#sleep like tiger with our sweet dreams mattress

[abluescarfonwaston]

I want the kids to find some old compilation videos of Wild Tiger preforming his "signature move" Cat Nap. Tiger falling asleep on the couch during interviews or on his feet during group ones. Swaying to the side sometimes and "There it is folks! The Tiger special! And it seems like he's gone for his favorite pillow again! Rock Bison!"

There was a whole website dedicated to keeping track of the Tiger pillow rankings. Bison might not win with points but he's got a small but dedicated group convinced that he must be the comfiest pillow of a man once he undoes his unbreakable skin all thanks to Kotetsu.

The end of the video is a highlight reel of the unofficial sign off for that season. "And there's wild tiger taking a cat nap on a wall/a bench/a spare gurney. The danger must be passed folks. Goodnight!"

Thomas didn't want to engage but he's got a nack for finding the best videos from back then and everyone's huddled around him. They're almost a decade old so it's not easy. Kotetsu arrives and asks what they're watching. Gets excited that they might be watching his Best of clips. Nope.

"it's hard to imagine you were actually worse at your job before."

Tiger's pouting. Bison laughs. "Kaede sure gave him the run around, that's for sure!"

"Huh?"

"Nghnn... Kaede had really bad colic after she was born. So I'd sit up with her when i got home so Tomoe could rest and then go to work in the morning."

"You ran on like two hours of sleep that whole season."

"Yeah." He says with the utmost affection. "I kinda miss it."

"Mmhmm. Tomoe was always the sensible one."

[justapoet]

there is nothing new about me (but you)

Missing scene from 2x10

Or,

After Owen finishes helping TK and Carlos moving in, they have a little celebrating to do.

3.2k

Read on Ao3

TK watched from the door jamb as his father's car turned the street and disappeared from view. He had his arms crossed over his chest and his shoulder pressed against the wood, just like his head, and a silly, lovestruck smile in his face that was there for the whole morning ― and it would probably stay there for the entire week.

In the previous week, when he threw himself on Carlos' bed after an exhausting forty-eight-hour shift, he wasn't really expecting his boyfriend to be awake and roll in the mattress, holding TK close against his chest. He wasn't expecting, either ― and he seriously thought he had already fallen asleep ― for Carlos to kiss him sweetly and ask him if he wanted to move in.

His tired state made it take him a couple of seconds ― maybe a minute ― to understand all the words and what they meant together, and his brain processed it all like a kind dream. He mumbled an answer somewhere between a sigh and a smile and pressed himself even more against the warm, welcoming body of his boyfriend. Carlos chuckled, almost in disbelief, and kissed his lips once again before joining him in his sleep.

The following morning for that night was a little less calm as he almost fell down the stairs, suddenly remembering that it had happened but genuinely confused if it was only a surprisingly pleasant dream caused by his daily thoughts over living with Carlos. If so, he would definitely have a shadow over his head and puppy eyes to everyone.

"You okay there, Tiger?" Carlos asked as he approached a stumbling TK down the stairs. His boyfriend had a cup of coffee in his hands while stepping closer, a sweet ― oh, so sweet ― smile on his face, and looked unfairly gorgeous with those messy curls of his.

"Yeah, I― uh..." TK mumbled out, squeezing his eyes and trying to make any sense. "Fine, I'm fine. Just missed a step there," he moved his head towards the stairs, and Carlos chuckled softly.

"It would be nice for you to come down when you're a little more awake, babe. It wouldn't be nice for your own house to be a risk to your physical integrity," joked Carlos, and TK started to laugh when it died in his throat and the words settled in his brain.

Carlos only watched TK's confusion with a grin on his face.

"I― you..." TK started, not exactly knowing what to say. "Did I...? Did y― it wasn't a dream?" he finally asked, and Carlos chuckled lightly before shaking his head and shrugging softly.

"It wasn't, but if you want to change your answer while awa―" Carlos started but was rudely interrupted by TK's lips being slammed against his, making him take a step back and tighten his grip on the coffee mug he had in hand. "Alright," he said, then, against the paramedic's lips.

TK laughed and hugged Carlos' waist tightly, holding on to him until the very moment he was sitting in his car and driving to work. Then, he came back inside the house ― soon to be his ― and let himself sleep a little bit more on the bed they shared. If he used Carlos' pillows because he so idiotically already missed his boyfriend, then he's the only one to know it.

When Carlos came back from his shift that night, TK couldn't help but throw himself over the man, kissing him senselessly just because. Because Carlos was there; because Carlos was his; because he could; and mainly because he loved him with more than he thought he had to offer.

Now, with his father driving away ― which meant he had already brought everything he had to his home ―, TK couldn't stop smiling silly at nothing and no one. He had a warmth in his chest that was new, some sense of coldness melting away after all those years ― all his life ― without a safe place, a safe embrace for him to call home.

He felt a pair of arms wrapping his waist and let out a surprised gasp before feeling Carlos' lips touching his neck in a soft touch. Then, he melted to the touch and pressed his body against his boyfriend's, humming happily with another kiss pressed to his neck.

"Are you happy?" Carlos asked, his nose buried on the crook of TK's neck and his lips rubbing his boyfriend's skin. TK hummed, throwing his head back and using Carlos' shoulder as support.

"Happier than ever," the paramedic replied, closing his eyes as Carlos chuckled briefly and happily on his skin. "It feels good, you know?"

"Moving out from your father's house?" Carlos asked, the tone of his voice making the teasing clear. TK elbowed his ribs gently, and Carlos gently bit his shoulder.

"Home," he said, even if the answer wasn't actually required. "It feels good to be home," TK said again, and Carlos smiled brightly with his words.

A second later, the cop was walking backward and bringing his boyfriend with him, so they were both inside the house, far from curious eyes. TK let himself be led and heard the brief click of the door lock before his body was being turned around, Carlos' arms firmly around his waist and his lips suddenly against TK's.

The kiss was calm, sweet, and blissful, taking TK's breath away with such ease it was almost unreal. Carlos wrapped his arms tighter around TK, taking a few steps forward and pressing the paramedic against the door, the kiss suddenly shifting to something else.

TK heard the clinging of the keys and understood that Carlos had locked the door. The paramedic smiled in between the kiss, but it soon faded away, for Carlos' lips were a lot more lustful, slow, and deep over his mouth, stealing his breath and messing up all his senses.

"Very handy, uh?" Carlos said, breathless, still glued to TK's lips. TK tried to catch his breath, his smile getting lost somewhere between the both of them.

"Definitely," he answered, his hands ghosting over Carlos' shoulders just to find his nape, his fingers curling up to the base of his head while his other hand made its way to the curls on the top of his head. "And we do have some celebrating to do, don't we?"

"I think so," Carlos laughed, pecking a kiss to TK's lips before lowering his head to his boyfriend's neck, kissing it wetly, slowly, making the paramedic sigh heavily to the touches. "We could take it to our living room," Carlos whispered into TK's skin, and the new yorker felt his stomach twisting inside his body. "Here, in our dining room," he whispered, now against TK's jaw, his warm breath causing the man at his mercy to shiver. "To our bedroom," his voice was close to TK's ear, and now the paramedic felt like he could just melt right down to the floor, a moan escaping past his lips as his fingers gripped tightly to Carlos' curls, the cop groaning with the action.

"S― shit," TK grumbled out, getting a pleased smile from his boyfriend. "You're a tease," he whispered at Carlos, who was back to kiss his neck and groaned with a soft bite the cop left over his skin.

"And you're a menace," Carlos said, his voice so calm TK could punch him for being so cool while taking him out of his senses. He could've said something, but Carlos propelled his hips forward in a movement to get TK yelping, closing his eyes, and biting his lower lip.

Son of a bitch.

"If you don't fuck me now―" TK said, trailing off for a moment when Carlos wandered his hands under the shirt he was wearing.

"Shh..." Carlos said, his lips now back against TK's. "Let me take care of you, babe. Let's go to our bedroom, uh?" his voice was sweet, as it always was when talking to TK in any possible situation. It was something characteristic of Carlos to always keep his tone of voice low, sweet and comforting ― it was something his to show his love and affection whenever it was possible.

TK could only grumble out a "yeah" before his legs were wrapped around Carlos' waist, and he was completely surrendered to his touches, kisses, and overwhelming love. Surprisingly, they made it up the stairs in no time, and TK found himself pressed, now, against a soft surface.

The paramedic was quick to untangle his fingers from the curly hair, leading his hands down Carlos' torso until he could meander his hand under the shirt he was wearing, the warm skin under his touch setting him on fire. The cop groaned when TK snaked both his hands up his back, the shirt tangling all the way to his shoulders, where it stood for a minute as Carlos was busy kissing his boyfriend senseless.

"Off," TK murmured, and Carlos took a second to push apart from his lips and take the shirt off over his head. The paramedic grinned happily at the sight he had in front of him and enjoyed it while his boyfriend took his time to explore his body, still covered by the shirt he was wearing, kissing Carlos' neck, shoulder, and any piece of skin he could reach with his lips.

The cop took his time, his hands wandering around the incredibly silky skin, so white his fingers would still be there a few hours from then; so warm he could never remember how it was not to be surrounded by the long-length waves of a long-term feeling that would always make him whole.

And suddenly, it was too much to have Carlos kissing him senseless all the way down his chest, no more covered by the cotton shirt. TK gasped and whispered as the heated, swollen lips found their way to his belly, not an inch of his skin feeling cold or unloved ― not a crack in his soul feeling empty anymore.

Carlos could swear TK was the anthropomorphism of all existent gods when he kissed a specific spot over his V line, the burning skin being lulled by the cop's short breaths, and the paramedic moaned under his touch, giving Carlos a glimpse of how heaven sounded.

And heaven, oh... He could swear all heaven envied that TK was right there, right then, squirming under him. And he wanted all heavens and universes to envy him as he zipped down the jeans pants his boyfriend was wearing, the boxers, and the pair of pants down TK's legs in one go.

"Carlos," TK gasped between one breath and another when, unexpectedly, Carlos took him in his mouth as much as he could, his hands pressing TK's thighs down to the mattress so he couldn't move too much. When he made a suction move, an unnamed sound came out from the depts of TK's soul to his throat.

And, for all the Infernos Dante had written ― that was the epitome of sin.

Read the rest on Ao3

[lady-divine-writes]

All the Beautiful Pieces (Rated NC17) Chapter 11

Blaine Anderson is spending the summer after graduation flipping houses with his brother for Cooper’s total home renovation show. The show features the worst houses Cooper can buy, with Blaine playing the role of lackey so that Cooper can torture him in front of his viewers. The last house Blaine has to renovate is an original Victorian House in San Diego, CA, which is in terrible condition. But this house turns out to be more than just another job. It was once owned by a famous Vaudeville ventriloquist by the name of Andrew Smythe. It houses a very interesting collection of items - among them, two life-sized puppets. Blaine isn’t sure exactly why, but he’s drawn to them - especially to the one with the beautiful blue eyes. He convinces Cooper to give him the puppets, and Blaine starts to restore them. In the course of the restoration, Blaine finds out that neither puppet is simply a run-of-the-mill puppet, and Andrew Smythe was hiding a secret that will be the key to saving two lives.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7

Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10

Chapter 11

“Oh, Sebastian,” Kurt says, peeking out from behind Blaine’s body, “do you have to be so dramatic? You could have just said hello like a normal person.”

“Hello, beautiful,” Sebastian mimics, his eyes glued to the porcelain puppet as if he’s the only one in the room. “Good to see you in one piece again.” After an awkward silence, he shifts his gaze - and a threatening smile - to Blaine. “Hello, Blaine.”

“Hello, Sebastian,” Blaine responds in a similarly menacing tone. “Nice of you to finally join the land of the living.” He reaches back, protectively wrapping his fingers around Kurt’s wrist. Sebastian watches Blaine react, his green eyes darkened by his open disregard for the human in front of him.

