#also i have consumed more red wine in the past 11 days than any one human should possibly consume

[heich0e]

i have had social plans every single day since last tuesday and i am very grateful to have ppl who love me and want to spend time w me but also i cannot wait to not speak to a single person tomorrow

[lailoken]

“Elder (Sambucus nigra), also known as boor or bour tree.

Elder is one of the most enigmatic plants in British folk tradition. On one hand it is feared and associated with WITCHES and on the other it is valued for its protective qualities, as a fly repellent, and for its use in many herbal remedies.

The whole plant hath a narcotic smell; it is not well to sleep under its shade. [Withering, 1776: 186]

[In Leitrim, Waterford and the south of Ireland] the elder or 'bore' tree is believed to have been the tree from which Judas Iscariot hanged himself. The proof of which is the fact that its leaves have an 'ugly smell', and, moreover, that its fruit has since degenerated from its original size and excellent flavour, and become worthless both as to size and taste. [Anon., 1916: 425]

It was said at Beckley that if you burn elder wood you will become bewitched. You never cut it down. In Wootton they say that the elder is a witch tree. You should not mend a wattle hedge with it, as it will give the witches power. If you cut it, it will bleed. [Oxfordshire Women's In- stitute groups, 1950s]

Unlucky to burn Tramman [elder], it is the FAIRIES’ tree. [Lezayre, Isle of Man, c.1975; Manx Folklife Survey]

Normally in the Isle of Man elder is the fairies' tree which is unlucky to cut down, or burn when fallen. I was told in 1992 by a forestry worker of his pleasure that a large elder had blown over into the field adjoining his garden and thus relieved him of the need to find someone willing to remove it. [Union Mills, Isle of Man, October 1993]

Elder flowers—it is alright to pick the flowers for wine or culinary use, but the tree is a friend of witches and the wood should never come into the house. [Ashreigney, Devon, July 1983]

Elder—unlucky to bring either flowers or wood into a house: (a) because it is the witches' tree, (b) because it was believed that Judas Iscariot hanged himself from an elder tree, (c) because if you fall asleep under elder flowers the scent will poison you or you will never wake up. [Driffield, Humber- side, March 1985]

Collecting firewood from the hedges surrounding the cottage and returning happily laden, but being accused of bringing bits of elder into the house—it was considered unlucky to use these to light a fire. [Bow Street, Dyfed, October 1984]

The only unlucky plant which I have heard of is the elder tree, which the old people looked upon as unlucky. As I have heard the old people say, it was unhealthy to have an elder tree growing near the house as it was often noted the inhabitants seemed more prone to TUBERCULOSIS or 'Consumption' as it was known in Ireland in the old days. However, as TB was rampant all over the country at that time, I don't know if the belief would have any significance. My own people however would not cut down an elder bush or burn it no matter how old or rotten it was. Nor allow an elder stick in the house, and it would be an unforgivable act to strike a child or even an animal with one. [Kill Village, Co. Kildare, October 1984]

The family name dies out on the property where the elder grows in the kitchen garden. [Skibbereen, Co. Cork, January 1993]

Do you know the Rollright Stones in Oxfordshire? You can't count them; you never get the same number twice. In the next field there is a big stone called King Arthur, and there are various stones called after his Knights around. There are some elder bushes nearby. We used to go there as children on our bicycles and try to count the stones. We were told that if we picked a flower or a berry from these elderberry bushes we would be turned into stone. We used to dare each other to pick a berry or a flower, but no one ever did. [Mitcham, Surrey, May 1986]

However, in the early part of the nineteenth century:

On Midsummer Eve, when the 'eldern' tree was in blossom, it was a custom for people to come up to the King Stone and stand in a circle. Then the 'eldern' was cut, as it bled 'the King moved his head.' [Evans, 1895: 20]

Sometimes it was thought that wood, berries, or flowers could be safely taken from an elder only if the tree's permission had been sought first.

Hearing one day that a baby in a cottage close to my own was ill, I went across to see what was the matter. Baby appeared right enough, and I said so; but its mother promptly explained. 'It were all along of my maister's thick 'ed; it were in this how: t'rocker cummed off t'cradle, an' he hedn't no more gumption than to mak' a new ’un out on illerwood without axing the Old Lady's leave, an' in coorse she didn't like that, and she came and pinched t'wean that outrageous he were a'most black i' t' face; but I bashed 'un off, an putten an' esh 'un on, an' t'wean is as gallus as owt agin.' This was something quite new to me, and the clue seemed worth following up. So going home I went straight down to my backyard, where old Johnny Holmes was cutting up firewood—‘chopping kindling,' as he would have said. Watching the opportunity, I put a knot of elder-wood in the way and said, 'You are not feared of chopping that are you ?' 'Nay, he replied at once, 'I bain't feared of choppin' him, he bain't wick (alive); but if her were wick I dussn't, not without axin’ the Old Gal's leave, not if it were ever so'.. . (The words to be used are): 'Oh, them's slape enuff.' You just says, 'Owd Gal, give me of thy wood, and Oi will give some of moine, when I graws inter a tree.' [Heanley, 190I: 55]

If you chop an elder tre e or fell it, you should bow three times and say:

Old Woman, Old Woman, Give me some of your wood And when I am dead I'll give you some of mine. [Whitwick, Leicestershire, August 1983]

[Staffordshire, 1930s:] my mother said it was the thing if one wanted blossoms or fruit from an elder tree to say 'Please Mother Elder may I have .. .' [Ponsanooth, Cornwall, November 1993]

In addition to records of elder being inauspicious, there are many rec- ords of it being a beneficial, protective tree.

[In Northumberland] an old man told me that his aunt used to keep a piece of bour tree, or elder, constantly in her kist (chest) to prevent her clothes from malign influence. [Hardy, 1895: 325]

In south Wales it was deemed very dangerous to build any premises on or near the spot where an eldertree stood. In the past an elder planted before the door of a cow-shed or stable protected the cows and horses from witchcraft and sorcery. [Trevelyan, 1909: 103]

[In Scotland elder was] often planted near old crofts and cottages as protection from witches. [Webster, 1978: 342]

[In Guernsey elder] had to be planted as near as possible to the back door, the most used entrance, since it was a sacred tree and a good protection against witchcraft. [McClintock, 1987: 33]

[In Ireland] it is considered lucky to have an elderberry bush grow near your house, especially if it is "self-set'. [Bracknell, Berkshire, August 1984]

Mother used elder leaves to make a pattern on the floor-bricks. Painting around them with red paint. Making the cross with elder leaves. This was an old custom, going back to her grandmother's time, so the custom had to be continued despite the time-consuming nature of the work. [Bow Street, Dyfed, March 1984]

Elder: this was called Boortree... The leaves were boiled and the water used to dose pigs. For this purpose, and because it was supposed to be a protection against LIGHTNING, there was a tree of it at every house. It can still be seen growing in places where there are no houses now, but where houses were years ago. [Lenamore, Co. Longford, April 1991]

Family folklore passed on to me includes . . . one should plant a ROWAN and elder tree and never cut them down, in order to keep witches away. [Parkstone, Dorset, June 1991]

I can remember as a child elder growing around the wooden bottom-of-the-garden 'lavvy' at my uncle's farm near Brentwood, Essex, and many other similar loos with elder adjacent. I was told that the elder would live 'almost for ever', as if one root died off another would spring from a fallen branch or twig. They were treated with 'respect' as they kept away bad magic—no one used the word 'witches'—but the inference was there. [Yafforth, North Yorkshire, January 1990]

More usually elder trees were planted around toilets and other build ings to deter FLIES.

Elder bushes are invariably to be seen outside the dairy windows on the north side of old-fashioned farmhouses in the Midlands. This was done because elder-leaves are supposed to be very objectionable to flies, wasps and other insects, the tree thus provided both shade and protection. For the same reason a switch of elder with leaves on is used when taking or driving a swarm of bees. [N &Q, 11 ser. 12: 489, 1915]

When inspecting a slaughter house [in Cornwall] a summer or two ago, I commented on the absence of flies, and was told that this was due to a large elder bush growing some feet away and that branches of elder in any building would keep flies away. [Peter, 1915: 123]

An elderberry tree was always grown near the house—I think it was to keep flies away. [Didcot, Oxfordshire, February 1991]

According to some friends of mine elderberry bushes were planted by water butts and outside privies so that the smell would keep the flies away. [Horseheath, Cambridgeshire, April 1991]

As a youth my late father worked on the land...Often handling horses it was common practice to tie bunches of elder leaves to the harness to ward off flies. [St Osyth, Essex, February 1989]

My wife, who comes from Northumberland, tells me that her mother used to make up a concoction with elder flower when she was a child. All the family washed their faces in it to keep virulent Northumbrian midges at bay. She remembers it smelling not too pleasant, and tended to keep other children away as well, so she would take the first opportunity to wash it off! [Hexham, Northumberland, June 1988]

About twelve years ago in Girton, Cambridge, a small swarm of bees (apparently known as a 'cast') settled on a plum tree in our garden, about six feet up. A neighbour, Mr C. G. Puck (now 84 years old), a retired shepherd and lifelong beekeeper, came to collect the bees. He removed the queen bee from the swarm and placed her under a small open wooden box inverted on the ground under the tree. He then asked for a sprig of elder and laid this about nine inches above the swarm, saying that the smell of it was disliked by bees, and by the early evening all the bees had moved into the box . . . He had learned of the use of elder in this fashion from his beekeeper father, in his native village of Thriplow, south Cambridgeshire. [Girton, Cambridge, May 1988]

On the Isle of Man:

Each old cottage has a 'trammon', or elderberry tree, outside the door. This is used by the 'Phynodderree' to swing in. He is a kind of faun who can bring much luck, and even helps materially in outside work. [Daily News, 27 January 1926]

[Fairies] liked most of all to swing and play in the elder trees, and these were always thought of as fairy trees in the Isle of Man. There wasn't a house or farm that didn't have its 'tramman' tree planted by the door or in the garden 'for the fairies'. Many of them are still to be seen; the single tree will soon have grown into a thicket, hiding the old ruined house, but a sure sign that a house once stood there . . . When the wind was blowing the branches, it was then that the fairies were believed to be riding the tramman trees, but it was said that they would desert a house or a farm where the trees had been cut down. This must have happened only very rarely: no-one would cut a branch of the tramman, let alone the tree itself, but if it was done the fairies grieved. [Killip, 1975: 35]

Regardless of whether elder is considered to be malevolent or protec- tive, most of the folk beliefs associated with the tree appear to be con- cerned with its protection and preservation. Two quotations from herbalists writing in the 1940s demonstrate the value of the elder tree.

[According to my [g*psy] friend] the healingest tree that on earth do grow be the elder, them sez, and take it all round I should say 'twas. [Quelch, 1941: 78]

[Elder has] the unusual distinction of being useful in every part. [Ransom, 1949: 55]

Thus it is possible that the various folk beliefs associated with elder were due, at least in part, to efforts to protect a valuable resource.

The period when elder flowered was sometimes considered to be a time when the weather was poor. In the Basingstoke area of Hampshire this time was known as the elderbloom winter [Maida Hill, Lon- don, December 1982], while in Cheshire:

Weather prophets say that if the weather breaks while the elder-flowers are coming out, it will be soaking wet (in Cheshire parlance, drabbly) until they fade. [Hole, 1937: 49]

Francis Bacon (1561–1626) recorded: 'They say' WARTS can be removed by rubbing them 'with a Green Elder Sticke and then bury- ing the Sticke to rot in Mucke' [Bacon, 1631: 258]. Similarly:

A 15-year-old girl, writing in 1954, says that her grandfather told her to pick a small twig of elderberry, touch her warts with it, chant the words, “Wart, wart, on my knee, Please go, one, two, three” and put it 'down the toilet'. [Opie, 1959: 315]

Elder is, perhaps, the wild plant most widely used in folk medicine.

Queen of all Forest [of Dean] remedies was 'ellum blow tea'...The flowers were gathered in the spring and hung up to dry in closed paper bags ... in the kitchen ... You dared not sneeze in the winter or down came the bag, a good handful was put in a jug, covered with boiling water, covered with a tea towel, and left to infuse. One had to force this evil-smelling brew down one's throat willy-nilly. I loathed it, and to this day can recall that smell of cats which emanated from it. Poultices of the mixture were used for SPRAINS, aches, etc., in joints, also for boils and 'gathered' fingers—whitlows and so on. It seemed to be a universal panacea; the only use it didn't have was for constipation . . . Elder berries were favoured too; they were boiled up with sugar, the resulting syrup strained, bottled, and used in winter for coughs and colds . . .There is not a Forester alive over the age of 70 who does not know ellum blow tea. [Cinder- ford, Gloucestershire, November 1993]

Elder berries when fried with mutton fat are used for BOILS and ULCERS. [IFCSS MSS 414: 43, Co. Clare]

Elder root when boiled and the water drank supposed to cure RHEUMAT- ISM. [IFCSS MSS 700: 35, Co. Meath]

An infusion of elder flowers in boiling water will alleviate PILES. [Horsted Keynes, West Sussex, February 1991]

A green ointment could be made from the leaves, based on mutton fat, and the creamy white flowers made Elderflower Water for the complexion. The flowers, dried in the sun and stored in a paper bag make a good remedy to break a hard COUGH and bring up phlegm. I always pick and dry some when they are in bloom, put the full of your fingers (one hand) in a mug, pour boiling water over and let it infuse for ten minutes. A little milk or fruit juice can be added. [Lenamore, Co. Longford, April 1991]

For flus and FEVERS

40 oz whiskey bottle. Pick, clean, weigh, one pound ripe elder berries. Delete the strings (most strings anyway) using a fork, and put berries into empty bottle. Add 4 lb sugar. Top up with a bottle (or most of a bottle) of whiskey. Seal well. Store for 3 months and strain. Use strongest spirit. Dose—Strong glass of this 'Elderfire'—add hot water (as hot as possible) and drink. Take 2 or 3 spoons of honey with drink. Repeat each night (or more frequently)–usually two nights is sufficient to clear the flu/fever results guaranteed. [Killarney, Co. Kerry, September 1991]

[My mother, who was 94 when she died in 1987] used to collect elder-flower in the spring, and dried it. In the winter if we had colds or flu, the elderflower was put in a jug covered with boiling water and put on the hob to stew. At night we were given this (strained) with sugar and a few drops of peppermint oil added. We were given a teacup full of this at night, and in the morning we had to drink half a cupful of this cold mixture. It was supposed to sweat out the fever. She used to tell me how she pulled me through PNEUMONIA by poulticing with hot flannel and sips of elderflower tea, day and night. [Hill, Worcestershire, October 1991]

When my three children were small and we had wintery weather (and it can be very cold up here at the foot of the Cairngorms), I made elder-flower wine, and when it was time for them coming from school I had three cups, bowl of sugar, bottle of elderflower wine and the kettle boiling, and I gave them a tody; they never had colds or flu. [Boat-of-Garten, Inverness-shire, November 1991]

Elder flowers and berries are widely collected by makers of homemade wines. The flowers can also be used in cooking [Ó’Ceirin, 1980: o1), and the fruits have been recommended as a substitute for currants [Ransom, 1949: 55]. Elder leaves have been used as a TOBACCO substitute.

Myself, my brother and a friend always smoked elder leaves when money was not available for tailor-made cigarettes. We spent much time in the woodland of Thetford Chase, where on our regular walks we would break down, but not completely snap off, small sprigs of the elder. We found that if we severed the supply of sap completely the leaves on the sprig would dry out resulting in a hot strong smoke. We found that if the leaves remained just slightly damp they were a quite pleasant smoke. It was obviously trial and error, sometimes they remained too wet to burn properly. We would stuff the leaves very lightly into the stems of various umbellifers...We actually prefered these cigarettes to the tailor-made, but they were not available during winter. [West Stow, Suffolk, November 1992]

Elder wood is characterized by its pith, which can be easily removed.

[On Colonsay] boys aspiring to be pipers made chanters of the young branches [of elder], which are full of pith and easily bored. [McNeill, 1910: 130].

Haw-blowers are made by scooping the pith out of an elder branch. Haws are blown through these. [IFCSS MSS 700: 338, Co. Meath]

The people of the parish were able to make toy guns. They got an elder stick about one and a half feet long and scraped out the inside. Then they got a stick about the same length and made it fit into the hole and then the gun was made. [IFCSS MSS 867: 132, Co. Kilkenny]

At the the beginning of the century children in parts of Devon used to make pop-guns' out of elder: they would force a hole through the pith, and then fashion a ram-rod out of HAZEL WOOD. Chewed paper would be rammed down the hollowed elder sticks, and pressed out with considerable force. Great sport ensued. [Lafonte, 1984: 35]

There was another use for the Boor tree in olden times. A suitable length was cut and seasoned, then the white pith in the centre was scraped out, lead was then melted and poured in. When set, this made a good weapon for protection on a journey or out walking at night...My aunt who was born in 1894 remembered one man who had such a stick. [Lenamore, Co. Longford, April 1991]

[In Horsefield, Cambridgeshire] for winter feeding one beekeeper used to make little troughs out of elder wood; he cut pieces about the thickness of a finger and five or six inches long, tapered off one end and removed the pith, and used them for replenishing the bees' honey by inserting this end in the exit hole. [Parsons MSS, 1952]”

—

Oxford Dictionary of Plant-Lore

by Roy Vickery

[something-fanfiction-ie]

Bullshit

Pairing: Eventual Steve Harrington x Reader

Warnings: Cursing, underaged drinking, one of the saddest moments in Steve Harrington history.

A/N: Probs the longest build up for smut you’ve ever seen but hell, I needed backstory. So uhm, part one of an -at most- three part smut story.

—

Throwing rocks at your window was Steve’s thing. Even when he’s been dating Nancy Wheeler, or when he was with every other girl in Hawkins High, he was still throwing rocks at your window.

You’d grown up with him since your moms were the best of friends. You were just a year younger than him and they’d been shoving you together since you could toddle behind him as he toddled a little faster. He hated your presence for a while, pulling your hair and whining all the time.

Once you got older, you were able to put your differences aside and form a truly beautiful friendship. He made life easier and was always there when you needed a shoulder to cry on. In all respects except physical, he acted like a boyfriend to you. Crawling in your window on nights he wasn’t crawling into somebody else’s window, sitting with you at lunch, driving you home, and hanging at your locker between classes.

That was, until Nancy Wheeler. The taps at your window became few and far between, you found the seats around you at lunch were filled with strangers, he told you once that he wouldn’t be able to drive you that day and then he never drove you again, and you could always see him scooping Nancy into his arms over at her locker.

When he did come to visit your room at night, he would gush about Nancy or whatever. You didn’t have a crush on Steve, that definitely was not the case. You just couldn’t have those kind of feelings for someone you’d seen be potty trained. Even if you had been potty trained at the same time. No, the only reason you were upset was because your best, and really only, friend had abandoned you for Nancy freaking Wheeler.

