#le bernardin

[agiantmonster]

4/3

[cabinet-baldo]

Sur la scission du Black Panthers Party 

Opuscule francais de 1971, éditions Git-le-Cœur 

38 pages que je tiens à disposition en HD, me contacter   

[hrrtshape]

PLEASE do more storytimes of ur 15 days in ur dr 😩😩 like literally talk about anything, what food did you munch on, outfits, small details of your life that anyone else would find mundane but were so important to you... yap your soul away I BEG 🙏

✶ the basics of my shift to my better cr.

◞ when i shifted : september 3rd to september 18th.

◞ my time ratio : i went to sleep in my cr at about 1 in the morning (oh, quiet !!!) and woke up around 12 am. so i'm not really sure about the time ratio. it has always been 1 hour = 1 week, but i suppose it was different. time is fake. calendars are a conspiracy. moving on.

◞ where i shifted : new york. more specifically my room !! more specifically...... my mom's penthouse in fifth ave which looked absolutely the same as my pinterest board !?!?! uh I DID check google maps to find my house, only to find out that in this reality, it's a hotel ?!?!?! so. yea. kewl.

◞ backstory stuff : so, in my better cr i am basically me. everything is the same except that like everything's amplified. like i am me, but on dolby atmos surround sound with a slight film grain, ykykykykyk? my mom has a billion dollar worth foods-company (which primarily specialised in sugar-free and sometimes gluten-free stuff). she’s like if gwyneth paltrow actually had taste, and her whole brand is “eat like a decadent queen but without the sugar crash.” my dad, who is divorced from my mom, is somehow involved in auction houses & art dealing. not in a shady way, just in a “I inherited this Monet and I suppose I should do something with it” way. he’s always at Sotheby’s, slightly overwhelmed, always one step away from getting scammed. his great-great-grandma was like...a duchess in russia, and then fled during the russian revolution. so...that's that. i live with my older brother, who is very much a VERY GOOD (and i mean very, very, very good) tech bro who parties way too much and my mom. my younger brother lives with my dad in the west village. the custody arrangement was quite literally dictated by vibe.

◞ some of my friends : as always, i scripted in lily rose depp (she isn't an actress, though). our moms were really good friends, and that's how we met. when i shifted, i did gain some memories (!!!! and they were all so kewt) that we shared. i think my favourite one was when we were 12 and walking around galeries lafayette and just trying on heels. in chanel. and dior. heels that cost more than a small car. we were 4’10 and wobbling around, but we swore we were women of the world.

oh, and the most unhinged friend situation?? blair waldorf and serena van der foocking woodsen. YEP. so my better cr WAS inspired by gossip girl, but obviously i didn't want to be stalked n all, so i didn't even bother scripting them in, but my brain did it anyways. SO. yea. i even went to blair's slumber party (but like earlier, not during this shift). it was absolutely perfect. silk sleep masks. monogrammed pajamas. a slight air of menace, because blair is blair. i respect it.

◞ about loml, coryo : soooo, i didn't get to talk to him much :( cause we were at the rivals stage of our whole....saga. but, like, flirty rivals. the type where he would look at me in class like he was plotting my downfall, and i would look back like i was considering letting him. a classic. we didn’t do much !!! sadly !!!! although he DIDDDDD put his arm around me once !!!! when i was walking to classsss.sss/s/s//!??!?!?!?!?? so. YEA. hehehehehehhehe. ALSO. watched him play basketball......which was..........definitely not an out of body experience.

more important things !!!!

◞ food : okay. very important. let’s talk snacks. the cafes in my better cr are like little jewel boxes, and they make the best hazelnut croissants known to mankind. flaky. golden. would cause riots if taken away. also, i drank so many iced matchas i swear my bloodstream was 50% soy milk. my favourite meal was this ridiculous dinner at le bernardin where my mom and i ordered like four courses and just gossiped the whole time. opulence and secrecy, baby.

talking about my mom !!! on day 7 ish we went to louis vuitton for no absolute reason, and i experienced euphoria when we walked out there with new LV handbags. no special occasion, no nothing !!! (i start rioting cause i want to be back in my dr)

◞ outfits : what i wore daily was basically........MMMM. my closet was so massive. so so so so massive. and everything, and i mean EVERYTHING from my pinterest board was there. YEA, YEA!!! cashmere cardigans, tiny skirts, knee-high socks, vintage designer. most of my weekend nights were just me changing outfits. cause. AAAAAAAAAAA !!!!!!!

◞ small details : the smell of my apartment in the morning was always coffee and expensive candles. i had a balcony, which is insane considering it’s new york, but we move. i spent most evenings perched there with a book, looking over the city like some sort of melancholic heiress.

◞ school : st. lazarus international college (i am gonna introduce this one because i swear there has never been a kewler sckewl). yeah. the most competitive, the most exclusive, the most "if you don't know someone, you simply won't get in" school in new york. my mom basically donated a library to make sure i never had to worry about a waitlist. the building looks like an old château got plucked from the french countryside and dropped onto the upper east side, except it has a state-of-the-art technology lab and a rooftop garden where people pretend to study. the halls ARE buzzing. the classrooms ARE ivy-league rigorous. the drama IS constant. the uniform IS exquisite. crisp white button-downs, navy skirts, custom blazers with embroidered crests, knee-high socks, and a distinct air of inherited wealth.

◞ classes : philosophy was my favorite. not because i actually cared about the syllabus, but because the professor was clearly going through something existential, and it was just funny to poke at his worldview with hypotheticals that made him question reality. history was a battlefield, literally, because coryo and i sat across from each other. french? easy. literature? divine. mathematics? completely unnecessary to my future, but tolerable because my notes were meticulously colour-coded.

◞ social scene : so you already know about my girl lily-rose, but there were so many more. the usual suspects: the impossibly rich, the impossibly gorgeous, and the impossibly charming. social hierarchy wasn't rigid, but it was understood. there were the future ceos, the legacy kids, the ones who summered in capri, the ones whose last names could buy small countries. my niche was effortlessly magnetic. somewhere between the literati and the scandal-makers, sipping matcha lattes while discussing nietzsche, only to abandon the conversation halfway through to plan a party. the sheer drama of it all. the only thing that mattered was that i was KEWL.

◞ parties : iconic. thrown in penthouses, brownstones, luxury hotel suites when someone’s parents were away. they started with sophisticated cocktail hours and always descended into beautifully controlled chaos. champagne in crystal coupes, whispered conversations on private terraces, someone always ending the night dramatically (usually not me, but i did have my moment.......we'll get to that later). i attended two, excluding day 12-13 when i went to athens with my friend to celebrate her birthday (it was.....very fun. believe me).

◞ moments that i'll never forget : buying my first designer bag (chloé tote), gave coryo a nosebleed (i talked about that already but you know......so...wow moment), discussed halloween with my friend group (and then shifted right before it UGH), overheard a woman complaining about the declining quality of caviar. felt like i was in a tv show. rich people are SO weird. i felt like i was in crazy rich asians.

◞ books i read during my shift (literature is important!!!) : bonjour tristesse andddddd started reading ulysses.

◞ random things that made my shift feel real : the specific way my balcony doors creaked when i opened them. the sound of a coffee being stirred at my favorite café. a pinch i gave my forearm everyday i woke up there !?!?!?

that’s the shift report, lovies. let me know what else you wanna hear, cause trust me, i could talk for hours. cause i remember EVERYTHING. not every second, but, like, every hour at least. mwah xxxxxxx and thank god for self made this method that helped me do this like yip yip hooray !?!?

[fujikosouvenir]

Women of the French Revolution: Stories of 11 Women Who Lived in a Turbulent Era by Riyoko Ikeda

(Eon de Beaumont, Marie Thérèse Geoffrin, Comtesse du Barry, Marie Louise Elisabeth Vigée Le Brun, Josephe Jeanne Marie Antoinette, Jeanne Manon Roland, Théroigne de Méricourt, Charlotte Corday d'Armont, Lucile Desmoulins, Marie-Thérèse of France, Bernardine Eugénie Désirée)

[junedenim]

2011

beneath the boardwalk, part 9 (series masterlist)

love is a laserquest

warnings: fluff, angst, fluff, angst

word count: 11.8k

I got a job at the New Yorker. Condé Nast moved me over as a staff writer. I'm not sure if it was because they knew my desire for the job, Fennel did some talking, I charmed David Remnick, or my piece in the Paris Review. I've never found out. Either way, it made an optimistic start to the year.

Alex took me out to dinner when we found out. It was a far more fancy dinner than our usual ones. He wore a suit because it was that kind of restaurant and I was the kind of girl who liked a man in a suit. I wore a navy-coloured dress with a cream-coloured cardigan. 

We went to Le Bernardin where I never figured out how Alex managed to get a reservation so last minute. Alex and I began to talk about things we had never talked about before. Often when living with Alex in those years, we had the same conversations over and over again. I was never bored by them but I never learned much about the history of Alex and I knew he knew little of me other than context clues.

He told me of his childhood basketball games and I laughed at tiny Alex trying to shoot 3 meters off the ground. "We were awful," he said, "like really bad. I was okay but only because everyone else was really awful."

I giggled and sipped on my white wine. "I can't picture you sporty. You've always seemed scrawny to me."

"Hey. I work out," he defended.

It made me laugh again. "Maybe now but I've seen pictures of you young. You could have snapped in half."

"Most basketball players aren't buff," he reasoned.

I countered, "Most are over 6 feet tall."

Alex always worried about overstepping. I believe I had previously scarred him with off-the-cuff recountings of my childhood. Alex didn't even know how Tommy died. He was scared to ask and I never wanted to touch the subject. He retreated to the nonsense and we talked about the days when I played football.

"Now, you," he pointed his finger at me, "you are not sporty."

I laughed with my wine. "That's why I only did it for a week."

The days were so short in that January. We had celebrated his birthday in Sheffield. It would be the last time he would stay home for his birthday. The following years got tricky for him to make it home and by the time he could, he had grown up and gone so long without it that the idea of returning home felt childish.

When we returned I started my new job and Al returned to Los Angeles. He asked me about it. He cited that it was a good meeting point for all the guys for making a record. He reasoned that I didn't have to come. He promised that it would be a short amount of time. He swore I wouldn't even notice he was gone. 

Truthfully, I didn't care much. Maybe if he had left for months but he was gone for five weeks. It wasn't much different than touring, in fact, it was easier because he was always in the same place. He asked me if I was okay with it and for that I noticed and appreciated his matured abilities in communication. I preferred not to go with him. I wasn't uprooted from my life and, in New York, I had found an occupation in both labour and leisure. I don't care whether he came or left. That should have shocked me more but it didn't. Life was too quick for me to care.

I acquired a group of friends that felt like my own circle of beatniks and lost generation writers, although that was mostly my fantasization of them. We drank, we smoked, we doped, but nobody shot their wife or was "going mad" from my knowledge. It often felt like elders embarking wisdom onto the youth. That wisdom was usually through buckets of liquor and the faux elegance of smoking a cigarette in between a small dinner and an even tinier dessert. But I liked it a lot.