“Oh, I’ve always been here,” Sebastian explains, winking at Blaine, the movement accompanied by an off-putting clacking sound as wood meets wood. “Hiding out, watching you two get acquainted …” His eyes switch to Kurt again. Kurt’s gaze drops down and away.

Blaine isn’t thrilled at this effect Sebastian seems to have on Kurt – how Kurt suddenly looks like he wants to hide from the wooden puppet’s judgmental stare. “So why didn’t you talk to us then?”

Sebastian seems amused by the tension that has started to build in the room at his presence. “I was waiting for the right time. I’m an actor at heart. I wanted to make an entrance.”

Blaine sits higher to shield Kurt from view. Undaunted, Sebastian rolls his head on his neck 180 degrees to circumvent him, the joint creaking as wood and wires grind together. While Blaine fights to hide his disgust over the wooden puppet’s head extending on his contorted neck, Sebastian’s smile turns into a sneer.

“Don’t I get an emotional welcome?” he jeers at Blaine, but with a thread of genuine hurt meant for Kurt. “I heard you sing and talk incessantly to our little Kurt back there. Don’t I get any sweet sentiments? Heartfelt confessions? What do I get?” Sebastian’s voice rises in pitch, covering what could have been tears if he had been human. But with a blink of his clacking eyelids, his teasing tone returns, his anguish erased. “Aren’t you happy to see me, Blaine? Did you dream about me? I’ve been traumatized, too, you know.”

Blaine’s eyes narrow at the wooden puppet, whose smile, Blaine suspects, was painted purposefully like a smirk – untrustworthy and insincere. Blaine doesn’t want that to color his perspective. Sebastian has been traumatized, probably more so than Kurt, but it’s hard to sympathize with someone who seems to despise you for no reason.

But Kurt’s reaction is one that Blaine simply does not understand. Kurt wanted Sebastian put back together, but now he doesn’t want anything to do with him. It could have been out of a sense of obligation that Kurt wanted Sebastian fixed, but Blaine had felt there was something else. Something unspoken.

If Kurt doesn’t regret this decision, Blaine sure as heck is starting to.

Sebastian’s head turns back round to normal and he frowns. “Could I at least get my other arm and my legs?” He raises the one arm Blaine managed to attach before he fell asleep and waves his hand in front of his face. “It would be nice to be able to walk upright. Or do you only grant that privilege to pretty puppets you wanna fuck?”

“Sebastian!” Kurt pipes up, crawling out from behind Blaine’s body. “Watch your language!”

Sebastian smiles when he sees Kurt – not the sneer he gave Blaine, but a true smile. It makes Sebastian look human, the way Kurt’s smile does for him.

“There’s my Kurt,” Sebastian says. “I’d wondered where you went.”

“I’m not your Kurt,” Kurt fires back, quietly but firmly.

Blaine, watching this interaction with the intensity of a kid watching his first horror flick, can’t help when he yawns, but he’s exhausted. He looks at his cell phone on the floor, rubbing his eyes to make the numbers on the screen come into focus.

It’s barely two in the morning. They’d been asleep for about four hours before this all began.

God but it felt like so much less.

“Okay” - Blaine puts his hands up - “I think we got off to a bad start here.” He fixes Sebastian with a smile he hopes conveys something close to an apology even though he doesn’t feel it. “Why don’t I go ahead and give you your arm and legs, and then I can set us up in our own rooms. I don’t know about you guys, but I seriously need to sleep on a mattress. My joints are killing me.”

Both puppets shoot him incredulous looks. It takes him a moment to get why, but when he does, he chuckles sheepishly. “Right. Sorry.”

Blaine looks at Kurt gazing back at him with worried eyes and cups the puppet’s cheek with his hand. He hears wood slide against wood - Sebastian rolling his eyes.

“This is really touching and all,” he says, drumming his fingertips against the floor, “but I’d really like my legs back now.”

Blaine drops his hand from Kurt’s cheek, fingertips tracing feathery lines down porcelain skin as Kurt cranes his neck to follow. Blaine stands, unwinding stiff muscles until he’s upright. Then he bends over to pick up Sebastian, hoisting the one-armed puppet into his embrace and cradling him carefully.

Sebastian bats his eyes. “Now isn’t this cozy?”

Blaine walks Sebastian over to the love seat and promptly drops him onto the cushions.

“Hey!” the puppet screams, scrambling with one arm to sit upright. “I may not be made of porcelain but I’m still breakable!”

“Sorry.” Blaine doesn’t curb his clipped tone since Kurt has retreated to the kitchen and is well out of earshot. “I slipped.”

Sebastian watches Blaine gather his other arm and the wire and start fitting it onto his body. Except it doesn’t. Not now. Blaine had lined them up a few times before, just to make sure this was the correct arm, and it slid into place like a dream. But now it feels like it’s actively fighting him.

No. Sebastian is actively fighting him.

“This is your arm,” Blaine grunts. “You could help me out a little.”

“Now why would I do that,” Sebastian asks, “when you’re trying so hard to steal the only thing in the world I’ve ever wanted?”

Blaine’s eyes snap up. “What---?” he utters as Kurt returns, a glass of Coke in his hand. He walks over to the dining room table, his smile starting long before then. Blaine sees Sebastian’s expression transform again to one of longing, dreamlike, until Kurt walks straight up to Blaine with scarcely a glance at the wooden puppet.

“Here” - Kurt hands the glass to Blaine - “I thought this might help keep you awake.”

“Thanks.” Blaine takes the glass and takes a sip before setting it down on the table, not missing the way Kurt licks his lips when he put the cup to his mouth. Kurt heads for the sofa to take up his sewing again, glancing at Blaine one more time, his smile widening when he sees Blaine looking back at him. Sebastian scowls between them, but he holds his tongue until Blaine bends over his shoulder.

“I don’t know what you think is going on between you and Kurt, but it’s all in your head.”

Blaine has a defense all ready for that remark, but he remains tight lipped, keeping his own fears about the state of their relationship locked safely away.

“Not that it’s any of your business,” he says, “but it’s none of your business.”

“Smooth, tiger. But in all seriousness, you and Kurt are never going to happen.”

“And why do you think that?” Blaine keeps his voice low, peeking behind him to make sure Kurt hasn’t caught wind of their discussion.

“Because it’s absurd!” Sebastian snickers, eyes glued to Blaine’s face for a reaction. Blaine doesn’t give him one. He pulls the wires in his shoulder joint tight and moves on to his left leg. “You and him? You’re human! He’s a puppet! What kind of relationship can you two have?” He wiggles his eyebrows, but again, Blaine ignores him. He doesn’t want to give Sebastian the satisfaction of knowing just how much he’s getting to him.

And he is getting to him.

He lays the puppet back on the love seat, cringing internally at how intimate it feels.

“Worthwhile relationships aren’t all about sex,” Blaine argues.

“Yeah, well, they are a little.”

“And what would the two of you do together?” Blaine pulls the wires tighter than necessary, wishing on some level that it hurt. “You sure don’t have anything to work with.” Blaine knocks on Sebastian’s wooden crotch for good measure, smirking when Sebastian jolts, propping himself up on his elbows like he might try to take a swing at him.

“Is everything all right over there, guys?” Kurt asks from his seat on the sofa, his needle poised mid-stitch, glass eyes assessing their faces one at a time.

“We’re all good here,” Blaine reassures him. “What do you say, Sebastian? Are we all good here?” Blaine’s smile at Sebastian borders on devious, and the wooden puppet looks mildly taken back.

“Yeah,” Sebastian says. “We’re fine, Kurt. Just … getting my legs fixed. Everything’s kosher.”

“Good,” Kurt says, returning to his sewing, humming to himself.

Blaine and Sebastian’s eyes meet again, their plastered smiles disappearing.

Blaine tugs the wires in Sebastian’s left leg and ties them off. “Why don’t the two of us play nice? For Kurt’s sake.”

Sebastian’s wooden face becomes a slideshow of emotions, but he settles on the plastic façade that passes for polite.

It doesn’t fool Blaine in the slightest.

“Sure, tiger. Whatever you want. I’ll play nice …”

Blaine nods, turning to the table for Sebastian’s right leg, stopping to take a long drink from his glass of soda. Sebastian’s eyelids narrow, shooting daggers at the back of Blaine’s neck.

“… for now.”

***

Blaine fixes Sebastian’s leg in silence with the painted eyes of the puppet simultaneously glaring at him and watching Kurt sew. At one point, Abigail leaps onto the love seat, overjoyed at seeing her owner. Sebastian actually laughs when he sees her.

It’s difficult for Blaine to admit but it’s a pleasant sound.

“Abby!” Sebastian says, stroking her back with great care. She climbs onto his chest and rubs her face against his cheek. “You’re such a clever girl,” he mutters. “Such a smart little girl.” The cat purrs so loudly, Blaine can feel it vibrate Sebastian’s wooden body.

“That should do it,” Blaine says around his third yawn, tying off the wires that secure Sebastian’s right leg to his hip joint. “Now, just a dab of pottery glue …”

“Pottery glue?” Sebastian pulls himself up to a sitting position. “Do I look like pottery to you?”

“No, but it worked miracles on Kurt. Maybe it’ll do the same for you.” Blaine uncaps the tube. Sebastian rolls his eyes for the umpteenth time, and Blaine bites his tongue hard to keep from saying something in front of Kurt that he might regret. “Unless you want to stay splintered. It’s your choice.”

Blaine puts the cap back on the tube, but a hard hand on his arm stops him. Blaine raises an eyebrow. An irritated Sebastian holds his arms out straight, waiting. Blaine relents and applies the glue – not quite as precisely as he had with Kurt, but it is going on four in the morning. Blaine has had about as much of Sebastian’s snark as he can handle for one day, and the sun has yet to rise.

“All right.” Blaine wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. “That’s it. I’m done. I’ve got to go to bed.”

Kurt slips his needle into the fabric of the pants he’s been hemming and sets them down on the cushion beside him. Then he stands and walks over to the love seat.

“He looks pretty good.” Kurt takes Sebastian’s wrists and lifts his arms to examine his shoulder joints. Blaine watches Sebastian’s eyes follow Kurt’s every move with a peculiar sort of admiration. Kurt turns his attention to Blaine, and that admiration snuffs out. “You do incredible work.”

“It’s nothing, really,” Blaine says, fighting his unease at their new house guest.

“You’re damn right it’s nothing,” Sebastian grouses, pulling his wrists from Kurt’s grasp and folding his arms across his chest. “If tying some knots and a little glue is all it took, I could have gotten a first grader to do it for me.”

Blaine hears Kurt sigh beside him. Sebastian turns his head toward the sound but Kurt is staring at his feet. Sebastian was an overbearing enough presence when he was motionless and silent, but now it’s worse. He’s vile and insulting, with a bizarre affection hiding beneath his cynical exterior that he’s fighting hard not to show. But there’s also a connection between him and Kurt. Blaine can feel it spiraling around them. They have history. A past.

But more than anything, Blaine wants to be Kurt’s future.

“Can’t you just say thank you?” Kurt pleads quietly.

“That’s not necessary,” Blaine says.

“No,” Sebastian says, unwilling to let Blaine sweep in and get the upper hand by being humble. “Thank you, Blaine, for putting me back together. I’m in your debt.”

It takes a lot for Blaine to keep from making an unimpressed face. “I’ll remember that,” he says as pointedly as he can. “Let’s head to bed,” Blaine suggests, ignoring the murderous glare coming from Sebastian’s eyes.

“Yes!” Kurt agrees. He hurries to the sofa to collect his pants. “That sounds like a marvelous idea!”

“Yes,” Sebastian grumbles as he prepares to stand for the first time in decades. “Capital plan. Excellent.”

Blaine and Kurt give Sebastian a wide berth as he wobbles to his feet and takes a few tentative steps forward, holding out his arms for balance. Blaine stands nearby, ready to help in case he falls.

