#listening to rent soundtrack after having put it down for a couple years

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Akio

CW: References to the death of a friend, grief, suicide, murder 

Sequel to Found Out and this past flashback to Oliver Branch

The sound of thin, breaded pork cutlets frying in the big pan on the stove fills the air, and Akio breathes in the familiar smell where he lays on his back on his parents’ gigantic cream-colored sectional couch, stretched out across the whole length of it on one side. Not that he’s all that tall to take up all that much space, really, but what matters is that he would definitely have fallen asleep by now if it weren’t for holding his phone up over his face.

It fell on him, once, and he’s pretty sure no one noticed. Emi, his younger sister, hasn’t even looked up once from her own phone, except once to triumphantly announce that no one caught her and they all voted someone else off the ship. Then she looked back down and never looked back up.

Akio frowns, looking at his own screen, tapping his thumbs as he writes out an answer to the person messaging him. “Hey, Mom?”

“Yes?” His mother looks up from cooking, her eyes moving through the big open space right to him. They’d knocked down all the walls when they bought the house, open-concept-something-something. Akio didn’t care, but it was apparently deeply important to his parents. Something about family togetherness.

“You remember Tristan Higgs, right?”

Aimi pauses, tucks a bit of her short black hair behind one ear to get it out of her eyes as she flips the pork cutlets on by one, to get the other side nicely browned, too. The sizzling ratchets up in volume and then back down again. Next to her sits four bowls already filled with rice, and the table already has the vegetables ready to go. “Of course, honey. Oh, the anniversary’s coming up, isn’t it? I have an alarm set on my phone… did you want to go to the cemetery next week to see Ronnie and Paul?”

“Ew, no creepy graveyards for me, thanks,” Emi says, eyes still glued to her phone.

“We wouldn’t take you anyway,” Akio says, rolling his eyes. “You don’t even remember Tris or his parents.”

“I do, too. I was like seven. He was really nice. Mrs. Higgs was really nice, too. Mr. Higgs was weird.” 

“Wow, what a stellar eulogy that was, Emi. I can see why you want to be a writer when you grow up. The description there was just incredible.”

“Oh, go drive into a lake,” Emi says, without any particular rancor in her voice. 

“If you’re going to fight, I’m going to send you two upstairs so I at least don’t have to listen to it,” Aimi says, moving the cutlets to rest on a paper plate with paper towels lining it while she heats mirin, soy sauce, and… some other stuff in a different pan. Honestly, Akio has no idea exactly how katsudon happens, all he cares about is that it’s the perfect after-practice food and he is starving.

Except he keeps getting distracted by this guy on Insta. “Anyway, Mom, um, about Tris. So… yeah, I do want to go out and see his parents next week, yeah, but-... there’s this guy on Instagram who keeps asking about him. That’s… that’s weird, right?”

Aimi looks up, blinking. “Asking about Tristan? What is he asking?”

“Just like… he says he saw the video I put up on youtube, and he’s asking, like… what was his birthday, and did he like fried chicken, was he autistic, and… did he like musical soundtracks. This is weird stuff to ask a total stranger, right?”

“A little.” Aimi pauses while she watches the pan, and then pours a small bowl with beaten eggs into it, watching them spread and start to lighten to a puffy yellow as it cooked in the already-boiling liquid mixture. “Did you ask why he wants to know?”

“I did, but he just said he’s doing some research or something. But, like… research on what?” Akio taps on the guy’s little profile photo, bringing the profile itself up. “His username is benthebadmagician. Okay that’s-... that’s kind of cute.” 

Aimi’s voice turns sly. “Is this Ben cute?” 

“Ugh, gross, Mom. That’s not-... I mean he’s kind of-... that’s not important.”

“Ooooh, eyeballin’ the insta-hotties,” Emi singsongs. “Aki’s gettin’ desperate. Just get a freaking dating app like everyone else.”

“Already on it, Emi.”

“Then why exactly don’t you get any dates? Oh, right.” Emi sits forward and grins. “I forgot about your personality.”

Akio throws a throw pillow at her and the big orange poof misses by a mile. Emi laughs, getting to her feet and wandering over to the fridge, pulling a can of soda out and popping the top. “Aren’t you an athlete, how the hell did you miss that?”

“Language,” Aimi warns, waving a spoon at her daughter. She gently places the cutlets into the cooking eggs to finish up. “No swearing under my roof, young lady.”

“Aki swears all the time!”

“Aki is twenty-four years old,” Aimi says, almost primly. “And he doesn’t swear where I can hear him.”

“What, so it doesn’t count if you don’t hear him?”

“Of course it doesn’t, how do I know if I don’t hear him?”

Akio smiles, faintly, but he’s scrolling through the Ben guy’s instagram feed now. Just looking at the grid of squares, photos and videos. Lots of coffees and food, people laughing, photos of a girl with really pretty hair. Photos of Ben the Bad Magician himself. Nerd, Akio thinks, but cute nerd - definitely nose-in-a-book type. Nice brown hair, nice smile. 

“Oh look at that face,” Emi says, eyebrows raised. “Ben the Insta-Weirdo actually is cute huh?”

“Go eat slugs.” Akio keeps scrolling down and down, not sure what he’s looking for. Autism awareness banners - he checks those to learn the Ben guy’s got an autistic little brother, and his friend Christopher is autistic. There’s a couple slides, and he swipes his finger to what he assumes is a photo of the Ben guy with the little brother, who looks almost exactly like him, just a whole bunch younger and looking, unsmiling, off to one side while Ben grins at the camera.

Akio doesn’t bother checking the last slide - it’s probably just whoever the Chris guy is. He backs back out to the grid of thumbnails. Maybe he just picked up on the stuff Tris always did when he was excited, and got curious? Maybe his little brother liked the video? Akio’s gotten a couple comments from people saying they liked seeing an autistic kid just be fucking happy in public without getting shit on for it, and that used to be a big deal for Mrs. Higgs, too...

The question about musicals keeps snagging at him. Tris loved musicals, went through cycles with them. He and Akio had a whole routine done to a song in Hairspray, just for fun, when Tris was obsessed with that for a while. And then they were going to do the Time Warp as a routine once...

Akio keeps scrolling, only vaguely aware of his sister and mother talking, and Emi leaving the room to go call their dad in for dinner. 

Emi stops in the doorway and turns back. “Don’t forget to get his phone number, Aki. You can definitely trust strangers on the internet creepily interested in your dead best friend, right?”

Akio looks up, then, blinking at her. “Emi, that’s-...”

She seems to catch herself, and gives him a sheepish smile. “Sorry, Aki. That got bitchy.”

“Language,” Aimi reminds her. “But I appreciate you apologizing. Does anyone even hear me say to use nice language any longer?”

“No,” Akio and Emi say in unison, and then Emi disappears down the hallway, bellowing for their father in her loudest voice even though she could easily walk up the stairs and not have to yell at all. 

Akio looks at his mother and deadpans, “Your daughter is really weird.”

Aimi matches him tone for tone. “Your sister is weirder.” 

She places the cutlets on top of the rice bowls with the egg just underneath the meat, carrying them one by one to the table, setting them each down in their place, and then grabs her glass of wine, patiently waiting for her while she cooked. She pads on bare feet across the hardwood floor over to the pale white rug, soft as down underfoot, and stands next to where Akio is laying down. “Are you looking at the profile?”

“I am, yeah. I don’t know what I’m looking for, really, just… hey, wait.” Akio stops at the thumbnail preview for a video, tapping to open it up. It starts with a blue-haired boy smiling, and his smile hits Akio all odd, makes his throat tighten and his heart start to race. The boy in the video puts up a finger and backs up, glances over his shoulder at a TV screen behind him playing the tango scene from Rent. 

Akio blinks as the boy holds out a hand and a girl with really gorgeous long wavy hair takes it, the two of them moving effortlessly into a perfect mimicry of the dance on screen. The room they’re in is mostly empty, furniture shoved to the walls to turn what looks like some kind of lobby into a dancing space.

“Wow, that kid can really dance,” Akio murmurs, but the smile catches him, tugs at the back of his mind. The blue-haired boy can’t keep the grin off his face, it has to hurt to smile so big for so long, and the last person Akio thought that about was…

“You got this, Chris!” Someone calls from offscreen, and for a second Akio hears Tris and catches his breath, but no, no, they said Chris. Someone else claps for Mari - that must be the girl, maybe. 

They continue to dance, and Akio can’t tear his eyes away. “Mom? Do you see this?”

Aimi looks up from straightening some magazines on the coffee table and leans over, sipping her wine absently. “See what, honey?”

“Look,” Akio whispers. His throat is closing up, he can’t manage anything more than that. 

The two do a spin, and then burst out laughing, and the Chris boy stands back up straight, throwing his arms up like he’s just hit a perfect landing-

“Oh my god,” Aimi says next to him, her own voice strangled and choked, and Akio feels his mother’s hand suddenly clutch onto his shoulder. “Aki, is-”

“He’s dead,” Akio whispers. “He killed himself after his parents-... he’s dead, Mom.”

The Chris boy looks right at whoever was filming the video, shoots them a brilliant, shining smile, and then starts rocking, his hands moving through the air and twisting at the wrists, bouncing up and down on his toes.

Akio’s breath is shuddering in and out, and his heart pounds, trying to break out of his chest. “He’s-... Mom, he’s dead.”

“His aunt had him cremated,” Aimi says, but her lips are barely moving and the wineglass is loos in her fingers. “After they found him. She didn’t want a funeral.”

“He’s dead,” Akio repeats, thinking of the smile, the movements, the shy way he ducks his head at the end when people clap him on the back. He backs up to the wall again, keeps scrolling, looks for more pictures of the blue hair. He opens every single one he can find, searching for something, some sign that will tell him he’s not seeing what he knows he’s seeing. “His aunt took his phone away after like three months and then he was dead a month later, wasn’t he?”

There’s a pause.

“Mom? Mom, didn’t he kill himself like four months after they died? Didn’t he?” Akio’s voice sounds weak and is getting weaker. “Mom, please-... please answer me, didn’t he-”

“He left a note,” Aimi whispers. “His aunt-... she said he left a note, that he couldn’t live without them. It’s-... I never thought-... I never thought to question her, Aki, I never-... she was Ronnie’s family...”

He clicks another video.

“You’re a fucking mess, Christopher,” The girl from the dance video says, sitting in a tank tops and shorts on the edge of a bathtub. “Letting your roots grow out like that. But don’t you worry, Madam Mari is here to help!”

“Please don’t, don’t don’t-don’t call yourself Madam. Please?” A voice says, uneasily, and the blue-haired boy moves into the screen. “For, for, for me?”

“Yeah, no problem, Chris. Why’d you let it grow out so bad, anyway?”

His hair’s not blue in this one - or it is, but only about half of it. Pale and faded, but the top of his hair has grown back in for about three inches, and it’s coppery strawberry blond. He turns to the camera and gives a sheepish smile. “I, I got distracted and for, um, forgot.”

Aimi’s wineglass slips from her fingers, hits the floor, sprays wine like blood across the pristine white rug. 

Neither of them notices.

“I… I cried for him for like a year straight,” Akio chokes out, and he finds more pictures, more videos, more more more. He opens them up and then backs out of them again, unable to stop himself. Every photo shows him some shard of the mirror reflection of a dead boy all grown up - a sparkle of green eyes, happy motions in the background of a video, more of that familiar sunny smile. “I kept-... I kept all the stuff he left in my room, I saved all h-his text messages from before he d, disappeared, I-”

“This can’t be him,” Aimi says in a fierce whisper. “It can’t be, Aki, it can’t.”

Akio taps on another video.

The boy ties his long blue hair back in it, glancing sidelong at the camera, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “And, and, and you’ll, um, you’ll buy the, the, the-the-the nachos?”

“If you can still do it? Yeah, absolutely. Seeing that’s worth a plate of nachos to me. I’ll even buy you those fucking margaritas you like.”

“Chris just likes the sugar,” Someone else says, and Chris sticks his tongue out at them.

He takes a few steps back, rolling his shoulders, shaking out his arms. 

Akio tells himself that if the Chris on the screen doesn’t nail this, it can’t be him, it can’t be him at all. 

The boy puts his hands up, then down at his sides, back bowed briefly in a motion Akio knows too, too well, knows better than he knows breathing. The boy takes off across the grass without hesitation and-

Akio and Aimi both exhale.

-he jumps forward, dips at the waist, catches himself on his hands and does a perfect set of three backflips across a big grassy lawn, stumbling the landing but his feet pop right back into final position, and he throws his arms up with his chin lifted, and someone offscreen shouts, “Perfect Ten, Stanton!”

The boy laughs, shakes his head, says, “I’d be, be, be dinged for the, um, the landing, but-... but, but good, right? I did good? Laken?”

Someone with the coolest hair Akio has seen steps into the screen and they hug, kiss briefly, and then Chris apparently can’t handle the happy emotions because he backs away to start bouncing up and down, grinning.

He looks back at the camera. “Want to see me, me, me... me do it again?”

“He’s not dead,” Aimi says, and her voice sounds like someone closed their hands around her throat. “Oh, Ronnie-”

“What the fuck happened to Tristan fucking Higgs?” Akio’s voice is barely audible over the sound of the video starting over. “He’s… he’s not dead. He’s not dead, Mom, he’s not-... he’s not dead, Mom, he’s not dead and he’s right-... that the university, right? He’s not dead, and he’s, has he-... has he been here the whole fucking time?”

His mother doesn’t chide him for language this time. Her hand tightens on Akio’s shoulder as red wine soaks the rug beneath her feet and she whispers, “Give that Ben boy your number. Tell him to call you.”

Her fingernails ache where they dig into his skin through his shirt.

“Now.”

---

Tagging: @burtlederp , @finder-of-rings , @endless-whump , @whumpfigure , @slaintetowhump , @astrobly @newandfiguringitout , @doveotions , @pretty-face-breaker , @boxboysandotherwhump , @oops-its-whump @moose-teeth , @cubeswhump , @cupcakes-and-pain @whump-tr0pes @whumpiary @orchidscript

[forabeatofadrum]

I’d cry a river just for you - a playlist

For the Klaine Advent 2021, I wrote I’d cry a river just for you and since I love to complicate things for myself, I decided that I needed a ‘soundtrack’ with showtunes. This is a sort of homage to my first two Advents (2015, 2016). Those consisted of 24 separate stories and I picked a musical number for every prompt.

I started with writing down 24 possible musicals, all musicals that I love. This immediately led to the first complication: I prefer recent contemporary musicals over quote-on-quote classic musicals. This meant that a lot of musicals that I listen came out in the past couple of years, and I knew that the ‘past’ timeline would run from 2003 to 2013.

After some shuffling, I ended up assigning a musical and a number to every chapter. Here’s why I chose them (beware for possible spoilers for some musicals!):

Silence - Falsettos

What Would I Do?

I'd do it again I'd like to believe that I'd do it again And again, and again

I think this one is pretty self-explanatory. Whizzer and Marvin’s story ends with no way to change it. It’s about losing someone, but still holding on. Blaine is listening to the song when he sees Kurt and it hits him like a ton of bricks. He lost Kurt. Kurt caused him pain. But a part of him would endure it all over again, just to have more time with him.

Ceiling - Wicked 

For Good

And now whatever way our stories end I know you have rewritten mine By being my friend

Ah yes, the ultimate friendship song! Of course, in the context of the fic, Kurt and Blaine are at the very beginning of an intense friendship, but you can say it’s foreshadowing. Their future friendship will change their lives, it will consume them, it will overtake them, and even though it ends in a big fight (whatever way our stories end), it will forever have an impact.

Obligation - Legally Blonde 

Legally Blonde (Remix)

Back in the game (Yes!) Back to the trial (Yes!) But I'm going back in my style (Back in her style!)

'Cause it's a fact (Yes!) When you're attacked (Yes!) You've got to respond (Got to got to got to got to respond!)

This is a long one, and I was in doubt. Back when I was writing this, I still had a 1K word count in my head. In the end, I put the full thing in it, because this song slaps. For a long time, you, the reader, don’t get to know why Blaine ended up studying a (non-existing) law degree at EUR, but with this song I did want to sort of hint that it’s his own choice and that he likes it. Law is great, according to Blaine Anderson and Elle Woods.

Ancestor - RENT 

Rent

How can you connect in an age Where strangers, landlords, lovers Your own blood cells betray

What binds the fabric together When the raging, shifting winds of change Keep ripping away

Honestly, this has no big underlying meaning. I love this song. I think it’s one of the best Act 1 openers in theatre and I just wanted to add this song, and I picked the lyrics because I like it. I could claim that it’s foreshadowing, but no, not this time.

Orientation - Bandstand 

Who I Was

Well, it feels like it does I feel guilty because There are days when I just want to be who I was

I'm not saying I'd trade the life that I had with him for a minute That was once in a lifetime love and I know I was lucky to win it

I don’t think the song is necessarily about regret, because in the context of the musical, Julia can’t help that her life has turned out the way it has. But to Blaine in this fic, it’s about regret. The song is about longing for an easier time, and Blaine is definitely doing that. He’s about to talk to Kurt for the first time in seven years and he thinks back on how easy they used to talk to each other. 

And then there’s the last two lines about love. It’s the first hint to Blaine pining for Kurt. I tried to go for an “oh, wait!” moment with Blaine coming out to Kurt. It’s weird to think that Blaine never knew about his sexuality until it was too late.

Dairy - The 25th Annual Puntam County Spelling Bee 

The I Love You Song

Tell me what you’re learning Ma, I have, Oh God, this need I think Dad is angry, Ma And I do not know what to do Mama, Mama, Mama

Ah yes, Blaine family angst has been my forte since Papa Anderson in het meertje anno 2011 (wow a decade ago!). As Blaine pointed out in the story, his situation isn’t as dire and neglectful as Olive’s, but I wanted to show a contrast between Kurt’s family and Blaine’s family. This would explain why, in later chapters, they’re constantly at Kurt’s house and why Blaine is also hit by the loss of Burt, Carole and Finn when the friendship ended. 

Rhythm - Heathers

Seventeen

People hurt us Or they vanish And you’re right that really blows But we let go, take a deep breath Then go buy some summer clothes

Shout-out to, uhm, me for letting Blaine call this an ‘admittedly mediocre song’, because it is. I wanted to fill this playlist with songs that I actually like, so I doubted whether or not I should put Seventeen on the list, but it fit so perfectly! This one got explained in the story: the song about innocent love at the age of seventeen fills Blaine with regret, because if only he’d understood his feelings earlier, then everything could’ve been so different. I chose this particular set of lyrics for the whole People hurt us/or they vanish part, because Blaine hurt Kurt and then Blaine vanished.

Cup - Spring Awakening 

Whispering

See the father bent in grief The mother dressed in mourning Sister crumbles, and the neighbors grumble The preacher issues warnings

I knew I needed a Spring Awakening song in this story, since Spring Awakening is about teelings (teen feelings). I’ve considered several songs for several scenario’s and chapters, but this particular moment in Whispering always gets me. Of course, in the show the sin that everyone reacts to is Wendla’s pregnancy as an unmarried girl, but like Kurt, I decided to link it to homophobia.

Also, I get such a weird kick out of the idea that Kurt and Blaine listen to Lea Michele’s voice without connecting it to Rachel. Do these kids ever wonder why Wendla and Melchior are the spitting image of Rachel and Jesse?

Fan - In the Heights 

The Club

A toast to the end of all I know!

You've had enough!

Says the girl who has it all

That's not fair

Well why don't you run home to daddy? He loves to remind me that I'll never be good enough for your family, for you

You don't know me

Poor you

I thought you were different

God, okay, I hated that this song fit so perfectly. I mean, Kurt and Blaine are fighting at a club! Ideal! Why did I hate it, then? Well, as I mentioned, I was running out of possible musicals for my ‘past’ timeline and I reserved In the Heights for that timeline, since the musical arrived on Broadway in 2008. I had already relucantly moved tick, tick... BOOM! to the past timeline (we’ll get to that one), but I couldn’t pass up this opportunity, so I scrapped Come From Away from the ‘present’ timeline and I frantically started looking for a ‘past’ replacement. But hey, The Club now fits perfectly and it was worth it!

Transparent - Hedwig and the Angry Inch

Origin of Love

It's the story of the origin of love That's the origin of love, oh yeah

This one is one of the ultimate love songs. (Fun fact, another ultimate love song is a song by MIKA called... Origin of Love!). I am still such a big sucker for Hedwig, so I also knew I needed that musical in the story and I realised that a song about the origin of love would fit in a chapter where Kurt realises he has feelings for his friend. I did, for a split second, consider moving it to the ‘present’ timeline due to the verse that starts with the lyrics The last time I saw you/We had just split in two, because that’d be a banging reunion song, but as mentioned above, I couldn’t afford to move another possible ‘past’ song to the ‘present’ timeline.

Demonstrate - Everybody's Talking About Jamie

The Wall In My Head

And don't fall, I'm finding my feet There's shoes to be filled But this wall, is harder to beat When it's one you helped build

I tried to make clear that the friendship ended because both sides just... couldn’t do it anymore, but I am also biased and Blaine is painted as the worst offender out of the two of them (there’s another story behind that decision). This was me trying to add somewhat of nuance to this dynamic. Do I, the biased writer, still think that Blaine’s actions were worse? Yes. But that doesn’t take away that I, the biased writer, also wanted to point out that Blaine had reasons of his own to do what he did. Kurt made him feel like shit. It wasn’t intentional, but it happened, and this part of the lyrics illustrates that.

Invisible - Hairspray

I Can Hear The Bells

Yes, it hit me just like a ton of bricks Yes, my heart burst, now I know what life's about One little touch and love's knocked me out

And I can hear the bells, my head is spinning I can hear the bells, something's beginning

You see what I did there? The previous ‘past’ chapter ended with lyrics, and this one starts with it. I Can Hear The Bells is, as Blaine said, such a sweet song about being in love. I chose this particular set of lyrics because it also emphasises that these feelings can overwhelm you when they’re seemingly out of nowhere. Although unlike Tracy, Kurt’s not very fond of this relevation.

Arrow - 35MM: A Musical Exhibition

Cut You A Piece

His life was scattered, and soon was her ash I cut you a piece of me, I cut you a piece of me. And where you go I will go too. I lost my life when I lost you.

35MM is such an underrated gem, so I also knew that I wanted to include this ‘musical’ (it isn’t really a musical with a plot, it’s a photo exhibition with songs accompany certain photos). I had a hard time picking one of the amazing songs for my story, but Cut You A Piece is so emotional since it’s about grief. Now, the singer describes a story of a man who lost his wife. The singer himself isn’t part of the story. That doesn’t work for Kurt and Blaine. They both are the story. Another thing is that Jessie is Jules’s romantic partner who dies, whereas Finn was the stepbrother of Blaine’s best friend. But in the end the song is about loss, and Blaine lost Kurt and Finn’s death worsened that, which led to Blaine being stuck in a deep rut (I lost my life when I lost you). 

I considered another lyrics (But warming your hands in mine fills me with terror/That I will lose you, today, or tomorrow, in two years, or seventy), but at this point in the story, Kurt and Blaine have already lost each other, so it wouldn’t make sense for Blaine to fear that.

Offend - Company

What Would We Do Without You

What would we do without you? How would we ever get-- How would we ever get-- How would we ever get-- How would we ever get--through? What would we do without you?

Hey, so remember how I was looking for a musical to fill the In the Heights related gap? Company, baby! I watched the 2011 proshot two days ago (I’m writing this on December 10th) in the hopes of finding a song. I guess I did. I was going back and forth between this song and Company, since Company is about Bobby loving his erratic friends (and I also think that’s my favourite song of the show), but What Would We Do Without You ended up fitting the story. Yes, it’s kind of a comedic song and the moment where Kurt realises he doesn’t know who he is without Blaine isn’t comedic, but the lyrics fit!

Appendix - Fun Home

Telephone Wire

Say something! Talk to me! Say something! Anything! At the light At the light

This can't be our last—

I originally chose the song Maps, and that song was going to be featured in a later chapter. Originally, this chapter was going to be Six’s I Don’t Need Your Love, since the confrontation would give Blaine that (false lmao) sentiment, but I was listening to one of my musical playlists and Telephone Wire came on and this is the song about not talking things out and how it leads to sadness, pain and regret. Blaine mentions it himself: the abrupt end of Big Alison’s line shows how Alison and her dad never resolved their issues and that is a tragedy.

Chance - Once On This Island

Forever Yours (reprise)

You gave him love Love he would soon betray! You gave him life I am the price you’ll pay!

Sure as the grave You must accept what is... Now your life is Forever mine...

