#Sunny Langston

[froppy-butterflyfan2000]

Valentines’ Day Fanarts of Other People’s Fankids.

Vincent Fenton x Rangi Lee, while Nebula is spreading and promoting love and peace across the supernatural.

Ethan Corduroy asking Evelyn Utonium out on a date.

Raymond Pedrosa giving Sunny Langston a bouquet of roses. Sunny’s best friend and cousin/Raymond’s rival watching this.

Heather Diaz and Lamia Butterfly-Lucitor having a waltz.

Bradley McPherson, Ethan Corduroy, Evelyn Utonium, Nebula Butterfly-Lucitor, Raymond Pedrosa, and Vincent Fenton from the Cappyverse, belong to @ej-cappy-universe

Candy Nguyen, Rangi Lee, and Sunny Langston from the Cappyverse, belong to @cooltmoney95

Heather Diaz and Lamia Ash/Etheria Butterfly-Lucitor from dreamy_artz’s Tomstar Universe, belong to dreamy_artz (Instagram)

[cooltmoney95]

Is Sunny secretly a Death Ball Player just like her mother and aunt back in their days as members of the Derbytantes?

No. My personal dislike for the reboot aside, I just don't see her being interested in a sport like that.

[spidervee]

Just losing myself in the idea of bookshop owner!reader and tangerine. fem!reader; hella cursing; mentions of terminal illness; tan being an angsty boy; possible I might continue this little ditty 🌻🐝 (p.s. taking requests till dec 31)

Tangerine’s not quite feeling himself.

He’s really going through it and slips out of the rain into the first used bookshop he sees. He’s in New York and has never been in this one before, but he likes the way there’s candles burning, even if the first thought he has is “some fuckin’ insurance adjustor prick’s worst fuckin’ nightmare.”

They’ve got a job that night, he and Lemon, and for the first time ever Tangerine is having doubts about the morality of it all. Fuckin’ Tokyo changed him. Made him soft, he thinks, or maybe made him smart. Made him want to get out of the game, he thinks, but what else is there for a bloke like him? A wife? (She’d have to be a bloody saint to deal with the likes of him). Kids? (Little nippers would drive him crazy, he’s certain). A dog? (…actually, that sounded quite nice so long as he’d never have to go John Wick on any bloke, because he wouldn’t hesitate).

For now, Tangerine reasons, he’ll just have to settle on a book.

And he’s idly moving along the shelves, impressed by the small collection of first edition Dickinson and Emerson titles that have been amassed, his fingers hovering reverently over their spines.

Until he sees you—a sweet-looking thing in a floral get-up that’s garishly at odds with the shite weather outdoors, but for some reason he likes it. Even if his first thought, as he watches you reach to replace something on a shelf over your head, is that your hemline might sneak up just a little further, on accident of course, and he might catch a further glimpse of your thighs.

But you bustle away before he can be a lech and as if you haven’t seen him at all.

And so he’s left there with Emily and Ralph and, he notices now, Langston—whom he pulls from the shelf, dust unsettling to dance in the air around him.

Something catches in his chest, then, because he remembers how he first knicked a copy of Hughes’s collected works for the foster mum he and Lemon had lived with when they were twelve. She’d loved poetry—was the closest thing they’d ever had to family besides each other—with her lilting accent and her deep brown eyes. But shit never lasts. Seven months in and she’d sat them down. Told them about that bullshit diagnosis that gave her three more months, tops, and they knew, faces stoic and unmoving even at that tender age, that they’d be shuffled to somewhere else.

In a moment of forgetting himself—or perhaps in a moment of absolute indulgence to his real and baser self—Tangerine slips the book into the front of his suit jacket. Easy doing. He doesn’t rush out, confident in his theft, taking the time to browse a little while longer before he strolls to the front of the shop to leave.

It’s still piss pouring out there and he scoops up the umbrella he left at the door, about to open it when a soft, tentative voice interrupts.

“Sir?”

He should just keep walking. Just step out into the bloody hurricane and disappear into the crowd. But instead, he turns.

And then he’s face-to-face with you.

And there’s something glinting in your eye—some spark of really seeing—that’s a little unnerving coming from someone wearing such a goddamn sunny dress.

And he knows he’s right and truly fucked.

[the-untamed-soul]

I swear the world stays still

A/N: just an idea I have been playing with for the past week. I have not written in over six years so pardon the quality. I am not sure how many parts this will be or when I will update next. I have a few smaller pieces dancing around that may get completed first. 

Pairing: Iceman x Y/N

Music: Jon Langston - When It Comes To Loving You

Rating: Mild cursing but otherwise free of smut

Summary: Y/N is Carole Bradshaw’s younger sister who is a 14N in the United States Air Force. On leave following a grueling deployment, y/n is happy to be with her family and spend time soaking up the sun in California. What Y/N didn’t expect was the instant attraction she felt for Lt. Tom “ICEMAN” Kazansky.

PART I

“Y/N! Y/N! Y/N!” the steady chant broke through a pleasant dream and an excited grip shook the last remnants of sleep from y/n.

“I swear to god you better be dying Carole!” With a voice thick with sleep, y/n looked over at her sister with a tired but exasperated look on her face.

“It’s time! We have an hour to get to the airport! You’re lucky I didn’t send Bradley to come wake you up instead. Now, up you get! Pancakes and sunny California awaits!”

The excited look on her sister’s face caused the anger within y/n to drain away and a slow smile to creep across her face. She couldn’t blame her older sister - it had been months since she had last seen her husband. Now they were just a car ride to the airport and plane ride away from reuniting with her brother-in-law.

“Auntie y/n/n! Huwry up! Momma says I can’t have any pancakes because you’re still in bed!”

It’s going to be a long day she thought before crawling out of bed. “I’m coming gosling! You better not eat my blueberries!”

Y/n couldn’t help the sigh of relief that escaped her lips or the instinctive twist that caused pops to be heard from her back. Despite being all of sixty inches, plane rides were never a comfortable experience. She couldn’t wrap her mind around how Nick could sit in a cockpit for hours. She’d throw in the towel in the first ten minutes of flight.

“Momma do you see him? Is he here yet?” Bradley tugged insistently on Carole’s pants, standing on the tips of toes as he searched for his dad amongst the bustling crowd of people. His scrunched up face of concentration caused y/n to laugh softly before snagging her nephew and placing him on her shoulders. “I may not be the tallest gosling but maybe this will help. Has target been acquired SQUIRT01?”

“Negative SQUIRT02…wait wait! I see him! Auntie! Momma! He’s here!”

The excited squeaks and kicks against her shoulder brought about an eye roll from y/n and a wet laugh from Carole.

“I see him baby. I see him.” Brown eyes met blue before the indistinguishable figure of Lt. Nick “Goose” Bradshaw cut cleanly through the crowd and swept his wife into his arms. “Daddy!” Bradley crowed before he too was snagged from y/n and held tightly against Goose’s chest alongside his mother.

“And so, the flock has reunited” a dry voice commented beside y/n which caused her to glance over at Pete “MAVERICK” Mitchell who had joined in watching the heartwarming scene.

“Isn’t that used for dogs and sheep?” Y/n questioned only to be met with a deadpan stare. “Way to ruin the moment Sprite.”

Y/n immediately smacked the pilot, a scowl gracing her face as she heard the detested nickname. Goose and Maverick had graciously dubbed her Sprite after a disastrous day at the park that included alcohol, an errant tree, glitter and a family sworn to secrecy.

“And to think I missed you. I thought we swore that name was never going to be mentioned again?”

“No. You threatened Goose and I but I distinctly remember no promises being made. Little sisters deserve to be teased. I still think Hobgob-“

“Pete, I swear to god if you finish that sentence Goose is going to need a new pilot.”