Before Alex left, the band came to New York and we had a little party with some of their friends. It was a lowkey affair for the most part. We mostly drank and chatted. It didn't feel right to invite any of my friends to this dirty British fun, even if a few Americans slipped by the door. It was the only "party" Alex held in that apartment but it was probably the best we had. It felt nostalgic.

Alex and I sat in front of the couch with his arm around me while Jamie attempted to balance a glass on his head. We were all drunk and with no sober thoughts there wasn't much logic to letting a clumsy guy balance a glass of liquor atop his head.

It crashed to the floor, spreading out across our feet. It should have been tragic and mildly painful as Jamie proceeded to step in a piece and cut his foot, but all of us, even a bleeding Jamie were laughing. 

I tucked my head into Alex's shoulder, struggling to breathe with how hard I was laughing. His arm hugged around me and he was a cushion to fall asleep on. I felt warm from the alcohol but he felt even warmer in that January chill. 

Alex got up to sweep up the mess and I fooled around with Katie, grabbing a tambourine and smacking it against my hand. It was a racket and not very pleasing to the ear but Katie and I were laughing too hard to put any care into it. Both of us were very musically inept.

"I feel like we're in Will's basement," I told them. "Feels just as childish as then."

Jamie laughed. "I guess we haven't grown much." Or maybe it was just the alcohol that brought us back to those states. But, to me, it was the idea that whenever we were with each other like this, we would regress back to the ways we met. The behaviours we exhibited when we first bonded.

"Time goes by, I suppose," I sighed and rested my head on Katie's shoulder. Matt pulled the glass out of Jamie's foot, Alex got him a bandage, and Nick poured him another glass.

I don't know much of what went down in LA with Alex. He wasn't one to open up without prompting and I wasn't one to talk about anyone but myself in those days. He gave me pieces but I imagined he was in the studio most of the time, which wasn't wrong.

He returned halfway through February and things resumed as they were. I went to work. He stayed home. We often went out for dinner with those from my circle. Alex had befriended some of them and it wasn't like he talked much during dinner anyway.

At the tail-end of February, there was a dinner somewhere on the Upper West Side. I can't place where but I had red wine and chicken, I remember that much. Neither the food nor the restaurant is very important here, but Alex got white wine and steak. I don't think he liked either.

The group would fluctuate between obsessing over Alex and ignoring him. He didn't like the former, he appreciated the latter. They were yapping on about something when I turned to Alex, whispering, "Isn't this right old fun?"

He pursed his lips and nodded. 

I rolled my eyes and ignored him for the rest of dinner.

When we finished dinner, someone suggested continuing the night with drinks. Alex tugged on my coat like he was a little child who stood nothing above three feet tall. I looked over at him and he just stared at me. I frowned then he frowned. I wasn't sure what we were saying to one another. I wasn't sure if we were joking around or fighting. We passed on drinks and walked in the opposite direction.

"You don't want to have fun," I whined, tugging on his arm. He was stiff-figured with his hands in his pockets. He had all the signs of a man but looked to be about 17 and shy. "You don't want to drink, you don't want to talk. They think you're sullen."

Alex chuckled. "Aren't I?"

I tucked my arms away from him and moved over on the street, furthering the gap between our brushing bodies. "You like people to think that but it comes off as rude."

He shrugged. "Sorry." Not apologetically, just uncaring.

We stopped at a light. I lit a cigarette and he tapped his shoe on the cement. "What's got you down, blue boy?" I laughed in the moment thinking of the closeness in pronunciation to blue balls.

Something cracked within him, realigning the figure of him. He stood taller, dropped his hands out of his pockets, and slung an arm around me. "Just missed you." His hand reached out and pushed the strands back. 

My face felt cluttered and my cigarette-yielding hand felt full. I took it up to my lips, edged it right on the bottom of it. "If you missed me so much, why don't you kiss me?" I trapped the cigarette and blew smoke into his face.

He laughed at me, let go, and moved across the street. I was stuck on the sidewalk, left to chase after him. He was still laughing when I caught up to him. "What? What?" I never found out what he was laughing at, he just kissed me, all bright and smiling, teeth colliding. 

We went home and I undressed and showered. Alex did something, I'm not sure, but when I left the bathroom, he was in bed reading. I sought refuge in the covers, the chill of the air burning my skin. I scooted closer to him, tightened a grasp on his arm, and leaned my head on him. I was in perfect sight of the book but didn't bother to read it, instead tapping on his upper arm.

"Yes?" He didn't look up from the page but I spotted the cheeky grin spread on his lips. 

My finger stroked the corner of it. "Nothing."

He chuckled. "You want something."

I leaned back onto the headboard. "Why do you always think that? Maybe I just want to look at you."

He laughed again. "Well, you answered your question there."

I rolled my eyes. "You know what I mean."

"I know." His eyes stayed on his book, flipping a page, somehow reading through all my talking.

I shelved my head on his shoulder. "Are you bored?" 

His eyes escaped the page momentarily before returning. "No. I'm reading."

"Okay." I left it at that but I worried that we were leaving one another behind. It might have been a typical thing for other couples but it was weird to have intimate separation from one another. I mean, sure there was having sex but it wasn't often that Alex and I went to bed in these different junctions. He felt stiff and awkward as of late and not just with other people. He was reading a book in bed.

I slumped further into bed. "What do you want to do tomorrow?"

"I don't know." He waited, thought some, and asked, "What are you doing?"

"I don't know," I replied. I waited. "Should call Stacey." I waited and felt the sinking in my stomach as we seemed to stay still. "I have the weirdest feeling."

"Your dad's fine." The book stayed open and his eyes followed the sentences to an impeccable degree. It was impressive and confusing, perplexing, but no longer infuriating. It was so strange.

I played with my fingers, tapping them on my stomach, picking at my shirt, and debating what to say and whether to say it. But I vowed to myself to talk to Alex and so I did. "I miss you. I miss you and you're right here."

I had no clue what he would say. I thought I might have been left with silence or a kiss or a question, some form of confusion. But he never shifted, didn't spare me a glance as I stared up at him so attentively as he casually said, "You're tired."

"Okay," I decided. I flicked out my light (he left his on, a new thing) and went to bed. I don't know when he went to bed or if he ever did.

*

One Sunday, Alex and I sat in Washington Square Park. It was just starting to get warm and bearable to sit outside for prolonged periods of time. The center fountain still wasn't running water so people were skating on it. There was loud music blaring from somewhere but I never found the source. People were selling things: clothes, music, art, Bibles. I was sipping on a strawberry banana smoothie and Alex was eating some kind of disgusting sandwich that was practically spilling over with its contents.

I could feel the chill of the bench through my jeans, but it was comforting rather than chattering. Alex looked fluffy in a leather jacket. It was like a Yorkshire Terrier trying to be an American Bully. 

I reached out and brushed my hands through the front of his mop top, trying to give sun to the part of his face that hid away from it. My hand crawled to the other side of him, putting my arm around his shoulders.

"Should I get my hair cut?" I was merely focusing on myself in this moment, not hinting toward anything. It was long, not yet too long, and my fringe had fully grown out sometime around the end of January.

Alex turned to me, getting a good look at me as if he were trying to determine his decision. He hummed in deep thought over this. "Maybe a trim."

I giggled. "You're just trying to agree with me."

He chewed through his sandwich. "No, I'm just being honest."

I hummed, uncertain of this. "You like my hair long."

He felt like I was trying to play games with him. "You're very beautiful, Janie."

I brushed it off. "You're just saying that."

"Jane." He turned to me with a very serious look on his face like he was about to break some bad news to me. It unnerved me to be stared at him in this way. "You say 'thank you' when someone gives you a compliment."

I couldn't help but give a little laugh. "You've been waiting to use that for years, have you?"

Alex smiled, very proud of himself and went to finish off his sandwich. "I have many tricks up my sleeve."

I would have kissed him if he didn't have sandwich residue all over his face. Instead, I reached for a napkin and wiped it off. "You're very beautiful too, Alex." Because I never said it enough. He had become more sure of himself through the years from getting older and growing into the person he wanted to be more but we all have that little voice gnawing away at us. Alex always fought off that voice for me and I never felt I put as sufficient of an effort in and I wanted to now. 

He looked over at me, still wiping his hands as his cheeks flushed. It was quite a sight for a 25-year-old man who had a habit of being evasive to his emotions. To be overcome by something I had said, it made me blush too. "Say 'thank you' now, Alex."

He moved closer to me, almost touching. "Thank you, Janie." Then, lip to lip.

He pulled back and threw out his trash. When he came back, I let him have a sip of my smoothie and put his hand on my thigh. "What should we do now?" Alex asked.

"I don't know." We sat and people watched for a while. We gossiped about the passersby and made up stories about their lives. They started out small with the suspicion that an elegant-dressed woman had lost her way and wound up in the park and ended with us pretending all the skaters were aliens.

Then, we went record shopping. Music history was close by. Electric Lady Studios is a block over and The Bitter End is around the corner. We went into the basement of Generation Records and searched through the stack of $1 records and giant posters. We walked away empty-handed beside a David Bowie sticker I bought for Alex. He stuck it to the front of his notebook.

*

I woke up late one morning. It must have been a Saturday. I was definitely hungover. I remember the blur of trying to get to bed the night before. I ended up landing in bed and Alex had to take me apart piece by piece and pull sleep clothes over me. I was very quiet, if not already asleep.

Alex was out of bed sitting on the couch when I crawled out of our bedroom. It was silence other than the padding of my feet as I poured myself a glass of water. I sat at our tiny kitchen table, taking small sips from the ice cold glass. Alex moved over into the kitchen and whispered the question of if I wanted anything to eat. I wanted an apple so he cut it up into little slices for me.

I took a bite of one before deciding it hurt my jaw too much to do. I pulled out a cigarette to ease the pain.

Alex laughed at my display: smudged makeup, rough hair, and a cigarette. To me, it was glamourous. Writing it still kind of feels that way but Alex was probably right that it was pretty ugly and pretty funny. "I think you need a shower, Janie, not a cigarette."

"You smoke," I stated matter of factly. As if, his smoking outdoors was comparable to that sight. I was breaking my own rule of smoking indoors, not that Al would reprimand me for that.

"How was last night?" He asked. "If you can recall it."

I squinted. "Don't mock me."

"I'm not," he insisted.

I sighed and sipped my water. "Fine. We went to a nice club and had a nice dance. What did you do?"

He shrugged. He seemed so casual but he was staring so intensely at me as if to X-ray me. "Hung around here. Called me mum."

"You should've come out with us."

"Nah. I'm not much for clubbing these days."

I hummed and frowned. "Not even for me?"

He rolled his eyes. It wasn't playful, it was rejecting. I enforced many notions that Alex didn't want to hang out with me. At least, that was my belief in those days. It wasn't fair to him to force him to go to those places or place blame when he didn't. I think I even knew that then. Besides, we were split branches. Neither of us wanted to acknowledge we were growing the other way.

