polanski? “You know,” she said, in the voice of every middle-class American mother, “I don’t care – just as long as she’s happy.”

Back in Hollywood Sharon moved from hotel to hotel, from one friend’s home to another. She talked to Polanski by phone. (It embarrassed him to try to write letters in English because of his mistakes.) So many things were unresolved, shadowy. Ransohoff was sore at Polanski because Polanski had gone way over the budget on The Vampire Killers (“Very un-Hollywood of him,” a Filmways executive said; another only referred to him as “the little–.”); Polanski was mad at Ransohoff because Ransohoff was cutting away at his film and postponing its release in the States. (Ransohoff had also had difficulties with Tony Richardson, the English director, over the budget and the cutting of The Loved One.) “The thing is,” said Sharon, “that Roman is an artist.”

At night Sharon went to The Daisy, a private discotheque in Beverly Hills. She wore an aviator’s leather jacket, slacks, and tinted Ben Franklin glasses. Seated near the dance floor, she silently watched young actresses her age go through their gyrations. Suzanne Pleshette and Patty Duke did subdued turns; Linda Ann Evans, in a miniskirt, did a much more spirited fling. Carolyn Jones, who only yesterday had played the ingénue, now looked like a chaperone. Sharon gave Linda Ann Evans the once over and said, “I’ve worn a much shorter mini in London. That’s nothing.”

From another table a slim, bronzed young man with a pampered black hair ambled confidently past Tina Sinatra, Patty Duke, Suzanne Pleshette – and hovered over this strange blond beauty in an aviator’s leather jacket. He had the air of a football star in a small town high school, who was used to having his pick. He showed his beautiful white teeth and said, “Let’s dance.”

“No,” she said, “let’s not.”

He kept the smile on his face as he backed away. He was now another who had tried to bring Sharon Tate into a private fantasy – but he didn’t know that she had passed his type long ago.

She was going to fly to London and get engaged to Roman Polanski. Then she was going to fly back to star in Valley of the Dolls. Ransohoff was lending her to 20th Century-Fox to play a sexy bombshell who goes to Europe to star in nudie movies and who bewitches the world with her improbable lushness.

[ofinkdried]

INTRO: MUN // TASK #001

hey all!! i’m slowly working on bios and pages and such but I wanted to introduce myself first -- so here’s what’s technically was the first task?? im using it as the template for my intro so HERE WE GO!!

