#and then afterwards me and her and her partner are going to a cool vintage store by the water

[greppelheks]

My very last day of work at my hell job is coming up on wednesday and then I'm officially done. A week and half/two weeks of vacation ahead and I have so many fun things planned

[starlessea]

𝙎𝙩𝙚𝙥 𝙤𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙂𝙖𝙨 - Chapter 2. Manic Pixie Dream Bitch

A/N Make sure you read the prologue and other chapters first! Things are starting to pick up - I hope you stick around for the ride.

Series Masterlist: Step on the Gas

Summary: A dishonourable discharge from the military results in you being hauled off to live with your grandparents in the boonies, otherwise known as the middle of nowhere Georgia. After running over a nail on the road, and pushing your grandpa's vintage Camaro to the nearest auto-shop, you meet Daryl Dixon - the local mechanic. At some point, the world ends, but that stubborn man never gives you a chance to slow down. His smile gives you whiplash, but he still insists that you to step on the gas.

Words: 5374

Chapter Warnings: Language, Injury, Domestic abuse mentions

The evening was cool, and a breeze hung in the air.

The midday Georgia heat had all but melted away, leaving behind tepid winds that rustled leaves on the trees — and the canvas tents. They fluttered around you as you walked, like the beating of butterfly wings, or ripples atop the ocean.

It was peaceful. It felt safe.

All eyes were on you as you followed Daryl to the firepit, taking a seat on a low log beside him — but not too close.

The night was still too young to turn in yet, so the man had begrudgingly led you out of his tent when the silence became stifling. For some reason, conversation didn't come as naturally to the two of you as it once had.

There was tension there. You could feel it.

But you didn't have the slightest clue why. The last time you had seen Dixon, it was in the midst of a tremendous thunderstorm. The two of you had laughed, and ran through the rain until your clothes were soaked through, and your skin was cold.

It was one of the best nights of your life.

Yet, here you were — sitting beside the man in stagnant silence as he kicked at coal embers with his boot, and pretended not to feel your stare seeping into the back of his head.

Across from you were the people you had briefly met earlier — the two officers by the names of Shane and Rick, or helicopter boy — the asian man named Glenn, and Carol who was sitting beside her husband. Their individual conversations were low, barely audible against the crackling fire, but one-by-one they seemed to filter off, until there was nothing but silence once again.

Shane stood up.

He stoked the fire a little with a branch, careful not to let the flames rise too high. "So, tell me," the man spoke, his voice wide and assertive,"how's a sweet young thing like yourself figure out how to fly a Sikorsky Hawk?"

His presence was big.

It made you shuffle in your seat as his eyes dragged down you, resting on your arm — which was bound by a sling. "Well, minus the landing part," he murmured below his breath.

You didn't like the way he smirked when he said that, like it had been amusing to him — funny to him that you'd almost died. Daryl let out a sound beside you, a low rumbling noise from the back of his throat that only you could hear. But you didn't bite to his words.

After all, men like that could only bark.

"I was in the military," you answered, meeting his eyes and not breaking the stare.

Your throat was still sore, but your words rang out clear, atop the thrum of the evening air, and flickering flames. Shane stuffed his hands in his pockets, and rocked back on the balls of his feet — as though he was putting on some type of show.

"Air force, then?" he questioned, but it was starting to feel more like an interrogation.

You caught the whites of Carol's eyes across from you, as they darted between the officer and yourself, and to her husband, then back to the other officer. She seemed as skittish as a person could possibly be — just watching, waiting, for something to happen.

You cleared your throat and forced a smile. "Training to be," you clarified.

For some reason, the exchange didn't feel like a conversation. The mood was too tense, too untrusting. It reminded you of the few minutes you'd spent alone with Dixon, back at his tent.

Something felt wrong.

Shane stalked around the firepit, his police boots crunching against the leafy bed, and kicking up dirt where he walked. He stopped directly in front of you, looming a shadow down onto you and Daryl — and making the other man scoff as he looked up.

"So not actually a pilot yet?" Shane smirked, crossing his arms over his chest.

Your smile faltered, he was asking too many questions.

The other officer, Rick, took off his sheriff's hat and tracked his partner's movements with his eyes, as though anticipating something that hadn't happened yet. It made you feel a nervousness you were ashamed of.

You never did play well with men like Shane.

"And tell me this," he said, lowly, as he crouched down to your level, "why aren't you at Fort Benning?" He looked back over his shoulder, at Rick who was sitting stiff as a board, before cocking his head back to you."Or were you part of the group that showered Atlanta with napalm?"

The word hung heavy in the air — even though he had practically whispered it.

Your mind flickered back to the day it rained fire down upon the city, to the sounds of screams, and the charred remains you'd stumbled across on the occasions you wandered too close to the centre.

You shook your head immediately, feeling the pain shoot up your shoulder. "I had no part in that," you hissed — much more viciously than you anticipated.

As soon as the words left your mouth, you curled in on yourself. You didn't miss the way the man recoiled slightly from your face, and you'd even caught a fleeting glimpse of your reflection in the blacks of his irises.

You wore a look of pure disgust.

"I was discharged," you whispered, after taking a few moments to collect yourself. "Couple months before all this." You glanced to your right, to where the former mechanic was sitting — trying to pretend like he wasn't watching you. "Got sent to Georgia afterwards, which is where I met Daryl," you explained, noticing his eyes narrow at your words. "Briefly."

He looked away. He didn't seem to like that choice, either.

Shane stood back up, stretching out his knees, and then his neck. He rolled his head back in a circle, before glancing to and from you and Daryl with a smirk.

"Makes sense," he murmured, before turning on his heels to walk away, "dropouts tend to stick together, no?"

And for the second time today, Dixon went wild.

The tension finally snapped, like an elastic band having been stretched to its limit, and Daryl shot up to his feet, lunging for the man.

But you reached out for him at the same time, trying to grab his hand so that the night didn't end in the way you were almost certain it was going to end.

After all, you'd only seen Daryl go off once before — back in the old world — which had left an aftertaste of bloodstains over your bar, and maroon-tinted bruised knuckles that needed tending to well after your closing time.

But now he seemed even worse — more tightly wound than a coil beneath your boot, always ready to jump up and spring.

He was playing the part of a man far more angry than you had ever known him to be.

Although you still couldn't figure out why.

The ticking of the wall clock was stark against the silence. Joe's Bar had been cleared out more than an hour back, but the two of you remained — like ghosts haunting whiskey bottles and looming around the jukebox until it played a song you liked.

Dixon hissed as you tipped alcohol over his knuckles, watching as it seeped into the cuts and spread over his bruises like a clear film. They weren't that bad, really — only a purplish hue to them.

After all, you'd seen the other guy.

But you'd never seen Dixon get so riled up before. He'd always been a cocktail of shy glances and dumb wonder around you. That was until tonight at least, when a drunken customer slapped your ass at the bar, and the mechanic beat him bloody.

He'd probably seen how rattled it had made you, and how you looked ready to either snap or break.

"Ya don' have to do this," the man rasped, purposefully avoiding your eyes. "Save the vodka."

Your hand stilled over his knuckles, as you breathed in the strong, sharp scent which made your lungs burn. You laughed, pointing back over your shoulder at the shelves atop of shelves — stacked with an array of bottles, all different shapes and sizes.

"We've got plenty to spare, don't you worry," you hummed, before tipping more Smirnoff onto a cotton pad. "And you didn't have to do that, either," you chided, narrowing your eyes at a particular cut — which had already begun to crust over. "I could've handled him."

The mechanic scowled, glancing back over his shoulder to the place where it had all gone down — as though watching the scene play out once more in his mind.

He shook his head. "Ya could'a lost yer job."

"I'm used to that by now," you bit back, not once looking up from his bruise-splayed knuckles. "But Dixon," you cautioned, "don't go doing that again."

A car drove by outside, its headlights streaming in through the window and illuminating the dark husk of the bar — the pool tables that had been otherwise cloaked in shadows, and the expression of the man sitting opposite you, studying your every word.

"Joe might bar you next time," you whispered, screwing the lid back onto the bottle.

But Dixon only laughed.

"Barred from a bar?" he scoffed, stretching out his fingers to inspect your work, "he ain't gonna do tha'."

The stool squeaked as the man stood up, dusting off his jeans and retrieving his jacket. It was long past midnight, and you knew you'd be catching a ride back with him as he sped down the streets, reminding you to hold on tighter.

"What makes you so sure?" you teased, untying your apron and leaving it at the end of the counter.

Daryl held the door open, and fished around in his pockets for something that jingled — pulling it out to show you.

It was a set of car keys, with a tacky coke-bottle charm hanging from them.

"Still got his truck sittin' in the shop," he smirked.

The scuffle between Shane and Daryl was interrupted before blows could even be exchanged. Rick grabbed a hold of his partner, whilst you pulled the former mechanic back down to his firepit seat, trading places with him until you were face-to-face with the other asshole — a few inches shorter but a whole lot more pissed.

Daryl tried to stand back up again, but you flashed those eyes at him — the ones that made him immediately second guess the action.

"Sit down," you seethed, punching out each word as you spoke them.

And surprisingly, Dixon did as you said.

You weren't angry at him, exactly, but you didn't want him fighting your battles for you anymore — especially not whilst he had a chip on his shoulder more noticeable than the sling on yours.

Then you turned back to Shane, looking up at him as he stood with his chest almost flush to you, completely ignoring Rick's pleas behind him. He knew exactly what he was doing. That comment wasn't off-handed — he made sure you could hear it.

"I don't like you," you said lowly, not backing down from the glare he shot your way.

You didn't want things to turn out like this. There was nothing more you hated than making a scene.

Well, there was one thing, you thought.

You couldn't fucking stand men who abused their power.

"Don't have to like me, princess," Shane retorted, reaching out a hand in your direction. "I'm just here to keep you alive."

You smacked his palm away — as though it were a fly buzzing much too close — before he could make contact with your skin. And you saw red.

Daryl would have punched a man for less, if you'd so much as given him the right look. But this time, you shot a warning glance at him, telling him to stay put.

"Don't fucking touch me," you whispered, but your words held more weight than if you'd screamed them — and Shane retracted his hand. "I can take care of myself."

Except, he made a point of letting his eyes drag over your injuries, lingering on the makeshift sling, before settling on your stomach — as though he could see your stitches underneath the material of Daryl's shirt.

"Clearly," he remarked, before turning on his heels once again.

Nobody stopped him this time — not even Rick — as he stalked around the fire, and into the night. You caught a glimpse of his metal dog tags as he did, glinting off the light of the flame and jumping around his neck with every step he took. You thought it was ironic for him to even wear them.

Or maybe not.

After all, he seemed the same as every other military man you'd encountered — a goddamn animal.

"Make sure you take care of your manic pixie dream bitch," he yelled, probably directed at Dixon. "Wouldn't want anymore helicopters fallin' from the damn sky."

And so Shane disappeared into his tent — into the shadows you couldn't quite make out — and Daryl stood up straight after, heading in the opposite direction. The remaining group was uneasy, tentative almost, as they watched your head whip back and forth between them and the mechanic as he left.

Dixon stalked away into the brush, despite the shouts and warnings not to stray too far from the campsite.

And you followed him.

With each step further from the flickering flames of the bonfires, it became harder to navigate the night. Your injuries had slowed you down, and you flinched every time a twig snapped, or leaves rustled near your ear. You didn't even have a weapon anymore — since it had burnt up with the rest of your gear in the crash.

But it didn't take you long to track down Dixon. After all, his smoke trail gave him away.

He was sitting on a grassy bank, over facing the quarry waters. There was a full moon out, and you could now see it peering above the tops of the trees — ghostly white against the stark, black sky. And cigarette smoke swirled around it, leading back down to the shadowy figure on the ground, legs tucked up to his chest as he breathed deeply.

You approached, wincing as your shoulder caught on a low-hanging branch.

"Yer gonna bust ya stitches messin' 'round like tha'," Dixon spoke, not even turning around to confirm it was you. But still, he outstretched a hand, helping you sit down beside him.

The moonlight was beautiful. It drizzled over the treetops in the distance, and the spindly branches that reached up to the sky. It even reflected off Daryl's skin as you glanced at him in the corner of your eye — watching as the smoke poured out from his lips and settled in the air.

You tucked yourself into his side just a little, missing the heavy feeling of your jacket which smelt like him — and was almost just as warm. Part of you expected him to shrug you off, or make some remark in-keeping with how withdrawn he'd been throughout the day.

But, he didn't.

He let you sit beside him, as he blocked you from the breeze — as though you weren't the one person who would be used to it.

"Got a spare?" you asked, eyeing his packet of cigarettes.

Dixon hesitated for a second, before placing them down in the space between you. "Thought ya didn't smoke," he replied.

You shook your head and laughed. "I don't."

In truth, you'd only recently taken up the habit — smoking much too scarcely to even call it a habit, really. It had all started when you'd stumbled across a rundown convenience store, and looted a packet of cigarettes without thinking — just because they were the brand that Dixon smoked.

The first time you lit one, you'd cried. They smelt like him.

They'd smelt like your only friend, and reminded you of just how lonely the end of the world was. So, you started to smoke — only when you missed him — and you continued because, even though he was now sitting beside you, for some reason you still felt empty.

Neither of you said anything after that, but you could hear his thoughts — those questions he wanted to ask but didn't. After all, he'd voiced them once before, back before the world ended. Except, it was you who wasn't willing to answer.

"What'd ya do tha' got yer ass sent here?" Dixon asked, one day whilst you were hanging around at the auto-shop, watching him scrub down that Honda bike. "Y'know, locked away in rural Georgia."

You laughed at his words, taking a swig from the ice cold cola you'd skimmed from Dean's fridge.

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

"I was training to be a helicopter pilot," you admitted into the air, answering that question truthfully for the first time.

But he'd already guessed — after the day you'd both had.

"Why didn't it work out?" Daryl mumbled, the cigarette bouncing between his lips as he spoke the words.

You watched as the smoke formed white clouds against the black night, before finally reaching for the packet yourself.

"Fear of heights," you told the man, letting out a breathy chuckle that blew out the lighter's flame.

It was a lie, but the truth was much more bleak.

Though, perhaps that was what nights like this were for. Out here, there was no one else to hear you speak your thoughts, or even see the two silhouettes sitting in the dark. Maybe you could even start trusting the man called Daryl Dixon, since he'd done nothing but pick you up and set you back onto your feet ever since you fell from the sky — and even some time before that.

"No matter how long I would fly for, I always had to land at some point," you explained, though it didn't really sound like much of an explanation. "But the people on the ground made me wish that I never had."

Daryl met your eyes, and in that moment you swore you saw a glimpse of that former mechanic — the one who was street smart but still clueless to people.

"That was until I met a man at a garage who promised to show me the world on his bike," you smiled, before letting the smoke trail from your lips, "but we ended up watching the stars instead."

Dixon didn't smile back.

And somehow, the smoke on your lips tasted more familiar — felt more like Daryl — than the man sitting beside you.

"Ya can take the tent tonight," he mumbled, snuffing his cigarette butt out on the grass.

You pulled a face, but he didn't retrieve it like he normally would — he probably thought there was nothing left in the world worth preserving anymore.

"And what about you?" you asked, making an expression he couldn't even see. "You should rest up before tomorrow."

But the man shook his head in the dark, pushing back on his knuckles to stand up — and offering you his hand once more.

"I ain't none of yer concern," he dismissed, whilst his palm was still warm in yours, "'m gonna sleep out under the stars."

The stars were bright overhead, with no light pollution, or mysterious blinking flickers that could have been mistaken for planes of satellites. But somehow, you didn't fully believe his story.

You laughed, but it wasn't the warm kind. It was the kind that felt foreign on your tongue, because it was a far cry from the fits of giggles the man normally had you in.

"Well, enjoy the view," you replied, shortly.