*

The Paris Review's Spring Revel was my first personal award show. I was no longer the plus one—Alex made a very good plus one. I was going to accept the Plimpton Prize, which I believe was the first award I had ever won in my life, minus those participation trophies. 

Alex and I had already done our celebrating when I got the phone call. We jumped on the bed, we went out for dinner, we had sex—the trifecta. At the Spring Revel, I wanted to look sophisticated in the literary sense, whatever that means, but Fennel knew exactly what I meant. I wore a blue boatneck midi dress by Ralph Lauren, which I suppose screams American glamour. I was fancy proper without being frumpy or slutty. I quite liked it and Alex quite liked it. He just wore a suit, very easy for him.

I'm not sure why but I was most excited for the meal. Maybe because I didn't want to acknowledge people would actually be paying attention to me or maybe because, by the time the day came, I was really hungry. So, I ate my dinner, some meat and salad, and drank a glass of champagne. 

I had my photo taken with Robert Redford and James Lipton and then hid in the bathroom for 20 minutes after. Alex was my emotional support animal. I dragged him with me whenever I went to talk to someone. It was always an easy out for when the conversation lulled to say, "This is my boyfriend, Alex. He's in the Arctic Monkeys." Most people didn't know what that was and asked. The others were in wonder by it. He was a great deflection tool, something he usually hated, but I knew that he knew that I needed it by the way he squeezed my hand whenever I did it.

"What shall I do with the $10,000? What did you do with your Mercury Prize money?" I asked Alex as the night began to wind down. We stood, waiting for a cab and the last of that winter wind threatened the spring night.

The cab approached and Alex opened the door for me. It was a very special night. "Well, I had to split mine with three other people. I think I just put it in my bank account."

I scoffed, "Lame." He chuckled as he hopped into the car. "I feel like I should do something special with mine."

"What's something you really want?"

I looked down at my purse. "I don't know. I can't think of anything I would buy. Maybe clothes."

"Maybe we should take a trip," he suggested. He was risqué and tempting with just the raise of his brow. He gave so much away with his tone. His hand sculpted its way across my face and brushed forgotten strands behind my ear.

"We? Who said anything about sharing the money with you?" I looked over at him and knew I would spend all the money on him if he'd let me, which, of course, he never would. But I understood the desire to care for a person, to look after them for all the days to come. Suddenly, I liked the idea of putting the money away. Saving it for some lovely toy he'd like to play with. Or maybe just a rainy day. One of his, not mine.

He placed his hand on my knee and we might have been stopped at a red light or stuck in traffic but I couldn't tell. He leaned close to my ear, whispering delicately for just me and the wind to hear, "You earned it."

*

By the end of April showers, I had been washed out. Things felt sloppier in nature by that time. The streets always seemed to be glazed with a pile of rain and the wind always seemed to have me rushing out the door.

Alex was soaking up the last few moments of relaxation before the tour kicked off in about two weeks. I wasn't there for most of that. I was drawn in by work, even when I didn't have much work to do. Every outing had something to do with a co-worker or a co-worker who knew this person who was going to that person's party. I loved it. It felt like the definition of being young and fabulous. A hallmark for New York and a girl who dreamed of a Sex & the City lifestyle.

Alex didn't like those kinds of things. He was a quiet, misshapen boy, who much rather enjoyed the quiet joys of the bar down the street or smoking with one of our neighbors on the roof. I liked those things too but they felt slow and downy by comparison. 

Often, I would come home and find Alex on the roof. He liked the feeling of wind and it was an easy way to smoke outdoors without having to put his jeans on. He'd bring his notebook up with him but I often found it closed. He took more to reading around that time. It was an easy way to turn his brain off when he was so alone. I left him to think a lot.

I came home from work and didn't bother with going into our apartment. I trod up the stairs to the roof. His back was to me and I slid my hands down the front of him and said a quiet, "Hi."

He smiled and closed his book, dropping it down by his notebook, his pack of cigarettes, and his lighter. I sat beside him on the wicker bench that if you sat too far back on the strands in it would break. I stole from his pack and relaxed as stiff as possible. "What have you gotten up to?" I asked.

Alex shrugged, naturally complacent, but possessing an uncaringly cool front to him. I could always tell why people were drawn to him. Sometimes, it pissed me off how much he shrugged away all this attention people begged upon him, but it had always been his way and I loved that about him. He never deemed to change for anybody. He was firm in who he was, even if he hadn't yet figured out who he was. All the boys had been. Maybe because life had given them more freedom. They didn't have to be pretty and cool and mysterious and talented, yet they were. To me, it's obvious that you don't try to be those things because it negates the whole purpose but then unknowingly I wanted to be so much like him that it repelled people, the kind of people that really cared. Those who did, cracked through all that. They didn't see me as a cool girl in a white silk maxi skirt smoking on the roof with her quiet boyfriend. To them, I was Jane. To the closest, the one, I was Janie. And maybe that's the only way I'll ever be able to express how dearly I love Alex. Because things just made sense around him. It was as simple as that.

And when I strayed too far away, that is when I became a cool girl in a white silk maxi skirt smoking on the roof. But he shrugged and smiled and said he had spent the day reading and had gone out for lunch with one of his friends, the kind he knew really well and I knew in passing so the name isn't of much relevance. He had a nice time but was glad I was home now. That we were home together.

"Calvin is hosting a little get-together tonight and I said we'd go." It was simple, said over a puff of smoke, and a gaze at the clear blue sky.

But his brows furrowed and his cigarette grew ashy and he stared right at me though it took me too long to notice. "Really?"

I had expected this, his practice of reluctance. But I gushed and insisted, "It'll be plenty fun. Calvin always has nice parties and you've never been to his place. It's stunning. I'd use the $10,000 to save for a place like his. I'm sure I'm a couple of million off but it could be achieved in time with both our salaries. Maybe my parents would even—"

"Jane." He had been saying it the whole time but I was a buzzing alarm that refused to be put on snooze. He was tense and leaned back into his chair when I stopped talking. He shut his eyes like he was in the midst of a migraine. "God, do you hear yourself talk sometimes?"

Nothing mattered then. I hated myself. If he didn't like me, if he didn't want to hear me, then what was the point? However jolted I was, I was also stubborn. "Excuse me?"

"You just go on and on sometimes."

"Yes, Alex. I talk. It's what normal human beings do."

He shook his head and scuffed out his cigarette. His face was all wrinkled up in distress. "Jane, it's not a conversation if you're just rambling on about nothing."

"It's not nothing." It was my friend and the idea of a future. It felt so harmless and yet he was offended over it. "Thought you would want to hear about my day."

He crossed his arms and thought of something wise to say. I saw his face, full of that perturbed quality and a studious annoyance. I would have none of it. I stood up and walked to the roof's door. "Jane," he called after. I'm not sure what for. Apologize, lecture me, stare at me in disappointment.

"You're always doing this! You don't get to make me feel bad!" I yelled at him and stomped down to our apartment. I locked the door, even though I knew he was right behind me, I just wanted to piss him off. I stayed in front of the door so when he would open it, he'd be face-to-face with me.

And he was, but he walked past me. He knew my ploys too well. He was calm, swaying with himself and I was itching to explode. "I don't want to go to Calvin's place," he said. He sat down on the couch. Calm, cool, and collected.

"But I want you too."

"Jane, I've been to twenty of these parties you want me to go to. I want to relax on a Wednesday night with me girlfriend. Not fifty other people."

"You relax every day of the week. Let's go have fun."

"Jane!" He was yelling in an attempt to get through to me. "I don't find that fun. I don't find you coming home hammered fun. I don't find these people to be well-meaning and fun."

"You like Kaka and Fennel!"

"You mean going to dinner with them? Yes, I like going to places where I can talk to you without thinking you're going to throw up on me in the next sentence."

"Quit being so dramatic. Who are you even? That's how we met. Talking at places like this. Sharing a smoke after having too much to drink."

"Jane, I'm not 18 anymore. I have a different life now. I'm leaving in 2 weeks and you want to spend that time like that."

It felt wrong. I felt bad. I felt he had a point. But it was too late for all of that. This was an argument and it would only end when I got my way. "I like doing that! It's how I let loose after a long day of work."

"You don't have to be drunk to let loose."

All I could hear was him calling me my mother. "It's not being drunk. It's about being with my friends. It's about bitching about work."

"I don't want to hang around your friends. I want to hang around you. Why is that so hard for you? Do you not like me anymore?" He said it so seriously, it was terrifying.

My jaw fell open and it was like my life fell open. I was ready for the floor to let go and take me down with it. "Are you serious?" I grabbed my purse. "I might be a bitch or a drunk or whatever image of me you've conjured up in your head but I'm not that. You fucker." I didn't wait around. I stormed out.

I went to Calvin's. I had one shot and cried in the bathroom. Tasha came and held my hand. I was the biggest phony ever. She repeated last year's advice back at me but it felt like stones in my pockets pulling me down to the bottom of the river. I felt useless. My only choice was to sob. I was mourning, I could feel it, but not admit to it.

*

"Alex." I placed a hand on him, unsure if he was awake. 

His head turned slightly upwards and he mumbled, "We'll talk about it in the morning." He turned away, escaping further under the covers, further away from me.

I sat on my side of the bed for a minute, lost on what to do, knowing I would be unable to go to bed. I got up and went to the bathroom, changing out of everything, removing my makeup, and then sitting on the toilet seat. Then, I cried. I'm not sure for how long but there was a crack in me that everything was pouring out of and I couldn't patch it up. So, I let the floodgates go, smushed my hands into my eyes, and shook with sobs.

The bathroom door cracked open and I could picture Alex popping his head in but I refused to look up. I wanted to avoid processing all of this. I wanted to be left alone and I wanted him to comfort me. I wanted everything and nothing and I couldn't get either. "Jane," he peeped.

I shook my head from my position. Words wouldn't allow themselves out. I became non-verbal, trapped by my silent cries.

He sighed. I heard the door open more as he moved further into the bathroom. He closed the door like we were hiding from someone as if it wasn't just the two of us in this apartment. "I don't know what you want me to do, Jane." His back leaned against the door, his hand grasped the doorknob, and his eyes averted my figure as I looked up at him.

Crying seemed to cease and I stilled for a moment to think. "That's the problem. I'm so sick of this need you have to wait for what I want because it used to just be with things I wanted to do, which was fine, but now it's like you don't even know how to act around me unless I tell you how to."

"You yell at me whenever I decide against it. I didn't want to go out tonight."

"But I did and you berated me for that."

"Sometimes it'd be nice to spend time with you without fifty other people around."

"They're my friends. It's the same as us hanging out in Joanie's basement. The only difference is you don't like my friends."

"I don't give a fuck about your friends. I give a fuck about you and this constant need you have to go out and get drunk."

"What? I'm an alcoholic now?"

"Don't do this shite. This putting words in my mouth. I can't handle that."

"It's no different than who I've always been, Alex. The only thing that's changed is the people. You had no issue with this when it was your friends too. You just don't like it when I pay attention to things other than you."

"What like Robert? The guy in Aruba?"