With a laugh, Maverick danced away from a red-faced y/n and darted over to his RIO. She could only shake her head fondly as Maverick twirled Carole around before stealing Bradley from his father’s arms.

God, I missed this she thought before heading over to give her brother-in-law a proper hello (which may or may not have included a wet willy and being chased across baggage claim)

“So how are you enjoying TOP GUN?”

After checking into lodging and taking a much-needed shower, y/n was quick to make an escape with Maverick in order to give her sister time alone with her husband and son.

Maverick had brought her to a bar known as the Hard Deck and they had settled into seats at the bar. At 8pm, the place was relatively packed and crawling with people both in and out of uniform. Smoke lingered in the air, threaded with the scent of heavy perfume and aviator ego. Y/n and Maverick had been silently waiting for their drinks when she finally voiced her question.

She watched as a smirk played across Maverick’s lips and mirth dance in his eyes as he responded, “We’re the best. Plain and simple. Trophy is all but ours. How about you? How’s work? Sure, you’re not regretting not joining the greatest branch there ever was, Sprite?”

Y/n snorted, absentmindedly bringing her rum and coke to her lips for a sip before she answered. “I’m choking on the ego Mav. I swore I heard Goose mention something about being in second place to Carole.” Seeing the mock affronted look starting to appear and a playful hand pressing against his chest, y/n spoke again “My work has been fine. My boss has this annoying habit to put the most frustrating puzzles in front of me but I wouldn’t change it for the world. Not even to join the Navy - you know the Air Force is the superior branch. You’re just upset because I refuse to be your intel officer and think the Air Force jets are better!”

Before Maverick could respond, a voice came from being y/n and caused heat to flush across her cheeks. “Did I overhear correctly Mitchell? You really shouldn’t try to pick up women by saying you’re the best. Really, it’s a step down from serenading to them at the bar.”

Y/n hardly acknowledge the way Maverick’s face darkened nor how quickly he jumped from the stool to confront the person standing behind her. Her attention was focused on the hint of aftershave and mint that filled her nose, the electrifying feel of a hard chest just barely skimming against her arm and the hand that loosely draped itself across the back of her seat. Slowly, ever so slowly, her eyes drifted up as her neck cranes to meet a pair of aviators set upon a striking face. I’m fucked. Completely and utterly fucked.

“Kazansky! Where’s Slider to roll out the red carpet? Finally figured out you’re not as infallible as claimed?” The sound of Maverick’s voice broke y/n from her stupor and caused her to yank her gaze back to her friend. She felt the tension in the air and placed her drink back on the bar to prevent Maverick from using it as a weapon. Rum was a bitch to get out of white clothes.

“Before I choke on testosterone, I’m going to make a tactical retreat over…..there. See ya boys! Don’t do anything I would do.” Y/n hopped off the stool, instantly regretting it as it brought her closer to Kazansky’s chest and made her that more aware of how tall he was. She barely reached his pectorals but instead of feeling threatened, she couldn’t help the sense of safe that drained the tension from her shoulders. That would be a thought for later.

Nodding to Maverick, y/n escaped through a gap in the crowd. Before disappearing completely, she tossed one last look over her shoulder and grey meet blue. In that instant, y/n realized she would be seeing him again.

[aaknopf]

On the Mt. Rushmore of Knopf poetry, which dates back more than a century now, the craggy profiles of Langston Hughes and Wallace Stevens would be joined by, among others, Anthony Hecht (1923-2004). His Collected Poems arrived this fall, in a handsome edition edited by Philip Hoy, who reminds us that Hecht himself felt poetry could “recover for us what he memorably called ‘the inexhaustible plenitude of the world.’” Here is “Memory,” originally from his late volume The Darkness and the Light.

Memory

Sepia oval portraits of the family, Black-framed, adorned the small brown-papered hall, But the parlor was kept unused, never disturbed. Under a glass bell, the dried hydrangeas Had bleached to the hue of ancient newspaper, Though once, someone affirmed, they had been pink. Pink still were the shiny curling orifices Of matching seashells stationed on the mantel With mated, spiked, wrought-iron candlesticks. The room contained a tufted ottoman, A large elephant-foot umbrella stand With two malacca canes, and two peacock Tail-feathers sprouting from a small-necked vase. On a teak side table lay, side by side, A Bible and a magnifying glass. Green velvet drapes kept the room dark and airless Until on sunny days toward midsummer The brass andirons caught a shaft of light For twenty minutes in late afternoon In a radiance dimly akin to happiness— The dusty gleam of temporary wealth.

More on this book and author:

Learn more about Collected Poems by Anthony Hecht.

Browse other books by Anthony Hecht and check out Late Romance, David Yezzi's recent boigraphy of the poet.

Visit our Tumblr to peruse poems, audio recordings, and broadsides in the Knopf poem-a-day series.

To share the poem-a-day experience with friends, pass along this link.

[homomenhommes]

THIS DAY IN GAY HISTORY

based on: The White Crane Institute's 'Gay Wisdom', Gay Birthdays, Gay For Today, Famous GLBT, glbt-Gay Encylopedia, Today in Gay History, Wikipedia, and more …

1855 – Quaker poet and critic, Rufus Griswold, denounces Walt Whitman as a "scurvy fellow...indulging the vilest imaginings"

In the November 10, 1855, issue of The Criterion, Griswold anonymously reviewed the first edition of Walt Whitman's Leaves of Grass, declaring: "It is impossible to image how any man's fancy could have conceived such a mass of stupid filth". Griswold charged that Whitman was guilty of "the vilest imaginings and shamefullest license", a "degrading, beastly sensuality." Referring to Whitman's poetry, Griswold said he left "this gathering of muck to the laws which... must have the power to suppress such gross obscenity." He ended his review with a phrase in Latin referring to "that horrible sin, among Christians not to be named", the stock phrase long associated with Christian condemnations of sodomy.

Griswold was the first person in the 19th century to publicly point to and stress the theme of erotic desire and acts between men in Whitman's poetry.

1879 – The poet and influential critic Vachel Lindsay was born on this date (d.1931). His exuberant recitation of some of his work led some critics to compare it to jazz poetry despite his persistent protests. Because of his use of American Midwest themes he also became known as the "Prairie Troubador."

Lindsay's fame as a poet grew in the 1910s. Because Harriet Monroe showcased him with two other Illinois poets — Carl Sandburg and Edgar Lee Masters — his name became linked to theirs. The success of either of the other two, in turn, seemed to help the third.

Edgar Lee Masters published a biography of Lindsay in 1935 (four years after its subject's death) entitled 'Vachel Lindsay: A Poet in America'. In 1915, Lindsay gave a poetry reading to President Woodrow Wilson and the entire Cabinet. Lindsay was well known throughout the nation, and especially in Illinois, because of his travels which were sometimes recorded in the front page of every newspaper.

He is probably best known for this poetic apostrophe to the Salvation Army in "General William Booth Enters Heaven," although it is questionable whether he ever made it past the pearly Gates himself, since he not only liked boys too much , but also ended his days a suicide.

In his 40s, Lindsay lost his heart to the dazzlingly good-looking Australian composer and pianist, Percy Grainger, as had the Norwegian composer Edvard Grieg before him.

Lindsay killed himself (horribly, swallowing Lysol) in 1931, the year before Hart Crane leapt into the sea. His only biography was published during the Eisenhower years, a decade before homosexuality was officially invented. If it took biographers almost a century to acknowledge Whitman's Gayness, Lindsay should be due for a really serious biography around 2021.

Lindsay is credited with having "discovered" the poet Langston Hughes while staying at the Wardman Park Hotel in Washington, DC. Lindsay was dining in the hotel restaurant and the young Hughes was his busboy. When Hughes came to take his food away he left a number of his poems at Lindsay's table. Lindsay, upon reading them, was moved to declare the next day in his daily column to having "discovered a great Negro American poet." It launched Hughes' career.