Sebastian glares again.

Blaine throws up his hands.

“Come on.” He puts a hand to the small of Kurt’s back and leads him ahead, willing to let Sebastian fall and spend the night sprawled out on the living room floor if he’s going to act like a brat.

But being made of wood and not porcelain, Sebastian gets his footing quicker than Kurt had, the soles of his feet providing a certain amount of grip. He follows the couple to a pair of doors standing side-by-side on the far end of the house.

“This is my brother Cooper’s room,” Blaine says, opening the first door a crack. “He has a king-sized bed.”

Kurt brightens at the thought of occupying the room right next to Blaine’s. Blaine doesn’t seem to notice, but Sebastian does.

He notices, and immediately thinks of a way to exploit it.

“Thanks, Blaine!” he says. “It’ll be nice being so close to your room. In case I get nightmares in the middle of the night.” Sebastian sniffs dramatically, putting a hand to his chest. “If you don’t mind, that is, Kurt. I’m sure there’s another room you can sleep in around here somewhere. Maybe on the other side of the house?”

“Of course, Sebastian,” Kurt says timidly. “If that’s what you want. I wouldn’t want you uncomfortable.”

Blaine watches the exchange with interest. He doesn’t like to judge books by their covers, so to speak, but he’s had enough experience with bullies to figure Sebastian out. He can blame his actions on Andrew all he wants, but the truth is that Sebastian doesn’t need to be a bully because he was bullied. But Kurt is letting himself be bullied, and Blaine isn’t sure exactly why. Kurt thinks he owes Sebastian, that’s clear, but there has to be something more to it than that.

Blaine puts an arm around Kurt’s waist and pulls him towards the second door. “My brother’s got some old clothes hanging in the closet I think might fit you, but other than that, if you need anything at all, go ahead and knock. We’ll help you out.”

“We?” Kurt stares dumbfounded into Blaine’s hazel eyes.

“Yeah,” Blaine says. “I’ve got a bunk bed in my room. I thought that, maybe, you could have the top bunk. Or the bottom. Whatever you want. But the truth is, I’m kind of used to having you around.” Blaine smiles shyly. “I don’t think I could sleep without you. Would you like to join me?”

Kurt’s mouth falls open. Sebastian’s mouth snaps shut.

“Yes,” Kurt says. “Yes, I think I would like that.”

“Great.” Blaine turns the knob and lets the door swing open. He bows at the waist, gesturing inside the room. Kurt giggles as he accepts Blaine’s invitation, hugging his sewing tight to his chest. Blaine walks in after him and shuts the door, ignoring the puppet in the hallway seething at his back.

***

Blaine and Kurt awkwardly approach the bed. Blaine stops once he reaches the frame, but Kurt continues on to the other side, depositing his sewing on Blaine’s desk as he goes.

“So you can pick a bunk …” Blaine reaches up and pats the top mattress, focusing on the plain white sheet that covers it “… or …”

“Or …?”

“Or you could sleep on the bottom bunk … with me? I thought, like last night …”

“I think that would be lovely,” Kurt says, saving Blaine from any further awkwardness.

“Good. That’s … that’s good.” Blaine turns off his lamp and slips beneath the blankets while Kurt shimmies underneath. Blaine stares at the ceiling, suppressing the urge to giggle like a doofus every time he feels Kurt move, knowing that he’s lying beside him.

But as happy as he is – and at this moment, he’s happier than he’s been in a long time – the thought of Kurt kowtowing to Sebastian kills him.

He has to know why.

“Kurt?”

“Yes?”

“Could you explain to me this thing between you and Sebastian?” Blaine asks too quickly, afraid that if he doesn’t get the words out in one breath, he won’t ask at all.

Kurt reaches across the bed beneath the blanket. He finds Blaine’s hand and slips his into Blaine’s grasp.

“Can I … can I explain it to you another time?”

Blaine regards Kurt, glass eyes staring blankly up. He looks so melancholy all of a sudden that Blaine doesn’t have the heart to press him.

“Of course,” he says. “You can tell me when you’re ready. Or not at all. It’s your decision. I’ll respect it.”

“Thank you, Blaine,” Kurt says in a sleepy voice. “I appreciate that.”

Their fingers lace together, and at the touch of Kurt’s palm against his, Blaine falls asleep.

***

It feels like being dropped off a rollercoaster, or skydiving without a parachute, when Blaine finds himself locked in a memory that’s not his own.

That’s where he is now.

Flat on his tailbone on the soft earth, he stares up at a sky full of stars completely unfamiliar to him. He’s not sure exactly where he is or why he’s there, but he’s lying beside a shed behind a Victorian house, nearly identical to the one he’s renovating minus the cartoonish paint job. The lights are on upstairs, and he hears the hum of voices - two people having an argument. There’s a clash of wood against wood, then a bottle shatters. He bolts to his feet, staring up at the lit window shrouded by sheer curtains, diffusing golden light from within. The silhouettes of two men come into view, one trying to hold the other upright while he sways back and forth, nearly falling to the floor regardless. They’re only shadows against curtains to his eyes, but they look so familiar, Blaine knows whatever purpose he has here, that’s where he needs to be.

Instantaneously, he ends up in the room. He doesn’t really practice the skill, it just seems to be a part of who he is. He knows he needs to be there, he wants to be there, and he’s there.

He’s standing in a bedroom, and for a moment, he’s confused. It looks exactly like Kurt’s bedroom in the Victorian house he’s renovating, but he knows he’s not there. Similar theater posters hang on the walls, a Singer sewing machine sits in the corner, a dress form beside that wears a half-finished suit … a suit that resembles the one Blaine had thrown in the trash.

The one Kurt didn’t want to wear.

Andrew made Kurt’s room in that San Diego house a replica of the room he lived in back in the 20s, down to the mahogany furniture.

He’d remembered all these details, recreated them for when he brought Kurt back.

Blaine hears the springs on the mattress whine and sees Sebastian lying back with Kurt straddled over him. He’s holding onto Kurt’s upper arms, wrinkling the shirt Kurt is wearing as Kurt struggles to be free of him. Blaine wants to rush forward, wants to pull Kurt off of him, but he stops. He can’t do a thing. This isn’t his memory. Whatever this is, it’s already happened. But Kurt doesn’t seem too concerned with the antics of his drunk friend, extricating himself easily from Sebastian’s grasp.

“You have to stop doing this to yourself,” Kurt says. “You’re going to drink yourself to death one of these days.”

“Wh-what the fuck do I care?” Sebastian slurs. “It’d be better than playing second fiddle to a God fucking puppet for the rest of my … for the rest of my life!”

Blaine watches Kurt struggle to sit Sebastian up. He succeeds somewhat, but the moment he lets go, Sebastian falls backwards on the pillows. Kurt shakes his head.

He doesn’t try again.

He walks over to the dresser, passing close by Blaine. He’s dressed in a pair of tailored black slacks with a white dress shirt tucked in and a black pin-striped vest. He looks beautiful – his skin soft, his pink lips tempting, his blue eyes icy and unamused. He heads for a basin on the dresser and pours water from a pitcher into it. He drops a cloth in the basin, gives it a moment to absorb. He wrings it out and carries it back to the bed, placing it on Sebastian’s forehead.

“Nothing says you’re going to be playing second fiddle to Sammy,” Kurt reassures him, patting the cloth down. “You’re a smart boy, Sebastian. You have your whole life ahead of you.”

“Yup.” Sebastian groans at the sound of his own voice in his ears. “Do you know I applied for early admission to five different colleges, and I haven’t heard back from a single one? Not even a no, thank you, we hate you, fuck off?” He shakes his head, wincing from the mistake of moving. “Oh, I’m a smart boy, all right. A smart boy who’s going to be playing with puppets for the rest of his life.” He sighs. “It doesn’t matter. He hates me anyway.”

“He doesn’t hate you,” Kurt says. “I think he just wants you to take the act more seriously.”

“But I can’t take it seriously, Kurt! It’s his life, not mine!”

“You know, Sebastian” - Kurt lays beside him on the bed and stares at the ceiling - “I know you don’t think you have a say in your own life, but you do. You really do.”

“That’s easy for you to say.” Sebastian turns on his side and drapes an arm across Kurt’s middle. “You’re not saddled by the ghost of Vaudeville past hovering over your head.”

Kurt runs a hand up Sebastian’s arm, stopping at his shoulder to knead. “Meaning?”

“Meaning my father isn’t your father. You can leave anytime you want. You can go wherever you want. You’re not tied down to this horse and pony show.”

“I don’t intend on staying here forever. In a few more years, I’ll have enough money saved that I …” Kurt lets the sentence drop. Sebastian looks at him with unfocused eyes that can’t seem to decide which image of Kurt they should be looking at.

“Saved up for what?”

“Well,” Kurt starts after a hard swallow, “to move to New York. Try and make it big on the stage.”

Sebastian gasps – a sound Kurt misinterprets for mocking.

“I could do it! There are musicals opening all the time out there! My friend from Lima – Rachel – she moved there with her intended last year, and she’s been in the chorus of three musicals already! Or I could go to Hollywood. Maybe try to be in a motion picture.”

“Traitor,” Sebastian mutters, but not vindictively.

Kurt smiles. “You’re probably right. But my point is, we don’t have to do this forever.”

“Really?” Sebastian inches closer to Kurt, his eyes flicking over Kurt’s lips in that same way Blaine has done so many times before. “And what do you think I should do?”

“Start over,” Kurt suggests. “Make a life that’s your own. One you can be proud of.”

“A-ha,” Sebastian scoffs. “And how do you recommend I do that?”

“You can start by telling your dad how you feel.” Kurt slides away when he notices how close Sebastian’s face has come to his. Sebastian slumps back, his expression changing to that mask of condescension he wears so easily.

“You’re such a simpleton, Hummel,” Sebastian spits in Kurt’s face. “Such a Goddamned simpleton.” He swings his feet off the edge of the bed, pushing himself upright, and lets the wet cloth on his forehead fall to the floor. He sways unsteadily, grabbing onto the bedpost for stability. “Such a simpleton … and that’s why you’re never going to be famous.”

Sebastian’s drunken muttering gets interrupted by a crash of bottles breaking and cursing from downstairs.

Kurt gets up, too, and stares Sebastian square in the face. “Maybe I am a simpleton, but I’m a simpleton who’s going to get out of here and never look back. Unless you want to die here, you need to grab your chance … before it’s too late.”

Sebastian stares Kurt down, thinking of some vicious remark, some comment so crippling it will cut Kurt down for good. But he gives up instead, turns his head toward the window with a forlorn expression on his face. “I’ll pass.”

Kurt blows by Sebastian with a force that shoves him back down onto the bed.

“Coward.”

He breezes straight through Blaine’s body and marches down the stairs. Blaine waits a moment before he follows, watching Sebastian curl in on himself on Kurt’s bed. He grabs one of Kurt’s pillows and pulls it against his chest, burying his head into it and breathing in deep. Then, in the new silence, Sebastian begins to cry.

Blaine backs out of the room, his eyes holding on to the image of a broken Sebastian, of what he can see of the boy’s face as he sobs. It spears Blaine straight to his soul.

He knows how Sebastian feels.

The room, with its lantern still lit, begins to darken in his mind, and he knows he’s no longer supposed to be here. He turns and makes his way down the stairs to watch the scene already in progress - Kurt helping another drunk man off the floor, rolling his eyes as if to say, “Great. Another melodramatic idiot.”

“It’s over,” the older man moans, sounding remarkably like his son upstairs. “Done. All done. The last nail has been hammered into the coffin. Our lives are over!”

“What is it?” Kurt asks, setting the man on his feet. “What’s done?” Andrew tries to walk. He barely takes a step before he falls forward. Kurt rushes to intercept the man before he lands on his face.

“Vaudeville,” Andrew says. “Vaudeville’s dead.”