This song is one of the few songs that I decided on before I even started writing the fic. Once On This Island is filled with sweet love songs, and Forever Yours (reprise) is such a contrast. Ti Moune believed in love and it heavily, heavily backfired. Sure, Blaine didn’t know about Kurt’s feelings for him, but even without the romance, love that stems from friendship can be so deep. So yes, the love that Kurt trusted in refers to both romantic and platonic love. And Blaine turned his back on it. It was unexpected, which makes it feel like betrayal (Love he would soon betray!).

A small note on the Spotify playlist: in the context of the fic, Kurt would probably be listening to the OBC, not the NBC, but I put the NBC on it purely for selfish reasons. I want to be able to listen to the playlist whilst enjoying it (rip to Seventeen). Like, for Hairspray, I actually prefer the 2016 Live version and the movie version, but I still put the OBC on the list since I don’t mind it (and once again, I get a kick out of the idea of Kurt and Blaine listening to the OBC with Matthew Morrison). And I like all three Hedwig and the Angry Inch albums equally, so there I also didn’t mind putting the movie version on it, but I never listened to Once On This Island’s OBC! So yeah, apart from Forever Yours (reprise) and Come To Your Senses, all the versions on the playlist are the ones Kurt and Blaine listen to.

Global - Six

I Don’t Need Your Love

I don't need your love, no, no No, I don't need your love, no, no There's nothing left to discuss, no, no But I don't need your love, no, no

Another song I decided on from the get-go. Yeah, I partially explained this one in Fun Home’s section, but it’s also self-explanatory. Blaine tries to believe that he doesn’t need Kurt’s love, or maybe love in general! This is, of course, utter bullshit and a lie that he tells himself. This is why he’s kind of envious of Bella and Adeola in this chapter, although he doesn’t admit that to himself either.

Mine - Next to Normal

Aftershocks

They've managed to get rid of me I'm gone without a trace But sear the soul and leave a scar No treatment can erase

Yes, this one also explains itself. Yay, Kurt and Blaine are talking again! All is well! Is it really? Of course it isn’t! The issue might’ve been resolved for now, but it will never fully leave their heads and that’s why Kurt decides to fully end it after the second block. The aftershocks indeed remain. This is the third and last song that I decided on beforehand.

Core - Hamilton

It’s Quiet Uptown

Forgiveness, can you imagine? Forgiveness, can you imagine?

I know, I know, that apart from these two lines the entire song doesn’t make any fucking sense, but I hope that by now it’s clear that the little snippets of lyrics were leading in the choices for the songs and every time I hear these two lines, it still makes me feel something. Forgiveness felt impossible. Eliza was never, ever going to forgive Alexander, but she did. Kurt vowed to never, ever be friends with Blaine again, but he did.

Qualification - tick, tick... BOOM!

Come To Your Senses

Come to your senses Defenses are not the way to go And you know, or at least you knew Everything's strange, you've changed And I don't know what to do to get through I don't know what to do

Oh buckle up, because I have a lot to say! 

I watched the movie version when it got released on Netflix and I loved it, so I decided to add this show to the fic. But here’s the thing, and I’m sorry to say this, but when I first watched the movie, Come To Your Senses didn’t do it for me at all. If it hadn’t been for Andrew Garfield’s stellar facial expressions, it would’ve left me cold and disappointed. (Your Eyes 2.0?) Basically, I hadn’t even considered this song.

But five days ago I stumbled on this bootleg audio recording of Karen Olivio as Karessa singing the song and even without the visuals, it had me in tears and I realised the true meaning of this song and I understood that it’s about a big life-changing relevation.

And that’s all thanks to Karen Olivo, so I decided I put her version in my fic. I originally had this as one of the last songs in the ‘present’ timeline and it would be for the moment that Kurt and Blaine realise that they are still in love and they had an epiphany about that. And then I would use other lyrics to illustrate that (Deep in my eyes, what do you see/Deep in my sighs, listen to me/Let the music commence from inside/Not only one sense, but use all five).

As you know, Answer Me from the Band’s Visit replaced that slot and it’s a beautiful song, but God, I wish I could’ve used Come To Your Senses. But if I wanted to have Karen’s version in the fic, I needed to put it in the ‘present’ timeline, since Karen performed that show in 2014 and the ‘past’ timeline ends in 2013. But yeah, as mentioned several times, I realised that I couldn’t put any more possible ‘past’ musicals in the ‘present’ timeline after I already put Falsettos, Legally Blonde and In the Heights there.

In the end, I am happy about the placement of the song in the fic. Come To Your Senses now refers to another epiphany, namely Kurt’s realisation that he has to give up on Blaine in order to feel okay. This also led to me picking these lyrics (the Everything's strange, you've changed/ And I don't know what to do to get through/I don't know what to do fits especially well!)

The Spotify playlist does have the movie version. It wouldn’t be possible at all, since the movie’s from 2021 and the ‘present’ timeline ends in 2020, but hey, I can’t add the Karen Olivo version to it (F in the chat) and the 2001 Off-Broadway recording isn’t on Spotify.

Work - Natasha, Pierre & the Great Comet of 1812

No One Else

And I catch my breath And I laugh and blush And I hear guitars You are so good for me

I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you

Another one that’s pretty self-explanatory. Just like Origin of Love and I Can Hear The Bells, No One Else is just pure love! Blaine realises that maybe being in love with Kurt isn’t a bad thing after all. On the contrary, it’s wonderful!

Ordinary - The Last Five Years

Goodbye Until Tomorrow/I Could Never Rescue You

I could never rescue you All you ever wanted But I could never rescue you No matter how I tried All I could do was love you hard And let you go

So, remember how I said that Forever Yours (reprise) is the definition of heartbreak? I lied! All of The Last Five Years is a harrowing experience, but of course, I Could Never Rescue You is the moment where Jamie writes a letter, telling Cathy that he wants a divorce. It’s the end. No turning back. And Kurt’s doing the same thing. Kurt tried so hard to hold on and to fix things, but with Blaine acting like that, there’s nothing to fix. So all Kurt could do was let him go. 

I also considered another part of the lyrics (No matter how I tried/All I could do was love you/God, I loved you so/So we could fight/Or we could wait/Or I could go...), but unlike Cathy and Jamie, Kurt and Blaine never expressed their feelings for each other, so to add the lyrics about love felt a bit unnecessary. There’s already love in the snippet that I chose, and that was enough.

I think it’s fitting that last song in the ‘past’ timeline is the last song of The Last Five Years. This fic also had two alternating stories, with one beginning happily and ending on a sad note, and one beginning sadly and ending on a happy note. Of course, this fic has two timelines instead of one story being told from the begining to the end and vice versa, but I like the alternating between sadness and happiness in both stories.

And absolutely fucking thank you Jason Robert Brown, Adam Kantor and Betsy Wolfe for doing your Off-Broadway revival in 2013! This way I could use my favourite recording!

Company - The Band's Visit

Answer Me

Only you When the sun and moon and stars are gone What's left is only you Will you answer me? Answer me

So. This is a choice. Like I said, I scrapped Come From Away, but I was going back and forth between scrapping Come From Away or The Band’s Visit. I eventually picked The Band’s Visit, because I couldn’t find a proper song from Come From Away. I considered Come From Away’s Stop The World, since it’s a lovely love song, but it’s also about the fear of the end, so that was a hard pass. This chapter needed to establish that they were absolutely certain about each other and yes, I know, I’ve used songs that are questionable when you use the full song (see It’s Quiet Uptown oops), but Answer Me might not fit perfectly, but this song is so absolutely gorgeous. You can say that within the context of the fic, it’s about Kurt and Blaine knowing that the other will always be there (When the sun and moon and stars are gone/What's left is only you). It’s not a great revelation like Karen Olivo’s Come To Your Senses, but you know, I’m satisfied with my choice.

Rise - Hadestown

All I’ve Ever Known

You take me in your arms And suddenly there's sunlight all around me Everything bright and warm And shining like it never did before And for a moment I forget Just how dark and cold it gets

Ah yes, read my Myosotis series from the Klaine Advent 2019 for more information.

No, but for real. This song is just sweet and lovely and it’s about taking a chance on love. I did actually consider swapping this song and Answer Me, but I decided I wanted this story to end with Kurt and Blaine inside, cuddling in bed, with the cold and dark winter outside.

And I liked the idea that this song is the beginning of an epic love story (Orpheus and Eurydice, or Kurt and Blaine if you will). During the writing process, I jumped between ‘past’ and ‘present’. Those were the words that I used to outline my story and to match chapters with a song. But for this chapter, I used ‘future’. (This is why the fic ends in 2021, yet I still insist on saying that the ‘present’ timeline is 2020 only.)

And I actually have to thank tumblr user @rougedraconteur​ for that. When I first started writing this story, the setting was april 2020, but they reblogged one of the chapters with the tag #and is this holiday klaine?. In the end, the festivities are mostly skipped, but I decided to move it to december 2020. What an amazing choice! It did impact quite some plans for my ‘present’ timeline, since I now decided to push everything in the span of four weeks and there were several moments where I was afraid that the reconciliation went too quickly and too smoothly, but in turn it gave me the opportunity to use the kerstvakantie (two weeks of vacation for the holidays) and to solve the problem of ‘what to do with the last chapter: present, past or both?’ The answer is neither! It’s ‘future’ now, babes!

Not only that, but I hope that the ‘future’ chapter also shows that even though they’re dating and they are definitely getting their happy ending, it’s still the beginning of their new journey together and they still have some of their issues to work through. After all, I made it pretty clear that the way their friendship ended impacted both of them, but now they’ll work through it together. And that circles back to the feeling of All I’ve Ever Known. It’s a beginning. That is okay.

Bonus song: Black Friday

Take Me Back

Take me back in time to love you Take me back when we were lost Lost in love and lost in feeling Without the cost

Take me back in time to high school Take me back when things were light Light my heart and light my shadow And make it alright

Wow, what is this? A bonus song? Yes, there is a bonus song. I have a weird self-imposed rule about crossing Starkid and glee, which stems from a divide that was being uphold in 2011, and therefore I didn’t even consider any Starkid musical for this fic. After I picked my 24 shows, I was writing while listening to my Musical Love Songs playlist and this song came on and it hit me! I have my Thoughts(TM) about Black Friday but Take Me Back is such a wonderful, beautiful song about loss, love and regret.

I also considered another part of the lyrics to highlight (Cause I already lost it once/What I already won/I've lost too much now/To care/But I know that something’s still there). Tom and Becky meet each other again after years of no contact and they realise that their friendship and feelings shouldn’t have gone to waste, but that it’s not too late to rekindle and same is here. Just like Tom and Becky, Kurt and Blaine have lived their own lives in the seven years apart.

And I need to point out another part (In time to love you/Hold me closer than before/Heal my heart and mend what's broken), because in the end, Take Me Back is about realising it’s never too late to try again. They were broken, really broken, but I think Kurt and Blaine have grown and changed enough to have learnt from their past.

[fandomshatelgbtqpeople]

mod a’s lgbt musicals

Hi there! I’m a big theatre kid so I thought for pride month I’d put together a list of LGBTQ musicals. Despite its association with queer people, musical theatre is not known for its amazing representation. I’ve put together a list here of musicals I know of with queer characters. I’ve tried to avoid those where the queer characters are incredibly minor roles or those where the representation is just not good enough to be salvageable (*side eyes Legally Blonde*) I know there are many musicals I will have missed out but these are the ones I am most aware of. Feel free to add more! So without further ado, here it is.

Fun Home

The big Tony winner of 2015! Based on Alison Bechdel, a butch lesbian cartoonist. At the age of 43, she looks for new material by trying to explore her past and her relationship with her closeted gay dad. Looks back at a version of herself when she was 10 and a “tomboy” and at 19 when she came out and got her first girlfriend. Has very cute lighthearted moments as well as very sad moments. Has a beautiful song where small Alison sees a butch deliverywoman. Problems in that since the original broadway cast, Alison’s costume has got less butch. Content warning for suicide.

Here’s their Tony performance: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pMAuesRJm1E

The Color Purple

Based on Alice Walker’s novel about black women in the 1930s. Follows Celie who has been abused by men her whole life who discovers she is a lesbian but also makes a journey of self discovery and learns to love herself. Her love interest is a bisexual woman. Won best revival at the Tonys in 2016. Content warning for discussion/implied sexual abuse.

Here’s their Tony performance: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3k2xzQyT2bk

Everybody’s Talking About Jamie

A teenage gay boy in Sheffield wants to be a drag queen and go to prom in a dress.Also a nice touch that is does not focus on him having a relationship (since he is sixteen) and him having to come out as he is already out. Focuses on his close relationship with his supportive mother. Has a diverse cast. Jamie is currently played by a black actor and his best friend wears a hijab and has a very diverse ensemble as well. Unfortunately has a part where Jamie responds to a homophobic bully by calling him a bunch of ableist and classist slurs.

Here’s a clip of the most popular song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M7C3FuFWDdw

The Prom

Emma is a lesbian teenager in Indiana whose prom is cancelled by the PTA after she requests to bring her girlfriend to it. A group of Broadway actors come down to help her campaign to be allowed to attend prom, as well as styling her, helping her work on her confidence and educating the town’s people. What ensues is basically a two hour musical episode of Queer Eye. Cheesy and fun with so many musical theatre references crammed in. My one issue is that the show is rather harsh on people who are closeted since Emma has conflicted with her girlfriend Alyssa because she is not ready to come out.

Here’s a clip of their Tony performance: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lGcG_r5xv3E

Rent

Probably the most well known on this list. Artists in New York during the AIDS crisis. Two of the main couples featured are queer: Maureen is bisexual and in a relationship with Joanne who is a lesbian, and Angel is a transgender woman of color in a relationship with Collins, a presumably bisexual man. However, she tends to be played bi cis men and there are instances of her being misgendered by the main characters uncritically. In Rent Live (2019), all instances of her being misgendered were removed and her gender identity was confirmed. She was played in this by Valentina, an nb drag queen and has also been played by Pose’s MJ Rodriguez, a trans woman. Very diverse with Jewish characters and people of colour and in the live show, only 1 of the 8 main characters was white. Has been criticised over the years, mainly for its biphobic portrayal of Maureen who is promiscuous and implied to cheat, but in the 90s did a lot for the LGBTQ community and is more progressive than a lot of media even now.

Here’s a clip of Maureen and Joanne from Rent Live: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=06oCfKYYPTY

And here’s some Angel and Collins: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_hl-M94o_x8

Falsettos

Marvin comes out as gay in the late 70s but decides to move his ex wife and son in with his boyfriend. Addresses AIDS crisis in Act 2. Has “lesbians from next door” in act 2. F Revived on Broadway in 2016. All of the characters are Jewish. Unfortunately, in revival casts, very few actors tend to be Jewish.

Here’s the trailer: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZjnAHOdMQVk

Come From Away

In the aftermath of 9/11, 38 planes are diverted to a small town in Canada called Gander. Shows people of different races and nationalities bonding in a scary time. Addresses Islamophobia. Has one song called Prayer where prayers from different religions overlap. Has an interracial gay couple called Kevin and Kevin. They break up in the end but are very important characters. Won best direction of a musical in 2017. The Broadway production starred Jenn Colella who has referred to herself as ‘mostly gay’.

Here’s a clip of Jenn Colella singing a song from the musical: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q8ukgH6U-d0

Head Over Heels

Honestly I don’t quite know what this musical is about, even by reading the plot summary and listening to the soundtrack. I know it’s set in a Tudor fantasy world and that there are wlw couples as well as an explicitly non binary character, played by Peppermint, a trans woman, and that there are interracial couples and plus sized actors. It is a jukebox musical using songs by the Go-Gos and yes the wlw anthem that is Heaven is a Place on Earth is one of them. The soundtrack is fantastic even if you can’t follow what is going on.

Here are some show clips: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wx2qQ7QAPm0

Spring Awakening

German school kids in the 19th century discovering their sexuality. Two of the schoolboy supporting characters, Ernst and Hänschen, have a romance when they have a reprise of an earlier song in Act 2.  A BIG content warning as it has graphic discussions of rape and songs about it and a sex scene with very dubious consent. However there was a very wonderful 2016 revival using deaf actors and sign language.

This is another one you can very easily find the full show of on YouTube which I won’t link. However here’s the Tony performance for the revival: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CSagsMcak4Q

If/Then

A woman named Elizabeth (originally played by Idina Menzel) moves to New York after a divorce and contemplated how different her life would be if she took two different paths. Four supporting queer characters. Her ex-boyfriend is bisexual and played by Anthony Rapp (who is bisexual in real life) and he gets a boyfriend in one timeline. Another of her friends is a lesbian called Kate who marries her girlfriend in the musical. Problems occur as in both timelines, cheating goes on in the lesbian relationship although they stay together in one. Elizabeth also says she doesn’t believe in bisexuals, a view no one ever challenges her on, however Lucas is very clearly bisexual which is some proof for the audience that she is wrong.

I’m not going to link it here but there are many very high quality bootlegs on it on YouTube if you want to watch,

Ghost Quartet

A bit of a weird one. This is more of a concept album. There are four performers who each play instruments and they tell the stories of many interconnected timelines. It is very hard to explain but there are souls travelling through time who keep being reincarnated as different people with different relationships to each other which usually end with one woman killing the other. In the song Soldier & Rose, the ghosts Rose and Pearl are lovers as Rose seduces the soldier for her honey.  In the song Four Friends, for one chorus the men sing “I like to put my hand on a pretty girls’s knee” and the women sing “pretty boy’s knee” and then they switch for the next chorus so they’re all bisexual. In general, a lot of fun if you like weird musicals and I mean really weird.

The full show is online: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dJSaEJm8pCE

Mean Girls

Yes there’s a musical of it. I was not looking forward to it when it was announced but have actually grown to quite like it. It’s hardly lyrical genius but the songs are fun and a lot of the problematic aspects of the film have been fixed. Damian is more explicitly gay in the musical and sings about an ex boyfriend in one song. Janis is heavily implied to be a lesbian (confirmed by actress offstage) and she doesn’t end up with Kevin Gnapoor. She is played by a queer actress in the tour cast. Both queer characters are much bigger roles than in the movie and get several songs each. I’d consider the musical to be quite white feminist but it does address issues such as the sexualisation of teenage girls and the notion that to be ‘sexy’ is ‘empowering’.

Here’s a clip of one of Damian’s songs: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x-zM6QKkxEQ

& Juliet

An English jukebox musical about what might have happened to Juliet in Romeo and Juliet if she had not died at the end. I haven’t seen it but I’ve listened to the soundtrack and it is mainly comprised of 21st century songs by women. One of Juliet’s best friends is non binary although is played by a cis man as far as we know. Also I went to the same school as one of the actors which is a bonus for me. Very diverse cast.

Here’s a trailer: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dm2k9nS3o20

In Transit

A capella musical about several people’s adventures on New York public transport. Two of the main characters in this ensemble cast are an interracial gay couple where both are pocs. They are engaged but one of them is having trouble coming out to his mother. I found it refreshing in that his fiance for the most part was not upset with him at his struggles in coming out and they were both able to live fulfilling lives despite this. I am always astonished by the talent of a cappella singers.

Here’s a trailer: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zhvik6qoass  Another one where the bootleg can be found very easily on YouTube

Firebringer

Remember A Very Potter Musical? Well, the company that did that are still putting out new pieces of theatre on their YouTube channel. In 2016, they put out their ridiculous comedy musical Firebringer, about a group of bisexual cavewomen. I won’t spoil the ending but trust me, it’s great. You may know it from the viral clip of one of the main characters singing ‘I don’t really wanna do the work today.’

You can watch the full musical here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZmVuNlu0LCk

Special Mentions

Company

Musical by Stephen Sondheim about a man unable to commit to a relationship, surrounded by his friends who are all in couples. However, the award-winning 2018 West End revival chose to change the genders of some of the characters. The main character Robert became ‘Bobbie’ (although all of her love interests were gender-swapped as well). One of the originally M/F couples became an M/M couple. It opened on Broadway for about a week before the Covid outbreak so that will be one to look out for.

Trailer: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OtDK03y4gT0

In the Heights

A musical by Lin-Manuel Miranda about the Latin American community living in Washington Heights in New York. The original theatre production has no explicitly queer characters. However, in the upcoming movie version (that was meant to be released this summer but has been pushed back to next summer) it has been confirmed that the characters of Daniela and Carla (Daphne Rubin-Vega and Stephanie Beatriz) will be explicitly a couple.

I absolutely love this musical and the trailer for the movie looks beautiful check it out: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U0CL-ZSuCrQ

[solarwriting]

Road Trip {Gina Porter}

summary: the musical was over and spring break has begun; the gang has decided to go on a roadtrip while y/n and gina try and deny their feelings

characters/ships: Gina Porter x fem!Reader; Rickey Bowen x Nini Slazar-Roberts; Ashlyn Caswell x Big Red; Carlos Rodriquez

song insp.: this entire playlist  Teenager In Love - Madison Beer, What I Need - Hayley Kiyoko 

word count: 1.6k

note: Gina is a wlw you can’t tell me otherwise | send requests!

part 1 | part 2

The gang finally had a break from musicals, school, and drama. Spring break was upon them and there were no pressures of an upcoming musical to stress them out. As far as Y/n could tell no one had any plans so she took it upon herself to make plans for them. 

Y/n told Ricky, Nini, Carlos, Big Red, Ashlyn, and Gina to meet her at her house in the garage. When they arrived Y/n told them what she wanted to do, and they all thought she was crazy.

“Um, I just looked it up and it’s an eleven hour drive.” Ricky explained, motioning to his phone.

Ashlyn jumped in, “And it can’t be cheap.”

“You see, I already have that figured out, my uncle has a friend who can give us tickets, so that’s covered. We just need to stop at one hotel on the way there and back, so we don’t have to drive in the dark.

“If we go to cheaper motels and only stop in three cities, one on the way there, one once we get there, and one on the way back. Then we will have spent almost no money. Besides gas but that’s okay.”

“Are we really going to see Beetlejuice: the Musical?” Carlos exclaimed with an excited squeal. 

Everyone looked around at each other before smiling and cheering.

~

The day had come, the gang was going to San Francisco to see Beetlejuice: the Musical - the off-off-Broadway version but a musical nonetheless. Y/n was the first up to drive, it was her van after all. She picked up Gina and Ashlyn first, Gina sat in the passenger seat and Ashlyn sat in the seat directly behind her. Y/n Picked up Big Red and Ricky who was already at Red’s house. Red sat next to Ashlyn and Ricky sat in the far back directly behind him. Y/n picked up Nini next, who sat next to Ricky. Carlos was picked up last who took Big Red’s spot while Red moved to sit next to Nini, right behind Ashlyn. 

Everyone packed as little as possible, trying to fit a lot in the van’s small trunk was one challenge they couldn’t pass by.

“Hey, Carlos, sorry Seb couldn’t come.” Y/n said, glancing at Carlos through the rear view mirror. 

Carlos sighed, “It’s okay, he had to help on the farm.” 

A comfortable quiet fell on the van as music played sofly from the speakers. everyone stuck in their own little conversations. Gina looked over at Y/n who’s eyes were focused on the road. Y/n looked at Gina, catching her stare. The two girls’ faces heated up both of their eyes averting back to the road. 

“You know,’ Y/n started, motioning to her phone resting on the center console, “You can change the music, if you want.”

Gina smiled and grabbed the phone, scrolling through Y/n’s playlist titled ‘Roadtrip!’ before settling on a song. She played the song and turned the music up with a smile, She by Harry Styles began streaming through the speakers, a favorite between the group.

Everyone soon started to sing along, 

      She lives in daydreams with me       She's the first one that I see       And I don't know why       I don't know who she is

~

The first few hours flew by and soon everyone needed to stretch their legs, use the bathroom and get snacks and gas. Y/n put the gas in the van wile the others were in the station most likely getting snacks. Ricky and Nini were the first to walk out of the small building, Y/n tossed Ricky the keys.

“Your turn to drive, I need a break.” Y/n explained as she inserted her gas card into the machine. She hopped into the van, sitting in far back on the same side as the driver. Gina was the next to enter the van, Ricky and Nini already sat up front ready for everyone to load up. 

Gina sat next to Y/n passing her a bag of her favorite snacks and her favorite drink, “Thanks, Gina.”

Gina smiled, slightly embarrassed, “It’s not a big deal, I figured you were busy with gas and stuff.” Her cheeks were warm and she shrugged it off before buckling herself next to Y/n, Carlos on her other side. 

Ashlyn and Big Red sat in the middle row lost in their own conversation. Since Nini was sat upfront everyone was subjected to listening to the soundtracks from her favorite musicals for the next couple of hours. 

“Where did we even end up?” Gina asked Y/n who was taking a sip of her drink.

Y/n looked out the window trying to remember, “Elko, I think.” She looked at Gina with a small smile. 