1913 – James Broughton (d.1999) was an American poet, and poetic filmmaker. He was part of the San Francisco Renaissance. He was an early bard of the Radical Faeries as well as a charter member of The Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence serving her community as Sister Sermonetta.

Born to wealthy parents, he lost his father early to the 1918 influenza epidemic and spent the rest of his life getting over his high-strung, overbearing mother.

Before he was three, "Sunny Jim" experienced a transformational visit from his muse, Hermy, which he describes in his autobiography, Coming Unbuttoned (1993):

I remember waking in the dark and hearing my parents arguing in the next room. But a more persistent sound, a kind of whirring whistle, spun a light across the ceiling. I stood up in my crib and looked into the backyard. Over a neighbor's palm tree a pulsing headlamp came whistling directly toward me. When it had whirled right up to my window, out of its radiance stepped a naked boy. He was at least three years older than I but he looked all ages at once. He had no wings, but I knew he was angel-sent: his laughing beauty illuminated the night and his melodious voice enraptured my ears ... He insisted I would always be a poet even if I tried not to be ... Despite what I might hear to the contrary the world was not a miserable prison, it was a playground for a nonstop tournament between stupidity and imagination. If I followed the game sharply enough, I could be a useful spokesman for Big Joy.

Broughton was kicked out of military school for having an affair with a classmate, dropped out of Stanford before graduating, and spent time in Europe during the 1950s, where he received an award in Cannes from Jean Cocteau for the "poetic fantasy" of his film The Pleasure Garden, made in England with partner Kermit Sheets.

"Cinema saved me from suicide when I was 32 by revealing to me a wondrous reality: the love between fellow artists," Broughton wrote. This theme carried him through his 85 years. "It was as important to live poetically as to write poems."

Despite many love affairs during the San Francisco Beat Scene, Broughton put off marriage until age 49, when, steeped in his explorations of Jungian psychology, he married Susanna Hart in a three-day ceremony on the Pacific coast documented by his friend, the experimental filmmaker Stan Brakhage. Susanna's theatrical background and personality made for a great playmate; they had two children. And they built a great community among the creative spirits of San Francisco.

In 1967s "summer of love," Broughton made a film, The Bed, a celebration of the dance of life which broke taboos against frontal nudity and won prizes at many film festivals. It rekindled Broughton's filmmaking and led to more tributes to the human body (The Golden Positions), the eternal child (This Is It), the eternal return (The Water Circle), the eternal moment (High Kukus), and the eternal feminine (Dreamwood). "These eternalities praised the beauty of humans, the surprises of soul, and the necessity of merriment," Broughton wrote.

In the Coming Unbuttoned, Broughton remarks on his love affairs with both men and women. Among his male lovers was gay activist Harry Hay.

Hermy appeared again to the older Broughton in the person of a twenty-five-year-old Canadian film student named Joel Singer. Broughton's meeting with Singer was a life-changing, life-determining moment that animated his consciousness with a power that lasted until his death. In Joel Singer he found a creative as well as emotional partner.

With Singer, Broughton traveled and made more films - Hermes Bird (1979), a slow-motion look at an erection shot with the camera developed to photograph atomic bomb explosions, The Gardener of Eden (1981), filmed when they lived in Sri Lanka, Devotions (1983), which takes delight in friendly things men can do together from the odd to the rapturous, and Scattered Remains (1988), a cheerfully death-obsessed tribute to Broughton's poetry and filmmaking.

He died in May, 1999 with champagne on his lips, in the house in Port Townsend, Washington where he and Joel lived for 10 years. Before he died, he said, "My creeping decrepitude has crept me all the way to the crypt." His gravestone in a Port Townsend cemetery reads, "Adventure - not predicament."

God and Fuck belong together Both are sacred and profane God (the Divine) a dirty word used for damning Fuck (the sublime) a dirty term of depredation God and Fuck are so much alike they might be synonymous glories I'd even go so far as to say God is the Fuck of all Fucks And boy He has a Body like you've never seen - From Special Deliveries by James Broughton

1925 – Richard Burton, CBE (born Richard Walter Jenkins Jr.;d.1984) was a Welsh actor. Noted for his mellifluous baritone voice, Burton established himself as a formidable Shakespearean actor in the 1950s, and he gave a memorable performance of Hamlet in 1964. He was called "the natural successor to Olivier" by critic and dramaturge Kenneth Tynan. An alcoholic, Burton's failure to live up to those expectations disappointed critics and colleagues and fuelled his legend as a great thespian wastrel.

Burton was nominated for an Academy Award seven times, but never won an Oscar. He was a recipient of BAFTAs, Golden Globes, and Tony Awards for Best Actor. In the mid-1960s, Burton ascended into the ranks of the top box office stars. By the late 1960s, Burton was one of the highest-paid actors in the world, receiving fees of $1 million or more plus a share of the gross receipts. Burton remains closely associated in the public consciousness with his second wife, actress Elizabeth Taylor. The couple's turbulent relationship was rarely out of the news.

Richard Burton (R) with Elizabeth Taylor

Burton was married five times, twice consecutively to Taylor. From 1949 until 1963, he was married to Sybil Williams. His marriages to Taylor lasted from 15 March 1964 to 26 June 1974 and from 10 October 1975 to 29 July 1976. Their first wedding was at the Ritz-Carlton Hotel in Montreal. Of their marriage, Taylor proclaimed, "I'm so happy you can't believe it. This marriage will last forever." Their second wedding took place sixteen months after their divorce, in Chobe National Park in Botswana. Taylor and Eddie Fisher adopted a daughter from Germany, Maria Burton (born 1 August 1961), who was re-adopted by Burton after he and Taylor married. Burton also re-adopted Taylor and producer Mike Todd's daughter, Elizabeth Frances "Liza" Todd (born 6 August 1957), who had been first adopted by Fisher.

Burton acknowledged homosexual experiences as a young actor on the London stage in the 1950s. In a February 1975 interview with his friend, David Lewin, he said he "tried" homosexuality. He also suggested that perhaps all actors were latent homosexuals, and "we cover it up with drink". In 2000 Ellis Amburn's biography of Elizabeth Taylor suggested that Burton had an affair with Laurence Olivier and tried to seduce Eddie Fisher, although this was strongly denied by Burton's younger brother Graham Jenkins.

1955 – Roland Emmerich is a German film director, screenwriter, and producer. His films, most of which are Hollywood productions filmed in English, have grossed more than $3 billion worldwide, more than those of any other European director. His films have grossed just over $1 billion in the United States, making him the country's 14th-highest grossing director of all time.

He began his work in the film industry by directing the film The Noah's Ark Principle as part of his university thesis and also co-founded Centropolis Entertainment in 1985 with his sister. He is a collector of art and an active campaigner for the lesbian and gay community, himself being openly gay. He is also a campaigner for an awareness of global warming and equal rights.

in 1990, Emmerich was hired to replace director Andrew Davis for the action movie Universal Soldier. The film was released in 1992, and has since been followed by two direct-to-video sequels, a theatrical sequel, and another sequel released in 2010.

Emmerich next helmed the 1994 science-fiction film Stargate. At the time, it set a record for the highest-grossing opening weekend for a film released in the month of October. It became more commercially successful than most film industry insiders had anticipated, and spawned a highly popular media franchise.

Emmerich then directed Independence Day, an alien invasion feature that became the first film to gross $100 million in less than a week and went on to become one of the most successful films of all time. His next film, the much-hyped Godzilla, did not meet its anticipated box office success and was largely panned by critics. Taking a short break from science-fiction, Emmerich next directed the American Revolutionary War film The Patriot.