Stunned, Kurt almost drops him. “What!? It can’t be!”

“Well, it is, son.” Andrew leans on Kurt as he makes his way to his chair. “It’s all these new fangled talkies. They did it. They killed us, boy.”

A cloud of guilt crosses Kurt’s face over his thoughts of wanting to break into movies, but it passes. Kurt kneels at Andrew’s feet.

“What are you going to do now?” he asks. If Andrew notices that Kurt says you instead of we, he doesn’t show it.

“I don’t know, my boy.” Andrew puts a hand on Kurt’s and pats it gently. “I just don’t know.”

Kurt looks into the fireplace, watches the flames he’d lit dance over the logs they’re consuming.

“You know,” he starts out, and Blaine gets a distinct feeling of déjà vu. This is how the conversation upstairs with Sebastian started out. Blaine is beginning to see a picture of a young boy who tried so hard to keep this disjointed family together, “I hear that some of those motion picture studios are filming Vaudeville acts …” Kurt pauses, gauging Andrew’s reaction. The man doesn’t seem to be listening. For a second, Blaine thinks he might have fallen asleep. But then his head pops up and he stares at Kurt with an incredulous look on his face.

“If you’re suggesting what I think you’re suggesting, that’s … that’s blasphemy!” he yells, sweeping an arm and knocking over an end table, sending books and papers sliding over the floor. “How can we join their ranks when they’ve destroyed our livelihood?”

Blaine catches sight of one black book – a journal. It spins as it travels underneath the chair, but Blaine can see the first three numbers: 193-.

“If this is the way things are headed,” Kurt says carefully, “maybe we should go with the flow.”

Andrew shakes his head, covering his eyes with his hand.

“Mr. Smythe, these movies that they’re making … they’re going to be around for ages,” Kurt explains. “You will be remembered long after we’re all gone. People will be watching your act for generations to come. They’ll be able to tell their children and their grandchildren about the great Andrew Smythe.”

Andrew sighs but he doesn’t speak, considering Kurt’s words.

Or saddened by them.

“No, no. It wouldn’t work,” he decides. “I can’t do anything else. I’ve lived on greasepaint and sawdust my entire life. It’s all I know. I’m a creature of habit, Kurt, and this dog’s too old to learn any new tricks.”

Kurt nods, jaw clenched tight.

When he opens his mouth to speak, Blaine is sure it’s to tell Andrew that he’s leaving.

And perhaps it was, but he has second thoughts.

“Why don’t I go make us some tea? Sober you up a bit. Lord knows your son could use some sobering up, too …” Kurt slips his hand from beneath Andrew’s and stands.

“All right,” Andrew says softly. “If you think that’s best.” Blaine can’t help noticing that the man’s eyes look awfully clear as they follow Kurt’s footsteps, watch him disappear into the kitchen.

Blaine wants to join Kurt, but he has a strong feeling there’s something here that he needs to see.

Andrew gets up from his chair rather steadily and starts cleaning up the overturned table. There are pictures and letters all over the floor. Blaine comes up behind the man and watches him sort through them. Andrew picks through the letters first and Blaine reads the first few lines of each one – foreclosure notices from the bank, repo letters for everything from his car to their furniture, a hock slip for his wedding ring, a bank statement with more negative signs than numbers.

Andrew was so far in debt there seemed to be no way for him to dig himself out.

After those, there were letters written to Andrew from Kurt’s dad asking, “How has my son been? When will I hear from you? Here is the money you requested. Please let me know when my son gets over his illness. I’m sorry the doctor’s bills are so high but I’ll send you anything I can.”

Blaine’s skin begins to crawl as he reads Kurt’s father’s pleas over and over.

Andrew Smythe, the detestable asshole he was, had been scamming Kurt’s dad for money.

Blaine’s hands clench at his sides, his eyes burning with hate. Just when Blaine’s loathing of Andrew couldn’t get any stronger, couldn’t run any deeper, the final letter shatters every ideal Kurt has built up in him that Andrew might be any shred of a decent human being.

It’s a letter from Stanford University.

Dear Andrew Smythe:

Congratulations! We would like to extend an offer of early admission to your son, Sebastian Smythe, to our university for the upcoming spring semester!

Andrew gathers the letters together and wrings them in his hands, throttling them and then tossing them into the fireplace.

“You bastard!” Blaine breathes, hands shaking as he looks down at the hunched over man. “You evil, good-for-nothing, son-of-a …!”

A kettle whistling splits the air. Andrew’s head pops up toward the kitchen to see if Kurt is coming with his tea. When he doesn’t appear, Andrew picks up a poker and stabs at the mash of burnt paper, pushing it deeper into the flames, upsetting the logs so that the top one teeters in its attempt to hide the evidence. Both Andrew and Blaine turn their heads at the sound of footsteps, but they bypass the living room and fade up the staircase.

Blaine figures Kurt probably brought a cup of tea to Sebastian first to make sure he was okay.

Andrew has the same idea.

He gathers up the photographs next. He looks through them quickly, photo after photo of Sebastian and Kurt from years past – playing ball in the yard, performing on stage, swimming in a pond, walking down the street hand-in-hand. He reaches beneath the chair and grabs his journal. He opens the book to the middle, sticks the photos in the spine, and places the book back on the table by the fire.

“My family,” he says, sitting in his chair. “No one is going to split up my family. Not even you, Sebastian. You’re not leaving and taking my Kurt with you. I won’t let you.”

Blaine hears a thud from above them. Andrew’s eyes shut, entirely unconcerned about the goings on above his head.

Moments later, he’s fast asleep.

Blaine can’t look at him. He can’t look at the man who is so intent on living out his own dying dream that he’s willing to destroy the lives of his son and the boy he’s sworn to take care of, and can still sleep soundly.

There’s only one place Blaine wants to be right now, one person he wants to be with, even if that person is a memory.

Blaine hurries up the staircase to Kurt’s room. He hears another thud before he gets there. He peeks his head in and sees Kurt pulling off Sebastian’s socks after having taken off his shoes. After the socks, he moves up to Sebastian’s neck, loosening his tie.

Sebastian’s eyes open, his hands lifting to hold Kurt’s wrists. Kurt ignores him and continues with the necktie.

“Run away with me,” Sebastian whispers. “We’ll go to Hollywood, or New York, or anywhere you want. Let’s just … let’s just be together …” With eyes fixed on Kurt’s face, he rolls his head slightly and places a kiss on Kurt’s hand. Kurt sighs, stopping with the ends of Sebastian’s tie in his hands.

“I love you, Sebastian,” Kurt says. “I do but … not the way you love me. I’m sorry.”

Sebastian’s eyelids close and his head falls to the side, a single tear slipping down his cheek.

“Oh, Seb …” Kurt lies down beside the boy on the bed, the tea forgotten. He presses his forehead to Sebastian’s and closes his eyes. “What am I supposed to do with you?”

Blaine watches a tear roll down Kurt’s cheek, a match to Sebastian’s, which has already dried into his skin. Blaine begins to see. This is where Kurt’s guilt comes from. This is why he feels so obligated to Sebastian.

Sebastian loved Kurt. Kurt didn’t love him back.

Blaine doesn’t know how long he spends staring at the two before he smells smoke rising up the staircase. He turns in the doorway and sees it billow higher and higher. He hears a sniff as the smell registers with Kurt, too, and he sits up in bed. He climbs over the edge and heads for the staircase with Blaine close behind.

“Mr. Smythe?” Kurt calls down, coughing as the smoke finally hits him. “Mr. … Mr. Smythe?” Kurt covers his nose and mouth with his arm and makes his way down the stairs.

The living room is almost entirely engulfed in flames.

“Mr. Smythe!” Kurt finds the man passed out in his chair. A single lit log sits on the floor not too far from his feet, the fire spreading quickly as it eats its way over the hardwood floor.

“Sebastian!” Kurt yells as he rushes into the living room, hopping around patches of fire. “Sebastian, wake up!”

Kurt gathers Andrew up under his arm and lifts him to his feet, dragging him through the living room and out the front door as if the old man weighs nothing.

Blaine doesn’t consciously follow them but in the blink of an eye he’s outside. Kurt lays Andrew down on the ground, the older man coughing up a mouthful of spit and ash.

Kurt looks around them in the dark, desperate for any sign of Sebastian.

“Mr. Smythe! Mr. Smythe, I don’t see Sebastian! I don’t think he got out!” Kurt looks back as the old Victorian surrenders to the fire. His heart races. The windows to the upstairs bedrooms are the only ones not aglow with orange flame. If Sebastian is upstairs, he might still be okay. But he’s running out of time. “You stay here! I’m going to go get him!”

Kurt prepares to run but Andrew reaches out a hand and grabs him. Kurt looks into the man’s soot-stained face as he shakes his head.

“Leave … leave him,” he says, his raspy voice competing with the fire to be heard.

“What!?” Kurt’s eyes go wide. “No! We … we can’t leave him! He’s your son!”

“No. You’re my son, Kurt. You always have been.”

Kurt stares at Andrew, stunned by the man’s insanity. “No, I’m not,” he says sternly.

“You’ve been a far better son than …” Andrew stops there, clears his throat. “Let him go, Kurt. Let him go the way his mother did, and then maybe they can be together … and Sebastian will finally be happy.”

“No!” Kurt tears his arm from Andrew’s grasp and runs back into the house with cries of, “Leave him, Kurt!” echoing behind him. Blaine races after him. The heat from the fire assaults his skin, the flames blind him. Every solid object in the house has been reduced to waves of black without definition or color. He hears a scream – Kurt’s voice calling out Sebastian’s name through coughs and pleas of Please, get up! Please, Sebastian! I can’t carry you!

“I’m coming!” Blaine yells into the fire even as flames keep him backed into the doorway. “Kurt! I’m coming! Just … hold on!”

I’ll go with you, Sebastian! I’ll go to New York with you! I promise, just please … get up … I … I can’t … brea---

Blaine hears a crack, like the break in a massive tree during a harsh storm. It’s loud enough to make his ears ring. The ceiling gives way, and what was once the second floor falls with a tremendous crash down to the first, beams and supports blockading the doorway, sealing the boys inside.

Sirens fill the air, the roar of fire engines racing down the street towards them.

Fire engines that will never reach them in time.

“Kurt!” Blaine hears Andrew yell in a panic. “Kurt! No!”

As the image dissolves and the heat from the fire fades, it’s not Andrew’s voice Blaine hears calling out Kurt’s name anymore. It’s his own voice - his mouth dry, his throat burning. After a second of silence, another voice joins his.

“Blaine?” The voice sounds foggy and far away. Blaine wants to get to it, to hold it, to belong to it. He runs toward it in his mind. He opens his mouth to scream, but no sound comes out. “Blaine?” A hand shakes his shoulder. “Wake up, sweetie. Wake up.”

Blaine can’t make his eyes open, and in his mind, he’s running in the dark.

“Blaine, I need you to wake up.”

Blaine reaches for the hand on his shoulder and closes his fingers around it. Touching it forces new images to flood his mind:

Kurt lying in the cellar, broken in a hundred irreparable pieces.

Kurt dressed in a fine suit with sorrow-filled eyes.

Kurt sighing with his head stuck out the window of Blaine’s car.

Kurt lying in the sun, his porcelain skin glowing with soft, golden light.

Kurt pressing cool lips against Blaine’s skin.

“Wake up,” Kurt whispers.

Blaine’s eyes fly open and he’s staring at Kurt – puppet Kurt.

“Blaine?” Kurt puts a hand behind Blaine’s head and strokes his hair. “What’s wrong?”

Blaine can’t speak, his heart pounding so hard he feels physically ill. The blankets on his side of the bed have been shoved off his body and his skin is covered in sweat. And even though he’s in his own room, surrounded by four unburnt walls, his sinuses reek of wood smoke every time he breathes in.

“You died … you died in a fire,” Blaine pants, his voice raw.