You told yourself that you didn’t deserve the way he was treating you. You said that every night as you paced back and forth at the end of your bed. It was also the first thing you threw out the door when you heard the tapping on your window. The amount of scrambling and excited heart beating that happened was just plain embarrassing. There was no way that he didn’t know the kind of effect he had on you.

A little over a year into his relationship with Nancy and he came to your window without bothering to throw rocks. He just knocked, sitting on your roof until you threw the glass barrier up.

“I thought you were at that Halloween party?” You asked, stepping aside as he awkwardly climbed in through the small opening. He huffed, the dark shades covering his eyes fell off as he plopped onto your bed. His eyes were rimmed with red.

It took you all of a millisecond to decide that Nancy Wheeler would die a very painful death at your hands. Climbing onto the bed at his side, you leaned on one hand and ran your fingers through his hair with the other one.

“You look awesome as Joel Goodson.” A small smile pulled at a corner of his mouth, his tear-glazed eyes looked over at you before a tear fell and you quickly wiped it away with the backs of your knuckles.

“I’ve been a real bullshit friend this past year, haven’t I?” He spoke with his eyes closed, ignoring the pounding of his head and focusing on your fingers in his hair. You never said much when he came to you like this. But just your presence was enough to calm his nerves.

As much as you wanted to console him, you couldn’t lie.

“Yeah, the worst.” Your was tone teasing. He snorted a laugh, nudging your stomach with his elbow. Steve knew you were telling the truth, he knew because he had spent countless nights this past year laying in his bed telling himself he was going to do better by you. And then he saw Nancy and everything he planned to do crashed into a high powered fan. She consumed him, and he had tossed you aside.

Look where that had gotten him.

“It’s bullshit.” She said. That moment ran through his head on a loop, each time sending a sword through his chest and stealing the breath from his lungs. A whole year on bullshit.

The entire ride over here, he had battled with the tears that had pricked the back of his neck. They hadn’t fallen until he saw you through your bedroom window, sitting cross-legged on your bed, watching Bewitched reruns on the small black and white television in your room. It had been the living room tv before your parents got a newer one, he could still remember the absolute glee and excitement in your voice when you had called to tell him.

“She doesn’t love me.” He said out loud, eyes still closed, chest heavy with the weight of what he was saying. Your fingers stuttered in shock, stopping for a fraction of a second before you moved them again. You replayed every moment you’d seen of Nancy and Steve’s relationship in your head, trying to catch any minuscule signs that Nancy Wheeler didn’t love him.

Jonathan Byers. That was the only explanation. You made a mental note to run them both over.

“‘It’s bullshit.’ That’s what she said. Several times, in case I was mistaken she had said something else. She was drunk, but I know she wasn’t just saying shit. She was being honest.” It felt like your chest cracked in half. You scooted closer, unsure what you were supposed to say to make him feel better.

“I’m sorry, (Y/N). I’m sorry I pretty much ignored you this year and I’m sorry that I’m only paying you any attention now that Nancy has hurt me.” This time, it’s your turn to snort and poke his side. You flop onto your back beside him, moving your head to lay in the crook of his neck and your hand to grab his.

“I don’t think there is anything you could do that I wouldn’t forgive, Harrington.” You pull your intertwined hands up to kiss the back of his hand, unable to contain your grin when he brings your hand over to his lips.

“Let’s go to sleep, I think you need it.” The bed creaks and groans as you both shuffle around, rolling onto your sides to face each other. Your hands are still holding each other between you.

“Are you saying I look bad? Rude.” You turn your bedside lamp off without breaking contact, feeling comfortable in the dark with Steve just across from you.

“Shut up and go to sleep.” Steve chuckles half heartedly when you lightly kick his shins. He falls asleep first, his breathing slows and his hand goes a little slack in yours. You try to pull it away, wanting to flip to your other side, but his grip tightens the moment you try.

You’re almost afraid that he woke up, but his breathing never changes. Instead of flipping around, you slowly scoot closer so that your knees touch.

It reminds you of New Years in 1979. Steve had been thirteen, you were twelve, and the both of you were elated to bring in 1980. Both of your moms were already wine drunk in the living room, your dads were a little more sober as they sipped their beers, and you and Steve sat in his room with a stolen bottle of wine that had been left in the kitchen.

“Ladies first.” The neck of the bottle was grasped in one of Steve’s outstretched hands. His chocolate locks were trimmed and styled in a bowl cut, just the same as every other boy under the edge of eighteen in 1979. His grin was cheesy, his eyes were bright, and his voice was tinged with a note of mischievousness.

You didn’t want to go first. To be honest, you were afraid that your parents would be able to tell if you drank a drop of any of it. But, you took the bottle from him anyways and you took a big swig.

Your nose scrunched in disgust while your cheeks puffed out, full of wine that your adolescent taste buds hadn’t acquired the taste for. Shoving the bottle back into his hands, you forced yourself to swallow as he cackled on the end of his bed.

“If you thinks it’s so funny, you try it.” Steve put on a brave face, but you could see that he was just as nervous about it as you were. He also hid his disgust better than you did, deciding it was best to swallow as fast as he could in an attempt to keep it from soaking on his tongue.

Even though neither of you had a liking for it, there was no way you could hide a half drank bottle of wine and you surely couldn’t put it back in the kitchen, so you finished it off. Mostly because neither of you thought to just dump it down the drain and it seemed like a cool story to have for when you went back to school.

By the time 11:59 rolled around, your parents having given up on getting the both of you to come downstairs some time ago, you were both very drunk. It had been a very big bottle and, even though it was just wine, neither of you had ever drank before.

“Will you kiss me at midnight?” Steve asked, his eyes half lidded as he lowered his head to his pillow. For some reason, you both felt sleepy. Which wasn’t at all what you thought being drunk would feel like.

“Sure, but only because you’re the only boy around.” You slurred, also lowering your head to a pillow. You were so close that your knobby knees brushed against one another.

When you heard your parents yelling the countdown, you pushed your faces closer together so that his lips were within reach. In the end, he was the one to close the gap as your parents screamed their happy New Years.

Your lips bumped together kind of clumsily, whether it was due to your youth or your sobriety was something you would never be able to decide. It was short and sweet, a little more than the peck of lips you were used to, and when he pulled away his eyes were already closing.

“Happy New Year, (Y/N).” Steve mumbled, reaching out to grab one of your hands. You didn’t respond, finally surrendering to the tiredness the wine brought with it.

You never spoke of it, that small moment shared between you, but you thought of it often. Like now, your hands interlocked and your knees pressed together just like that night. You let the memory pull you to sleep, a warm feeling blossomed in your chest.

The sun woke you up the next morning, glaring through your window and piercing through your eyelids. You groaned and reached out, patting around to feel for your companion, only opening your eyes to the light when your blind search came up empty.

Steve was nowhere to be seen and for a moment you were afraid you had dreamt the whole thing. It wasn’t until you got out of bed that you saw the note on your vanity, scrawled on top was Steve’s messy handwriting.

I left to make an appearance for my parents and change clothes, I’ll come pick you up before school. Be ready! You’re always late. Love, SH

A smile twitched at the edges of your lips before you shook it off, placing the note on your nightstand as you went in search of clothes. If Steve really was picking you up this morning, you were already running late.

Ten minutes later, your toothbrush shoved into the side of your mouth as you ran a brush through your hair, your mother hollered up the stairs.

“(Y/N), Steve is here to take you to school!” The hairbrush clattered against the counter as you tossed it aside, spitting out toothpaste and rinsing your mouth out with a mouthful of water. It took you another five minutes to shove your feet into shoes, collect your books and things, and then rush down the stairs.

Your feet pounded against each step before you careened around the banister. Steve stood with your mother in the kitchen, chatting happily about applying for colleges and hopeful plans. His car keys dangled from his left index finger, his right hand shoved into his pocket. When he finally looked over at you, he smiled.

It wasn’t peak happy-Steve, but it wasn’t as fake and lacking as the small smile he’d given you last night.

“Finally ready?” He teased after saying his goodbyes to your mother. You waited for him at the front door, only opening it once he had taken the ten steps from the kitchen to the foyer.

“Leave me alone, Harrington.” You followed him onto the front porch, closing the door behind you. His BMW sat parked parallel to the curb, the passenger side closer to your house.

“I think I specifically said not to be late.”

“No,” you dragged the word out as you met his gaze over the roof of his car. You stood in the open door, your bookbag already tossed into the backseat. “You said ‘You’re always late.’ That doesn’t necessarily mean to not be late.”

You both ducked into the car, shutting the doors. Steve pushed the keys into the ignition and started the car. You were thankful for the warm air that blew out of the air vents, Indiana mornings could be a little nippy sometimes.

“I said ‘Be ready.’ Which does mean to not be late.” There was a smile in his voice, and when you looked at him there was a smile on his face. As the car started to move, you made yourself comfortable, glad to be back in the passenger seat of your best friend’s car.

Nancy Wheeler didn’t deserve this seat. Or your best friend.

[lawrenceop]

Holy Land Retrospective - Day 8

Reminder: clicking on the link for each photo (links are all in red text) will take you to the Flickr page where you can see the photo in larger sizes.

Start with DAY 1, or flip through DAY 2, DAY 3, DAY 4, DAY 5, DAY 6, or DAY 7. Or just read on!

PHOTO 37: This would be our last full day together as a group, and we began the day with a journey, just over an hour, to Mount Carmel on the slopes of which is built the ancient port city of Haifa. From here, one looks out into the Mediterranean, where Elijah had seen a little cloud that was a sign of rain after a long drought in Israel that had been a consequence of the infidelity of God’s People; the little cloud came to be regarded as a symbol of Our Lady, from whom God’s grace would rain down upon the earth. For after God had worked a marvel and Elijah had triumphed over the 450 false prophets of the idol Baal who had their shrine on Mount Carmel, a great fall of rain returns to the land as a sign of forgiveness and of grace because the people of Israel had turned back to the one true God. This is recounted in 1 Kings 18:17-46. Mount Carmel, therefore, is a place of conversion, of spiritual renewal, and tells of the power of God to save us. It is also the spiritual heart of the great Carmelite Order in whose 19th-century church of Stella Maris (Star of the Sea) we prayed. 

Here in the Carmelite church, the sanctuary is built over a cave where Elijah sheltered. The Latin inscription reads: Hanc Aliquando Speluncam Incolvit Magna Ille Prophetarum Dux et Patrem Elias Thesbites, “At one time this cave held that great leader and father of all the prophets, Elijah the Thesbite.”

The Carmelites believe that religious life began on Mount Carmel, centred around this cave as hermits began to gather here in solitary prayer, after the example of Elijah. As their Constitution says: “From Elijah, Carmelites learn to be people of the desert, with heart undivided, standing before God and entirely dedicated to his service, uncompromising in the choice to serve God’s cause, aflame with a passionate love for God.”

As we have seen over the past week in the Holy Land, God often reveals his wonders and works his marvels among people who live in caves. Why? Living in a cave grounds us in our humanity, I think. For, according to Scripture, we humans, the children of Adam, are created from adamah, the dust of the earth. As such, we are people of the earth, dwellers on the earth, our being is connected to the earth from which we receive our existence and sustenance. Modern man in non-agrarian societies, some even living in the skies, is much removed from this fact. But Adam was, indeed, the first gardener, called to tend the earth of Eden (cf Gen 2:15), and so, too, the new Adam, Jesus Christ, was seen as a gardener on the first Easter morning for he was tending the new garden of creation that had been restored by his death and resurrection (cf Jn 20:15). Each of us, therefore, has a garden to tend, namely the soil at the very heart of our earthly being which God makes fruitful with his Word, and on which the rainfall of his grace falls (cf Matt 13:3-9, 18-23). Let us, by God’s grace, then, be “good soil... who hears the word and understands it; he indeed bears fruit, and yields” (Mt 13:23)

Like Plato’s cave-dwellers, our pilgrimage to these caves of the Holy Land brings us to stand at the mouth of the cave, and there, to see the light of truth concerning our being, our place in salvation history, and the lives we live. What are we doing with all that God has given us? Consider the experience of Elijah on Mount Horeb:

“And there he came to a cave, and lodged there; and behold, the word of the LORD came to him, and he said to him, "What are you doing here, Elijah?" He said, "I have been very jealous for the LORD, the God of hosts; for the people of Israel have forsaken thy covenant, thrown down thy altars, and slain thy prophets with the sword; and I, even I only, am left; and they seek my life, to take it away." And he said, "Go forth, and stand upon the mount before the LORD." And behold, the LORD passed by, and a great and strong wind rent the mountains, and broke in pieces the rocks before the LORD, but the LORD was not in the wind; and after the wind an earthquake, but the LORD was not in the earthquake; and after the earthquake a fire, but the LORD was not in the fire; and after the fire a still small voice. And when Eli'jah heard it, he wrapped his face in his mantle and went out and stood at the entrance of the cave. And behold, there came a voice to him, and said, "What are you doing here, Elijah?" – 1 Kings 19:9-13

PHOTO 38: After lunch in Haifa, our next and final holy site was the town of Cana in the north in Galilee, not far from Nazareth. Here the Franciscans established themselves in 1641 although the present church is from the early 20th-century. I presided and preached at the Mass here, during which the married couples who were present were invited to renew their marriage vows.  

“Now six stone jars were standing there, for the Jewish rites of purification, each holding twenty or thirty gallons. Jesus said to them, "Fill the jars with water." And they filled them up to the brim.” – Jn 2:6-7

In our imagination, we often think of these jars as being much smaller, the kind that we could pick up perhaps. But St John is clear about their capacity, and beneath the church in Cana, excavations had unearthed various artefacts including this example of a monumental stone vessel. Once again, like the caves, we are confronted with something hewn from the rock of the earth. For, once again, we see in the miracle at Cana a sign of what God wants to do for us human beings. Christ wants to transform us with his grace, elevating us beyond our human nature to share and partake in his divine nature (cf 2 Peter 1:4). Hence, he turns water into wine at the wedding feast, for when, by grace, Man shares in the divine nature, the soul is wedded to God, the divine Bridegroom. 

“He said to them, "Now draw some out, and take it to the steward of the feast." So they took it. When the steward of the feast tasted the water now become wine, and did not know where it came from (though the servants who had drawn the water knew), the steward of the feast called the bridegroom and said to him, "Every man serves the good wine first; and when men have drunk freely, then the poor wine; but you have kept the good wine until now." This, the first of his signs, Jesus did at Cana in Galilee, and manifested his glory; and his disciples believed in him.” – Jn 2:8-11

PHOTO 39: Also beneath the church in Cana are the excavations of a 4th-5th century synagogue on this site. Pious pilgrims have stood here in prayer, and some have left their prayer intentions here, and others have left money as a votive offering. 

However, the story of Cana, and indeed, all we have seen on this pilgrimage points to the generosity and gratuitousness of God’s grace. He gives us everything freely, beginning with life itself, and then with the gift of salvation in Christ, and the gift of eternal life in heaven. All is grace. Thus, no money nor any worldly good can ever buy or earn his favour. 

However, God does demand something if we are to receive his favour, his graces. He asks of us something more costly still, more precious than money and jewels, more all-consuming than a pilgrimage. He asks us to follow him (cf Mt 4:19). He asks us to entrust our lives to him (cf Lk 14:27). Or as Mary, the best of all disciples said in Cana: “Do whatever he tells you." (Jn 2:5) The invitation to Christian discipleship which transforms the water of our lives to become like the best of wines is extended to us daily. For God’s love and mercy is without end (cf Ps 136). Therefore, on the great pilgrimage of life, the Lord Jesus says: 

“If any man would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me. For whoever would save his life will lose it; and whoever loses his life for my sake, he will save it.” – Luke 9:23-24

Returning to Jerusalem that evening, we had a final festive meal together in our hotel, and I did not return to the Holy Sepulchre because (as was the case on most nights) we had inspiring talks from our spiritual leaders, and on this night, we had an evening of reminiscences and farewells. 

Tomorrow: Final hours in Jerusalem, with a visit to the Dominican friars, and to the Holy Sepulchre one last time. 

[witchqueenofthemoon]

BODY AND SOUL Part 1 (Duncan Shepherd/Mackenzie Stone Millory AU)

BODY AND SOUL MASTERPOST

Author’s Note:  This is basically a Millory AU/Alternate Universe where Cody’s character Duncan from HOUSE OF CARDS meets a version of Mallory/Billie. I might eventually tie it into some kind of reincarnation arc/parallel AHS universe? Her name is Mackenzie Stone and I’ll illuminate more on who she is in time regarding her HoC character, but for all intents and purposes she is Mallory/Billie and Duncan is Michael/Cody. Part 1 is their fortuitous first night together. There is gonna be a LOT of smut in this fic, it’ll be some light plotty stuff but mostly them fucking on everything and looking super hot and dreaming about ripping each other’s clothes off in rooms full of important people. And a lot of stuff about their clothes. But mostly them touching each other with aching fingers and fucking. Please leave me feedback if you like it! Writing this was a big deal for me; it’s the longest bit of fiction I’ve written in a long time and the project will be the realization of an important goal for me this year.

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I send my soul through time and space. To greet you. You will understand.

--James Elroy Flecker, from To A Poet A Thousand Years Hence, 1910.

Love can be scary; not because of heartbreak or being left, but because it can consume you all at once. It’ll spread in your veins like the poison of a snake; it’s unstoppable and only when it’s too late, you’ll find yourself drowning in it. It’ll intrude your daily life, step by step until you find that love is everywhere you may go or look or even listen to. It’ll haunt you at night; in the morning; every time of the day, there’s no escape. Love will make you fear the person that has sparked this mess inside of you; overwhelming you with waves of emotions which will bring you to your knees. But in all of this, you’ll recognize the sensation of happiness, you’ll love the weakness and inability to control it. At some point you’ll crave it so much, that you’ll face your fear and walk to the other side of it - right into the arms of your loved one. And that’s when you know; love is just a hurricane that demands for you to face your fears.

--s.m.

The other morning I heard a woman on the radio describe her art, enormous conceptual installations that involve manipulations of breath and light. As she was explaining her process, this artist used a phrase I'd never heard before: "thin places." It's a Celtic concept, one that stems from an old proverb that says, "Heaven and earth are only three feet apart, but in the thin places that distance is even smaller." In thin places, the folklore goes, the barrier between the physical world and the spiritual world wears thin and becomes porous. Invisible things, like music or love or dead people or God, might become visible there, or if they don't become visible they become so present and tangible that is doesn't matter. Distinctions between you and not-you, real and unreal, worldly and otherworldly, fall away.

The original thin places were wild landscapes because the idea was born in the heaths of Connemara, a place that's so austere and ancient, so full of twists and hiding places and divots a thousand years old, that it seems somehow likely you might poke a hole through to another reality. But the radio lady said that the delight of thin places was the unpredictability of their location. You can find them someplace with magic written all over it, like Connemara or the Himalayas, but they also pop up in dive bars, bedrooms, hospital rooms. They can appear and disappear.

--Thin Places, Jordan Kisner.