But you failed to notice the way Dixon watched you the entirety of the way back to camp — as though he already was.

Once Daryl had walked you there, and left you at the tent doorway, he did indeed roll out an old blanket over the grass, to lay back underneath the stars — just as promised.

He was far enough away that he didn't feel like you were right beside him, but still close enough to make out your silhouette against the lamp-lit canvas walls of his tent. That way, he didn't have to worry about walkers — but he didn't have to worry about you, either.

The night was quiet. The full, bright moon beamed down on him like a streetlight and the stars blinked in the sky like peering sets of eyes — staring back at him whilst he looked up. Daryl sighed, and crumpled his packet of cigarettes in his fist, crushing any left inside.

He needed to stop smoking them, because now they'd become tainted by you — and had become another thing that inescapably reminded him of you.

The lingering scent of them on his fingertips alone made him remember just how intoxicating you were. It made Daryl feel like he'd gotten a high from the scent of unbottled moonshine, or from that smile of pure starlight which could make a man go blind.

Though, he'd only had the pleasure of seeing it once today. The rest of the time you'd been pissed, confused, hurt.

He'd probably caused a lot of that — he wasn't that oblivious.

But you were the type who could break his heart without even knowing, and then offer to mend it like it had been someone else who'd done the damage.

He didn't understand how you could act so nonchalant, so blasé, as though you hadn't nearly died, and as though you hadn't just come back from the dead — where Daryl had thought you'd been this entire time.

He laughed, and it almost sounded as cold as the one you'd directed at him earlier.

Merle always called him naive, but Daryl often overcompensated for the fact with blind curses and bruised knuckles from butting heads those who suspected him of being as much.

But it had been the truth.

He was naive — especially when it came to you.

But, Daryl was also angry and hurt. And he didn't know how to fix that without bruising his knuckles — or his ego.

He bit his lip, wetting away the dryness with his tongue, whilst trying not to focus on how dry his throat felt, too. Then, Daryl rested his arm over his eyes.

He didn't feel like watching the stars anymore.

When you awoke, light had filtered into the tent through the mesh netting, speckling over your face like glittering gold as you blinked.

But when you awoke, the man was gone — leaving only another shirt behind in his place.

It almost made you cry, because of how familiar it felt. It smelled like Joe's Bar, of Marlboro cigarettes, of Georgia, and of home.

But you couldn't cry; you hadn't done since the day everything fell apart. So instead, you pulled on your big-girl shirt — the one belonging to the man twice the size of you — and grit your teeth as you threaded your bruised arm through the sleeve, and caught your stitches on the buttons.

You spent the whole morning trying not to notice the glaringly obvious absence in the camp — the men who'd left in search of Merle Dixon. But at the same time, you grimaced at the sight of the ones who hadn't left, the ones like Shane, and Carol's husband — who leered at the women as they washed his fucking underwear.

"Carol, why don't you ask Ed to come and help us," Andrea remarked, glancing towards the man resting languidly by his jeep, "make himself useful instead of just standing there smoking cigarettes."

Beside you, Jacqui laughed a high-pitched laugh, as she wrung out another damp t-shirt in her fists. You had only been formally introduced to her this morning, but her smile was infectious — and for a minute, it made you forget about the anxiety deep in the pits of your stomach.

Carol was quiet, but eventually chirped up once she mustered enough confidence.

"If I knew how to get him to do that, I would have done it years ago," she muttered, and shyly rolled her eyes.

Andrea boomed out a laugh, whilst the others chimed in at the appearance of Carol's unexpected humour. You tried not to let the chuckle wrack up your body, since every slight movement sent shockwaves to your injuries. But at this moment, you didn't really mind.

Carol had a pretty smile, and an even nicer laugh.

Except, her husband didn't seem to think so.

He stalked over with the same bravado Shane had mastered the night before — probably taking inspiration from the other man who wore boots three times his size. You could make out the sneer on his face before he even got within a few steps of you all. It was just that deep.

The man flicked his cigarette in your direction, and it barely missed the toe of your boot.

"What's so funny, hmm?" he jeered, but his tone was anything but light. You didn't have to hear them twice to recognise those words as a threat. "Gotta be somethin' if it's got you ladies so distracted."

Each of the women stayed silent as a grave — as though in some secret pact Ed was unaware of. He sauntered around, weaving in between Jacqui and Andrea, until the latter eventually snapped.

"Is it really any of your business?" she remarked, frustration clear in her voice. "After all, we're the ones doing your laundry."

She thrust the damp clothes she was holding at the man's chest, before letting them fall to the floor. The moment you heard them hit the ground, your hands were already shaking with adrenaline. You knew that look — the one Ed wore — and nothing good ever came from it.

He stepped up to Andrea, his pride damper than the shirt at his feet. "Know your place, little bitch," he hissed, shoving her back with his shoulder.

And chaos broke out.

Jacqui's screams sounded very much like her high-pitched laughs had done, and Lori called for Shane like a broken record that only knew a single name. You wanted to get everyone to calm down. You wanted to diffuse the situation like how you'd been trained to do.

But all you saw was red.

Carol interjected, lacing herself around her husband's arm as she begged for him to stop. "Ed, please don't-"

The man backhanded his wife, sending her to the ground with a single strike.

And that was your queue.

You rushed over, feeling your feet sink into the pebbles deeply with each step. You had a dozen stitches in your stomach, but you would rather pop every damn one open than let him get away with that.

"You dare lay your hands on her?" you roared, approaching the man — the monster — from behind as he loomed over Carol like a shadow of cowardice.

Ed reacted out of instinct, flailing his arm backwards and hitting you across the jaw with his elbow as you tried to pull him away. Immediately, your mouth pooled with the taste of copper, and you spit it out onto the pebbled stones beneath your feet.

You looked over at Andrea, who was dumbstruck as she watched blood drizzle from your lip, before you wiped it away by the sleeve of Daryl's shirt — with your one good arm.

"Get Carol out of here," you said, so quiet that it might as well have been a whisper.

You looked at the man, sizing him up as he stared you down.

"She isn't gonna want to see this."

The evening sunset was a vibrant salmon, tinged with deeper, darker hues the further you got from the sun. Those parts of the sky were the same maroon colour as your jaw — you'd caught glimpses of it in Andrea's compact mirror.

You'd spent the latter part of the day avoiding Shane's lectures, and the women who meant well but fussed over you far too much. So, you retreated back to Dixon's tent — icing the ripe bruise on your chin with a pack from Dale's RV cooler.

The scent of Marlboro cigarettes lingered around you — faint but still present in the fibers of the blankets beneath you, and in your shirt which was now bloodstained. You tried to ignore the pull of it, not wanting to smoke.

The tent puckered as someone fumbled with it, and soon the entrance flap was unzipped — revealing Carol, who timidly ducked inside.

"We meet again," you greeted her, thinking back to how she'd tended to your wounds in this very spot, not even a full day before. "I was going to apologise for beating your husband into the ground, but I couldn't bring myself to say that I'm sorry."

You grimaced as the words left your mouth. They sounded a lot more sharp than you'd intended.

But she still smiled warmly at you, a smile that you didn't think you deserved, and shook her head. The woman sat down on her knees opposite you, coaxing the ice-pack away from your skin for a second to inspect the damage.

"I don't blame you," she said, as gentle as her touch. She smelt like citrus, and summer days as her palm ghosted over your face. "I came to thank you, actually. For being the first to stand up for me."

Your gaze dropped down to where her sleeves had risen up, revealing the yellowish bruises dotted over her arms — in the shape of fingerprints.

"Well, someone had to," you noted, sadly.

She caught the way your eyes lingered, and quickly adjusted her shirt, pulling it back down to her wrists.

"Was it really that obvious?" she chuckled, nervously.

But you felt like she already knew the answer.

Her stance was practiced, even sitting down. She wasn't at all relaxed, hovering on her knees like a small rabbit, ready to dart to safety at a moment's notice. You felt like you were looking into a mirror — one that only reflected the past.

You nodded. "When you know the signs, it is," you admitted, sitting back against Dixon's pillow. "I had my suspicions before."

She hummed in return, acting much more casually around you than she had done a mere moment before. "What gave it away?" she asked — curious more than anything.

Light streamed in through the little plastic windows on the tent, falling in a stream between you — warm against your lap.

"Your hair, for one thing," you confessed, gesturing with your free hand. "You shave it yourself? To stop him grabbing it during fights?"

She remained silent at the accusation, but her eyes gave her entirely away.

You nodded. "They always tend to stoop that low."

And Carol bit her lip in response, not pointing out how you'd done the same with your braids — keeping them tight to your scalp, not even a strand out of place.

She excused herself then, making some remark about how she best ought to go check on her husband, before letting you catch a glimpse of the brave scowl which made its way onto her face as she said it. The sun hung high in the sky as she ducked back out, almost as bright as that full moon had been the night before.

"Hey, Carol," you said, loud enough for her to still hear it, "if he gives you trouble again, don't hesitate to come find me."

The woman nodded once more, and waved you off.

"Just you wait until my good arm heals," you called after her. "My right hook's even better than my left."

Then, you winked — watching as she debated letting out the laugh she had stifled — as you recalled the actual reason that got you hauled off to Georgia in the first place.

Dishonourable discharge, my ass.

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A/N Things are picking up here! How are we feeling? We all doing good? I promise this series won’t be really angsty, so stick with me, my dears :)

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[foreficfandom]

Mystic Messenger - First Time With MC (Lemon)

(Author’s notes: These scenarios do NOT assume a gender for MC, but do write the boys penetrating the reader.)

– Zen –

This isn’t his first rodeo, but he’s not exactly experienced; he’s had, like, one-and-a-half relationships before you. It’s been years since he’s had partnered sex.

And he’s never had sex-ed, either, so his knowledge of the Nasty is kinda lacking. He thinks he can re-use condoms as long as he keeps it on, he believes coconut oil can be used with latex, he thinks birth control pills act as a spermicide, and so on.

You and him initiate sex pretty early on in the relationship, perhaps merely a few days after the RFA party. He’s very romantic about it, too, planning a whole day in advance with rose petals on the bed and scented candles dotting his room. But in the middle of making out, you ask if he’s clean, and he pulls back, confused. “... I think? I mean, I haven’t been with anybody in years, so ...”

Turns out he’s never been tested for STDs. He’s almost offended when you bring it up, like you’re insinuating he’s been cheating on you. You have to explain that getting tested is just what everyone does before having sex with someone for the first time. 

So ... he’s not tested. “Can we ... still do it?” He’s blushing like crazy now, embarrassed he’s so behind on the know-how when he’s the one who wanted this in the first place. 

Partnered sex can still be relatively safe even when an individual’s not been tested, so long as you use lots of protection. But depending on who you are, you might say no, just to be 100% safe. Either way, Zen’s disappointed - not in you, no way, but in himself. God, he’s been looking forward to this night for so long, and he fucked it up by being stupid. He stews in his thoughts silently for a while, and you can tell he’s feeling down so you cuddle him close to have a good long chat about sex, relationships, and communication. Afterwards, he feels much less insecure. The two of you take the rose petals and candles to the bathroom to enjoy your first romantic bath together, instead.

Two days later, he bounces back from the clinic with a negative on every test imaginable. It’s finally time to dig in, and go ham he does, passionately wrapping you into his arms while thrusting deep and slow, trying to have as much skin contact at all times. Oh, god, he loves you, and he’ll spend the whole night proving it.

(Except he definitely couldn’t last the whole night. Your first time having sex was a mere two turns before he clonked out. He’s still embarrassed about that.)

– Yoosung –

It’s his first time having sex, and he’s really nervous. He wants it, wants you badly, but oh my god what if he messes up? What if he farts? Or scratches you in the face? Or he thrusts weird and hurts you and you start bleeding or something?? Dear lord help him

He considers proposing sex like, eight different times. He’s always chickened out, just kissing you on the doorstep before saying goodbye, or letting you leave his dorm without offering to stay the night. It doesn’t help that his dorm is tiny, he’s got a twin bed barely big enough for him. And anybody passing by the door would hear what’s going on inside clear as day. Take his word on that.

He had spent several hours worth on his laptop, doing research on ‘how to have sex for the first time’. He’s got his list of positions to try, how to minimize pain and discomfort, etc, all memorized.. He eventually goes out to get condoms and lube, making sure to use the self-checkout. 

You and him are hanging out in his dorm after a date, and he wasn’t even planning to suck it up and ask you, but you saw the condoms in the shopping bag he forgot to stow away, and you asked him gently, “do you want to be intimate with me, Yoosung?”

He blushes like crazy, you could swear you saw steam lines radiating from his face. But you take his hand in encouragement and he nods eagerly, looking anywhere else but your eyes. “I - I really want this, MC. I’ve been thinking about this for so long ...”

You can tell he’s nervous. The two of you sit on his bed and talk explicitly about what he wants, how you should proceed, what lines to avoid, and lots of other important details. A safeword is confirmed; ‘server maintenance’. He feels much more confident. 

The two of you begin by just kissing on his bed, he slowly dares to feel up your shirt and eventually the clothes come off bit by bit. His body is lean and soft, and he’s loud, too. Just nipping at his pillowy tummy makes him cry out. 

You give him oral, and he’s twisting around, grabbing at pillows and sheets like he’s tumbling down a cliff. He comes without warning and collapses, wrung out and overwhelmed with pleasure. 

Some cuddling afterwards, and then he’s hard again and kissing at your neck. He asks you to ride him, and when you do, he’s sobbing without shame and grabbing hard at your hips.

Some time afterwards, when you and Yoosung are trying to cuddle on his bed without either of you toppling off, he remembers just how loud he’s been and dreads facing anybody in the building tomorrow. You just laugh and tuck him into the bedsheets.

– Jaehee –

She shyly shows off a beautiful new set of lingerie as her way of asking to ‘take the relationship to the next level’. And she’s a real bombshell in it. It’s sometimes easy to forget that Jaehee’s got a bod underneath her suit/cafe uniform.

Unlike certain younger boys, Jaehee didn’t feel the need to agonize over this night over a period of several months. This is a natural progression for her. Once things feel ready between the two of you, it’s natural that the question eventually comes up.

She first shows you her new lingerie in its original packaging, and waits to hear your ‘yes’. Then, it’s time to hop into the bathtub for a long soak and thorough wash before putting it on.

She also gets new toys. Entire shopping bags and shipping boxes filled with insertables, vibrators, pumps, impacts, (and also the supplies needed to maintain them). She didn’t come out and show you these all at once, she’d probably die of embarrassment if she did. But she had them all unwrapped, clean, tested, and ready to use in a discreet box.

You and she actually end up making out on the couch rather than the bedroom. She’s sitting in your lap dressed in her lingerie, you’re fully clothed, and things get so heated the two of you decide to go at it right there.

She’s surprisingly wild. She keeps as much of her lingerie on as possible, even while you’re knuckle deep or pelvis-to-pelvis. The floor is eventually lined with toys as one is used after the other. And she loves taking the initiative with a gentle but firm hand, directing the positions one after the other, or deciding what toy to be used where, and for how long.

A round on the couch, and Jaehee cools down long enough to freak out about staining the upholstery, so she ushers you into the bedroom while she busts out the Lysol. 

After she cleans up, she joins you on the bed for some belated cuddling, and perhaps a second round. Or three.

And it’s actually in the middle of the day, not during the night, so the two of you are completely worn out by dinnertime. Food is takeout, and there’s a lot of it because you need to replenish all that energy.  

Jaehee doesn’t get blushy until you feed her a bite of dessert. It’s cute how confident she is when it comes to sex, but shy about small acts of intimacy. 

– Jumin –

He’s not a virgin, (not that it’s any of your business, Luciel), he had sex with a random girl back in college just to see what the fuss was about, and nothing else since then.