I stopped and squinted. "Why? Why do you feel the need to bring shit like that up?"

"Because it proves my point."

"What? That I'm a slag? You want me to get it tattooed across my forehead?"

"No. It's that you always find other things to want instead of me."

"You were away! I didn't fuck Robert until we had broken up. And we were barely together during the guy in Aruba."

"That's your excuse?"

"That's not my excuse! It's my explanation, which you were fine with 3 years ago."

"Because I wanted you! I wanted to get back together and then you told me that. I'm not...it's fine. I understand. I'm not mad about that."

"Sure seems like it."

"Stop." He was serious and I flushed like my father was scolding me. "It's hard not to feel like you choose things over me."

"Because I have friends? You're the one leaving. You're always the one leaving."

"For my job! You don't think I want to be with you all the time? That I enjoy doing that to you? Even when I'm here, you go off without me."

I crossed my arms. "I'm allowed to have a life outside of you, Alex."

"I know. But it doesn't really seem like you have a life with me in it."

"It's because you do nothing. You sit around here all day and mope when I go out. You don't want anything, you want to sit here and watch Breaking Bad."

"Any time that I want something we have a fight or we break up. I want to go on tour. Break-up. I want to go to LA. Major fight. I want a relationship with you. You run away."

"When did I ever not want a relationship with you?"

"Oh, come on, Jane, I'm well aware that before my little posh comment to you, I called you my girlfriend, and then you didn't talk to me for months."

"That? I was a completely different person then. The fact that you have to go back that far to make your point is ridiculous."

"Then, fine, Jane. Let's leave it at that. I'm wrong. You're right. Nothing will change. That's fine. Okay. I'll bend for you, okay? I'm fine doing that because I want to make you happy. But would you do that for me?"

"I moved to LA for you! I upended my whole life, my career over there, for you! If I told you to quit the band, would you do it?"

"Don't play that stupid game."

"Answer it."

"No. But would you quit your job right now to go on tour with me? No. You didn't give a shit about Simon & Schuster. If you cared so much, you wouldn't have left. It wasn't like I was leaving forever, okay? We both have other priorities other than each other."

"Great! Then, me going out with my friends from work should be no issue."

"Every night of the week?"

"You went out to LA for 5 weeks and don't use the excuse of the studios out there. We live in New York now. You can't really make that excuse."

He shook his head. "I'm not fighting with you. I don't like it. I don't want to do it. I want to go to bed. There."

"So, when you're wrong then it's okay to go to bed."

"No. I'm tired. I don't like doing this. Fine, I shouldn't have left your side, but I don't revolve around you."

"I don't revolve around you."

"No, but I'm not even in your orbit quite frankly. You moved on and I let you. I put things ahead of you. I fucked up. But I don't think you even care about that."

"How do you know?"

"I've known you for eight fucking years. In and out, Jane. I've cried with you, I've fought with you, I've lived with you, and I love you. Is that so hard for you to understand? I know you haven't been shown it very much but this is what it is. And I want you through all of it. That's what I want. But you don't reflect that back."

"I hurt you so much. I get it."

"No, you don't."

"Yes. I do. You can comfort me and tell me you love me but you were hurt by tonight. You've been hurt by me for a while. It takes a lot for you to yell at me. And you've yelled."

"Sorry."

"Don't say sorry. Don't bend for me. I'm tired of beating you down. But I'm not going to change for you. I like my life. Love it. And I've never felt that way before, except there's one thing. I always feel like I'm failing you."

"No, you're not. We both fucked up. It's fine."

"No, it's not. That's what this whole fight has been about and I'm done with you comforting me and I'm tired of fighting. I love you but it just hurts because every move I make, I feel like I'm chipping away at you. I don't want you to dictate the way I act but I don't want to hurt you in the process." I sighed and thought for a minute, wanting to think every turn through. I kept falling down the same hole. "And you'll be gone soon and I think that'll help. Some time separated."

"You want to break up?"

I shook my head. "I don't want that. I'm not going to do that." I took a deep breath. "Maybe while you're on tour we should take a break. You readjust. I readjust. We'll come back and they'll be a whole new person to learn but that love won't go anywhere. I know that. That's never going to go away."

"What if I don't want that?"

"I think we both need it. We've been on top of one another so far this year but never with one another, maybe only briefly. It's been bitter. I don't like us this way."

"I don't either."

"You're never gonna get rid of me, you know that?"

He chuckled wetly. "Yeah."

"You're always going to be my friend. I'd be nothing without that."

"Not true. Goes both ways. You're right."

"Yeah. I know. Can't help it."

"I love you, okay?"

"Yeah. You too."

"Do you want me to sleep on the couch?"

"Course not. You're not a pariah. I still like being with you."

"Good."

We went to bed on opposite sides and woke up on opposite sides. It was a weird few days where we co-existed with one another. We got along fine. I was at work and he went off at night. I think he went out drinking with friends but I never asked. We had sex one night. Alex and I were both drunk. Woke up naked with one another. We never talked about it but both understood it wasn't going to change anything. It was nice just to touch one another. 

About a week later, Alex packed up his things, not that there was much there. I would keep the apartment along with the furniture. He took his belongings and moved in with Matt temporarily. The tour started soon after. 

*

In a way, it was like when we broke up back in '06, except we were older and had been through this before. We talked on the phone when he was in London. It was a short call where we checked in on one another. He complained about a flight he took and I told him about something I was writing. He said he'd like to read it but I never sent it. That felt too intimate.

Truthfully, I perceived myself as being fine. I was doing great at work, I was having fun, I had friends, I only cried for one week, and only once to Fennel and Kaka. Truthfully, I was out of it. I was a machine and I betrayed myself by not letting myself feel anything. I had shamed myself for so long for being an emotional person, who sobbed in front of people at the slightest thing, but now I had become nothing. A cog in the machine.

I didn't betray all my old habits. I slept around. Not heavily but enough to get pregnant and not know who the father was. But it all felt understandable under the circumstances.

The week before Alex was due to return to New York for a concert, I wiped myself out. I drank, I smoked, I snorted. None were great combinations and by the end of the week, I burnt myself out. I spontaneously flew to LA and stayed with Opal for a few days. I mostly stayed in her place. I was probably depressed but not clinically. I called Alex and told him I was in LA and he made some joke about turned tables. We laughed. I wished him luck. We said we loved and missed each other and it all felt strangely platonic.

I decided to myself that partying was fine but spending the week going to your Calvin's parties wasn't worth it. I settled for Friday night drinks and dinners with Fennel and Kaka. It didn't always measure out this way but it wasn't a whole week with barely any sleep. My work had suffered for it and I decided I was going to write these experiences down rather than chasing the next high. It also helped that since I gained some favour in the New York literary scene and had re-crafted some of my old work, Jackson had set up several book deal meetings.

A lot of this was me unknowingly changing for Alex. Or maybe just unknowingly recognizing that he did have some points to his argument but that didn't mean he was completely in the right. I just needed to be better for myself.

Mostly, I decided that if I ever felt the need to break these rules I had set myself that would be okay too. For the first time in my life, I was completely on my own. Everyone who had taken care of me throughout my life was at a distance. I had people that supported me but I wanted to do it on my own. It was the first time I saw value in achieving something without having someone applaud for me at the finish line. They would always be there. He would always be there. But I liked the idea of patting myself on the back. At least for now, that would be enough.

*

Suck It and See was a surprise to me. It's strange how much time you spend with a person and how much is left uncovered. I had heard bits and pieces of things but everything was very distant at the time he made this record. It shouldn't have surprised me so much what ended up on the record considering the state of things but it's all retrospective here and things felt different in the moment than they did in writing.

The weirdest thing: I was jealous. I was jealous of my own self. These were words that I presumed to be toward me or some sex doll daydream vixen version of myself and I was jealous of her. I didn't experience these words of passion in the middle of lovemaking. Alex didn't roll over and say I was a thunderstorm (that would have been plenty weird). But I strangely desired that affection. To be told I was rarer than a can of dandelion and burdock and my skirt was a sawn-off shotgun. Maybe I was just getting lonely.

It was different from his other writing. I didn't find myself embedded in it. There was no "505" or "Secret Door" where I could pinpoint moments that he had drawn from, other than "That's Where You're Wrong," which even in itself was muddled (what does it mean for the sky to be a scissor??). 

I found myself questioning if all those times I caught him alone outside with a notebook were hidden clues to this album, especially with "Love is a Laserquest." I always felt he could read me before he even knew me and it had been a while since this quality had taken me aback, but I had all the air knocked out of me. It was depressing how much of a love song it was without seeming as such. But I locked it away in a drawer and decided not to touch it again. I wouldn't discuss it with anyone. I wouldn't make jokes about it to Alex and I wouldn't talk about it in mournful ways with friends. It existed, it was there, and I would leave it there. I would leave everything there.

*

The summer proved to be hot. Then, a heat wave pulled through and made it even more hot. At the end of June, Jackson flew out to New York and stayed with me for a few days while we made moves for the book. While it meant a great deal to be published, I tried not to think about it much. People had books published every day. I was still left with the question of if people were actually going to read it.

Alex was in the rush of festival season and we didn't talk much. He sent me two postcards. One from Paris and the other from Sheffield. I taped them to my wall, next to all my other trinkets from him. The contents of them were minimal. He was having a good time in Paris, Sheffield was all the same, nothing ever changed in Sheffield, but each ended with "Love, Al" and for that, I held onto something, even if it was hard for me to believe we still had much of a chance.

We told everyone, as we told ourselves, that it was just a break. People understood. He'd be away, I was reaching new heights in my career, and it gave us the freedom to sleep around. Many people in New York understood that part. However, Stacey was convinced that we were lying and everything had fallen to shambles and I was on the verge of killing myself. So, she flew to New York.

She was fully grown; an idea that is still so strange to me. She was cooler than I'll ever be with long legs and perfect hair that bounced with every step she took. But she still picked her nose and said friggin' instead of fucking and she could be a total bitch at times. I love her so much.

I often say Stacey factory resets me. I suppose since a childhood home hasn't existed for me since my parents moved and I try to avoid my parents besides the holiday season, Stacey puts things back in perspective. It feels like playing pretend with her. So, we went to the Plaza for lunch and pretended we were the kind of people who lived on Park Avenue and had nannies for our children while we went out day drinking. I used a tenth of my Plimpton Prize money on this lovely day in New York and that felt like a worthy recipient of my prize money.

When Stacey left, Jackson flew back to secure the book deal with Penguin and because I couldn't think of calling it anything else, I finally officially named it LA Times. It was weird to pitch a book that felt so far removed from that time in my life considering how much material I had written since then but perhaps that's why I was able to do it. 

I didn't tell anyone about it, except Jackson, obviously, and Opal. She came to New York and the three of us went out to a series of restaurants and clubs and shared my apartment for nearly the whole month of July because it seemed like a fun thing to do. Opal and I shared my bed and Jackson slept on the couch, which I suddenly found out was a pull-out. Alex must have purchased that one. Then, I felt like I was in Sex & the City. Or maybe Girls. I certainly felt like a Hannah and Opal seemed like a Marnie, or maybe a Jessa, but both in a good way. I hope.