Kurt flinches, but he doesn’t move away. “Yes,” Kurt says calmly. “Yes, I did.”

Blaine’s heart races so fast his whole body feels ready to explode. “Do you remember?”

“I sort of do. Not entirely. It was a notion … or a nightmare. But now that you say it out loud like that, I know it’s true.”

A sea of revelations flood Blaine’s brain.

“You saved Andrew’s life. You tried to save Sebastian’s.”

Kurt’s lips twitch as they attempt to smile. “I tried. I really did try. But the fire spread so fast, we got caught up in it.”

Blaine watches Kurt relive the memory in his mind and curses to himself. Without intending to, he invaded Kurt’s privacy. It was like he read Kurt’s diary, only worse. He was there, he saw it all – he didn’t have the right.

“I’m sorry.” Blaine shivers as the sweat cools on his skin and his heartbeat slows to a normal pace. “I didn’t mean to. It just … happens.”

“No …” Kurt reaches for the blanket and drags it up over Blaine’s body, tucks it in around him. “It saves me trying to find the words to tell you …”

“... that Sebastian loves you?” The words slip out before Blaine can stop them. Kurt keeps tucking, pushing gently on Blaine’s shoulders to lay him back down.

“Yes,” Kurt says, “but I didn’t love him. Not that way.” Kurt cards his fingers through Blaine’s curls, pulling tangles loose while Blaine thinks back on everything he saw, the tragedy of Kurt’s life ending before his eyes.

“What does it feel like to die?”

“I don’t really remember. The feeling of dying, I mean. That moment when you go from being to not being anymore.” Kurt pauses. “I remember being scared, knowing I was going to die. But then I wasn’t scared anymore. I guess at that point I was gone and nothing else mattered. I remember being apart from my body, moving away to something bright and glorious. I could feel it at my back, and as much as I wanted to go to it, I couldn’t. There were too many people I needed to see. Too many people I wanted to take care of.”

“Andrew?” The name leaves a bitter taste on Blaine’s tongue.

“Yes.” Kurt winds an arm around Blaine’s waist. Blaine scoots forward, and Kurt snakes another arm beneath Blaine’s neck. “And my dad. He came to the funeral. I saw him there. He looked so lost. I wanted to go to him, to apologize, to tell him I should never have left him, but the funny thing was, I knew he would be fine. Sebastian’s dad … he blamed himself so much for what happened to us. I couldn’t leave him. Despite everything, he took care of us.”

Blaine thinks over the memory of that night, of everything that happened while Kurt was upstairs talking to Sebastian.

“How did you know about the letters?” Blaine yawns, leans his head into Kurt’s chest. “From your dad, from Stanford …”

“Sebastian’s dad told me.” Kurt runs his fingers up Blaine’s back. “When he was putting me … putting this puppet body together. And when he performed the spell, we shared some of his memories. All spells have a price, and this one … it forces you to confess your deepest secrets. We saw everything, heard everything. That’s how we found out.”

And without meaning to, Blaine’s heart splinters … for Sebastian.

The room goes still. Kurt waits for Blaine to say something, ask another question.

Several minutes pass and still nothing.

“Blaine?” Kurt looks into the face of the boy in his arms. His eyes had fluttered shut a while ago. He breathes in deep, relaxed, asleep but not completely at peace. Kurt rests his cheek atop Blaine’s head, in the nest of his curly hair. What he wouldn’t give to feel Blaine’s hair tickling his cheek, or to smell his shampoo. Blaine makes a small noise and moves in closer, and Kurt shakes any thoughts of self-pity from his head. He has too much to look forward to in this new life to spend time lingering on his regrets. He presses a kiss to the top of Blaine’s head and lets himself fall into that place that’s not exactly awake for him, not exactly asleep, but lets him ponder the possibilities of this new life, this new world, this new boy.

This new chance for love.

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Peas Quotes

Official Website: Peas Quotes

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  • A man must have something to cling to. Without that he is as a pea vine sprawling in search of a trellis…. I was all asprawl, clinging to Beauty, which is a very restless trellis. – E. B. White • A minister has to be able to read a clock. At noon, it’s time to go home and turn up the pot roast and get the peas out of the freezer. – Garrison Keillor • A monkey was carrying two handfuls of peas. One little pea dropped out. He tried to pick it up, and split twenty. He tried to pick up the twenty, and split them all. Then he lost his temper, scattered the peas in all directions and ran away – Leo Tolstoy • A solid man of Boston; A comfortable man with dividends, And the first salmon and the first green peas. – Henry Wadsworth Longfellow • A typical Irish dinner would be: cream flavored with lobster, cream with bits of veal in it, green peas and cream, cream cheese, cream flavored with strawberries. – Nancy Mitford • All I wanted was to be a pea of being inside the green pod of time. – Billy Collins • All things here appear to me to trudge on in one and the same round: we rise in the morning that we may eat breakfast, dinner andsupper and to bed again that we may get up the next morning and do the same: so that you never saw two peas more alike than our yesterday and to-day. – Thomas Jefferson • An election cannot give a country a firm sense of direction if it has two or more national parties which merely have different names but are as alike in their principles and aims as peas in the same pod. – Franklin D. Roosevelt • As cows need milking and sweet peas need picking, so writers must continually exercise their mental muscles by a daily stint. – Joan Aiken • Aspirin is so good for roses, brandy for sweet peas, and a squeeze of lemon-juice for the fleshy flowers, like begonias. – Gerald Durrell

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• Banquet: a plate of cold, hairy chicken and artificially coloured green peas completely surrounded by dreary speeches and appeals for donations. – Bennett Cerf • Barney’s Dad was really bad so Barney hatched a plan when his dad said “Eat your peas.” Barney shouted no and ran Barney tricked his mean old dad and locked him in the cellar Barney’s Mom never found out where he’d gone, Cause Barney didn’t tell her. There his dad spent his life eating mice and gruel With every bite for fifty years he was sorry he’d been cruel – Bill Watterson • Be careful what you say. It comes true. It comes true. I had to leave home in order to see the world logically, logic the new way of seeing. I learned to think that mysteries are for explanation. I enjoy the simplicity. Concrete pours out of my mouth to cover the forests with freeways and sidewalks. Give me plastics, periodical tables, TV dinners with vegetables no more complex than peas mixed with diced carrots. Shine floodlights into dark corners: no ghosts. – Maxine Hong Kingston • Being pretty on the inside means you don’t hit your brother and you eat all your peas – that’s what my grandma taught me. – Lord Chesterfield • Blue does not go with everything,” Will told her. “It does not go with red, for instance.” “I have a red and blue striped waistcoat,” Henry interjected, reaching for the peas. “And if that isn’t proof that those two colors should never be seen together under Heaven, I don’t know what is. – Cassandra Clare