Jumin’s a conservative guy. “Liberalism can only flourish with a good foundation of conservatism.” He believes unmarried couples shouldn’t live together. Of course he’s not gonna be fond of having sex before tying the knot.

It’s not like he rushed the engagement for that reason, but if he was perfectly honest, he did wake up in a cold sweat at 3am when he remembered that this meant the two of you would be intimate very soon. 

Jumin’s got that reputation for being some d/s sex-mad sadist daddy, but that’s not the full picture. You might be able to get him into that specific mood after the two of you establish your relationship more. But for the first few times, it’s all vanilla.

It takes a long while before the wedding actually happens. And, no, Jumin’s not gonna really want to have sex for that entire period. Sure, he’s excited about it, but it’s not a driving, burning need. You, on the other hand, might say differently. 

So if you don’t want to wait four to five months, you’re gonna have to breach the topic yourself. And he’ll be torn - on one hand, he rationally realizes that it’s completely harmless to have consensual sex without martial ties. But he also believes in that supposed virtue of being abstinent until marriage. He also liked the romance of waiting. It’d make the moment more special for him.

Either way, he’s excited. The bed’s furnished with fresh sheets, the lights are dimmed, and there’s five dozen roses in crystal vases throughout the bedroom. 

It’ll start with wine while sitting on the bed - if you don’t drink, you have a glass of something you prefer while he’s sipping on some $12,000 vintage - and he drills a hole in your face with his loving gaze while singing your virtues. He wants you naked before he is, so after some kissing you’ll be nude on the sheets while he finally takes his clothes off.

Jumin has no idea what sex is ‘supposed’ to look like, which is both good and bad - you can tell him to do anything, and he’s not gonna worry about feeling awkward or stupid. But he also needs to be told to do anything. 

If you want him to go faster, or use more tongue, you have to tell him. He’s not gonna take the initiative. If you want him to switch positions, you need to describe exactly how you want to position yourselves. It’s a mixed blessing.

The first round goes quite a while because Jumin was taking it slow. There’s a second round where he gets more adventurous, and maybe a third round depending on how you feel. 

The next morning, the chef’s been hired to prepare a special breakfast, and you can tell that they know. Jumin doesn’t care. He just smiles all day.

– Saeyoung –

He actually was a virgin, which was kinda a surprise. His agent job never require any sort of sex-related work, thank god, and it’s not like he ever earned the attention of anybody else before this point. 

If an agency job had enough time to have sex while in the field, then that meant the job was going down the dumps fast. And whenever Agent 707 was involved, a job never nosedived that far.

It’s (semi) canon that Saeyoung asked to be intimate during the after-ending, while on the search for his brother. It was the night before all your plans would come to fruition, and he didn’t know he would come back alive. “I want to leave evidence on you that I existed.”

But it’s ALSO canon that in Saeyoung’s ‘dark chocolate’ Valentine’s Day ending, he asks to ‘take the relationship to the next level’. Which implies that the two of you haven’t had sex yet. 

So what’s the dealio? Basically, Saeyoung wanted to have sex with you that night in the cabin, and after some kissing, you realized that you (1) didn’t have protection, (2) neither of you have been tested recently, and (3) your current emotional states weren’t ideal for sex, especially since Saeyoung was a virgin. He left a lot of hickies on your neck instead, and the two of you held each other close the whole night. 

By the time Valentine’s Day rolled around, it had been two months since Saeran was rescued and Saeyoung was feeling a lot happier. You made it to the end of the scavenger hunt to find an amorous redhead that was ~prepared~ this time. An entire shopping bag full of prophylactics, lube, band-aids, water bottles, and everything. 

He managed to fake a confident persona up until he undressed you fully, then he found himself blushing like crazy when you undressed him in turn. Damn, he really was hiding muscles underneath that hoodie. His arms were woven cable, and underneath his pudge you could feel shapely abs. 

He asked to be on top, you complied, rolling over and allowing him to explore your body with his hands and mouth. It took three tries to enter you, because without his glasses, you were a bit of a blurry blob. But once he was in, he went at it. Maybe even a bit too enthusiastic for the first few thrusts, he was just running on some animalistic instinct he didn’t know he had. 

Two minutes later, he was blindsided by a surprise orgasm. Embarrassed, he rolled off of you and buried his face into the sheets. You had to stroke his hair soothingly for ten minutes before he would look you in the face. 

Saeyoung’s first evening of sex had one ‘disastrous’ first try, then a much better second run, and then after dinner there was a third ... and also .5 a prance while in the shower.  

– Saeran –

You’re his first sexual partner, but more than that, today also marks a big step in his self-confidence. He’s cashing in his newfound tolerance for his body and constitution. Saeran spent most of his life hating his ‘weak’ health and thinking anybody’d be repulsed by him. He wouldn’t have sex if he didn’t believe differently. 

So it’s probably several months - perhaps years - into your relationship that he even brings up having sex. Even though he may be ready, he’s still nervous and shy and unsure about how to proceed. 

Before the big night, he spends several minutes in front of the mirror, looking at his body. He’s gained weight and a new color to his skin thanks to his healthier lifestyle, and there’s this confidence to his posture that wasn’t there before. A sparkle in his eye. It’s incredible how far he’s come from hating every inch of himself. He smiles.

He prepares one of his Patented Saeran’s Romantic Dinners, complete with candlelight and ambient music. The two of you have done this several times before, but this time there’s an electricity in the air ‘cause of what’s to come. You notice that the food has no garlic, or other strong smells. Saeran’s more cunning than he looks. 

As dessert finishes up, he gets more quiet, until the conversation dies down and there’s nothing for it; he takes a deep breath and says, “....Sh-shall we go to bed?” Like this hasn’t been planned weeks in advance. The two of you walk hand-in-hand to the bedroom, where there’s even more candles and another stereo playing soft music, and you picture Saeran putting together a ‘having sex for the first time’ playlist.

You begin by kissing Saeran lying beneath you, but he stops you with a hand on your shoulder and asks to switch positions, because he doesn’t like the feeling of you hovering over him. It’s another mark of his progress that he asks for adjustments. 

Things progress slowly. Saeran feels out what makes him feel anxious, and what makes him feel good. The two of you end up side-by-side as he takes you, facing each other with your legs wrapped around his waist. Very intimate. Very sweet. He loves threading his fingers through your hair, and he mewls every time you fondle his ears. 

His health is still shaky, so he only has the stamina for one round before he needs to rest. He all but demands you inch as close as possible so he falls asleep holding you tight. When he wakes up the next morning, he’s got a 1000-watt smile. 

– Jihyun –

Out of the entire wacky cast of Mystic Messenger boys, Jihyun’s the only actual experienced one. You don’t have to tell him that a single pack of five condoms is waaayy too little, you don’t have to explain what dental dams are, or worry about him using oil-based lube on accident, and he’s the only one who actually showers thoroughly beforehand. 

It begins with your typical night of cuddling-and-kissing, then Jihyun says he’s clean and he’s got a bedside cabinet full of supplies. He gently holds your hand and asks, ‘”if you’d like …? We could … if you’re comfortable. If you’d have me.” He’s blushing, but he’s confident. 

Of course, even if you’re experienced, the first time with anybody is gonna be awkward. And Jihyun’s a surprisingly big guy to maneuver. There’s a lot of accidental elbowing, bonking of the heads, kneeling on sensitive bits, and little scrapes. His long limbs seemingly end up everywhere on the bed, and it’s like you’re playing twister. 

Mistakes just make him laugh. You trip over his outstretched forearm and face plant into his shoulder, and he just chuckles and pulls you into another kiss. 

He’s just so soft and loving. ‘Cause to Jihyun, it’s about ~making love~. He wants to go slow, looking into your eyes, cradling your head and burying his face into the crook of your neck. 

Tries to get you off first, either through oral or otherwise. He’s not a big fan of any positions that turn you away from him, it’s just too rough and aggressive. He’d rather carry you on his shoulders before he prefers doggy style. 

Checks in with you constantly, asks what you like and where you like to be touched. Tries to get you to literally guide his hands. In turn, he asks you to please, touch his legs, his thighs ... yes, kiss me there - 

For your first time, he’d rather have a one-two long sessions than multiple quick ones. He believes sex is one of the most intimate methods of non-verbal communication, and the longer you go in one sitting, the more is passed between the two of you. 

He’s never used toys in his life. If you decide to pull one out for your first time, he’s gonna blush like crazy and actually decline. He wants the first night to be 'organic’. And he’s so driven towards that romantic face-to-face lovemaking, he won’t go too hard or fast, even if you’re begging him. 

After the sex, he wraps you up in a cozy blanket before fetching some hot tea and fresh fruit. Then there’s several minutes spent reviewing how things went, what things worked well, or how they can improved. He catalogues it all for later. 

He rarely wants to fall asleep right after sex, so you might pass out peacefully, but he’s gonna stay awake, just gazing at you for a while. 

[ifeveristoday]

Buffy Summers’s Diary (VI)

TRANSCRIPT FOR EPISODE 06, THE ANDREW AND VI PODCAST

Andrew: Before we start this episode, I just want to shout out to our sponsor, ZZZZTop mattresses. Hey Vi, did you know ZZZZTop mattress has a lifetime warranty?

VI: I did. I had the best sleep of my life on my ZZZZTop mattress. I think everyone should experience ZZZZTop’s 100 day trial period. Just use ANDYVI at the checkout online.

Andrew: That’s right, and if you don’t have the best sleep of your life on the ZZZZTop mattress, you can just return it with no questions asked. 

[muffled noise]

Andrew: How can they make any money with this model? What if I spill tomato soup on my mattress and it looks like a murder scene, I’m just going to nonchalantly have them pick it up and go, ‘oh I don’t know how that happened?’

Vi: Andrew, we’re recording. Also, why are you eating soup in bed?

[cupped microphone noise]

Andrew: You’re not the boss of me.

Andrew: That’s ZZZZTop mattress, with four z’s because of all the great sleep you’ll be getting!

Vi: So we have a very special guest with us today. I’m very excited, she was like, my idol when I was growing up. 

Andrew: Yes, today on our show we have [drum roll effect], former Olympic gold medalist Buffy Summers! Buffy is someone I’ve known for a very long time, so I’m really happy she could make it on our podcast today.

Buffy: Thanks for inviting me, Andrew. And it’s nice to meet you, Vi.

Vi: Oh my god. It’s really an honor. I mean, I had a poster of you on my wall. And my sister and I saved up our birthday money to see your skating exhibitions. That was so not cool what happened with Riley, by the way.

Buffy: Uh thank you for coming out to see me skate. Well, it was a long time ago, and it worked out in the end.

Andrew: Let’s not bring up the ugly past. We all love a comeback story, and to fit in with our theme of new beginnings, what have you been up to, Buffy?

Buffy: I’m working as a blogger for Young Magazine. 

Vi: Oh, I’ve heard of that. Isn’t that Kendra Young’s magazine?

Buffy: Yes, it’s her namesake magazine, and she’s the CEO. 

Vi: What’s it like working with a legend?

Buffy: Surprisingly easy - but I know what you mean. Kendra’s been an inspiration for me, both as a fellow skater and as a human being.

Andrew: Weren’t you guys competitors at one point?

Buffy: Only for two competitions. She placed first in one and I placed first in the other. Then she retired.

Andrew: Well, it’s always good to go out on top.

Buffy: Yeah.

Andrew was nice enough to edit out the five minutes of me disassociating after that, and told me it was a good interview. I think I disappointed his partner though - I could tell. You know the look when someone doesn’t live up to your expectations. 

I’ve been on the wrong end of that look far too often this month. Kendra didn’t like the column I turned in about self-care so I had to rewrite it, and then I got into a stupid fight with Cordelia at the staff meeting.

She cornered me afterwards and told me that I got lucky because Kendra offered me the job, while she busted her ass in journalism school.

What could I say to that?

She was right.

I missed Dawn’s recital by accident - the date completely slipped my mind and she left me a voicemail - she didn’t scream at me, but I almost wished she did.

I haven’t been the best older sister to Dawn - by the time she came along, I had started my skating lessons and mom’s attention was split unevenly between us. Dad ended up looking after Dawn while Mom drove me to practice. I pretty much ignored Dawn until she was old enough to speak in complete sentences and even then all we did was argue.

Now that she has her dance career and is the successful one in the family, she treats me like I’m the embarrassing younger sister. She’s always checking on me to make sure I’m eating - stopping by with groceries because she ‘was in the neighborhood.’ Dawn lives 45 minutes away in Dad’s condo.

It’s supposed to be my job to take care of her and I tell her so. She just rolls her eyes and says she doesn’t mind.

I don’t know what possessed me to agree to go on a date on Valentine’s day. It’s unnecessary pressure for a first date. It’s just that William and I kept on missing each other - either I had to work overtime or he was traveling for research or it was raining and I was in no mood to go outside - we might as well have been living in the missed connections section on Craigslist. Finally he just appeared in my cubicle and told me that we were going out for dinner and drinks and that he would pick me up.

Maybe it was because I haven’t been on a real date in so long, that I let the whole macho schtick pass.

He looked really good too - classic leather duster, black shirt and dark jeans. He looked like he stepped out of a noir film. All he was missing was a cigarette dangling out of his mouth and a fedora.

He bowed when he saw me. ‘Your carriage awaits, my lady.’

Okay, there might have been a little bit of fluttering.

William drives a vintage Cadillac, because of course he does.

I wore red because it’s legally mandated to do so on Valentine’s day.

Dinner was fine. It was excellent actually. William had gotten reservations at one of the best restaurants in LA - one that had a months long waiting list. ‘Must be nice to be famous,’ I said.

He shrugged, and then smirked. ‘It has its perks.’ We were tucked away in a corner, and the candle light made shadows flicker against his face. He looked unearthly, his head bowed over the menu. He sighed and then looked up at me. ‘Buffy, I can’t take it anymore.’

‘What?’ 

‘I can’t bloody see in this lighting.’ He fumbled in his pockets and slid out a pair of reading glasses. He put them on and then raised an eyebrow at me. 

I couldn’t help it. I laughed. 

He scowled, then his mouth relaxed into a smile. ‘You look lovely in this light.’

‘Only this light?’

‘In every light.’

It was my turn to study the menu. ‘So what should we get for appetizers?’

He chuckled.

It was what happened after the dinner that the date went completely downhill. It wasn’t completely William’s fault.

It was just a massive circus of embarrassment with a side of testosterone poisoning.

Anya called me as I was waiting for William to pull up with his car. ‘You have to come over to the store right now,’ she said. ‘Your special order has arrived.’

‘I didn’t special order anything.’

‘I did, for you. Because you’ve been looking so lonely lately and Willow told me you spend your weekends drinking tea and reading trashy novels.’

‘Anya - I am not lonely, I am actually on a date. And I haven’t been reading trashy novels. I’ve been watching Lifetime movies.’

‘So the television version of trashy novels. Got it. Bring your date to the Magic Box. It’ll benefit you both.’

‘I do not need another vibrator,’ I said. Loudly.

William’s eyebrows practically elevated to his hairline. ‘All right there, pet?’

‘Oooh, he’s got an accent. Bring him over,’ Anya ordered. ‘Buffy, this was very expensive and time consuming to order and is now taking up space in my storage room.’

‘I didn’t ask you to.’ 

‘Well I did and since it has your name on it, I can’t exactly just sell it on the floor as is.’

‘Oh my god, Anya, what is it?’

‘Come over and see.’ Then she hung up.

Would it really be murder if I had justifiable cause?

William couldn’t stop snickering on the drive over. ‘Is it made of glass? Leather? Bigger than a bread box?’

“Just shut up.’

The bell over the Magic Box’s door jangled a little too loudly as I burst in. ‘I’m here, you demon.’

Anya was not alone. There was a couple next to her, the man’s tall form vaguely familiar as I stomped toward her. ‘Just give me the sex toy or whatever it is so I can get back to my date.’