After teaming up with new writing partner Harald Kloser, Emmerich returned once again to directing a visual effects-laden adventure with 2004's The Day After Tomorrow. Soon afterwards, he founded Reelmachine, another film production company based in Germany.

Emmerich's most recent efforts have been 10,000 BC, a film about the journeys of a prehistoric tribe, and 2012, an apocalyptic film inspired by the theory that the Mayans prophesied the world's ending in 2012.

In 2006, he pledged $150,000 to the Legacy Project, a campaign dedicated to Gay and Lesbian film preservation. Emmerich, who is openly Gay, made the donation on behalf of Outfest, making it the largest gift in the festival's history.

[dansnaturepictures]

15/01/23-Sabine’s Gull and more at South Moor

We came here today to look for the Sabine’s Gull which has been around which I was hoping would stay for this weekend, it had been seen today and as we arrived in a shower I was thrilled to pick it out on the water in the lagoon. It then flew to some mud in the lagoon in front of a large bit of dark vegetation which I couldn’t quite tell what it was, it seemed to have seaweed mixed in it. It was settled for a long time here, did fly and land a bit further along and stood for a bit before returning to the original spot. I was overjoyed to spend an hour maybe more watching this epic bird. It’s so beautiful with its striking brown head and shiny yellow on the bill and neat grey wings. A dinky delight of a bird, a dazzling and beautifully marked gull. It was so amazing and breathtaking to see. Towards the end of our time here it flew, parading right over our head allowing astonishing and intimate views, such a precious moment. It’s not often with rare birds you get such good views of it both stationary and in fight so this was a great balance in some fantastic views of this bird. I took the first, fourth, fifth and ninth pictures in this photoset of this bird today.

Just under a month after we got our last life tick (the American Wigeon at Pennington four weeks ago today in fact) this is the first Sabine’s Gull we have ever seen. I had hoped to see one of these for a while now, and it feels so good to. My 283rd bird in my life and 119th species seen this year. I feel euphoric to have seen a new bird so early in a year again and it’s always good to get a new bird under the belt early in a year to give the year something that none of my others have had.

There were a key trio of other great birds seen here this afternoon with a smart looking Greenshank seen nicely, almost a Kestrel hovering against a rainbow I was an inch or so away from that but it was nice to see this bird all the same and a fair few Rock Pipits. These cheery dainty birds flying around in a group bigger than I’ve seen before I think, I am thrilled to be on one of my best ever runs for them seeing so many at different places either side of the change in year. I took the tenth and final pictures in this photoset of Wigeon which were nice to see today too.

As sun took over well after the shower that rainbow which I took the third picture in this photoset of added nicely to an afternoon of breathtaking landscape with the salt marsh, views into the vast Langstone Harbour, great views of the Hayling Island bridge and oysterbeds and over to Portsmouth with the Spinnaker Tower looking nice and ivy overhanging a channel of water beautifully at the start. It was good to see the sun heading down creating some stunning orange sky scenes in a good afternoon and day again of interesting sky scenes. I took the second, sixth, seventh and eighth pictures in this photoset of views here today. We’d never properly been to this spot before near to Hayling Island oysterbeds which we know so well and we left with a very good impression of this great wild spot that has a bit of a nature reserve.

On the way here I enjoyed briefly seeing winter heliotrope nearby on a verge my flower of the week with the ones I’ve seen at Lakeside. At home today Magpie, Jackdaw, Goldfinch and Starling were good to see as well as nice sunny scenes and the moon nestled into a nice cloud scene this morning. A fantastic and memorable weekend for a few reasons for me, I hope you all have a good week.

Wildlife Sightings Summary: My first ever Sabine’s Gull, great views of Brent Geese, Great Crested Grebe and Little Egret, Little Grebe, Black-headed Gull, Herring Gull, Greenshank, Redshank, dashing Grey Plover which was another highlight, Dunlin, Turnstone, Oystercatcher, possible Lapwing flying, Mallard, Wigeon, Teal, Red-breasted Merganser, Moorhen, lovely Linnets flying across, Rock Pipit, possible Meadow Pipit too, Woodpigeon and Carrion Crow. I heard Robin.

[humanitiesnb]

GLASS HALF EMPTY MANIFESTO

Would you consider the glass of water above to be half empty or half full? To solidify your answer, let’s play a short game. I want you to visualize an open field. What’s the field’s condition? Is the field dry? Is it lush? How big is the field? Is the field filled with something like grass? Is the grass well-trimmed? Is the grass dead? As you wander aimlessly around your field, you take note of the weather. What’s the weather like? Is it raining? Is there a storm coming? Is it sunny? Windy? Foggy? Your answers to these three scenarios speak volumes about your outlook on life. Are you more of an optimist? That is, you see the glass half full, your field is overflowing with coruscating flowers, and the weather is sunlit and radiant. Or, are you more of a pessimist? In other words, you perceive the glass as half empty, your field is barren and lifeless, and there’s an upcoming deluge. For me, I’m undoubtedly a gloom-ridden person. This characteristic is exposed through three of my pieces of work. In module two—titled abstract images—I chose to peruse Rufino Tamayo's Children's Games. Despite being doused in a fiery red color, the painting's subject matter—children amusing themselves—is innocent and should have unveiled feelings of childlike jubilation and nostalgia. Instead of thinking about the positive perceptions that Children's Games brought out, I immediately thought about my fear of growing old and developing dementia. Likewise in the poetic license assignment, I chose a poem that illustrates a dangerous but all too common viewpoint that men have of women. I could have very well selected a heartfelt poem like Lullaby by Langston Hughes or an encouraging one like Mother to Son also by Langston Hughes. But again, I picked a poem that fixated on the cynical perceptions one gender has of the other. Lastly, the piece I chose to analyze in the not seen on TV module was a piece that mocked human intelligence and highlighted human depravity. In all three of these assignments, I had plenty of opportunities to either choose a buoyant piece of work or discuss the euphoric feelings and thoughts that the piece gave me. However, my line of thinking and subsequently my writing was constantly somber and critical. It seems like there wasn't a jolly bone in my body. 

The American Psychological Association defines pessimism as “the attitude that things will go wrong and that people’s wishes or aims are unlikely to be fulfilled" (American Psychological Association, n.d.). Based on this definition, pessimists loathe being placed in joyous situations where there’s an increased probability of things going awry. Marriage, having children, traveling, meeting new people, forming new friendships, impressing higher-ups, getting a promotion, and trying new foods are all a couple of situations that pessimists want to steer clear from. However, maintaining a relationship like one does in marriage and putting yourself out there through traveling are two circumstances that have an immense likelihood of bringing needless suffering. In the age of hook-up culture, people are reluctant and at times even afraid of commitment. This lack of devotion and dedication—amongst other factors—bleeds into marriages. Of course, the idea of finding your soulmate and living happily ever after is enticing and lovely but it’s just not realistic for the majority of the world’s population. An individual has to spend a significant amount of time, energy, money, and effort on producing and maintaining a healthy marriage. Unfortunately, the bulk of people either aren't willing to surrender or don’t even possess these four fruitages of marriage. If the majority are antipathetic about preserving a relationship and if more than 50% of U.S. marriages fail, then why would a pessimist want to be placed in this type of high-risk but low-reward gambling situation? In less than a millisecond, a seemingly happy marriage could crumble. Traveling poses another set of unwanted problems. Tourist destinations such as Paris, Cancun, Miami, and Bali are ripe with scammers and thieves. It’s extremely simple for a local to pickpocket a tourist in a crowded area because the tourist is either ill-prepared (for example, wearing a backpack instead of a money belt) or is distracted. Moreover, if one isn’t careful, one might be subjected to being swindled. Con tricks like taxi drivers claiming the meter is broken, vendors inflating prices, or phony police officers issuing fines are all scams geared towards extorting oblivious tourists. As evident by the Brittney Griner case in Russia and the Otto Warmbier case in North Korea, a small misstep or a lapse of judgment in a foreign country (especially a country whose government abhors America) could cost an individual their freedom and their life.