Y/n wasn’t sure why she felt the way she did around Gina, they had been friends ever since she transferred right before their sophmore year a few moths ago. Y/n would find herself annoyed when ever Gina spent too much time with EJ or Ricky. Y/n got particularly angry with EJ during the dance he took Gina to. Y/n didn’t know why she felt hot while Gina sat so closely to her. Y/n kept her hands in her lap awkwardly, her knee sometimes knocking against Gina’s. 

Y/n was lost in her thoughts and soon her snack and drink were soon forgotten as she drifted off, the three hours she spent driving taking its toll on her. Her head fell to the side, colliding with Gina’s shoulder. 

Gina’s eyes widened at the sudden weight her her shoulder but smiled to herself when she saw Y/n sleeping peacefully against her. Gina blushed and returned to her conversation with Carlos. 

A few hours had passed and the sun had begun to set by the time Y/n had woken up, her head still lying on Gina’s shoulder, who had been careful to not wake her. Y/n’s eyes fluttered open, her brows furrowed as she looked around before she realized she was on someone. Her head shot up, eyes widened as she looked at Gina with a sheepish smile. 

“Sorry.” Y/n mumbled to Gina. 

Gina smiled and leaned close to Y/n and boldly whispered into her ear, “I didn’t mind.” Shivers ran down Y/n’s spine, feeling Gina’s breath on her neck like that. 

Gina sat back, her cheeks rosier than usual. Y/n’s face not so different as she tried to hide behind her hand as she rested her arm on the arm rest and looked out the window. 

Music still played softly, this time it was some sort of soft hip-hop or rap only he and Big Red really knew, but no one complained. Everyone was fairly tired, sitting in a car for about seven hours could do that to a person. 

At some point Nini took over driving and Ricky was in the passenger seat, explaining why his music was playing. Y/n yawned and stretched as best as she could. 

Y/n looked out the window finally noticing the beautiful sunset that graced the horizon. The highway wasn’t so beautiful but the mixture of oranges, pinks, reds, and yellows made up for it. Y/n sighed contentedly and pulled out her phone snapping a few pictures before choosing one to share on her story. 

She flipped her phone’s camera, nudging Gina getting her’s and Carlos’ attention taking a picture while the golden light was still kind to them posting this image with the caption ‘road trip going strong’ adding a small heart next to it.

Y/n and Gina began talking about their future plans how Gina wanted to go to a preforming arts college and how Y/n hoped to get into art school. Y/n was unsure about getting accepted but Gina reassured her, “You’ll definitely get in, they’d be crazy not to have you, plus that’s two years away.” 

Y/n smiled, “Yeah,” She chuckled, “Maybe we’ll end going to school near each other.” 

Gina blushed at that comment, “Yeah, maybe.” 

The two continued to talk as the van continued to barrel down the highway, the sun slowly sinking behind the horizon. Soon Nini pulled into a small motel that lay just of the highway. The motel was small and slightly sketchy but they didn’t mind as they all clambered out of the van and pulling their bags out of the cramped trunk.

Ricky went ahead to rent a room for the night, Y/n told him two rooms each with two beds would be the most convenient for everyone. The couples could be in one room and share beds and the three singles could each sleep alone, one of them on the couch.

The six waited outside for Ricky with the keys, the entrances to each room being outside. Ricky walked out with a frown on his face, “They only had one room but it has two beds and a pull-out couch.” 

“Ricky and I get a bed!” Nini called as she followed her boyfriend towards their room. “Big Red and I can share a bed too, if that’s okay with you, Red.” Ashlyn said softly. 

“You and Gina can sleep on the pull-out, the floor would probably be better on ,y back anyways.” Carlos offered as he followed the group up stairs leaving Y/n and Gina in the back both of them sharing embarrassed faces.

What a cliche.

[justformyself2]

Notting Hill.

A/N: Wow, who also need a good story to be pumped for the apocalypse? raise your hand please!

Not really sure if you guys know about this story, but June 27,2020 is the date, look it up lol. You know what else we could be doing before going to hell once for all for lusting so much over John Krasinski? 

Sign this Petitions and donate if possible:

Justice for Elijah McClain

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BLACK LIVES MATTER NOW AND ALWAYS.

Well, now that i said what i said, let me finish by telling you, this is an important story for me. The past months have been extremely rough and i struggled like never before to fight for something i love to do not be consumed by dark thoughts, regardless of the past, i’m proud to be posting this right now, no matter how long it took for me and how minimal it may seem, goddamn i feel happy to create and write, and for you guys, in whatever you need to do, dream of doing, don’t let dark thoughts guide you into staying stuck, shine, do what you love, we all have the capacity.

This is my participation on my friend’s @lullabieswrappedinlies​​ rom-com writing challenge (go check her out, she is so damn creative and amazing)

This story is based on the movie Notting Hill and will be added on my masterlist. or tell me you want to be tagged if you want to keep up.

BEFORE YOU JUMP IN BE ADVISED

. Pairing: Reader x John Krasinski.

. It contains strong language.

. Click here for soundtrack of movie if you are in your feelings today

                                                   JOHN’S POV

“John, we will be ready in five.”

“Ok.”

I press the phone once again against my ear, listening to her heavy sigh. It is easy to mold her face into my brain with dexterity. The bushy eyebrows, casting a shadow under piercing blue eyes, seeking to grab my soul, she succeeding to combine it all with a condescending smile on her lips. Condescension which I have to kiss it off.

“Well, if you want to go, then go.”

Deep down, she was still trying, and I can’t take that for granted.

“I don’t want to go. I need to go, an enormous difference. It’s work.”

I aim to be the diplomatic debater, the mediator, and the opponent. She is better than me at being the third party, perfecting the act of passive-aggressiveness in chosen phrases, fuming through her nose on the other side of the line. An act I wish to interpret as a genuine breathed laugh with no second intentions; my five minutes seemed to multiply.

“Call you later?”

I say.

“Yes.”

She answers

“Love you.”

She hanged up.

                                                            --------

                                                      Y/N POV

“This book is so weird and sexist, holy shit.”

You put the phone down, and Nova throws another eighties romance book into the cardboard box with its copies.

“Language.” You sing at her in a scolding tone. 

“Sorry.” She sings back. “But you know I’m right. They are always pairing a young girl with some fifty years old, control freak who prey on them with their big, strong, tan hands.”

You giggle, and she looks satisfied.

Regardless of the narrative that anyone could quickly review, it was ‘in’ right now, as Agnes said, and what her bookclub wanted. “Un plaisir coupable.” she completed; the thin red lines that were her lips stretched in a laugh, causing her blue contacts to squint. 

Soon enough, the scavenging for the material began, and you found the yellow pages, delivered with weird smells, phone numbers, and addresses written on the inside of the covers, but still readable.

“They paid and are coming to pick them up tomorrow. It’s the only thing I care about right now. Also, don’t let her catch you saying that you hear me? I will help finish this then we can close before your mom shows up and kill me when she finds out you are here.”

You move from behind the counter, seeing the digital hour hit past ten pm on the laptop.

“Oh, don’t worry about that, she already knows.”

The unconcerned Nova grabs a box, and you grab another following her quick steps, twisting to the right almost at the end of the hall, entering a room that was once a decent private office before it became nonfunctional. 

The reserved bookshelf for Agnes club waited empty, a last-minute metal book rack next to the bay window. To create an illusion of a comfortable place for a book club, orange curvy chairs, which Alexis begged to be thrown out, along with the red Arabic carpet left behind with the chairs by the old owner. Every time you enter the space taking a deep, immediate, frustrated breath, Alexis wins a point.

You place the box down, looking at your niece.

“Kyle?”

You ask, and Nova hums softly, doing the stocking job.

 Kyle, more than a name it was first a banned topic usually discussed between a limited couple of sentences. His name was a warning, along with his unrequested presence at random, unannounced times. It became harder since Nova wasn’t at a manageable age anymore. It was tough at fifteen, and as the time passes by, sweetness gains the bitterness, and innocence, gone.

“Well, you know you will always have a second bed, Donkey misses you.”

You gain a laugh while she finishes her box.

“Oh God, can’t believe you still keep him there.”

You shrug impulsively, paying attention to your own hands, arranging the books and their horizontal titles on a pile.

“It was your favorite toy, why would I throw it away?”

“You know why.”

 A pause and a deep breath came from her, triggering the thought, long forgotten about, that people still expected you to be mourning over material remains.

“It’s okay to throw away with the rest of the others, it’s been a long time.”

Her auburn hair was now being tied in a bun. Your fifteen-year-old niece, holding a peaceful outside appearance, didn’t mind sounding more mature than you wanted to admit.

 “Good... then we can donate, not throw it away.”

“Even better.”

She agrees quickly, stomping on the empty cardboard box.

Nova turns out the lights as you awaited for her, leaning against the glass door on the entrance, blowing hot humid air into your cold fingers and watching over nothing other than a middle-aged man with a red beanie walking a Greyhound on the other side of the empty street. 

Notting Hill wasn’t known for its nightlife. It was almost a deserted city by eight and in the light of day, Portobelo Rode fruit market brings it to life. On weekdays, stalls and its hay baskets, packed with succulent fruits and greens, filled the streets along with shouted invites, half prices and sweet-soured smells invading each corner; on weekends the baskets shape-shifted to antiques of all kinds, genuine or handmaid, the crowd and the stalls multiplied in the small village. 

In-between buyers and sellers of what you could harvest or find in your gramma’s basement there was your store, a bookstore, one corner away from your home, squeezed in the middle of Linda’s cafe and a self-employed yoga instructor that recently rented Mr. Walsh’s house, a retired Navy who moved to Greenwich with his daughter-in-law three weeks ago; his red door house now held a big white plaque with ‘Sivananda Yoga’ written in cursive gold letters, phone number and social media included under the picture of a woman in the lotus posture.

“A yoga studio, nice!” Says Nova, coming closer to the four steps leading up to the red door.

You close the store and covers her shoulders with your arm when the icy wind started building up.

“We could try it someday, your mom-.”

“Hates trying new things.” She completed. “Don’t even bother.”

 “That is where you are the wrong baby. It may seem like this now, but I wish you could have seen your mom in her prior days. Wow... She was glorious.”

The feeling of wandering eyes aiming at your face became stronger as you carried her along the street under your embrace.

“Before my dad, I guess.”

A tiny part of your soul lighten up, recognizing itself in your niece’s words, but there was no place to fuel her fiery tone.                                                                                           

“To be honest, I don’t know, but people change Nova, everyone eventually, even the ones we thought we had figured out, including ourselves.”

“Whatever, I don’t want him back in the house again if she puts him back, I’m moving with you.”

The decisiveness in her voice sent bad vibrations along your back. 

Unusual memory mechanism. Alexis visited your mind, vivid as if you could see her across the street you were crossing, she waiting and shivering at your front door because you forgot the spare key in the store again. 

After the scolding she would show a rose-colored box from Fincher’s cafe under her arm, comporting the most amazing banoffee pie, your favorite pie from your favorite place. 

Fincher’s cafe, that was once located two blocks away from where you two lived was closed when the old owner went bankrupt and reopened in Queensway street, she would drive there every weekend to bring that rose-colored box under her arm and wait for you on the couch, once the spare key was in the fake birdhouse, with the TV turned on and the plates placed on the center table next to the wine.

“See, I don’t think that will happen.”

“How could you know? Didn’t you just said people change?”

“And love changes people, your mother has more for you than you could ever imagine and without measuring efforts. She wouldn’t make any decision that would hurt you, trust me.”

Nova quickly disengage from the conversation, staying on mute abruptly, leaving a temporary gap for thoughts of doubt to occupy. Your heart is worried, but a grown-up, worried heart shouldn’t be shown while trying to pass a sense of security. That included waiting for Nova to fall sleep before calling Alexis.

You climb the four steps and opens the blue door, face to face with smiling Rudolph from last Christmas, hanging by a thread along with Santa, waiting to be taken down as the feeling in the pit of your stomach.

“I ate at home so if you don’t mind I will go to bed now.”

Unreeling the red knitted scarf, the tenth big piece Alexis attempted to make at her knitting fase, Nova doesn’t look behind once. You watch her back as she went upstairs to the guest room, her special fort at five, and now her hideaway at fifteen, with fewer toys and Donkey, an old stuffed toy still sitting in the shelf waiting for no one in a room cleaned every week.

You dismiss the purple scarf from around your shoulders, the third big piece on your sister’s collection, not as good as the tenth, but it warmed you inside to observe her trying to hide a proud smile in seeing what she made wrapped around Nova and you.

A stupidly cold breeze hits the back of your neck before you turned around to close the door, the phone rings along with squealing tires of a black car on the other side of the street.

                                                           1

[katjacksonbooks]

Ummm, I started this romance last year at some point and then put it away, as I often do. But now that the world feels super bleak (super SUPER bleak? what’s the scale for everything sucks and I hate it all?) I’ve decided to add this story to my list of things I want to finish soon-ish. (I mean, it’s me tho, so what does soon even mean?)

Anyway, if you want to read a preview of Alien Escape (erotic ffm) and meet Drea, a girl with big dreams and a plan to get as far away from her toxic parents as she can, read on!

CW: allusions to domestic violence and emotional abuse

Also, if you’re wondering if I really have face inspiration for an alien couple, the answer is yes. I do! Y’all should watch Star Trek: Discovery!

                                                      Prologue                                    

 “Shut up!”

“You shut up! All you do is come in here and whine like a baby until you get your way.”

“When have I ever gotten my damn way in this fucking house? I work my fingers to the bone—”

“Where? When? Doing what?”

“Oh, fuck you! Someone’s gotta keep food on the table in this damn place—”

That’s about when I tune them out. My parents have the same fight every three to four days, like clockwork. It’s not really about anything, or not about anything specific; they just like to fight and really dislike each other. Mom hates living in Ohio, and she’ll never forgive dad for moving us out here. Dad hates living in Ohio too, but he refuses to admit that this was ever his idea. Money’s tight. There’s nothing to do. Neither of them can keep a job. Somehow, this is all my fault.

Different day, same bullshit, and why I don’t bother listening.

We all learn things from our parents, and mine taught me early and often that we all have lots of times in our lives when we can make decisions to not stay with people we barely know and can’t stand. My parents had more roads to escape than most.

My life as I know it might never have happened if their casual fling — without birth control, because dad didn’t believe in it — hadn’t turned into an unexpected, but obviously expected, pregnancy. That could have been a wakeup call, followed by a visit to a Planned Parenthood and an important life lesson learned, except mom was from a hardcore born-again family and didn’t believe in birth control or abortions. She believed in premarital sex, though, so I’m still trying to make sense of that faith system, but the damage was done. The damage being the mess those two made of my childhood because, even though they could have decided to co-parent or something, they apparently felt compelled to stay together. Why? I’ll never know, and I’m convinced they don’t know, either. My earliest self-realization wasn’t “This fucker took my nose!”, it was “My parents see me as a burden.” Can you imagine? Being barely old enough to sit up without wobbling and knowing, somehow, deep in your bones, that the two people who should love you unconditionally, don’t? It’s not a great life, just in case you need to see it in black and white. To my parents, I was just another mouth to feed, the thing that kept them bound to this person they hated more each day. Their entire relationship and my entire existence were just one bad decision after another, and the soundtrack to my entire life has just been this same argument.

They bickered all over New York in the almost-identical shoebox apartments they could just about afford, during our road trip West and ever since we settled in Akron. They don’t even like each other enough to shake up these knock-down, drag-out fights. Maybe a cheating accusation here, or a “Who ate the last piece of chicken?” there, but other than that, nothing.

The most interesting part of my life was that year just before they finally decided to move to Ohio. Dad had tried to feed me and mom some fairytale about how life would be different here — fewer people, better housing, more trees, less pollution and a stronger family unit. I never believed it, because in each of the yarns he spun, I was still with them — both of them — and there’s no happily ever after with them around; not for me, at least. But mom had been swayed, and next thing I knew, we were in a beat-up Ford truck, the entirety of our belongings packed precariously in the bed and heading West.  Surprise of all surprises, none of dad’s stories had been true.

Well, okay, let me be fair. There are technically fewer people in Akron than the Bronx, and the house we’ve been renting since we arrived is bigger than those small New York apartments, but besides that, my parents’ dysfunctional relationship and my shitty life are business as usual.

There were more trees when we got here, but I’m not giving dad credit for that since most of them were cut down about a year after we arrived to make room for the new pipeline running right through our backyard. That’s why the rent’s so cheap.

My parents fight about that, too.

The move wasn’t a Band-Aid to their relationship, and it certainly didn’t make my life better — not that anyone was worried about me — and as far as my parents are concerned, every problem in their life is my fault. They fight about it regularly and then circle right back around to being united against me, and that’s why as soon as mom banged the pot of spaghetti on the kitchen table, I scarfed down my portion and excused myself immediately.

Their problems aren’t my fault, I know that, but there’s no reasoning with them. It’s best to just disappear. I headed upstairs to my room with a mumbled “homework” and waited. Once I heard them start sniping at one another, I did what I always do and climbed up to the attic and out onto the roof. This is the only place where I feel safe, emotionally, if not physically. If I’m being honest, I really shouldn’t be up here. It’s slippery, and a bunch of the tiles are a good gust of wind away from falling off, but if my choices are inside my parents’ house and up here, the roof wins every time.

Out here, there’s enough space to escape my parents’ incessant fighting. The late spring air is a marked change from the stifling, probably not-quite-safe gas heat in our house. On a clear night, I can stand on the eastern edge of the roof and see all the way downtown, not that there’s much to see there. I mean, I can see the marquis of the Burger King where I work, but I’m not interested in that, so I usually look in the opposite direction. There’s not much to see there either, just a few farmhouses surrounded by large fields and the pipeline.  

But I’m not looking at any of that. I put my earbuds in my ears, turn my music up as loud as it goes and lay back on the roof to stare at the clear, dark blue sky. Sometimes, I haul my sketch book up here to draw, or pull my old astronomy textbook out and try to identify the constellations, but whatever I do, I say a prayer that my singular wish will come true. All I want is to get as far away from my parents as fast as I can.

My classmates are preparing for college, and lots of them want to enlist, but my only real goal post-graduation is to get away. I’ve worked out any number of escape routes up here. Instinctually, I know that I can’t just move to Columbus or Detroit. Those cities aren’t far enough away, and I’ve long been worried that my parents’ obvious co-dependency means that I need to put some serious miles between us if I want to have a chance at real freedom.

I toyed with the idea of leaving the country, but Burger King money doesn’t stretch nearly that far. Right now, I’m making just enough to give my parents one of my checks a month to help with household bills — and keep them off my back — and split the second between my cellphone bill and savings account. After three years, I have enough money saved to absolutely get the fuck out of Akron in exactly six months on my eighteenth birthday, and I plan to do exactly that, but I’m still working out the kinks in my escape route.

I’ve done the math, and I can either buy a decent used car or a plane ticket to California. Every time my dad comes home and tells mom that his paycheck was docked for calling in or mom hides yet another online delivery from dad, I’m tempted to go for the plane ticket, but I usually talk myself down from that impulse because I’m sensible, unlike my parents. Even though the thousands of miles away from here is attractive as fuck, I know that once I get off that plane, I’ll be broke as hell.

On the other hand, the rusty Honda Civic I have my eye on at the used car dealership downtown is sensible. It has less than 100,000 miles, good mileage, and if push came to shove, it could double as a temporary home. It wouldn’t be a six-hour plane ride to California, but I’ve got enough money that I could put some real distance between my parents and myself and have enough to really start the rest of my life.

But when I’m up on the roof, I also have another secret fantasy. It’s not real, but when my parents are really loud, and I worry that the yelling and crashing might turn to the sound of fists hitting skin and bone, I dream of space. Forget California or Tokyo, I wish I could go to the moon or beyond. There’s a tiny, terrified girl inside me that knows in her bones that the only way to really escape my parents is up above me. Sometimes, I lay back on the roof and imagine what it would be like to know that I was far enough away that I’d never have to hear my parents wake me up arguing again. It’ll never happen, but some nights, daydreams of flying up into the sky are the only things that make me feel safe enough to fall asleep. But just like with San Francisco, I bury that deep inside myself and calculate how many shifts I need to work to have the full price of the used Honda. The sky is my fantasy, just like Ohio had been my parents’, but that Honda Civic is the real path to freedom.

The sound of glass breaking hits my ears in the quiet between two songs, and I jump at the shock of it. I tap my cellphone screen to pause my music. I pull the earbud from my left ear and listen, trying to figure out which part of the argument they’re at now.

“Do you feel better?” dad yells at mom.

I roll my eyes, shove my earphone back into my ear and press play on the music again.

Mom likes to break dishes when she’s really frustrated but trying to hold it together; it’s why the few dishes we have don’t match. I suspect she’s gonna drag me to the Goodwill tomorrow to look for a replacement for whatever she’s broken, and I can’t have that. I pick up my phone and tap out a quick text message to my boss, Peter. In a plea that he’s very familiar with, I tell him that I’m available to cover any shifts tomorrow. Peter’s a good guy, and I know that he’ll do what he can to get me a shift, even if it’s just a few hours or closing. I’ll take it, and he knows I will. I’ll also immediately put whatever extra money I get directly into my savings account and readjust my timetable to purchasing the Honda and getting the fuck out of here.

The music builds to a crescendo and mercifully drowns out my parents’ screaming as I look back up at the sky.

On nights like tonight, the moon is so clear and big that I swear it’s close enough to touch. I stretch out my right arm above me, squint one eye closed, tilt my head to the left and pretend to capture the moon between my thumb and forefinger. I smile for the first time in what feels like hours, maybe even days.

And then I see it.

While I’m looking, a small speck in the sky moves across my vision, only visible because it passes the light of the full moon. At first, I think it’s a distant star, or maybe my eyes are playing tricks on me. I blink, and something in the sky moves again. Whatever’s up there, it’s too far away to see clearly, so I sit up, trying to make sense of it all. It’s moving too slow to be a shooting star and too fast to be…well, literally anything else. I pull my earphones from my ears, as if it will sharpen my vision. I stare up at the speck that’s now bigger, closer; close enough for me to realize that the one speck is actually a cluster of distant lights. I’m not looking at a star or a planet but a constellation that’s moving in formation towards me. Toward the Earth.

But that’s not possible. I know that. I aced astronomy.

“What the fuck?” I whisper to myself.

As if in answer to my whispered question, those bright not-stars seem to move faster and get bigger in the large pane of sky above my house as they get closer. The lights seem to fill the sky of this boring ass town with a pipeline running through it dangerously close to the local drinking water; this town my parents hate that I can’t wait to escape.

I shake my head and turn to the right. My eyes land on the pipeline cutting through the fields behind our house. I can barely remember a time when it wasn’t the first thing I saw when I woke up in the morning. I’ve read dozens of articles about what it is and how much time it’s probably shaving off of my life. I guess the environmentalists were right and assume that thing must finally be leaking. It has to be. Because how else do I explain what I think I’m seeing in the sky?

And when I tilt my head back to look up there, I gasp and jump to my feet.

In the handful of seconds when I’d been looking away, those not-stars seem to have come closer. Like real close. Now they’re so close that no one can mistake them for stars because no stars have ever been so damn clear in the sky or moved so fast. I watch as they get closer and closer, and then I shriek in shock as the constellation breaks apart.

If I’m hallucinating this, whatever the pipeline is leaking is grade-A lethal shit.

The lights disperse so fast that I actually miss it. One second, there’s a cluster of lights heading toward me, too many for me to count clearly. The next second, I blink. Then the next second, there are only five lights still above me, but I can see turquoise blue light streaks in the sky heading in thousands of different directions. And then in another second, those five lights begin to slowly move apart, still descending, closer to the Earth’s surface. They’re landing, I realize, and my mouth falls open.

“Fuck,” I breathe as my mouth curves into a smile so wide it hurts.

Now that there are fewer lights and they’re even closer than before, I can just about recognize what’s hovering in the sky above me. They’re ships, and not space shuttles like the ones I’ve seen in my social studies textbooks about the moon landing. These not-stars are huge, bigger than the biggest plane I’ve ever seen in the sky, maybe even bigger than the entire town, and they’re not US-made shuttles or like anything I’ve seen of Russian or Chinese ships. These big, hovering ships look like they’re covered in shimmering jewels, glittering as if reflecting their own sunlight. “Fuck,” I breathe again.  

“Drea, are you up there? Girl, get off the fucking roof, we can’t afford no emergency room visit. Do you hear me?”