‘Buffy?’ 

The man turned to look at me, and if I could have melted into the floor, I would have. As it was, my cheeks felt like they were on fire.

‘Ang-Liam,’ I stammered. 

‘You’re on a date?’ Angel said just as his date put her hand on his arm. ‘Who’s this?’

It was not my brightest moment. ‘Uh no one. We’ve never met - An, we need to talk. About boundaries.’

I glared at her meaningfully. She pursed her lips. ‘I was trying to be helpful. It’s not my fault you want to be a spinster.’

‘Anya!’

‘Buffy, this is Fred. Fred, is this Buffy. We grew up together,’ Angel interrupted. He smiled and I tried not to notice how it made his eyes crinkle at the edges. 

Fred stuck out her hand and then I noticed how pretty she was. Her eyes were doll-like and thickly lashed. She looked like Bambi.

‘Hello, Buffy,’ she said cheerfully. There was sweet drawl to her voice and I felt even more embarrassed about yelling at Anya.

‘Hi -- Fred?’

‘Short for Winifred, but only strangers call me that,’ she said. ‘So you and Angel go way back?’

‘Yeah, we do, but I haven’t really seen him in the last few years,’ I said, trying to get Anya’s attention. ‘I’m sorry, I need to borrow Anya for a minute. I didn’t mean to interrupt your date.’

‘Oh lord, we’re not on a date,’ Fred laughed. ‘I’m helping Liam with party favors for a bachelor party. Because this one,’ she jerked her thumb at him, ‘is utterly clueless about what to get.’

‘Buffy, do you have change for the meter? Because I’m out and this has to be one of the last relics that still require actual coins --’

William came through the door, patting his pockets. Angel stiffened.

‘Spike,’ he said in a tone I’ve never heard him use.

William’s eyes narrowed. ‘Angel,’ he spat.

Angel went straight for his throat. Fred shrieked, and I wasn’t thinking too clearly either, the shock temporarily freezing me to the floor. Anya, however had no problems. She grabbed a broom and started swinging at them. ‘There will be no fighting in my store. Don’t think I won’t call the police. Also if you break it, you buy it!’

Fighting on tv always looks cooler than it really is - Angel and William’s fight devolved very quickly into William pulling Angel’s hair and Angel clumsily smacking him on the chin.

It ended with them collapsing onto the floor, with Angel putting William in a headlock.

Fred and I rushed over to break it up - Fred pulled William’s ear and I pinched Angel on his neck. ‘What the hell is wrong with you?’

‘Are you dating this asshole?’ Angel sniped.

‘He started it,’ William said. He shoved Angel off of him. ‘Fuck, you still weigh a ton.’

‘We were on a date,’ I pointed out. ‘Then you attacked him, and I’m guessing you two know each other.’

‘He’s an uptight arse,’ William said, his accent losing its customary smoothness. Angel snorted. ‘And he’s a piece of shit liar.’

‘And you two are both allegedly grown men who fight -’

‘Like sad mimes,’ Anya chimed in. ‘Very amusing.’

‘Liam, are you all right?’ Fred asked. ‘Do we need to call the police?’

‘That’s a good idea, I should press charges for assault,’ William said belligerently. 

Angel stood up and brushed off his jacket. ‘Try it and I’ll end you. Don’t think I won’t this time.’

‘I’d like to see you try -’ 

‘William, shut up.’ I pushed my way through them. ‘I’ve decided I don’t care. Whatever your issues are, they’re yours. I am going home.’

‘I’ll drive you home, love.’ 

Angel bristled - I could practically see his hair getting spikier with anger. 

‘You know what, that’s okay -- I’m going to call a ride. I think I’ve had enough of Valentine’s day and this whole..’ I motioned at them, ‘whatever drama you two have.’

‘I could drop you off,’ Angel quickly said. ‘After Fred,’ he added.

‘Yeah, no. I’m good. Anya - I’ll get that thing later. Or you can burn it. You have my express permission to destroy it.’

I ran out of the Magic Box before she could respond. 

No one followed me, which was a relief.

Angel called me on the ride home and I dismissed it. A text popped up a few minutes later. 

Buffy, William Pratt is bad news. I worry about you. Call me when you get home.

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[fuckyeahscandalband]

SCANDAL's RINA; "It's me RINA" Style Book Translations Part 1 of 5 - MUSIC

"Everyone who has gotten this book, thank you so much. I am SCANDAL's drummer, RINA. The theme of this book is vintage. From music to movies to fashion etc., things that are important to RINA have all been packed within it. It's a book that's made from the heart, so I'll be happy if you all could enjoy it. - Rina"

About SCANDAL

'Youth' might be a word that's mostly used when you're a teenager, but I think that as long I am in this band, my youth will always been continuing. The fact that I can feel this way is probably largely due to the members. For 4 girls to come gathered together, and to always spend our time on such good terms is amazing, and I unintentionally think about it from an audience point of view at times.

About Member

The eldest, HARUNA always takes in everyone's opinions calmly, and is a leader that judges only at the very end. To have HARUNA in the way that she is rely on me at certain times makes me extremely happy, and I think it's nice if I could bring some relief to HARUNA. TOMOMI is a person that brings about relaxation and creates breathing space. In midst of a generally straightforward bunch of people, she also tends to throw out the odd curveball once in a while. MAMI is the band's melody maker. She's the most important support in terms of our music, and is the person whom widens our possibilities. The members aren't family or friends, but they are definitely partners for whatever happens. I will support these members for who they are.

About Indies

There are probably endless memories of Osaka, I reckon. When I was a middle school student, and the other members were high school students, the 4 of us gathered together for a camp at a mansion in Osaka during our Summer holidays. We'll practice in the studio every single day, everyone doing their own thing, then head to baths once practice is finished. We really didn't have money, so in order to save, we'll buy from the supermarket, and sometimes wash our clothes all at a go at the coin laundromat. It's a Summer where be it doing the laundry, eating and living together, we were together. At that time, it was hard but we also enjoyed it. And during our indies period, we then performed street lives at Osaka-jo Park's Ten-jo street, in front of an empty crowd that we really can't possibly smile at (laughs). We made hand-written flyers ourselves, and tried performing and singing while dancing. We cracked our brains, wondering what we can do to make people pause in their footsteps, to be able to stand out. I think I'll never be able to forget those times for as long as I live.

About Major Debut

I was in my 2nd year of high school when we had our major debut, "DOLL". I was really happy to see that the dream I'd aimed for had come true. It moved me, going to the CD shop and seeing our CDs lined up there. I was so happy I nearly wanted to cry when I saw a plate that said 'SCANDAL' hung up on the pillar. And right after our debut, we got to appear on music programmes and had many chances to widen our name, which I felt happy about, despite being busy. I can still recall clearly, the days that followed after our debut.

About Girl's Band

I think that girl bands are the absolute best, and I'm so in love with being a part of it. 'Girls rock' stands right next to the genre that is 'Rock', and I think that the time that it can be naturally recognised for itself alone is coming; When it does, it'll definitely be fun.

About Live

Lives are places where you're able to see the band's spirit and true abilities. I think that bands are the coolest when they're giving lives, and if one doesn't perform lives, there will surely be parts about them that you can't understand. From the choice of the venue, to the components that make the live, to being able to convey themselves through MCs, all those make up the band's spirit. It is lastly also a place where you can display your powers, when you use words and convey what you wish to say to your audience. From now on, I suppose my stance about making lives central of our activities will never change.

About Listeners

They seem different from the members or family, but they also hold a special spot. A relationship between the listener and a band can't be placed specifically. Whenever I'm writing songs or answering at interviews, the listeners would pop up in my head often. That's why, I'm always thinking of everyone. From honestly having zero in the audience during our street lives, to tens of thousands of people today, everyone's presence brings us confidence and praise. For myself, I think I'm probably the type that won't continue on with the band if we had no listeners. All of our fans are our power.

About Drums

As I thought of 'Wanting to continue on in the band as this member', it's been 10 years by the time I realised. I don't think just by drumming is all of it, and I did it in my own way to a satisfactory point, coupled with fashion and hair and make-up. In response to that, I bet there are those who come for our lives and got to know me (because of everything). I'm glad that I became a drummer on my own terms. The drums aren't just an instrument that is cool. Not only is it a instrument that girls can play, but there are also all kinds of drummers, and I'll be glad to be able to know more.

About 10 Years

When the band was made, we were so hell-bent on making it work every single day, that we never had the time to imagine what it'll be like 10 years later. After our debut, we'd been touring every year, and I always thought how much I'll like for this to keep continuing on for a long time. In the band's 10th year since formation, it felt like we've hit our very first point. Not only are we feeling the weight of the number "10", but it also seems that we'll be doing this for a long time to come.

About Composition

When I am making songs, it's often that I start from writing the lyrics. When both the lyrics and melody come up in my head at the same time, I'll make the demo using my synthesizer and electric drums. I'll connect my electric drums to the synthesizer, and the synthesizer will add on to what I play on the drums, producing data. Afterwards, I'll add in chords via the keyboard for the guitar and bass, then send my complete song demo to the members. When the melody doesn't come, I'll send my lyrics to MAMI. We'll talk about it, and I'll then leave the melody in her hands. Often, when it hits, I'll make a memo of it to go back to later, and when I think 'Seems like it'll come to me tonight', I'll write a song. When it feels like I can do it, I'll gradually be able to. How many times that has happened...is a secret (laughs).

About Overseas

Whenever we go overseas to all sorts of countries, I am both shocked and happy, to know that we have this many people asking for us. In the 10 years that the band was formed, I'm able to feel the huge possibilities of every generation and will come to think, we can still do this, there are still things we want to accomplish, and things we can do. That's because there are people who want to see us live. That's why, it's not so much about something special, such as 'Let's advance into the world!" No matter which country they're from, our fans are all our friends. To be able to go to where there are people waiting for us, to do lives, that's all there is to it.

About Now

Music has became the core to my being after all. Even when I'm having fun, and even when it looks like it's unrelated to music at first look, it's always connected. Even when I'm watching variety programme, for example, I'll think about thing like how great that talk atmosphere was, or I'll like to create such an atmosphere for our lives. After watching movies, it also evokes me to write music. Everything is related to music. Of course, I also enjoy listening to music in my private time. I often check out new songs on the radio, and recently, I think the Spanish girl band, HiNDS is pretty cool! From now onwards, I'll simply like us 4 to use good songs to create good lives, and it'll be nice if we can always keep going on like this. Also, as a band, I'll like for us to be more exposed, and to take in all kinds of interesting things. We also have our own original shop called 'Feedback!' in Shibuya, and we'll also like to continue thinking of new ways where we can bring enjoyment to everyone.

Translations & photos by fyscandalband. To purchase, click HERE. For my "It's me RINA" tag, click HERE. As I’ll only translate what piques my interest, this is only most of the interview and not a full translation. More to come.

[wineanddinosaur]

Tara Gomez and Mireia Taribò Are Blending Diversity and Culture Into Natural Winemaking in Santa Rita Hills

Tara Gomez and Mireia Taribò are partner winemakers for the boutique winery Camins 2 Dreams in Santa Barbara County, Calif. Partners in wine and in life, this couple makes natural wine from grapes sourced in the Sta. Rita Hills AVA — using anything but the traditional Pinot Noir and Chardonnay.

Gomez, a Chumash Indigenous Native American, and Catalonian-born Taribò, are like polar opposites, both possessing a myriad of knowledge and winemaking skills that together create a perfectly balanced equation. Married in 2014, the couple met in California while working at J. Lohr Winery in Paso Robles. Soon afterward, they moved to Spain to make wine at Castell d’Encus before returning to the hills of Sta. Rita, Calif., to start their own label, Camins 2 Dreams. Sourcing grapes that are unusual for the region — Syrah and Grüner Vetliner, along with Gamay, Carignan and Albariño this year — the couple decided to go against the grain to create unique wines they love, which are available in their tasting room in Lompoc, Calif.

Although only on their fourth vintage, these women are already investing in their community with a commitment to uplifting others through mentorship and partnering with local groups such as the Hue Society, Bâtonnage, and Speed Rack.

In the following interview, winemakers Tara and Mireia sat down with VinePair to discuss making natural wine while creating community in the Sta Rita Hills of Santa Barbara and beyond.

1. Both of you have had successful careers as winemakers prior to starting Camins 2 Dreams. What made you decide to start a wine label together?

TG: It’s always been a dream for us to do something on our own. We didn’t want to be working for somebody else forever. We wanted to do something for ourselves, and it allows us to experiment with different varieties.

MT: When you have your own winery, you can interpret how you want your wine to be without anybody telling you what to do. It’s riskier but it’s also more fun.

2. What varieties are you working with currently, and where are you making them?

TG: Our main varieties are Syrah and Grüner Vetliner. Our vineyards are in a cooler part of the Sta. Rita Hills AVA, so we make cool-climate expressions of these varieties.

MT: That’s what we have in the market and what we make the most of. Last year, we also started with Grenache and Graciano [available to our] wine club only. All still wine, but we do have a Pét-Nat of Grüner.

TG: As far as the vineyards, we focus on Sta. Rita Hills. We work with one vineyard, “Christy and Wise,” that is just outside of the Sta.Rita Hills in Santa Barbara County, but a really cool vineyard: biodynamic, sandy soil, head-trained vines, really pretty. We source our Graciano from there. We also source from Zotovich and Spear for our Syrah, which is more of a clay loam-dominant soil.

3. Working as a couple was a big decision! How does working with your spouse change the way that you approach winemaking?

TG: With our own label, we are able to experiment with different varieties that I wasn’t able to do before on my own (Kalawashaq’ was Tara’s first wine label) . We have a shared mission: We both like the same style of wine, so we made what we wanted to make from the beginning, and we also share the same philosophy of winemaking.

MT: Well, starting two different wine labels would be difficult! We have a shared vision, we like the same style of wine, and we share the same view of winemaking. But also, there’s compromise. Like, if I say I want to make a certain wine and she’s not sure, then we will say, “You choose one, and I choose one.”

TG: For me that’s Carignan. I’ve always wanted to make Carignan as a single-variety wine. And finally, this year I’m going to do it. At my other winery, I’ve had to make it as a blend, but I always wanted to make 100 percent Carignan. Here at Camins, we both enjoy the same varieties and fresher wines with higher acidity, so we have the freedom to choose what we make.

4. Is there anything that either of you would have approached differently on your own?

MT: I don’t think there’s anything I would’ve done differently. I don’t think I would change anything. If anything, it’s nice to have a sounding board for someone to bounce ideas off of.

TG: To be quite honest with you, I’m really enjoying this moment with Camins 2 Dreams because with Kita it was always just me, and here it’s the both of us.

MT: Even though you are really specific down to the line on the floor!

Mireia points down to a grid outline on the floor measured to optimize barrel spacing. Both laugh.

TG: Mireia is just a go-getter and wants to get things done, but I am thinking about something to the point of overthinking, then I plan it out, and then I think about it again before finally making a decision.

5. Clearly, you work well to balance each other out. Even the name, Camins 2 Dreams, in both English and Spanish is like a balanced equation. Both the name and label design of your wine seems very personal. Can you tell us the story behind it?

MT: So “Camins” means “path” in my language, Catalan, which is spoken in the northeast part of Spain. It represents the path to our dreams. I came from Spain to do an internship at J. Lohr winery where I met Tara back in 2006. Afterwards, I went back to Spain, and I invited her over and we were going back and forth for over eight years. Throughout this time, we visited many wine regions and tasted wines everywhere, so I always say that all these paths we took led us to our dream winery. And here we are! Hence, Camins 2 Dreams.

TG: The label design depicts a vine tree in a circular shape representing the world, because we come from different parts of the world. The roots are deep and represent the deep roots we have, and are showcasing the vineyards and soil on the land we are making our wines from. In the middle, there is a yin and yang, symbolic of the balance that we have between each other as well as the balance within the wine. We balance each other pretty well.