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Duncan let the wine glass hang limply from between the crook of his fingers. Even drinking felt boring among these dull people. He stared off into the night, leaning on the ledge, imagining dropping the glass down onto the head of an unsuspecting suit below as a bored smile played at the edges of his mouth, the cool early-summer air ruffling the halo of his curls. He didn’t know it, but his blue eyes appeared much darker than usual in the glow of the soft, round lights that lined the opulent deck. Roses adorned the balcony; row after row of dark red, richly in bloom, almost obscene in their beauty, defiantly organic, thrown against the careful architecture of a DC penthouse. They were, thus far, the only interesting thing here.

“Fuck,” he muttered, sighing and pulling one long-fingered hand through his hair, absently straightening his already perfectly pressed, perfectly tailored black blazer as the hand fell downward. One more hour and he could leave; he stared at his silver Cartier watch absently; his mother had insisted he make an appearance here for the benefit of several wealthy donors to the Foundation (“just let them stare at you for awhile, you know how people love to do that, reel them in,” she said with a dry smile, and he nodded at her, smiling in return, ever the obedient son), but she hadn’t said he need stay for the whole party, after all. Showing up, killing time for a few hours should do the work she wanted, and he’d already made nice with those in the room he recognized from charity balls and fundraisers and galas past. Now the long, slow clock-watch until 11 PM, when he could make a stylishly early exit.

He was lost in these thoughts of escape and duty, still staring out at the glittering affectation of the capital city, when someone gazing similarly into the night caught the corner of his eye. 

It was the hair first; then her expression. Chestnut-honey waves cascaded down her back; a small band of gold adorned with six-pointed stars nestled into them against her head, giving her a strangely angelic glow in the dim light, the idea of a halo. She was small--she couldn’t be any taller than his shoulders--and that only with strappy, stiletto-heeled black sandals, twisting up her slender, smooth leg above her ankles, tied neatly in double-knots, at that. Double knots, he thought absently, I tie my shoes that way too. He blinked, eyes traveling up, falling on the black velvet babydoll dress she wore, bodice hugging her slender waist and small breasts, hiding the curves of her hips--I wonder what they look like, he wondered again absently, surprising himself with his immediate interest--up further to the incline of her neck and the dip of her clavicle, adorned with a gold circle that had several chunks of quartz crystals shaped into points along her smooth skin. What a beautiful piece, he thought. So unique. He felt an uncharacteristic tremor in his composure; and then he looked at her face. Her features were small and delicate; her lips slim and colored with a dark red that reminded him of the roses she was leaning against, brushed into her cheeks a soft blush that reminded him of evening sunlight on sand. Her eyes were darkly shadowed, long lashes framing wide hazel eyes that glinted with a strange combination of innocence and wisdom that startled him. On her wrist was another slender gold thing, an intricate woven cage of criss-crossing artistry that fell down her arm as she lifted her graceful hand and pushed an escaping wave of hair behind her ear; tiny crystal points hung from her ears. She grasped a small black clutch in her other hand (her nails were unpainted, he noticed, a rarity in DC society) and her face seemed lost, angry, sad, and bored at once, her small mouth pouting in a silent, secret disappointment, her lips parting to release an almost inaudible sigh as she absently touched the crystals around her throat. As his darkened blue eyes watched her, their glowing fascination invisible and unrealized yet to him, she finally seemed to notice she was not alone; her wide eyes traveled over the cascade of city lights, down through the roses, and into his.

He felt as though time stopped for a moment; how long the moment extended he could never be sure later, but it felt like a blink and an eon at once, as though something vast and previously immovable had fallen into its long-sought place. Her eyes were even more mesmerizing now that they were locked on him; he felt an obscure ache in anticipation of the moment she must inevitably look away.

“Hi,” he said quietly, and he couldn’t help but smile; he knew it had a strange effect on some people when he smiled, but it was almost involuntary; looking at her was a hand around his heart that had begun to press insistently, and he felt his cheeks burning; his jacket suddenly seemed too tight and he felt odd, dizzy, almost giddy; looking at her.

“Um, hi.” He saw the cloud fall over her gaze; she recognized him. He silently cursed in his mind, biting the inside of his cheek, a habit he’d acquired from a lifetime of being Annette Shepherd’s son. Maybe this was not going to go as well as he’d already begun to hope. He saw the way her head shifted, her mouth turning down at one corner, her hand coming around the opposite arm, hugging herself in a seemingly absent-minded impulse. Hugging herself away from Duncan Shepherd, notorious, infamous; but maybe also from the cool breeze that blew over them, smelling of roses and woodsmoke.

“I’m Duncan.”

“I know who you are.”

He smiled again at that; “Oh? And what have you heard?”

“Plenty. More than enough to know I shouldn’t be talking to you.”

He unleashed a light laugh at that; something about this petite, gold-adorned creature was absolutely intoxicating, as if she was touching him without any physical contact, whispering in his ear while she was speaking in a normal tone of voice. There was something else going on here; there was some kind of hidden current, he could feel it, like an electrical charge. It extended from the hot core of his belly to the blush of her, the sunset-gold of her. He’d only had one and a half glasses of wine, but he felt suddenly drunk. He longed to know what she smelled like, but she was still too far away. For a moment, he imagined what it would be like to run his hand along the skin of her bare arm; around the incline of her throat. His cheeks burned.

“I promise, I’m not that bad.”

She rolled her eyes at him and he couldn’t help it; he laughed a little again. He could see her steely introduction melt ever-so-slightly this time, her eyelashes fluttering down, the corner of her mouth turning up the tiniest bit, her lips pressing together to stifle her own smile. Her arms relaxed, coming to rest on the edge of the balcony once more.

He chanced to step toward her; she seemed hesitant, but she let him, watching him warily, the wind gently kissing her hair, fluttering the hem of her short dress; it was everything he could not to not look at the smooth skin of her thigh where it ended. He absently hooked a finger around his high, buttoned collar, feeling his throat clench in a second of uncharacteristic nervousness, the wine glass in his other hand mostly forgotten. He watched her eyes travel up and down his tall form; they stopped for a moment on his russet-brown curls, skirted around his intense eyes, flicked to his full lips with an embarrassed interest, to his adams apple and his tailored jacket and down his body, flitting to his tailored slacks (an ever-so-slight pause, almost unnoticeable,  over his crotch) and Prada leather chelsea boots. She inclined her head, shyly, and despite her hesitancy, he could see her interest, her attraction, glowing under her skin like a light.

“I’d love to know your name. I promise, I won’t tell anyone,” he smiled at her again, knowingly acknowledging that they were both out here for a reason while the party raged inside--these people were awful--and his own proclivity to use DC socialites to his and his family’s advantage.

He saw her hesitate again, one small hand coming up to hold a tendril of her long chestnut hair, twisting it between two fingers, smoothing her lips together as though her lipstick weren’t already perfectly applied. He watched her swallow, lost in some silent internal struggle, for a moment.

“Mackenzie,” she said, leaning away from the balcony. He was only a few steps away from her now: he could smell the wave of scent coming off her, as delicate as the intricate gold jewelry she wore: vetiver (a scent he loved and would recognize anywhere, he thought with a thrill) and something else, a delicate flower more complex than the roses, and rarer. Geranium? He thought. How unique. Who is this angel?

“No last name?” He grinned at her, knowingly. “Or one you won’t tell me for a reason?”

“I’m an orphan, they found me on the doorstep of a church,” she replied, grinning back, and he found himself goggling at her loveliness, and the pressing feeling around his heart doubled down to an almost painful ache. “Oh, really?” He laughed again, dizzily, staring into her eyes. “I guess I can pretend I believe that for now. Sometimes it’s nice to play anonymous, I wish I could do it; in a city as tightly-knit as this one is, anonymity has eluded me.”

“I’m sure that happened to you through no fault of your own,” she replied in a biting tone, but he could see her smile, the rosy glow of her cheeks. And he knew that she liked him, or at least, liked the look of him. Duncan knew that he was objectively attractive; he had felt the hungry gazes of men and women alike hundreds of times before, but something about this woman, her eyes, her hair, her gold, her light, was filling him with an intensity of desire that felt like warm water running over the edge of a glass; his nerves felt like they were vibrating, his skin felt flushed, and he knew what he wanted with a sharp clarity; he wanted this girl. Badly. She was the most beautiful, the most luminous, the most intoxicating being he had ever seen.

A small silence stretched between them; he ached to know what she was thinking, for now she stared at him with a boldness she seemed to have sussed from his obvious interest in her; the exposed feeling settling under his skin was intensely foreign to him, and it made him wildly nervous. The fear that she’d disappear at any moment began to press at his temples; he felt unhinged, that he would do anything to get this girl, this angel, into his bed.

“...May I get you a drink?” He murmured to her, the aching edge in his voice taking him by surprise. His throat bobbed; he extended the fingers of his right hand slowly, almost unknowingly, towards the smooth skin of her arm. But he did not touch her. The air seemed to hum around them, a frequency of sound that was almost visible; he felt that they were somehow touching each other without touching, feeling each other somehow without any physical contact. The wind blew softly again, filling his senses with her smell, intoxicating and delicate. He wondered what it would feel like to kiss her, gazing at her lips.

She regarded him for another long moment; he could see her hesitation, no doubt kindled by a dozen or more Post articles about his family. But then something in her gaze shifted inexplicably, softened, opened, and she smiled again, dazzling him. A barrier seemed to have been breached; her eyes shimmered, and he felt the heat from them pierce into his heart.  

“You may.”

He’d feverishly gone to the bar (bourbon, she’d said, shaking his heart again with desire), skirting around the attentions of a Senator who tried to speak with him, anxiously watched the bartender crush together the ingredients of two old fashioneds, the fear that she would no longer be leaning against the roses when he returned shaking his confidence with an icy grip, but as he slipped out onto the otherwise-deserted balcony once more, his body flooded with an intoxicating dose of relieved dopamine; there she was still, turning toward him with that glow, stepping against him slightly as she pulled the tumbler from his elegant, large hand with her finespun fingers, and he shivered at the first touch between them, filled with an overwhelming lust for more. He reached out with the other glass and clinked it against hers.

“To the mystery of first meetings,” he said impulsively.

“To familiar strangers,” she replied, and something about her words shook him strangely, coiling around them, loaded and full of hidden meaning. They both drank; Duncan watched her from the rim of his glass, taking a deep gulp of the whiskey to calm his buzzing nerves; she closed her darkly shadowed eyes, sipped, and when they fluttered open again, he noticed the lust that had settled in behind them for the first time.

“I’m sure people tell you this all the time,” she said, her voice soft and hazy in his ears, “but you’re very handsome in person.”

“Some do,” he said, stepping into her space, achingly close, watching her reaction; she did not move away from him, but stood very still, resting the drink against the wide ledge of the balcony, eyes focused on his face. “But rarely is it someone as beautiful as you are.” He set his drink down beside hers, the bourbon humming against his skin; being this close to her felt almost unbearable in its intensity. She tilted her head up, waves falling back, the crystals around her neck glinting in the glow of the fairy lights. Her face came only to the incline of his chest; perfectly level with the space in which his hands hovered for the throe of a moment before he could no longer resist temptation; he moved them so they came to rest against her small face on either side, in the delicate spaces between her chin and her ear with an imploring softness. He looked into her eyes for a moment, questioning; and he saw the lust there again, saw that she desired him too, and that was all he needed; he tilted his face and his lips fell on hers, hungry, starving, immediate.

The eagerness with which she returned his kiss filled the pit of his stomach with a wild ardency; he could taste the whiskey on her lips, smell her richness, the ache of her perfume and the musky scent of her body, and he wanted her with a desperation that felt like madness in the corners of his mind. She opened her mouth more to him; he kissed her more deeply, his tongue brushing against hers, his fingers stretching out to feel the delicate skin of her neck, moving there to caress her, causing a small moan to escape her that drove him absolutely to the edge. She was pressed against him now, her small hands flitting down his chest and stomach, causing warmth to pool in his cock immediately in anticipation and want; he felt he could drink her in forever and still not have enough, he wanted the scent of her all over him, wanted to feel her against him without the barriers of her velvet dress and his silk shirt, her skin on his skin everywhere. The kiss kindled in him a fire that burst into a blaze; the soft insistence of her lips was the first page of the book of her, and he wanted to read all of it; he wanted to devour her until morning tinged the sky.

They broke the kiss breathlessly, both breathing heavily, their faces still achingly close, and his hands were moving down across the skin above her small breasts under their velvet trappings, further down, around their round incline to the top of her waist where he grasped her under her arms, fervently, his fingers pressing into her insistently, holding her there, her warmth and weight and scent hovering around him like a crown encircling his head.

“Come to my apartment with me,” he whispered. She leaned into him, her lips falling on his again, and he shivered into her mouth, his composure fracturing, his red and burning lust falling into her and crashing against her. His strong hands held her there, in that delicate space under her breasts, and her head reached up to meet his full lips, tasting insistently. He felt as though she were weaving a spell into him, tying him to her with an invisible thread, touching a hidden place in his soul that he hadn’t even known was there. “Please.”

He felt her smile into his mouth; felt her small hands reach up to his face, trailing along the stubble that lined his chiseled jaw, pulling him down to her; “...yes”, she whispered into him, and he couldn’t stop himself, he laughed quietly into her again, delighted, full of desirous joy. He pulled away from her reluctantly, only to grasp the tumbler of bourbon and gulp from it again; he needed just a little more courage, just enough to make it back to the penthouse with this vision he feared would disappear in a flash of gold; she looked at him with eyes shining with excitement and perhaps the tiniest tinge of trepidation, grasping and drinking deeply from her own glass, and the edge of that feeling he wanted to erase; he longed to reassure her, hoped wildly that he could soothe her.

He grasped her small hand in his large one, intoxicated by the way they fit against each other, and led her, insistently but carefully, to the side of the balcony that led to a side-door to the stairwell leading to the street; a mutual desire seemed to pass between them to avoid any of the other guests seeing them leave together, and he laced his fingers through hers tightly, helping her down the two flights, stopping briefly as she pushed him against the cement wall, hurriedly kissing him again, capturing his bottom lip in her teeth gently, and he clutched her against him, moaning into her, his hands falling to the small of her back, one sliding against the velvet of her skirt, feeling the rise of her small, round ass through the fabric, igniting new desire in his groin and his head. God, he wanted her. He wanted her so fucking bad. She giggled into him, and the bourbon clashed against him with a short wave; he buried a hand in her golden-tawny hair, marveling at its silky cascade through his fingers.

“Come on,” he insisted, and they were finally at the bottom of the stairs, and he pulled his phone from his back pocket, absently using his free hand to call an Uber Black; the sidewalk outside was miraculously and mercifully almost empty of people besides a woman walking a dog across the street and a few cars passing by, headlights flashing momentarily before they moved on. Mackenzie--god, he loved her name, Mackenzie--leaned into him again, small hands on his belt, filling him with her scent and her closeness and her heat, and he wanted to push her into the wall and kiss her and touch every inch of her until she was breathlessly shaking with the edge of climax.

Their car pulled up with an almost supernatural quickness and quietness; the driver quickly forgotten as they pressed once more into one another in the backseat, Duncan snaking a hand around her neck to pull her against his mouth, her hand flitting over his cock, now painfully confined in his tailored crotch. “Oh god, Mackenzie,” he murmured into her, his other hand falling around the soft rise of her breast, gentle and insistent, “I want you so much.”

“God, shut up, just kiss me,” she laughed. He couldn’t help but laugh again with her; when was the last time he’d laughed like this? Laughed at all? He knew somehow it wasn’t just the bourbon making him light-headed. She had appeared out of nowhere and nothing, absolutely intoxicating, as though she were a being from another world. She was astounding; he was absolutely drunk on her.

They broke apart with loathe urgency as the driver pulled up to Duncan’s Georgetown high rise, and the blur of the next few minutes ran into an accelerated mix of running paint in Duncan’s mind when he looked back on it; they were in the elevator where he could see her tender mouth against him in the full-length mirror that made up one of the walls, her tiny body pressed against him, her hair falling in a glow, and it made his cock throb. The doors fell open and her pulled her fingers into his again, leading her gently down the hall to the tall black door of his penthouse apartment, fumbling with his keycard; her hand wrapped around his, steadying it, her lips pressing into his neck with a tenderness that made him groan, and they fell inside. Thankfully he’d left one lamp on by the slender leather couch; the better to see her by; the better to lead her into his bed. He picked her up--she was light as a feather and as soft as one too--and pressed her against the back of the door that had swung shut behind them, his mouth urgent on hers again; “you know--” she said breathlessly between his lips crashing against hers--”I don’t usually do stuff like this--”

“I’ll take that as a compliment--” he smiled into her, his hands winding up the skin of her thigh, pressing her down to the ground again, pressing ever-so-briefly against the softness between her legs, making her gasp. She dropped her clutch unceremoniously on the spotlessly clean polished wood; reached down to unknot her shoes in a marvelously cute almost absent-minded gesture, a wonderful, frustrated whine escaping from her mouth as she fumbled with them. “Here, let me help,” he murmured, and he knelt before her--his hands fell down the softness of her leg to the knot, and he felt her shudder with desire under his touch. He loved the way he was suddenly looking up at her from here, suddenly beholden to her whim; he wanted to make her feel fucking good, he wanted her to writhe with pleasure. He unknotted the laces of the sandal, freeing her small foot, thumbing the red stripes they had left on her ankles; he couldn’t stop himself, he pressed his lips against the redness, and felt her shiver under his touch again, breathlessly.

He undid her other heel easily; as she stepped out of them, he saw that she was even smaller, reaching only right about level to his chest; he wanted to hold her small frame against him with desperate longing. She reached out, pushing his blazer from his shoulders insistently, their swollen lips coming together again; “god, you taste so good,” he whispered into her, “you’re so beautiful, you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen--”

She shushed him again, her breath humming on his lips, as if she was afraid of his words. “Take me to your room,” she insisted. He nodded, sure that he would do anything she said in that moment, her eyes so intense, dark and wonderful that he felt he could see into her soul through them, and pulled her into his bedroom, its black sheets and spread perfectly pressed and quiet, waiting for them. The side-lamp on his pristine nightstand was dimly lit; its glow cascaded over her, striking him with her loveliness once more; he pressed against her desperately, pulling the headband of stars gently from her head and setting it on the nightstand with reverence next to his exorbitantly expensive watch, kicking his shoes off as he clutched at her, once more filled with a terrible fear that she would disappear, eager beyond all words to be against her.

“Duncan,” she moaned into his mouth, “fuck me.”

He needed no more prompting; he pressed her gently but insistently down onto the immaculate spread, and she opened her legs, sidling their bareness against his clothed thigh; he pressed his lips into the softness of her neck as her fingers found the buttons of his high-collared shirt, undoing them expertly, freeing his torso from the suffocating confines; then they moved to his belt as she moaned under his mouth, his lips grazing the crystals that hugged her throat, pressing into the hollow between her breasts above the velvet of her neckline. She pulled his belt away with a snap; he flipped her over with concentration, and she gasped, the sound of it thrilling him so his cock pressed harder against his pants, painfully.