A heat wave passed through at the time that seemed never-ending. My AC was shit so we didn't spend much time in the apartment. We went out for lunch at a place in Brooklyn where the AC had superpowers with how strong it was but the food never got cold. It was magical.

"I think you should call him," Opal said over her salad. The topic of Alex had been a tricky one. Sometimes, Opal and I stayed up nights talking about it, other times I shunned it. "I know he'll be happy."

I wiped my face with my napkin. Jackson sat there awkwardly. "I know he will be. That's not the problem."

"The reason why you're so bent out of shape over it is because you know it'll feel real once you tell him. You want to avoid that for as long as possible." In another life, Opal was a therapist. In this one, she was the type of girl to shove stones up her vagina for healing powers. She claims this very proudly.

"I'll do it in time."

"Do it before the book comes out."

I was never alone much—that was my excuse for not calling. But it played on my mind as to why I avoided it so much. I know a part of me wished to do it in person. To be able to jump on the bed with him and dance around with such excitement that it seemed nothing could ever be bad. I also knew that wouldn't be a reality.

So, that night I went up onto the apartment's roof and smoked one cigarette before calling him. Then, I lit up another one while the phone was ringing. He was somewhere in South Korea. I knew that much.

"Hello," he said.

"Hi," I said.

"Hey. How you doing?" He was drunk. Not far gone, but lost to the sauce.

"I'm okay. How are you?" I debated putting off the news and telling him when he was in a more sober state but I knew it would be easier to tell him in this loose goose fashion.

"Good. Good. Hold on a sec." The noise diffused as he seemed to walk to a quieter place. I debated making a joke about partying but that felt too petty and snarky. The noise became muffled when he spoke again. "Sorry. Hi. Can you hear me?"

His tone was granular, inducing me to laugh. "Yeah. Yeah. I can hear you."

"You okay?" His concern was overt. I wondered how many times he had been anxious over me as if he pictured me in some alley with a needle hanging out of my arm.

"Yeah. Fine." I picked at the straying denim thread of my shorts. "I just had something to tell you."

"Yeah?"

It was out with it, at least that felt proper, even if it felt unnatural to relay the news to him this way. "Penguin picked up my book."

Silence rang on the other end and I thought the call had gotten disconnected. He cleared his voice and said, "You know, I knew it. You're a writer, Janie."

The dam broke and the water was let loose from my eyes. I was determined for it to not be overheard, but it was clear in my voice. He never commented on it as I never commented on his elongated silences. We both knew what it meant. "I'll buy you a nice car or something with the money."

"Nah. Just get me a signed copy."

"You'll get the first one."

I dedicated the book to him. He wouldn't see it for another year but I wrote it down that night. For the one who said, "You're a writer, Janie."

*

Alex called me a few days later. This time I was at a bar and excused myself for a smoke. It was the last day of July and it felt like the final day of the heat wave, even if more humidity was to come.

He was rough on the phone. His voice, his attitude, the way I pictured him running his hands through his hair, ripping at the roots of it. "Hey. What are you doing?" He asked.

"Just hanging out with some friends," I answered. "You?"

He took a heavy sigh and coughed once. He was smoking, I could tell. "I feel a little stupid, to be honest."

"Why?"

He waited, likely taking a drag and hanging with a deep thought. I nearly fell over when he said, "I, uh, just had sex with someone. Sorry if that's weird."

It was weird, not him doing it. Obviously, I had gotten up to my own business, but I don't know the decorum of calling your on-a-break girlfriend to let her know you fucked someone else. Still, I said, "No, I mean...well, I just." I struggled with how to respond. "Is there a reason you called me to tell me?"

He laughed. "'Cause I'm a soppy idiot, I guess."

"How so?"

"You know." I could hear him shift, either standing up or sitting down. The wind whistled around him. I wondered if he was outside while the girl he slept with was still in bed. I wondered how weird this was for her. "I've never..."

"You can't fake that you're a virgin when we met Alex," I joked.

He chuckled, coughing on something again. "Yeah, but I, uh, haven't done that with someone else in like seven years." He laughed through it awkwardly, not an ounce of him found it to be funny.

"Not even when we were broken up?"

"No." God, I really was a slag, slut, and a whore. Or maybe I was just normal and he was some modest conservative boy. "Well, I got a blowjob once."

"Hooker?"

"Very funny," he said dryly. "Anyway, I was smoking and thinking, you know, doing my worst. I guess, my impulses took over."

"Are we going to have phone sex now?" I quipped.

"Shut up," he chuckled. Something else happened around him that I wasn't able to catch. A moment later he said, "Thanks for listening. I'll, uh, talk to you soon."

"Okay. Sure."

*

Alex cut his hair in August. I received this news over Twitter and a text from Opal, who had just returned to Los Angeles. It was quite dramatic. No longer the kind of haircut down in a bathtub. I debated texting him about it but I didn't want him to think I was stalking him on the internet. I very much was, it was a lonely Tuesday night where I drank too much wine at dinner with Jackson (still celebrating).

However, this then caused me to make the mistake that I then had to do something drastic with my hair. Big mistake. Huge. The following night, I enlisted Tasha's help to dye my hair blonde. My hair...did not come out blonde. It was frizzy. It was orange. I nearly decided to just shave all my hair off if not for Tasha calming me down by having us watch Curb Your Enthusiasm. 

Most dreadful thing was having to go to work the next day. I thought about putting a bag over my head. I thought about taking off work. I thought about quitting my job. I thought about taking my head off. I sent a picture to Opal, my yes-man cheerleader, who told me it looked great and wacky and I should just own it. I wore it in a low bun with a hat on and took one step out the door before deciding to call in sick to work.

I made an emergency call to my hair salon, which didn't have anything available until Monday morning. So I faked a long sickness, which in a way was a real sickness because I just sat on the couch watching TV and ordering take-out for 4 days. The only time I went outside was to smoke on the roof, which I stopped doing after my neighbor saw me and gave me a strange look, likely thinking I had just escaped the institution. 

Monday morning, my hair stylist said to me, "You know, blonde just isn't your colour. You're too pale, it washes you out."

I melodramatically dived my head into my hands and said, "I know. I'm so stupid!"

"We could take you back to brown or we could...?" That dot dot dot seemed more appealing to me than going back to my old self, especially after staring at Bozo the Clown for the past few days. So, I went red, well, a coppery red. Tasha said I was a penny. It wasn't as good as my natural colour, I think I was blessed with the colour I was supposed to be. But if I was spiraling I'd like to associate it with a different version of myself.

It took all of this for me to realize that if I had stressed so much about changing my hair that maybe, just maybe, Alex's haircut wasn't to look cool for all the hot new babes. It was maybe to look cool for me.

Then, he got a new girlfriend.

I didn't know anything about her. She was tall, brunette, skinny with a cool name. I wouldn't label my feelings to be jealousy, maybe a little, but it was more like she had taken my toy on the playground and I had no chance of getting it back. 

I wouldn't even go into my preconceived notions of what "being on a break" meant to me because then we'd be getting into a whole Ross and Rachel debate that I'm just not up for. What was the difference between sleeping with people and dating people? There was one thing: Alex and I were now exes. We could call ourselves friends as much as we wanted but above all else the way the world would label us was the ex-girlfriend of Alex Turner and the ex-boyfriend of Jane Cavendish. 

I thought about being rash and going out to troll the streets until I got a boyfriend too but the logical part of my brain finally kicked in (frontal lobe development) and realized the whole reason why I wanted a break from Alex was that work and the extracurricular activities that came along with it were too much to maintain a relationship, especially since Alex had been my only long term relationship. To dive myself into anything but casual at that point felt reckless.

Instead, I focused on work, the book, and my friends. All three felt more valuable at that moment than some guy. I had balanced around friend groups since Barnsley and for the first time since I felt settled with friends I could call at the drop of a hat. I made Fennel and Kaka my emergency contacts. Tasha was who I went to if I wanted chaos. Opal was for sage advice. Jackson was my literary consultant. 

It made me laugh but I quite liked how grown I was. I flip-flopped a lot. I was also 25 so it made sense. I told Stacey this when she and her boyfriend broke up. She said it was stupid and then cried about how much she missed me. Cavendishes produce quite dramatic women.

*

The next time Alex came to town, I didn't avoid it. My life had intertwined itself in tight, deep fashions that there was never a possibility of me not seeing the band live. It would be weird to miss out on this tour, especially when we had established and fostered that we would remain friends. Whether growth or distance, I didn't have mixed emotions about this. I was quite excited for the concert.

Thank god I didn't miss it because it might be the wildest show of theirs I ever attended. It felt like the old days back when we were beneath the boardwalk or stuck in someone's basement and people were sweaty and climbing all over each other, including the band themselves. The venue was in Brooklyn, Music Hall of Williamsburg, a venue that only held 650 people, possibly the smallest venue I had seen them in since the pre-debut days. 

I took Jackson and Opal with me, who hadn't specifically come out for this show since Jackson practically lived with me since the book deal began and Opal had been trying to convince herself of ways not to move out to New York. However, I didn't want to go alone and Fennel's and Kaka's scene wasn't exactly a rock concert and Tasha didn't want to bring back bad memories. We made the wise decision to smoke a joint before going into the venue. 

I told Alex on the phone a few days before that I was going and he was happy about it but that was about it. I texted Matt and he was quite excited for me to meet his new girlfriend, Breana. I did think there was a possibility I would meet other girlfriends too.

The show started decently normal. They opened with "Pretty Visitors," they did "Fluorescent Adolescent," and then things seemed to unravel around "Brianstorm" when a girl climbed on stage and began dancing. I have found this to be the greatest way to interfere with a show. 

There's always the weirdos who climb on stage to try and hug or kiss the artist, but she simply climbed up on stage and started jamming out. I shun them for taking her off and interrupting her fun. She was quite the entertainment. They could use all the help they needed. 

During "The View From the Afternoon," Matt missed his beloved signature drumstick throw and catch, likely due to Alex trying to intercept it. Neither men seemed so macho anymore. However, Alex then jumped off Matt's drum set in an attempt to gain some bravado back.

I suppose the point I should be commenting on the most is Alex singing his new girlfriend's name in a song presumably written about me, however, I didn't notice it. I noticed Jamie screwing up his guitar solo after this. Maybe that shielded me from the bullet but I think even if I had noticed I wouldn't have cared much. 

Because there's something odd about Alex doing that at a show that I attended. I mean, she was there too, but I don't think that's why he did that. Maybe I'm being too self-centered to think he wanted to make it a point that he had moved on but I already knew that he had moved on and I was passed sobbing over it. 

Nothing I did could change it now, in fact, I was part of the reason why they were together now. If I hadn't implemented the break then the song would have had a far different outcome but I don't know how Jane sounds in a song. Pain, rain, strange, vain. They aren't very pleasant words and she had a nice name for an elongated note instead of "oh-oh-oh." Plus, I mean, the song was written about me, right?