Both laugh.

5. You both have very unique cultural backgrounds. Does this influence your wine making choices at all?

MT: The reason we chose natural winemaking and minimal intervention is because of where we come from. In Tara’s culture, you want to respect the land; and me, coming from Spain, I’m used to drinking natural wine. I learned to make wine this way. So, we make low-intervention, natural-style wines that are lighter and more food-friendly because in Spain, our wine is meant to be enjoyed with food. That’s what I’m used to drinking and that’s what I want to make.

In Spain, we didn’t add anything to the wine, so here it is the same, other than about 20 ppm sulfur before bottling; we use wild yeasts and no finning, no filtering. My family was making wine just for home consumption. It’s a very small vineyard and we don’t sell it. I think my great-grandfather planted the vines, so maybe 30 years ago. But I remember when I was a kid, we would just go pick the grapes, foot-stomp them, put the wine in a barrel, and that was it. I grew up like that; you get what you get from the vineyard and try to make the best out of it.

TG: And I learned about this with you, Mireia, I always wanted to do natural wine with other wineries I worked for but I was always under too much pressure, so I had to go the conventional route. For this brand we are totally free to do it. Ultimately, I look for balance in everything that I do. Growing up it was instilled in me to find balance within yourself and in your surroundings, so I look for that in the wine.

6. You represent a range of diverse communities within the wine industry, being women, people of color, Indigenous, and part of the LGBTQIA+ plus community; did you ever experience any discrimination?

MT: The only time I felt like I was an immigrant was when I first came here. I had one job in a cellar doing labeling and bottling, and the winemaker was expecting me to work outside of the cellar, cleaning his house. He sort of demanded it. He basically threatened, “Do you want a job or not?” And I remember thinking, “Just because I am from another country doesn’t mean you make those demands. I am here to make wine.” Otherwise, I’ve been pretty lucky. I’ve had good bosses. I did experience some discrimination once I started helping out Tara at Kita, derogatory comments, but that was more directed to her and to the tribe.

TG: Yeah, I’m used to it. Growing up I went to a private school, so just because of the color of my skin, I’ve always sort of stuck out. We were the only people of color in our school, so trying to fit in was always difficult. In general, having the connection with the Chumash tribe and encountering people who refuse to try our wines because I am from the tribe. … There has always been some discrimination towards the tribe. Sometimes, it feels like we have to go outside of the community in order to sell our wine.

7. How have you been able to overcome these experiences in the wine space?

TG: Recently, things have been better. In the past, I’ve just put my head down and forged my own path. It wasn’t until 2020 that we started really building community. Prior to 2020, I didn’t even know that there were other Indigenous people in the industry. With things going virtual, it’s been super cool. We’ve been able to form a community within some of the panels we’ve been on, which is great.

8. What are some things that could change within the wine industry?

MT: Well more diversity is one thing; it’s white and male-dominated, so that needs to change. I mean, diversity is always a good thing! We like wine that is diverse, and if you have a diverse group of people making wine, then they’re going to be more unique and different. Like you said, we each bring a part of our culture to the wines, and that’s what makes wine interesting.

Also, as wineries we have to show potential applicants that we are open and inclusive via our actions. Wineries that don’t show this are not going to get a good base of diverse applicants applying to work with them.

TG: I think it’s time people truly listen and learn. We can’t keep excusing those who refuse to listen and do the work.

9. What are some of the ways you have begun to build community and essentially change the narrative for others in the wine industry? What are some of the groups you are a part of?

TG: We are working on being mentors and showing up in the community. The Hue Society, WineFare SF, and Bâtonnage Mentorship Program are some of them. It’s awesome to have met some of those people. This year, Bâ\tonnage is still going to be virtual, but they’ll also be doing an in-person tasting that we’re going to be a part of. Speed Rack Advisory squad, I’m a mentor for that; also, the James Beard Legacy Board network is really awesome. I’ve learned a lot from their sessions. They are training me to be a better mentor for someone who wants to learn and be a part of this industry. How awesome is that?

10. Really awesome! So, What’s next for Camins 2 Dreams?

MT: Now that Covid protocols are lightening up, our tasting room is back open by appointment, which is great because we were only open eight months — literally our first vintage — before the shutdown happened. We’re working on our direct-to-consumer (DTC) market. Currently, we have expanded our DTC operations to New York, New Jersey, Minnesota, Washington State, and California, with Ontario and the U.K. up next.

TG: Also, we are making Gamay, Carignan and Albariño. We’re excited about that. We’re doubling on production this year. Right now, it’s just Mireia and I, but in the future, we’d like to employ interns. It’s scary, but we’re growing and we love it.

The article Tara Gomez and Mireia Taribò Are Blending Diversity and Culture Into Natural Winemaking in Santa Rita Hills appeared first on VinePair.

source https://vinepair.com/articles/camins-2-dreams-natural-winemaking/

[johnboothus]

Tara Gomez and Mireia Taribò Are Blending Diversity and Culture Into Natural Winemaking in Santa Rita Hills

Tara Gomez and Mireia Taribò are partner winemakers for the boutique winery Camins 2 Dreams in Santa Barbara County, Calif. Partners in wine and in life, this couple makes natural wine from grapes sourced in the Sta. Rita Hills AVA — using anything but the traditional Pinot Noir and Chardonnay.

Gomez, a Chumash Indigenous Native American, and Catalonian-born Taribò, are like polar opposites, both possessing a myriad of knowledge and winemaking skills that together create a perfectly balanced equation. Married in 2014, the couple met in California while working at J. Lohr Winery in Paso Robles. Soon afterward, they moved to Spain to make wine at Castell d’Encus before returning to the hills of Sta. Rita, Calif., to start their own label, Camins 2 Dreams. Sourcing grapes that are unusual for the region — Syrah and Grüner Vetliner, along with Gamay, Carignan and Albariño this year — the couple decided to go against the grain to create unique wines they love, which are available in their tasting room in Lompoc, Calif.

Although only on their fourth vintage, these women are already investing in their community with a commitment to uplifting others through mentorship and partnering with local groups such as the Hue Society, Bâtonnage, and Speed Rack.

In the following interview, winemakers Tara and Mireia sat down with VinePair to discuss making natural wine while creating community in the Sta Rita Hills of Santa Barbara and beyond.

1. Both of you have had successful careers as winemakers prior to starting Camins 2 Dreams. What made you decide to start a wine label together?

TG: It’s always been a dream for us to do something on our own. We didn’t want to be working for somebody else forever. We wanted to do something for ourselves, and it allows us to experiment with different varieties.

MT: When you have your own winery, you can interpret how you want your wine to be without anybody telling you what to do. It’s riskier but it’s also more fun.

2. What varieties are you working with currently, and where are you making them?

TG: Our main varieties are Syrah and Grüner Vetliner. Our vineyards are in a cooler part of the Sta. Rita Hills AVA, so we make cool-climate expressions of these varieties.

MT: That’s what we have in the market and what we make the most of. Last year, we also started with Grenache and Graciano [available to our] wine club only. All still wine, but we do have a Pét-Nat of Grüner.

TG: As far as the vineyards, we focus on Sta. Rita Hills. We work with one vineyard, “Christy and Wise,” that is just outside of the Sta.Rita Hills in Santa Barbara County, but a really cool vineyard: biodynamic, sandy soil, head-trained vines, really pretty. We source our Graciano from there. We also source from Zotovich and Spear for our Syrah, which is more of a clay loam-dominant soil.

3. Working as a couple was a big decision! How does working with your spouse change the way that you approach winemaking?

TG: With our own label, we are able to experiment with different varieties that I wasn’t able to do before on my own (Kalawashaq’ was Tara’s first wine label) . We have a shared mission: We both like the same style of wine, so we made what we wanted to make from the beginning, and we also share the same philosophy of winemaking.

MT: Well, starting two different wine labels would be difficult! We have a shared vision, we like the same style of wine, and we share the same view of winemaking. But also, there’s compromise. Like, if I say I want to make a certain wine and she’s not sure, then we will say, “You choose one, and I choose one.”

TG: For me that’s Carignan. I’ve always wanted to make Carignan as a single-variety wine. And finally, this year I’m going to do it. At my other winery, I’ve had to make it as a blend, but I always wanted to make 100 percent Carignan. Here at Camins, we both enjoy the same varieties and fresher wines with higher acidity, so we have the freedom to choose what we make.

4. Is there anything that either of you would have approached differently on your own?

MT: I don’t think there’s anything I would’ve done differently. I don’t think I would change anything. If anything, it’s nice to have a sounding board for someone to bounce ideas off of.

TG: To be quite honest with you, I’m really enjoying this moment with Camins 2 Dreams because with Kita it was always just me, and here it’s the both of us.

MT: Even though you are really specific down to the line on the floor!

Mireia points down to a grid outline on the floor measured to optimize barrel spacing. Both laugh.

TG: Mireia is just a go-getter and wants to get things done, but I am thinking about something to the point of overthinking, then I plan it out, and then I think about it again before finally making a decision.

5. Clearly, you work well to balance each other out. Even the name, Camins 2 Dreams, in both English and Spanish is like a balanced equation. Both the name and label design of your wine seems very personal. Can you tell us the story behind it?

MT: So “Camins” means “path” in my language, Catalan, which is spoken in the northeast part of Spain. It represents the path to our dreams. I came from Spain to do an internship at J. Lohr winery where I met Tara back in 2006. Afterwards, I went back to Spain, and I invited her over and we were going back and forth for over eight years. Throughout this time, we visited many wine regions and tasted wines everywhere, so I always say that all these paths we took led us to our dream winery. And here we are! Hence, Camins 2 Dreams.

TG: The label design depicts a vine tree in a circular shape representing the world, because we come from different parts of the world. The roots are deep and represent the deep roots we have, and are showcasing the vineyards and soil on the land we are making our wines from. In the middle, there is a yin and yang, symbolic of the balance that we have between each other as well as the balance within the wine. We balance each other pretty well.

Both laugh.

5. You both have very unique cultural backgrounds. Does this influence your wine making choices at all?

MT: The reason we chose natural winemaking and minimal intervention is because of where we come from. In Tara’s culture, you want to respect the land; and me, coming from Spain, I’m used to drinking natural wine. I learned to make wine this way. So, we make low-intervention, natural-style wines that are lighter and more food-friendly because in Spain, our wine is meant to be enjoyed with food. That’s what I’m used to drinking and that’s what I want to make.

In Spain, we didn’t add anything to the wine, so here it is the same, other than about 20 ppm sulfur before bottling; we use wild yeasts and no finning, no filtering. My family was making wine just for home consumption. It’s a very small vineyard and we don’t sell it. I think my great-grandfather planted the vines, so maybe 30 years ago. But I remember when I was a kid, we would just go pick the grapes, foot-stomp them, put the wine in a barrel, and that was it. I grew up like that; you get what you get from the vineyard and try to make the best out of it.

TG: And I learned about this with you, Mireia, I always wanted to do natural wine with other wineries I worked for but I was always under too much pressure, so I had to go the conventional route. For this brand we are totally free to do it. Ultimately, I look for balance in everything that I do. Growing up it was instilled in me to find balance within yourself and in your surroundings, so I look for that in the wine.

6. You represent a range of diverse communities within the wine industry, being women, people of color, Indigenous, and part of the LGBTQIA+ plus community; did you ever experience any discrimination?

MT: The only time I felt like I was an immigrant was when I first came here. I had one job in a cellar doing labeling and bottling, and the winemaker was expecting me to work outside of the cellar, cleaning his house. He sort of demanded it. He basically threatened, “Do you want a job or not?” And I remember thinking, “Just because I am from another country doesn’t mean you make those demands. I am here to make wine.” Otherwise, I’ve been pretty lucky. I’ve had good bosses. I did experience some discrimination once I started helping out Tara at Kita, derogatory comments, but that was more directed to her and to the tribe.

TG: Yeah, I’m used to it. Growing up I went to a private school, so just because of the color of my skin, I’ve always sort of stuck out. We were the only people of color in our school, so trying to fit in was always difficult. In general, having the connection with the Chumash tribe and encountering people who refuse to try our wines because I am from the tribe. … There has always been some discrimination towards the tribe. Sometimes, it feels like we have to go outside of the community in order to sell our wine.

7. How have you been able to overcome these experiences in the wine space?

TG: Recently, things have been better. In the past, I’ve just put my head down and forged my own path. It wasn’t until 2020 that we started really building community. Prior to 2020, I didn’t even know that there were other Indigenous people in the industry. With things going virtual, it’s been super cool. We’ve been able to form a community within some of the panels we’ve been on, which is great.

8. What are some things that could change within the wine industry?

MT: Well more diversity is one thing; it’s white and male-dominated, so that needs to change. I mean, diversity is always a good thing! We like wine that is diverse, and if you have a diverse group of people making wine, then they’re going to be more unique and different. Like you said, we each bring a part of our culture to the wines, and that’s what makes wine interesting.

Also, as wineries we have to show potential applicants that we are open and inclusive via our actions. Wineries that don’t show this are not going to get a good base of diverse applicants applying to work with them.

TG: I think it’s time people truly listen and learn. We can’t keep excusing those who refuse to listen and do the work.

9. What are some of the ways you have begun to build community and essentially change the narrative for others in the wine industry? What are some of the groups you are a part of?

TG: We are working on being mentors and showing up in the community. The Hue Society, WineFare SF, and Bâtonnage Mentorship Program are some of them. It’s awesome to have met some of those people. This year, Bâ\tonnage is still going to be virtual, but they’ll also be doing an in-person tasting that we’re going to be a part of. Speed Rack Advisory squad, I’m a mentor for that; also, the James Beard Legacy Board network is really awesome. I’ve learned a lot from their sessions. They are training me to be a better mentor for someone who wants to learn and be a part of this industry. How awesome is that?

10. Really awesome! So, What’s next for Camins 2 Dreams?

MT: Now that Covid protocols are lightening up, our tasting room is back open by appointment, which is great because we were only open eight months — literally our first vintage — before the shutdown happened. We’re working on our direct-to-consumer (DTC) market. Currently, we have expanded our DTC operations to New York, New Jersey, Minnesota, Washington State, and California, with Ontario and the U.K. up next.

TG: Also, we are making Gamay, Carignan and Albariño. We’re excited about that. We’re doubling on production this year. Right now, it’s just Mireia and I, but in the future, we’d like to employ interns. It’s scary, but we’re growing and we love it.

The article Tara Gomez and Mireia Taribò Are Blending Diversity and Culture Into Natural Winemaking in Santa Rita Hills appeared first on VinePair.

Via https://vinepair.com/articles/camins-2-dreams-natural-winemaking/

source https://vinology1.weebly.com/blog/tara-gomez-and-mireia-taribo-are-blending-diversity-and-culture-into-natural-winemaking-in-santa-rita-hills

[mylinlondon]

One year later: London Recommendations

I’ve had a number of friends ask me for recommendations for a few days in London.  It feels strange to be writing this almost one year after leaving, but I have time at the moment and it was lovely remembering it.  I genuinely loved living there. 

This list is purely for people who are visiting, whereas I probably would have a completely separate post for those who are staying long term (i.e., fave brunch/coffee shops, the bermondsey beer mile, pubs/watering holes, east end vs west end, parks, etc.)

Without further ado....

Things to do:

The best way to see London is by foot, and if you have to take public transit, take a bus (which are much cleaner and reliable than the ones in the States).  I used to live in Shad Thames, near Tower Bridge on the east end, so our usual walking loop included...

Starting at our flat in Shad Thames (its rich in history and architecture, see post here), walk on the Queen’s Walk along the south bank of the Thames west all the way down to Westminster Bridge. Along here, you’ll see Tower Bridge, Tower of London (across the river), City Hall, London Bridge, Borough Market, Shakespeare’s Globe Theater, the Tate, the Millennium Bridge, the National Theater, Waterloo Bridge, and the London Eye.  