• Cacao is rich in happy phenethylamine chemicals called PEA. These compounds have been associated with feeling good and falling in love. – David Wolfe • Catherine went still. Her eyes closed against a sudden wet sting. ‘Did you accept her proposal?’ Leo nuzzled tenderly into the hollow beneath her ear. ‘Of course not, pea-goose. – Lisa Kleypas • Children pick up words as pigeons peas And utter them again as God shall please. – John Ray • Civilisation makes us all as alike as peas in a pod, and it is the very uncouth – uncivilised, if you will – element which individualises nations. – Alec-Tweedie • Donald Trump has said that I would like to sit down and talk to people, work things out. Well, guess what? Some of the evidence is that was, he went straight to Mexico and sat down and had a conference and a meeting directly with Pea Nieto to go over all this. OK, that. – Kimberly Guilfoyle • Dried peas and beans, being rather on the dull side, much like dull people respond readily to the right contacts. – Irma S. Rombauer • For a hungry man, green peas are more shiny than gleaming pearls. – Mehmet Murat Ildan • Frozen peas can be shelled very fast with a wringer-type washer. Put a pan on one side of the wringer to catch the peas and the pods go on through. You will think peas will go through the wringer and be mashed the moment the pod hits the wringer, but they will pop out before they go through. A very fast job can be done this way. – Heloise • Hebrew was frozen, like frozen peas, fresh out of the Bible. – Etgar Keret • Here are sweet peas, on tiptoe for a flight; With wings of gentle flush o’er delicate white, And taper fingers catching at all things, To bind them all about with tiny rings. – John Keats • Hey, look at this!” He holds up a glistening, perfect pearl about the size of a pea. “You know, if you put enough pressure on coal it turns to pearls,” he says earnestly to Finnick. “No, it doesn’t,” says Finnick dismissively. But I crack up, remembering that’s how a clueless Effie Trinket presented us to the people of the Capitol last year, before anyone knew us. As coal pressured into pearls by our weighty existence. Beauty that arose out of pain. – Suzanne Collins • How long have you been here? (Jericho) Don’t know. Again, tried to count once, got depressed so I stopped. I find it easier to just go with the flow. Ease with the peas. (Asmodeus) Ease with the peas? (Jericho) Yeah, that’s not a happy memory, either. Let’s forget I mentioned it. (Asmodeus) – Sherrilyn Kenyon • How lucious lies the pea within the pod. – Emily Dickinson • How much courage does it take to fire up your tractor and plow under a crop you spent six or seven years growing? How much courage to go on and do that after you’ve spent all that time finding out how to prepare the soil and when to plant and how much to water and when to reap? How much to just say, “I have to quit these peas. Peas are no good for me, I better try corn or beans. – Stephen King • Hugh Grant and I both laugh and cringe at the same things, worship the same books, eat the same food, hate central heating and sleep with the window open. I thought these things were vital, but being two peas in a pod ended up not being enough. – Elizabeth Hurley • I am as comfortless as a pilgrim with peas in his shoes – and as cold as Charity, Chastity or any other Virtue. – Lord Byron • I cannot wait to go get my fried butter on a stick, and fried cheesecake on a stick and…Twinkies, especially in honor of those who would rather just be forced to eat our peas. – Sarah Palin • I had pecs for about two days. Everyone would hate me. Just look at me walking around with my little peacoat on. My little customized pea coat. – Robert Pattinson • I have a few cavities. I don’t like to call them cavities, though – I like to call them ‘places to put stuff’. ‘Do you know where I can store a pea’ ‘Yes, I have some locations available.’ – Mitch Hedberg • I like not lady-slippers, Nor yet the sweet-pea blossoms, Nor yet the flaky roses, Red or white as snow; I like the chaliced lilies, The heavy Eastern lilies, The gorgeous tiger-lilies, That in our garden grow. – Thomas Bailey Aldrich • I liked playing Morph in Mash and Peas and doing Phil Daniels in the Blur Rock Profile was a giggle too. – Paul Putner • I listen to my iPod as I walk on. If I’m winning I’ll listen to the same song, that’s like a good luck thing – usually The Black Eyed Peas’ Let’s Get It Started. – Andy Murray • I love fresh vegetables and we always include them in our meals. I don’t force my kids to eat asparagus, but they do eat peas, broccoli, and carrots. – Alison Sweeney • I loved pop music as a little kid. Things like the Black Eyed Peas. If it had a catchy chorus, I was into it.- James Bay • I met Mel [Brooks] backstage in Anne’s [Bancroft] dressing room. He was wearing one of those pea coats, pea jackets that were made famous by the Merchant Marines, and I admired it and he said, “You know, they used to call this a urine jacket, but it didn’t sell.” – Gene Wilder • I must be like the princess who felt the pea through seven mattresses; each book is a pea. – C. S. Forester • I never dream in French, but certain French words seem better or more fun than English words – like ‘pois chiches’ for chick peas! – Lydia Davis • I think Black Eyed Peas are kind of unique in the ways they produce their songs. Their songs are very current. – Steve Pink • I think everything happens for a reason and all of my choices have led me up to my solo album and made me stronger, not only as an artist but as a person. I want to do more the Black Eyed Peas albums and more of my own albums. I’m in this for the long run. – Fergie • I thought that I had found something new. But then I convinced myself that the Abbot Gregor Mendel in Brünn, had, during the sixties, not only obtained the same result through extensive experiments with peas, which lasted for many years, as did de Vries and I, but had also given exactly the same explanation, as far as that was possible in 1866. – Carl Correns • I used to visit and revisit it a dozen times a day, and stand in deep contemplation over my vegetable progeny with a love that nobody could share or conceive of who had never taken part in the process of creation. It was one of the most bewitching sights in the world to observe a hill of beans thrusting aside the soil, or a rose of early peas just peeping forth sufficiently to trace a line of delicate green. – Nathaniel Hawthorne • I will be brave, thought Despereaux. I will try to be brave like a knight in shining armour. I will be brave for the Princess Pea. – Kate DiCamillo • I will say A Pea in the Pod saved my life – at the end of my pregnancy. I even wear their tanks now to work out in because they’re really long. – Kim Kardashian • I worry about people who get born nowadays, because they get born into such tiny families–sometimes into no family at all. When you’re the only pea in the pod, your parents are likely to get you confused with the Hope Diamond. And that encourages you to talk too much. – Russell Baker • If the Earth is the size of a pea in New York, then the Sun is a beachball 50m away, Pluto is 4km away, and the next nearest star is in Tokyo. Now shrink Pluto’s orbit into a coffee cup; then our Milky Way Galaxy fills North America. – Wayne Hays • If you don’t have at least a working knowledge of the Hawaiian language… you can’t chant well. You cannot… receive the images of poetry paints for you. It’s like having peas and no pod. – Keali’i Reichel • If you gave kids peas that didn’t look like peas and said they were a space shuttle, they’re much more apt to eat them because it’s now playtime. – Hod Lipson • If you want to grow up to be a big, strong pea, you have to eat your candy,” Papa Pea would say. – Amy Krouse Rosenthal • I’m a great believer in conversational rhythm. I think in terms of rhythmic dialogue. It’s so easy, you can talk naturally. It’s like peas rolling off a knife. Take the great screen actors and actresses, Bette Davis, Eddie Robinson, Jimmy Cagney, Spencer Tracy. They all talk in rhythm. And rhythm and movement are the life of the screen. – Lorenz Hart • I’m good in the kitchen. I can cook seafood, collard greens, black-eyed peas. – Monique Coleman • I’m obsessed with broccoli, carrots, celery, string beans, snap peas, black kale, brussels sprouts, cabbage – I could go on! They used to call me ‘rabbit’ when I was a kid. I hate mushrooms, though. I apologize to fungi lovers, but this way, there’s more for you! – Lisa Edelstein • In order to get big things done, sometimes, presidents have to be deft at moving the pea around under the shells. – Charlie Pierce • In school, they would tell you that life wouldn’t come to you; you had to go out and make it your own. But when it came to love, the message for girls seemed to be this: Don’t. Don’t go after what you want. Wait. Wait to be chosen, as if only in the eye of another could one truly find value. The message was confusing and infuriating. It was a shell game with no actual pea under the rapidly moving cups. – Libba Bray • In the early years of the Uprising, we survived on one meal a day of horse meat and soup, but by the end we ate only dried peas, dogs, cats and birds. – Diane Ackerman • In the game of life, less diversity means fewer options for change. Wild or domesticated, panda or pea, adaptation is the requirement for survival. – Cary Fowler • In the range of things toddlers have to learn and endlessly review–why you can’t put bottles with certain labels in your mouth, why you have to sit on the potty, why you can’t take whatever you want in the store, why you don’t hit your friends–by the time we got to why you can’t drop your peas, well, I was dropping a few myself. – Mary Blakely • Is that clear?” said Borcht “as clear as pea soup” I said – James Patterson • It is a great delusion to suppose that flesh-meat of any kind is essential to health. Considerably more than three parts of the work in the world is done by men who never taste anything but vegetable, farinaceous food, and that of the simplest kind. There are more strength-producing properties in wholemeal flour, peas, beans, lentils, oatmeal, roots, and other vegetables of the same class, than there are beef or mutton, poultry or fish, or animal food of any description whatever. – Catherine Booth • It suddenly struck me that that tiny pea, pretty and blue, was the Earth. I put up my thumb and shut one eye, and my thumb blotted out the planet Earth. I didn’t feel like a giant. I felt very, very small. – Neil Armstrong • It was Lisa, aged five, whose mother asked her to thank my wife for the peas we had sent them from our garden. ‘I thought the peas were awful, I wish you and Mrs. Thurber were dead, and I hate trees,’ said Lisa. – James Thurber • It’s a trifle. It’s got all of these layers. First there’s a layer of ladyfingers, then a layer of jam, then custard, which I made from scratch, then raspberries, more ladyfingers, then beef sauteed with peas and onions, then a little more custard, and then bananas, and then I just put some whipped cream on top! – Rachel • Lack of world vision in any Christian produces a ‘pea-sized Christianity’. – David Bryant • Let us consider what we call vicious luxury. No gratification, however sensual, can of itself be esteemed vicious. A gratification is only vicious when it engrosses all a man’s expense, and leaves no ability for such acts of duty and generosity as are required by his situation and fortune. The same care and toil that raise a dish of peas at Christmas would give bread to a whole family during six months. – David Hume • Lives are snowflakes – unique in detail, forming patterns we have seen before, but as like one another as peas in a pod (and have you ever looked at peas in a pod? I mean, really looked at them? There’s not a chance you’d mistake one for another, after a minute’s close inspection.) – Neil Gaiman • Love is ridiculous. But love is also wonderful. And powerful. And Despereaux’s love for the Princess Pea would prove, in time, to be all of these things: powerful, wonderful, and ridiculous. – Kate DiCamillo • Mainstream people dislike homosexuality because they can’t help concentrating on what homosexual men do to one another. And when you contemplate what people do, you think of yourself doing it. And they don’t like that. That’s the famous joke: I don’t like peas, and I’m glad I don’t like them, because if I liked them I would eat them and I hate them. – Quentin Crisp • Memory overshadows the present and dims the future “into something thicker than its usual pea soup.” – Vladimir Nabokov • Mostly, I spend my time being a mother to my two children, working in my organic garden, raising masses of sweet peas, being passionately involved in conservation, recycling and solar energy. – Blythe Danner • My boy, the ‘quenelles de sole’ were splendid, but the peas were poor. You should shake the pan gently, all the time, like this. – Marie-Antoine Careme • My cat is completely blind. I am watching her now, sweet-pea that is, circling the kitchen floor and bumping into the kitchen chairs. She is kind of like a furry ball in a pinball machine…she bumps into something and then just turns and moves on…it makes me smile – although i know it’s just not that funny. I think i laugh because what i really feel like doing, is crying – Jann Arden • My family lived off the land and summer evening meals featured baked stuffed tomatoes, potato salad, corn on the cob, fresh shelled peas and homemade ice cream with strawberries from our garden. With no air conditioning in those days, the cool porch was the center of our universe after the scorching days. – David Mixner • My favorite healthy foods are Jamaican chicken soup, Jamaican chicken stew peas, Jamaican brown stew chicken, plantains and banana chips. – Sanya Richards-Ross • My musical taste is like a 16-year-old girl’s when it comes to working out – Rihanna, Black Eyed Peas, Miley Cyrus. I love it all! – Jessica Capshaw • My solo album is different from the Black Eyed Peas albums because I’m a singer first and foremost. There are more ballads and more intimacy between me and the listener because sometimes when you’re in a group you don’t have space to air out your dirty laundry. – Fergie • My teacher said my brain was the size of a pea. He made my life miserable by singling me out in the classroom as a failure. – Willard Wigan • No member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints who has canned peas, topped beets, hauled hay, shoveled coal, or helped in any way to serve others ever forgets or regrets the experience of helping provide for those in need. – Thomas S. Monson • Nobody wants somebody who wants them for what they have or the position their in- you want somebody who wants you for you. In case it all goes crazy and it all turns to dust. I want somebody who loves me in the welfare line, eating gumbo, eating fish,black eyed peas and rice. I want somebody that loves me. God wants you to love him, not his cars, not his house, not his blessing- love him. – T. D. Jakes • Nothing rekindles my spirits, gives comfort to my heart and mind, more than a visit to Mississippi… and to be regaled as I often have been, with a platter of fried chicken, field peas, collard greens, fresh corn on the cob, sliced tomatoes with French dressing… and to top it all off with a wedge of freshly baked pecan pie. – Craig Claiborne • Now hoppin’-john was F. Jasmine’s very favorite food. She had always warned them to wave a plate of rice and peas before her nose when she was in her coffin, to make certain there was no mistake; for if a breath of life was left in her, she would sit up and eat, but if she smelled the hopping-john, and did not stir, then they could just nail down the coffin and be certain she was truly dead. – Carson McCullers • October, baptize me with leaves! Swaddle me in corduroy and nurse me with split pea soup. October, tuck tiny candy bars in my pockets and carve my smile into a thousand pumpkins. O autumn! O teakettle! O grace! – Rainbow Rowell • One recent menu for suspected terrorists at Guantanamo consisted of orange glazed chicken, fresh fruit crepe, steamed peas and mushrooms, and rice pilaf. Sounds like the sort of thing you’d get at Windows on the World – if it still existed. – Ann Coulter • Our full humanity is contingent on our hospitality; we can be complete only when we are giving something away; when we sit at the table and pass the peas to the person next to us we see that person in a whole new way. – Alice Waters • Pea was aware suddenly of how fragile her heart was, how much darkness was inside it, fighting, always, with the light. She did not like the rat. She would neverlike the rat, but she knew what she must do to save her own heart. – Kate DiCamillo • Peas baffled me. I could not understand why grown-ups would take things that tasted so good raw, and then put them in tins, and make them revolting. – Neil Gaiman • Peas went with carrots as infallibly as ham went with eggs. For years I thought carrots and peas grew on the same vine. – Peg Bracken • People ate bread made of the shells of peas because there was no flour. – Bel Kaufman • Poetry is a rich, full-bodied whistle, cracked ice crunching in pails, the night that numbs the leaf, the duel of two nightingales, the sweet pea that has run wild, Creation’s tears in shoulder blades. – Boris Pasternak • Reader, you may ask this queston. In fact, you must ask this question. Is it ridiculous for a very small, sickly, big-eared mouse to fall in love with a beautiful princess named Pea? The answer is… Yes. Of course it’s ridiculous. Love is ridiculous. But love is also wonderful. And powerful. – Kate DiCamillo • Rice and peas fit into that category of dishes where two ordinary foods, combined together, ignite a pleasure far beyond the capacity of either of its parts alone. Like rhubarb and strawberries, apple pie and cheese, roast pork and sage, the two tastes and textures meld together into the sort of subtle transcendental oneness that we once fantasized would be our experience when we finally found the ideal mate. – John Thorne • Runny’s Nicpic One day Runny Babbit Met little Franny Fog. He said, “Let’s have a nicpic Down by the lollow hog.” He brought some cutter bookies, Some teanuts and some pea. And what did Franny Fog bring? Her whole fog framily. – Shel Silverstein • She could not explain or quite understand that it wasn’t altogether jealousy she felt, it was rage. And not because she couldn’t shop like that or dress like that. It was because that was what girls were supposed to be like. That was what men – people, everybody – thought they should be like. Beautiful, treasured, spoiled, selfish, pea-brained. That was what a girl should be, to be fallen in love with. Then she would become a mother and she’d be all mushily devoted to her babies. Not selfish anymore, but just as pea-brained. Forever. – Alice Munro • Soft petals, yes, but not so barren quite, Mingled with these, smooth bean and wrinkled pea; And go along with you ere you lose sight Of what you came for and become like me,

Slave to a springtime passion for the earth. How love burns through the Putting in the Seed On through the watching for that early birth When, just as the soil tarnishes with weed,