Clearly, being a prophet of doom and gloom is advantageous. When an individual catastrophizes a plan or situation, it forces them to become prepared for the possible outcome. This preparedness may come in the form of developing an action plan. For instance, before going on a trip or getting into a relationship (God forbid!), a pessimist might create a detailed list of all the feasible things that could go amiss. They can then attempt to mitigate the possibility of the worst-case scenarios coming to fruition by taking steps to prevent them from happening, or they could imagine what they would do or say in those mishaps. For example, signing a prenup as a safety measure if your marriage ends up dissolving (prevention) or being calm if robbed at knife-point in Athens (action). The key, though, is to set low expectations and then brainstorm ways for how everything could go wrong. It might be tedious or even exhausting but if those scenarios become reality, you'll thank the heavens that you had and acted on your foresight.

WORK CITATION:

American Psychological Association. (n.d.). Apa Dictionary of Psychology. American Psychological Association. Retrieved July 29, 2022, from https://dictionary.apa.org/pessimism

[st4rrg1rll]

05.21.22

sorry no pics of my cute ass outfit but it’s okay lol, i got so many compliments today it was super sweet i love women!!

ummm today was good. i woke up at 8:30 and got dressed and stuff right away and then katie and i went to dunkin for breakfast! and my iced coffee was too sweet. then we went to the farmer’s market and that was super cute and fun! it was such a beautiful day!! and there were so many dogs and beautiful women! and it was right on the river so you could hear the waterfall the whole time, it was fantastic! we walked around to all the stands before going back to buy things, i bought bread and sheep cheeses and mustard and garlic honey which is sooo tasty. i really want to go visit the bee farm (for lack of a better term. it’s midnight okay) that it came from!

after the farmers market we went home to chill out for a little. we tried all the stuff we bought and it was so yummy. the ac broke last night so we just chilled in katie’s room bc she has a portable ac unit going in here. we watched the secret world of arrietty and it was super cute! i almost fell asleep tho lol.

after that it was about 3:30, so we went w aunt maire to the food truck festival that was happening. it was cute but super hot and sunny out. first we had shaved ice and i got watermelon and blue raspberry flavoring. then we shared a stuffed soft pretzel (chicken bacon ranch cheese i think it was, it was amazinggg), and then i had a little brisket sandwich, some french fries, and a coke, appropriate bc we were at coca cola stadium. though the only water they were selling was dasani, yuck tap water. then katie got some cookie dough and we got back in the car to go home.

while we drove home i finally told aunt maire about mary and what she did to me growing up, and we had something like a heart to heart. it was strange to hear her say she was actively trying to get custody of me and alex and looking for any reason to call CPS. the reality of the situation was worse than she imagined and she felt bad about not trying harder, but if CPS had ever been involved in my life, that would have fucked my dad over even more than he already was screwing himself over. but it was nice to get it off my chest and to know how much my family hated her and was worried for us. it was hard for me to talk about, and i struggled to go into detail, but i’m glad i got it off my chest like i said. she deserved to know more than anyone, i think she cared the most. her and my mom were the closest after all.

i cried but it was cathartic. when we got home the atmosphere was light again and i was trying to deal with langston getting locked out and possibly needing to go home tonight but thankfully the key dude showed up and let him in. in case i had to leave tonight i went to see grandma! which was the first time i’d seen her in a long time, i should probably try to get up here on my own without katie more often. it was good to catch up. she’s getting knee surgery again soon. she’s getting old, i don’t want to forget to cherish her, or forget to make her feel as loved as she did for me. i love my grandma.

but yeah, after seeing grandma, we just came back home and have been kind of just chilling on our phones since then. obv i did not need to go back to the city tonight. i’m going to try to go tomorrow before the storm hits. tomorrow we might go to breakfast and then to the creamery for ice cream! that will be fun!

i’m so glad i came up here this weekend. i really needed it!!

[abellinthecupboard]

The South

The lazy, laughing South With blood on its mouth. The sunny-faced South, 　　Beast-strong, 　　Idiot-brained. The child-minded South Scratching in the dead fire's ashes For a Negro's bones. 　　Cotton and the moon, 　　Warmth, earth, warmth, 　　The sky, the sun, the stars, 　　The magnolia-scented South. Beautiful, like a woman, Seductive as a dark-eyed whore, 　　Passionate, cruel, 　　Honey-lipped, syphilitic— 　　That is the South. And I, who am black, would love her But she spits in my face. And I, who am black, Would give her many rare gifts But she turns her back upon me. 　　So now I seek the North— 　　The cold-faced North, 　　For she, they say, 　　Is a kinder mistress, And in her house my children May escape the spell of the South.

— Langston Hughes, Collected Poems (1994)

[emzeciorrr]

Adidas MYSHELTER from Pomp&Clout on Vimeo.

Directed by Ryan Staake Production Companies: Pomp&Clout Executive Producer: Ryen Bartlett Head of Production: Kevin Staake Producer: Dustin Highbridge UK Production: Riff Raff UK Line Producer: Kate Brady Director of Photography: Kristian Zuniga Editor: Rigel Kilston Music: Scott Storch Photographer: Andrew Alvarez Lead VFX: Jeff Beukema Additional VFX: Michiel Krop Colorist: Nick Metcalf, The Mill NY Sound/ Mixing: Rob Albrecht Production Agency: Whale BV Whale BV Producer: Ezra Xenos Agency / Client: adidas Creative Director: Paul Mann Art Director: Rob Glad Senior Creative Producer: Jaime Watson Lead SFX: Jeff Moratti SFX: Jarrod Lvey, Karl Thwaites, Tom Tracey

Production Supervisor: Anastasia Counihan Assistant Production Supervisor: Mike Vitiello 1st AD: Reggie Banniester 2nd AD: Sunny Fehlig Casting: Big Apple Casting 1st AC: Haley Wetherington 2nd AC: Yasmeen Jawha Steadicam Op: Michael Klein DIT: Celeste Perez Gaffers: Ben Hunt & Pat Dillion Swing: Paul Alban Key Grip: Bryan Landes Jig Tech: Mike Kirsic Stylist: Renata Gar Hair and Makeup: Heather Wolverton Parking Coordinator: Robert The Coneman Photo Assistant: Aleja Ramirez, Alberto Torres Office PA: Lyla Rose PA Key: Jason Morrison PA (Prod Cube): Ryan Arnold, Ed Louis Set PA: Anna Langston, Devine Mcrae, Lin Xu, Sara Falco, Tasha Saminjo, Henry Komaros PA: David Tiger Cortes PA: Michael Pluchino Driver PA: Jimmy Germaine Communications Manager: Camila Soares

Cast Models: Kai Moran Jordan Smith Hannah Kerr Theodore Lee “Hero”: Odalys, Jimothy Lacoste Body Doubles: James Campbell, Karina Bik Featured Friends: Roisin Tapponi James Fan Leojjie Estacio Geena Rios

Supporting Artists: Charlotte Marie Oliver Fritz Helene Goldthorpe Adonis Kapsalis Old Woman: Bailey Rosen Extras: Norka Vasquez George Fasbinder David Jenkins Jr. Cassidy Napolitano

Camera: Panavision Camera (Stills): KM Camera Catering: Broadway Catering G&E: Handheld Films Insurance: March Jib: Empire Jibs Payroll USA: CAPS Permits: NYC Environmental Protection Permits: MOFTB Prod. Supplies: Wits End Group Shipping: FedEx Special Effects: J&M Special FX Trucking - Production: Edge Auto Rental Walkies: Hinterland Communication ___________