Suggested stops: Borough Market, and take at least 30 minutes to walk through and sample all of the food.  Alex's favorites were the lamb box or salt beef bagel, and mine was the Ethiopian food or the paella/Malay curry combo.  You can also drink publicly in Europe, so stop by the beer shop or get a wine spritzer from the spot next to it for your walk.

If you want to grab a pint at a pretty authentic pub, The Anchor is a sneeze away from the Globe Theater and you can also grab a fish and chips there too.

Cross Westminster bridge and pass Big Ben, Westminster Abbey, Houses of Parliament, then head right to go north on Whitehall Road to pass 10 Downing Street, the Churchill War Rooms and Trafalgar Square

Suggested stops: Big Ben is under construction for a few more years, so unfortunately you won't be able to hear it ring (albeit out of tune anyways, there's a massive crack in it. Same bellmaker as the American Liberty Bell, which also had a massive crack in it. Seriously, they had one job.) 

Churchill War Rooms: WWII is a lot more tangible and explicit in Europe for obvious reasons.  The US likes to magnify its role in it, but in many places across Europe, there is still shrapnel on the buildings and political regimes that are the remnants/ripples from the war.  If you have an extra 1.5 hrs, the War Rooms are the perfectly preserved headquarters of the British head offices, from the dormitories to the actual war room where the pencils/notebooks are exactly as they were on Victory Day. They built this enormous bunker to hide Churchill and protect him from the daily blitzkrieg, but the maniac liked to stand on the roof and watch the bombs get dropped. If you like history, this is a great spot. Make reservations, as they have timed entries.

Make a left at Trafalgar Square through the “Mall”, stroll through St James Park to Buckingham Palace. Once you’re done there, head straight north through Green Park, and once you hit the main road (Picadilly) make a right until you hit Piccadilly Circus.

Suggested stops: If you're lucky enough to come in August, this is the only month that the Queen leaves London for her summer palaces (as one does) and Buckingham Palace is open for visitors. It's beautiful and worth a visit if you again have a spare 1.5 hrs and time it perfectly with your reservations.

Trafalgar Square is the heart of London.  Its where all public gatherings, protests and festivals end.  If you google London, the pin drops you here.  The National Gallery bookends it on the north side, and its a free and excellent art museum.

Also, watch out for the swans in St James Park.  They're beautiful but aggressive.  I think just last month, a swan attacked and killed a little dog. If you go through behind the war rooms and skip Trafalgar Square, look out for the gamekeeper's hut, which is adorable and reminds me of Hagrid.

Once you're on the main road towards Piccadilly Circus, you can keep an eye out for Fortnum and Mason.  Its where supposedly the queen gets her groceries. I never had an interest in going in, but to each their own.  They sell their teas and biscuits at the airport dutyfree if you want to get gifts for friends, they won't be able to tell where you bought it.

End at Oxford Circus - I like to schedule lunch at Carnaby Street Dishoom so I’m properly hungry and the timing is usually about right. 

This whole walking route will take a few hours, if you’re not stopping at any of the suggested spots.  See here for the route on google maps. 

OTHER SUGGESTIONS:

Harrods is always good for a stop. I usually go right past the makeup/accessories on the ground floor to the Food Hall, which is my favorite part.  Take the Egyptian Staircase up to the furntiure/tech rooms too, which are fun to check out. Otherwise the apparel assortment is not dissimilar to a Bergdorfs. They’re famous for catering to the whims of the ultra rich; available on request are exotic animals and helicopters. The previous owner’s son Dodi is famous for being Princess Diana’s last lover and partner.

Almost ALL museums in London are FREE. It's a beautiful thing and a great way to spend a rainy day.  There are a few right across from Harrods.  The only one I didn't get to visit (with regret) is the V&A, which is NOT free but very much worth it from what I've heard.  The Natural History Museum in London swaps their giant dinosaur/whale skeletons entry hall with its cousin in New York on occasion. 

Sky Garden is the rooftop public garden on top of the "walkie talkie" building on Fenchurch street.  It's def worth a visit, and its free (part of the negotiations for the property owners when they built it, since it was buying out public space).  You do need a reservation which opens up 2 weeks prior. 

Aquashard/Hu Tong at the Shard.  Pay 15 quid to go to the top of the Shard, or pay 15 quid for a cocktail with similar views just a few floors down? I know I have my answer.  Entry is towards the southern entrance of the Shard, you'll see a separate revolving door to the right with an awning that says AQUA. Go to the bathroom for fun views while you use the lavatories.

Markets are fun and everywhere in Europe.  Here are some good ones in London, in order of personal preference;

Borough Market, as mentioned above.  You can't come to London and not visit. Also lots of famous films have taken place here, including Harry Potter.

Maltby Street market.  A lot smaller and more local, I'm biased because I used to come here with a 10 mins walk from my flat.  St Johns bakery is here, you should definitely get a donut. But honestly its quite tiny compared to the bigger name brand markets mentioned in this list, so go if you have spare time.

Notting Hill/Portobello Road. Even though it takes a little while to get there, its adorable and you get to see a more residential side of London.  Go any day but Sunday. Check out the shopfronts too. The Churchill Arms pub is nearby, and known for its explosion of greenery.

Spitalfields/Brick Lane Sunday market. Spitalfields is a permanent market, and a great central location.  If it happens to be Sunday, you can hop over to the divier and more eclectic Brick Lane to check out vintage and consignment shops.  Ignore the hecklers trying to get you to go in for a curry. Keep an eye out for the incredible street art, this area is known to be a tagging haven.

Columbia Road Flower Market. You have to time it perfectly to see it at its best, but its not a far detour if you're in the Shoreditch area (which is kind of the Brooklyn/Lower East Side of London). You can skip it if you're touring around, since you'll likely not be buying any flowers.

Things to Eat:

I cannot emphasize this enough: INDIAN FOOD is the best food in London.  And the best/most reliable place to get it is:

Dishoom.  There are a few locations; our favorite is Carnaby Street, followed by Covent Garden.  Def get the Pau Bhaji and Ruby Chicken.  We also love Bhel, Lamb Biryani and Samosas. Other people swear by the black daal. Get a colaba colada or mango lassi to wash it down.

Tayyabs. More on the grill/Middle Eastern range of the food map, but this place is known for kebabs and BYOB. My first company party was here, and it was rowdy and fun. Like korean bbq, expect for your clothes to smell afterwards. It's on the east end near Aldgate, and there's not much near here so its kind of out of the way. Londoners love this spot though.

Padella.  On the fringes of Borough Market near the tube station, this place is known for affordable and beautifully handmade pasta. Don't be afraid to order 2 pastas/person. Also, queue at least 25 mins before it opens.  By the time 15-to arrives, the queue will have snaked around 3 times.

St Johns. The original and legendary creative mastermind of second-wave British cuisine, this is true farm to table, nose to tail dining by Fergus Henderson. Not for vegetarians.

Ham Yard Hotel is my favorite spot for high tea.  Skip the prissy ones where the waitstaff is in tails and you feel like you can't slouch, and come here for super chic, beautifully done tea in a central location. You might spot a celebrity. There's a bowling alley "speakeasy" in the basement. We take all our guests here.  

Dinerama in Shoreditch - you may have to pay an entry fee, but this is a bustling market with lots of food and cocktail stands where desk jockeys and the cool kids of shoreditch mingle.  We loved coming here for happy hour/nibbles on a friday or saturday before going out in Shoreditch. Get a gin and tonic (they make excellent ones in the G&T stand, which was near the pizza spot if I remember correctly).

Duck and Waffle is gorgeous dining and open 24 hrs (some like to drunkenly come here at 3am for 5-course meals). Beautiful penthouse views of the city, but definitely have to make reservations. 

OVERALL TIPS:

Download the citymapper app.  This is by far the most reliable and accurate app for public transport in London, gives you down to the position on the train and live arrival times.

If you have contactless credit cards/Apple pay/Samsung pay, don't bother purchasing an Oyster card.  Unlike the US, contactless payment is accepted everywhere in Europe, even the bus/tubes/ferries. I still get annoyed when someone forces me to use a chip because they're not sure if the terminal works with contactless payment in NYC, when I can get around with just Apple Pay in Bruges which is literally a town made of stone.

Make reservations. London lives off reservations, and you'll be hard-pressed to find anything if you just walk in.  Brits in general are "planners". Unfortunately this doesn't leave much room for spontaneity but you can plan around areas and food resos, and explore the neighborhoods before/after. I like to bookmark all the spots I'm interested in on google maps so I can see at a glance what's nearby.

UBER, don't take a cab. The black taxis are adorable but nauseatingly expensive.  Uber will get you there in 1/3 of the price.

When in doubt, Bus over Tube.  You'll get to see a lot more of the city this way, its cheaper, and will take close to the same amount of time.

Don’t hesitate to reach out to me if you have any specific questions!

xx M

[adambstingus]

The 3 Golden Rules Of One-Night Stand Etiquette

In high school, I vowed to never have a one-night stand. “I don’t do things like that!” I would prudishly show off to all the skater boys I sat with at lunch.

Even though I was a closet lesbian, I still wanted all of them to want me. I was at that age whenI needed incessant boy validation to feel pretty (I still enjoy it, even though straight men are entirely irrelevant creatures in my life).

I have a lot of older, very pretty sisters and a gorgeous, blonde-haired, ex-supermodel mother. I grew up in a collective of man slayers. They were the kind of girls whocould bring men to their knees with one bitchy smirk and bat of the lash. They broke fragile boy hearts all the time, recklessly played with boy feelings and always made sure they were just out of reach of boy.

“The trick to getting a MAN is to be entirely unavailable,” my older sister, Audra, would tell me. I would sit on her pretty pink bedspread mesmerized as I watched her get ready for dates in complete fascination. She would pile on loads of mascara, spray her entire body down with Jean Paul Gaultier fragrance (the coolest fragrance in the late ’90s) and pout at her reflection.

“No matter what happens tonight, I’m not going to have sex with him. I MIGHT give him a blowjob, but I’m not going to f*ck him,” she would say to herself, repeating it like some sort of yoga mantra.

“Z, you can never have sex with boys until you’ve got them LOCKED in. Drive them nuts, and then, when they’re about to explode, you can have sex with them,” she would dutifully lecture me as she sipped on her pre-date “personality drink” of vodka and crystal light (“less calories” she would say, as she mixed coral-colored powder into her cocktail).

“Us Barrie girls don’t do one-night stands,” my mother would instruct me when I asked her what the rules were about sex, her posh English accent loudly emphasizing “BarrieGirls” for dramatic effect. It’s a lot of pressure being a BarrieGirl.

I was taught that a woman’s sexuality is the most powerful thing in the world, and you should use it to get what you want. I know, sweet kittens, a twisted and a dated mentality, but I didn’t grow up with sex-positive feminism likesome girls did.

So naturally, I followed mypretty sisters’ and mother’s lead. I dressed provocatively my whole life. I kissed boys for hours upon hours upon hours, but I never slept with them. Ever.

I mean in hindsight it was sort of a sneaky lesbian move, I guess. The thought of sex with men repulsed me (Sorry boys, I love you; I just don’t want to f*ck you.) — but it was deeper than that. I wanted to be a girl who was wanted and desired like my sisters. And those bitches held out.

Of course the rules get harder to follow when you leave home and alcohol, and clubs, and bars are suddenly thrown into your life mix. No one ever told me how different life is when you leave your parents house and enter a new world where the good ol’ bad decision-making-power of booze plays such a HUGE factor.

And eventually, I had a one-night stand.

It was one of the last men I ever slept with. No, he wasn’t creepy, or old, or awful. He was a cute blond boy who had pretty girl eyes, the kind of eyes with endless lashes that tickled his dewy brow bone. (I will spread my legs for anyone with a good set of eyelashes.)

We met at a faceless bar on Santa Monica Boulevardand somehow ended up in a heated discussion about our mutual love of the smashing pumpkins — I believe I recited all of the lyrics to “Zero,” (Emptiness is loneliness, and loneliness is cleanliness, and cleanliness is godliness, and GOD IS EMPTY JUST LIKE ME!) which hugely impressed him.

I drank cosmopolitans because I was too young to know it wasn’t cool to drink cosmopolitans.

The next thing I knew, I was in his smelly bedroom at his sh*thole apartment in Venice Beach. There werebongs everywhere, and his bedsheets werebedazzled with inexplicable holes.

“I’m not going to have sex with you — I came OVER TO CUDDLEEEE,” I slurred to him, attempting to be prim and proper. Note to self: When you’re wearing nothing but a leopard-print bra, reek of Marlboro Lights and cheap vodka — it’s a little too late to play the prim card.

“That’s totally fine. I’m down to cuddle, with you, Zara,” this boy creature slurred back at me, a bemused twinkle in his ice blue eyes. I guess this wasn’t his first rodeo.

But it was my first rodeo. I didn’t yet realize that cuddling with a stranger in a lace thong and leopard-print bra when you’re wasted will almost always lead to sex. What can I say? I was green.

Of course we had sex. We had detached sex. He just pounded himself inside me, and BAM, it was over in five minutes.

I woke up at 8 am the sunlight penetrating through his curtain-lesswindows, his naked back to me. I scanned the room with sore, hungover eyes.

It was full of filthy socks, and dirty weed, and half-drank beer bottles. Is this how boys live? I thought to myself, wishing to the higher power up above that I was in my pretty petal pink West Hollywood apartment.

I searched for my underwear feeling like a Hollywood streetwalker.

I felt cheap, and used, dehydrated and disgusting. I snuck off to the bathroom to call my older sister to pick me up. The bathroom looked how I imagine the bathrooms at Riker’s Island look: bare. dirty. piss-stained.

I’m never doing this again, I though to myself. I’m such A WHORE. Why am I SUCH A WHORE? Why do I want to cry?

Of course I did it again, with a man or two, but mainly with women. And the experiences with women weren’t nearly as traumatic as that first slut-walk of shame.

“Well that’s because you’re a lesbian!” you’re thinking to yourself, eyes rolling out of your head.

Well, yes, I am a giant, mega lez, but that’s NOT why I’ve been able to have one-night stands with women without feeling like the scum of the earth the morning after.

It’s because my sex partners had firmly followed proper one-night stand etiquette. Women are much better at one-night stand etiquette. (For the most part, anyway. There are definitely a few lesbian f*ckgirls who are sh*tty at it too.)

If you’re going to have a one-night stand and want to make it a pleasant experience, you need to follow these three simple rules.

1. This is obvious: CLEANYOURAPARTMENT.

There is nothing worse than going home with a person (guy, girl, whatever!) and waking up in TRASH. You’re already going to feel vulnerable after a one-night stand. That’s not what you want me to say, but I refuse to lie to you.

Sex is awesome. We love sex, but sex is definitely vulnerable. Someone is inside of you. There is nothing more intimate than that.

You will feel twice as vulnerable the next morning when you wake up in a room that smells like socks and BO. You can’t help but feel cheap when there aredirty dishes everywhere.

You want to know a secret? The whole reason my apartment is always looking so fierce and clean is because I want it to look good in case I meet a hot girl and decide to bring her home. I don’t want to bring someone home and have herwake up feeling horrible because she’sin a wildly disorganized mess. I have too much respect for womento do that.

When shewakes up from a one-night and opens her eyes to a beautiful apartment with fresh flowers that smells like Windex and incense, she’llfeel empowered. She’ll be like, “Yeah, I HAD A ONE-NIGHT STAND. GOOD FOR ME.”

You always want your one-night stand to leave your apartment feeling empowered.

2. You don’t have to have breakfast, butSHE/HE GETS TO STAY THE NIGHT.

“So, I f*cked this guy, and afterward, he was like ‘You should probably leave because we’re just f*cking,’” my friend Marissa* lamented during our mid-week wine/bitch session.