In any case, after the show, I met up with them backstage. It was a small area for a small venue, close proximity to everyone. Alex and his new beau, Arielle, were off somewhere else while I got introduced to Breana and teased about my new hair. I then got paranoid about the fact that Alex would think I copied him somehow but considering how much I constantly talked about changing my hair, I realized that the alarm bells should be raised with him and not me. I very well could have done it before his haircut and he would have been none the wiser.

It was the first thing he commented on when I saw him. He was casually dressed with his leather jacket slung over his arm. The hair was slicked back but the front fell at different angles after the intensity of the show. He made a sound along the lines of "Woah" before saying, "Almost didn't recognize you there." His arms hugged around me and I was determined for no one to think of this interaction as awkward.

"Could say the same thing to you," I countered. 

He chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck. "Suppose so." He waved to Jackson and Opal and I could spot the conflicting pull he had about whether to introduce me to Arielle or not. But if we were going to be friends he'd have to introduce the girl on his arm. "This is Arielle."

She hugged me. She was delightful and bubbly and her hair colour looked too similar to mine. I worried that I had made things awkward for her but she either paid no mind to me or was in the same boat as me to combat any tensions. "Jane," she said so lovingly, "I've read some of your work. Alex told me you have a book coming out. That's awesome!"

I wonder if she had cyber-stalked me like I had cyber-stalked her. Did she get a subscription to the New Yorker to read my pieces like I had downloaded Vine to watch her? Should I have complimented her Vines? Is that a thing you do? 

"Thank you." Deflecting attention away from me was key. I turned to Jackson and Opal. "These are my friends, Jackson, who is my book agent, and Opal, who introduced me to him."

They greeted one another and Arielle asked some questions about what Opal did for a living and what it meant to be a book agent. I stared at Alex. Not in that cumbersome longing way or flirtatiously. He smiled at me and I smiled at him. My lips nearly felt the urge to mouth if he wanted to step out for a smoke for me but I figured I wasn't in a position to do that anymore. 

But he moved to the other side of Arielle to get closer to me and asked, "What did you think?"

"Of what?" I thought he was asking what I thought of Arielle.

"Of the show?" He chuckled when saying it like he already knew what my answer would be.

There was no shrugging off this show or promising a more detailed review later, it was clear. "It was maybe the best thing I've ever seen and it had nothing to do with you guys at all."

He cracked a laugh and I joined him in it. "Yeah, we're thinking of bringing her out for all the shows," he said, referring to the stage climber. "How's the book coming along?"

"It'll be coming out in June. We finalized the book cover last week." It wasn't big and fancy. It was actually quite similar to the Suck It and See album cover with it being mainly just text. Although, my font was better than his font. Jackson wanted to put palm trees on the cover but I didn't like that. It felt too cheesy.

"Your author photo taken?" He knew how much I stressed about that. I found most author photos to be ugly and was determined for mine to not resemble my primary school picture day photo.

I slapped my palm to my forehead. "Don't remind me. I'll probably break out into hives while it's being taken."

"You worry too much," he chastised me. "You'll be beautiful in whatever photo you end up with. It's about the book anyway and you already know that's great."

I smiled but didn't thank him for how much that meant to me. I'm not sure what everyone did after that, I think they went for drinks, but there was no invitation to hang out after the show. Opal, Jackson, and I went home. 

When we said goodbye, I kissed everyone on the cheek. I wondered if that was too much. A lip gloss stain on the side of Alex's cheek from me.

*

a/n: i wrote the majority of this today and yesterday in random bursts of creativity while being sick. maybe being sick was key all along.

[sillypenguinwitch]

isaac's books in heartstopper s2

episode 1:

Tillie Walden: I Love This Part

Faridah Àbíké-Íyímídé: Ace of Spades

episode 2:

Nina LaCour: We Are Okay

Oscar Wilde: The Importance of Being Earnest

episode 3:

Ocean Vuong: Night Sky with Exit Wounds (the one he is carrying under his arm, I'm assuming that's his and not for the display?)

has read: Ritch C. Savin-Williams: Bi: Bisexual, Pansexual, Fluid, and Nonbinary Youth

Emily Henry: Book Lovers

episode 4:

Victor Hugo: Les Misérables

Antoine De Saint-Exupéry: The Little Prince

Kate Chopin: The Awakening

Nina LaCour: We Are Okay (again)

episode 5:

Albert Camus: The Outsider

episode 6:

Martin Handford: Where's Wally? The Great Picture Hunt

Meredith Russo: Birthday

Jules Verne: Around the World in Eighty Days

Sara Pennypacker: Pax Anne Berest, Audrey Diwan, Caroline de Maigret, Sophie Mas: How to Be Parisian Wherever You Are ? ? ? Damian Dibben: The Color Storm Alice Oseman: Loveless Susan Stokes-Chapman: Pandora Katy Hessel: The Story of Art Without Men ? Evelyn Waugh: Rossetti Arthur Conan Doyle: The Hound of the Baskervilles A.O. Scott: Better Living Through Criticism ?: Then We Came to an End (?) Ruth Millington: Muse Dr. Jaqui Lewis: Fierce Love Charlotte Van Den Broek: Bold Ventures - Thirteen Tales of Architectural Tragedy ?

Richard Siken: Crush

episode 7:

Garrard Conley: Boy Erased

George Matthew Johnson: All Boys Aren't Blue

Samra Habib: We Have Always Been Here

episode 8:

Akemi Dawn Bowman: Summer Bird Blue

Angela Chen: Ace

bonus:

Truham school library pride display (seen in ep. 3 and 8):

top to bottom, left to right: Angela Chen: Ace Andrew Holleran: The Kingdom of Sand Mary Jean Chan and Andrew McMillan: 100 Queer Poems Scott Stuart: My Shadow Is Pink Lotte Jeffs: My Magic Family Tucker Shaw: When You Call My Name Ritch C. Savin-Williams: Bi - Pansexual, Fluid, Nonbinary and Fluid Youth Alok Vaid-Menon: Beyond the Gender Binary George M. Johnson: All Boys Aren’t Blue Mason Deaver: I Wish You All the Best Alex Gino: George Melissa

on top of shelves (left to right): Kevin Van Whye: Nate Plus One Xixi Tian: This Place is Still Beautiful Becky Albertalli: Leah on the Offbeat Mya-Rose Craig: Birdgirl Bernardine Evaristo: Girl, Woman, Other Connie Glynn: Princess Ever After Saundra Mitchell: The Prom

Charlie's choice at Shakespeare and Co (ep. 6): Allan Hollinghurst: The Swimming Pool Library

That's it for now.

Sorry about the ones i couldn't identify and sorry if i missed any! Might try and do some of the ones in Isaac's room later but that'll take a minute

[shake-your-money-maker]

“If I was sure of anything . . . it was that I would never see Vietnam, much less Rome. My childhood dream was to travel, but I’d given up on that. And I was comfortable with the fact that, well, this is how it’s going to be. I had had a lot of hard times, so that I was gainfully employed and healthy at 44 was sort of a shock to me. I was just glad to be alive.

I’m not going to delude myself about what I could have been. I’m sure that at no point in my life could I ever have shown the kind of focus and discipline and commitment necessary to work a station at elBulli or Le Bernardin. No. That ain’t me.”

–Anthony Bourdain

[nominzn]

buy me presents I

I've been a bad girl, guess I'm getting coal m.list

Uma rotina simples: acordar cedo num quarto glorioso com o chef tendo feito o seu café da manhã, ir à academia para compor a estética mais desejável do momento, depois ponderar sobre algo que precisa ter e, sem medo algum, passar o cartão de crédito sem limites que seu pai lhe dera. Para melhorar, talvez uma visita rápida ao namorado vice-presidente a empresa que lhe será herança em breve, fechando com chave de ouro em um dos restaurantes mais caros da cidade, ou com um jantar espetacular e privado preparado pelo mesmo chef da manhã. Parece a descrição de uma vida impossível, porém esta é a sua agenda. 

Para quem te visse comprando itens de luxo, exibindo carros que mal sabiam pronunciar o nome, acumulando riqueza para a família, ajudando nos imóveis do papai, seria fácil dizer que nada lhe falta, e não teria razão alguma para sentir tristeza. E você, sem pestanejar, concordaria com afinco. Reconhece ter uma vida perfeita, tudo conspira a seu favor. 

Até que… 

As sacolas deviam ter ficado no carro, mas estão espalhadas no sofá de couro pequeno no canto do escritório de Jaehyun, esquecidas, é claro. As mãos masculinas tão graciosamente acariciam seu rosto macio entre o beijo lento e saudoso que mal te dão permissão para pensar em qualquer outra coisa senão este homem que te abriga sobre as próprias pernas.

Com o sorrisinho confiante enfeitando o canto dos lábios, Jaehyun interrompe o beijo apenas para anunciar a pista que você vinha esperando há meses — tudo já estava preparado para o momento. 

— Tenho uma surpresa, amor. — Jaehyun quase sussurra, sedutor e carinhoso, apertando de leve sua pele exposta um pouco acima do joelho. — Fiz uma reserva no Le Bernardin pra sexta. 

— Le Bernardin? — ao repetir o nome do recinto, seu rosto se ilumina ainda mais, contagiando o namorado. — Não tava completamente lotado até Junho? 

— Sim. Mas… — Jae move seu cabelo para trás do ombro, marcando o contorno dos lábios ali. — Seu namorado tem contatos, amorzinho. — ele solta um pouco de ar pelo nariz, orgulhoso de si mesmo. 

— Amor! — suas mãos vão até a boca para conter um gritinho eufórico. — Alguma ocasião especial?

Sua especialidade: sondar, fingindo-se de boba. Não é óbvio? 

— Você é minha ocasião especial, linda. 

Está aí, finalmente, o que lhe faltava. O pedido de casamento. 

Depois daquele dia de meio da semana, correu para fazer as unhas novamente, voltando ao salão apenas três dias depois da última vez. O cabelo também mereceu atenção: retocou as mechas e já aproveitou para deixar marcado um full blowout à domicílio na sexta-feira. 

Um Versace nunca lhe caíra tão bem, as costureiras ajustaram milimetricamente para abraçar suas curvas e deixá-la não menos do que perfeita.

Pela manhã do tão aguardado dia, a esteticista relaxou todos os músculos tensos de seu corpo e limpou a pele impecável à um nível de excelência incomparável. Fora preparada quase completamente por outras pessoas, no entanto a maquiagem sempre acabava em suas mãos. Lâncome, Dior, Yves Saint Laurent, Elizabeth Arden… seu rosto facilmente valeria mais do que um salário comum. 

Jaehyun chega num Rolls-Royce Spectre, o quinto favorito de sua coleção. Como sempre, vai até você, abre a porta do carro, não sem antes deixar um beijo apaixonado nos seus lábios e te banhar de elogios. Ele parece mais alegre, e você confirma: está acontecendo mesmo. 