PERSONAL INTRO

name  /  alias : victoria / tor gender  /  pronouns : cisfemale / she/her where  ya  from  ? : texas!! the  current  time :  4:29 pm height :  5′4 job  or  major :  unemployed at the moment, but I have a degree in health science/health administration & a national certification in phlebotomy pet  (  s  ) :  one doxie/beagle mix named Roxie favorite  thing  (  s  )  about  yourself :  my ability to remember song lyrics better than my own name any  special  talents  ? :  uhhhh I can play 4 ( 5? ) instruments why  you  joined  hqclouds :  FUNNY STORY care was talking to me about some Tea ( we’re in another rp together ) and she made a comment about running an rp and im a bit of a sleuth and found hqclouds and decided to join  meaning  behind  url :  it’s ‘ of clementines ’ because one of my favorite halsey songs is clementine and i’ve been on a halsey kick as of late  last  thing  you  googled :  ‘ fools troye sivan ’ because I wanted to send my friend the music video birthday  /  zodiac :  october 29th / scorpio in  your  opinion  ,  does  your  sign  suit  you  ? : some days myers  -  briggs :  I took it forever ago and don’t remember... ^^’ moral  alignment :  chaotic good hogwarts  house : ravenclaw!! three  fictional  character  (  s  )  you  see  yourself  in  + ��why :  oh gosh.... katherine from newsies ( dedicated, doesn’t take a man’s shit), emma from the prom (nervous gay who plays guitar), and flynn rider from tangled (jokester, very in love with our girlfriends) i  started  roleplaying : 2012 I think? types  of  rps  i  enjoy :  definitely literate ones favorite  fcs  to  use :  I try to not reuse fcs a lot?? like I have some I prefer for certain characters, but I don’t have a strong draw to certain faces... fandom  (  s  )  you’d  like  to  write  in : musicals ( namely newsies ), fairy tail, the raven cycle fandom  (  s  )  you  aren’t  in  but  are  curious  about :  uhhhh I dont really know... share  a  funny  roleplay  horror  story :  oh gosh I dealt with one girl who like... constantly gaslit me as a player and my characters, would make me feel bad for not responding immediately, made everything about her characters, and then got mad when I called her out on it? and now she goes to a christian school and says that rp is ‘ the devil’s work ’ and I just... yeah. fondest  roleplay  memory :  I feel like the moment my now girlfriend and I realized we always do ships bc just had awesome chemistry and then started dating like, 4 months later. favorite  canon  muse  (  s  )  to  play : connor murphy ( deh ), gansey ( trc ), spot conlon ( newsies ), jimmy ( bandstand ), lucy heartfillia ( fairy tail ) favorite  original  muse  (  s  )  to  play : theo massard ( a boxer, jack barakat fc; had an AMAZING ship for him )  canon  ships  you  can’t  help  but  love :  CATRADORA. none of my other ships are technically canon : / trope  (  s  )  you  tend  to  be  guilty  of : tragic backstories, tough on the outside soft on the inside i  prefer  .  .  . angst  ,  smut  ,  or  fluff :  I wanna say fluff but I know care and megan will call me out bc I love angst more than anything long  or  short  replies :  mid-length pre  plotting  or  chemistry : chemistry leading to pre plotting! sentence  starters  or  headcanon  memes : both? I love discussing headcanons single  muse  or  multimuse  blogs :  multi!! gif  icons  ,  medium  gifs  ,  or  static  icons : typically gif icons, but lately ive been loving medium gifs grab  the  book  nearest  to  you  and  pull  a  quote  from  it : ok so I have no books atm bc im moving, but the first book on my phone is the dream thieves, and the line I see first is “ The Gray Man considered what it must’ve been like to live like that, always waiting for your door to be kicked in. ” what’s  a  quote  or  song  lyric  that  speaks  to  your  soul  ? : oh gosh, so many... “ I'm a walking travesty/But I'm smiling at everything ” ( therapy, all time low ), “ I imagine the tears in your eyes/The very first night I'll sleep without you ” ( roman holiday, halsey ), “ Am I the product of a problem that I couldn't change?/Got his eyes, got her hair/So do I get their mistakes? ” ( secondhand smoke, kelsea ballerini ) top  current  celebrity  crushes :  halsey, froy guiterrez, harry styles ( always ) last  movie  you  watched :  I think it was uhhhhhh miss americana on netflix? did  you  like  it  ? :  YES I loved it favorite  movie  (  s  )    of  all  time : 10 things I hate about you, newsies ( ’92 ) favorite  tv  show  (  s  )  of  all  time : she-ra, queer eye, fullmetal alchemist: brotherhood, gossip girl favorite  tv  show  that  hasn’t  ended : zoey’s extraordinary playlist favorite  series  of  books  /  novels  /  comics : the raven cycle, all for the game, the last song sports  team  (  s  )  you  rep : dallas cowboys, houston astros ( yeah I know about the scandal and I hate it, but they’re my team ), FAU owls ( my alma mater ) favorite  video  game  (  s  ) : breath of the wild, KH series favorite  youtube  channels : unus annus, daniel howell ( rip he hasn’t posted in a year ), the try guys, NPR Music, CrankGameplays ( ethans just a dork I dont even like gamer videos that much ) hobbies :  guitar, singing, being in zoom musicals ( im playing whatsername from american idiot for one in July and auditioned for a few others! ), reading what  are  the  three  non  essential  things  you’d  bring  to  a  deserted  island  ? : my guitar, my laptop, wifi put  your  music  on  shuffle.  what  six  songs  pop  up  ? : HOLD ME TIGHT OR DONT, fall out boy; I’m Still Here, John Rzeznik; Towers, Little Mix; Way Down Hadestown, hadestown obc; Stitches, state champs (cover); Look Back, betty who personal  aesthetic : nerdy punk?  dream  vacation  ? : disneyland paris or disneyland Singapore with my gf dream  job  ? :  music teacher dream  car  ? :  one that works at this point if  i  could  live  anywhere  ,  it’d  be : austin, texas ( im about an hour away rn ) favorite  musical : OH GOSH..... the prom, bandstand, newsies, hadestown favorite  food  (  s  ) :  blueberry pancakes, red velvet cupcakes with cream cheese icing coffee  order :  at starbucks? venti iced chai tea latte. at dunkin? large iced vanilla coffee. at home? french vanilla coffee and caramel macchiato creamer and 2 scoops of sugar.  unwatched  stuff  in  your  netflix  /  hulu  /  etc :  netflix: sex education, the umbrella academy, end of the f***ing world, the people vs. oj simpson. hulu: portrait of a lady on fire, my friend dahmer, rocketman what’s  a  subject  you  know  too  much  about  +  never  get  tired  of  talking  about  ? : I dunno? I have a ton of useless facts on a wide range of subjects. like did you know that in 100 letters, halsey says ‘ You wrote 100 letters just for me/And I find them in my closet in the pockets of my jeans/Now I'm constantly reminded of the time I was 19/Every single one's forgotten in a laundromat machine ’ and that’s actually autobiographical -- her bf at the time wrote a note and put it in a pocket of every pair of pants she owned, and she was still finding them months after the relationship ended, so she took all her pants to a laundromat and washed them so she wouldn’t have to see the letters anymore!!