The sturdy seedling with arched body comes Shouldering its way and shedding the earth crumbs. – Robert Frost • Some are trapped in boxes of pea-sized Christianity, full of myths about missions that rob them of incentive to care about the unreached – David Bryant • Some days confidence shrinks to the size of a pea, and the backbone feels like a feather. We want to be somewhere else, and don’t know where – want to be someone else and don’t know who. – Jean Hersey • Someone is dead. Even the trees know it, those poor old dancers who come on lewdly, all pea-green scarfs and spine pole. – Anne Sexton • Sometimes when you are trying not to think about something it keeps popping back in your head you can’t help it you think about it and think about it and think about it until your brain feels like a squashed pea. – Sharon Creech • STAY HOME FROM SCHOOL FAUX VOMIT: 1 cup of cooked oatmeal 1.2 cup of sour cream (or buttermilk ranch dressing or anything that smells like rancid, sour milk) 2 chopped cheese sticks (for chunkiness) 1 uncooked egg (for authentic slimy texture) 1 can of split pea soup (for putrid green color) 1/4 cup of raisins (to increase gross-osity) Mix ingredients and simmer over low heat for 2 minutes Let mixture cool to warm vomit temperature Use liberally as needed Makes 4 to 5 cups – Rachel Renée Russell • Straight up from this road Away from the fitted particles of frost Coating the hull of each chick pea, And the stiff archer bug making its way In the morning dark, toe hair by toe hair, Up the stem of the trillim, Straight up through the sky above this road right now, The galaxies of the Cygnus A cluster Are colliding with each other in a massive swarm Of interpenetrating and exploding catastrophes. I try to remember that. – Pattiann Rogers • Sweet pea?'” Alec said. “I was just trying it out.” Alec shook his head. “No.” Magnus shrugged. “I’ll keep at it. – Cassandra Clare • Tess and I are a good match. She understands intimately where I came from. She can cheer me up on my darkest days. It’s as if she came perfectly happy home instead of what Kaede just told me. I feel a relaxing warmth at the thought, realizing suddenly how much I’m anticipating meeting up with Tess again. Where she goes, I go, and vice versa. Peas in a pod. Then there’s June. Even the thought of her name makes it hard for me to breathe. I’m almost embarrassed by my reaction. Are June and I a good match? No. It’s the first word to pop into my mind. And yet, still. – Marie Lu • That admiration of the ‘neat but not gaudy,’ which is commonly reported to have influenced the devil when he painted his tail pea green. – John Ruskin • The best minds come from the most unexpected faces and places. There is no image for intelligence or genius. Genius is something that cannot be seen. It cannot be produced or manufactured. It is something that even the true genius thinks is unattainable. The genius recognizes he’s just a small pea in a sea of infinite atoms. Knowledge is as infinite as the universe. The man who claims to know all, only reveals to all that he really knows nothing. – Suzy Kassem • The Black Eyed Peas sell thousands of seats in every country on the planet. You can’t get nervous. We’re all succeeding in all different parts of our careers. Just because I produce Nas and John Legend and Justin Timberlake doesn’t mean it will change the dynamic of the Peas. – will.i.am • The Colonel led all the cheers. Cornbread!” he screamed. CHICKEN!” the crowd responded. Rice!” PEAS!” And then, all together: “WE GOT HIGHER SATs.” Hip Hip Hip Hooray!” the Colonel cried. YOU’LL BE WORKIN’ FOR US SOMEDAY! – John Green • The meal was pretentious – a kind of beetroot soup with greasy croutons; pork underdone with loud vulgar cabbage, potato croquettes, tinned peas in tiny jam-tart cases, watery gooseberry sauce; trifle made with a resinous wine, so jammy that all my teeth lit up at once. – Anthony Burgess • The only really interesting thing about someone that makes you want to explore them further is their heart, and Miss Honeycut has a teeny tiny pea-sized one and it takes you nowhere you want to go. – Polly Horvath • The Owl and the Pussycat went to sea In a beautiful pea-green boat: They took some honey, and plenty of money Wrapped up in a five-pound note. . . They dined on mince and slices of quince, Which they ate with a runcible spoon; And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand, They danced by the light of the moon, The moon, The moon, They danced by the light of the moon. – Edward Lear • The owl and the pussycat went to sea, / In a beautiful pea green boat. / They took some honey, and plenty of money, / Wrapped up in a five pound note. – Edward Lear • The peanut is neither a pea nor a nut. Discuss. – Mike Myers • The Princess and the Pea?” Gabrielle suggested. “Not enough time,” Kat said “Where’s Waldo?” Gabrielle went on. “No.” Hamish recoiled. “I am still not allowed back in Morocco. – Ally Carter • The sower may mistake and sow his peas crookedly; the peas make no mistake, but come up and show his line. – Ralph Waldo Emerson • There are few pleasures like really burrowing one’s nose into sweet peas. – Angela Thirkell • There are m]oral precepts that we consider really important, such as ‘don’t pick your nose’ or ‘don’t eat peas with a knife’. There may, for ought I know, be admirable reasons for eating peas with a knife, but . . . early persuasion has made me completely incapable of appreciating them.- Bertrand Russell • There are so many things to be tortured about, sweet pea. So many torturous things in this life. Don’t let the man who doesn’t love you be one of them. – Cheryl Strayed • There has long been a bemoaning of the lack of opportunity to make films that are anything but explosions or the ladling on the pea soup or whatever you want to call it. You can hardly make a movie today where somebody isn’t a murderer or a rapist or, if it’s a “Fried Green Tomatoes” that isn’t some wistful thing on this, that or the other thing. – Jack Nicholson • There must be a way to get more of these in me faster, thought the inventor of pea soup as he sat eating peas. – Dana Gould • This fellow pecks up wit, as pigeons peas; And utters it again when God doth please: He is wit’s pedler; and retails his wares. – William Shakespeare • Though loyal and able and brave, Pea had never displayed the slightest ability to learn from his experience, though his experience was considerable. Time and again he would walk up on the wrong side of a horse that was known to kick, and then look surprised when he got kicked. – Larry McMurtry • Thoughts come maimed and plucked of plumage from the lips, which, from the pea, in the silence of your own leisure and study, would be born with far more beauty. – Marguerite Gardiner, Countess of Blessington • Throw high risers at the chin; throw peas at the knees; throw it here when they’re lookin’ there; throw it there when they’re lookin’ here. – Satchel Paige • Tibby cried into her soup when it finally came. “I’m scared… ,” she told it. The carrots and peas made no reply, but she felt better for having told them. – Ann Brashares • Today, most women are surrounded by ingenious gadgets. They don’t grow the peas or raise the chicken that they serve for dinner; instead they hunt and gather in the grocery store. They go through catalogs or department stores to buy clothes instead of shearing sheep, carding wool, and weaving cloth for skirts and coats and blankets. – Helen Fisher • We all know what feminists are. They are shrill, overly aggressive, man-hating, ball-busting, selfish, hairy, extremist, deliberately unattractive women with absolutely no sense of humor who see sexism at every turn. They make men’s testicles shrivel up to the size of peas, they detest the family and think all children should be deported or drowned. – Susan J. Douglas • We have fried catfish, country fried steak and cinnamon-roasted pork. We have collard greens, black-eyed peas, hush puppies, biscuits, sweet potato pie and lots of gravy. Most players love it, but we also have a baked catfish for players who are still looking to stay on the approved diet. – Mark Farner • What you discover about life’s shell game is that it’s hardest to follow the pea when you’re the pea. – Robert Breault • Whatever cleaning goes on on the planet, women do 99% of it. But see, women are not as proud of their 99% as men are of our one! We clean something up, we’re gonna talk about it all year long. It might be on the news, you don’t know. A woman could be out re-paving the driveway. Men actually have enough gall to run out on the porch and go “Hey baby? Man, it’s hot as hell out here, ain’t it! Look, don’t worry about emptyin’ that ashtray in the den, I done got it, all right? Did it for you, sweet pea. I’m gonna go take a nap now, all right?” – Jeff Foxworthy • When Pococke inquired of Grotius, where the proof was of that story of the pigeon, trained to pick peas from Mahomet’s (Muhammad’s) ear, and pass for an angel dictating to him? Grotius answered that there was no proof! – Thomas Carlyle • When you look at the Lady Gagas of the world, or the Jay-Zs, or the Black Eyed Peas, these are people who have one album release and it’s a worldwide one. – Tinie Tempah • When you think of the “Exorcist” (1973) you think of Linda Blair and pea soup and all this madness, but really if you look at the first half of that film, the stuff between her and Ellen Burstyn is so naturalistic and so real. – Matt Reeves • When you’re the only pea in the pod, your parents are likely to get you confused with the Hope diamond. – Russell Baker • Who watches golf on TV? Who calls eight friends over and gets a keg of beer? Landscapers, I guess. They sit around the TV, yelling, “Will you look at that golf path?Pure pea gravel.” – Jeff Cesario • William Tell could take an apple off your head, [Phil] Taylor could take out a processed pea. – Sid Waddell • You know, when I eat three peas, I’m pregnant. When I visit a city, I’m buying a house. – Vanessa Paradis • Young people want to look like peas in a pod, and there is no use trying to make them different. – Ilka Chase

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Peas Quotes

Official Website: Peas Quotes

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  • A man must have something to cling to. Without that he is as a pea vine sprawling in search of a trellis…. I was all asprawl, clinging to Beauty, which is a very restless trellis. – E. B. White • A minister has to be able to read a clock. At noon, it’s time to go home and turn up the pot roast and get the peas out of the freezer. – Garrison Keillor • A monkey was carrying two handfuls of peas. One little pea dropped out. He tried to pick it up, and split twenty. He tried to pick up the twenty, and split them all. Then he lost his temper, scattered the peas in all directions and ran away – Leo Tolstoy • A solid man of Boston; A comfortable man with dividends, And the first salmon and the first green peas. – Henry Wadsworth Longfellow • A typical Irish dinner would be: cream flavored with lobster, cream with bits of veal in it, green peas and cream, cream cheese, cream flavored with strawberries. – Nancy Mitford • All I wanted was to be a pea of being inside the green pod of time. – Billy Collins • All things here appear to me to trudge on in one and the same round: we rise in the morning that we may eat breakfast, dinner andsupper and to bed again that we may get up the next morning and do the same: so that you never saw two peas more alike than our yesterday and to-day. – Thomas Jefferson • An election cannot give a country a firm sense of direction if it has two or more national parties which merely have different names but are as alike in their principles and aims as peas in the same pod. – Franklin D. Roosevelt • As cows need milking and sweet peas need picking, so writers must continually exercise their mental muscles by a daily stint. – Joan Aiken • Aspirin is so good for roses, brandy for sweet peas, and a squeeze of lemon-juice for the fleshy flowers, like begonias. – Gerald Durrell

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• Banquet: a plate of cold, hairy chicken and artificially coloured green peas completely surrounded by dreary speeches and appeals for donations. – Bennett Cerf • Barney’s Dad was really bad so Barney hatched a plan when his dad said “Eat your peas.” Barney shouted no and ran Barney tricked his mean old dad and locked him in the cellar Barney’s Mom never found out where he’d gone, Cause Barney didn’t tell her. There his dad spent his life eating mice and gruel With every bite for fifty years he was sorry he’d been cruel – Bill Watterson • Be careful what you say. It comes true. It comes true. I had to leave home in order to see the world logically, logic the new way of seeing. I learned to think that mysteries are for explanation. I enjoy the simplicity. Concrete pours out of my mouth to cover the forests with freeways and sidewalks. Give me plastics, periodical tables, TV dinners with vegetables no more complex than peas mixed with diced carrots. Shine floodlights into dark corners: no ghosts. – Maxine Hong Kingston • Being pretty on the inside means you don’t hit your brother and you eat all your peas – that’s what my grandma taught me. – Lord Chesterfield • Blue does not go with everything,” Will told her. “It does not go with red, for instance.” “I have a red and blue striped waistcoat,” Henry interjected, reaching for the peas. “And if that isn’t proof that those two colors should never be seen together under Heaven, I don’t know what is. – Cassandra Clare