He carefully pulled the zipper at her back down, his mouth pressing between her shoulder blades now, grasping the cascade of her hair to the side so as not to get it caught; his hands went to undo her necklace’s clasp, but she murmured “no, I want to wear it while we fuck,” and the thought of it thrilled him; it seemed only natural that she’d wear it, it seemed intense beyond a normal object, cut against her like a second skin, a miraculous piece of jewelry that hummed with eroticism. He pulled at her dress; she flipped over with an agile sweetness as he did, slipping out of it, laying on her back so her breasts were now exposed to him, wearing only a pair of silk black underwear now, and he hungrily captured one of her nipples in his lips, sucking hungrily. She moaned again, this time more loudly; who was there to hear them now, indeed, and he groaned happily into her body, intoxicated with it. He leaned up once more to undo the button and zipper of his pants; as he kicked them off, he watched her hazy eyes, bright with lust, lave over the bulge of his erection under his black briefs; “take those off too,” she murmured teasingly, her playful smile driving him to the edge of desire again, and he obediently pulled them down, grinning at her, his cock springing out and causing a bubble of surprise to fall out of her mouth;  “god, you’re fucking big,” she murmured, and pulled his long frame down to her insistently. His mouth was all over her now, moving down her ribs and belly button to where the black silk panties clung to her, wet with her desire now, and with his large hands he pulled them down and threw them to the side. Her sex was glittering with moisture and her pussy was smooth, hair shaved away; he pressed one long finger between her folds to the bundle of nerves he knew was nestled there, and she moaned again, this time long and loud and stretching into a groan of ecstasy.

He pushed her legs apart insistently and pressed a hard lick against her clit; she cried out with an involuntary spasm of pleasure, and he smiled with desire. “God, you taste good,” he moaned, before pressing his mouth flush against her, working his tongue into her with measured circles; but their eyes, his stormy blue with want, hers taking on an ethereal dark-green hue that both shook and amazed him, stared into one another as he did, and he could see the way she was unraveling in his fingers, his mouth filling her up and bringing her dangerously close to the edge. “I don’t want you to come yet,” he whispered, stopping, watching her body clench under him with the lack of his mouth, “I want to fuck you and I want us to come together, god, you’re so beautiful,” and she nodded and whispered “yes,” and hushed him with her mouth, the taste of her mingling in their mouths, her hand finding his painfully erect cock and using the precum that dripped from its head to smooth her hand up and down his shaft, rattling him into a wanton thirst to be inside her.

“Do you want me to?” He asked, gazing into her face, her cheeks flushed with cupidity, her body hot under his hands. He couldn’t believe she was here in his bed; he gazed at the crystals against her neck, against her ears, into her eyes, fluttering as they looked at him, god, she was so lovely, she made his heart quiver; she made him want to die.

“Yes, Duncan--fuck me.”

He moved and he was between her legs--he paused for one deep moment, the head of his painfully hard cock against her cunt, and then he pressed himself into her as his mouth pressed into her bruised lips again, one hand grasping her neck, the other grasping her hip, and they gasped into each other, the intensity of this connection overwhelming them both in a cascade of sensation. He moved, a rhythm building in his hips and his groin, and she cried out--”Duncan, fuck, Duncan, oh fuck, yes, fuck me hard, like that--” and he pulled her against him, their bodies flush against each other, sweat mingling, the scent of their sex and their perfume (his like smoke and cedar wood, hers heady and sweet) crashing together--he moved, pulling her upright onto him so her ass smacked against his knees and the hard length of his cock crashed into her again and again, her clit rubbing against his abdomen, her eyes rolling back in her head, his mouth leaving red welts on her perfect neck, her hair falling back and glittering in the light. She kissed him, grasping his stubble in her small fingers, kissed his forehead as he buried himself inside her, causing small entreating words to fall from his lips like a prayer, like a spell, a mantra; “Mackenzie, Mackenzie, Mackenzie, please, oh god, god--”

He felt his climax rushing forward, a wave that he wasn’t sure he could stop if he tried, and she moaned into him--”Oh god, Duncan, I’m gonna come, keep doing that, just like that--” And as she cried out in wild delight a moment later, her cunt convulsing down onto him, he exploded into her, buried inside her warmth, grasping her against him as though he could never bear to let go; the sweat on his brow mixing into the sweat that pooled at her throat, and his cock shuddered its release deep into her, pulsing and falling into tenderness and still very hard. They stayed that way awhile; panting, spent, holding each other, pressing soft kisses into each other’s flushed skin, his length still inside her, her cunt dripping down onto him, still pulsing.

She laughed, suddenly, gasping, and it thrilled his heart to hear it; “Wow, fuck, fuck.”

“Mackenzie. Fuck.”

“Duncan. Hi.” She laughed again. He nuzzled his face into her neck. She lifted her hips and his cock fell out of her, going limp after his release, a small bit of white cum dribbling out. They both collapsed beside each other, chests still heaving, hands absently entwining with each other. He turned his head to her; his was just a little below her, under the incline of her arm, and she smiled down at him, and her smile was unbearably lovely; he could see the beauty that was hidden from him and the outside world shining from her eyes, still clouded with her climax, and knew in that moment that she was going to be someone special to him; he just knew, like the clashing sound of a giant gong resounding into the universe, like a shooting star that only he could see.

“That was incredible. You’re fucking incredible.”

She shyly pressed a hand against his cheek and he turned his face to kiss her palm; she turned towards him, sidling her legs together with a overwhelmed sigh as her still-sensitive sex pressed against her thighs.

“You’re pretty incredible yourself. And fuck, this penthouse. This is insane. Your cock is just...gorgeous. You’re gorgeous.” She blushed, locks of wavy hair falling over her shoulder against her breasts. Their hands still pressed into each other, feeling each other’s fingers softly, feeling each other’s veins, wrists, the soft pads of each other’s fingerprints. “But I meant what I said. I...I really don’t usually do stuff like this. This is....really unexpected.”

“I know what you mean. Mackenzie, you’re…” His eyes fluttered; he realized with a wave of intensity how tired he was, how much their fucking had exhausted him, body and soul.

“Mackenzie.”

She yawned; he wanted to grasp her to him, cradle her in his arms. He couldn’t understand what was happening; he wanted them to fall asleep together. That’s all he knew, all he could decipher. He wanted her to sleep in his bed until the sunrise kissed it and blessed them.

“Hmm?” Her eyes had fluttered closed, a small smear of eyeshadow, mussed in their passion, streaking away across her temple. He pressed the pad of his thumb there, wiping it away.

“Stay here with me tonight. Please?”

Her eyes fluttered open for just a moment; he was astonished to find he could still see that strange, hidden something still nestled inside them. That secret thing that seemed to be only for him. And then she said “okay”.

He pulled the coverlet over them so it was folded over the sheets; he couldn’t bear to disturb her again as her eyes fell closed once more and her breathing slowed to a soft whisper. He soon fell asleep himself, their hands still clasped together, her small, slender fingers entwined in his large, long ones. And the moon rose over them in the window, and the night fell away. Slowly, as they slept there together, a deep sleep that neither had experienced in a very long time, dawn came.

[cmarionthewilkid-blog]

C.O.N.S.U.M.E.D

What happens when we consume more than we need? What happens when our choices are influenced by societal pressures of how things should be? Part 1 of my reflective journal will aim to provide a glimpse at two weeks of a working mom, head of a house of five, who also coincidentally adds event planner often to her job tasks. 

Day 1: I specifically started my consumption journal on Friday, October 25. The day before a large case competition I was hosting on campus. Day 1 starts like most every other day of my life. The 20 minute drive to daycare, followed by the usual ice cap pit stop at Tim Horton’s. This day is special though, with the pressures of ensuring everything was just right for our judges and sponsors. I stroll off to Ferme Beaulieu to spend $328 on gifts. I am thinking that at least I am buying local products (honey, herbs, ketchup aux fruits) and feel pretty great about that. But why do I feel obliged to buy gifts at all? Wouldn’t a sincere thank you be enough? I guess according to Jonathan Porritt (2011), I have fallen victim to consumerism at its best. Somehow, I feel OK about it though. 

 A quick stop at Dollarama for gift bags, disposable coffee cups (cringe!), and plastic plastic trays. Finally, a $148 trip to Provigo for snacks for the case competitors and coaches. Oops, did I mention the trip to the t-shirt printer to pick up the 60 red printed competition momentos. Let’s add the 250+ pages I printed that day! As I sit here and reflect on the necessities (needs) of running a case competition versus expectations (and wants), I come to the realization that most of what I have purchased is simply there to enhance image. 

Day 2 (October 26): Tim’s ice cap (check!). 60 Donuts, 60 pre-packed lunches, 24 cans of Perrier, 60 cans of soft drinks, 40 coffees in disposable cups, 100 plastic glasses of wine. Today, I am completely influenced by materialism and keeping the “image”. Let’s keep in mind that I work for a business school and that comes with some rather large assumptions around how things are supposed to look and be. Not to mention, I am hosting five people from the company who is sponsoring the event, so I need to keep them happy and ensure the event lives up to their expectations. I am reminded of Amitai Etzioni, (2012) and his sentiments about “keeping up with the Jones’”. It is true, when one party sets a certain expectation, we all rise to meet, or better, exceed them.

Today; however, my biggest disappointment was food waste. The boxed lunches were good, but about 25% of people didn’t eat all their meal. Almost 100% of the people didn’t eat the dessert included. We don’t have access to compost, so it went to the trash. Above the clear environmental impact of my event, I am reminded of the fact that one fifth of the world’s richest people consume 45% of all the meat and fish (Shah, 2014). Despite the company providing compostable cutlery and cups, I feel guilty that I sent so many things to the landfill today. To top it all off, Sodexo served a less than stellar menu at the Gala dinner (veal sous-vide). I swear I wanted to eat it, but alas, two bites in and I am done. More to the trash. Exhausted and mentally drained, I wonder to myself where the balance between convenience and waste needs to come into play. Why can’t we have compost stations on campus?

Day 3 (October 27): But first, my ice cap! A friend’s child’s birthday party today so I scramble to get things together. I run to Provigo to grab stuff for mini pizzas to share (forgot my grocery bags, so plastic it is). My friend insisted on no gifts at the party, which I wanted to accept, but quite frankly couldn’t. I’m glad I didn’t because apparently no one else respected it either. I think about this social obligation more deeply (Goodwin, Smith, & Spiggle, 1990). I try my best to make a compromise, we opt for a movie day among friends instead of a traditional gift. I am hoping this small intrinsically motivated action may decrease future landfill waste in the future. Nonetheless, we are filled with waxed juice cups and plates. Back to the Provigo to grab something for the family for supper. I grab peppers in a plastic bag, sausages in a styrofoam package, pasta sauce in a glass bottle, cheese in plastic packaging and pasta in a cardboard box. Nothing much to compost or recycle unfortunately. 

Day 4 (October 28): Monday and back to work. Ice cap, yup! I am starting to get quite the collection in my office recycling bin. My boss just commented on it. I guess it is a bit of an eye sore..haha! 

Two trips to Provigo today. One at lunch to grab George’s bread, deli ham, Coaticook cheese, carrots and dip. Next stop on the way home from work for supper, chicken, baby potatoes and stuffing. 

Day 5 (October 29): If you haven’t guessed by now, ice cap time! Today, my brother (who lives with us) did a fridge clean up. Sigh! I can’t believe how much stuff we threw away. Past date, wilted vegetables, moldy fruits. Why don’t I just throw money directly into the garbage can? Is it normal that the first thing I think about is wasted money? According to a study  by Graham-Rowe, Jessop, and Sparks (2014),  wasting money is indeed a major motivator to minimize food waste. Inspired by this revelation, I am determined to have leftovers for lunch and transform the chicken salad sandwiches tonight for supper. I don’t even have to stop at Provigo today! WOW!

Day 6 (October 30): IC (that’s all I will say). Wednesdays are always tricky because I am running around and teach a class at night. It is one of those days. I grab lunch at Subway (steak sub, chips and a drink) -> garbage.

Run to Provigo after work and grab steak, carrots, potatoes and gravy from Provigo and throw it in pot to cook. I also realize that I haven’t really bought any candy for Halloween for my students in case class. $65.30 later and we have meat and candies! I’ve also been putting out chocolates outside my office door for students. 

Day 7 (October 31): Another ice cap to go please. I don’t even eat lunch today. Now I realize we have no candy for the kids. Drive to Walmart and $68.03, we’ve got goodies. No lunch again, and we go to a friend’s for supper. Off with the 4 year old trick or treating in the rain. She gets a pail of treats, we have 2 boxes of stuff leftover.

Day 8 (November 1): Day of the dead? I think so! Actually order breakfast with my ice cap at Timmy’s this morning. No lunch today. We decide to go shopping after work today as my brother has a 40% discount at L’Equipeur. $218.58 later, my husband enjoys new shoes, jeans, sport jacket, t-shirts, and a pair of sneakers for my mom for Christmas. Oh wait! Marlee needs new winter boots, so $86.22 later, we have new winter boots for her. I also see the cutest dress boots at Marshall’s (fake baby Uggs). I suppose these is what the marketers are hoping for. Top it all off with super for the family at Guido’s. (Wow! I have really been eating like crap!) Day 8 hurt the bank account!  Day 9 (November 2): Maybe I should actually buy some groceries for my empty fridge. I sludge off to Provigo early Saturday morning to spent near $200. At least I have meat, veggies, fruits, and some of the other basics for my family to actually live on. Stop at Tim’s on the way home for the usual. 

Day 10 (November 3): Beautiful breakfast with family (and an ice cap). Spent the day making food (soup, roasted chicken, pasta sauce, etc....). Trying to cut down on the restaurant stops this week. End up at the library with some dear colleagues from GSE503, so I think another ice cap is in order to stay awake (and leftover Halloween Candy). 

Day 11 (November 4): Check that thought. Day went to hell, running late, dead tired, no breakfast, grabbed Rima for supper. Fridge full, but I don’t even care at this point. 

Day 12 (November 5): Today is a new day! I started making iced coffee at home! No Tim’s! I actually did not spend $1 today! Why do I feel so great? Apparently it is something referred to as perceived consumer effectiveness (PCE). When is comes to sustainable buying practices, this PCE is influenced directly by guilt and pride. This becomes important because it means that as a consumer,  my behaviours could be modified by using emotions (Antonetti, & Maklan, 2014).

Day 13 (November 6): Another no spending kind of day! Feeling all pride and no guilt! Maybe Atonetti and Maklan are on to something!

Day 14 (November 7): Last day of recording! No ice caps and going strong.  My husband and I are feeling like we need a little extra family time, so we go out for supper at Mike’s with Marlee. We follow it up by a little Chocolat Favoris. I asked myself why we went to Mike’s again? What a waste!   A quick stop by Provigo to grab snacks for my basketball girls. I make an orzo salad plus pull together fruits, yogurt, cheese and granola bars.

Stay tuned for Part 2 to see if I actually made some changes and what this whole process has meant for me. Until then, I leave you on this note: Waiting on the World to Change

REFERENCES

Antonetti, P., & Maklan, S. (2014). Feelings that make a difference: How guilt and pride convince consumers of the effectiveness of sustainable consumption choices. Journal of Business Ethics, 124(1), 117-134. Retrieved from www.jstor.org/stable/24033218

Etzioni, A. (2012). You Don’t need to Buy This. Retrieved from https://youtu.be/FN3z8gtDUFE

Goodwin, C., Smith, K.L., & Spiggle, S. (1990). Gift giving: Consumer motivation and the gift purchase process. In NA - Advances in Consumer Research. 17, eds. Marvin E. Goldberg, Gerald Gorn, and Richard W. Pollay, Provo, UT : Association for Consumer Research, 690-698. Retrieved from http://acrwebsite.org/volumes/7086/volumes/v17/NA-17

Graham-Rowe, E., Jessop, D.C., & Sparks, P. (2014). Identifying motivations and barriers to minimising household food wasteby. Resources, Conservation & Recycling, 84, 15-23. doi: 10.1016/j.resconrec.2013.12.005

Porritt, J. (2011). The trap of materialism. Retrieved from https://youtu.be/DtwXryPNciM

Shah, A. (2014). Consumption and Consumerism: Global Issues. Retrieved from http://www.globalissues.org/issue/235/consumption-and-consumerism

[ebthecelebrity]

Progression

Tuesday, November 9, 2016 

I went out to eat with an old coworker that night and got back home a little late. I quickly gave my son a bath and all I thought about was plopping myself on my black leather sectional and being glued in front of the television. Today was an interesting one. I voted yesterday for one of the most bizarre presidential campaigns in history, well I know for sure in my lifetime. I was so ready for this night to be over and it was already around 10:00 pm.  Only a few hours left until this madness was over. This was the night that Americans would figure out which uncanny candidate was going to be our Commander in Chief.

I found myself arguing with a young black man today via social media. He continuously challenged me about how not voting was the best thing black people could do in our times of oppression.  So many issues with Black lives and if they mattered flooded my timeline this year. The police shootings and the borderline racist comments from my social media friends just left a damp place in my spirit every time. Every. Time. Every day seemed to have a negative effect on me regarding this racial shit. I grew weary reading about it, thinking about it, and living it. Now, here an ignorant black man wants to rain on my parade about voting. In his eyes, I was the sheep and I wasn’t “woke”, but in my eyes, he was still a slave, living in the 1800s. His analogy of  “the white man” incarcerating black men for life sentences and how the “Amerikkkan” conspiracy against black people was still alive just sent me over the edge. My blood boiled as I angrily typed responses to him and his ignorance.  Our people died for his right to vote and his ignorance just wouldn’t allow him to.  My last comment to him was “Be the change you want to see” and I deleted his instagram friendship with no hesitation. I just had enough.

Getting coffee through the drive through today, I nearly yanked a lady out of her car and gave her the ass whopping of her life due to her extreme rudeness in line. I also found myself considering a harsh, snowy winter in Toronto than being in sunny Florida where I felt there were undercover racist and sexist people walking beside me daily. The American dream of living a good life, being able to travel, creating opportunities for others, and having a sense of brotherhood just seemed foggy in eyesight for me nowadays. The thought of this Presidential campaign just made me sick to my stomach. I had already went through two bottles of wine that week and had two glasses at dinner that night with my coworker.

My 91 year old Great Grandmother voted today. I looked at her picture with so much pride and admiration. The strength of a million black women ran through the blood of my veins at that very moment. This presidential campaign was exhausting to say the least. According to the media, Florida was a toss up state; meaning that the polls could go any way. Republican or Democrat, can we just all be Americans and not be politically segregated? The advertising on the radio was brutal and downright unethical. I would hear about Hilary Clinton calling black children “super predators” and how the Clinton Foundation had disrespected and harmed black people immensely in the past on the radio at 7:05am during my drive to work.  At 7:09am, I would hear a similar radio advertisement about Donald Trump and how he mocks black people, how the KKK supports him, and he doesn’t really care about us.  At 7:15am, I would witness multiple posts about black lives matter on social media and immediately mentally shut down for the day. It’s only 7:30am you know. This madness consumed my life all day, everyday.  I thought America progressed in 2016. Well…..things were about to get more interesting within the next few hours.