I hear my dad yelling at me. I do. I just don’t give a shit, because there’s an alien spaceship in the sky almost directly above our house — an actual fucking spaceship — and this is infinitely more interesting than him reaming me out for being on the roof again. Besides, I hear the moment when he sees what I’m seeing and stops caring that I might stumble and fall off the roof. I hear the choked gasp that comes from his lips just before my mom bangs out of the front door, still yelling. I hear her words cut off when she sees the ship too, the final confirmation I need that I’m not having a pipeline hallucination, but still, I don’t care.  

Because I’m speechless. I know, deep down in my gut, that this ship is going to change everything about the world I’ve ever known, and I can’t help but feel elated. My body feels light, as if I weigh nothing more than my fantasies. I swear I could float up to one of those ships, and that’s exactly what I want to do. I want to bang on the door of a ship and beg them to let me in, because I can feel the surety along every inch of my skin that this ship is going to be my way out. This ship is going to get me as far away from Akron and my parents and that damn pipeline as possible.

My mother’s scream is a delayed response to seeing the impossible, and it rips into the quiet night. She keeps screaming and screaming, but dad and I are too mesmerized to stop her. Eventually, I hear our neighbors begin to file out of their houses, probably when they realize that mom’s screams are different from their regular weekday fights. I hear them gasp and cry out. Babies are crying, and other people’s screaming joins mom’s. There’s even the sound of the hurricane warning blaring out eventually, but none of those noises seem to touch me; not anymore. It’s like they’re far away because I’m already gone.

[silver9mm]

Another SPN dream I might have turned into a fic. cw: mcd, drug use

I work at a college library but didn’t go to school there and one day these two beautiful boys blow in. They’re Freshmen, but they both seem older and wiser in different ways. Brady---and I only know his name because his friend keeps elbowing him and giving him what the hell, man? looks---is super rude to me, downtalking and loudly fake-laughing at things that aren’t actually funny. The other one gives me apologetic eyes and quickly cuts Brady off, tells me they don’t need help, and steers his friend firmly away. I hear them bickering and somehow know they’re having sex with each other. 

The next day, the nicer one meets me in the morning outside the library with a small regular coffee and tells me his name is Sam and that’s sorry his friend is such a jerk, that he doesn’t know what’s gotten into him lately. The day after that, he brings me a piece of peach pie and I laugh and tell him that it’s from the restaurant off-campus that I live above, and that it’s pretty cool living there because the kitchen closes at midnight so I can play my music loudly without bugging anyone. He asks me what kind of music I listen to and I tell him classic rock and 90s metal and Sam’s face does a weird thing and I can’t tell if he’s into it or annoyed, but I tell him I also like to find new music through TV shows, that I pirate soundtracks from online, and the next day he brings me this usb with BtVS, Jericho, Angel, Firefly, and Constantine comics on it.

Maybe a week goes by and then Sam’s at my apartment. He’s been extremely polite to me up to now, but once he’s there in that little space with me, I realise how huge he is. I freeze up, intimidated, even though I know what I want---even when he asks me, “Do you want me to fuck you?” Of fucking course I do, but he doesn’t move, sits sprawled in a half-broken overstuffed chair and just waits for me to get close before he puts a hand out to me, pulls me down over him. After the first time---and what I remember the most is how blue his eyes were during, how they shifted back to green and gold after---he’s less proper with me, at least when we’re alone. He stalks me in the small space, seems to love grabbing me from behind and lifting me so my feet aren’t on the ground and I have to hold onto the counter, the window frame, but he’s the sweetest gentleman outside, and even shuts Brady down when he tries to talk shit to me, jealous now, but we’re both in the same boat because Sam’s leaving for basic training soon.

I have a couple of months with him, that’s all. He stays at my apartment almost every night, comes to the library during the day whenever he can, always brings me coffee or a Spring flower. One night, he tells me he has a brother but he doesn’t know where Dean is, hasn’t seen him in a year and doesn’t know if Dean knows he’s leaving for the military. He’s got a number but he’s afraid to call it, so I do it for him. I have it on speaker, and a grumpy voice answers and Sam panics so I hang up, but that was definitely his brother and I make Sam promise he’ll call him back. I think he does, because he seems agitated the next time I see him, a weird mix of giddy and nervous and sad, and I don’t think he sleeps much in the night for the next few days before he leaves for basic.

A year goes by. I get letters from Sam, a few phone calls. He hates it, being told what to do, misses his long hair, but he likes being part of something, having people who watch his back and stick by each other, no matter what. I don’t see Brady after Sam leaves, but I meet this older guy at a party one night. He’s there selling cocaine and everyone calls him Bob, but his real name is Balthazar and I let him pick me up because I’ve been looking for a new dealer and he’s got it all. We fuck and it’s fun but not great and the next morning we get breakfast, drink black coffee and smoke cigarettes, sitting next to each other so we don’t have to actually look at each other, but he tells me I can usually always find him at a dive bar across town. I start hanging out there occasionally. Balthazar is a shithead to everyone but we become friends with benefits and his circle of friends are welcoming enough, and I’m hanging out there when I get a call from a strange number.

I recognise the grumpy voice, but this time it’s shaking a little, and Dean tells me Sam’s been killed. I was the last number called on Sam’s phone, and Dean ended up with all the letters we had written, and asks if we can meet. I tell him how to find the bar and he says he’ll be there two nights from now. Balthazar, for once, drops his bullshit when he sees how upset I am and gives me a bunch of free mushrooms and ecstasy because he doesn’t have the emotional capacity to actually be supportive himself. I pocket them and spend the next 48 hours numbly waiting for Dean. It seems normal, somehow, like I knew this was going to happen the whole time, I knew Sam wasn’t going to come back, and I hate that it feels that way but I can’t do anything to change it. 

Dean’s already at the bar when I show up and even though they don’t look anything alike, I know it’s him immediately. We have a couple drinks and then the regulars start to show up, and Dean slowly starts to look like a trapped animal. He goes pale, his hands clench into fists, and he bolts for the door as soon as I suggest ditching the bar, but he’s waiting for me outside, smoking a cigarette, and I notice he’s got Sam’s phone in his hand like it gives him comfort to hold onto it. I take Dean back to my place and he relaxes, tells me he likes my Christmas lights and I offer him the little bag of coke Balthazar slipped me on my way out, and Dean shows me how to powder it by breaking my tea ball and using the end of a pen to grind the crystals through the screen. We talk for hours, but not about Sam, not at first. It’s nonsense, but I can tell Dean’s wound pretty tight, has a lot of secrets, or at least things he feels he can’t tell most people, and that he’s sizing me up, trying to figure out why Sam liked me so much. I’m too spun out to worry if he finds what he’s looking for, but Dean lets me drag him to my bed when the sun starts coming up and we sleep most of the next day away and eat cold Chinese food for breakfast-dinner when we wake up. He tells me he’s gotta go get his car, and I don’t really believe he’ll come back, but he does, and brings a bag with him like he’s intending on staying, and I don’t tell him he can’t. 

He starts to open up that night, tells me about losing his mom when he was a little kid, how his dad was in the military and Dean practically raised Sam by himself, how they were moved around constantly. Dean joined the military as soon as he could, because their dad expected it of his oldest son. 

“Sam didn’t want me to,” he said, “but I was good at it. Taking orders my whole life, being responsible for---for others. For Sam. He wanted me to stay with him, was always coming up with some shit we could do together, a family business, but I wanted to be like Dad. Sam thought it was so dumb, but I did it anyway, and I think he joined because he wanted to show me how it felt. How... How worried he was for me, how much he missed me, but all I felt was proud of him, even though I knew it wasn’t what he wanted to do. I felt invincible, so of course he would be too. Typical bullshit, right? But no one’s invincible and now Sam’s dead. What the weirdest thing is, it bothers me that there was so much of him. That he was so stupid tall and strong. I don’t know why that makes it worse, but it does.”

Dean doesn’t cry when he tells me these things, and I get the impression that he doesn’t have any tears left, that he’d parked his big black car somewhere the day he was told Sam was dead and cried every last tear he’d ever cry in his life out. He’s sitting in the same busted chair Sam was the first time we fucked, but this time it’s me who asks Dean if he wants to. He nods, and the coloured lights make his eyes change like Sam’s would. He lets me do whatever I want to him, practically begs me to come around him and even then doesn’t just take what he wants. He’s passive, submissive, but so attentive, lets me wear myself out over him and then pets me right back to life, over and over. 

We spend weeks like that. My job is out for the summer and Dean pays my rent. He disappears once in a while, but calls me before he shows back up and then sleeps for a couple days before he’s himself again. I don’t ask where he’s been. We eat magic mushrooms and play Tetris on my old Nintendo and I look up info on how those things help with PTSD, and he says that’s something Sam would do, research. We like the same music and I remember the face Sam made, and we go to the bar once in a while. Girls flock to Dean, but Balthazar distracts half of them with his drugs and his sleazy smile and I chase the other half away by just sitting in Dean’s lap, grabbing his ass in front of them. He pretends to be embarrassed but I know he loves the attention, likes that I’m forward and possessive over him. 

[nordic-breeze]

I was going through my files and I came over this document I sent to my friend @distant-rain pretty much the same day I realized I had fallen in love with Arthur, after weeks of being in denial or shrugging off my daydreaming of this cowboy as nbd or thought experiments and boy was I confused. 

I knew next to nothing about RDR1 when I wrote this December last year and I didn’t know much about RDR2 post chapter 2 either except for Arthur’s fate, which I had just learned of, and oml was I upset and confused. Though also scaringly accurate about certain things.

Now over six months later, I love this cowboy even more. And I kept true to my word. If anyone wanna read the rambings of a fangirl who had just found her new obsession be my guest.

I was blown away by how massive this game is. The level of detail is incredible and I greatly appreciate the effort put into creating this world. Yeah, we’ve all heard about the horse testicles shrinking in cold weather but it’s not like it’s just one bizarre detail being essentially a dick joke in an otherwise average game. No, RDR2 is detailed enough that it actually makes sense to add in peculiarities like that. The amount of wildlife alone, I mean, ever since the PS2 era I’ve been used to seeing animals in games but R* created whole-ass ecosystems in RDR2, several of’em, from snowy mountains to marshlands, with animals that act so much like actual animals. Just listening to the birds singing, it’s like being out in an actual forest!

Characterization is another thing that amazed me, in particular the protagonist. I knew nothing about the first RDR when started playing RDR2, nor did I know anything about RDR in general other than it was western-themed and made by the GTA-guys. I expected somewhat of a similar characterization as GTA where every character is a stereotype or a caricature. I genuinely liked GTAV’s story for what it was and even though every character was more or less an asshole, some of them were also weirdly likeable and even earned my sympathy (and hint of affection) occasionally.

But it never really went deeper than that nor was it particularly long-lasting (still way more than I expected tho). I bonded with one of the characters more than I thought I would but not nearly as much as I would had the characters felt more like actual humans and not like the epitome of stereotypes. But it is what R* wanted and it worked. I expected the RDR2 characters to be the same but to my surprise the characters, especially Arthur, are fleshed out, complex, even relatable (depending on your actions I guess). Unlike GTAV, they act and react like actual human beings. Well, human beings that have lived their entire life (more or less) as outlaws. In a country and time period foreign to me. But still they felt human. Ofc I’ve not gotten to know any of the NPC’s as well as Arthur but from various missions and eavesdropping on their conversation I’ve gotten to know them a bit. Hosea is my favorite. He seems like a good man despite being an outlaw and I love how everyone goes to him for advice and how supportive he is. I also wish more people (esp a certain Dutch man) could listen to him more. I also really like Charles. He definitely got morals and could be a good influence on Arthur and the others. I haven’t seen much of Sadie yet, but think I’ll like her too. Lenny seems nice. That one scene when he and Arthur went out drinking together was absolutely brilliant! And lil Jack’s adorable ofc. Only one I don’t like is Micha or Miach or whathisname. I know no one in the van der Linde gang are saints but that guy is a total psychopath. I kinda wish Arthur had gotten his way there when he said they should just leave him in jail as he was nothing but trouble and it annoys me how Dutch is sticking up for him. Yeah, speaking of, not too fond of Dutch or that German guy either atm.

But all in all very impressed by the large open world, the level of details to well, everything and the characterization. Soundtrack is great, graphics are stunning, animations smooth, the horse-riding simulation is just extraordinary and you never know what’s gonna happen as you ride through the map. The amount and variety of random events and encounters are truly impressive. Often comical, like that wildlife photographer who keeps getting almost eaten up by the wildlife he’s trying to document, sometimes eerie like the serial killer side story, or sad like when Arthur met with his former love. Or a combination of said elements like the pig farmers I ran into. With no pigs. But were still veeery well fed. You know, when people are just a liiitle bit too friendly? That eerie feeling you get when you just know something’s wrong but you can’t quite put your finger on it. Until you can. I thought they were husband and wife I really did. You shoulda seen my face when I realized they were in fact brother and sister. Me and Arthur had the exact same face. They were living as husband and wife tho. Well, up until I killed them.

I also love the contrast between the more ‘modern’ world and the simpler life. I could go into town, buy food at the saloon and rent a room or take a bath at the hotel. Or I could ride a few mins out into the wilderness, hunt and gather my own food, cook it over a bonfire and sleep under the stars. Electricity exists, but people are still completely dependent on oil lamps and open flame. Trains and trams exist, cars have been invented, but people still mainly travel on horseback. This contrast between old and new as an era is ending and the modern era is about to begin has been an amazing experience considering the level of detail the game has. The colonization of the new land, which has been largely unknown to me, the contrast between this and modern-day America we see on TV. So many people did not even speak English, I often find abandoned buildings, or burnt-down buildings, some with bodies inside, leaving me wondering what happened to them, I found a ghost town whose inhabitants had been wiped out by a plague. It was tough for many I reckon.

In fact, I find the exploration of this foreign but also somewhat familiar, beautiful but harsh world and its many random events and encounters waaay more interesting than the actual main story itself, which is why it took me forever to reach chapter 3. In fact, the story is probably my least favorite part about RDR2, as backwards as it may sound. I’ve never been into western stories or aesthetics, and I’m certainly NOT into the whole ‘outlaws till the end’ stuff ugh. I fail to sympathize with the whole ‘boo-hoo the world no want outlaws like us no more it’s unfair’. Ugh, go cry me a fucking river. And then go get a job. A real job. Yeah, I get it that adapting to society is tough, life’s tough deal with it and stop preying on others. Wow, robbing two trains in short time and staying in the same fucking area actually has consequences, I’m so shook!

So yeah, story-wise I don’t quite ‘get it’ and Dutch is really starting to get on my nerves, which is probably why I prefer to just ride off alone and experience the world. I guess RDR2 story will rely heavily on being torn between gang loyalty and your own morality and principles but since I have virtually no concept of group loyalty that is all lost on me. My own morals and principles all the way. I’m like, ‘these people suck, take Hosea, Charles, Sadie, Tilly (maybe John Marston and his family) and leave these bitches behind’.

At the beginning, I did kinda liked Dutch. He seemed genuinely sorry for Sadie, took her in and saved her life, even if it meant another mouth to feed in dire times. And he showed Kiran mercy despite hating the O’Driscol’s. But as I’ve progressed thought the game, his grand speeches about sticking together, sticking with him, slowly but surely has turned from pep-talk to keep people’s spirit up to sounding like a cult leader desperate to keep his following no matter the cost. Yesterday when I was playing, I overheard him quote some quasi-philosophy book to Lenny and used the words to twist them into his own convictions to support his decisions. And when Lenny objected, Dutch literally said ‘you’re breaking my heart, kid’. Wow Dutch, talk about manipulating your protégé.

It was the mission when those lawmen approached Arthur as he was fishing with Jack that really made me consciously see Dutch in a new light. Up until then, RDR2 had mostly been fun and games but that conversation left me feeling a bit uneasy. But I just figured it was the main story finally picking up pace and also, I figured I was near the end of the chapter. I carried on, suddenly eager to see what would happen and was thoroughly surprised by how the chapter ended. In a bad way.

While both chapter 2 and chapter 3 begins with a ‘new start’ vibe, chapter 3 felt very different from chapter 2. Mostly it was that feeling that Dutch’s obsession with ‘sticking to this life’ is going to get people killed. Idk, it’s this eerie feeling something’s wrong but can’t quite put my finger on it-feel again. But thanks to internet being internet I already knew some spoilers so I couldn’t help but to look up something and… well, let me put it this way. I’m never going to finish this game. Ever. It breaks my heart because in so many ways it’s truly an amazing game and a fantastic experience. But I’m just not that into the story, I don’t like where it’s heading and I don’t want to see what’s coming to character(s) I’ve come to care deeply about.

I still want to explore the world more, see what unfolds, do more challenges, add stuff to my compendium, maybe get some trophies… but I doubt I’ll ever progress much story-wise. Quite the contrary, I might reload an earlier save and just stay in chapter 2 forever.

(wrtten a couple of days later)

Seems my instincts was right on the money, esp concerning Dutch. Sad thing, I do believe he is sincere. In the first few chapters at least. He is manipulative but I also believe he’s convinced himself that he’s doing the right thing. And then his obsession will eventually get the better of him and when people and the lifestyle is slipping away from him, he doesn’t handle it well at all. Ugh, it’s so frustrating, I just wanna gather all my favs and yell: “leave nooow, before it’s too late!

It’s not for the sake of spacing it out or making it last. I just don’t want to progress in the story at all. I hated losing Horseshoe Overlook. HATED IT HATED IT HATED IT!!!! Yes the new place is beautiful, yes I know it’s the life of the outlaws and RDR2 does show that life for better and for worse whereas most stories tend to romanticize the whole thing, yes as outlaws they can’t stay for too long in one place. But as mentioned I have a hard time sympathize with and immerse myself into that lifestyle. Yes, I got all my upgrades and a whole new area to explore, a bigger nearby town, and closer to that big city. Still hated it. Horseshoe Overlook was my place. The Heartlands was home. And the view was stunning! And I liked Valentine. It was small and dirty but I had good memories from there. Until I had to shoot up half the town. My motivation for continuing the main story is at absolute zero.

It was more what the transition represented, I guess. You never know what will happen in RDR2. And it’s true, for random encounters, and many of the individual missions. But when it comes to the story as a whole, I feel like I already now can predict how it’ll play out. Every chapter begins with the gang on the move, finding a place to settle down and have a fresh start, even chapter 1 (as they were on the run bc a heist gone wrong or something). Then they settle down, go into town to get to know the area and establish connections and looking for easy money, often at the expenses of others. X random events later, they get too overconfident or careless, screws up or get hunted down, it ends with a shootout, then they are on the run again, finds a new place to settle down where Dutch promises that THIS TIME IT WILL BE DIFFERENT until they’re wanted on the entire map and can’t go anywhere cos the wild west is ending. I really liked it at Horseshoe Overlook and whenever Im in that area again I’ll just get sad.

I had no idea I’d gotten so emotionally invested so I was really surprised at how much I disliked moving camps and all. I’ve also gotten so fond of Arthur. I was so busy with exploring, doing challenges, learning to hunt etc I didn’t even realize it happening. Until one scene had me almost tearing up! I think because, we as the player really have to look out for him. Even though I make sure that he eats regularly, he’s still underweight. When out riding I usually set up camp when night falls so that Arthur can get some rest. Something I’d never think about in any other game. And I always give him coffee in the morning. Then it’s his journal that gives such valuable insight into who he truly is as a person. There’s no doubt he’s so much more than just a mere outlaw. He writes surprisingly well and is open and is surprisingly honest about his thoughts and feelings. How torn he is between the life of an outlaw and wanting to be a better man, a better person. How he admired Charles because, for him it was ‘so easy to just be good’ whereas he himself always feel torn between good and evil. And his journal entries when he meets his long-lost love Mary and saves her brother from the cultists. The expression on his face as he said goodbye to her on the train station… how utterly heartbroken he was… how she still loved him too… man, that one tore at my heart. Still does when thinking about it.

I wish I could take Hosea, Charles, Sadie, Tilly, John’s family and maybe Lenny too with me, run off and start anew. Charles would have good influence on Arthur and encourage him to turn his life around and find his place in society and encourage John to be a better father and role model for Jack and they could all learn how to live as free men and women without robbing or hurting anyone (unless they deserve it). Like, Charles is an excellent hunter and tracker. He’d totally get enough food for the gang and maybe even enough to sell. He could train Jack too. Hosea was always more of a conman/grifter than a brute/robber. He could con bad guys or rich assholes Robin Hood style. If anyone gave him grief, John and Arthur would settle the score. Arthur could sell animal pelts and John could take up carpeting. They’d be such a happy lil family. But, RDR1 is yet to happen so it’s all just wishful thinking *sigh*

[beca-mitchell]

remember the day, pt. 7

Summary: Fractured, but not completely broken.

Also on AO3.

Word count: 3,192

Recommended songs: Homesick - Dua Lipa; Need You Still - RVRB.

Check out this fic's soundtrack here.

part 1 (intro/prompt) | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9 | part 10 | part 11 | part 12

Chloe spends the next two weeks preparing herself to go back to Los Angeles. She’s going to take part-time courses - though auditing might be a better word - until she feels comfortable enough to head back to work. Her supervisor - academic and professional - had pulled a couple strings.

Chloe supposes she has a rather blessed life. She counts her blessings every night, though the blessings don’t necessarily mean more memories.

And Beca - memories of Beca are her least common memories.

Beca had suggested she listen to “Just A Dream” in her rather abrupt and short reply to Chloe’s email.

Chloe’s not sure what that has to do with the song she had brought up, but she listens to it anyway, wondering if Beca’s completely lost her mind.

The thought briefly makes her laugh to herself humourlessly because Beca’s not the one with memory loss.

The song is good though. She recalls that it came out around the same time as “Just The Way You Are”. It’s like a puzzle Beca is trying to get her to solve, but all she sees are two songs that shouldn’t go together...but they do.

She just doesn’t know how or why - just that they must.

It’s friendship and more, Beca thinks.

Co-captaining the Bellas with Chloe is something akin to a dream and nightmare. She and Chloe have very different styles of teaching and very different styles of music.

Beca is also a little prickly when it comes to her musical taste.

Despite it all, it’s all part of what draws them together and ends up ensuring that they bring home the championship for the second year in a row.

Chloe and her just work well together and she doesn’t allow herself to think beyond that.

(She does her best, really.)

Despite it all, Beca still has a Jesse and that’s that.

Beca picks her up from the airport.

It’s busy as any day in LAX. Chloe grimaces as another traveler bumps into her shoulder apologetically. There’s something messy and incomprehensible about large cities that she’s not sure she understands entirely.

But-

Beca is there, in front of her. She’s holding a little sign that says Chloe’s name with a bright yellow and orange sun drawn in the corner. It kind of looks like it was made by a kid, but it only endears Chloe to Beca more.

“Hello,” Beca says, when Chloe strolls up to her. “Like the sign?”

There is something so charming about Beca when she’s being a complete nerd, Chloe thinks. She briefly wonders how easily she had fallen for Beca’s quiet charm the first time around.

(She only wonders because she thinks she’s falling pretty quickly this time around.

Not that it’s a competition.)

“Hi,” Chloe says, though it’s quiet because it’s all she can muster. The pressure changes in the cabin, though minimal, had not helped her migraine. Standing in front of Beca now, the migraine only intensifies, even as the rest of her is assaulted by the sheer emotion she feels welling up inside of her whenever she so much breathes near Beca.

Beca looks like she’s conflicted. She lowers the sign and holds out a hand tentatively like she’s either about to shake Chloe’s hand or offer to help her with her bag.

Chloe decides that she’s going to make this decision for both of them. She grabs Beca’s arm and pulls her in for a crushing hug, feeling some weight evaporate off her chest instantly.

Chloe presses her face as best as she can against Beca’s shoulder, wrapping her arms around Beca’s body. She tries not to inhale too greedily; tries not to focus too much on the possessive press of Beca’s hands against her back; tries to resist the urge to tilt her face and just press the barest kiss against Beca’s neck.

Beca wonders what the protocol is here - what she is meant to do or say when she’s finally holding Chloe in her arms again after two months of nothing.

"I missed you," Chloe whispers.

Then again, Chloe dives in like she always has. Beca feels herself melt a little more into the hug, uncaring that people are jostling around them or that her sign has floated to the ground.

"I missed you, too," Beca says, reaching a hand up to tangle gently into Chloe’s hair, holding her tighter. More securely.

When Chloe pulls back, she smiles at Beca’s dazed expression. Beca’s hands slide from her body, slowly, as if she wants the moment to linger.

She clears her throat. “Need some help with that?” Beca asks.

“Um, sure. Just...let me…” she kneels, rifling through her bag for her migraine prescription.

Beca immediately looks concerned and she puts a hand on Chloe’s arm, stopping her. “What’s wrong? Why do you need that?”

“Nothing, just...migraine.”  

Beca nods, but keeps her eyes lasered on Chloe the whole walk to the car that’s waiting for them.