No restaurante, a mesa é privada, a mais requisitada. Definitivamente alguém teve sua reserva deixada de lado por causa do pedido de Jaehyun, mas não dá tempo de sentir remorso. O luxo cobre desde as entradas até a sobremesa, transbordando na garrafa de vinho mais valiosa da coleção do Sr. Jung, pai de seu namorado. 

— Sua época favorita chegou. — Jaehyun engata noutro tópico após te fazer rir com uma história boba do último evento de negócios fora da cidade. — Have yourself a merry little Christmas… — a voz aveludada cantarola o primeiro verso da sua canção mais querida, e você sorri docemente para o namorado. 

— Tudo fica mais especial no Natal. — insiste no argumento antigo, fazendo-o revirar os olhos de brincadeira. Não vê nada diferente na data. — É sério! A neve, as decorações, tudo fica mais aconchegante, as bebidas nas cafeterias, os presentes, o espírito de união… 

— Você é tão linda, sabia? 

É agora. Meu Deus. 

Jaehyun sinaliza ao garçom no canto do cômodo o pedido para que se aproximasse. De forma discreta entrega o meio de pagamento e, assim que o outro se vai, ele entrelaça a mão na sua, alcançando-a entre o pequeno vaso de tulipas. 

— Nossa noite foi muito especial, amor. — ele diz, arrancando um sorriso exultante dos seus lábios. 

Espera que ele continue, talvez faça um pequeno discurso sobre o lindo amor que sentem, e… Nada. Simplesmente lhe devolvem o cartão, e ele se levanta para ir te ajudar a fazer o mesmo. 

Sem que conseguisse esconder, uma confusão e decepção se espalham pelo seu sangue. A expressão triste persiste no trajeto de volta no carro, o que o homem percebe apenas ao chegar em frente à mansão — você quase saiu sem se despedir, pior ainda, não permitiu que abrisse a porta, como é costume. 

— O que houve, princesa? Algo de errado nessa cabecinha? 

A genuína curiosidade te pega completamente desprevenida. As palavras ecoando em sua mente não são capazes de sair, só consegue encará-lo com o cenho franzido enquanto respira fundo para não denunciar a raiva. Afinal, suas expectativas, sua culpa. 

— É que… — quebra o silêncio após alguns instantes. — Eu esperava uma coisa e… Nossa. É melhor deixar pra lá, Jae. Eu bebi um pouco. 

É isso, põe a culpa nas duas taças de vinho e segue em frente.

Jaehyun ri. Começa baixo, mas logo toma uma proporção maior. Ele apoia a cabeça no volante, o rosto se torna rosa quando o ar lhe é escasso. Incrédula, quase perdida, você o fita com a pele borbulhando. 

— Você achou que eu fosse te pedir em casamento hoje? Eu devia ter imaginado, você tá mais produzida do que o normal. — ele suspira, secando as lágrimas e superando os resquícios da risada. — Me desculpa, amor, mas assim… ainda não. Né? 

Os olhos em meia lua voltam ao seu estado sério ao perceber que quem tinha lágrimas umedecendo as pálpebras é você, e por razões muito opostas. Nunca havia se sentido pequena assim diante de ninguém, poderia arriscar dizer que até se sente humilhada. 

— Eu acho melhor a gente dar um tempo. 

Foi tudo que conseguiu dizer antes de disparar para fora do veículo, direto para o seu quarto. A sorte é que seus pais também haviam saído, então apenas um dos seguranças e uma das empregadas da noite viram seu estado. 

Nos dias seguintes, as muitas ligações de Jae foram ignoradas. Tentou viver a rotina normalmente, mas a saudade e a decepção atormentavam seus pensamentos todo segundo. Não aguentou muito tempo e contou tudo para sua mãe, que doce como só, se compadeceu do drama que lhe afligia. 

“Nós vamos passar o Natal longe daqui, hm? Será bom, e você vai pensar em como resolver isso.” 

Uma pequena viagem para a fazenda dos tios foi programada de última hora para que você pudesse espairecer perto da natureza, longe do ritmo glamouroso da cidade. Não era lá bem uma ótima solução, e ainda assim, foi o melhor que puderam fazer. Além do mais, há anos vocês não visitavam a família no final de ano, será como solucionar dois problemas de uma só vez. 

Para Jaehyun, a situação toda não passa de um pequeno desentendimento. Uma hora ou outra você pediria para voltar.

[n1na-l3vich]

les mis and Ninety-Three are connected and this totally influences the fate of the characters!

Guys, please read this entire theory! EVERY detail is important! First of all, you need to know that Ninety-Three was Victor Hugo's last book, so he already had access to ALL the references present in the previous books! the character Gauvain has similarities with the character Enjolras, Michelle has similarities with Fantine and Cimourdain has similarities with Javert!

the book Ninety-Three was CREATED TO BE PART OF A TRILOGY THAT INCLUDED THE MAN WHO LAUGHED AND ANOTHER BOOK that was never written! The preface of The Man Who Laughs announces the future release of Ninety-Three!

L’HOMME QUI RIT

De l’Angleterre tout est grand, même ce qui n’est pas bon, même l’oligarchie. Le patriciat anglais, c’est le patriciat dans le sens absolu du mot. Pas de féodalité plus illustre, plus terrible et plus vivace. Disons-le, cette féodalité a été utile à ses heures. C’est en Angleterre que ce phénomène, la Seigneurie, veut être étudié, de même que c’est en France qu’il faut étudier ce phénomène, la Royauté. Le vrai titre de ce livre serait l’Aristocratie. Un autre livre, qui suivra, pourra être intitulé la Monarchie. Et ces deux livres, s’il est donné à l’auteur d’achever ce travail, en précéderont et en amèneront un autre qui sera intitulé: Quatrevingt-treize. Hauteville-House, 1869.

it is necessary to know Victor Hugo's lover: Julienne Josephine GAUVAIN, also known as Juliette Drouet! YES, she inspired the name of the noble family featured in the book Ninety-Three!

Now check this out! I'M SURE you'll be impressed

Les miserables vol 2 cosette book sixth - Le petit picpus chapter VII- some silhouettes of this darkness

The most esteemed among the vocal mothers were Mother Sainte-Honorine; the treasurer, Mother Sainte-Gertrude, the chief mistress of the novices; Mother-Saint-Ange, the assistant mistress; Mother Annonciation, the sacristan; Mother Saint-Augustin, the nurse, the only one in the convent who was malicious; then Mother Sainte-Mechtilde (Mademoiselle GAUVAIN), very young and with a beautiful voice; Mother des Anges (Mademoiselle Drouet), who had been in the convent of the Filles-Dieu, and in the convent du Trésor, between Gisors and Magny; Mother Saint-Joseph (Mademoiselle de Cogolludo), Mother Sainte-Adélaide (Mademoiselle d’Auverney), Mother Miséricorde (Mademoiselle de Cifuentes, who could not resist austerities), Mother Compassion (Mademoiselle de la Miltière, received at the age of sixty in defiance of the rule, and very wealthy); Mother Providence (Mademoiselle de Laudinière), Mother Présentation (Mademoiselle de Siguenza), who was prioress in 1847; and finally, Mother Sainte-Céligne (sister of the sculptor Ceracchi), who went mad; Mother Sainte-Chantal (Mademoiselle de Suzon), who went mad.

This nun with the surname Gauvain will be mentioned again! (did you notice that she has a small highlight?)

les miserables volume iv Saint Denis book fourth succor from below may turn out to be succor from on high chapter i A wound without, healing within

Sister Sainte-Mechtilde had taught Cosette music in the convent; Cosette had the voice of a linnet with a soul, and sometimes, in the evening, in the wounded man’s humble abode, she warbled melancholy songs which delighted Jean Valjean.

You might think it was just a tribute from Victor Hugo to his beloved, but what if I told you that it makes sense that this nun is related to two characters present in Victor Hugo's last book!

Les miserables volume ii cosette book sixth— le petit-picpus chapter III— austerities

One is a postulant for two years at least, often for four; a novice for four. It is rare that the definitive vows can be pronounced earlier than the age of twenty-three or twenty-four years. The Bernardines-Benedictines of Martin Verga do not admit widows to their order.

This shows that she is not a Gauvain through marriage but rather a Gauvain by birth! To be a Gauvain by birth she needs a Gauvain father! So her father is either the Viscount Gauvain or the Marquis de Lantenac!

Gauvain était-il amoureux ? Oui. De miséricorde. Faire grâce était son idéal. Pas de femme. Il semblait qu’il n’eût qu’une pensée dans ces temps terribles : attendrir la guerre civile

This deleted scene shows that Gauvain could only have married due to social pressure!

Being Gauvain's daughter, the nun could be at least 30 years old during the events of Les Misérables, it turns out that Victor Hugo describes her as very young, “her father” Gauvain is also described as young at that age…

In this part of the book Ninety-Three! we see that Lantenac has several candidates for his wife!

C’était un homme à femmes avant d’être un homme de guerre.

Remember that men can be fathers at any age! Check out the list of the oldest fathers in history! remember that Lantenac needed an heir after what happened to Gauvain!

Whether he was a father or not, Lantenac knew this girl! AND HE LIVED AT PETIT PICPUS! Yes! I'll show you how sure I am of that!

Les miserables volume ii Cosette book eighth— cemeteries take that which is committed them chapter IX—CLOISTERED

The walls of this chamber had for ornament, in addition to the two nails whereon to hang the knee-cap and the basket, a Royalist bank-note of ’93, applied to the wall over the chimney-piece, and of which the following is an exact facsimile:—

This specimen of Vendean paper money had been nailed to the wall by the preceding gardener, an old Chouan, who had died in the convent, and whose place Fauchelevent had taken.

Yes, the nuns know about Lantenac's past… and did you know that they paid homage to him when choosing Mademoiselle Gauvain's name as a nun? Saint Mechtilde was a saint known for her musical talents and her relationship with the Sacred Heart and Jesus (Chouan symbol)

I'm reading an excellent book by a Pullitzer Prize winner: The Black Count: Glory, Revolution, Betrayal, and the Real Count of Monte Cristo! I LOVE Alexandre Dumas and I think everyone should read his books and get to know his works! I think these excerpts from the book justify the nuns' view

I started researching the Vendee War and both books after reading this biography about Alexandre Dumas' father!

In your opinion, who is this nun's father?

so there are two options: she is the daughter of the Marquis de Lantenac and second cousin of Gauvain or she is the daughter of Gauvain and the Marquis is her arrière-grand-oncle (I don't speak French so correct me if I'm wrong!)

[acourtofthought]

It's odd that E/riels can admit to Elain's love of flowers and gardening and her penchant for sunshine (since they love the Light / Dark aesthetic for their ship) while claiming she'll be happiest remaining in the Night Court because it too has gardens and sunny days.

That's like telling a Michelin awarded chef they can be just as happy working in an Olive Garden as Le Bernardin because they both have food.

There's a reason SJM included "Outside of these borders, the rest of the world celebrates tomorrow as Nynsar - the Day of Seeds and Flowers" but that only in the Night Court they celebrate Starfall in lieu of the Nynsar revelry.

Does someone truly believe Elain would enjoy Starfall more than a day to celebrate something that is near and dear to her?