It’s 11:00 p.m.  I laid down on the couch with a glass of Sweet Red wine. I fumbled for the remote control and turned the television onto CNN. I witnessed our united country as a puzzle piece on television.   It was bleeding Republican red. I grabbed my phone to check my Facebook. The timeline was in distress.  There was hatred, anticipation, anger, sadness, and just a mixture of uncertainty at this point.  People of all color, races, and ethnicities on my friend’s list seemed uncertain. It was a terrifying feeling for me to witness and be apart of.  After having a cool night with my old coworker at a restaurant at the beach, I surely didn’t want to come home to this mess. The state of a nation was in a panic and it was the first time in my life that I felt like the world just might blow up at any moment. I guzzled my wine in anxiety.

I was disgusted with the ignorance everywhere. What our country needed was progression. What I needed was progression. At that very moment, I shut down and shut the CNN commentator out.  My mind started to race and I just regretted the results in the morning.  It was getting late and I had an early morning. I picked up my cell phone and checked my alarm, confirming that it would go off multiple times at 5:00 a.m.  I then stared at my cell phone, analyzing what this tool could really do. There were so many capabilities and abilities of such a vital tool in our society. I received a Facebook notification. My fingers swiftly opened up the Facebook application on my phone, almost like I was in need of a hit of drugs.  I scrolled down the timeline to be nosey, once again.  How could I gain the progression I yearned for with this social media? Simple. Without it. It was time to escape the gripping hands that social media strongly had on my everyday life.  There were entirely too many uneducated opinions of people I’ve never met in real life, the brutally insulting memes, the wasteful time of reading paragraphs of nonsense, the pokes, the corny jokes, the horrendous selfies, the ignorant statuses, the derogatory pictures, the lies, the shadiness, the prejudice comments from racists hiding behind a computer, the TMI in statuses, and reading entirely too many misspelled words.  Progression. It was time to cleanse the toxic information overload and to reflect on other things that really mattered.  

Wednesday, November 10, 2016

I sat outside my job in my car, blasting Rhianna. I just got a text from a good friend that read, “I can’t believe Trump got elected last night.”  

To Be Continued.....

[lesbianbruabba]

all of them!

Anon you are trying to kill me but also like..thank you

1: Full name

I’m not stupid, I’m not putting my full real name out. lol

2: Age

Eighteen

3: 3 Fears

Being rejected, depression consuming my life, going deaf or blind

4: 3 things I love

My brother, my friends, music

5: 4 turns on

Gentle caresses, dirty talk, teasing, kink stuff

6: 4 turns off

Uhhh. Pedophilia, scat, incest, racial degradation? I’m going for the most hardcore bad stuff lol

7: My best friend

I have a lot but for simplicity’s sake my bestest is @lettiehigh

8: Sexual orientation

Bisexual

9: My best first date

Lol

10: How tall am I

5′2. correct question is how short am I

11: What do I miss

Special ham sandwiches

12: What time were I born

I don’t fucking know

13: Favourite color

Pink

14: Do I have a crush

I have multiple. 

15: Favourite quote

“They don’t sell cheese at the jewelry store” - my husband Felony Steve

16: Favourite place

My bedroom

17: Favourite food

Chicken nuggets from a hong kong mcdonald’s. They taste like shit in scotland

18: Do I use sarcasm

Sometimes but I’m not that good at it

19: What am I listening to right now

No More Time - Flor

20: First thing I notice in new person

Eyes

21: Shoe size

6.5

22: Eye color

Dark brown/black

23: Hair color

Dark brown/black. it’s gotten darker over the last few years

24: Favourite style of clothing

Frilly or bondage-y. Sometimes both at once

25: Ever done a prank call?

Nope

27: Meaning behind my URL

RPDR fic pen name

28: Favourite movie

RENT

29: Favourite song

Right now it’s Felony Reunion by Felony Steve

30: Favourite band

Waterparks, flor, All Time Low, Fall Out Boy, you can’t make me pick

31: How I feel right now

Lorny

32: Someone I love

My baby brother

33: My current relationship status

Single

34: My relationship with my parents

Rocky but overall it’s fine. It’s like an ongoing negotiation but I know they love me really.

35: Favourite holiday

I went to England when I was 14 with my school. 

36: Tattoos and piercing i have

None

37: Tattoos and piercing i want

Nipple piercings, I want a hip tattoo on my right hip because I haven’t self-harmed there and it’s a bit of a ‘sacred space’ now. someday I want a lyric tattoo, a flower tattoo (roses pls) and a watercolor one. I follow so many tattoo instagrams and they all look so pretty

38: The reason I joined Tumblr

At the very very beginning to make an aesthetic pastel blog. Got into roleplaying for a couple of years, made some good friends, some sad things happened, moved onto rpdr fic, evolved into the mess it is now

39: Do I and my last ex hate each other?

what ex

40: Do I ever get “good morning” or “good night ” texts?

Good morning snaps from my brother and copyright from @samrull

41: Have I ever kissed the last person you texted?

Nope

42: When did I last hold hands?

Not a thing I’ve done in a long time? 

43: How long does it take me to get ready in the morning?

Depends on whether I do makeup or not. 10 minutes if I don’t have to, 20-30 if I do.

44: Have You shaved your legs in the past three days?

Nope. I don’t shave unless there’s a special event.

45: Where am I right now?

My bedroom in Edi

46: If I were drunk & can’t stand, who’s taking care of me?

I don’t drink :)

47: Do I like my music loud or at a reasonable level?

reasonable level most of the time. Unless I am feeling particularly apathetic/anhedonic/depressed

48: Do I live with my Mom and Dad?

Back in Hong kong yes

49: Am I excited for anything?

Dan and Phil show, possible trip to Copenhagen, possibly seeing flor, doing fashion design or Danish at uni next year, improving my fluency in languages, my brother visiting Edi, going home and seeing all my friends, going home and seeing my teachers I miss them so much oh my god, possibly seeing one of my crushes again!!

Oh and I’m going to a convention on sunday so that’s pretty great too!

50: Do I have someone of the opposite sex I can tell everything to?

Yeah my brother we’re a bit too open

51: How often do I wear a fake smile?

depends on how often I leave my room/spend time in others’ company that I’m not comfortable with. 

52: When was the last time I hugged someone?

Tuesday at 7:30 pm

53: What if the last person I kissed was kissing someone else right in front of me?

Cool, thumbs up dude. he kisses well

54: Is there anyone I trust even though I should not?

Yeah probably. lbr I trust people too easily

55: What is something I disliked about today?

I didn’t move from my bed much. but! I got a lot of drawing done and I studied some Polish so that’s a win. fuck you for making me think negatively :)

56: If I could meet anyone on this earth, who would it be?

there’s this girl in denmark i owe a very long apology to. her. and maybe her cat.

57: What do I think about most?

My crushes, analyzing whether I have a pattern/type of crush, random etymologies, whether Russian is harder than Polish or I have a warped bias, whether my friends care about me or am I overestimating my place in their hearts

58: What’s my strangest talent?

I can say thank you in like 15 languages that counts right?

59: Do I have any strange phobias?

The wolf from little red riding hood

60: Do I prefer to be behind the camera or in front of it?

In front bc I am shite at taking photos

61: What was the last lie I told?

my meds are making me better

62: Do I perfer talking on the phone or video chatting online?

Video chatting oh my god

63: Do I believe in ghosts? How about aliens?

I sometimes hope ghosts exist. idk about aliens

64: Do I believe in magic?

No 

65: Do I believe in luck?

yes

66: What’s the weather like right now?

Not that bad for scotland tbh but chilly for late April

67: What was the last book I’ve read?

Essentials of Polish verbs and grammar or something. google it

68: Do I like the smell of gasoline?

no???? who tf likes that what the fuck

69: Do I have any nicknames?

This one friend I used to have called me Christababe. Also people at school called me Lily

70: What was the worst injury I’ve ever had?

Self harm cut from a few weeks ago. Got infected (it’s fine now)

71: Do I spend money or save it?

Depends

72: Can I touch my nose with a tounge?

With a tongue sure but not my own lmao

73: Is there anything pink in 10 feets from me?

Yes a lot of it because my closet is next to my bed :)

74: Favourite animal?

Unicorn

75: What was I doing last night at 12 AM?

Eating ice cream and surfing the drag race reddit

76: What do I think is Satan’s last name is?

I don’t know???? Johnson?

77: What’s a song that always makes me happy when I hear it?

The Middle - Jimmy Eat World

78: How can you win my heart?

Don’t manipulate me.

79: What would I want to be written on my tombstone?

Married to Felony Steve

80: What is my favorite word?

Felony

81: My top 5 blogs on tumblr

Like my faves? @rippling-waves @samrull @lettiehigh @veronicasanders @lecafenoirx

82: If the whole world were listening to me right now, what would I say?

Listen to Waterparks they have the best music. -dabs-

83: Do I have any relatives in jail?

Nope

84: I accidentally eat some radioactive vegetables. They were good, and what’s even cooler is that they endow me with the super-power of my choice! What is that power?

Fluency in all languages

85: What would be a question I’d be afraid to tell the truth on?

“are you in love with me”. if asked by certain people. alternatively “do you like girls” asked by other certain people. 

86: What is my current desktop picture?

DDLC fanart

87: Had sex?

No but close

88: Bought condoms?

No but I have one from the Hive from a fresher’s package

89: Gotten pregnant?

no dear lord 

90: Failed a class?

Nope and I hope not

91: Kissed a boy?

Yes

92: Kissed a girl?

No, I wish

93: Have I ever kissed somebody in the rain?

No

94: Had job?

Yes, barista and factory worker

95: Left the house without my wallet?

Yes

96: Bullied someone on the internet?

Kind of? Not really? It was more of an argument but we’re friends now. I was a stupid thirteen year old 

97: Had sex in public?

No

98: Played on a sports team?

Lol, tell another one

99: Smoked weed?

No

100: Did drugs?

No, will not

101: Smoked cigarettes?

No, I hate smoking

102: Drank alcohol?

I had a few sips of white wine that were absolutely DISGUSTING

103: Am I a vegetarian/vegan?

No

104: Been overweight?

Currently am

105: Been underweight?

I wish

106: Been to a wedding?

Yeah of distant relatives and teachers

107: Been on the computer for 5 hours straight?

Try 14

108: Watched TV for 5 hours straight?

I don’t watch TV, There’s no tv in my student hall and back home the TV is only for news

109: Been outside my home country?

Yep too many times tbh

110: Gotten my heart broken?

Unrequited love-wise yes

111: Been to a professional sports game?

Yes and spent the whole time reading (I was a kid and my mum couldn’t/didn’t find someone to babysit)

112: Broken a bone?

No, thank god

113: Cut myself?

Yes, trying to quit it

114: Been to prom?

Yep and I sang on stage too! 

115: Been in airplane?

Yep

116: Fly by helicopter?

No and not interested tbh

117: What concerts have I been to?

Waterparks, Avril Lavigne, All Time Low

118: Had a crush on someone of the same sex?

Yes, quite a few times now

119: Learned another language?

Try multiple

120: Wore make up?

Yeah! Trying to do it more

121: Lost my virginity before I was 18?

No, too late for that now

122: Had oral sex?

No but I want to

123: Dyed my hair?

No but I want to

124: Voted in a presidential election?

No, HK doesn’t have presidential elections

125: Rode in an ambulance?

No

126: Had a surgery?

No

127: Met someone famous?

Famous in Hong Kong yes. Worldwide no. I’ve met the UoE principal though

edit: Iza reminded me that I’ve met both Courtney Act and Sasha Velour! 

128: Stalked someone on a social network?

Yes but not like…creepy. for drawing reference I’ve gone through a lot of people’s social media this morning lol

129: Peed outside?

When I was like 4

130: Been fishing?

Not that I can recall

131: Helped with charity?

Yeah

132: Been rejected by a crush?

No because I’m too much of a wimp to confess. Maybe a few years later

133: Broken a mirror?

Yep, the one I use to wear my contacts (when I used to wear contacts)

134: What do I want for birthday?

Sex and liposuction and a corset and maybe someone to love me and a full happy day with no depression or anxiety

135: How many kids do I want and what will be their names?

I don’t want kids. But if I did have kids, here is a list of nice names: Gracie, Ljudmila, Nico, Agneta (this one sounds really fucking familiar but I don’t know why), Anthony, Selene, Kristoff, James

136: Was I named after anyone?

No. My Chinese name means to have manners and to be gentle lmao. My English name is literally just the first thing I blurted out when the teacher asked me for my name. Wednesday was a name I look after Wednesday Addams though.

137: Do I like my handwriting?

I hate my Chinese and English penmanship it looks like shit but my Cyrillic looks GREAT

138: What was my favourite toy as a child?

Barbie, I had Genevieve from the 12 dancing princesses

139: Favourite Tv Show?

Drag race, b99, ASOUE, the good place

140: Where do I want to live when older?

In Edinburgh

141: Play any musical instrument?

The ukulele and I think I still remember a bit of guitar

142: One of my scars, how did I get it?

Cutting. Most of my scars are from cutting. A few from childhood bruises

143: Favourite pizza toping?

Cheese

144: Am I afraid of the dark?

Sometimes

145: Am I afraid of heights?

all the time

146: Have I ever got caught sneaking out or doing anything bad?

A lot worse than sneaking out buddy

147: Have I ever tried my hardest and then gotten disappointed in the end?

Yeah 

148: What I’m really bad at

controlling my fucking feelings and not falling for peple

149: What my greatest achievments are

Sewing my prom dress, making an animation, juggling learning 3 languages (slowly) at once, surviving high school because honestly I didn’t think I’d make it to graduation

150: The meanest thing somebody has ever said to me

That bisexuality doesn’t exist

151: What I’d do if I won in a lottery

Depends on how much i win but assuming it’s a big amount of money, split it and donate a third to charity, give a third to my parents, split the rest of it in quarters and give three quarter to my dad for investments and spend the last quarter

152: What do I like about myself

I have pretty hair and nice tits and I can draw (not well but I can draw), and I have a bit of talent in learning languages and fashion design

153: My closest Tumblr friend

@samrull without a doubt

154: Something I fantasise about

My brain giving me a good yummy serotonin

155: Any question you’d like?

….anon you didn’t put a question (this happens every goddamn time i s2g)

Thanks for the ask though this kept me occupied for the good part of an hour :)

[wineanddinosaur]

The 28 Best White Wines for 2021

For years, the most popular white wine grape on the planet has been Chardonnay. Winemakers love this French grape because of its ability to grow anywhere, as well as its malleability in the winery. We have become used to a certain style of Chardonnay in the U.S: deep, golden-hued wine with dollops of vanilla and butter and often a smack of sweetness from its high alcohol content. But we have evolved. We still dig deep and big Chardonnay, but winemakers across the major wine regions in the U.S. and abroad are showing that there’s more to this grape than wood and butter.

All of this is to say that, in my fourth year as VinePair’s tastings director, I have seen how diverse wines from this grape can be. It’s a grape consumers and wine pros alike should be paying attention to in 2021, which is why I’ve included a lot of Chardonnays on this list.

That said, there is so much awesome white wine that I want to share with you — some made with grapes you know and love, and others you may never have heard of. The bottles on this list are wines that I sip and immediately want to share, teach about, and watch wine lovers get excited over. I’m hoping this list will do that work.

These are the wines I feel we should celebrate this year. White wines from Austria and Oregon made from the same grape with different expressions. Blends from the Rhône that shine, and aromatic Italian island varieties thriving in the Central Coast. For me, wine is all about exploration. I want to try it all, at any and every price point. As I stated in my red wines roundup, wine is for everyone. Whether the white wine is $14 or $84, there is always a new white wine to experience, or a new style of something you love.

Enjoy this list, and know that this is just the beginning. These wines will start you off, but if you like what you see and taste, explore more in the region and style of that wine to see how diverse white wine can be.

Under $15

Boekenhoutskloof The Wolftrap White 2019 ($10)

South African wine is so innovative. The region is full of exciting blends and unique styles of varietal wines. From the most affordable to the most age-worthy, there is so much to explore. This wine is a great start. The blend is wild, but it works. For the price, it’s a nice, earthy wine and smells like almond granola, pears, and honey, with calm acidity. Keep an eye out for more awesome things from this country.

See Review

Saget La Petite Perrière Sauvignon Blanc 2019 ($11)

This is a great option if you like the steely angles of wines from Sancerre. You get wafts of white pepper and pears, with bracing acidity. The fruit is ripe, the mouthfeel is bone dry, and it’s affordable enough to buy a few bottles for a picnic. Make sure you bring some goat cheese.

See Review

Loveblock Marlborough Sauvignon Blanc 2019 ($13)

Wines from this region all have very similar aroma profiles: bell pepper and sweet cut grass aromas, with gassy acidity. The style is pretty consistent. This bottle has all of that, but in the right places. The bell pepper is muted a bit by a nice saline quality. Instead of being overly sweet, it’s fruit-forward, allowing the lively acidity to hold everything in place. It’s a kiwi Savvy B to seek out.

See Review

Line 39 Chardonnay 2018 ($10)

Party time! This wine smells like mangoes and pineapples, and the acidity winds through the wine like a good time. It’s under screw cap and ready to get down. What I’m saying is that there are a lot of cheap bottles of Cali Chard out there. This one is a solid grab and go.

See Review

Cavit Pinot Grigio delle Venezie IGT 2019 ($8)

This is the best deal on the shelf if you’re staring at a bunch of Pinot Grigio. You may know this wine already. It’s everywhere. But I feel I just need to reinforce the workhorse nature of this bottle. It’s crisp and refreshing. The fruit is balanced with the acidity. It’s a straight-up legit, solid, everyday white wine that will please all the palates.

See Review

Famille Perrin Luberon ‘La Vieille Ferme’ Blanc 2018 ($8)

Citrusy and thirst quenching, round and juicy, this is a great wine for well under $10. This winemaker has a knack for making balanced wines at a very low price, and this is one of them. It’s solid, and a great grab and go. Feels like a case buy.

See Review

Château Chatelier Bordeaux Blanc ($12)

There are some places in Bordeaux that make wine white fetching well-deserved high prices. But there are a lot of exciting options from this region that are well below $20 and are delicious for everyday drinking. Bordeaux is often blended with Semillon for a smack of sweetness and Sauvignon Blanc for a shot of acidity. The result is something like this great bottle. Salty and bright with grippy fruit, it’s sure to be a crowd pleaser.

See Review

Decoy Chardonnay ($14)

This is another great cheap bottle of Chardonnay. It’s tart and smells like bananas and vanilla. It’s not very oaky, but it does have wooded vibes and good depth for the price.

See Review

Herdade do Esporao Reserva Branco ($13)

Some of the most solid, affordable, and balanced white wines on our market are from Portugal. So when you see one, grab it. This wine is bright and balanced, with fun, fizzy acidity. The palate is round, refreshing, and will raise an eyebrow or two.