The fact that Beca has a driver is not lost on her.

Still, she’s not in a mood to question it. She gets into the back, immediately sighing when the cool and plush leather soothes her aching back. Beca follows and immediately turns to face her.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Beca asks quietly.

Beca’s concern is touching.

Chloe nods as best as she can, reclining against the car seat. Beca’s hand is comfortably on her knee and her thumb is slowly stroking at Chloe’s skin. It’s the most relaxed Chloe has felt in ages. "I'm okay," she responds as truthfully as she can.

Beca isn’t particularly convinced and she opens her mouth to ask once more, but Chloe grabs her hand and intertwines their fingers.

Briefly, before she dozes off for nap in the heavy Los Angeles traffic, Chloe recalls that Beca tends to get carsick when she’s riding in the backseat. She’s not even completely sure where the thought comes from or if it’s even true, but it makes her squeeze Beca’s hand just once before she slips away.

Beca squeezes back, she thinks.

Chloe agrees to stay in Beca’s - their - guest bedroom until her place is completely finalized. She’s renting a nice-enough place in Van Nuys, not too far from their previously shared condo in Sherman Oaks.

Stepping into their home again is like learning how to breathe again after being underground.

Except, it’s more like Chloe sucks in gasps of air, trying to figure out how to deal with every emotion running through her body.

Beca is experiencing more or less the same - though she has learned how to live with this emptiness a little bit sooner. She wheels Chloe’s gigantic luggage off into the corner before coming to steady Chloe on her feet. “Woah. Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Chloe says, before shaking her head. “I mean...I guess I was just overwhelmed.”

Beca tries not to look too eager. “Was it a memory?”

Chloe hates that she has to tell her the truth. “No, not really. Just...a feeling.” She gazes around, trying to ground herself once more. She settles, slightly.

Her eyes land on a framed photo of them together, kissing in front of the castle at Disneyland.

God.

They were so fucking happy.

Beca’s eyes catch her line of sight and she quickly takes the photo. “I’m sorry - I was going to put that away.”

The fact that Beca apologizes for having a photo of them out, it just about breaks Chloe’s heart.

“You don’t have to do that,” she says quickly. “I don’t mind.”

Beca slowly lowers the photo, though she kind of holds it close to her chest still. “I...I don’t want you to be uncomfortable, Chlo. Especially if you still can’t remember.” Beca looks down, almost reverently at the photo before looking back up at Chloe with an equal if not more passionate gaze. “I want this to work between us, okay?”

It has something Beca has considered and come to terms with: the idea that Chloe may never fully recover her memories.

But the fact remains, Chloe is here now, standing in front of Beca with a willingness and openness and desire to live . It’s all Beca needs to know that somehow they’re going to make it.

“It’s weird,” Chloe says, trying to play off the rising self-doubt, as Beca carefully puts the photo back down. “I- I feel like I need to be worthy of you again first.”

She’s trying to be more honest - more clear with her thoughts. It is meant to help her with her mental organization and communication, but all she sees is the heartbreak that flashes across Beca’s face.

“You are worthy of me,” Beca says with broken conviction. Her voice catches as her stream of consciousness just flows out of her. She has always been a little bit low on her self-restraint around Chloe Beale. “No matter where you are in your life, you always have been. Where would I be without you? You’re worth a thousand of me. You’re a much better person than I am.”

“Hey,” Chloe cuts in, immediately hating that kind of self-deprecation, especially when she knows how untrue it is.

“No, yeah, okay, I get it, you know? We both need time. I’ve been telling myself that over and over since...since Portland.” Beca seems to be speaking quicker and quicker. Chloe doesn’t know how to stop her. “You need more time. Take all the time you need. I'll…wait for you.”

You’re the love of my life.

The thought flies through Beca’s mind and she grasps at it, trying to contain it. Beca’s not sure how she let herself lose control so fast. “You’re worth all the time in the world,”  she says, ending on a whimper.

“Beca,” Chloe begins, feeling stricken.

“But,” Beca continues, looking frantically hopeful and desperately sad all at once. “You’re here and we can start there, okay?” She doesn’t bother wiping her tears, instead turning towards the kitchen hastily. “I’m gonna grab dinner from the fridge and we can-”

“Please,” Chloe whispers, taking two steps to engulf Beca in her arms. Beca trembles even as Chloe rests her forehead against the back of Beca’s head.

They must stand there for seconds, but it feels like an entire lifetime. Chloe closes her eyes and just breathes, taking in the feeling of being with Beca again - this Beca who she is building from old memories and new ones, all wrapped up in one.

“Please,” she repeats, when Beca turns slowly in her arms. Her hands come up to cup Chloe’s neck and for brief second, Chloe thinks, maybe-

Beca just buries her face against Chloe’s shoulder, hugging her close.

She doesn’t quite finish the sentiment because Beca’s tears touch her neck and she does her best to hold herself together.

Please don’t cry.

Please don’t give up on me.

The first night they spend in their new place, Chloe cheerfully pops open an expensive bottle of wine Beca had been saving for a future trip up to see Chloe’s parents or her mother.

Ignoring her protests, Chloe pours them both healthy glasses and corralls Beca out onto the balcony. Beca kind of just wants to lie down after moving all day.

“Why,” Beca says, deadpan.

“Because,” Chloe replies, gently pressing her body against Beca’s back, holding them both steady against the balcony. She rests her chin on Beca’s shoulder. “The sunset is beautiful.”

“You’re beautiful,” Beca retorts, with attitude.

Chloe clucks in her ear before gently kissing at one of her piercings. It makes her shiver, even though California is so ridiculously warm. “Stole my line.”

“Tell me, then.”

“You already know,” Chloe whispers, before tilting her head as best as she can.

Beca meets her halfway.

  It has to be the wine. Chloe’s not sure where the apologies or conversation pour out from.

They’re leaning against the railing of the tiny balcony, watching the sky’s changing colours as best as they can. Chloe wonders how many evenings were spent watching sunsets in this very spot.

“I’m sorry,” Chloe repeats, tasting guilt on her tongue. Beca still looks a little emotional. She quickly takes a sip of wine.

“Please stop apologizing,” Beca says, swirling the last bit of wine around in her glass. “It was a good thing I left, okay?” She sighs, pushing her sunglasses up to her head. Her eyes still feel a little swollen and teary from earlier, but she wants to look at Chloe without the obstruction of a lens. She misses looking at Chloe.

“I know,” Chloe mumbles. “I just…” She’s not sure.

“I was afraid,” Beca says softly. “I thought it was my fault, you know.”

“Why?”

“I thought I was the one who...I thought I hurt you,” Beca explains. The memory of seeing Chloe on the floor is still burned into her mind. “I thought I was trying to force you to remember things and it was just...hurting you.”

“You thought you hurt me?” Chloe asks. The thought never really occurred to her.

“When you...when we fought, you looked like I had just ruined your life. I was terrified that you were going to hate me.”

“I could never hate you.” It comes out on instinct, like it is her body’s natural reaction to hearing that from Beca.

A hint of a smile graces Beca’s face. “You were so upset. I realized it was wrong of me to go to Portland, especially when we both weren’t ready.”

Chloe remains quiet at that. She supposes Beca has a point.

“I was pretty selfish, wasn’t I?” Beca laughs a little. “God, when will I stop fucking crying? I’m sorry.”

“If I don’t get to apologize to you, you don’t get to apologize to me. Not anymore.”

“Yeah, okay. I can do that. Let’s do that.” Beca laughs, a little weakly, but mostly in relief. She feels lighter, somehow. Chloe has always known what to say in her moments of distress. “Let’s stop apologizing. Want to do that?”

“Sure,” Chloe says, clinking her glass against Beca’s, meeting her halfway as she always has.

They drink in silence, the remains of their dinner forgotten.

Still, Chloe burns with curiosity when she watches Beca’s profile. The gentle reds and pinks of the sunset highlight Beca’s features beautifully.

“What’s something you miss?” Chloe asks tentatively. She’s not sure how much of herself she can give to Beca - not yet, at least.

“What do you mean?” Beca asks, even though she kind of gets it.

“I...What do you miss about me?”

Then, or now, Beca wants to ask. She feels guilt and pain rise up in her at the thought. She could go on and on - maybe starting with how much she absolutely misses just comfortably waking up next to Chloe and kissing her. Or sliding her hand up her stomach, simply to hold her.

Beca laughs at how unexpectedly she feels the pain rise up inside her. “How long do you have?" she asks before she can stop herself. Chloe doesn't quite flinch, but the pained expression on her face is enough to make Beca double back. "I'm sor- I don’t know," she says quickly. "I guess...your singing, I guess. You used to...sing to me. Sing with me. A lot,” she emphasizes, trying to laugh it off. "And that was long after we left school and the Bellas."

Chloe tries not to think about how she hasn’t really sung since the accident, feeling self-conscious more than anything. She wants to return to the topic of the Bellas a bit later, but for now...

She fiddles with her phone, wondering if Beca wants her to sing still, or whether that had been some sacred tradition that she used to do with her when Chloe was in love with her.

“Do you want me to sing for you?” Chloe asks quietly. “I - I can.”

It’s the hesitance that really throws Beca - especially when once upon a time, all Chloe did was sing. She literally burst into Beca’s shower to sing with her.

It makes Beca feel greedy for some semblance of happiness again, even if it comes in these bits and scraps she’s picking up along the way. “Do you…” she hesitates. “Do you know Titanium?” It has to be about seven years old by now.

Chloe brightens and nods, suddenly feeling a thrum of excitement suddenly inside her chest. “I’ve been listening to music from those years in between. Sia, right?”

“And David Guetta,” Beca corrects automatically. If she closes her eyes she can pretend this is rehash of her freshman year. “Have you been living under a rock?” she murmurs quietly, not really expecting Chloe to hear it or understand that reference.

Chloe laughs at that, having heard it evidently. She nudges Beca's ankle with her foot gently. “No,” she responds. “Just a little forgetful.”

Beca slides her sunglasses back on her face and leans back while Chloe clears her throat. She doesn’t want Chloe to see her cry.

However, when Chloe opens her mouth to sing, Beca is transfixed.  

Chloe’s eyes are locked on her, like there is absolutely nowhere else she’d rather be. Her voice is soft, a little tremulous, and maybe a little hesitant, but she is clear and sounds as beautiful as ever.

I'm bulletproof nothing to lose Fire away, fire away Ricochet, you take your aim Fire away, fire away

Beca can’t resist - she never was able to resist an impromptu duet with Chloe Beale and she’s not about to stop now, not when they both need this more than ever.

The surprise in Chloe’s eyes when she harmonizes is fleeting because her gaze grows warm and soft, sending butterflies scattering somewhere in Beca’s stomach. She flushes under the warm California heat, wondering how it came to this - how things could have worked out this way.

The chorus comes to a close and Chloe pauses, like she’s not sure whether she should continue. She shifts, facing Beca more fully. “Was that okay?” she asks, sounding more nervous than Beca can recall hearing, ever.

Her eyes are filled with light and a beauty that Beca can’t quite recall seeing in recent months - at least, not to this extent. It makes her suck in a breath. “You sounded beautiful,” she murmurs, resisting the urge to draw Chloe into her arms and kiss her, right there on the balcony, in plain sight of her nosy neighbours.

Chloe is quiet, before she coughs. “I guess I’m a little rusty. I haven't sang since...” She doesn't need to rehash that particular memory.

Beca scoffs, though it loses some of its bite when she sniffles a little after. “You were perfect.” She ignores the waver in her voice. “You are perfect.”

It’s true. It is the inspiration Beca has been missing - the little spark of love and magic that she needs to get her through the day at work. Chloe has always been that for her and, not that Beca expected anything different, but she’s immensely pleased that she still is.

Her voice, soft and directed straight at Beca - it had been so intimate and familiar. Akin to having Chloe in her arms on a quiet Saturday morning. Akin to Chloe kissing her on the cheek after a long day at work.

“What?” she asks quietly, when she notices that Chloe is continuing to stare at her.

“I...nothing. It’s just, we sound good together. Just the two of us.”

She half expects Chloe to implore her to audition for the Bellas.

Beca wonders if the pain ever really numbs - if it ever really goes away.

It really is quite the experience, falling in love with the same person twice.

She reaches for Chloe’s hand. “We do, don’t we?”

tbc // fic tag

[kiwiparallels]

Townhouse, part III

(Part I, Part II) Music had never been a big part of Harry’s life. Not when he was little and Dudley was the one in charge of everything that played around the house, and not at Hogwarts as being chased down by a madman didn’t really have a soundtrack. He told the girls about his lack of knowledge in the musical department and they decided to school him. Each night, they would play different things on the pub’s stereo, showing him CD’s and tapes and records they had collected throughout the years.

The proximity with them was also what made him realize he soon needed to get up to date with muggle technology. As the house filled in with furniture, it also started filling in with cables and a brand new computer and even a cellphone. The right next day, one of them asked him for his number. Saved by the bell. He also bought a telly, a VHS player and a DVD player, even if it didn’t sound as the most fun thing to do, it was part of the deal. Most of the shows were uninteresting, or talked about sappy love stories he couldn’t relate to or great war tales he was fed up of. His life already seemed like the stuff that was made up to be on TV too much for him to appreciate it properly. On the other hand, Harry thought he had to ask Mr. Weasley to come by sometime. The house would be a theme park for him.

Eventually, it started to look like something that belonged to him. He separated a room for Teddy, in which he could grow. The small bed could turn into something bigger, and there was room for a desk so he could do homework when needed. He put one of his favorite pictures of Remus and Tonks in a portrait by the bedside table. Remus grinned slowly as Tonks started to make faces to the camera. One of the walls had a big mirror, as he thought it would be a quite important thing for a little metamorphmagus.

There were details in gryffindor colors here and there, but overall everything was clear and simple, with bright details around in every color you could think of. There was a big blue side table on the hall, for his keys and cellphone - hah! It was a great acquisition. The kitchen had dark green cupboards, and the couches in the living room had colorful striped blankets that reminded him a lot of the Burrow.

The bookshelf now mixed up quidditch, charms, PCs for dummies, and some muggle classics. It also started to take hold of Harry’s muggle music collection. He was clearly not really fond of pop music - specially that byebyebye song, but he could give Chiara’s what a girl wants song some consideration. The Nirvana band that started the whole conversation wasn’t his cup of tea either. It was okay, but not one of his favorites. He really liked the Oasis and their Standing On The Shoulders of Giants album was right next to Blink 182’s Enema of the State. Ellie described his new musical taste as “random brit teenager who thinks he’s too cool for school”, which he couldn’t really argue with, could he? They introduced him to some rock classics too - John Lennon and Queen went straight into his collection, even if he wondered if the latter was really a muggle band. It sure didn’t sound like one.

Their friendship started making him talk to different people everyday. He even had them notice he actually liked girls too, as they talked about the people going around the bar each night. No one there had the same effect as the guy who reminded him of Sirius. And he hadn’t appeared again. Not that he was looking - why would he look for a random muggle guy who he had seen once, someone who could never be fully part of his life? Because that was bothering him everyday. He always thought about inviting his new friends to his place, but weird things kept happening. Everytime he left clothes pilling up on the bathroom floor, they ended up somehow clean and properly hanged in his closet. The dishes in the sink would wash themselves and he felt that even some of the kitchen appliances were starting to do things on their own, as his toast would be done way too fast in the morning, or the milk that wouldn’t spoil even if he forgot it open for days.

He wondered if Kreacher was sneaking in and out and keep things together, even though it didn’t seem likely. He couldn’t find a better explanation, so he settled with that. But as his sociability was improving everyday, he decided to occupy his mind with more important matters, as owling Mr. Argus to inform him how well his recovery has been. He even met Jack the other day, who was overall polite, but didn’t really seem interested in making the friendship grow. He dressed like most of the guys Harry saw on the telly, his hair streaked by highlights. Sometimes he wondered if his polished Harry Potter look would ever compare to a guy like this, but he shook the thoughts away. He could do with plain tees, some jackets or even cargo pants, but trying to lighten his hair could have disastrous results.

He didn’t think it mattered, though. He was never one to befriend everyone around, to make an effort on getting people’s attention. Maybe he was just used to being lonely, after all. Or it was the fact that entitled blokes were never his fancy. He did hate Malfoy from day one, and he had heard what the girls said about Jack: the guy had grown with money. He should have thought about that when he made his back up story - now everyone was going to expect him to be as spoiled as Jack and Malfoy. Just great. Just as the thought hit him, his fireplace burnt bright green, and Ron’s face appeared on the ashes.

“Harry? Hullo?”

“Ron! You’re back! How was the honeymoon?” he asked, approaching the floo connection.

“It was great, mate. I got to visit Egypt finally! How is the new place?”

“Coming together, why don’t you two come through and check it out?”

Not long after that, Ron and Hermione were sitting in his living room, and cups of tea flew to their hands. They told all about their trip, that extended to innumerous magical cities and a couple muggle ones. They avoided Australia altogether. Hermione hadn’t found a way to revert the spell on her parents memory, and not poking into their lives was too much of a challenge. Harry told them about his new friends and the pizzeria, and the couple was eager to compare the food with the one they tasted in Rome. Harry showed them some music, Ron was surprising really into the one Nsync CD Ellie gave him to listen to, and Hermione was absolutely horrified with the dancing scene that accompanied it. The conversation flow was comfortable and warming, as always. Absentmindedly, he mentioned Kreacher coming in and out of the house on his own will.

“Kreacher? The house-elf?” Hermione asked, with a suspicious face.

“Yes, he came to ask me to say goodbye to Grimmauld Place, and since then, he keeps organizing things and washing dishes and what not.”

“I can’t feel any house-elf magic here. Really, nothing. I don’t know how he’s done it” she said, getting up and looking around, especially at his well dusted tables and the animated utensils in the kitchen. “Have you seen him here after he came to talk to you?”

“Hm, no.” He said, a knot forming on his stomach. Maybe he should have worried before. “That’s weird. Do you think someone else has been coming here?”

“They might. I can poke around, open an investigation. Would you like me to?”

“Yes, please.” With furrowed brows and worried goodbyes, that put an end to any conversation about muggle food they could have. They were not used to being threatened anymore. They shouldn’t be. The war was over, and the worries now should all be inside their own heads - the memories, the shadows, the losses. Not walking around his bloody house.

Soon enough, Hermione had several wards and spells surrounding the house. The floo was disconnected, no one could apparate inside. He even tried to stay in more the next weeks, to keep an eye on things. But his routine going to the bar, discussing people and music and having a good time outside was too precious to let go. They asked the Auror department to send in a team, that sent detectable spells here and there, went in and out with objects that clicked and buzzed, but found absolutely nothing but his own magical print. Once, they brought a specialist from the netherlands, that shrugged and went away. After an entire month, the Ministry decided to call it off. Every object in the house had been looked into. They told him there was nothing suspicious going on, that everything would turn out fine. Paranoid, he overheard some of the Aurors saying when they thought he wasn’t listening. And then he was alone again. He had been called that before, and it was why Hermione assured him she was still researching, going through her library on how to go into a house incognitus in every possible way. But so far, there was nothing to be done.

He tried to distract himself, tried to put things on his mind that wouldn’t race his heart and make every intake of breath feel like he was underwater, drowning. He pushed away the anxiety, bought some novels to read, watched a bunch of uninteresting TV - why did Dudley like this thing so much, anyways? - and listened to more music he had in his research period. He even bought himself a Nintendo 64, and played until he fell asleep on the roughest night.

He kept going to the bar, talking to his friends, drinking a pint or two, but as the anxiety kept kicking in, and then he had to go back. There was no telling them why he felt like he did. There was no muggle worrying about potential criminal magic occurrences inside of ones house. They worried about things he wouldn’t ever - paying rents, going home in the dark, and avoiding letting people know who their actual partners were.

After a particular rough night, he went home not past eleven, and tried to shower his worries away. As he pulled his ever-clean black tee over his head, he heard the doorbell ring. Shit. Did one of the girls follow him? Could any other muggle want something with him? At least, he knew, it was hardly a wizard. Not even Hermione would ever ring a doorbell, and she was a muggleborn. Some of the spells should have ringed if it was a trap too.

He took a settling deep breath and stuffed his wand on the right pocket of his trousers, going down the stairs quickly. Heart pounding in his chest, he opened the door just enough so he could see. Leaning on the wall right by the side of his door was something he would never expect. He recognized the long blond hair, a trucker hat positioned on top of it, and gasped. It was the guy from the bar, the one he had never talked to, let alone gave his address to.

When he turned to look at the opening door, the shock was even bigger. Bright grey eyes stared at him, expressionless, while his thins lips crisped in such a familiar way, it made him nauseated. Memories flew through Harry’s head in a second, flooding him with the obviety of the face he kept seeing on the back of his mind as he looked around the crowded bar, the hair that was the only thing he remembered when he woke up at night from some dreams, the posture that made the hair on his neck stand up with a hinge of arousal. Of course, he had the Black features. Of course he had the kind of beauty you only expected to see in wizard people.

“Potter” he only said.

Outside of his door, was standing Draco sodding Malfoy.

[to be continued: part IV] 

[unholyhelbiglinked]

For Better Or Worse | 002

CHECK OUT THE STORY FROM THE BEGINNING HERE

A soft purring from the engine was the only sound between the two of us. The stranger’s breath was low as she gazed out the window. Every once and a while the yellow edge of passing headlights would sweep over the cab of the truck.

I had haphazardly thrown all the empty water bottles and candy wrappers into the backseat- all while she watched with a certain bit of entitlement in her gaze. Her hair was still falling into that stormy gaze of hers, jaw clenched as she breathed in carefully. Her fingers were wrapped around the dashboard as she steadied herself from the shaking leather seats. I would glance over every now and then, sometimes making an electrifying contact with hers.

I was silent, adjusting my grip on the leather wheel as a few drops of rain rushed against the double paned glass. It was blue near the edge of the seam, dirty from a couple weeks of not washing. It stormed too much here- I didn’t ever need to whip out a bucket and some soap. There was enough grime during the summer to warrant one, though.

“So, what brings you to Haven?” I asked, voice a bit tight as my stare averted to hers for a moment before I focused back on the road. “Other than a second-hand bookstore…”

She let out a thick sigh, one that filled the car as I cocked an eyebrow slightly, not bothering to send my attention that way. She ran her hand through her coarse hair. The edge of her blazer was pulling up slightly at her waistline. “Listen, I appreciate the ride and everything, but I’m not much for small talk.”

“Then what are you much for?” I asked with a slight scoff. “Picking out sensible outfits is clearly not it.”

I turned slightly onto the side street, it leads to town- a large stretch of trees and one-off rivers wound through the bark that was aged and peeling. The scent of wet soil always filled my lungs around this moment. It was nothing to be put off about- there were worse things to smell, and better things to experience.

“I’m sorry?” She asked, offense laced in her voice as she turned slightly in her seat. “And being ratty lumberjack is a better sense of style?”

“Better than an uptight flight attendant,” I mumbled under my breath. I knew she could hear me, there were only two of us here, a red glow from a traffic light in the middle of town shaded her face. It stretched her features and contorted them- like we were in a vape shop, or maybe even a one-off club. I had a deep smirk on my lips, knowing that I was riling her up as her mouth gaped open. “Or a realtor.”

“I have you know, I am one of the top sellers in my region.” She pointed a well-painted finger my way. I lifted my chin, a bit impressed. I didn’t realize that I was right on the nose with the second guess there. It didn’t’ quite explain what she was doing in our little town. She was too interesting to sell the old and rickety house at the end of the block.  

“Well congratulations, Red.” I blew air from my nose. “That’s very impressive.”

“Was that sarcasm?” She scrunched her face up “Fish… person.”  

“Fish person?” I laughed, the smile still fresh on my features. “No, that wasn’t sarcasm. That was a genuine compliment.”  

The rain was falling in sheets now, the wipers rushing back and forth as run-off rushed against the side of the rough glass. Another set of dark headlights rushed past the two of us. She was silent, just listening to the dull soundtrack of the engine mingling with the rainfall.

“Well,” She squared her shoulders, sinking into the leather seat, those same jarring eyes softening a bit. “Thank you.”

Fabric from a soft pea coat pressed against the nave of my back, it’s stitching soaked as my breath stopped pooling in front of me. The weather in Haven was privy to change, it’s once humid morning would turn to cold and weary nights. Ones that kept me at bay when all I wanted to do was curl up and watch cheesy love flicks.

The girl that had just stormed out of my car was still on my mind. I didn’t know why- there was no reason. She was stuck up, smelling of fancy soap. Her collar was pressed with a hot iron, no wrinkles or flaws other than a bit of blood from the gashes on her hands.

