#cowboy carter era

[theblvcksupreme]

act ii: COWBOY CARTER 3.29

[barbiecinema]

beyoncé icons ✿

[louisstgirl]

white!?

[thechanelmuse]

Cowboy Carter

You know you did the damn thing when people crave a second serving after you release a 27-track album that oddly feels too short.

I am people.

[unreal-unearthing]

I have at various points of my life been a fan of tswift…. But…. dare I say it…. This new album is….. bad.

[comradekarin]

bro why is she so hot

[notyouraryang0dd3ss]

listening to cowboy carter made liking anything about ttpd's production IMPOSSIBLE. effort, thought, intentionality, complexity on cowboy carter, only one production i'd defend on ttpd which is "i can do it with a broken heart." great production, stupid message since she booked the tours she's complaining about performing in and we DID all know she was miserable

I’m havent listen to cowboy carter (and i never was a swiftie and im not a fan of B either - at least not anymore) but ive heard rave reviews about it from everyone ik irl — even ppl ik who don’t usually like Beyoncé. I’ll always give props to Beyoncé as an artist because she knows how to push herself and make a good album (its crazy that she’s had every single solo album from 2013 onward be critically acclaimed).

“great production, stupid message” 😭😭😭 you ever think about how so many of miss swift’s problems are created by her own stupidity? like she’s actually really be subjected to anything, so much of her problems are self created. if she’s so fucking miserable with her tour schedule she should rearrange it to fit her better wtf is wrong with her 😭

[sonnykissed]

Beer #2 ima say something:

so sad we will never get hangman vs punk at wrestlemania

[proceduralpassion]

American Requiem is the best album opener I’ve heard in a long time

[theblvcksupreme]

COWBOY CARTER - TRACKLIST

[barbiecinema]

beyoncé icons ✿

[voltrons]

beyoncé what would we even do without you

[sempersirens]

DAUGHTER LESSONS | a joel miller oneshot

masterlist

summary: would it kill joel to just touch you?

warnings: established relationship, infidelity, jackson-era, no mention of age, angst

author's note: so... i have been disgustingly obsessed with COWBOY CARTER (duh! i have taste) and have fixated on the duality of daddy lessons and DAUGHTER, which thereby produced this lovechild of the two. you guys know i love me some religious imagery and angst...

Nothing could’ve confined you to a pew in your youth.

Your knees had breathed a sigh of relief at the absence of a blood-red kneeler when you were granted Sunday morning autonomy. Only your grandmother’s morbid prophecies of watching mass from above this time next year herded you between the rows of wooden benches at Easter and Christmas.

Maybe it was her you were trying to reach; chin tipped to the ceiling as if you would be overcome with the smell of potpourri and Irish coffee, heart flooded with all the right answers.

Still, nothing good came. 

“Didn’t expect t’find you in here.” His familiar drawl pricks at the hairs on your neck. 

“I was trying out solitude.” 

Joel had always moved with surprising stealth for someone of his build, but nothing he did these days surprised you anymore.

You had given him everything since meeting shortly after his and Ellie’s arrival in Jackson. It hadn’t taken long for you to witness his undoing. 

But this time, Joel doesn’t move. 

Rather, he stands in the middle of the aisle taking in the sight of you on your knees four rows ahead and to his left. Your hands are clasped so tightly together he can see the whites of your knuckles from this far back. 

Joel knows the back of your head more intimately than he probably should.

You have a habit of turning away from him in bed at night the second you were overcome by the smallest amount of fatigue.

Too damn hot you would mumble from your tenure of the mattress. And he can’t say he minded too much.

Often, he would reach a hand to your hair spilling across the pillow onto his side before regaining sense and propping the hand underneath his head instead.

During your waking hours, languidly reciting the steps of your morning routine around his small kitchen, he feels the want to touch you.

He wants to smooth down the hair that always bobbled around the raised birthmark on your scalp. He wants to feel your cheek against the knuckle of his right index finger. He wants to take the coffee cup from your hands and engulf them in the warmth of his instead. 

“She’s not here.” You mumble, so quietly that he’s not sure if that’s what you’ve actually said.

“Who?” He braves, wiping his sweating palms on the sleeves of his flannel shirt.

You respond with a scoff, confirming his hypothesis. 

Of course she isn’t here. You both know very well that she isn’t here. 

When Tommy had first introduced the two of you, he’d cornered Joel at the bar while ordering their third, or maybe fourth, round of drinks.

“She’s a good woman, Joel.” 

“I’m figuring that out just fine.” He’d smirked, taking a preliminary sip of his beer before glancing back at you. Your elbows were perched on the wooden table, chin resting on your palms as you exchanged low-looks and snickers with Maria sat across from you. 

“No, you don’t get it. She’s good. She’s kind. Her daddy’s the pastor here.”

“Not settin’ me up with a Bible basher are you, little brother? She gon’ make me wait until I give her a ring?” 

He’d felt like an ass as soon as he’d opened his mouth, which was made worse by Tommy’s unchanging expression. He didn’t look irate or tired of Joel’s age-old shit – the face behind his warning was unwaveringly sincere.

“Just don’t hurt her.” 

And in that moment, Joel couldn’t fathom anything as desacrating as hurting you. He had returned Tommy’s solemnity with a nod and carried your drinks back to your table; the remainder of the night blurring into the rest of his life.

He hadn’t fallen in love with you that night. Joel is stubborn in love, and it took months of langorous warmth to thaw his roughness. 

You didn’t make him wait for a ring.

Nights spent in symphony with one another were the only moments Joel could bring himself to touch you. There, he knew how to work his hands, his tongue, his hips. Not once would he hesitate in reaching out to smooth a thumb across your forehead. He moved like a river, flowing into your body in desperation to meet the ocean. 