See Review

Jadix Picpoul de Pinet 2019 ($13)

In the town of Pinet, locals nosh on piles of sea urchins and bivalves fresh out of the salty Mediterranean — washing it all down with their local, cleansing and refreshing Picpoul de Pinet. This bottle — crisp and vibrant with mildly tart fruit — will take you there.

See Review

$15-$30

Anne Amie Vineyards Pinot Gris 2019 ($19)

Last year, VinePair had the chance to taste a lot of wines from Oregon and discovered that the state has so much more to offer than just Pinot Noir. White wine grapes like Grüner Veltliner, Riesling, and Pinot Gris are also thriving there. If the latter varietal interests you, this bottle is a great starting point. It has nice, broad depth with good acidity to hold up the slight weight.

See Review

Treleaven Reserve Chardonnay 2019 ($20)

New York, stand up! The Finger Lakes has become a national focus for wines made from Riesling. And man, are they great. But Riesling’s lean balance shows in other white wines from this ancient glacial land, such as this Chardonnay. This style is soft and creamy, with moderate acidity balancing a slight grip on the palate.

See Review

Gundlach-Bundschu Estate Vineyard Gewürztraminer 2019 ($21)

If you have never tried wine from this grape, then this is a great start. Gewürztraminer is a very expressive wine and can overwhelm the senses if even slightly out of balance. This bottle is harmonized in every layer. It smells like honey flecked with white pepper and has deep fruit balanced by frothy, vibrant acidity. You could sip this with some pad Thai or spicy wings, or you could just sit and enjoy it alone. It’s that balanced.

See Review

Jefferson Vineyards Viognier 2019 ($30)

Virginia is one of America’s most exciting up-and-coming wine regions. Thomas Jefferson would be proud. Speaking of TJ, this wine comes from land he once owned. The Viongier grape is quickly finding its spiritual home here and showing some true balance. This one smells like orange blossoms and honey. It has good depth and moderate acidity and a nice medium weight on the palate.

See Review

Selbach-Oster Riesling Kabinett 2018 ($23)

This is a great Riesling for people who are not sure they like Riesling. It’s lush and alive with bracing acidity and a subtly sweet vibe. It’s very balanced and easy-drinking. Instead of the normal spicy food pairing recommendation, I’m going to say the subtlety here is real, so a legit cheese selection or a berry tart is the way to go.

See Review

Inama Vin Soave Classico DOC 2019 ($15)

The wines of the Soave are so satisfying. If you like Pinot Grigio but need just a little more weight, these wines — plus a Caprese salad — are a whole afternoon. This bottle is one of the best on the market and will show how this region rolls; a shy depth on the fruit with a welcoming broad palate.

See Review

Mullineux ‘Kloof Street’ Old Vine Chenin Blanc 2019 ($17)

Here’s another reason to focus on South African wine. This is such a classic yet unique representation of Chenin Blanc. It’s deep, filling your brain with salted honey. Vibrant acidity comes in fast like a sun beam livening things up. It’s that brightness that makes this usually weighty white stand out. If you like Chardonnay, give this wine a try.

See Review

Alpha Estate Single Vineyard ‘Turtles’ Malagouzia ($19)

It takes a minute to sound out Mah-la-goo-zee-ah, but you’ll fall in love with the wine before you learn how to pronounce it. There is a whole world to explore in Greek white wine, as they have unique aromas and structures not seen in other wine regions. This wine smells like honey with a whiff of aloe. It has a wispy refreshment kind of mouthfeel, and you’ll find yourself grabbing a bunch of bottles of this for a summer day.

See Review

Tablas Creek Vineyard Vermentino 2019 ($28)

Beyond the many styles of Chardonnay, there and so many white wines to explore in California. Vines from all over the world are thriving in the Golden State’s soils, thanks to winemakers’ skilled hands. This very Italian grape is making itself home in Paso Robles. This wine is like walking past a honeysuckle bush while eating a juicy pear. It has a crack of crispness on the palate and will make you forget your love for Pinot Grigio — if only for a second.

See Review

Ridgecrest Estate Grüner Veltliner 2019 ($24)

I’m telling you: Oregon is coming for you with great white wines. The state is almost becoming Grüner Veltliner’s new home. This wine is all creamy lemons and apples. It has a nice slight depth with a bit of a grip. What a great addition to the already impressive diversity of American wine.

See Review

$50 Plus

Dutton-Goldfield Rued Vineyard Chardonnay 2018 ($55)

The Russian River alone produces a wide variety of Chardonnay styles, but what I find interesting about this one is that it has direct connections to the grape’s home in Burgundy while being uniquely American. This wine is laser-sharp, yet grippy and deep. There is a subtle hint of oak, and enough acidity to balance everything out. It represents the elegance that only California sun can give Chardonnay.

See Review

Hyde de Villaine Hyde Vineyard Chardonnay ($76)

Carneros, one of the cooler subregions of Napa, has the right moderate macroclimate for stunning Chardonnay. Please be sitting down when you first sip this golden wonder. It’s so balanced, it’s maddening — with whiffs of fancy French butter and hints of caramel that are harmonized by wiry acidity winding through the wine like a whisper. Sharing this bottle will be an exercise in patience.

See Review

Jermann ‘Were Dreams’ Venezia Giulia IGT 2017 ($63)

If you listen to VinePair’s “Wine 101” podcast, you know how much I love Friulian wine. While there are many absolutely wonderful white wines from grapes like Ribolla Gialla and Friulano, this region is also known for excellent wines made from French varieties (some of the best Merlot in the world, in my humble opinion). If a Chardonnay could be soulful, this is what it would feel like. It smells deep and nutty, like almonds and honey. There is a lean channel of acidity running through the wine and letting the depth sink into your palate. What a great wine.

See Review

Domaine Matrot Meursault Les Chevalières 2018 ($71)

With all the Chardonnay being made around the world, we can never forget its true home, Burgundy. And specifically, the chaotic soils of the Côte de Beaune, where this grape emanates it’s inherent characteristics like nowhere else. This wine is bone dry, with a layered creamy depth on the palate. The acidity is nervy and keeps depth and brightness in their corners, holding everything in place. The mouthfeel of this wine will make you stop for a second and think.

See Review

Raul Perez Ultreia ‘La Claudina’ Godello ($71)

Godello deserves your attention. It was once almost extinct. Then, it was brought back to life as a focused, low-yielding Spanish grape, making refreshing and concentrated white wines that sing with cured meats and fancy cheeses. This bottle has a slight grip that contrasts the rich, deep fruit. But that depth is lifted by just enough acidity that brings in aromas of caramelized pears and honey.

See Review

Domaine Huet Vouvray ‘Clos du Bourg’ Première Trie Moelleux ($77)

South Africa is killing it with Chenin Blanc, but like Burgundy, we can’t forget this grape’s original home in the Loire Valley of France. I feel that sometimes, wines from Vouvray can be a bit confusing. This bottle is a good starting point. It has good depth and grip, with moderate acidity balancing the sweet weight and wafting up aromas of honeyed fruit. Pairing this wine with goat cheese is a dream.

See Review

Weingut Hirsch Lamm Gruüer Veltliner ($58)

Gruner Veltliner is not only doing well in Oregon. It’s also pumping out liters and liters of delicious, everyday wine from its home, Austria. You may miss them, as they come in the form of Alsatian bottles — tall Riesling-like bottles with screw caps. But they are here, and they are awesome — sometimes aging up to 15 years and drinking well all the way through. Tart fruit balanced by fizzy acidity with a depth of fruit, this wine will lift in the palate like a spritz.

See Review

Domaine Monier Perreol Saint-Joseph Blanc ($50)

The grapes Roussanne (Rue-san) and Marsanne (Mar-san) from the Rhône region of France are a match made in heaven. Roussanne’s deeply aromatic, sometimes oxidized nature is naturally complemented by Marsanne’s lean verve. These wines are so deep, wide, expressive, and satisfying that you’ve got to give them a chance if you haven’t already. This bottle shows all of this — smelling like flowers and honey, with moderate acidity allowing just enough weight to rest on the palate.

See Review

The article The 28 Best White Wines for 2021 appeared first on VinePair.

source https://vinepair.com/buy-this-booze/best-white-wines-2021/

[justkpopstuffinmyhead]

Yongguk - Dangerously Innocent ♥ [Part 1]

Member: B.A.P’s Bang Yongguk

Pairing: MafiaLeader!Yongguk &  You

Genre: Angst-ish

Warnings: Swearing, Blood, Shooting and other Mafia stuff.

Words: 1,940

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Epilogue.

It all started with an accident. Just a coincidence. You were at the wrong place at the wrong time. Or was it the right place and the right time? You are just walking down the street after buying something at the grocery store when a person dressed in all black brushes past you, ripping the plastic bag from your fingers and spilling its contents all over the street. The person stops abruptly and looks at you- and that’s a big mistake. Heavy footsteps are behind you and you turn around to see who is apparently following him since he seems to be running from someone, when you suddenly feel an arm wrap around your neck and the cold metal of a gun pressing against your temple. Your pulse speeds up as you look at two young, beautiful men. Almond eyes, one of them has dark hair and one of them bleached blond hair. They are slim but don’t look fragile at all in their black dress shirts and matching pants. “Oh come on” the blond one says and cracks his knuckles “Pulling an innocent bystander into this? You know Mr. Bang won’t like this” he says and pulls out a shiny black pistol. The other man has a fox like face with a sharp jawline and his eyes are clear and his hand is silently hovering over his pocket where you could see the shape of another gun. The street is empty and you are currently in a relatively bad neighborhood so even if you would scream people would probably just ignore it. “Let this poor girl go and you will make it out of this alive. . maybe.” The blond says and aims his gun at you. . Or the person behind you. You aren’t quite sure. When the man behind you doesn’t let you go you hear a sigh and then a loud bang followed by a sharp pain in your ankle and the hand around your neck is gone immediately “Well done Dae you hit her.” You hear another voice say. It has to be the brown haired man. You fall to your knees and look at your ankle. There is blood. So. So much blood. You feel black creep in on you vision but try to fight it – Unfortunately you aren’t strong enough and you feel your body go limp before the darkness consumes you.

“What did I tell you?” A dark, angry voice says. It is raspy and velvety all at once and has to belong to someone of power because the voices that reply sound sheepish. “Not to pull anyone else into this” they say in unison. You recognize them as the two men that were following your kidnapper. “And what did you do?” The dark voice doesn’t leave them any time to reply “You shot an innocent girl!” “It is only a graze! And it also wasn’t us who pulled her in-” the voice belongs to the blond one. “I don’t care. Now we have to make sure she won’t tell the police” The dark voice says cuts his excuses off and a wave of fear rushes through your body. The beeping that you haven’t noticed until now speeds up and you hear heavy steps walk over to you. “She can hear us” Your body reacts to the velvety voice without your permission, your heart calming down again and you now have goose bumps all the way down your arms and legs. “I will take care of this Yongguk” the fox-like man says but the dark voice- Yongguk? - Only takes a deep breath. “You take care of this piece of shit that pulled her into this.” The order doesn’t leave any place for discussion and two pairs of feet leave the room. Now you are left alone with the stranger and his dark intriguing voice.. “What are we going to do with you?” He asks himself and sits down on something. It has to be a plastic chair as you can hear its feet screech on the floor. You are once again consumed by darkness but only to wake up after what feels like a second. Your eyelids flutter open and you carefully look around. Next to your bed is a sleeping man that can only be described as beautiful but even this feels like an understatement. Rough but beautiful.  His hair is a soft, curly, dark brown mess, his skin is clear and looks as soft as silk and his eyes –despite being closed- look like they are sharp and clever. His lips are full and look unusually soft for a man. Next to the corners of his mouth are small wrinkles that indicate that he laughs a lot. His neck is long but slim and suites his tall body just perfectly. He is wearing a white dress shirt that is slightly see-through and gives you a glimpse of a tattoo that seems to reach from his left shoulder to his right one. It looks complicated and there are definitely letters in there but due to the fabric of his clothes.  His long slim legs are clad in a black pair of pants. He looks slim but muscular and would definitely clean up well in a suit.  Just as you are done studying him, he opens his eyes and stares directly at you. His almost black eyes seem like they hold no warmth in them but they suit his beautiful face perfectly. “Fuck” he mumbles to himself while stretching. His voice was unusually deep while he was awake but now, shortly after waking up, it is raspy and even deeper. “I hope you haven`t been awake for long.” He says while sitting up straight, his posture oozing authority and leans forward, resting his muscular arms on his knees. “Are you alright?” Asking this seems ridiculous since you are currently in a hospital bed with a shot wound on your ankle but you still nod as you try to get into a sitting position and immediately realize that - in fact- you are not alright. You gasp in pain and rest backwards on your forearms. “That is going to hurt for a little longer. But our doctors will take care of you.” The beautiful man tells you and lays his head to his side. “What’s your name?” He asks and you pant out your name. Your ankle still feels like it is on fire and you would give a kidney to make it stop. “Y/N it is. . .” he says thoughtfully and looks at your leg. “You should rest” A recommendation that seems stupid to you, because what else were you supposed to do? But you just ignore it and watch him as he stands up. “We will talk about all this later.”  He motions around and leaves the room quickly, leaving you behind with even more questions. People come inside and leave your room again. The one who shot you – Daehyun - and his fox-like partner – Jongup- come in to say sorry. They are even more handsome than you remember them but can’t quite compare to their leader. You are overwhelmed with everything happening and just quietly nod and answer the questions they ask with a small nod or a shake of your head. After a few minutes and awkward silences they leave again and soon after, a man with brown hair and a soothing but silly smile comes in. “How is my patient doing?” He asks you and pulls back the blanket from you injured ankle. “This looks really good. You are an exemplary patients. Other than a few others in this building.” He mumbles to himself. “I’m Kim Himchan. I am you doctor in here. And since you are doing so well we can finally move you to a nicer room.” Adding this he makes his way over to a wheelchair - that you haven`t seen yet –and rolls it to your bed. Himchan helps you into it and stands behind you to wheel you to your new destination. “Where are we going?” You ask and look over your shoulder at your nice doctor. “We are going to see Mr. Bang.” He says cheerily and you look ahead again, nervous as to whom exactly this “Mr. Bang” is. When you come to a huge pair of heavy wooden doors, two men with short black hair, which can only be described as a military cut, and similar looking suits immediately stand up and open them for you. Inside the room is the beautiful man, sitting at a solid wood desk with beautiful decorations on it. Today he isn’t dressed in a white shirt but in a wine red one. He looks up as you enter and gesture for you to sit in front of him. “I will take care of her from now on” he says to Himchan who just leaves the room again without arguing, the heavy doors falling shut behind him. “How are you doing?” Mr. Bang – Yongguk? – asks and looks at your face. “You look exhausted” He adds almost worriedly and you nod. Your eyes are heavy and you feel the well know tiredness behind them. “My ankle is better. But I’m exhausted.” He nods and looks you in the eye. “You know that you can’t talk about meeting us. About knowing us. It would not only be dangerous for us but for you as well.” He says and waits for your answer. “Do you understand what I’m saying?” He raises his voice and makes you flinch. You nod quickly and look at him, now feeling nervous. He rubs his forehead and runs his hand though his hair in distress. “We will keep you here until your ankle is better and you will come back to get your stitches removed. After that you will act like you do not know us. If you see any of the people you met here on the street you will ignore them. If you are asked by anyone you will say that you fell and cut your ankle on a stone. If we find out that you did talk about us – and believe me, we will – you will deal with the consequences” he informs you strictly and you just nod and whisper a small “Yes.” He then stands up and wheels you out of there, along the dark wooden halls and into a lovely black and white room. “You’ll be staying in here. You won’t leave. There is an en suite bathroom over there” he points at a door “your doctor will come over once a day to check on you.” And with that he leaves and everything was exactly like he said. Once a day Himchan comes in to check on your foot and you would soon look forward to those times. Himchan is nice and it feels good to talk to someone like him. This continues for five days. You would have lost track of time ages ago if not Himchans daily visits. After those five days he checked your stitches once more, telling you to come back a week later to get them removed, and Jongup, who doesn’t say a word to you on your way back brings you home. You don’t know how he knows where you live but you also don’t dare to ask. As you leave the black car with those tinted windows Jongup immediately speeds off, not giving you enough time to say “Thank you.” You enter your house, ready to leave this incident behind and continue your life as you had before. At least that is what you planned to do. .  

[annjushkasophia]

Get to Know Me Meme

I was tagged by the lovely @ravens-and-writings so here we go :)

Post the rules

Answer the questions given to you

Make 11 questions of your own

Tag 11 people

1. How are you today?

I’m having chocolate and juice (wish it was fermented grape juice...) for dinner, like the adult that I am. Does that explain what sort of day it was? lol

2. What do you do when you’re not haunting tumblr/fandom? (School, studies, work?)

I’m an (interior) architect, which only sounds fancy. Most of the day I’m just doing what feels like solving giant puzzles, playing with filters on Photoshop or pushing things around on Indesign (or playing referee when the guys on site are accusing each other of leaving tools lying around. I kid you not).

3. Do you prefer creating content for your fandoms or consuming other people’s creations? (fic, art, meta, discourse, …)

I love both! There’s nothing better than sinking your teeth into a 30 chapter fic you just found :) Writing/drawing is great too, but I’ve had somewhat of a writer’s block for the past 6 years and it seems extremely hard to shake :/

4. What fandoms are you most active in right now?

Fantastic Beasts. I think this is the most active I’ve ever been in a fandom (which isn’t much)?

5. Your favourite Disney movie?

My favourite? LION KING. Hands down. I think I saw it 5x in cinemas when I was little. Can’t say who was a bigger fan, my dad or me. LOL

6. Have you read any good books lately?

I’m always reading something, can’t live without. I’ve praised it before, but ‘The Book Thief’ (Markus Zusak) is a stunning piece of writing. Truly. I read it with a pen, it was that good. I’ve also just finished ‘The Handmaiden’s Tale’ (Margaret Atwood). A somewhat sobering, Utopian tale of an alternate reality/future. It’s a bit dark, but also a really well-written book.

7. Your favourite music artists/bands?

Again, that’s a bit difficult... I have too many I really like. Ok, so there’s Mumford & Sons, Florence & the Machine and Iron & Wine. But I also like Frightened Rabbit, Modest Mouse, Queens of the Stone Ages, the Lumineers, some old Muse,...

8. Do you play any instruments?

Nope. Zero. Absolutely none. I think I played (more like violated) the flute for 6 months when I was in primary school until my Mum let it rest and took me off the course. Couldn't read notes if my life depended on it.

9. Your favourite food?

Pasta. I make a red lentil Bolognese (try it before you go ‘ewww’!), which I really like :)

10. What is your hair colour and is it natural or from the bottle?

Bit of both? I have dark blonde hair, sorta goldish. Now I have lighter ends from when I cut my hair short two years back and thought I looked like a 14yr old (so I dyed it white blonde. Never again, my scalp still burns just thinking about it). 