I hated her. The way she seemed to turn her nose up at anyone who was less than her. I just didn’t know if it was breed or learned. Either way, it made my blood boil. The realtor was someone who knew Aubrey, apparently, and that was enough cause for curiosity.

“I am so sorry I’m late,” I started to pull the fleece scarf away from my throat. It was sopping wet, my hair damp as I swallowed roughly. “How is she?”

The girl that stood in front of me raked a hand through her hair- her white shirt stained with different things that I hoped was baby food. The rest of the daycare was empty, the lobby lit with a deep yellow glow as a blue one fused from a film that was playing in the other room. A musical sequence was bouncing off the walls.

“Bec’s you know I love you-“Stacie sounded out carefully, lifting her sore arms behind her head as she pulled the black hairband from her wrist. She seemed to do it with ease, tying the ponytail up as she lifted her chin slightly. “And I really don’t mind covering for you with my grandmother, but things got close tonight.”

“I know, I’m sorry.” I willed “There was some girl at the docks, she needed help- and… you know what, it doesn’t matter. Just… thank you. I promise I’ll make this up to you.”

“You better,” She shoved my shoulder playfully, a dumb grin on her lips. “I don’t know how many times I can convince Grandma that I love Aladdin enough to rent the sing-along a few times a week.”

I scoffed, squeezing the bridge of my nose slightly. Stacie had been a life-saver these past few months. Addison was old enough to take care of herself, I knew she was. But it had been a rough year for everyone around town. I would never leave her alone, not like my mother used to do during long and taxing nights.

The six-year-old clung heavily to the door-frame, her eyes sleepy as she watched the two of us interact. She had a dazed look in her eyes- the very eyes that mimicked my dad’s. They were wise and caring, a deep chocolate brown that could melt your resolve.

Stacie handed me her coat as I knelt down, giving her a kind smile. “Hey, Addy,”

She smiled back, it was a cute an innocent gesture, her hands at her sides as I pulled her coat over her shoulders. She watched me in a careful silence as I zipped it up, fishing in her pockets for the gloves that I had to replace every couple of months. These were on their final leg- I was surprised she hadn’t lost them already.

The quiet was something I was used to. At first, we thought it was shocking. I didn’t want to speak after the fire either. Not for a long and crippling time. But after a couple of months, the stress of planning two funerals died down and the worry for my little sister kicked in. We had called speech therapists, had the long skype calls with specialists. Nothing changed. They said she would talk when she was ready.

I shouldn’t push it. I didn’t’ push it.

“Alright munchkin,” pulled on her collar, making sure that it was nice and fastened. It was. The pain of the day hit my muscles as I stood, keeping my hand outreached to her as she wrapped her fingers around mine. She was warm, the gloves scratchy, but bearable. “We gotta get some dinner in you.”

Stacie nodded softly as she made eye contact with the mousy-haired girl that clung to my side. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Addison.”

She nodded, sniffing at the cold that was biting at all of us. I mouthed another thank you before walking towards the car. At one point, my kid sister was dragging me behind her. I laughed slightly, letting her do it as she crawled into the backseat of my truck- crunching over the water bottles and paper bags. She gave me an odd look as I started the car. I shrugged my shoulders.

“I’m a mess, Add’s, we know this.”

She giggled, the only sound I ever got a chance to hear from her, aside from crying. It was two opposite ends of the spectrum, but I loved her through every inch of it. The custody battle was a rough and unrelenting one- but at this point, I didn’t care. I knew I would die for her.

“So,” I looked into my mirror as I started the car. “I was thinking, we could have Amy whip us up some of her famous grilled cheeses.”

The little girl in the backseat lit up, lifting her shoulders as she drew in a breath. I narrowed my eyes with a sly smirk. Again, she said nothing, but I knew the different signs, the way to read her like no one else. “Oh, right, so that’s a no then? You want fish sticks again?”

She knit her eyebrows together in disdain as I chuckled, putting the car in drive. “Alright then, grilled cheese it is.”      

[A/N: I would say this is a filler chapter but it’s not, I have to bring some backstory!]    



[thesimplyluxuriouslife]

297: 10 Ideas for Making the Most of "Between the Years"

"Have you noticed that something very special happens between Christmas and New Year each year? For a few days, a portal to another world opens up. Everything is quieter, less rushed, more gentle in this secret place. Peering through the doorway, I always imagine there will be snow, although the sky usually offers knitted fog and dull winter sunshine. Nevertheless, calm descends as we catch a glimpse of a slower life away from all the deadlines and to-do lists. I call this time 'The Hush', and I encourage you to savour it." —Beth Kempton, from Calm Christmas and a Happy New Year (2019)

A soft place to rest. A window of time to catch one's breath. The space to fully see what was, what is and what we wish it to be.

I sat down to read the concluding third of Beth Kempton's festive book - chapters 7-9 - and devoured it in a couple of hours. While I do enjoy Christmas, I much prefer the Between the Years time. Perhaps because it is nondescript and open to individual tailoring. Perhaps because in 2009, the idea of TSLL blog came to be an actual place to share, write, connect and dare to dream in real-time. But so too can be the time leading up to Christmas as Kempton's book inspires each of us to do, and in the future my approach to Christmas may change as it is now quite simple and until 2020 was filled with work; however, in this particular year, I am observing how it can be so much more, and I hope it will be someday.

One of the gifts given by 2020 in my life is the realization of what "living well" feels like. I have known from a distance and momentarily in person what it felt like, and this past year validated in vivid technicolor what doing so day after day could enable to blossom.

In the spirit of nurturing ourselves, healing ourselves and opening a door to a better year in 2021, today's episode/post is shared with the intention of providing inspiration for you to do just that as you tailor the final week of the year - the Between the Years as my readers taught me last year (read this post from last year which was inspired by this aha of the term) - to nurture you, heal you, open your eyes to a better, more deeply contented 2021.

Inspired by Kempton's book as well as additions of my own, I highly recommend Calm Christmas and a Happy New Year. Many readers have shared they choose to read it again as the holidays come around as a way to slow down, focus on what matters most to them and in turn, regarding the latter chapters, read just as the old year comes to a close to help them best start the new year in their own way.

1.Let Spontaneity be your guide

While throughout the year, we may try to limit the "should"s and replace them with natural inclinations, now it the time to practice the good habit of listening to what we need - rest, curious pursuits, lovely intimate conversations and self exploration, whatever is dancing about in your mind, heed it and it may just lead you to something beyond your wildest expectations.

2. Put the technology away (at least for a day)

Yep, put the phone down, the iPad down, the podcasts away (ironic that I am suggesting this), but on your walk, let Mother Nature be the soundtrack. Let your energy be your guide for when to sleep and wake, eat and be. Feel your way through the day and observe at the end of your tech-free day how you feel - your energy, your peace of mind, your thoughts, etc..

3. Plan a change of scenery, a getaway, for the eyes and being

Whether you can or want to leave your home for a couple of nights and days (keeping in mind that this year, it might be best to just remain home or in your local area), choose to do something or follow a different daily routine that piques your interest and soothes your being. I love to escape to the coast. A small inn, my own little cottage, plenty of space to social distance, and the boys especially love the new ground to explore and round-about freely upon. Simply going a different direction on a trail you've walked for years can give you a new perspective and feel fresh and new.

4. Carve out a day entirely for you to get your life situated

Kempton's describes such a day as a 'sort-out-my-life' day, and it is apt and wholly rejuvenating when tended to fully. Essentially it is a personal business day to get your affairs in order - money, files, budget, stationery for ease of correspondence, and clarity about financial responsibilities moving forward. Editing, noticing, improving, correcting. All simple tasks to provide clarity about where you stand financially and how well you are standing. Do you need to be making certain reoccurring payments for this service that you never use? How can you reduce the debt on that one credit card faster, can you refinance? Etc., etc., etc..

5. Carve out an entire day to "sort-out-your-home"

In many ways I feel a kindred connection to Kempton as her approach to how to relish in these final days of the year align nearly exactly with my own. Her suggestion for a "sort-out-your-life" day and a "sort-out-your-home" day have been highly productive and help for me in years past.

A handful of her concrete suggestions are being adopted this year happily to hopefully reduce unwanted simple, yet annoying stresses throughout the year: checking and replace smoke alarm batteries, cleaning the fridge, tending to any semi or annual home maintenance jobs to free up time later in the year.

6. Give yourself a "me" day

Void of any 'have-to's, designate a day to fully go where your curiosity, your predilections, your body and mind need you to go. Usually my me-day, if I am at the coast which I will be this year, involves visiting a bookshop, perhaps an antique or second-hand shop, multiple long walks on the sand listening and witnessing the waves rise and recede. Preparing a simple seafood dish paired with a glass of white wine, I turn on a cozy British or French program and not once do I peer at the clock.

7. Spend an afternoon or morning checking in with your life

Reflecting, recalibrating, reaffirming or reforming.

What will be let go, planning momentous events, giving your life space, honoring your heart's path, honoring the path of those you share your life with.

Follow Kempton's Life Map of the Year that was. I will share freely, I don't usually follow directions by authors to fill "this" in, complete "this" written task, as I do about it in my own way inspired by their directive, but again, Kempton speaks my language in her approach to Between the Years and I found this particular template incredibly helpful to visualize the year chronologically, breaking down the energy and cause and effects which resulted and overall, see the themes that emerged. So much can happen in a year that we can sometimes forget what we were worried about, what brought us delight and relief and everything in between. Find her template here and print it out to discover a treasure or two as to how you might want to adjust your journey forward into 2021.

8. Read Chapter 8 of Beth Kempton's book

Discover oodles of reflective questions offering the opportunity for you to answer and explore your responses. Your honesty is the key to a better year.

9. Revolve rather than reinvent yourself

"Besides being a dynamic and powerful call to arms, the word 'revolution' — from the Latin revolver ('roll back') — invites us to sweep away the layers of expectation, worry, conformity, convention, even comfort, and see what is waiting to be born this [new] year. Instead of making random resolutions, we will practise nourishing rituals. instead of setting ourselves unrealistic goals, we will articulate beautiful dreams, then work out how to bring them to life." —Beth Kempton

Shedding the layers of the world that don't fit us well because they constrict, limit, constrain or inhibit our life force from being expressed and reveled in each day of our lives, this is why we must revolve rather than reinvent. We are already ourselves wholly if we would only share ourselves with the world. That's the gift we can give ourselves in this last week of the year, this Between the Years.

10. Be honest about what you yearn for

Kempton helpfully brings readers to the awareness regarding what we think we want versus what we actually want. For example, we may think we want a large family or children, but when we explore more deeply and honestly, what we may actually be yearning for is the love, the community, a sense of feeling needed and being able to nurture others. It doesn't mean that we cannot have a large family, but having a large family does not guarantee such an outcome.

The crucial honesty you must have with yourself is why you are seeking or being drawn to what you are being drawn to. For myself, a place of permanency brings peace for my mind to create and wander, not being worried about the rent being raised, the landlord visiting my home every six months to make sure I am caring for my rental something reminiscent of a parent checking on a child. My independence in this instance, my feeling of being grounded is what enables me to fly and explore. Again, this is what I yearn for and why I yearn for it, yours will be unique to you. Enjoy the journey of exploration of yourself and what tugs at your heart.

Between The Years. Space and time to find hope for the new year. It exists and we can find it, and when we do, our personal new year has amazingly bright potential.

~Learn more about becoming a Subscriber and enjoy exclusive content including the monthly A Cuppa Moments video series.

~Enjoy TSLL's Quiet Holiday Playlist for Jazz & Classical Music Lovers (no lyrics)

SIMILAR POSTS/EPISODES YOU MIGHT ENJOY:

How I Spend the Time that is "Between the Years" (the 13 Ingredients) + an Introduction to Who I Am As Well as Who TSLL Community Is

Petit Plaisir

—Luscious, Flavorful Tomato Soup

Lusciously Rich Tomato Soup

Adapted from NYTimes Cooking recipe, and the perfect amount for a household of two people to be enjoyed for two or three days.

6 Tbsp unsalted butter (high quality, high butterfat percentage)

2 medium sweet onions (diced)

1/4 cup flour

2 28 ounce cans of diced tomatoes

3/4 cup chicken broth

1/8 cup sugar

1 Tbsp fleur de sel

1 tsp celery seed

3/4 tsp freshly ground black pepper

1/3 cup half and half

In a Dutch Oven on top of the stove (medium heat), or in a large sauce pan, cook the onions in the butter for about 20 minutes until nearly transculent.

Add the flour to absorb the liquid, but do not let the onions brown - about three minutes.

Add the canned tomatoes (and all of their juices!), chicken broth, sugar, salt, celery seed, and pepper. Bring to a gentle boil, then reduce to simmer and cook for about 20-25 minutes. Stirring from time to time to remove any tomatoes that may become adhered to the bottom of the pot. (uncovered)

Add the half and half. Cook just long enough to reheat after the soup was momentarily cooled with the addition of the half and half.

Remove from heat (or turn off the gas) and using an immersion blender, blend the soup until smooth or to your preferred consistency. (If you do not have an immersion blend, simply us a stand up blender, adding small batches to the blender, pureeing and then repeating until done.)

Serve with a drop of half and half and enjoy. :) (I enjoyed mine with a Croque Madame :))

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[emo-boy-oliver-blog]

Life Update #51

Heyyy yall! It’s the 11th of December and I’ve been on holidays and it has been great! A lot has happened as I haven’t updated for almost a month but I’ll just list the biggest stuff that happened :)).

So after a little while of being on holidays my mum and I drove down to Melbourne, we also brought the dogs (which is why we drove down). It was a whole day of driving which was a t r e k but it was cool when we got there. Once I arrived in Melbourne all was pretty cool, we stayed at my nan and pops house which meant deadname central but apart from that it was cool. We went over to my aunts house with my cousins n shit and turns out they all saw a video on my YouTube about being trans so they were all calling me Oli but with she/her pronouns but it’s a start. My step dad caught a plane down there a while in and stayed at my grandparents as well. A couple days into my trip I was at my aunts house and my uncle was saying a heap of homophobic shit even though he knows I’m trans so I ran off and wrapped presents with my accepting cousin, he doesn’t quite understand what being trans is but I explained it to him and he’s starting to get it, he’s in his mid twenties, anyways that night shit got really intense and dark and I can’t say everything that happened online but basically my mum and I had a really intense discussion with my uncle and he said he didn’t get it but he will accept me. On the day before Christmas we went to my Step Dads family for their families Christmas. It was really cool, my step dads family is very accepting especially because his sister is a lesbian and his nephew is gay so everyone was calling me the right name and pronouns. I spent most of the day chatting to my step brothers girlfriend because neither of us knew everybody since we aren’t like I N the family, she was really cool and she is a uni student. I also talked with my step brother and sister and my step sisters boyfriend a bit. I got some gifts from my step dads family which I was not expecting!! I got a cool t shirt and a rebel sports voucher and an itunes voucher and a jar filled with gingerbread, non-alcoholic rum balls and candy canes. That night we went to carols by candelight with some of my mums friends from the UK. They were visiting Australia so we met up with them in the city and had dinner and then saw the carols. It was my mums friend and her husband and son and daughter. The son  was twenty something and was also called Oliver and Oli as a nickname!! We went back to their apartment in the city to hang out and then we stayed in a hotel ourselves. On Christmas morning we drove back to my nan and pops and I got presents!! I got pop vinyls and a P!ATD record and mini guitar figurines and lush bath bombs and a calligraphy set and lights that said ‘OLI’ and cards against humanity and just lots of cool stuff! We then went to my aunts house and the whole family was there, we ate heaps of food and I played with my cousins daughter who is 3 years old and adorable. She played hide and seek with me but would always hide in the same spot and I’d pretend I had no idea where she was for a while. I also buried ‘treasure’ in the garden for her to dig up. The older family members played cards against humanity with me and it was super funny and entertaining.

On boxing day I flew down from Melbourne to Tassie and met my dad and step mum there and we stayed at our house down there, it was a really nice time. For the first day my uncle was there as he had been there for Christmas and he gave me a really nice wallet for Christmas. Also on that trip we went on a really long road trip and went to a national park where we went on a bushwalk and saw a platypus!! On that roadtrip we also went to a really pretty spot for a picnic, it was in front of this beautiful blue water surrounded by mountains on squishy green grass. We ate rolls and I read ‘Elites of Eden’ and we played this cool outdoor came called ‘Finska’. We also went and saw the boats finish the race of ‘Sydney to Hobart’ and the boat I had bet on won so I got $50. Mine didn’t even win first to the finish line though, the first place got an hour taken off for cheating so mine won!!! On New Years Eve we walked down to the harbour and saw some really nice fireworks to celebrate 2018. While in Tassie I went and saw the new Star Wars with my dad which I didn’t really like BUT THEN we all went to see ‘the Greatest Showman’ which OH MY GOD MY NEW RELIGION! The music is iMPECABLE the story made me cry it was honestly my favourite thing ever, in fact I’m listening to the soundtrack right now, I also fell in LOVE with Zendaya who is in it, she is my actual wife I am IN LOVE. Also while in Tassie I got a basketball because in Melbourne I discovered a passion for shooting hoops.

Over the holidays I became close with my old unrequited crush of four years and wOW fell for her again, I told her again and nEWSFLASH she’s still not interested, she was super sweet about it but ahh it hurt my heart a little lot bit. I’m glad we are close again though because she was once my best friend and i missed her.

Once I arrived back home a heap of lgbt+ clothing arrived that I got for Christmas and also a card from one of my internet friends!! Also when I got back I did a lot of catching up with friends. Pretty soon after I got back I caught up with my best bro, we went to the shops and went to an arcade and played a couple of games and saw the greatest showman (yes again its amazing) and then he slept over at my house which was lots of fun. We swum in the pool and had water fights with my water guns. Then a little bit later I caught up with the same bro and a girl from my old school, we went ice skating together and then went to the arcade and it was sUPER FUN. I’ve also been taking photos in the photobooth every time I go to the arcade so I have a collection on my pinboard. Then a day or two after that I went over to a friends house and 5 of us from my theatre place caught up. We played a card game called ‘What do You Meme’ and listened to Hamilton and watched Pitch Perfect. I felt really happy because 3 of them were cis dudes and they were treating me exactly like they treated each other apart from a couple pronoun slip ups and it felt nice to be treated like a boy.

Yesterday my best pal and I went to a trans support group!! It was amazing!! Basically we walked into this room and there were a heap of teens sitting on couches and chairs and we sat on some chairs and I was super awkward and nervous at first but everyone was so sweet and we all put nametags on saying our names and pronouns. For the first hour-ish a trans woman gave us a talk and we asked questions and stuff like that just about legal rights and working while trans and all that stuff. For the next hour we all chatted and I stopped being awkward and I made a heap of pals which is so exciting! I’m so excited about next months meet up now.

Well that’s all for this long ass update, today my mum and I went and looked at a house we might rent and tomorow I’m going to the shops with a friend

Update soon woot

Oliver

[obtusemedia]

The best songs of the 2010s: #75-51

#75: “The Only Thing” by Sufjan Stevens (2015)

It was tough to pick a single song from Sufjan Stevens’ masterpiece, Carrie and Lowell, for this list. The album, about his dead mother, is consistently beautiful and tragic throughout.

But “The Only Thing” has the most devastating line of the whole album, and possibly the whole decade, delivered in a wobbly falsetto: “Should I tear my eyes out now?/Everything I see returns to you somehow.” Case closed. Now please excuse me while I cry for the rest of the day.

#74: “Best Song Ever” by One Direction (2013)

If you can’t appreciate this slice of pop-rock perfection that shamelessly rips off The Who, I’m not sure we can be friends.

“Best Song Ever” still sounds as the pinnacle of One Direction’s career, with its fizzy arena-rock chorus and adorable lyrics about that one special night with a mysterious woman, never to be seen again. The Millennial Whoops are plentiful, and they are irresistible.

Yes, “Best Song Ever” is a corny boy band song. But A) it’s the best possible version of a corny boy band song. And B) boy bands are wonderful. Just embrace the cheese.

(Also, One Direction was the greatest boy band of all time. Don’t fight me on this.)

#73: “Pray For Rain” by Pure Bathing Culture (2015)

Portland shoegaze duo Pure Bathing Culture delivered the closest approximation to a prime Cocteau Twins single since the early ‘90s.

It’s got the icy synths and shoegaze guitars to throw any listener into a hypnotic groove. The secret ingredient that makes “Pray For Rain” stand out, however, is the thumping, snare-heavy beat that invokes both military drum lines and trip-hop. It adds a propulsion to the otherwise dreamy track, creating a dissonant yet incredible experience.

#72: “Not” by Big Thief (2019)

Unlike the hushed folksy whispers of Big Thief’s first 2019 album, “Not” is a furious, noisy firebomb of an indie rock jam. Lead singer Adrianne Lenker’s warble is pushed to its limits, as her vocals crack and strain while the song’s tension (and noise level) slowly ratchets up in the song’s first half. 

Then, the pent-up energy is finally released for an explosive, discordant two-and-a-half minute guitar solo. It’s pure chaos and anger distilled into one instrument, and the greatest moment so far of Big Thief’s promising career.

#71: “Dog Years” by Maggie Rogers (2016)

The strength of Maryland indie-pop prodigy Maggie Rogers’ first few singles is how in tune with nature she sounded. I’ve dubbed it “REI-pop.”

And none of her songs are more reminiscent of a high-end outdoors store than “Dog Years” — and yes, that’s a compliment. “Dog Years” incorporates noises like wind chimes and owl hoots to its soulful synthpop production for a unique flavor. Rogers delivers on the vocal end with a stunning performance reminiscent of blue-eyed soul greats like Daryl Hall.

It’s a bummer that mainstream indie pop nowadays is going to mostly sound like Jeep ads. But “Dog Years” proves great art can still be created in that avenue.

#70: “The House That Heaven Built” by Japandroids (2012)

With “The House That Heaven Built,” Vancouver, BC indie rockers Japandroids made a perfect road trip anthem. The chugging guitars shoot to the sky, the drumming is furious, and the fist-pumping “OH OH OHs” are plentiful.

“House” is like a Bruce Springsteen collaboration with The Replacements: righteous fury backed by raucous, bar-friendly punk-rock. When lead singer/guitarist Brian King informs the listener that if “Anything try to slow you down/Tell em all to go to hell,” it’s something anyone can feel in their bones.

#69: “Adorn” by Miguel (2012)

“Adorn” is dangerously smooth. The chillwave-meets-80s-R&B production gets you halfway there, but Miguel’s buttery vocals are the main attraction here. From his endearing ad-libs (“whoap!”) to his effortless vocal runs on the gorgeous melody, he sounds like a seasoned pro.

I’m going to give y’all a hot take — “Adorn” is the Millennial “Sexual Healing.” It strikes that same nocturnal, sexy flair, and Miguel is working it just as hard as Marvin Gaye did. It’s too bad Miguel never was quite able to make something quite as impressive as “Adorn” again, but that single (and its accompanying, phenomenal Kaleidoscope Dream record) will cement him as a ‘10s R&B icon.

#68: “The World’s Best American Band” by White Reaper (2017)

White Reaper never claimed to be the world’s best band. Nope — they want to be the world’s best American band. So it’s only fitting that Louisville’s finest dirtbags cooked up a warm slice of some of the greasiest, sleaziest and most proudly stupid capital-R RAWK in years.

This is the kind of music Van Halen would’ve made if they were a low-rent Millennial indie band. This is the kind of music Gardner Minshew probably listens to. And it’s glorious.

#67: “I Just Had Sex” by The Lonely Island feat. Akon (2010)

This list isn’t really trying to measure importance or anything like that. It’s basically just the songs that made me the happiest this decade. And there are few songs that make me smile as much as The Lonely Island’s pathetically hilarious “I Just Had Sex.”

There’s so many golden moments here, from “I called my parents right after I was done!” to “The best 30 seconds of my life!” and “I think she might have been a racist?” The comedy trio was really on their A-game.

But what makes “I Just Had Sex” more than just a goof is that it’s also catchy as hell. That Akon chorus is legitimately one of the best pop hooks of the decade. What made The Lonely Island so brilliant in their turn-of-the-decade peak is their ability to make songs that often surpassed the actual pop hits they emulated, while not sacrificing hilarious lyrics.

(Also, shoutout to “Jack Sparrow” and the legitimately impressive baseball-themed “Let’s Bash,” both of which could’ve also snuck onto this list.)

#66: “Oh My Darling Don’t Cry” by Run The Jewels (2014)

Sometimes, you turn to hip-hop for inspiring messages and thoughtful, provocative lyrics (something Run The Jewels has certainly delivered on with tracks like “Early”).

But sometimes you just want an aggro banger that makes you want to smash through a brick wall like the Kool-Aid Man. That’s what “Oh My Darling Don’t Cry” brings to the table, thanks to its heavy helping of fuck-everyone defiance and El-P’s trademark apocalyptic, frantic production.