I nearly spit my $18 glass of white wine out of my mouth. (I’m basic. I know.)

LOOK. Just because it’s “casual sex” doesn’t mean it isn’t still SEX. You just participated in a deeply intimate act with another human being. Fluids were exchanged. You can sleep next to each other for Christ’s sake.

There is no feeling more demeaning than having raw, naked sex and being told to exit the premises right afterward. Don’t have sex with a personif you can’t handle him or herspending the night.

If heor she wants to leave — that’s totally fine. But you don’t kick people out! It’s rude.

However,you’re not obligated to have breakfast together. Just lie if they suggest breakfast and you’re not feeling it. I fully endorse lying to protect the feelings of a fragile-hearted one-night stand.

Say you have a meeting, you’re having lunch with you’re oldest friend, you signed up for one of those ClassPass workout things and you’re running late, you’re on a deadline for one of the 1,500-word articles you pump out every day or you’re off to a funeral.

No one questions a funeral.

3. Make sure to usea condom. Please. A CONDOM.

I know I don’t have sex with boys, but if I have to purchase “Plan B” for my panicked straight girlfriends ONE MORE TIME, I’M GOING TO JUMP OUT THE WINDOW CLOAKED IN VINTAGE CHANEL AND SPLATTER ACROSS WEST 24Th STREET.

I get it. Condoms SUCK. But look, it’s a one-night stand! You don’t know this person. No matter how textbook “pretty” she is or how clean cut his dweeby sweater is — it doesn’t mean he or she isn’t riddled with a laundry list of STDS.

And there is no morning-after pill for an STD, babes.

*Name has been changed

from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/2017/12/20/the-3-golden-rules-of-one-night-stand-etiquette/ from All of Beer https://allofbeercom.tumblr.com/post/168733869867

[samanthasroberts]

The 3 Golden Rules Of One-Night Stand Etiquette

In high school, I vowed to never have a one-night stand. “I don’t do things like that!” I would prudishly show off to all the skater boys I sat with at lunch.

Even though I was a closet lesbian, I still wanted all of them to want me. I was at that age whenI needed incessant boy validation to feel pretty (I still enjoy it, even though straight men are entirely irrelevant creatures in my life).

I have a lot of older, very pretty sisters and a gorgeous, blonde-haired, ex-supermodel mother. I grew up in a collective of man slayers. They were the kind of girls whocould bring men to their knees with one bitchy smirk and bat of the lash. They broke fragile boy hearts all the time, recklessly played with boy feelings and always made sure they were just out of reach of boy.

“The trick to getting a MAN is to be entirely unavailable,” my older sister, Audra, would tell me. I would sit on her pretty pink bedspread mesmerized as I watched her get ready for dates in complete fascination. She would pile on loads of mascara, spray her entire body down with Jean Paul Gaultier fragrance (the coolest fragrance in the late ’90s) and pout at her reflection.

“No matter what happens tonight, I’m not going to have sex with him. I MIGHT give him a blowjob, but I’m not going to f*ck him,” she would say to herself, repeating it like some sort of yoga mantra.

“Z, you can never have sex with boys until you’ve got them LOCKED in. Drive them nuts, and then, when they’re about to explode, you can have sex with them,” she would dutifully lecture me as she sipped on her pre-date “personality drink” of vodka and crystal light (“less calories” she would say, as she mixed coral-colored powder into her cocktail).

“Us Barrie girls don’t do one-night stands,” my mother would instruct me when I asked her what the rules were about sex, her posh English accent loudly emphasizing “BarrieGirls” for dramatic effect. It’s a lot of pressure being a BarrieGirl.

I was taught that a woman’s sexuality is the most powerful thing in the world, and you should use it to get what you want. I know, sweet kittens, a twisted and a dated mentality, but I didn’t grow up with sex-positive feminism likesome girls did.

So naturally, I followed mypretty sisters’ and mother’s lead. I dressed provocatively my whole life. I kissed boys for hours upon hours upon hours, but I never slept with them. Ever.

I mean in hindsight it was sort of a sneaky lesbian move, I guess. The thought of sex with men repulsed me (Sorry boys, I love you; I just don’t want to f*ck you.) — but it was deeper than that. I wanted to be a girl who was wanted and desired like my sisters. And those bitches held out.

Of course the rules get harder to follow when you leave home and alcohol, and clubs, and bars are suddenly thrown into your life mix. No one ever told me how different life is when you leave your parents house and enter a new world where the good ol’ bad decision-making-power of booze plays such a HUGE factor.

And eventually, I had a one-night stand.

It was one of the last men I ever slept with. No, he wasn’t creepy, or old, or awful. He was a cute blond boy who had pretty girl eyes, the kind of eyes with endless lashes that tickled his dewy brow bone. (I will spread my legs for anyone with a good set of eyelashes.)

We met at a faceless bar on Santa Monica Boulevardand somehow ended up in a heated discussion about our mutual love of the smashing pumpkins — I believe I recited all of the lyrics to “Zero,” (Emptiness is loneliness, and loneliness is cleanliness, and cleanliness is godliness, and GOD IS EMPTY JUST LIKE ME!) which hugely impressed him.

I drank cosmopolitans because I was too young to know it wasn’t cool to drink cosmopolitans.

The next thing I knew, I was in his smelly bedroom at his sh*thole apartment in Venice Beach. There werebongs everywhere, and his bedsheets werebedazzled with inexplicable holes.

“I’m not going to have sex with you — I came OVER TO CUDDLEEEE,” I slurred to him, attempting to be prim and proper. Note to self: When you’re wearing nothing but a leopard-print bra, reek of Marlboro Lights and cheap vodka — it’s a little too late to play the prim card.

“That’s totally fine. I’m down to cuddle, with you, Zara,” this boy creature slurred back at me, a bemused twinkle in his ice blue eyes. I guess this wasn’t his first rodeo.

But it was my first rodeo. I didn’t yet realize that cuddling with a stranger in a lace thong and leopard-print bra when you’re wasted will almost always lead to sex. What can I say? I was green.

Of course we had sex. We had detached sex. He just pounded himself inside me, and BAM, it was over in five minutes.

I woke up at 8 am the sunlight penetrating through his curtain-lesswindows, his naked back to me. I scanned the room with sore, hungover eyes.

It was full of filthy socks, and dirty weed, and half-drank beer bottles. Is this how boys live? I thought to myself, wishing to the higher power up above that I was in my pretty petal pink West Hollywood apartment.

I searched for my underwear feeling like a Hollywood streetwalker.

I felt cheap, and used, dehydrated and disgusting. I snuck off to the bathroom to call my older sister to pick me up. The bathroom looked how I imagine the bathrooms at Riker’s Island look: bare. dirty. piss-stained.

I’m never doing this again, I though to myself. I’m such A WHORE. Why am I SUCH A WHORE? Why do I want to cry?

Of course I did it again, with a man or two, but mainly with women. And the experiences with women weren’t nearly as traumatic as that first slut-walk of shame.

“Well that’s because you’re a lesbian!” you’re thinking to yourself, eyes rolling out of your head.

Well, yes, I am a giant, mega lez, but that’s NOT why I’ve been able to have one-night stands with women without feeling like the scum of the earth the morning after.

It’s because my sex partners had firmly followed proper one-night stand etiquette. Women are much better at one-night stand etiquette. (For the most part, anyway. There are definitely a few lesbian f*ckgirls who are sh*tty at it too.)

If you’re going to have a one-night stand and want to make it a pleasant experience, you need to follow these three simple rules.

1. This is obvious: CLEANYOURAPARTMENT.

There is nothing worse than going home with a person (guy, girl, whatever!) and waking up in TRASH. You’re already going to feel vulnerable after a one-night stand. That’s not what you want me to say, but I refuse to lie to you.

Sex is awesome. We love sex, but sex is definitely vulnerable. Someone is inside of you. There is nothing more intimate than that.

You will feel twice as vulnerable the next morning when you wake up in a room that smells like socks and BO. You can’t help but feel cheap when there aredirty dishes everywhere.

You want to know a secret? The whole reason my apartment is always looking so fierce and clean is because I want it to look good in case I meet a hot girl and decide to bring her home. I don’t want to bring someone home and have herwake up feeling horrible because she’sin a wildly disorganized mess. I have too much respect for womento do that.

When shewakes up from a one-night and opens her eyes to a beautiful apartment with fresh flowers that smells like Windex and incense, she’llfeel empowered. She’ll be like, “Yeah, I HAD A ONE-NIGHT STAND. GOOD FOR ME.”

You always want your one-night stand to leave your apartment feeling empowered.

2. You don’t have to have breakfast, butSHE/HE GETS TO STAY THE NIGHT.

“So, I f*cked this guy, and afterward, he was like ‘You should probably leave because we’re just f*cking,’” my friend Marissa* lamented during our mid-week wine/bitch session.

I nearly spit my $18 glass of white wine out of my mouth. (I’m basic. I know.)

LOOK. Just because it’s “casual sex” doesn’t mean it isn’t still SEX. You just participated in a deeply intimate act with another human being. Fluids were exchanged. You can sleep next to each other for Christ’s sake.

There is no feeling more demeaning than having raw, naked sex and being told to exit the premises right afterward. Don’t have sex with a personif you can’t handle him or herspending the night.

If heor she wants to leave — that’s totally fine. But you don’t kick people out! It’s rude.

However,you’re not obligated to have breakfast together. Just lie if they suggest breakfast and you’re not feeling it. I fully endorse lying to protect the feelings of a fragile-hearted one-night stand.

Say you have a meeting, you’re having lunch with you’re oldest friend, you signed up for one of those ClassPass workout things and you’re running late, you’re on a deadline for one of the 1,500-word articles you pump out every day or you’re off to a funeral.

No one questions a funeral.

3. Make sure to usea condom. Please. A CONDOM.

I know I don’t have sex with boys, but if I have to purchase “Plan B” for my panicked straight girlfriends ONE MORE TIME, I’M GOING TO JUMP OUT THE WINDOW CLOAKED IN VINTAGE CHANEL AND SPLATTER ACROSS WEST 24Th STREET.

I get it. Condoms SUCK. But look, it’s a one-night stand! You don’t know this person. No matter how textbook “pretty” she is or how clean cut his dweeby sweater is — it doesn’t mean he or she isn’t riddled with a laundry list of STDS.

And there is no morning-after pill for an STD, babes.

*Name has been changed

Source: http://allofbeer.com/2017/12/20/the-3-golden-rules-of-one-night-stand-etiquette/

from All of Beer https://allofbeer.wordpress.com/2017/12/20/the-3-golden-rules-of-one-night-stand-etiquette/

[allofbeercom]

The 3 Golden Rules Of One-Night Stand Etiquette

In high school, I vowed to never have a one-night stand. “I don’t do things like that!” I would prudishly show off to all the skater boys I sat with at lunch.

Even though I was a closet lesbian, I still wanted all of them to want me. I was at that age whenI needed incessant boy validation to feel pretty (I still enjoy it, even though straight men are entirely irrelevant creatures in my life).

I have a lot of older, very pretty sisters and a gorgeous, blonde-haired, ex-supermodel mother. I grew up in a collective of man slayers. They were the kind of girls whocould bring men to their knees with one bitchy smirk and bat of the lash. They broke fragile boy hearts all the time, recklessly played with boy feelings and always made sure they were just out of reach of boy.

“The trick to getting a MAN is to be entirely unavailable,” my older sister, Audra, would tell me. I would sit on her pretty pink bedspread mesmerized as I watched her get ready for dates in complete fascination. She would pile on loads of mascara, spray her entire body down with Jean Paul Gaultier fragrance (the coolest fragrance in the late ’90s) and pout at her reflection.

“No matter what happens tonight, I’m not going to have sex with him. I MIGHT give him a blowjob, but I’m not going to f*ck him,” she would say to herself, repeating it like some sort of yoga mantra.

“Z, you can never have sex with boys until you’ve got them LOCKED in. Drive them nuts, and then, when they’re about to explode, you can have sex with them,” she would dutifully lecture me as she sipped on her pre-date “personality drink” of vodka and crystal light (“less calories” she would say, as she mixed coral-colored powder into her cocktail).

“Us Barrie girls don’t do one-night stands,” my mother would instruct me when I asked her what the rules were about sex, her posh English accent loudly emphasizing “BarrieGirls” for dramatic effect. It’s a lot of pressure being a BarrieGirl.

I was taught that a woman’s sexuality is the most powerful thing in the world, and you should use it to get what you want. I know, sweet kittens, a twisted and a dated mentality, but I didn’t grow up with sex-positive feminism likesome girls did.

So naturally, I followed mypretty sisters’ and mother’s lead. I dressed provocatively my whole life. I kissed boys for hours upon hours upon hours, but I never slept with them. Ever.

I mean in hindsight it was sort of a sneaky lesbian move, I guess. The thought of sex with men repulsed me (Sorry boys, I love you; I just don’t want to f*ck you.) — but it was deeper than that. I wanted to be a girl who was wanted and desired like my sisters. And those bitches held out.

Of course the rules get harder to follow when you leave home and alcohol, and clubs, and bars are suddenly thrown into your life mix. No one ever told me how different life is when you leave your parents house and enter a new world where the good ol’ bad decision-making-power of booze plays such a HUGE factor.

And eventually, I had a one-night stand.

It was one of the last men I ever slept with. No, he wasn’t creepy, or old, or awful. He was a cute blond boy who had pretty girl eyes, the kind of eyes with endless lashes that tickled his dewy brow bone. (I will spread my legs for anyone with a good set of eyelashes.)

We met at a faceless bar on Santa Monica Boulevardand somehow ended up in a heated discussion about our mutual love of the smashing pumpkins — I believe I recited all of the lyrics to “Zero,” (Emptiness is loneliness, and loneliness is cleanliness, and cleanliness is godliness, and GOD IS EMPTY JUST LIKE ME!) which hugely impressed him.

I drank cosmopolitans because I was too young to know it wasn’t cool to drink cosmopolitans.

The next thing I knew, I was in his smelly bedroom at his sh*thole apartment in Venice Beach. There werebongs everywhere, and his bedsheets werebedazzled with inexplicable holes.

“I’m not going to have sex with you — I came OVER TO CUDDLEEEE,” I slurred to him, attempting to be prim and proper. Note to self: When you’re wearing nothing but a leopard-print bra, reek of Marlboro Lights and cheap vodka — it’s a little too late to play the prim card.

“That’s totally fine. I’m down to cuddle, with you, Zara,” this boy creature slurred back at me, a bemused twinkle in his ice blue eyes. I guess this wasn’t his first rodeo.

But it was my first rodeo. I didn’t yet realize that cuddling with a stranger in a lace thong and leopard-print bra when you’re wasted will almost always lead to sex. What can I say? I was green.

Of course we had sex. We had detached sex. He just pounded himself inside me, and BAM, it was over in five minutes.

I woke up at 8 am the sunlight penetrating through his curtain-lesswindows, his naked back to me. I scanned the room with sore, hungover eyes.

It was full of filthy socks, and dirty weed, and half-drank beer bottles. Is this how boys live? I thought to myself, wishing to the higher power up above that I was in my pretty petal pink West Hollywood apartment.

I searched for my underwear feeling like a Hollywood streetwalker.

I felt cheap, and used, dehydrated and disgusting. I snuck off to the bathroom to call my older sister to pick me up. The bathroom looked how I imagine the bathrooms at Riker’s Island look: bare. dirty. piss-stained.

I’m never doing this again, I though to myself. I’m such A WHORE. Why am I SUCH A WHORE? Why do I want to cry?

Of course I did it again, with a man or two, but mainly with women. And the experiences with women weren’t nearly as traumatic as that first slut-walk of shame.