11. What are you wearing right now? (not asked in a sexy way, to be clear ;))

I don’t feel very adventurous these days and I’m glad when I manage to haul myself out of bed on time, so fairly boring stuff. Dark blue jumper, grey plaid skirt, black tights and boots (but those have bright turquoise laces :))

Ok, now my questions:

1. Do you drive? Automatic or manual/stick?

2. Do you prefer indoor or outdoor activities?

3. Do you speak any foreign languages (besides your native language)?

4. Reading, listening to music or watching movies?

5. Favourite TV show?

5. Have you ever not finished a book? If so, which and why?

6. Who’s your favourite author (fic or published works)?

7. Do you collect something? (If yes, what is it?)

8. Do you make/create something? (Writing, art, craft, knitting,...)

9. What sort of music do you listen to?

10. What’s your favourite pair of shoes?

11. If you were granted one wish right now, what would it be?

I’m tagging @porpentinygoldstein @porpentinie and whoever else who’d like to answer these :)

[transbcyfriend]

Every Question >:3

well Shit ig now bc i’m Required By Law to answer these i gotta

1. Think of the last person who said I love you, do you think they meant it?

yes – and god am i grateful.

2. Would you date an 18-year-old at the age you are now?

i mean i’m 18 so uhhhhhhhhh yeah

3. When’s the last time you were aggravated and happy at the same time?

…yesterday? the day before?

4. Would you ever smile at a stranger?

i do it all the time at work so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

5. Is there someone mad because you’re dating/talking to the person you are?

i wouldn’t say mad.

6. Have you heard a song that reminds you of someone today?

too many to count!

7. What exactly are you wearing right now?

a legend of zelda hoodie and a wild patterned set of lounge pants from pink republic. i haven’t changed in several days i’m uh Sick

8. How often do you listen to music?

if i don’t do it every single day it’s scientifically proven i’ll shrivel up and die

9. Do you wear jeans or sweats more?

jeans. jeans definitely.

10. Do you think your life will change dramatically before 2013?

it did at the time, and not for the better. fuck that shit

11. Are you a social or an antisocial person?

mmMMMMMmMMM depends on the situation?? if i’m like clocked in at work, if i’m somewhere i actively enjoy, or on The Web™, i’m social, but otherwise i don’t rlly interact with ppl hnfngnf

12. Have you ever kissed someone whose name begins with the letter ‘A’?

not yet.

13. What about ‘R’?

nope!

14. Can you drive a stick shift?

can i get a FUCK NO

15. Do you care if people talk badly about you?

depends on the person. someone i’m close to and like? yes. someone who i’m not close to and dislike? nah.

16. Are you going out of town soon?

nope.

17. When was the last time you cried?

mmmmMMMMMM a few days ago? few days ago.

18. Have you ever told someone you loved them?

yes.

19. If you could change your eye color, would you?

HMMMM y’know i don’t think i would, mine are like ?? hazel and ppl make comments abt them being diff colors n shit in certain lights sometimes and i Like That so

20. Is there a boy who you would do absolutely everything for?

in fact, yes! i would uh Die For Him

21. Name something you dislike about the day you’re having.

i’m sick and can’t breathe

22. Is it cute when guys kiss you on your forehead?

YOU KNOW I BE ON THAT GAY SHIT !!!!!

23. Are you dating the last person you talked to?

nope

24. What are you sitting on right now?

a wooden chair

25. Does anyone regularly (other than family) tell you they love you?

yep!

26. Have you ever wanted someone you couldn’t have?

oh yeah. god yeah.

27. Who was the last person you talked to before you went to bed last night?

@lazybones25 

28. Do you get a lot of colds?

no, not rlly. last time i got sick was … sophmore year of hs? junior year? i don’t remember.

29. Where is the shirt you are wearing from?

it was a gift from my buddy bri

30. Does anyone hate you?

there’s at least one i can think of off the top of my head, soooooo yeah

31. Do you have any empty alcohol bottles hidden somewhere in your room?

noooo, me? drink? me, a consumer of alcohol. ur pullin’ my leg, i don’t drink

32. Do you like watching scary movies?

i’m just Meh on it bc most movies nowadays are so played out and predictable that they’re just not scary to me

33. Do you want your tongue pierced?

kinda, yeah. it’s an on/off want, still deciding.

34. If you had to delete one year of your life completely, which would it be?

just one? fuck. any of the years between being 13-16.

35. Did you have a dream last night?

actually i did! i had a dream i lost my job bc one of my managers was in a bad mood and was basically like “well u should’ve thought more abt your career than ur education, ur fired since u wanna go 2 college, can’t change ur hours”

36. When was the last time you told someone you loved them?

few hours ago.

37. Do you think you’ll be married in 5 years?

mmmm … unlikely.

38. Do you think someone has feelings for you?

yep.

39. Do you think someone is thinking about you right now?

i’d hope so! don’t gotta be, but it’d be cute and i’d Like That

40. Did you have a good day yesterday?

it was ok – i spiraled into being sick, but it was ok

41. Think back 2 months ago; were you in a relationship?

yeah

42. In the next 48 hours, will you hang out with a girl?

unlikely.

43. Has anyone told you they don’t want to ever lose you?

yep.

44. What’s the best part about school?

mmm mM MM prolly just making friends w/ ppl in ur classes. that, and just how chill the professors are. 

45. Do you have any pictures on your Facebook?

fun fact – i don’t have a facebook.

46. Do you ever pass notes to your friends in school?

fuck yeah my guy

47. Do you replay things that have happened in your head?

way too often

48. Were you single over the last summer?

nope.

49. Is your life anything like it was two years ago?

absolutely not and god i’m rlly happy abt that

50. What are you supposed to be doing right now?

looking when college classes start again but i Don’t Wanna

51. Do you hate the last guy you had a conversation with?

i’d be lying to ur face if i said yes

52. Are you nice to everyone?

i try to be – some ppl tho, i just. can’t. there’s reasonable salt.

53. Have you ever liked someone you didn’t expect to?

yep!

54. Do you think you can last in a relationship for 6 months and not cheat?

i’ve done it before, i don’t see why not.

55. Are you good at hiding your feelings?

when the situation calls for it, i’d like to think so

56. Do you think you like someone?

mhmm

57. Have you kissed someone whose name starts with a ‘J’?

…… y’know i don’t think i have! that’s surprising i’ve kissed a lotta ppl

58. Do you prefer to be friends with girls or boys?

tbh p much the only ppl i tend to never rlly make friends with are cis guys. there’s rare exceptions, but the vast majority of my buddies are either cis girls or trans/nonbinary/etc.

59. Has anyone of your friends ever seen you cry?

yep – a few of them. not many, but a few.

60. Do you hate anyone?

i wouldn’t say hate, but there’s a couple of ppl i severely dislike.

61. How’s your heart?

atm? better. better than usual, i’m rlly glad abt that

62. Is there something that happened in your past that you hate talking about?

anytime from being 12-17

63. Have you ever cried over a guy?

yeah.

64. Who is probably talking a load of crap about you right now?

i ain’t gonna say names buuuuuuut Someone I Know

65. Are your toenails painted pink?

they’re painted a dark wine red actually, i uh got bored

66. Will your next kiss be a mistake?

best decision of my life, if anything

67. Girls love it when boyfriends cry; correct?

from my own Personal Experience, kinda? i mean every person i’ve been w/ kinda likes it bc it’s like, i’m letting my walls down and letting them in, so i mean ig

68. Have your pants ever fallen down in public?

thankfully no!

69. Who was the last person you were on the phone with?

@lazybones25

70. How do you look right now?

surprisingly decent for feeling icky

71. Do you have someone you can be your complete self around?

just two – but i’m content w/ that.

72. Can you commit to one person?

under the right circumstances, ya – otherwise i gotta dip

73. Do you have someone of the opposite sex you can tell everything to?

my roommate @stasiroowho

74. Have you ever felt replaced?

can i get a Hell Yeah and It Hurts

75. Did you wake up cranky?

no, i just woke up wanting attention and feeling Blah

76. Are you a jealous person?

hhMHMhmMMHMHM depends ?? ? ? if we’re talking from a relationship perspective, like i don’t give a shit if the other person wants to like, make a shitton of buddies and like actually Have A Life, that’s good, but when it comes to like, romance specifically? then i’m just. m i n e

77. Are relationships ever worth it?

very rarely, but some are and god is it so fucking satisfying in every aspect

78. Anyone you’re giving up on?

yeah.

79. Currently wanting to see anyone?

can i get a HOOYAHHHH

80. Name something you have to do tomorrow?

go to the apartment and uh Feed Cats

81. Last person you cried in front of?

do i rlly gotta @ my homeboi ash a 3rd time

82. Is there someone you will never forget?

in a good way or a bad way?

83. Do you think the person you have feelings for is protective of you?

yeee – in a good way tho

84. If the person you wish to be with were with you, what would you be doing right now?

probably either just chillin’ watching netflix and eating chips/popcorn, or gettin’ heated while also shotgunning that good good

85. Are you over your past?

CAN I GET A FUCK NO

86. Have you ever liked one of your best friends of the opposite sex?

yeah

87. Is there anyone you can tell EVERYTHING to?

just two! and two’s a good number, i’m happy w/ that.

88. If your first true love knocked on your door with apology and presents, would you accept?

i’d immediately murder him on the spot. i’d still take the gifts off his corpse tho bc hey Free Shit

89. So, the last person you kissed just happens to arrive at your door at 3AM; do you let them in?

ya – i do trust that one, he made me breakfast one time so i wouldn’t burn my own house down, he a tru homie

90. Have you ever liked someone who your friends hated?

uuuhhhhhhh-huh

91. Will you be in a relationship in 2 months?

highly likely

92. Is there anyone you know with the name Michael?

i used to! he was the Popular Kid™ back in high school, who fuckin’ knows where he’s at now

93. Have you ever kissed a Matthew?

when i was like 4, yeah, we were each other’s childhood crush so uh shrugs

94. Were you in a relationship in January? How was it going?

nope! things were getting heavy, but no relationship yet.

95. Were you happy with the person you liked in March?

absolutely.

96. Don’t tell me lies, is the last person you texted attractive?

hmmmmmmmmaybe

97. Who do you have texts from?

in general? my mom, ash, 3 coworkers, one of my managers, my one tru buddy from the womb @infinitelycastiel, and my buddy lynette.

98. If the person you like says they like someone else, what would you say?

i mean ?? i’d b upset, i’d b depressed, i’d b a lil torn up abt it, but i ain’t gonna stop whatever happens from happening. not my choice to

99. Have you ever kissed someone older than you?

ya – not too much older, but ya

100. Who’s in your profile picture with you?

AAAAAAAALL BY MY, SEEEEEEEEEE-EEEE-EEEEEEEEELF

101. Ever kissed under fireworks?

fun fact: no

102. Has anybody ever given you butterflies?

yEP

[kakivino]

Tasting: Great Wines of Italy 2016 Bangkok

When thirst meets wanderlust, wine will take you places. If, say, a Tuscan idyll seems implausible for the time being, sneaking a vinous agenda in your regional getaway might just be the next best thing.

Good for you if you’re already frequenting Hong Kong, Shanghai, Asia’s wine hubs high on the Grand Tasting destination list. And no, KL can’t get a look-in, if you have to ask.

The Great Wines of Italy in Bangkok fits the bill nicely (like we need an excuse for Thai break). Hosted by James Suckling—one of the foremost critics in the wine world—the marquee event is arguably the largest of its kind in Southeast Asia.

Better early than late

Now you don’t want to be late to the party or you’d be sorry staring at empty Bruno Giacosa not even halfway through. To four kiasu Malaysians, there’s simply nowhere better to be when the gate to wine heaven opened at the Grand Hyatt Erawan.

No prize for guessing which table I first hit. Both ’13 Barbaresco Rabajà and ’13 Barolo Falletto Vigna Le Rocche had me in a moment of sheer elation. Such incredible finesse, purity (nary a trace of wood) and classicism for such powerful nebbiolo, you just got to take your imaginary hat off to a living legend.

What I wouldn’t give for a taste of the famous red labels. That glass of gustatory orgasm.

A glorious start to the evening was followed by many outstanding baroli, though some more expressive than others. High-toned Ceretto ’09 Barolo Brunate for one caresses with über-fine suppleness. Befittingly La Morra, it’s already drinking marvellously. ’12 Barolo Bricco Rocche too offers genuine immediacy in an oh-so-effortless, gracious manner one associates with the modernista.

Speaking of which, Roberto Voerzio, one of the original “Barolo Boys”, holds a different proposition. Age hasn’t made the late-release ’05 Barolo Riserva 10 anni Fossati Case Nere any softer, yet. Seductive nose apart, it remains stubbornly reticent about what lies beneath its plush veneer. ’12 Barbera d’Alba Riserva Vigneto Pozzo dell'Annunziata must’ve been the most lavishly oaked, boldest barbera I ever tasted. High extraction, even higher prices.

The barbaresco and barolo of La Spinetta are styled along the same high-octane mould, they would sit right at home on a steakhouse table.

Then we had Aldo Conterno, whose aristocratic ’12 Barolo Cicala and ’12 Barolo Colonnello would command a great deal of patience. Tight tannins clench just as tar and roses draw you closer: formidable. Franco Conterno was on hand to let you in on their subtle nuances, reasoning clay-sand variation in Bussia render the former firmer, the latter more floral. Equally as potent nonetheless.

From arguably the most celebrated cru of them all, Guido Damilano showed off his rich and, both literally and figuratively, gripping ’12 Barolo Cannubi which exudes a delicate sense of proportion true to the site.

Sell-out success

As I was elbowing my way to some chianti, I couldn’t help but wonder the entire Bangkok’s wine circles, indeed expat community, had packed into the swanky grand ballroom. A record turnout of 1,300 spoke for the tasting’s sell-out success.

Back to where a poor Federico Manetti was swamped, you did have to maneuvre through a static crowd and stick your glass out for your prize. To decide between Fontodi’s voluminous ’13 Flaccianello della Pieve and ’13 Chianti Classico Gran Selezione Vigna del Sorbo was akin to splitting hairs. Seamless oak, velvety tannins, graphite and an amazing core of dark-skinned fruits appear rendered in technicolour clarity, animated by boundless inner energy. Cab-free now, it’s vividly clear why Antonio Galloni thinks the latter is coming into its own.

The tasting galore had also afforded a fascinating study of terroir-driven denominations. Fans of sangiovese would’ve no doubt found rich pickings, from the masculine, earthy Chianti Classico of Fèlsina in Castelnuovo Berardenga, to the metrosexual, polished Fonterutoli in Castellina, to say nothing of lesser-known incarnations like Le Pupille’s Morrelino di Scansano, ColleMassari’s Montecucco and Tenuta di Capezzana’s Carmignano. (It bugged me to see some of these rustic charmers unnecessarily smothered by exuberant new oak.)

Brunello bonanza

Needless to say, there’s no escaping brunello, sangiovese’s highest expression in all of Tuscany. The Montalcinesi had descended en masse to spoil you for choices.

Utterly elegant from start to finish, Livio Sassetti Pertimali ’12 Brunello di Montalcino simply blew me away. Stunning aromatics, nervy acidity, very Montosoli minerality. Winemaker Lorenzo Sassetti poured another winner ’10 Brunello di Montalcino Riserva that was likewise on song. A stylish Altesino ’11 Brunello di Montalcino Montosoli further reinforced that airy, minerally impression of this renowned ‘cru’.

Also stood out is Caprili ’12 Brunello di Montalcino, which best sums up a ripe, racy vintage better off with some bottle age. Something told me it wouldn’t be that long.

It’s a shame I caught Fuligni ’10 Brunello di Montalcino Riserva in a coy mood. Intense, youthfully austere with classically massive structure as imposing as the Montalcino fortress, it just wanted to shut up shop. Bearing similar profundity, Valdicava ’10 Brunello di Montalcino Riserva Madonna del Piano, the 100-pointer cult wine cut a more endearing figure thanks to better focus and persistence, at this stage no least.

What began as exhilaration would gradually simmer down to palatal exertion, such is the inevitability of mass tasting at where the pace is furious and decanting a luxury for younglings. When poise were increasingly scarce, you can count on the redoubtable Poggio di Sotto ’11 Brunello di Montalcino to hit the right spot. This Castelnuovo dell'Abate icon remains every bit as ravishing as when we last met. Pedigree.

Buoyed by renewed faith, I decided to leave Tuscany in search of fresher ‘pasture’, not before a real head-turner stopped me dead in my tracks: Petrolo ’14 Valdarno di Sopra Galatrona. A pure merlot so satiny and sensual, so gorgeous and gratifying it was no match for any super Tuscan or Bolgheri alike that evening.

Path less travelled

To seek refreshment, one only needs to follow the Italians to their summer retreats (hail local wisdom). I could imagine sipping Donnachiara ’15 Fiano di Avellino anywhere on the Amalfi coast, all day long. Brisk, balanced, very Alsatian in texture, with saline undertones hinting at influence of the Thyrrenian sea.

To my dismal, dammit, I left it too late for the last drops of Pieropan’s classic ’14 Soave Classico La Rocca and Kellerei Terlan’s Südtirol whites in the Northeast. Franz Haas ’14 Vigneti delle Dolomiti Manna showed exactly what I’d missed. Crisp, flavourful and complex, it’s one joy of a wine that proves versatile. Pristine Dolomites air has also breathed life into the understated, moreish Franz Haas ’14 Pinot Nero Alto Adige. All in all, the less taken path had definitely provided much welcomed respite.

If you need to cleanse your palate good, Bellavista ’10 Franciacorta Teatro La Scala is more than up for the task. This metodo classico fizz gives your C-word bubblies a serious run for their money, matching their sophistication with an Italian sensibility.

I made it a point to check out the meteoric rise of red hot nerello mascalese. That led to a most scintillating rendevouz with Pietradolce ’13 Etna Rosso Vigna Barbagalli and ’14 Etna Rosso Archineri. As lovely florals, orange zest, crunchy red fruits, exotic spice tease the senses, these soulful reds shine with mineral-laden, glycerol-textured vigour all of which unfurl from a lithe, burgundian even, frame.

Proprietor Michele Faro was eager to share the peculiarity of pre-phylloxera viticulture on the high-altitude, lava-blackened slopes of Mount Etna. He strongly recommended the read “Volcanic Wines” by John Szabo, to better understand how terroir and convictions of few winemakers pan out in a glass of Etna. Or two, as the same individualistic vein of characters flows in Tasca d'Almerita ’14 Sicilia Nerello Mascalese Tascante.

Drinkability conundrum

There you have it. Vino enthusiasts sure had a whale of a time luxuriating in the four-hour bacchanalia, all the while delighting in mind-boggling discoveries and merrymaking with total strangers.