And you wondered if he did it on purpose, or if he knew that he was doing it at all. Passing him in the intimacy of his home or the vastness of the food hall, you were only ever hungry for his skin against yours. 

Slowly, you crept into his skin through his pores. You made his days sweeter and smoother wherever and however you could, hoping perhaps one evening his fingers would brush yours as you set a plate on the table before him.

But here you rise, swallowed in the rosy light of dawn with damp cheeks and all faith robbed from your chest.

“I can’t do this here, Joel.” You wipe your eyes with the back of your hand and attempt to put as much distance between the two of you as you pass him in the aisle.

“Then don’t. Come home.”

For a second he debates reaching out to you, wrapping you in his arms and letting you beat against his chest as your body racks with sobs. But the moment soon escapes him and he’s following you into the morning air.

“I buried my home a week ago.” You spoke flatly, bones void of any remnants of anger or fight. “You know what my daddy told me before he died?” 

He thinks he does. Moreso, he can hazard a guess. 

Nevertheless, he can’t quite seem to find his voice as you bring yourself to a halt. The morning sun peeks between the buildings behind you.

“Told me one day you’d play me for a fool. And look at me now.” You shook with breathy laughter. “He’s in the ground and there’s another woman keeping the man I love’s bed warm.”

Jackson would soon be rising with the sun. It had almost been a full day since you’d come home from patrol an hour earlier than Joel expected.

In truth, it hadn’t been the clothes strewn over kitchen chairs and draped over the bannisters. Not even the warm smell of salt and latex that hit you before you’d opened the bedroom door.

Joel’s fingers grazed the small of her back, tracing lazy shapes up and down her spine. Your stomach tightened into a small fist, losing all composure you had truly tried to maintain in your ascent up to the bedroom.

You had never even really been one to fight. Your father had taught you to handle yourself, and you’d learnt what was necessary to survive in the new world. 

Really, you wanted to pollute the skin beneath Joel’s touch. You wanted for him to never touch anything beautiful again; to never grasp at cold cotton sheets in the middle of the night; to never feel the slow threat of rain tapping against his skin.

Life began to creep in around the two of you. Ellie and Tommy would soon come looking for Joel to set off on morning patrol.

“One day, Joel, someone is going to give you exactly what you deserve. And I pray to God that I’m there to see it.”

You turn on your heel, leaving Joel to watch as your hair sways from side-to-side down your back. He swallows the lump formed in his throat and tilts his chin to the sky, blinking away the threat of tears moistening his lower lashes. 

He wipes his hands against his jeans and straightens his torso, forcing a low cough to clear his throat. 

Peaches, he thinks. Tonight he will bring you peaches, and he will watch as the juice spills from the side of your mouth. He will reach a thumb to wipe it away, and he will hold you. For as long as you let him; as long as he breathes.

[usnatarchives]

A Culinary Journey Through Presidential History 🥪🍰🍽

Delving into the culinary history of the White House is a fascinating exploration of taste and tradition. This article embarks on a delicious journey through time, highlighting five remarkable recipes from the kitchens of past U.S. Presidents and First Ladies. These recipes not only offer a taste of history but also reflect the diverse palates and influences that have graced the Presidential table.

Bess Truman's Bing Cherry Mold

Bess Truman, known for her skill and style in the kitchen, contributed a variety of recipes that satisfied many. Among these, the Bing Cherry Mold stands out. This dessert, a perfect blend of sweetness and texture, reflects the simplicity and elegance of the Truman era. Truman had specific dietary preferences, famously disliking onions, and maintaining a healthy diet, but this dessert was a family favorite, indicating a balance between health and indulgence.

Rosalynn Carter's Plains Cheese Ring

Rosalynn Carter's Plains Cheese Ring is a savory delight that hails from the Southern culinary tradition. This cheese appetizer, named after the Carter's hometown in Georgia, is a testament to Rosalynn's commitment to bringing a touch of home to the White House. Its rich, creamy texture paired with the tang of sharp cheddar and the sweetness of strawberry preserves, offers a unique and memorable flavor experience.

Laura Bush's Cowboy Cookies

First Lady Laura Bush’s Cowboy Cookies are a testament to her Texas roots. These chunky, flavorful cookies, packed with oats, nuts, coconut, and chocolate chips, offer a hearty taste of the American Southwest. They were notably a part of her husband's Presidential campaign, symbolizing warmth and hospitality.

Dwight D. Eisenhower's Apple Pie

President Eisenhower was not only a leader but also an enthusiastic cook, particularly known for his apple pie. His version of this classic American dessert is said to be a delightful mix of sweetness and spice encased in a perfectly flaky crust. This pie represents Eisenhower's love for simple, home-cooked meals, a contrast to his high-profile public life.

Gerald Ford's Red Flannel Hash

Gerald Ford's Red Flannel Hash is a colorful, comforting dish that combines cooked beets, potatoes, and corned beef. This dish, with its vibrant red hue and hearty ingredients, is a nod to Ford's Midwestern roots and a symbol of the simple, wholesome American fare.

www.fordlibrarymuseum.gov/library/document/0126/1489765.pdf

Exploring these recipes is not just about the flavors and ingredients; it's a journey through the different eras of American history, each dish telling a story of the time and the people in the White House. From the elegance of Bess Truman's desserts to the rustic charm of Laura Bush's Cowboy Cookies, these recipes offer a delectable glimpse into the nation's past, one plate at a time.

Read more:

[tayloralison]

taylor did a mashup of tim mcgraw and cowboy like me at the last eras show.. beyonce said she's collabing with some artists on her new album....which is called cowboy carter