UK

Production Manager: Laura Duffy Location Manager: Rupert Bowkett Location Manager: Joe Storelli 1st AD: Tom Kelly 2ND AD:John Robinson Runners: Lucy Kelly Dan Hasson Elia Redondo Charlotte Miller Security: James Dimmock, Dave Cook

Steadicam Operator: Jess Doxley PA: Miri de Villers 1st AC: Barney Batchelor 2nd AC :Toby McKay Camera Trainee: Robyn Skead DATA WRANGLER: Jason Hunte Camera Car Driver: Anthony Bugge Camera Specialist/ Remote Car Operator: Jonathan Dennis Jimmy Jib Technician: Sean Webb Sound Recordist: Roger Cutting Gaffer: Paul Molloy Electrician: Rob Stewart Electrician: Ryan Delahunty Trainee Electrician: Jordan Gosling Rigger: Graham Petherick Production Designer: Sean Fenn Prop Master: Graham Cole Props Transport: Tom Hamilton SFX Senior Technician: Matt Beckwith SFX Technician: Ryan Crew Costume Designer: Kerry Saxton Costume Assistant: Lucy Pugh-Bevan Seamstress: Louise Halswell Hair and Makeup: Lu Hinton Traffic Management Team: Bill Stanley, Dean Mitchell, Paul Kybert Wardrobe/ Makeup Split Driver: Geoff Eley Dining Bus Driver: Manj Dhaliwal Client/ Agency Driver: Akbar Ali Mini Bus Driver (12 seater): Djamel Dokkari Mini Bus Driver: (16 Seater): Greg Sommer

[froppy-butterflyfan2000]

Sunny “Harmony Bunny” Langston - Chemical X Super and Magic-Wielding Daughter of Bubbles Utonium-Langston and Hugh Langston

Sunny learning about magic and some methods of using it from Janaya, and later on his sister, Hiraya. This is where Sunny learn the reason why most people use wand/staff/grimore, other than channeling their magic from Janaya - which is preventing magic exposure to the sinister magical species called The Otherkind, and came upon the topic about Spirits from Hiraya, whose a student of Luna Nova Magical Academy. Spirits, collective of non-corporeal/semi-corporeal magical creatures that haunt the world resulting of the presence of magic in world as the sustenance and to maintain their form outside object or element they manifested from indefinitely. Some spirits does consume other energy sources as a substitute for magical energy, such as flame faeries eating wood or other flammable objects. Spirits can only perceived by those who have degrees of magical skills or they allow others to see them. Spirits manifested from hundred of years old objects or being embodiments of elements of nature. Spirits’ mood can be affected by certain types of magic used to invoke them, but they mostly behaved friendly and peaceful. This was where Sunny could try to create a technique to call upon them and appease them through her roller skating skill. Hopefully, Sunny is able to contracted them to stay close to her help her and give advices. Eventually, Sunny be well-known in the magic/magical hero community.

Bradley McPherson (Dextercup) and Evelyn Utonium (Akubloss) belong to @ej-cappy-universe.

Athena Jojo and Sunny Langston belong to @cooltmoney95.

Janaya A. Bloodworth-Thomason and Niko Corduroy belong to @froppy-butterflyfan2000 (me).

The Spirits are from the anime, Little Witch Academia, created by Yoh Yoshinari and produced by Trigger, where the major setting of the anime, Luna Nova Magical Academy is a minor location in OK KO: Let’s Be Heroes, created by Ian Jones-Quartey for Cartoon Network, mentioned in “Are You Ready for Some Megafootball?!”.

The Otherkind are from the DC universe, created by James Tynion IV and Álvaro Martínez Bueno.

[cooltmoney95]

Is Sienna Grey, Sunny Langston, and Candy Thompson's friend with Gloria Gleeful?

Not likely. Since Gloria isn't in the Cappyverse (At least for now.). And I honestly doubt they would be even if she was.

[grissomesque]

But can we talk about Mrs. Hodges

Spoilers for 1x02 Honeymoon in Vegas under the cut.

No, I'm not saying she's a psychopath.

But Hodges tells Our Heroes,

"You know, some people mellow. Emma... changed me. She got me out of that lab, away from all that death. I started working as an expert witness; life was good. And then, boom, wake up in hell."

Okay wait, what?

Hodges? David Hodges? David Hodges of This is what we live for, Dr. Langston notoriety? The bad guys will win more if we don't have you David Hodges, pouting for an eternity after Grissom announced his looming departure?

It doesn't track; it's just about the only thing so far that doesn't. Emma is also not his type - see: Wendy, Elisabetta, and rejection of Young, Blonde Morgan.

And listen, I'm not saying she's our suspect here. I agree with @addictedtostorytelling's response today to a question along those lines, totally; and if Emma does turn out to be involved, I'm gonna be pretty disappointed with the thorough dismantling of poor Hodges' sunny new life which would be triggeringly reminiscent of the GSR Divorce For No Good Reason.

It's just a weird kind of impersonal move re: character development and it doesn't vibe with me.

[raleighcarrera]

bruised

ride or die | colt kaneko x mc (ellie wheeler)

colt and ellie bump into each other in a bar.

happy epilogue day, @rodappreciationweek!

tags: @choicesarehard ; @lovehugsandcandy ; @pixeljazzy ; @beccadavenport ; @zigtheeortega

~3.9k words | E (18+)

everything grinds to a sudden, startling halt when her roommate, mia, leans in close in the crowded, noisy bar and says, “hey -- don’t look now, but that guy over there looks a lot like the dude from your prom photo.”

it’s the second semester of her junior year at langston, which means they’re rapidly approaching the three-year anniversary of that day. she’s just turned twenty-one, so she and mia can finally drink legally at the bars in new york near langston’s campus that never carded them, anyway. 

ellie finished her last midterm this morning. the day had been filled with promise when she’d left the lecture hall, springtime sunny with the weekend stretched out ahead of her. 

now it’s after midnight, and there’s only the inevitability of this interaction waiting, in direct contrast to the optimism she’d felt earlier.

she turns her head and catches sight of that familiar profile immediately, the one she’d know anywhere. she’s certain she’d recognize the back of his head in times square on new year’s eve. 

ellie turns away before colt has the chance to notice she’s staring, and wets her lips. shakily, she answers, “it is him.”

mia’s eyebrows jump to her hairline. “what? are you sure?”

as sure as she’s ever been of anything. she tips her head back and finishes the watered-down cranberry vodka in her hands in one last swallow, holding out her empty plastic cup. mia takes it from her wordlessly, dropping her own drink into it, doubling-up.

“i’m going to go say ‘hi,’” ellie murmurs calmly -- far more calmly than she feels. “are you alright over here for a few minutes?”

“yes,” mia answers, her brow furrowing as her lips turn down into a frown, “but are you sure you want to...”

her voice fades into the music playing in the bar and the cacophony of conversations that swallow it up when ellie steps away, out into the crowd.

colt’s drinking alone, near the bar at the front of the room. he notices her as soon as she pushes through the throng of people that’d been in the way between them and hones his dark gaze on her steadily while she approaches.

ellie can feel her hands clench into fists at her sides when, from behind his glass of something brown, he looks her up and down slowly, his eyes lingering lazily on her bare legs.

“what the hell are you doing here?” she demands, hoping her voice sounds a little more angry and a little less panicked. frantic. nervous. spiraling out of control.

colt lifts the cup in his hands. his answer is just as sharp as ever -- too defensive, a challenge she can’t resist. “drinking. it’s a bar.”

“a college bar,” ellie bites back, effortlessly taking the bait, “at my college. and you live two-thousand miles away.”

he blinks indifferently back at her. “what’s your point?”