But I was feeling oddly ambivalent after the curtains fell. Maybe it’s the wine talking. For all the promises of these indisputably first-rate wines, it’s still only potential that we sipped rather than the full-blown, glorious mouthfuls we crave (with few notable exceptions). Unless we cough up the premium, the reality is we owe it to ourselves to take up the waiting game.

Ultimately, it’s all a matter of perspective. Ask the right question [of these wines], you’ll be able to appreciate the Grand Tasting as it is: a glimpse of the big picture, a sort of anteprima largely to handpick on release brunello for your cellar. Looking past frustration, the experience was a rewarding one. As James and his posse of producers return to wow Bangkok next week for the fourth year running, I’m all game for another bout of sniff, sip, swallow. And repeat. — KY

*** This is a sponsored post *** James Suckling is internationally regarded as one of the world’s most influential wine critics. Launched in 2010, the JamesSuckling.com team draw on more than three decades of experience to bring to life the world of wine on an exclusive online platform. Visitors can access articles, high-definition videos, extensive tasting notes and reports which are trusted and relied upon by wineries and consumers all across the globe. Many thanks to the team at JamesSuckling.com for the wonderful soiree. Visit them at jamessuckling.com.

[thedefinitionofbts]

Our First and Last (Ch. 5)

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7 | Ch. 8 | Ch. 9 | Ch. 10 | 

Ch. 11 | Ch. 12 (Final)

Pairings: Jeon Jungkook x Reader (MAIN) | Park Jimin x Kim Taehyung | Jung Hoseok x Min Yoongi | Kim Namjoon x Kim Seokjin

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Soulmate Au, Scifi

Words: 2.2K

“Taehyung, you don’t understand, I almost exploded in there,” Jimin says as he takes a bite of his steak that Taehyung had neatly cut up into bite sized pieces and placed back on his plate.

Him and Taehyung were having their customary “date night”, eating out on a Friday evening after a long day of work. Today had been much like every other, the two psychologists went through session after session, cautiously navigating deeper and deeper into their patients’ minds and guiding them to healthier mental states. Both of them were very used to their jobs by now, but there were always tough patients, and Jeon Jungkook was undoubtedly one of them.

The restaurant atmosphere was relaxing, and the mood lighting made the aura quite romantic. The voices of other couples sitting at adjacent tables were drowned out by the light piano music playing in the background.

“The way he just stares me down and mocks me like I’m not even licensed to practice medicine” Jimin shakes his head with a huff.

“He sounds like a douche” Taehyung says, picking up his wine glass, swirling it gently, and taking a sip of the red liquid.

“Yeah, but have you read up on his research?” Jimin says, eyes lighting up at the thought of Jungkook’s accomplishments in the field of science and medicine.

“I thought you didn’t like him,” Taehyung says, raising an eyebrow and setting his glass down.

“I don’t, but that doesn’t change the fact that his work is absolutely amazing. I mean, balancing neurosurgeries and lab research like it’s a piece of cake. Not many people can do that you know?” Jimin sighs, eyes looking like he’s in a daze.

“Are you sure it’s not because of his visuals?” Taehyung says, chewing on his bite of steak and staring at Jimin with an expressionless face.

“Tae, I told you, you are waaaaay better looking than him.” Jimin responds while reaching over and patting the back of Taehyung’s hand that was resting on the cloth covered surface of the table.

The light brown haired boy doesn’t look convinced, but smiles and continues eating.

“Remember when we first met?” Jimin says, trying to change the topic and perhaps lighten the mood.

“How could I not?” Taehyung smirks, recalling the first time he had met the boy he was destined to be with.

Some thousands of years ago....

“Arrrgh! Did you do this?!” The King was livid, sinister eye’s burning like torch flames as they land on the little boy peaking out from behind one of the large ivory pillars. His heavy steps shake the floor of the entire palace as he rushes up the steps of the throne hall, toward said young prince who was trembling in fear.

“Father, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-“ Before the prince could finish, the back of the king’s hand had already made contact with the boy’s tender, sun-kissed cheeks. The loud slap echoes through the empty palace, resonating against the walls and almost shattering the stain glass windows.

“You’re a disgrace! A waste of a life form!” The King’s booming voice cut through the ringing in the boy’s ear, and the strong stench of liquor carried by his warm breath spreads like wildfire through the room.

Ever since the Queen died giving birth to him ten years ago, the King had planted all the blame on the prince, never failing to use him as a punching bag, channeling all of his frustrations on the poor boy. Being at the receiving end of the King’s rage wasn’t an occasional thing, in fact, the young prince was so used to this kind of beating that it’s all he’s ever known in his short and lonely life.

Although he had seen the King in a drunken rage plenty of times, this was one of the worst. So before the king could land another hand or foot on him, the young prince makes a run for it, not even looking back to see if the king would even bother to chase him down. He’ll probably be dragged back to the palace by the guards later, upon the king’s order like always.

Tears are streaming down his eyes, blurring his vision and choking his helpless gasps for air, but the golden brown haired boy continues to run like his life depended on it because at that moment, it probably did.

The palace is fading in the background as his frail legs carry him as far away from the awful place as he can go, across the moat, past the fortress, and deep into the forbidden forest.

He slows down only because the dense vegetation wouldn't allow him to continue at the speed he was sprinting. He keeps going; despite the thorny bushes cutting gashes into his golden skin and tearing at his custom tailored silk robe. He doesn’t even let the darkness or the fear of getting lost prevent him from traveling deeper and deeper into the forest.

It was late, the sun was setting, and darkness was creeping in as the shadows of the trees grew longer and longer, until there was almost no light remaining. The prince looks around, panting and feeling a different source of fear travel up his back, sending shivers down his spine.

“Is anybody there?” He croaks, not knowing if he actually wanted someone or something to answer or if he would feel calmer just greeted by silence.

“Hello?” He tries again.

Eerie Silence.

The prince makes a feeble attempt to call out again, but collapses from utter exhaustion. He uses his last ounce of energy to wrap his robe around his fragile body shivering from the sudden drop in temperature.

Right before he falls asleep, he hears a ruffling sound come from a nearby bush. Normally this would trigger a fight or flight response, but he’s too drained to even worry for his life then; and the last thing he sees through the slits of his drooping eyelids is a blurry flash of something fluffy and pink.

Then he passes out.

When he wakes up upon the first signs of light at dawn, the air is damp and the forest is covered in morning dew.

Eyes groggy and trying to adjust to the morning sunlight peaking through the thick trees, he squints and blinks a couple of times before the surrounding environment comes into view. He scans the area and registers everything as normal…except-

“Ahhhhh!!!” the young prince screams when his eyes land on the strange creature sitting on the trunk of a fallen tree and staring at him, big round eyes beaming, and head resting in between his hands.

“Oh, Taehyung, sorry for startling you” The creature with flawless cool-toned skin and pale pink hair says. He was a small human looking boy with a pair of glistening pupils that had lavender hues and a kind, nurturing smile that the prince had never had the luxury of encountering in his depressing life.

“W-who a-are you? And h-how d-do you know my name?” The prince asks in a shaky voice, feeling the urge to, but too shy to approach the fairy-like boy.

“It’s me, Jimin,” The boy says, confused as to why the prince doesn’t recognize him.

“Have we met before?” The prince, Taehyung, asks, trying to recall if he’s ever seen this strange but beautiful person around the palace, perhaps he’s one of the servants? But no, his features are too distinct to not stand out and leave a lasting impression. And Taehyung didn’t have any friends, nor has he ever met a single soul outside the palace.

Jimin’s eyes are wide now, and he’s waiting for Taehyung to burst out laughing and tell him this was all a joke, but the prince stays silent, waiting for Jimin to answer.

“No, this can’t be….” Jimin whispers under his breath, alarmed voice barely audible. He’s finally realized the day has come, and it takes all the strength he has in his petite body to stay calm and composed.

“Ummm, I’m not sure if I remember you” Taehyung suddenly says. “But I promise I will after today.” The prince attempts to give a reassuring smile, not knowing why, but feeling a sort of need to console the little fairy boy who’s sparkling eyes have been tarnished with hints of sadness.

“I have a long story to tell you” Jimin says as Taehyung slowly maneuvers over and sits down beside him on the fallen tree trunk.

“Oooo, I love stories” Taehyung’s youthful eyes light up and a wide boxy smile appears on his face. Jimin returns the reaction by giving the little prince an endearing smile, his eyes disappearing into half moons. He begins with a soothing, musical voice…

“It’s called ‘Our first and Last’”

The people on the streets are bustling about with their day, continuously moving, their motion unaltered, unaffected by anything else, much like the flow of time itself. It was rush hour, and the streets were noisy, filled with the frequent honk of cars, the screech of sudden breaks, and the occasional shout from a driver consumed by road rage.

You had just come out of another session with Dr. Kim, and this time it was much more comfortable. He finally stopped asking you tedious questions and moved on to doing what he liked to call “experiments” with you, which just consisted of making you fall asleep in his office and observing you. Which yeah, sounds creepy as hell, but it was pretty much the only way to tackle your problem.

Third session down. You sigh as you walk into the supermarket.

You were tasked with the duty of picking up what Hoseok liked to call “study snacks” in preparation for the all-nighter you were about to pull right before your final. He liked sweet things, but he also requested salty snacks to balance out the sweetness.

The world is all about balance; it takes two halves to make a whole.

Hoseok’s voice rings in your head and you can’t help but roll your eyes at how you thought of him even when he wasn’t around.

You scan the aisle for his favorite brand of potato chips when you see the familiar outline of curly black hair that wasn’t too long but not short either.

“Yoongi?” You say as you walk up to the guy you haven’t seen since your first session at the Park&Kim psychology clinic.

“Oh, it’s you” Yoongi says as he turns around to see the smile plastered on your face.

“Grocery shopping?” You ask, curiously peeking at his shopping cart full of food.

“Yeah” Yoongi grunts before turning his attention back to looking for the last item on the list of groceries he was tasked to pick up.

“Big family, huh?” You eye the stacks of microwave dinners and boxes of energy bars.

“It’s not for me” Yoongi says. “It’s…uh….for a friend.” He sighs, looking at the cart like he’s done this a million times. There’s an unspoken tiredness in his eyes, but it speaks of caring concern rather than annoyance.

“So you changed you appointments?” You ask, wondering why you never saw him back at the clinic after that first awkward introduction.

“Oh yeah, that wasn’t for me either” Yoongi says.

“For the friend?”

Yoongi nods. “He finally agreed to go, so my work is done there.” The sound of relief in his voice is unmistakable.

“Oh, I see” You nod, not knowing what more you can say now that you know you probably won’t run into him as often.

“Well, I’d better get going.” Yoongi says, as he waves.

“Yeah, ok, ummm, see you around I guess.” You wave back and although it might just be your imagination, but you see his lips curve into a small smile before he turns around and is off on his way.

“Dr. Jeon, can you describe all the details of the dream you had last night?”

Jungkook looks at Jimin. The pink haired psychologist stares back, un-phased by the intense look of despise in the neurosurgeon’s eyes.

“I was in a museum and it was raining outside” Jungkook huffs, not even bothering going into any more detail.

“Can you remember what was inside?” Jimin slowly begins to prod at Jungkook’s description, cautious not to get on the neurosurgeon’s bad side.

“Some random paintings, and this weird statue of an angel with black wings.” Jungkook says, crossing his arms as he leans back and closes his eyes. He had been in lab all night, and the sleepiness was finally catching up to him. He almost wanted to skip this session and just take a nap, but he knew Yoongi wouldn’t be happy if he did.

“Don’t tell me that’s supposed to be a sign of my pending death or something,” Jungkook says, ask he hears the scratch of pen on paper as Jimin begins to take notes.

“How did you feel when you were there?”

Jungkook furrows his eyebrows, eyes still closed. Jimin could tell he was actually taking his time to think before he said anything, which was a first.

“I was really happy, comfortable, but there’s a bit of nervousness accompanied by excitement.”

“Was anyone else there?”

Another long pause.

“It feels like I’m not alone. I know I’m not alone. But when I look around and there’s no one there.”

...

[news-mashable-yahoopartner-blog]

11 best autofill texting games for when you're so bored you could cry

Predictive text is at best a time saver, and at worst a life destroyer. 

Most phones now have some function that predicts phrases or words while texting. Apple, for example, uses predictive text "based on your past conversations, writing style, and even websites you visit in Safari." The idea is to make it easier and quicker to send messages, but the algorithm is often finicky or downright embarrassing. 

SEE ALSO: Ken Jeong has some hilariously questionable answers to Twitter's medical questions

However, some clever people have created prompts to turn this tool into a fun game that often says a little too much about your texting habits. 

Play this texting game with your friends, but just be aware what it may reveal about your phone habits.

1. "I drink"

The term "drinking problem" doesn't begin to cover some of the things predictive text told them they were consuming. 

"I drink" then hit the middle predictive text: I drink a lot and I have to poop till the end and I have a dollar on the battle of my heart for the rest and my life will never stop the game.

— CinnamonToastKen (@cinnamontoastk) July 4, 2018

I drink cactus and I will be there at the same time as the other one

— Toromaniac (@BerryToro) July 4, 2018

I drink my water bottle of vodka in the car so I’m glad I did it but I wanna do you..... oh god

— Hayley (@HayleyTries) July 4, 2018

2. Horoscope mayhem

Hank Green prompted his followers to let predictive text be their zodiac guide. The results were as disastrous as you could imagine. 

PREDICTIVE TEXT HOROSCOPE: (Your Sign), this month is a great time to (predictive text), but watch out for people who (predictive text.)

— Hank Green ⌨️📗2️⃣👍 (@hankgreen) March 20, 2018

Libra, this month is a great time to go to the store, but watch out for people who ate a bit of the investors.

— M(illenial)inda (@melinda_staup) March 20, 2018

Aries, this month is a great time to go get back with ya dude, but watch out for people who love ya dude.

— Emma Singer (@emmaunaltered) March 20, 2018

3. "I'm marrying an"

This prompt led to more than a few marriages to inanimate objects.

Type "i'm marrying an" and let your keyboard reveal it i'm marrying an idiot

— 🧞‍♂️🧞‍♂️ (@YassMaryam) January 15, 2019

I'm marrying an avocado.

— ◟̽◞̽ Larry enthusiast 💚💙 (@1Dupdate28) January 19, 2019

I’m marrying an alien instead of a zombie warrior with a great way to get my hair done.

— Tomb Svalborg (@tombness) January 21, 2019

4. You zodiac sign plus "and that's why"

A lot of these tweets were strangely on brand for the different signs.

Stealing this from Russian twitter: Type “I am a *your zodiac sign* and that’s why...” and let your autofill finish it. I am a cancer and that’s why I am so sorry I didn’t know what to do

— CAKE MOM 🔪 (@motherofcakes) March 1, 2019

i am a pisces and that’s why i am baby

— mei (@swtchbIde) March 2, 2019

I am a Scorpio and that’s why y’all are still in the hospital... 👀

— Christina Parker (@c_parkr) March 1, 2019

5. "Sex is"

Several people ended up being told that sex is "a great place to work" by their phones. 

type “sex is” and let ur keyboard finish your sentence mine: sex is your favorite place in your mind

— ‎ ‎ً (@grandegoalsx) February 25, 2019

Sex is a good place to work for a week and a half a week ago and we have a problem with the heating and heating and heating and heating and heating and heating and heating and heating 😂😂😂😂 wtf

— Adrian (@InCarldibleHulk) February 25, 2019

sex is not allowed in a taxi

— 𝐦𝐢𝐚 💍 fb or i unf (@notearstocryy) February 25, 2019

6. Epitaphs

This thread is the perfect blend of morbid and hilarious for the dark humorist in your life. 

How about we use predictive text to write our own epitaphs? Write “Here lies [YOUR NAME]. [preferred pronoun] was...” and let your phone finish the rest. Mine is: Here lies Alexander Zalben. He was clearly not wrong.

— Alex Zalben (@azalben) January 1, 2018

Here lies Stephani Adair. She was going to call you after work today and will not be able to.

— Stephani (@stephani06) January 1, 2018

Here lies Josh Mankiewicz. He washed the whole house.

— Josh Mankiewicz (@JoshMankiewicz) January 1, 2018

7. Introduce yourself

Some were spot on, and some couldn't have been more wrong.

my name is Eve I was born in the UK my age is a bit more than I expected I like to see whales (im crying wow) pic.twitter.com/vQpMz4mebA

— 🕊️ (@soulpunkps) February 14, 2019

My name is not available for remote playback I was born in New York city My age is just a few days ago and I will be in the future I like to know if you have any questions

— Marshal Ustinov (@marshalustinov) February 14, 2019

My name is Jocelyn I was born to be the best My age is literally just too many hours I like to see what you gotta do about it

— Castrator Ginsberg (@Jostle_in) February 16, 2019

8. Predictive valentines

Turns out artificial intelligence isn't as romantic as we thought... shocker.

Time for predictive valentines! Type "Roses are red" and let predictive text finish your poem. (It's free verse.) Mine is: "Roses are red and white and yellow in the essay that I am referring to as the main source for this." Extremely romantic!

— Wren Wallis (@invisibleinkie) February 10, 2019

Roses are red wine beer and cheese fries for lunch.

— Travis Vigneau (@Daily_Fails) February 12, 2019

Roses are red and white in the middle of the recent change in Federal law regarding Marijuana Hmm ok

— Gwenagain (@gwenthing) February 11, 2019

9. "Hey look ma I made"

We're sure many mothers were less than impressed by these responses. 

type “hey look ma i made” then let predictive text determine the rest hey look ma i made you happy and proud to have a wonderful life

— 💀mama rae💀 115 (@anathema_hxlsey) February 4, 2019

Hey look ma I made it home early so I’m just sitting in the middle of the floor.

— Giana🌱 (@melsrockcandy) February 4, 2019

hey look ma i made my afternoon look like a beautiful man wtfff???

— lily (@BoveeLily) February 4, 2019

10. 2019 goals

If these are any prediction of how 2019 will go then no one is safe. 

How about we predictive text our 2019 goals? Just type “In 2019 I am going to” and then mash that center button. Here’s mine: “In 2019 I am going to the store.” Seems legit.

— Alex Zalben (@azalben) January 1, 2019

In 2019 I am going to go back to the house to get my money and then I will be back. Um ok....

— Mirna Valerio (@TheMirnavator) January 3, 2019

In 2019 I’m going tomorrow to get to the hotel room for a few days and I will have a schedule and then I just got to go go (this is my life lol)

— Barclay Stockett (@BarclayStockett) January 3, 2019

11. "You should follow me on Twitter because"

Most of these are not good reasons.

Type "you should follow me on Twitter because" and use predictive text to finish the sentence

— 🌻Elle 🐈 Gato🌻 (@ellle_em) January 6, 2019

You should follow me on Twitter because you have a good idea of how long it takes to get a couple of things from the science store. 😂

— Anita Pearson (@pommyanita) January 7, 2019

You should follow me on Twitter because you are unable to find the receipt and I will send you a cheat list for your kindness. 😅👍

— Bubbly Zen💕 (@BubblyZen1) January 7, 2019

Happy texting!

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