#65: “Your Best American Girl” by Mitski (2016)

In her signature song, “Your Best American Girl,” Mitski took the thrashing ‘90s guitars and epic chorus of Smashing Pumpkins’ “Today” and turned it into a conversation about race, insecurity and love.

Mitski, who is Japanese-American, vividly describes the angst of trying to fit the lily-white image of the “American Girl” for a boy. The song begins with insecurity — “Your mother wouldn’t approve of how my mother raised me/But I do, I think I do” — and then flips that statement into a proud stand for her roots: “But I do, I finally do.” It’s a powerful declaration, fitting of one of the decade’s most powerful rock anthems.

#64: “A Real Hero” by College and Electric Youth (2010)

Consider this spot a placeholder for all the best songs from the 2010′s best soundtrack: “Drive.”

Out of that soundtrack’s three stand-out singles, “A Real Hero” is the best by a hair. College’s slick, pulsing production is a perfect contrast to Bronwyn Griffin’s whispered, ghostly vocals. It’s the perfect love theme for an aggressively hipster-y movie where Ryan Gosling plays a dude in a gold satin jacket, drives around L.A. silently, and crushes a guy’s head in an elevator.

But shout out to the other two classics on Drive, “Nightcall” and “Under Your Spell,” which are also musts while driving around at night feeling moody.

#63: “Birthday Song” by 2 Chainz feat. Kanye West (2012)

“Birthday Song” is gloriously stupid. It’s the kind of song you laugh at the first time you hear it, but after a few more listens, you’re rapping along with 2 Chainz and Kanye.

And it’s hard not to rap along when there’s this many quotable lines: “SHE GOT A BIG BOOTY SO I CALL HER BIG BOOTY.” “I’M IN THE KITCHEN. YAMS EVERYWHERE!!” “Last birthday, she got you a new sweater/Put it on, give her a kiss, and tell her, ‘DO BETTER.’” And of course, the most iconic line of them all: “All I want for my birthday is a big booty hoe.”

“Birthday Song” is so ridiculous that it’s only a couple jokes removed from a Lonely Island single. And that’s what makes it so fun.

#62: “Every Day’s the Weekend” by Alex Lahey (2017)

Aussie indie rocker Alex Lahey made the best Blink-182 song of the decade with “Every Day’s the Weekend.” It’s got a soaring chorus with the all-important “WHOA OHs,” a chugging guitar riff, and it’s catchy as hell.

Just toss in a lackadaisical attitude and a “I Gotta Feeling”-style days-of-the-week chant and you’ve got a pop-punk classic.

#61: “Take a Walk” by Passion Pit (2012)

While MGMT burned their cultural capital by making zoinked-out psych rock (which was pretty solid!), their peers Passion Pit doubled down on their signature synthpop sound in the early ‘10s. Their 2012 album, Gossamer, is one of the all-time great albums with a happy, bouncy sound but crushingly dark lyrics. So naturally, its first single is a perky pop tune about financial struggles!

“Take a Walk” is so catchy and uplifting musically — just try getting that iconic synth riff out of your head — that Michael Angelakos’ lyrics about the Great Recession seem out of place at first. But it gels anyways. The uplifting music just emphasizes the dire situation Angelakos and his then-wife found themselves in, and it makes the soaring synth riff read as more melancholy than optimistic.

#60: “Gretel” by (Sandy) Alex G (2019)

"Gretel” is like an indie-folk song that went to the Upside Down. All the requisite parts are there — gently strummed guitar, lyrics with a man-of-the-people feel, humbly Middle American vocals — but it feels warped and twisted.

The easiest way to describe it is like if a typical folk-pop song CD was left in the sun for a solid week or so, allowing it to melt. And then you tried listening to it. It would sound positively spooky. Yet through the oddball production and eerie vibe, Alex G’s defiant chorus still shines through. A statement like “Good people gotta fight to exist” somehow sounds more powerful in a bizzaro song like this.

#59: “Downtown” by Macklemore & Ryan Lewis feat. Eric Nally, Grandmaster Kaz, Melle Mel and Kool Moe Dee (2015)

Macklemore might have been the 2010′s most unfairly hated artist. Yes, he’s corny. Yes, Kendrick should’ve won those Grammys instead. But the dude was fun, inventive and a unique voice in hip-hop at the time.

“Downtown” is a prime example of Mack’s talent. Or at least, his knack for assembling a fantastic supporting crew. Old-school rappers Grandmaster Kaz, Melle Mel and Kool Moe Dee deliver some forceful interludes, and Eric Nally and his wildman vocals give “Downtown” a killer, Queen-esque chorus. And of course, producer Ryan Lewis helps sell the song, with a constantly-switching beat that ranges from ‘70s funk to bombastic arena rock. Even Seattle legend Ken Griffey Jr. makes a cameo in the Spokane-filmed video!

In a late-’10s hip-hop scene filled with mopey sad white boys like Post Malone and NF, Macklemore’s goofy vibe and dad jokes are sorely missed.

#58: “Flesh Without Blood” by Grimes (2015)

In a decade filled with wonderful alt-pop weirdos, Grimes might have been the weirdest. One of her standout songs, “Kill v. Maim,” is about Michael Corleone from The Godfather Pt. II, but if he was a time-traveling, gender-switching vampire (yes, really).

“Flesh Without Blood” is comparatively normcore, but it’s still Grimes’ best slice of bonkers pop magic. Written from the perspective of a fan angry that she sold out, the track rides a surf-rock guitar groove into the oblivion. Grimes’ squeaky vocals are almost taunting in tone, but the hooks are so massive and the production is so fresh that I doubt listeners mind.

#57: “Slide” by Calvin Harris feat. Frank Ocean and Migos (2017)

Arguably the biggest name in cheeseball EDM took a shockingly sharp pivot into silky-smooth funk with “Slide.” And it worked! It worked weirdly well!

Of course, it helps that Calvin Harris has always had impeccable taste in guest vocalists, from Florence Welch to Haim. And by snagging once-in-a-generation talent Frank Ocean (and the fun, if not legendary, Migos) for “Slide,” he possibly pulled his greatest coup yet.

...well actually, no. His best song will always be the gloriously trashy and very British “Dance Wiv Me” with grime legend Dizzee Rascal. But the slick tropical grooves of “Slide” are a worthy contender.

#56: “I Belong in Your Arms” by Chairlift (2012)

I could’ve sworn this was in an old John Hughes movie. The wintry synths and retro-chic vibe of “I Belong in Your Arms” certainly would’ve fit snugly into the Pretty In Pink soundtrack, but no — Chairlift’s best single came out this decade.

“I Belong in Your Arms” is stunning in its atmospheric beauty. Singer Caroline Polachek’s vocals are almost Elizabeth Fraser-esque, drifting over the waves of keyboards while still packing a heavy punch on the chorus. And the song’s burst of energy doesn’t feel like a temporary sugar rush — it feels like the real thing.

#55: “Make Me Feel” by Janelle Monaé (2018)

“Make Me Feel” is unabashedly a Prince homage. And if anyone in modern music could successfully replicate the Purple One, it’s Janelle Monaé.

The genre-blurring, impossibly funky “Make Me Feel” immediately grabbed me upon release, with its sharp guitar edges, soft-loud-soft production and sticky hook. But Monaé’s vocal performance is what truly makes the track pop. She clearly had the time of her life here, switching on a dime from smooth and sultry to giddy yelps. If there’s a perfect Janelle Monaé song cooked up in a lab somewhere, it’s probably nearly identical to this.

#54: “Some Nights” by fun. (2012)

Jack Antonoff has always excelled as the second-fiddle. Whether that’s in being the less-famous person in his former relationship with Lena Dunham or being the behind-the-scenes production wizard for megastars like Taylor Swift and Lorde, he works best in the shadows (despite his solo side band, Bleachers, being pretty damn good).

And of course, the project that first brought Antonoff into the mainstream was his band fun., in which he was the lead guitarist and a songwriter. At the time when the band hit their brief apex in 2012, it seemed like frontman Nate Ruess, with his vocal acrobatics and theatrical style, would be most primed for solo fame, but that fizzled.

Eight years later, “Some Nights” stands as a testament that Antonoff (and the other two guys in fun.) can write an incredible arena rock anthem just as easily as a synthpop banger. The song turns a quarter-life crisis into a soaring epic that sounds like a glorious U2-Queen hybrid, with a drumline added on top. Despite cribbing its chorus from Simon and Garfunkel, “Some Nights” still holds its power.

#53: “The Less I Know The Better” by Tame Impala (2015)

There’s one thing that instantly hooks you into Tame Impala’s Instagram-filtered indie pop masterpiece: that bassline. It carries the whole song on its back.

Not to say the rest of “The Less I Know The Better” isn’t good — Kevin Parker’s jealousy-tinged lyrics are fairly relatable, the twinkling synths are nice, the melody is appropriately yearning. But that slap bass ropes all those elements together into a legitimately funky rock tune. If Tame Impala’s mediocre new singles had that bass, maybe they’d be less forgettable.

#52: “Shake It Out” by Florence + The Machine (2011)

Florence Welch might be the decade’s most underrated vocalist. Her voice has the power of a Mack truck, yet she can still convey subtlety when needed.

“Shake It Out” is not one of those subtle moments. It is arena-pop filtered through gospel; a song that sounds like it was meant for a cathedral. Welch describes battling her personal demons like they were literal demons. Couple her wailing with layers upon layers of organs and massive drums imported from the “In The Air Tonight” solo, and you’ve got a song too big to fail.

#51: “Young Blood” by The Naked and Famous (2010)

I really, really wanted to include more tunes from the golden era of radio-friendly indie pop, circa 2008-2012. But a lot of the best stuff — MGMT, Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Phoenix — fell in the previous decade. And others are more nostalgic faves for me than actually great songs (sorry, Grouplove and Matt & Kim).

But The Naked and Famous absolutely still hold up. “Young Blood” still has the insanely high-pitched vocals and twinkly synths of that era, but the New Zealanders throw some distorted ‘90s guitars to create a unique sound. It’s like the Weezer writing a Passion Pit song (but way better than that would imply). Lead singer Alisa Xayalith’s piercing voice is an instrument all of its own, soaring across the synthesizers and guitars like a bolt of neon light.

“Young Blood” might be an early ‘10s time-capsule, but it has hooks for days and a somehow-still-fresh groove.

[networkingdefinition]

Mug Quotes

Official Website: Mug Quotes

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• Ale, not beer, in a pewter mug was comme il faut, the only thing for a gentleman of letters, worthy of the name, to drink. – Guy de Maupassant • Alex took a silent step closer to the kitchen door and watched unseen as willow spooned instant coffee into a pair of mugs.With another yawn, she scraped her hair off her face and stretched. She looked so entirely human, so drowsy and sleep-rumpled.For a moment, Alex just gazed at her, taking in her long tumble of hair, her wide green eyes and pixieish chin. Fleetingly, he imagined her eyes meeting his, wondering what she’d look like if she smiled – L.A. Weatherly • Animals look at people the way people look at people that might mug them. – Dov Davidoff • As long as the “woman’s work” that some men do is socially devalued, as long as it is defined as woman’s work, as long as it’s tacked onto a “regular” work day, men who share it are likely to develop the same jagged mouth and frazzled hair as the coffee-mug mom. The image of the new man is like the image of the supermom: it obscures the strain. – Arlie Russell Hochschild • As things are, and as fundamentally they must always be, poetry is not a career, but a mug’s game. No honest poet can ever feel quite sure of the permanent value of what he has written: He may have wasted his time and messed up his life for nothing. – T. S. Eliot

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'Mug', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '68', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_mug').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_mug img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); ); • Blustery cold days should be spend propped up in bed with a mug of hot chocolate and a pile of comic books. – Bill Watterson • Caffeine gives me hope. Sometimes, when I brew my wicked strong Irish black tea just perfect, about halfway through the mug I feel a clear and overwhelming feeling of optimism. It didn’t surprise me when a study a few years ago implied that suicide was much less likely among coffee and tea drinkers. – John Vanderslice • Closing his eyes, he sent up a prayer to anyone who was listening, asking please, for God’s sake, stop sending him signals that they were right for each other. He’d read that book, seen the movie, bought the soundtrack, the DVD, the T-shirt, the mug, the bobble-head, and the insider’s guide. He knew every reason they could have been lock and key. But just as he was aware of all that aligned them, he was even clearer on how they were damned to be ever apart. – J.R. Ward • Effectively, it makes the greasepaint permanent, blurring the lines not only between public and private but also between the authentic and contrived self. If all the world was once a stage, it has now become a reality TV show: we mere players are not just aware of the camera; we mug for it. – Peggy Orenstein • Have faith, Ed, all right?’ I search the coffee mug, but there’s none in there. – Markus Zusak • How could he convey to someone who’d never even met her the way she always smelled like rain, or how his stomach knotted up every time he saw her shake loose her hair from its braid? How could he describe how it felt when she finished his sentences, turnec the mug they were sharing so that her mouth landed where his had been? How did he explain the way they could be in a locker room, or underwater, or in the piney woods of Maine, bus as long as Em was with him, he was at home? – Jodi Picoult • I aint such a mug as to put up my children to all I know myself. – George Bernard Shaw • I confess, right at the start, to the doubts – and sometimes outright dreads – that go with me as I climb the stairs to my study in the morning, coffee mug in hand: I have to admit to the habitual apprehension mixed with a sort of reverence, as I light the incense . . . and wonder: what is going to happen today? Will anything happen? Will the angel come today? – Gail Godwin • I gave my mother a matching set [of mugs] for Christmas, and she accepted them as graciously as possible, announcing that they would make the perfect pet bowls. The mugs were set on the kitchen floor and remained there until the cat chipped a tooth and went on a hunger strike. – David Sedaris • I have mugs of hot water every morning because the studio is cold, and also because it makes my throat sound clearer. – Mika Brzezinski • I hight don Quixote, I live on peyote, marijuana, morphine and cocaine. I never know sadness, but only a madness that burns at the heart and the brain. I see each charwoman, ecstatic, inhuman, angelic, demonic, divine. Each wagon a dragon, each beer mug a flagon that brims with ambrosial wine. – Jack Parsons • I like light green, sometimes red is fun to look at, not a fan of yellow, unless it’s in a rainbow or on a coffee mug or on a happy face. – Chris Kattan • I like my mug shot. I think I have a really great mug shot. It looks like a magazine shoot. – Paris Hilton • I wasn’t a great improviser when I started there; I’m not really up on current events. I would always just mug, just try to get my laughs from making faces. So I decided to do a character who should never have become a comic – somebody you would see at the Comedy Store and go, “This person is never going to make it.” – Paul Reubens • Ice is most welcome in a cold drink on a hot day. But in the heart of winter, you want a warm hot mug with your favorite soothing brew to keep the chill away. When you don’t have anything warm at hand, even a memory can be a small substitute. Remember a searing look of intimate eyes. Receive the inner fire. – Vera Nazarian • If you and I took a walk down a shopping street in Jo’burg or Cape Town or London, we see two guys looking in a shop window, we think, “Oh, they’re wondering what they’re going to buy.” A cop looks at them and thinks, “Why are they standing there? Are they doing a drug deal? Are they going to mug someone? Are they going to rob the shop?” – Peter James • I’m a huge Wonder Woman fan – I have about 12 coffee mugs at home! – Kari Wahlgren • I’m pretty sure lurking in a dark alley to mug me with your apology isn’t the usual way to go about saying you’re sorry. But I didn’t read that Mars-Venus book, so who knows. – Jim Butcher • I’m really conscious of the amount of food I eat, but I don’t deny myself anything. For example, I have a really big sweet tooth. At the end of the night, if I’m craving ice cream, I might not have the bowl that I would have when I was a kid, but I’ll put a couple of scoops in a coffee mug, and I’ll eat it slowly, and I enjoy every moment of it. – Summer Sanders • Individually the poor are not too tempting to thieves, for obvious reasons. Mug a banker and you might score a wallet containing a month’s rent. Mug a janitor and you will be lucky to get away with bus fare to flee the crime scene. – Barbara Ehrenreich • Isaac Newton was born at Woolsthorpe, near Grantham, in Lincolnshire, on Christmas Day, 1642: a weakly and diminutive infant, of whom it is related that, at his birth, he might have found room in a quart mug. He died on March the 20th, 1727, after more than eighty-four years of more than average bodily health and vigour; it is a proper pendant to the story of the quart mug to state that he never lost more than one of his second teeth. – Augustus De Morgan • It was one of those mornings when a man could face the day only after warming himself with a mug of thick coffee beaded with steam, a good thick crust of bread, and a bowl of bean soup. – Richard Gehman • It’s a no win situation. It’s a mug’s game. The religions have contrived to make it impossible to disagree with them critically without being rude. They play the hurt feelings card at every opportunity. – Daniel Dennett • It’s the nicest thing on earth if someone comes up to me and says, ‘Every day I drink out of a mug you designed.’ – Jonathan Adler • I’ve always been accused by my detractors of some sort of moral failure, cowardice, or even lack of humanity by not portraying the human form. I respond that I do better by portraying traces of character and intentions of human volition that no mug or body shot can ever exude. – Robert Polidori • I’ve been very lucky. All I wanted was to pay the rent. Then these characters took off and suddenly there were Hulk coffee mugs and Iron Man lunchboxes and The Avengers sweatshirts everywhere. Money’s okay, but what I really like is working. – Stan Lee • I’ve gone through a lot of the same things like Britney Spears. I just don’t have a mug shot. – Fergie • I’ve never been able to write for myself. I was doing a lot. I produced The Green, I wrote it – I didn’t see myself in the world of this film. I’m sure there are elements of dark corners of my psyche that found their ways on screen; you didn’t need my mug up there. There was enough of my essence in the story as it plays out without me acting in it. – Paul Marcarelli • Karl Marx himself preferred a glass of claret to the mug of tea affected by some of his recent converts. – Denis Healey • Listen, boy, just ask the chef to make me a proper Full English Breakfast. You know, bacon, fried eggs, sausages, liver, grilled mushrooms and tomatoes, black pudding, kidneys, baked beans, fried bread, toast and served with strong English mustard, mind – none of this effete French muck – and a large mug of hot, strong Indian tea. – Bryan Talbot • Martha Stewart showed up at Manhattan FBI Headquarters to have her finger prints taken and pose for a mug shot. Then Martha explained how to get ink off your fingers using seltzer water and lemon juice. – Conan O’Brien • Mma Ramotswe had a detective agency in Africa, at the foot of Kgale Hill. These were its assets: a tiny white van, two desks, two chairs, a telephone, and an old typewriter. Then there was a teapot, in which Mma Ramotswe – the only lady private detective in Botswana – brewed redbush tea. And three mugs – one for herself, one for her secretary, and one for the client. What else does a detective agency really need? Detective agencies rely on human intuition and intelligence, both of which Mma Ramotswe had in abundance. No inventory would ever include those, of course. – Alexander McCall Smith • My daughter got me a ‘World’s Best Dad’ mug. So we know she’s sarcastic. – Bob Odenkirk • Nanny Ogg could see the future in the froth on a beer mug. It invariably showed that she was going to enjoy a refreshing drink which she almost certainly was not going to pay for. – Terry Pratchett • Nobody thinks in terms of human beings. Governments don’t, why should we? They talk about people and the proletariat; I talk about the suckers and the mugs. It’s the same thing. – Graham Greene • Not like I need an excuse to enjoy a Moscow mule, but this tray and six-mug set, handmade in Mexico with hammered recycled copper, makes cocktail hour extra special. – Oprah Winfrey • O lovely O most charming pug Thy gracefull air and heavenly mug … His noses cast is of the roman He is a very pretty weoman I could not get a rhyme for roman And was obliged to call it weoman. – Marjorie Fleming • Oh, God above, if heaven has a taste it must be an egg with butter and salt, and after the egg is there anything in the world lovelier than fresh warm bread and a mug of sweet golden tea? – Frank McCourt • On my first day in New York a guy asked me if I knew where Central Park was. When I told him I didn’t, he said: Do you mind if I mug you here? – Paul Merton • Once Mo had closed the gates, he returned to his little stone hut, and his half-eaten sandwich of butter and canned sardines, and his mug of thick hot chocolate, which every night he poured carefully into a thermos labeled COFFEE. – Lauren Oliver • One day as a young man, I was walking down the streets. And a group of Zulu guys was walking behind me closing in on me. And I could hear them talking to one another about how they were going to mug me. (Speaking Zulu). Let’s get this white guy. You go to his left, and I’ll come up behind him. I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t run.So I just spun around real quick and said (speaking Zulu). Yo, guys, why don’t we just mug someone together? I’m ready. – Trevor Noah • One must be able to say at all times–instead of points, straight lines, and planes–tables, chairs, and beer mugs – David Hilbert • Out of nowhere, Valek appeared before me, yelling in my ear, shaking my shoulders. Stupidly, belatedly, I realized he was the drunk. Who else but Valek could win a fight against four large men when armed only with a beer mug? – Maria V. Snyder • Outside the youth center, between the liquor store and the police station, a little dogwood tree is losing its mind; overflowing with blossomfoam, like a sudsy mug of beer; like a bride ripping off her clothes, dropping snow white petals to the ground in clouds, so Nature’s wastefulness seems quietly obscene. It’s been doing that all week: making beauty, and throwing it away, and making more. �� Tony Hoagland • People’s arrest tapes, mug shots, everything is online. – Jane Krakowski • Poetry is a mug’s game. – T. S. Eliot • Revolution? Unscrew the flag-staff, wrap the bunting in the oil covers, and put the thing in the clothes-chest. Let the old lady bring you your house-slippers and untie your fiery red necktie. You always make revolutions with your mugs, your republic–nothing but an industrial accident. – Alfred Doblin • Saiman picked up a coffee mug, stared at it, and hurled it against the wall. It shattered into a dozen pieces. We looked at him. “Your date appears to be hysterical,” Rene told me. “You think I should slap some man into him? – Ilona Andrews • She sits in her usual ample armchair, with piles of books and unopened magazines around her. She sips cautiously from the mug of weak herb tea which is now her substitute for coffee. At one time she thought that she could not live without coffee, but it turned out that it is really the warm large mug she wants in her hands, that is the aid to thought or whatever it is she practices through the procession of hours, or of days. – Alice Munro • Snowflakes swirl down gently in the deep blue haze beyond the window. The outside world is a dream. Inside, the fireplace is brightly lit, and the Yule log crackles with orange and crimson sparks. There’s a steaming mug in your hands, warming your fingers. There’s a friend seated across from you in the cozy chair, warming your heart. There is mystery unfolding. – Vera Nazarian • So violent. You want to mug and tase everybody these days.” “I do,” Zuzana agreed. “I swear I hate more poeple every day. Everyone annoys me. If I’m like this now, what am I going to be like when I’m old?” “You’ll be the mean old biddy who fires a BB gun at kids from her balcony.” “Nah. BBs just rile ’em up. More like a crossbow. Or a bazooka. – Laini Taylor • Something smashed to the ground. Jack looked at me, all the mugs forgotten. “I’m not going to let anyone kill you.” He grinned. “If I don’t get to, no one should. – Kiersten White • Studs Lonigan, on the verge of fifteen, and wearing his first suit of long trousers, stood in the bathroom with a Sweet Caporal pasted on his mug. – James T. Farrell • Suppose there were groups of secularists at hospitals who went round the terminally ill and urged them to adopt atheism: ‘Don’t be a mug all your life. Make your last days the best ones. People might suppose this was in poor taste. – Christopher Hitchens • That was close,”he said, helping himself to coffee. Yeah, you almost opened the door to Morelli.” I wasn’t talking about Morelli. I was talking about us.” That too,” I said. Ranger sliced a bagel and looked for the toaster. It’s broken,”I told him. He truned the boiler on and slid the bagel into the oven. That’s surprisingly domestic for a man of mystery,” I said to him. He looked at me over the rim of his coffee mug. “I like things hot. – Janet Evanovich • The mug from the washstand was used as Becky’s tea cup, and the tea was so delicious that it was not necessary to pretend that it was anything but tea. – Frances Hodgson Burnett • The mug is a tool. My ace in the hole. To have looks is the bonus on top of what motivates me to be an actor. Not to realize they’re an asset would be counterproductive to the cause; they serve the common good. – Billy Zane • The toughest thing for a homeschooler is the same as for a school teacher – shifting from a weak tea vision of math being grinding calculations to a rich frothy mug of math as an active way of thinking. – John Golden • The world won’t get more or less terrible if we’re indoors somewhere with a mug of hot chocolate,’ Kim said. ‘Though it’s possible it will seem slightly less terrible if there are marshmallows in the hot chocolate. – Kamila Shamsie • There are many differences between a baby and an I-Pod. And one of the biggest is, no ones going to mug you for your baby. – Nick Hornby • There are popular celebrities, there are unpopular celebrities and then there are the walking dead. You know the walking dead when you see them: they look like Mel Gibson, still striving for drunken charm in an L.A. County mug shot, after getting picked up on a DWI charge that included anti-semitic slurs directed at the police. – Jeffrey Kluger • There is more similarity in the marketing challenge of selling a precious painting by Degas and a frosted mug of root beer than you ever thought possible. – A. Alfred Taubman • They were the reason that he kept faith with his stars, that reinforced him in his belief that the universe had more in store for him than the mug’s game of working for a modest salary until he retired or died. – J. K. Rowling • This is ideal, you’ll see. We do everything backward. It’s just how we are. We began with an elopement. After that, we made love. Next, we’ll progress to courting. When we’re old and silver-haired, perhaps we’ll finally get around to flirtation. We’ll make fond eyes at each other over our mugs of gruel. We’ll be the envy of couples half our age. – Tessa Dare • This is no time for drinking a mug of water – which you would do nowhere else in the world. A mug of water! You just don’t drink water from mugs, do ya? Except on the telly. Water out of a mug! Should be a hot drink… mug of water. – Russell Brand • Three years ago, the white hope of the theatre. Today, a mug. That’s New York for you. Puts you on a Christmas tree, and then – the alley. – Ben Hecht • To espresso or to latte, that is the question…whether ’tis tastier on the palate to choose white mocha over plain…or to take a cup to go. Or a mug to stay, or extra cream, or have nothing, and by opposing the endless choice, end one’s heartache. – Jasper Fforde • Tonight, I propose a 21st Century Crime Bill to deploy the latest technologies and tactics to make our communities even safer. Our balanced budget will help put up to 50,000 more police on the street in the areas hardest hit by crime, and then to equip them with new tools from crime-mapping computers to digital mug shots. We must break the deadly cycle of drugs and crime. – William J. Clinton • We have such a long, familiar history with Peter Falk. The minute his mug is on that screen people smile. – Paul Reiser • We need to get past the point where being black and a male means that I am likely to mug you for your wallet, likely to have a minus 15 on my IQ, likely to not go to college and likely to wear my pants below my arse. – John Amaechi • We were talking of DRAGONS, Tolkien and I In a Berkshire bar. The big workman Who had sat silent and sucked his pipe All the evening, from his empty mug With gleaming eye glanced towards us: “I seen ’em myself!” he said fiercely. – C. S. Lewis • What are they teaching these thugs? -Why are there so many of them? -What is the Institute for Higher Aeronautics? -How many of the are there? There are only six of us! Why? -Why is DC public transportation so weird? -Why don’t we mug those Eraser goons for money more often? -Fang’s Blog – James Patterson • What brings you onto my property?” Rhev said, cradling his mug with both hands trying to absorb its warmth. Got a problem” I can’t fix your personality, sorry – J.R. Ward • What I really want is to sit next to someone under an L.L. bean blanket on the beach in the fall and drink coffee from the same mug. I don’t want some rusty ’73 Ford Pinto with a factory-defective gas tank that causes it to explode when it’s rear-ended in the parking lot of the supermarket. So why do I keep looking for Pintos? – Augusten Burroughs • With a face like this, there aren’t a lot of lawyers or priest roles coming my way. I’ve gotta face that was meant for a mug shot and that’s what I’ve been doing for the past thirty years. If I play a cop, it’s always a racist cop, or a trigger-happy cop or a crooked cop – but by and large I play cowboys, bikers, and convicts. – M. C. Gainey • Yes Headwoman Azaze. But I never lie to Rosethorn. She, um, discourages it.” “Evvy and I have an understanding.” She grabbed the teakettle and poured hot water into the mug. “She tells me the truth, and I don’t hang her in the first well we come to. It’s a solution that works tolerably well for both of us. – Tamora Pierce • You can never prepare yourself enough to see your mug shot and DUI. – Tracey Gold • You can tell the future?’ ‘More like the future mugs me from time to time.’ Rachel said ‘I speak prophecies. The oracle spirit kind of hijacks me once in a while, and speaks important stuff that doesn’t make any sense to anybody. But yeah, the prophecies tell the future.- Rick Riordan • You had a package. It was torn, so I looked in.” She lifted one of a stack of firefighter calendars, with his own mug and half-naked body on the cover. “Nice,” she said, a ghost of a smile crossing her lips. “Mr. 2008.” He bit back a sigh. “It’s for charity.” “And you definitely contributed. – Jill Shalvis • You know I’ll never say no, and Nate’s so dedicated, I think he loves our alpha more than me.” “I resent that,” Nate grumbled. “I might love football more than you, but definitely not Lucas’s ugly mug. – Nalini Singh • You should take more pride in your appearance,” I tell him. “You’ll never attract girls with an ugly mug like that. – Darren Shan • You should think about nobody and go your own way, not on a course marked out for you by people holding mugs of water and bottles of iodine in case you fall and cut yourself so that they can pick you up – even if you want to stay where you are – and get you moving again. – Alan Sillitoe • You were safe on a troll. Anyone wanting to mug a troll would have to use a building on a stick. – Terry Pratchett