“Well that’s because you’re a lesbian!” you’re thinking to yourself, eyes rolling out of your head.

Well, yes, I am a giant, mega lez, but that’s NOT why I’ve been able to have one-night stands with women without feeling like the scum of the earth the morning after.

It’s because my sex partners had firmly followed proper one-night stand etiquette. Women are much better at one-night stand etiquette. (For the most part, anyway. There are definitely a few lesbian f*ckgirls who are sh*tty at it too.)

If you’re going to have a one-night stand and want to make it a pleasant experience, you need to follow these three simple rules.

1. This is obvious: CLEANYOURAPARTMENT.

There is nothing worse than going home with a person (guy, girl, whatever!) and waking up in TRASH. You’re already going to feel vulnerable after a one-night stand. That’s not what you want me to say, but I refuse to lie to you.

Sex is awesome. We love sex, but sex is definitely vulnerable. Someone is inside of you. There is nothing more intimate than that.

You will feel twice as vulnerable the next morning when you wake up in a room that smells like socks and BO. You can’t help but feel cheap when there aredirty dishes everywhere.

You want to know a secret? The whole reason my apartment is always looking so fierce and clean is because I want it to look good in case I meet a hot girl and decide to bring her home. I don’t want to bring someone home and have herwake up feeling horrible because she’sin a wildly disorganized mess. I have too much respect for womento do that.

When shewakes up from a one-night and opens her eyes to a beautiful apartment with fresh flowers that smells like Windex and incense, she’llfeel empowered. She’ll be like, “Yeah, I HAD A ONE-NIGHT STAND. GOOD FOR ME.”

You always want your one-night stand to leave your apartment feeling empowered.

2. You don’t have to have breakfast, butSHE/HE GETS TO STAY THE NIGHT.

“So, I f*cked this guy, and afterward, he was like ‘You should probably leave because we’re just f*cking,’” my friend Marissa* lamented during our mid-week wine/bitch session.

I nearly spit my $18 glass of white wine out of my mouth. (I’m basic. I know.)

LOOK. Just because it’s “casual sex” doesn’t mean it isn’t still SEX. You just participated in a deeply intimate act with another human being. Fluids were exchanged. You can sleep next to each other for Christ’s sake.

There is no feeling more demeaning than having raw, naked sex and being told to exit the premises right afterward. Don’t have sex with a personif you can’t handle him or herspending the night.

If heor she wants to leave — that’s totally fine. But you don’t kick people out! It’s rude.

However,you’re not obligated to have breakfast together. Just lie if they suggest breakfast and you’re not feeling it. I fully endorse lying to protect the feelings of a fragile-hearted one-night stand.

Say you have a meeting, you’re having lunch with you’re oldest friend, you signed up for one of those ClassPass workout things and you’re running late, you’re on a deadline for one of the 1,500-word articles you pump out every day or you’re off to a funeral.

No one questions a funeral.

3. Make sure to usea condom. Please. A CONDOM.

I know I don’t have sex with boys, but if I have to purchase “Plan B” for my panicked straight girlfriends ONE MORE TIME, I’M GOING TO JUMP OUT THE WINDOW CLOAKED IN VINTAGE CHANEL AND SPLATTER ACROSS WEST 24Th STREET.

I get it. Condoms SUCK. But look, it’s a one-night stand! You don’t know this person. No matter how textbook “pretty” she is or how clean cut his dweeby sweater is — it doesn’t mean he or she isn’t riddled with a laundry list of STDS.

And there is no morning-after pill for an STD, babes.

*Name has been changed

from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/2017/12/20/the-3-golden-rules-of-one-night-stand-etiquette/

[jimdsmith34]

The 3 Golden Rules Of One-Night Stand Etiquette

In high school, I vowed to never have a one-night stand. “I don’t do things like that!” I would prudishly show off to all the skater boys I sat with at lunch.

Even though I was a closet lesbian, I still wanted all of them to want me. I was at that age whenI needed incessant boy validation to feel pretty (I still enjoy it, even though straight men are entirely irrelevant creatures in my life).

I have a lot of older, very pretty sisters and a gorgeous, blonde-haired, ex-supermodel mother. I grew up in a collective of man slayers. They were the kind of girls whocould bring men to their knees with one bitchy smirk and bat of the lash. They broke fragile boy hearts all the time, recklessly played with boy feelings and always made sure they were just out of reach of boy.

“The trick to getting a MAN is to be entirely unavailable,” my older sister, Audra, would tell me. I would sit on her pretty pink bedspread mesmerized as I watched her get ready for dates in complete fascination. She would pile on loads of mascara, spray her entire body down with Jean Paul Gaultier fragrance (the coolest fragrance in the late ’90s) and pout at her reflection.

“No matter what happens tonight, I’m not going to have sex with him. I MIGHT give him a blowjob, but I’m not going to f*ck him,” she would say to herself, repeating it like some sort of yoga mantra.

“Z, you can never have sex with boys until you’ve got them LOCKED in. Drive them nuts, and then, when they’re about to explode, you can have sex with them,” she would dutifully lecture me as she sipped on her pre-date “personality drink” of vodka and crystal light (“less calories” she would say, as she mixed coral-colored powder into her cocktail).

“Us Barrie girls don’t do one-night stands,” my mother would instruct me when I asked her what the rules were about sex, her posh English accent loudly emphasizing “BarrieGirls” for dramatic effect. It’s a lot of pressure being a BarrieGirl.

I was taught that a woman’s sexuality is the most powerful thing in the world, and you should use it to get what you want. I know, sweet kittens, a twisted and a dated mentality, but I didn’t grow up with sex-positive feminism likesome girls did.

So naturally, I followed mypretty sisters’ and mother’s lead. I dressed provocatively my whole life. I kissed boys for hours upon hours upon hours, but I never slept with them. Ever.

I mean in hindsight it was sort of a sneaky lesbian move, I guess. The thought of sex with men repulsed me (Sorry boys, I love you; I just don’t want to f*ck you.) — but it was deeper than that. I wanted to be a girl who was wanted and desired like my sisters. And those bitches held out.

Of course the rules get harder to follow when you leave home and alcohol, and clubs, and bars are suddenly thrown into your life mix. No one ever told me how different life is when you leave your parents house and enter a new world where the good ol’ bad decision-making-power of booze plays such a HUGE factor.

And eventually, I had a one-night stand.

It was one of the last men I ever slept with. No, he wasn’t creepy, or old, or awful. He was a cute blond boy who had pretty girl eyes, the kind of eyes with endless lashes that tickled his dewy brow bone. (I will spread my legs for anyone with a good set of eyelashes.)

We met at a faceless bar on Santa Monica Boulevardand somehow ended up in a heated discussion about our mutual love of the smashing pumpkins — I believe I recited all of the lyrics to “Zero,” (Emptiness is loneliness, and loneliness is cleanliness, and cleanliness is godliness, and GOD IS EMPTY JUST LIKE ME!) which hugely impressed him.

I drank cosmopolitans because I was too young to know it wasn’t cool to drink cosmopolitans.

The next thing I knew, I was in his smelly bedroom at his sh*thole apartment in Venice Beach. There werebongs everywhere, and his bedsheets werebedazzled with inexplicable holes.

“I’m not going to have sex with you — I came OVER TO CUDDLEEEE,” I slurred to him, attempting to be prim and proper. Note to self: When you’re wearing nothing but a leopard-print bra, reek of Marlboro Lights and cheap vodka — it’s a little too late to play the prim card.

“That’s totally fine. I’m down to cuddle, with you, Zara,” this boy creature slurred back at me, a bemused twinkle in his ice blue eyes. I guess this wasn’t his first rodeo.

But it was my first rodeo. I didn’t yet realize that cuddling with a stranger in a lace thong and leopard-print bra when you’re wasted will almost always lead to sex. What can I say? I was green.

Of course we had sex. We had detached sex. He just pounded himself inside me, and BAM, it was over in five minutes.

I woke up at 8 am the sunlight penetrating through his curtain-lesswindows, his naked back to me. I scanned the room with sore, hungover eyes.

It was full of filthy socks, and dirty weed, and half-drank beer bottles. Is this how boys live? I thought to myself, wishing to the higher power up above that I was in my pretty petal pink West Hollywood apartment.

I searched for my underwear feeling like a Hollywood streetwalker.

I felt cheap, and used, dehydrated and disgusting. I snuck off to the bathroom to call my older sister to pick me up. The bathroom looked how I imagine the bathrooms at Riker’s Island look: bare. dirty. piss-stained.

I’m never doing this again, I though to myself. I’m such A WHORE. Why am I SUCH A WHORE? Why do I want to cry?

Of course I did it again, with a man or two, but mainly with women. And the experiences with women weren’t nearly as traumatic as that first slut-walk of shame.

“Well that’s because you’re a lesbian!” you’re thinking to yourself, eyes rolling out of your head.

Well, yes, I am a giant, mega lez, but that’s NOT why I’ve been able to have one-night stands with women without feeling like the scum of the earth the morning after.

It’s because my sex partners had firmly followed proper one-night stand etiquette. Women are much better at one-night stand etiquette. (For the most part, anyway. There are definitely a few lesbian f*ckgirls who are sh*tty at it too.)

If you’re going to have a one-night stand and want to make it a pleasant experience, you need to follow these three simple rules.

1. This is obvious: CLEANYOURAPARTMENT.

There is nothing worse than going home with a person (guy, girl, whatever!) and waking up in TRASH. You’re already going to feel vulnerable after a one-night stand. That’s not what you want me to say, but I refuse to lie to you.

Sex is awesome. We love sex, but sex is definitely vulnerable. Someone is inside of you. There is nothing more intimate than that.

You will feel twice as vulnerable the next morning when you wake up in a room that smells like socks and BO. You can’t help but feel cheap when there aredirty dishes everywhere.

You want to know a secret? The whole reason my apartment is always looking so fierce and clean is because I want it to look good in case I meet a hot girl and decide to bring her home. I don’t want to bring someone home and have herwake up feeling horrible because she’sin a wildly disorganized mess. I have too much respect for womento do that.

When shewakes up from a one-night and opens her eyes to a beautiful apartment with fresh flowers that smells like Windex and incense, she’llfeel empowered. She’ll be like, “Yeah, I HAD A ONE-NIGHT STAND. GOOD FOR ME.”

You always want your one-night stand to leave your apartment feeling empowered.

2. You don’t have to have breakfast, butSHE/HE GETS TO STAY THE NIGHT.

“So, I f*cked this guy, and afterward, he was like ‘You should probably leave because we’re just f*cking,’” my friend Marissa* lamented during our mid-week wine/bitch session.

I nearly spit my $18 glass of white wine out of my mouth. (I’m basic. I know.)

LOOK. Just because it’s “casual sex” doesn’t mean it isn’t still SEX. You just participated in a deeply intimate act with another human being. Fluids were exchanged. You can sleep next to each other for Christ’s sake.

There is no feeling more demeaning than having raw, naked sex and being told to exit the premises right afterward. Don’t have sex with a personif you can’t handle him or herspending the night.

If heor she wants to leave — that’s totally fine. But you don’t kick people out! It’s rude.

However,you’re not obligated to have breakfast together. Just lie if they suggest breakfast and you’re not feeling it. I fully endorse lying to protect the feelings of a fragile-hearted one-night stand.

Say you have a meeting, you’re having lunch with you’re oldest friend, you signed up for one of those ClassPass workout things and you’re running late, you’re on a deadline for one of the 1,500-word articles you pump out every day or you’re off to a funeral.

No one questions a funeral.

3. Make sure to usea condom. Please. A CONDOM.

I know I don’t have sex with boys, but if I have to purchase “Plan B” for my panicked straight girlfriends ONE MORE TIME, I’M GOING TO JUMP OUT THE WINDOW CLOAKED IN VINTAGE CHANEL AND SPLATTER ACROSS WEST 24Th STREET.

I get it. Condoms SUCK. But look, it’s a one-night stand! You don’t know this person. No matter how textbook “pretty” she is or how clean cut his dweeby sweater is — it doesn’t mean he or she isn’t riddled with a laundry list of STDS.

And there is no morning-after pill for an STD, babes.

*Name has been changed

source http://allofbeer.com/2017/12/20/the-3-golden-rules-of-one-night-stand-etiquette/ from All of Beer http://allofbeer.blogspot.com/2017/12/the-3-golden-rules-of-one-night-stand.html

[loreleibonnie]

It's my second morning without you. I was watching dancing videos and it made me sad. You were my favorite dance partner. You think you learned slowly but really you learned very fast. And remember how good you were at the Sharon Davis workshop? And now you are the best at tango. I'll never forget the last time we worked on dancing in the laundry room, where you watched a video and did a super cool pop turn type thing and a few other things. We were so good together. Such a power couple. It hurts to think you are going to teach your new girlfriend to dance. That the two of you are going to blues in your kitchen, and you are going to hold her close and love her like you couldn't love me. Because I didn't let you love me like that. Instead I made you scared and anxious. I was about to make you my phone background. I was gonna hang up those cute pictures of you as my first wall decoration in my new room. I was so proud of you and talked about you to everyone all the time. I'm sad you will never see me dressed up in my nice vintage. Im sad that we can never be Canadians together, before I even sent the form for citizenship (what's the point of sending it now). I'm sad that you will never want to see me again, because I know that I will try to see you. I'm sad to think it probably won't be long until you are with someone else, sharing our room, our ways of making love. That you will look into her eyes and be so in love. I'll be so sad once you have moved on and I know that I am nothing but bad memories. Oh sweet love. I can't face a forever without you. You were the most amazing person I ever met. Everyone else is so disappointing in every way. Please boo. We are supposed to be together. You felt it. I felt it. I'm sorry I fought it. I was just so scared. I hope your pain goes away soon. I hope that afterwards you will see how much I have changed. How worthy of your love I am. How I will support you through everything. How I am honest and openly caring. I am so much more connected to the inner baby. And I feel like your baby needs loving and is looking towards me. We can still do it. Our relationship with all our baggage and triggers is still way better than an empty meaningless one with anyone else. And I am so much better now. You know that I have told you everything. You know that I could hide anything from you ever again. But I don't know about anyone else. Please, you know I am good. Let me help you through the trauma. Let me tell you how it was never that you weren't good enough. Please don't let me be nothing but bad memories. Please let this end on a different note. Please let me be your friend for a little while, help you through this. I still have questions. I'm sure you do too. I wish we could talk. Did you feel guilty about Helen? It never showed if you did. You even introduced us. Made me feel dumb for being suspicious and nervous. And you were so angry when I brought up how I didn't like that you guys still talked. But I was right, she was your other girlfriend. I don't hold any of this against you, but I still don't understand it. It's not the kind of person you are. I wish we could come together in our hurt, instead of being so painfully cold and alone. I want to hold you and pet you while you cry, while you tell me how much I hurt you. And I want to cry into you too, and feel you there, and show you how hurt I am. How I hate who I was. How I'm so scared and lost. I was looking at old pictures of us and old videos and I am still so in love with your softness and pure love. But I hate the me in those videos. I feel like you can see how impure I was. I hate it so bad. I don't recognize those as me anymore. You know how warm I am now. How loving and open to you I am. Please baby. Everything hurts. I need you. We were going to get married. Its true. I don't realize how bad I've fucked you up. I wish I did. I wish I could see it. Hear you. Feel what you are going through. But I can't when I have no connection to you. All I can hear are my own sobs and all I can feel is pain and sickness and anxiety. I'm crying and screaming "please" into my pillow. Please let me love you. Please remember how we were such a good team. Please see who I have become and what we could be. You waited through Alaska. We went through everything else. Now I've shared everything and shed any last trace of who I was before. Just be strong for a little bit longer. Then everything can be like we always hoped for, always wanted. You saw my potential. You helped me, shaped me, freed me from everything that held me back. I'm here now baby. I'm yours.