There's a reason we know that the gardens in Spring (and not the Night Court) would cause Elain to marvel and weep. That Nesta tells us that the Spring Court and not the Night Court had been "made" for someone like her.

Sure the Night Court has it's own gardens but clearly nothing to write home about since they aren't mentioned as anything special.

And it's in ACOMAF (the same book that SJM mated Elucien) that we're told the Day Court (and Winter) consider Solstice their holiest holiday, where they not only celebrate in the evening with presents, dancing and drinking in honor of the old sun's death but a second celebration at the dawn to welcome the sun's rebirth. That is followed up in ACOWAR by Elain telling Nesta she needs sunshine.

Solstice is meaningful to the Night Court as well but they only celebrate in the evening with "presents, music and food, sometimes feasting under the starlight". Nuala confirms that none of them go to the ceremony to celebrate the lights rebirth.

So yeah.

The Night Court has sunshine but they're not known for it (sort of like Alaska isn't known for it's sunshine in the same way Hawaii is).

The Night Court has gardens but they're not known for them in the way Spring is.

The Night Court celebrates Solstice but not to celebrate the sun's rebirth.

The Night Court doesn't seem all that interested in Nynsar, the festival for seeds and flowers, preferring to instead focus on Starfall.

But some still feel the Night Court is the right place for someone who needs sunshine, loves beautiful gardens, and would probably adore a festival like Nynsar?

[taumont]

My list of books I wish to have read by the end of the year:

Quiet Days in Clichy -- Henry Miller

La petite vertu -- James Hadley Chase

Breakfast of Champions -- Kurt Vonnegut Jr.

Call at Corazon -- Paul Bowles

Solaris -- Stanislaw Lem

Slaughterhouse-Five -- Kurt Vonnegut Jr.

The Savage Detectives -- Roberto Bolano

La Boutique Obscure: 124 Dreams -- Georges Perec

Mon corps pour me guérir: décodage psychobiologique des maladies -- Christian Flèche

A Joseph Campbell Companion: Reflections on the Art of Living -- Joseph Campbell

Speak, Memory -- Vladimir Nabokov

Supreme Influence: Change Your Life with the Power of the Language You Use -- Niurka

The Journey and the Guide: A practical course in Enlightment -- Maitreyabandhu

Egon Schiele: Drawings and Water-colours -- Egon Schiele, Erwin Mitsch

Taking the Leap: Freeing Ourselves from Old Habits and Fears -- Pema Chodron

Rumi Revealed: Selected Poems from the Divan of Shams -- Rassouli

Confessions of an Art Addict -- Peggy Guggenheim

The Executioner's Song -- Norman Mailer

Drive Your Plow Over the Bones of the Dead -- Olga Tokarczuk

Flights -- Olga Tokarczuk

America -- Jean Baudrillard

Too Much and Not the Mood: Essays -- Durga Chew-Bose

I Had Nowhere to Go -- Jonas Mekas

Francesca Woodman -- Marco Pierini

Yves Klein -- Hannah Weitmeier

Dune (Dune #1) -- Frank Herbert

Oreillers d'herbes -- Natsume Soseki

Les Choses humaines -- Karine Tuil

The Energy of Slaves: Poems -- Leonard Cohen

Selected Writings - Antonin Artaud

The Sisters Brothers -- Patrick deWitt

Pastoralia -- George Saunders

Signs Preceding the End of the World -- Yuri Herrera

Last Train to Memphis: The Rise of Elvis Presley -- Peter Guralnick

Break, Blow, Burn -- Camille Paglia

Voyage au bout de la nuit -- Louis-Ferdinand Céline

Philip K. Dick: In His Own Words -- Philip K. Dick

Autobiography of a Yogi -- Paramahansa Yogananda

A Confederacy of Dunces -- John Kennedy Toole

Babel -- Patti Smith

Keith Haring Journals -- Keith Haring

Foam of the Daze -- Boris Vian

Inherent Vice -- Thomas Pynchon

The Black Power Mixtape 1967-1975 -- Goran Olsso

Le Diable au Corps -- Raymond Radiguet

Bluets -- Maggie Nelson

Girl, Woman, Other -- Bernardine Evaristo

Devenir un ange -- Francesca Woodman

Faithfull: An Autobiography -- Marianne Faithfull

The Master and Margarita -- Mikhail Bulgakov

Eve's Hollywood - Eve Babitz

In Watermelon Sugar -- Richard Brautigan

[hrrtshape]

i want the tea emmaaa 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

✶ the latest report on my shift to my better cr (aka kind of a socialite dr)

◞ when i shifted : for way longer. way, way longer. i blinked and suddenly i had months’ worth of memories. time is fake, time is a performance, time is a dinner party where i am the guest of honour and also the mysterious figure slipping out the back door. the ratio? unknown. inconceivable. i went to sleep and woke up and lived. isn’t that enough? but the present in my better cr is currently the present in here !

◞ where i shifted : still new york, still my mom’s penthouse, still living in a pinterest board except this time i fully leaned into it. every single aesthetic touch, every candle, every casually draped cashmere throw. curated to perfection. we are talking "architectural digest home tour where the interviewer is quietly weeping over how good my taste is" levels of perfection. the google maps situation remains the same: in this reality, my house is a hotel. fate? simulation glitch? the universe keeping me humble? who knows.

◞ family dynamics : my older brother remains a tech bro of the most devastating calibre. the type who makes a billion-dollar deal on his phone in between espresso shots, then immediately gets distracted by an art heist conspiracy theory and disappears for a week. my younger brother (he's weirdly obsessed with filming cars for instagram) continues to reside with my dad in the west village, and their place is basically a salon for the emotionally sophisticated. like, picture cigars (unlit, for aesthetic), first edition books, and a record player that only plays vinyls of people arguing in french. my dad..... still at sotheby’s, still slightly overwhelmed, still one misplaced signature away from an auction-house disaster. my mom is still an empire-builder, still the queen of sugar-free decadence, still able to make a CEO cry in under five minutes. i am so obsessed with her.

◞ my friends : lily-rose remains my ride-or-die. our friendship has transcended words and become something closer to an art form. we communicate through glances, through impeccably timed laughter, through the shared knowledge that we are always, always the main characters. also, blair waldorf is STILL in my life, and i am STILL not over it. she tolerates me, which is the highest form of affection. the gossip girl universe continues to imprint itself onto my reality, and honestly? i welcome it. @chaaistained you're still the light of my life xxxx

◞ loml, coryo : mhm. mhm. mhm. (pause for applause). not writing how just yet, but let’s just say the universe finally got the memo. cutest cutie ever.

◞ food : the cafes remain exquisite. the hazelnut croissants remain life-altering. i have officially become one with my iced matcha. my bloodstream is no longer soy milk; it is pure, concentrated vibes. best meal.... one night my mum and i booked out an entire restaurant just to have a private dinner and discuss our enemies. just mother-daughter bonding things. le bernardin continues to serve food so good i nearly cried. and, of course, because i went to paris, we gorged on croissants.

◞ outfits : i wake up. my closet, endless. my options, infinite. every single piece of clothing i have ever wanted? there. there were DAYS i changed outfits purely because i could. there were NIGHTS i sat in front of my floor-length mirror, trying on silk dresses and whispering, "what’s the move tonight?" even if there was no move. just the illusion of one.

◞ school : st. lazarus remains the most iconic institution to ever exist. the uniforms are still perfect. the hierarchy is still thrilling. my classes are as follows !!! :

philosophy : my professor has officially lost his grip on reality. i am his nemesis and also his favourite student. i say things just to watch him spiral. it’s a sport. history : the battlefield. coryo is writing my history IA. i am having the time of my life. literature : divine. ethereal. my professor respects me too much. maths : a struggle but at least my notes look nice. but i did script that i atleast understand what's happening.

◞ social scene : parties, parties, PARTIES. penthouses, rooftops, spontaneous trips. people draped over velvet sofas, half-drunk champagne glasses abandoned on marble countertops. whispered secrets. dramatic exits. nights that felt like music videos.

◞ unforgettable moments : celebrated my younger brother’s 15th birthday. f1-themed, obviously, because he’s still in his karting prodigy era. the cake was a racetrack. the vibe was grand prix meets family sitcom. the whole paris trip. somewhere in the mix: a snowstorm, a museum date, a night spent on the roof because the city looked too beautiful to go inside. got recognised at least once in public. tried a new restaurant where the shakshuka made me question my entire existence. there were art gallery openings where the champagne was free-flowing and the conversations were like a linguistic fencing match. sunday brunches that spiraled into entire days out. afternoons spent trying on impractical dresses just to twirl in fitting rooms. soft launches of new perfumes (because every era needs a signature scent).

◞ books i read : ulysses (continued). the secret history ( i read it in my cr...but...c'mon. it was time ). a collection of sapphic poetry that made me feel like i was floating.

◞ the details that made it real : the way my pen scratched against my notebook in class. the exact weight of my chloé tote in my hand. the way my breath fogged up the glass of my balcony doors when i pressed my forehead against them in the early morning. the quiet click of my mum’s marc jacobs' boots on marble floors.

◞ oh !!! and christmas !!! : christmas in my better cr was in lithuania, obviously. flew out on the 23rd, spent it with the extended family. my grandma made dubai chocolate (not that kind of dubai chocolate...she lives in karoliniškės, ok). my makeup artist aunt got me a lip tint, very on brand. my one-year-old cousin nora is in her cherubic era. we were besties for the week. played with her nonstop. got my younger brother every f1 lego car in existence. my mum got me archival miu miu. my great-grandma saw me, got sentimental, cried a little, made me eat an ungodly amount of cepelinai. very lithuanian of her. left early, landed at jfk at a stupid hour. 1 am. coryo was there in sweatpants, threw his car at the curb like he was in some noir film, very dramatic, very romantic. nearly tackled me. i was gone for less than a week but he missed me like it had been years. got me presents too. he is so lovesick it’s almost embarrassing.

that’s it for now, lovies. i have MORE, obviously, but let’s pace ourselves. mwah xxxxxxx

[thepastelprince]

Le Bernardin

[halfabird]

Louise Bouteiller (1782-1828), Portrait en pied de Césarine de Houdetot, baronne de Barante, en train de lire le roman Paul et Virginie de Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, 1818

National Gallery of Victoria, Australia

[sanctobin]

La Provence part 2, Marseille & Lourmarin with Anthony Bourdain & Eric Ripert from 3 Michelin star restaurant Le Bernardin in NYC

[fabioperes]

Stelle d'Europa (Colpo Grosso 1989/90) Arriva l'aereo di Colpo Grosso! E quindi la presentazione da parte di Umberto Smaila delle star d'Europa: le ragazze che si sarebbero spogliate in base alle scelte dei concorrenti. Si risconoscono volti come Bernardine, futura Cin Cin, le procaci Kerry Riebel e Amy Charles, modelle come Amanda Forbes, Deborah Vernetti. Una puntata, così a caso, ricca di riferimenti interessanti. via YouTube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5hdivTwrjqA