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[equitiesstocks]

Mug Quotes

Official Website: Mug Quotes

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• Ale, not beer, in a pewter mug was comme il faut, the only thing for a gentleman of letters, worthy of the name, to drink. – Guy de Maupassant • Alex took a silent step closer to the kitchen door and watched unseen as willow spooned instant coffee into a pair of mugs.With another yawn, she scraped her hair off her face and stretched. She looked so entirely human, so drowsy and sleep-rumpled.For a moment, Alex just gazed at her, taking in her long tumble of hair, her wide green eyes and pixieish chin. Fleetingly, he imagined her eyes meeting his, wondering what she’d look like if she smiled – L.A. Weatherly • Animals look at people the way people look at people that might mug them. – Dov Davidoff • As long as the “woman’s work” that some men do is socially devalued, as long as it is defined as woman’s work, as long as it’s tacked onto a “regular” work day, men who share it are likely to develop the same jagged mouth and frazzled hair as the coffee-mug mom. The image of the new man is like the image of the supermom: it obscures the strain. – Arlie Russell Hochschild • As things are, and as fundamentally they must always be, poetry is not a career, but a mug’s game. No honest poet can ever feel quite sure of the permanent value of what he has written: He may have wasted his time and messed up his life for nothing. – T. S. Eliot

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'Mug', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '68', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_mug').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_mug img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); ); • Blustery cold days should be spend propped up in bed with a mug of hot chocolate and a pile of comic books. – Bill Watterson • Caffeine gives me hope. Sometimes, when I brew my wicked strong Irish black tea just perfect, about halfway through the mug I feel a clear and overwhelming feeling of optimism. It didn’t surprise me when a study a few years ago implied that suicide was much less likely among coffee and tea drinkers. – John Vanderslice • Closing his eyes, he sent up a prayer to anyone who was listening, asking please, for God’s sake, stop sending him signals that they were right for each other. He’d read that book, seen the movie, bought the soundtrack, the DVD, the T-shirt, the mug, the bobble-head, and the insider’s guide. He knew every reason they could have been lock and key. But just as he was aware of all that aligned them, he was even clearer on how they were damned to be ever apart. – J.R. Ward • Effectively, it makes the greasepaint permanent, blurring the lines not only between public and private but also between the authentic and contrived self. If all the world was once a stage, it has now become a reality TV show: we mere players are not just aware of the camera; we mug for it. – Peggy Orenstein • Have faith, Ed, all right?’ I search the coffee mug, but there’s none in there. – Markus Zusak • How could he convey to someone who’d never even met her the way she always smelled like rain, or how his stomach knotted up every time he saw her shake loose her hair from its braid? How could he describe how it felt when she finished his sentences, turnec the mug they were sharing so that her mouth landed where his had been? How did he explain the way they could be in a locker room, or underwater, or in the piney woods of Maine, bus as long as Em was with him, he was at home? – Jodi Picoult • I aint such a mug as to put up my children to all I know myself. – George Bernard Shaw • I confess, right at the start, to the doubts – and sometimes outright dreads – that go with me as I climb the stairs to my study in the morning, coffee mug in hand: I have to admit to the habitual apprehension mixed with a sort of reverence, as I light the incense . . . and wonder: what is going to happen today? Will anything happen? Will the angel come today? – Gail Godwin • I gave my mother a matching set [of mugs] for Christmas, and she accepted them as graciously as possible, announcing that they would make the perfect pet bowls. The mugs were set on the kitchen floor and remained there until the cat chipped a tooth and went on a hunger strike. – David Sedaris • I have mugs of hot water every morning because the studio is cold, and also because it makes my throat sound clearer. – Mika Brzezinski • I hight don Quixote, I live on peyote, marijuana, morphine and cocaine. I never know sadness, but only a madness that burns at the heart and the brain. I see each charwoman, ecstatic, inhuman, angelic, demonic, divine. Each wagon a dragon, each beer mug a flagon that brims with ambrosial wine. – Jack Parsons • I like light green, sometimes red is fun to look at, not a fan of yellow, unless it’s in a rainbow or on a coffee mug or on a happy face. – Chris Kattan • I like my mug shot. I think I have a really great mug shot. It looks like a magazine shoot. – Paris Hilton • I wasn’t a great improviser when I started there; I’m not really up on current events. I would always just mug, just try to get my laughs from making faces. So I decided to do a character who should never have become a comic – somebody you would see at the Comedy Store and go, “This person is never going to make it.” – Paul Reubens • Ice is most welcome in a cold drink on a hot day. But in the heart of winter, you want a warm hot mug with your favorite soothing brew to keep the chill away. When you don’t have anything warm at hand, even a memory can be a small substitute. Remember a searing look of intimate eyes. Receive the inner fire. – Vera Nazarian • If you and I took a walk down a shopping street in Jo’burg or Cape Town or London, we see two guys looking in a shop window, we think, “Oh, they’re wondering what they’re going to buy.” A cop looks at them and thinks, “Why are they standing there? Are they doing a drug deal? Are they going to mug someone? Are they going to rob the shop?” – Peter James • I’m a huge Wonder Woman fan – I have about 12 coffee mugs at home! – Kari Wahlgren • I’m pretty sure lurking in a dark alley to mug me with your apology isn’t the usual way to go about saying you’re sorry. But I didn’t read that Mars-Venus book, so who knows. – Jim Butcher • I’m really conscious of the amount of food I eat, but I don’t deny myself anything. For example, I have a really big sweet tooth. At the end of the night, if I’m craving ice cream, I might not have the bowl that I would have when I was a kid, but I’ll put a couple of scoops in a coffee mug, and I’ll eat it slowly, and I enjoy every moment of it. – Summer Sanders • Individually the poor are not too tempting to thieves, for obvious reasons. Mug a banker and you might score a wallet containing a month’s rent. Mug a janitor and you will be lucky to get away with bus fare to flee the crime scene. – Barbara Ehrenreich • Isaac Newton was born at Woolsthorpe, near Grantham, in Lincolnshire, on Christmas Day, 1642: a weakly and diminutive infant, of whom it is related that, at his birth, he might have found room in a quart mug. He died on March the 20th, 1727, after more than eighty-four years of more than average bodily health and vigour; it is a proper pendant to the story of the quart mug to state that he never lost more than one of his second teeth. – Augustus De Morgan • It was one of those mornings when a man could face the day only after warming himself with a mug of thick coffee beaded with steam, a good thick crust of bread, and a bowl of bean soup. – Richard Gehman • It’s a no win situation. It’s a mug’s game. The religions have contrived to make it impossible to disagree with them critically without being rude. They play the hurt feelings card at every opportunity. – Daniel Dennett • It’s the nicest thing on earth if someone comes up to me and says, ‘Every day I drink out of a mug you designed.’ – Jonathan Adler • I’ve always been accused by my detractors of some sort of moral failure, cowardice, or even lack of humanity by not portraying the human form. I respond that I do better by portraying traces of character and intentions of human volition that no mug or body shot can ever exude. – Robert Polidori • I’ve been very lucky. All I wanted was to pay the rent. Then these characters took off and suddenly there were Hulk coffee mugs and Iron Man lunchboxes and The Avengers sweatshirts everywhere. Money’s okay, but what I really like is working. – Stan Lee • I’ve gone through a lot of the same things like Britney Spears. I just don’t have a mug shot. – Fergie • I’ve never been able to write for myself. I was doing a lot. I produced The Green, I wrote it – I didn’t see myself in the world of this film. I’m sure there are elements of dark corners of my psyche that found their ways on screen; you didn’t need my mug up there. There was enough of my essence in the story as it plays out without me acting in it. – Paul Marcarelli • Karl Marx himself preferred a glass of claret to the mug of tea affected by some of his recent converts. – Denis Healey • Listen, boy, just ask the chef to make me a proper Full English Breakfast. You know, bacon, fried eggs, sausages, liver, grilled mushrooms and tomatoes, black pudding, kidneys, baked beans, fried bread, toast and served with strong English mustard, mind – none of this effete French muck – and a large mug of hot, strong Indian tea. – Bryan Talbot • Martha Stewart showed up at Manhattan FBI Headquarters to have her finger prints taken and pose for a mug shot. Then Martha explained how to get ink off your fingers using seltzer water and lemon juice. – Conan O’Brien • Mma Ramotswe had a detective agency in Africa, at the foot of Kgale Hill. These were its assets: a tiny white van, two desks, two chairs, a telephone, and an old typewriter. Then there was a teapot, in which Mma Ramotswe – the only lady private detective in Botswana – brewed redbush tea. And three mugs – one for herself, one for her secretary, and one for the client. What else does a detective agency really need? Detective agencies rely on human intuition and intelligence, both of which Mma Ramotswe had in abundance. No inventory would ever include those, of course. – Alexander McCall Smith • My daughter got me a ‘World’s Best Dad’ mug. So we know she’s sarcastic. – Bob Odenkirk • Nanny Ogg could see the future in the froth on a beer mug. It invariably showed that she was going to enjoy a refreshing drink which she almost certainly was not going to pay for. – Terry Pratchett • Nobody thinks in terms of human beings. Governments don’t, why should we? They talk about people and the proletariat; I talk about the suckers and the mugs. It’s the same thing. – Graham Greene • Not like I need an excuse to enjoy a Moscow mule, but this tray and six-mug set, handmade in Mexico with hammered recycled copper, makes cocktail hour extra special. – Oprah Winfrey • O lovely O most charming pug Thy gracefull air and heavenly mug … His noses cast is of the roman He is a very pretty weoman I could not get a rhyme for roman And was obliged to call it weoman. – Marjorie Fleming • Oh, God above, if heaven has a taste it must be an egg with butter and salt, and after the egg is there anything in the world lovelier than fresh warm bread and a mug of sweet golden tea? – Frank McCourt • On my first day in New York a guy asked me if I knew where Central Park was. When I told him I didn’t, he said: Do you mind if I mug you here? – Paul Merton • Once Mo had closed the gates, he returned to his little stone hut, and his half-eaten sandwich of butter and canned sardines, and his mug of thick hot chocolate, which every night he poured carefully into a thermos labeled COFFEE. – Lauren Oliver • One day as a young man, I was walking down the streets. And a group of Zulu guys was walking behind me closing in on me. And I could hear them talking to one another about how they were going to mug me. (Speaking Zulu). Let’s get this white guy. You go to his left, and I’ll come up behind him. I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t run.So I just spun around real quick and said (speaking Zulu). Yo, guys, why don’t we just mug someone together? I’m ready. – Trevor Noah • One must be able to say at all times–instead of points, straight lines, and planes–tables, chairs, and beer mugs – David Hilbert • Out of nowhere, Valek appeared before me, yelling in my ear, shaking my shoulders. Stupidly, belatedly, I realized he was the drunk. Who else but Valek could win a fight against four large men when armed only with a beer mug? – Maria V. Snyder • Outside the youth center, between the liquor store and the police station, a little dogwood tree is losing its mind; overflowing with blossomfoam, like a sudsy mug of beer; like a bride ripping off her clothes, dropping snow white petals to the ground in clouds, so Nature’s wastefulness seems quietly obscene. It’s been doing that all week: making beauty, and throwing it away, and making more. – Tony Hoagland • People’s arrest tapes, mug shots, everything is online. – Jane Krakowski • Poetry is a mug’s game. – T. S. Eliot • Revolution? Unscrew the flag-staff, wrap the bunting in the oil covers, and put the thing in the clothes-chest. Let the old lady bring you your house-slippers and untie your fiery red necktie. You always make revolutions with your mugs, your republic–nothing but an industrial accident. – Alfred Doblin • Saiman picked up a coffee mug, stared at it, and hurled it against the wall. It shattered into a dozen pieces. We looked at him. “Your date appears to be hysterical,” Rene told me. “You think I should slap some man into him? – Ilona Andrews • She sits in her usual ample armchair, with piles of books and unopened magazines around her. She sips cautiously from the mug of weak herb tea which is now her substitute for coffee. At one time she thought that she could not live without coffee, but it turned out that it is really the warm large mug she wants in her hands, that is the aid to thought or whatever it is she practices through the procession of hours, or of days. – Alice Munro • Snowflakes swirl down gently in the deep blue haze beyond the window. The outside world is a dream. Inside, the fireplace is brightly lit, and the Yule log crackles with orange and crimson sparks. There’s a steaming mug in your hands, warming your fingers. There’s a friend seated across from you in the cozy chair, warming your heart. There is mystery unfolding. – Vera Nazarian • So violent. You want to mug and tase everybody these days.” “I do,” Zuzana agreed. “I swear I hate more poeple every day. Everyone annoys me. If I’m like this now, what am I going to be like when I’m old?” “You’ll be the mean old biddy who fires a BB gun at kids from her balcony.” “Nah. BBs just rile ’em up. More like a crossbow. Or a bazooka. – Laini Taylor • Something smashed to the ground. Jack looked at me, all the mugs forgotten. “I’m not going to let anyone kill you.” He grinned. “If I don’t get to, no one should. – Kiersten White • Studs Lonigan, on the verge of fifteen, and wearing his first suit of long trousers, stood in the bathroom with a Sweet Caporal pasted on his mug. – James T. Farrell • Suppose there were groups of secularists at hospitals who went round the terminally ill and urged them to adopt atheism: ‘Don’t be a mug all your life. Make your last days the best ones. People might suppose this was in poor taste. – Christopher Hitchens • That was close,”he said, helping himself to coffee. Yeah, you almost opened the door to Morelli.” I wasn’t talking about Morelli. I was talking about us.” That too,” I said. Ranger sliced a bagel and looked for the toaster. It’s broken,”I told him. He truned the boiler on and slid the bagel into the oven. That’s surprisingly domestic for a man of mystery,” I said to him. He looked at me over the rim of his coffee mug. “I like things hot. – Janet Evanovich • The mug from the washstand was used as Becky’s tea cup, and the tea was so delicious that it was not necessary to pretend that it was anything but tea. – Frances Hodgson Burnett • The mug is a tool. My ace in the hole. To have looks is the bonus on top of what motivates me to be an actor. Not to realize they’re an asset would be counterproductive to the cause; they serve the common good. – Billy Zane • The toughest thing for a homeschooler is the same as for a school teacher – shifting from a weak tea vision of math being grinding calculations to a rich frothy mug of math as an active way of thinking. – John Golden • The world won’t get more or less terrible if we’re indoors somewhere with a mug of hot chocolate,’ Kim said. ‘Though it’s possible it will seem slightly less terrible if there are marshmallows in the hot chocolate. – Kamila Shamsie • There are many differences between a baby and an I-Pod. And one of the biggest is, no ones going to mug you for your baby. – Nick Hornby • There are popular celebrities, there are unpopular celebrities and then there are the walking dead. You know the walking dead when you see them: they look like Mel Gibson, still striving for drunken charm in an L.A. County mug shot, after getting picked up on a DWI charge that included anti-semitic slurs directed at the police. – Jeffrey Kluger • There is more similarity in the marketing challenge of selling a precious painting by Degas and a frosted mug of root beer than you ever thought possible. – A. Alfred Taubman • They were the reason that he kept faith with his stars, that reinforced him in his belief that the universe had more in store for him than the mug’s game of working for a modest salary until he retired or died. – J. K. Rowling • This is ideal, you’ll see. We do everything backward. It’s just how we are. We began with an elopement. After that, we made love. Next, we’ll progress to courting. When we’re old and silver-haired, perhaps we’ll finally get around to flirtation. We’ll make fond eyes at each other over our mugs of gruel. We’ll be the envy of couples half our age. – Tessa Dare • This is no time for drinking a mug of water – which you would do nowhere else in the world. A mug of water! You just don’t drink water from mugs, do ya? Except on the telly. Water out of a mug! Should be a hot drink… mug of water. – Russell Brand • Three years ago, the white hope of the theatre. Today, a mug. That’s New York for you. Puts you on a Christmas tree, and then – the alley. – Ben Hecht • To espresso or to latte, that is the question…whether ’tis tastier on the palate to choose white mocha over plain…or to take a cup to go. Or a mug to stay, or extra cream, or have nothing, and by opposing the endless choice, end one’s heartache. – Jasper Fforde • Tonight, I propose a 21st Century Crime Bill to deploy the latest technologies and tactics to make our communities even safer. Our balanced budget will help put up to 50,000 more police on the street in the areas hardest hit by crime, and then to equip them with new tools from crime-mapping computers to digital mug shots. We must break the deadly cycle of drugs and crime. – William J. Clinton • We have such a long, familiar history with Peter Falk. The minute his mug is on that screen people smile. – Paul Reiser • We need to get past the point where being black and a male means that I am likely to mug you for your wallet, likely to have a minus 15 on my IQ, likely to not go to college and likely to wear my pants below my arse. – John Amaechi • We were talking of DRAGONS, Tolkien and I In a Berkshire bar. The big workman Who had sat silent and sucked his pipe All the evening, from his empty mug With gleaming eye glanced towards us: “I seen ’em myself!” he said fiercely. – C. S. Lewis • What are they teaching these thugs? -Why are there so many of them? -What is the Institute for Higher Aeronautics? -How many of the are there? There are only six of us! Why? -Why is DC public transportation so weird? -Why don’t we mug those Eraser goons for money more often? -Fang’s Blog – James Patterson • What brings you onto my property?” Rhev said, cradling his mug with both hands trying to absorb its warmth. Got a problem” I can’t fix your personality, sorry – J.R. Ward • What I really want is to sit next to someone under an L.L. bean blanket on the beach in the fall and drink coffee from the same mug. I don’t want some rusty ’73 Ford Pinto with a factory-defective gas tank that causes it to explode when it’s rear-ended in the parking lot of the supermarket. So why do I keep looking for Pintos? – Augusten Burroughs • With a face like this, there aren’t a lot of lawyers or priest roles coming my way. I’ve gotta face that was meant for a mug shot and that’s what I’ve been doing for the past thirty years. If I play a cop, it’s always a racist cop, or a trigger-happy cop or a crooked cop – but by and large I play cowboys, bikers, and convicts. – M. C. Gainey • Yes Headwoman Azaze. But I never lie to Rosethorn. She, um, discourages it.” “Evvy and I have an understanding.” She grabbed the teakettle and poured hot water into the mug. “She tells me the truth, and I don’t hang her in the first well we come to. It’s a solution that works tolerably well for both of us. – Tamora Pierce • You can never prepare yourself enough to see your mug shot and DUI. – Tracey Gold • You can tell the future?’ ‘More like the future mugs me from time to time.’ Rachel said ‘I speak prophecies. The oracle spirit kind of hijacks me once in a while, and speaks important stuff that doesn’t make any sense to anybody. But yeah, the prophecies tell the future.- Rick Riordan • You had a package. It was torn, so I looked in.” She lifted one of a stack of firefighter calendars, with his own mug and half-naked body on the cover. “Nice,” she said, a ghost of a smile crossing her lips. “Mr. 2008.” He bit back a sigh. “It’s for charity.” “And you definitely contributed. – Jill Shalvis • You know I’ll never say no, and Nate’s so dedicated, I think he loves our alpha more than me.” “I resent that,” Nate grumbled. “I might love football more than you, but definitely not Lucas’s ugly mug. – Nalini Singh • You should take more pride in your appearance,” I tell him. “You’ll never attract girls with an ugly mug like that. – Darren Shan • You should think about nobody and go your own way, not on a course marked out for you by people holding mugs of water and bottles of iodine in case you fall and cut yourself so that they can pick you up – even if you want to stay where you are – and get you moving again. – Alan Sillitoe • You were safe on a troll. Anyone wanting to mug a troll would have to use a building on a stick. – Terry Pratchett

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