“my point is that if you’re here to check up on me, you have some nerve --”

because he hasn’t called. he hasn’t texted. he hasn’t even tried.

“ellie, there are over one-million people on the island of manhattan.” blind rage boils up inside of her, threatening to pour steam from her ears as a smirk starts to form behind the lip of his cup. “how could i possibly know you’d be here?”

“that’s what i’m asking you!” she practically shouts back, though fortunately the bar’s loud enough to cover her. not that she cares at all if she’s causing a scene -- it’s the least he deserves. “what are you doing in new york?”

colt watches her silently, obviously unafraid to let himself look. he’s never been like her, in that regard; she’d be too embarrassed to be caught staring at him, cataloging the ways he’s changed over the last few years, but he’s unashamed, and looks his fill until her face feels hot with something other than outrage.

“working,” he says finally, reaching around to leave his cup on the bar behind his back. “i had meetings in the area. i didn’t realize you owned everything above one-hundred and tenth street and west of the park.”

ellie’s eyes narrow in on the twitch of his fingers where his hands rest casually on his thighs. he’s rattled. not as rattled as she is, but not as unaffected as he’s acting -- like he knew there was a chance this might happen but that he was still ill-prepared for it. 

she can’t believe how long it’s been.

so much has changed, yet so much is still the same -- colt is still wearing that beat-up leather jacket; he’s still clean-shaven and tense with a tightness in his jaw that betrays an axe to grind with someone or something. she can see flashes of the same temper in the danger underlying each of his words, can read barely restrained fury in the line of his broad shoulders. 

he still looks at her with the same intensity he always had, like he and he alone can stare directly down into her soul and see everything she is or ever will be all at once. 

“you could’ve called me if you knew you’d be by campus,” she says, because at least that much is true. with everything she wants to say to him -- it’s a start. it’s what’s weighing most heavily on her mind. why hasn’t he called her?

colt leans back against the bar. “would you have picked up?”

it’s an unfair question, because he doesn’t even know how many times she’s tried to call him. the number she has for him is out-of-service -- long since turned off -- yet she still uses it, whenever the city feels too big and lonely, or she hears screeching tires, or she yearns for someone to talk to who just gets it, who knows and understands her completely and totally...

or when she misses him so terribly she would give anything to hear his voice, even just one last time. 

“yes.” the answer doesn’t come freely; ellie has to force the word up. it costs her everything to admit as much. it feels like a big revelation. it’s been three years, after all -- she should be a different person, by now. she shouldn’t still want this.

especially not as much as she does.

but she's not different at all, so of course she still wants.

colt finally shifts his gaze away from her to scan the room. ellie watches him do so quietly, though her breath catches audibly when his eyes pause on the restroom in the back of the bar, behind the throng of students in the space. she twists over her shoulder to look at it, too -- there’s no line.

when she wheels back around, the smile on his face is sinister. 

“come on,” he orders, like he can read her mind, sliding his fingers over her wrist before he strides purposefully toward the bathroom.

the ghost of his touch makes her shiver. part of her wants desperately to be able to defy him, to dig her heels in and stay where she is or take the opportunity to slip away behind his back, to grab mia and get the hell out of here.

but she follows colt helplessly, her eyes trained on his silhouette even when he finally stops at their destination, holding the door open for her with a grin.

it clatters shut behind him, loudly, and she squints at colt and the sharp line of his jaw, now illuminated by the suddenly bright fluorescent light, his expression a harsh contrast to how soft he’d seemed out in the dim ambiance of the bar.

the sound from outside cuts off into a dull whisper in the background. 

now they’re alone.

the look in colt’s eyes is as calculating as ever, like he’s still trying to work out just what makes her tick. it’s like there’s every option in the world waiting before him, and all he has to do is decide which play he wants to run.

she can practically see the moment he makes up his mind.

it’s just after she deliberately steps back and hops up onto the ledge of the sink, leaning over in the cramped space of the bathroom to pointedly thumb the lock on the door.

he moves in a flash, accepting the invitation for what it is and crowding in against her, so that she gasps when he pushes between her legs and her head thumps back against the mirror behind her in surprise. 

it hurts, but that’s the least of her problems, because colt’s lips have found her neck and he remembers exactly where to take them to elicit a response, scraping his teeth along the column of her throat mercilessly as he works his way to that spot that still makes her shudder.

then she aches all over, distracting from the way her head is throbbing where it’d smacked against the mirror, because he’s triggering a muscle memory for a muscle she hasn’t exercised in a long time.

colt pulls at her top, and she draws in a quick breath, her grip on the sticky sink counter white-knuckled where her hands are clutching it on either side of her thighs. he holds her wide-eyed gaze as his hips roll forward once, slowly and forcefully, letting her feel him against her even through all the denim in their way.

her lips part, something hesitating on her tongue. it’s impossible to get out with him staring at her like that, like this is something more to him than just the heat of the moment. his fingers stroke slowly over the bare skin of her stomach, beneath her top. 

“do you want this?”

ellie nods.

“say it.” there’s that thread of danger in his voice again, lurking just beneath the command. her eyes flash, but colt continues to stare at her, waiting.

“i want this,” she huffs, already frustrated by the attitude she’s not used to, anymore -- not like she was. 

she had imagined their next meeting -- because she’d always been certain there would be a next meeting -- thousands of times. of course, in some of the scenarios, he’d been a total asshole, like he is being or even worse, but in most of them she’d pictured something softer. in most of her dreams he was happy to see her. in her favorite ones, he told her he missed her, held her close and promised not to let her go again.

but that was only a fantasy, and an unattainable one, at that. 

this is something more realistic, something she should have expected. he hastens to get her shorts undone and it’s not what she’s been hoping for but it still feels right, in a way, like they sealed their fate and signed up to meet again in this gross bar bathroom three years ago when they had their last goodbye.

ellie helps him pull them down to her ankles, letting them dangle off of one foot. then she rushes to get his jeans open, too, all on her own since his hands are otherwise occupied working their way over her body, pushing her shirt and her bra up with one hand while the other yanks her thong to the side. 

it’d been hot in the bathroom before they started this but now she’s sweating, her hands clumsy when they fumble for his arms where he’s still wearing his fucking jacket. “colt,” she breathes, his name both a prayer and a curse at the same time. ellie stares in fascination at the way he screws his eyes shut in response, then repeats herself. “colt.”

his fingers nudge between her legs, as practiced as ever. he’s always had a remarkable talent for making her shake and this time is no different; it only takes a few swipes of his thumb against her clit before ellie is moaning, directly into his ear where she scrambles to tug him in closer. 

colt stares at her the whole time he touches her, his expression unreadable. she used to pride herself on being able to analyze even the slightest shifts of his face, but looking at him now is like meeting him for the first time all over again -- he may as well be a stranger, with how well he’s managed to close himself off to her.

ellie lifts a hand to his hair and draws him into a kiss before he can stop her. if he’s going to make her do this his way, then she’s going to take something for herself, too.

except that he makes a sound into her mouth that makes her hips jerk, an answering whimper slipping unbidden from her lips. colt pauses, twisting his wrist, then kisses her back harder, as though the last measure of his restraint has finally snapped.

she’s helpless to do anything but let the fire of his kiss consume her, so she does. she melts in his arms and colt devours her, easily, the movement of his hand between his legs not even faltering for a second while his mouth relentlessly pulls groans from her, keeping her present -- reminding her that she’s here, with him, and that they’re doing this -- that there’s no going back, now.

that was how every moment with colt felt. every day was a new leap off a new cliff. a new opportunity for her to tumble to pieces, if she misstepped.

and she misses walking that particular tightrope more than she could ever say.

ellie comes apart with a gasp of his name, her thighs trembling beneath his iron-clad grip, her body confused by the dichotomy of how his touch feels almost like a reprimand when her heart is so full of love for him, still. 

colt pulls back to look at her once she’s caught her breath and lifts his other hand to her flushed face, softly brushing her hair out of her eyes. 

his stare continues to be inscrutable, despite how desperately she wants to know what he’s thinking.

she licks her lips, dipping her fingers back into the open front of his jeans. “colt,” she murmurs, “please.”

he stills like she’s hit him, then kisses her again, just as frantically as before. 

their hips slot together perfectly, as seamless as the last time. it’s been almost three years and she can’t help but wonder about all he’s done in between the bookends of these encounters, where he’s been since the last time they did this and tonight. 

she wonders if it feels as good to him as it does to her -- so good it doesn’t even matter what he’s done since she last left him, so good she nearly sobs with relief when he finally presses his cock all the way inside, so good she’d happily be the first on the sign-up sheet to have ill-advised unprotected sex with her ex-almost-something in the college bar she’ll never be able to revisit without blushing a thousand times over again.

what it comes down to, she thinks, when his first forceful thrust rattles the sink beneath her, is that colt has always known something about her she had never wanted to confront: that there is nothing else satisfying out there for her but him and this, this thing she’s been running from and constantly second-guessing. 

no matter how much distance she puts between herself and her past, there will always be the inevitability of wondering if she’s made the right decision.

the next buck of his hips wipes her brain blank, fortunately, saving her from agonizing over the argument she’s had with herself thousands of times before and pulling her violently back to the present, where colt is acting like he has something to prove, her face still tenderly cupped in his right hand.

“oh, god,” ellie groans, her gasps rhythmically timed to the movement of his hips, “oh, fuck.”

colt’s face tips into the side of her neck, his panting breaths hot on her skin. “christ, ellie.” the sound of his voice is a low mumble she has to strain to hear, certain she won’t want to miss a word of what he’s saying, even when remembering it later tonight will feel like torture. “you sound so...”

it’s more words than she’s able to string together. her brain is a jumbled mess of expletives she doesn’t usually indulge in and colt, colt, colt, her body trembling under his touch as she holds onto him tightly. “good?” she questions. she has to know.

“perfect,” colt moans emphatically, his lips brushing against the dip of her throat with each syllable. “you feel even better.”

they both exhale when the words make her squeeze around him, though colt’s breath sounds like it’s punched out of his chest. he sounds as torn apart as she feels, so she can’t not look at him any longer, the shift between them as they fall easily back into their old habits practically palpable.

ellie lifts his face parallel to hers, sighing sweetly when he tilts their foreheads together. any animosity that had been between them falls away as their eyes lock. she can tell by the look on his face that he sees the naked adoration in her gaze, and revels in the open affection he offers her in turn.

colt’s movements slow to a dirty, groan-inducing grind, and she whimpers into his mouth when his lips brush hers softly to match them.

her nails rake through his hair, and then again when the scratch of them makes him grunt and press forward forcefully.

“colt,” she whispers, “please don’t -- don’t -- god, don’t ever stop.”

he squeezes her hip, his grip hardly tight enough for the bruises she’s been hoping for. “i won’t,” colt promises. “never, ellie.”

that’s the only thing she wants -- to live in this strange, secluded moment with colt forever, to know that she won’t have to be alone again once it ends.

because it has to end. 

he swears loudly when he comes, the same as he did the other times they did this. he kisses her through the hiccuping shivers of her own orgasm and keeps kissing her, long after she’s settled again, so severely that it makes it impossible for her to catch her breath. 

colt’s the first to break the silence between them, his eyes dark pools of intense vulnerability where they’re trained on her face. “come home with me.”

she swallows. “colt...”

“ellie.” he looks as lost as he had three years ago, and just as emotional. how can she possibly be expected to deny him? “think about it, before you say ‘no.’”

“all i do is think about it,” she admits, held captive by the pain on his face. “if there was a way to make it work --”

“we’ll find one.” his voice is suddenly fierce, insistent. “fuck, ellie. we tried it your way, and it sucks, right? we can try --”

“colt.” he cuts off with a clench of his jaw, holding perfectly still between her spread legs. “i have to stay here.”

then he blinks, and his carefully crafted mask of coolness slips back into place, putting a distance between them that has nothing to do with the way they’re still joined at the hips.

he nods.

they redress quietly, keeping their hands to themselves. ellie slides off the sink and onto her feet with a wince, reaching out for colt’s wrist as soon as his jeans are done up again. 

“will you call me?” she shifts around in his field of vision until he looks at her, frowning when colt only sighs as an answer. “please,” she begs, “the number i have for you is off. i hate not being able to reach you.”

he chews on his response for what feels like forever, seemingly weighing his options in his mind. as they’ve gotten older, there’s a restraint to him that hadn’t been there the last time they were together, like he’s trying to decide how much of an asshole he wants to be where before he might’ve just gone full-throttle colt and leaned into it completely without hesitation. 

“you can’t just ask me to wait around forever,” he says finally, an edge to his voice that makes her shiver.

“i’m only asking you to call me.” 

ellie drops his wrist, leaning back against the locked door behind her. 

the eventual sigh he gives is resigned. “alright. i’ll call you.”

neither of them make any move to open the door. after a moment, colt’s palm presses to the wood beside her head and he leans down to kiss her one last time, gentle and finite and searching.

she loops her arms around his waist, fisting the fabric of his jacket to keep him close. ellie kisses him back until her lungs are burning, until her mouth feels as raw as her nerves, until she knows, with certainty, that she’ll never, ever be ready to say ‘goodbye’ to him.

they break apart, and she clears her throat, softly smoothing his jacket back into place. “i really miss you, you know.”

colt’s hand hovers next to her cheek, then pushes her hair behind her ear. “i miss you every fucking day.”

she won’t be able to stop wondering if she’s made the right decision anytime soon.

he’s the one to reach behind her and undo the lock on the door, turning the knob at her side slowly. colt’s lips twist into a little grin when she stumbles as the wood she’d been leaning on shifts, spilling the sound from the bar and the weight of reality back onto the both of them all at once, before she’s ready for it.

they wander into the crowd together. mia’s waiting for her in the same spot ellie had left her in, and waves her over with wide eyes. 

ellie’s able to catch colt’s eye one last time before he disappears. he nods at her, something like warmth jumping back into his gaze. the quirk of his mouth is a little easier to read, now that they seem to be at a closer understanding. she smiles back at him.

with the ghost of his fingers skimming over her wrist one last time, he’s gone.

ellie walks back over to her roommate as if in a daze. “i feel like a need a hazmat suit to just look at you,” mia sighs, scrunching up her nose. “tell me you did not have sex in the bathroom.”

“i didn’t have sex in the bathroom,” she parrots back obligingly, biting down on the inside of her cheek to stifle a smile when mia answers with a roll of her eyes. “are you ready to get out of here? i’m exhausted.”

“oh, i’ll bet.” 

ellie bumps her shoulder into mia’s as they head back down the block to their dorm, tilting her chin up to look at the moon.

colt’s still here, in the city, somewhere. maybe he’s even thinking about her, like she’s thinking about him.

her phone buzzes from where it’s stuffed in her back pocket. the text message displayed on the screen, from an unknown number she doesn’t recognize, makes her chest feel tight. her heart slams against her ribcage at just the sight of it.

let me know when you’re free to talk, it says, and i’ll give you a call.

[fluttershiesworld]

sunny the poem in ur blog title,,,,,,, fucked up crying emoji of ur choice thank u 4 (inadvertently but still) introducing me to this poem

omg you’re so welcome <3 if u like it i highly recommend thank you ma’am (also by langston hughes) it’s not a poem but a short story and it makes me cry every time