• Cacao is rich in happy phenethylamine chemicals called PEA. These compounds have been associated with feeling good and falling in love. – David Wolfe • Catherine went still. Her eyes closed against a sudden wet sting. ‘Did you accept her proposal?’ Leo nuzzled tenderly into the hollow beneath her ear. ‘Of course not, pea-goose. – Lisa Kleypas • Children pick up words as pigeons peas And utter them again as God shall please. – John Ray • Civilisation makes us all as alike as peas in a pod, and it is the very uncouth – uncivilised, if you will – element which individualises nations. – Alec-Tweedie • Donald Trump has said that I would like to sit down and talk to people, work things out. Well, guess what? Some of the evidence is that was, he went straight to Mexico and sat down and had a conference and a meeting directly with Pea Nieto to go over all this. OK, that. – Kimberly Guilfoyle • Dried peas and beans, being rather on the dull side, much like dull people respond readily to the right contacts. – Irma S. Rombauer • For a hungry man, green peas are more shiny than gleaming pearls. – Mehmet Murat Ildan • Frozen peas can be shelled very fast with a wringer-type washer. Put a pan on one side of the wringer to catch the peas and the pods go on through. You will think peas will go through the wringer and be mashed the moment the pod hits the wringer, but they will pop out before they go through. A very fast job can be done this way. – Heloise • Hebrew was frozen, like frozen peas, fresh out of the Bible. – Etgar Keret • Here are sweet peas, on tiptoe for a flight; With wings of gentle flush o’er delicate white, And taper fingers catching at all things, To bind them all about with tiny rings. – John Keats • Hey, look at this!” He holds up a glistening, perfect pearl about the size of a pea. “You know, if you put enough pressure on coal it turns to pearls,” he says earnestly to Finnick. “No, it doesn’t,” says Finnick dismissively. But I crack up, remembering that’s how a clueless Effie Trinket presented us to the people of the Capitol last year, before anyone knew us. As coal pressured into pearls by our weighty existence. Beauty that arose out of pain. – Suzanne Collins • How long have you been here? (Jericho) Don’t know. Again, tried to count once, got depressed so I stopped. I find it easier to just go with the flow. Ease with the peas. (Asmodeus) Ease with the peas? (Jericho) Yeah, that’s not a happy memory, either. Let’s forget I mentioned it. (Asmodeus) – Sherrilyn Kenyon • How lucious lies the pea within the pod. – Emily Dickinson • How much courage does it take to fire up your tractor and plow under a crop you spent six or seven years growing? How much courage to go on and do that after you’ve spent all that time finding out how to prepare the soil and when to plant and how much to water and when to reap? How much to just say, “I have to quit these peas. Peas are no good for me, I better try corn or beans. – Stephen King • Hugh Grant and I both laugh and cringe at the same things, worship the same books, eat the same food, hate central heating and sleep with the window open. I thought these things were vital, but being two peas in a pod ended up not being enough. – Elizabeth Hurley • I am as comfortless as a pilgrim with peas in his shoes – and as cold as Charity, Chastity or any other Virtue. – Lord Byron • I cannot wait to go get my fried butter on a stick, and fried cheesecake on a stick and…Twinkies, especially in honor of those who would rather just be forced to eat our peas. – Sarah Palin • I had pecs for about two days. Everyone would hate me. Just look at me walking around with my little peacoat on. My little customized pea coat. – Robert Pattinson • I have a few cavities. I don’t like to call them cavities, though – I like to call them ‘places to put stuff’. ‘Do you know where I can store a pea’ ‘Yes, I have some locations available.’ – Mitch Hedberg • I like not lady-slippers, Nor yet the sweet-pea blossoms, Nor yet the flaky roses, Red or white as snow; I like the chaliced lilies, The heavy Eastern lilies, The gorgeous tiger-lilies, That in our garden grow. – Thomas Bailey Aldrich • I liked playing Morph in Mash and Peas and doing Phil Daniels in the Blur Rock Profile was a giggle too. – Paul Putner • I listen to my iPod as I walk on. If I’m winning I’ll listen to the same song, that’s like a good luck thing – usually The Black Eyed Peas’ Let’s Get It Started. – Andy Murray • I love fresh vegetables and we always include them in our meals. I don’t force my kids to eat asparagus, but they do eat peas, broccoli, and carrots. – Alison Sweeney • I loved pop music as a little kid. Things like the Black Eyed Peas. If it had a catchy chorus, I was into it.- James Bay • I met Mel [Brooks] backstage in Anne’s [Bancroft] dressing room. He was wearing one of those pea coats, pea jackets that were made famous by the Merchant Marines, and I admired it and he said, “You know, they used to call this a urine jacket, but it didn’t sell.” – Gene Wilder • I must be like the princess who felt the pea through seven mattresses; each book is a pea. – C. S. Forester • I never dream in French, but certain French words seem better or more fun than English words – like ‘pois chiches’ for chick peas! – Lydia Davis • I think Black Eyed Peas are kind of unique in the ways they produce their songs. Their songs are very current. – Steve Pink • I think everything happens for a reason and all of my choices have led me up to my solo album and made me stronger, not only as an artist but as a person. I want to do more the Black Eyed Peas albums and more of my own albums. I’m in this for the long run. – Fergie • I thought that I had found something new. But then I convinced myself that the Abbot Gregor Mendel in Brünn, had, during the sixties, not only obtained the same result through extensive experiments with peas, which lasted for many years, as did de Vries and I, but had also given exactly the same explanation, as far as that was possible in 1866. – Carl Correns • I used to visit and revisit it a dozen times a day, and stand in deep contemplation over my vegetable progeny with a love that nobody could share or conceive of who had never taken part in the process of creation. It was one of the most bewitching sights in the world to observe a hill of beans thrusting aside the soil, or a rose of early peas just peeping forth sufficiently to trace a line of delicate green. – Nathaniel Hawthorne • I will be brave, thought Despereaux. I will try to be brave like a knight in shining armour. I will be brave for the Princess Pea. – Kate DiCamillo • I will say A Pea in the Pod saved my life – at the end of my pregnancy. I even wear their tanks now to work out in because they’re really long. – Kim Kardashian • I worry about people who get born nowadays, because they get born into such tiny families–sometimes into no family at all. When you’re the only pea in the pod, your parents are likely to get you confused with the Hope Diamond. And that encourages you to talk too much. – Russell Baker • If the Earth is the size of a pea in New York, then the Sun is a beachball 50m away, Pluto is 4km away, and the next nearest star is in Tokyo. Now shrink Pluto’s orbit into a coffee cup; then our Milky Way Galaxy fills North America. – Wayne Hays • If you don’t have at least a working knowledge of the Hawaiian language… you can’t chant well. You cannot… receive the images of poetry paints for you. It’s like having peas and no pod. – Keali’i Reichel • If you gave kids peas that didn’t look like peas and said they were a space shuttle, they’re much more apt to eat them because it’s now playtime. – Hod Lipson • If you want to grow up to be a big, strong pea, you have to eat your candy,” Papa Pea would say. – Amy Krouse Rosenthal • I’m a great believer in conversational rhythm. I think in terms of rhythmic dialogue. It’s so easy, you can talk naturally. It’s like peas rolling off a knife. Take the great screen actors and actresses, Bette Davis, Eddie Robinson, Jimmy Cagney, Spencer Tracy. They all talk in rhythm. And rhythm and movement are the life of the screen. – Lorenz Hart • I’m good in the kitchen. I can cook seafood, collard greens, black-eyed peas. – Monique Coleman • I’m obsessed with broccoli, carrots, celery, string beans, snap peas, black kale, brussels sprouts, cabbage – I could go on! They used to call me ‘rabbit’ when I was a kid. I hate mushrooms, though. I apologize to fungi lovers, but this way, there’s more for you! – Lisa Edelstein • In order to get big things done, sometimes, presidents have to be deft at moving the pea around under the shells. – Charlie Pierce • In school, they would tell you that life wouldn’t come to you; you had to go out and make it your own. But when it came to love, the message for girls seemed to be this: Don’t. Don’t go after what you want. Wait. Wait to be chosen, as if only in the eye of another could one truly find value. The message was confusing and infuriating. It was a shell game with no actual pea under the rapidly moving cups. – Libba Bray • In the early years of the Uprising, we survived on one meal a day of horse meat and soup, but by the end we ate only dried peas, dogs, cats and birds. – Diane Ackerman • In the game of life, less diversity means fewer options for change. Wild or domesticated, panda or pea, adaptation is the requirement for survival. – Cary Fowler • In the range of things toddlers have to learn and endlessly review–why you can’t put bottles with certain labels in your mouth, why you have to sit on the potty, why you can’t take whatever you want in the store, why you don’t hit your friends–by the time we got to why you can’t drop your peas, well, I was dropping a few myself. – Mary Blakely • Is that clear?” said Borcht “as clear as pea soup” I said – James Patterson • It is a great delusion to suppose that flesh-meat of any kind is essential to health. Considerably more than three parts of the work in the world is done by men who never taste anything but vegetable, farinaceous food, and that of the simplest kind. There are more strength-producing properties in wholemeal flour, peas, beans, lentils, oatmeal, roots, and other vegetables of the same class, than there are beef or mutton, poultry or fish, or animal food of any description whatever. – Catherine Booth • It suddenly struck me that that tiny pea, pretty and blue, was the Earth. I put up my thumb and shut one eye, and my thumb blotted out the planet Earth. I didn’t feel like a giant. I felt very, very small. – Neil Armstrong • It was Lisa, aged five, whose mother asked her to thank my wife for the peas we had sent them from our garden. ‘I thought the peas were awful, I wish you and Mrs. Thurber were dead, and I hate trees,’ said Lisa. – James Thurber • It’s a trifle. It’s got all of these layers. First there’s a layer of ladyfingers, then a layer of jam, then custard, which I made from scratch, then raspberries, more ladyfingers, then beef sauteed with peas and onions, then a little more custard, and then bananas, and then I just put some whipped cream on top! – Rachel • Lack of world vision in any Christian produces a ‘pea-sized Christianity’. – David Bryant • Let us consider what we call vicious luxury. No gratification, however sensual, can of itself be esteemed vicious. A gratification is only vicious when it engrosses all a man’s expense, and leaves no ability for such acts of duty and generosity as are required by his situation and fortune. The same care and toil that raise a dish of peas at Christmas would give bread to a whole family during six months. – David Hume • Lives are snowflakes – unique in detail, forming patterns we have seen before, but as like one another as peas in a pod (and have you ever looked at peas in a pod? I mean, really looked at them? There’s not a chance you’d mistake one for another, after a minute’s close inspection.) – Neil Gaiman • Love is ridiculous. But love is also wonderful. And powerful. And Despereaux’s love for the Princess Pea would prove, in time, to be all of these things: powerful, wonderful, and ridiculous. – Kate DiCamillo • Mainstream people dislike homosexuality because they can’t help concentrating on what homosexual men do to one another. And when you contemplate what people do, you think of yourself doing it. And they don’t like that. That’s the famous joke: I don’t like peas, and I’m glad I don’t like them, because if I liked them I would eat them and I hate them. – Quentin Crisp • Memory overshadows the present and dims the future “into something thicker than its usual pea soup.” – Vladimir Nabokov • Mostly, I spend my time being a mother to my two children, working in my organic garden, raising masses of sweet peas, being passionately involved in conservation, recycling and solar energy. – Blythe Danner • My boy, the ‘quenelles de sole’ were splendid, but the peas were poor. You should shake the pan gently, all the time, like this. – Marie-Antoine Careme • My cat is completely blind. I am watching her now, sweet-pea that is, circling the kitchen floor and bumping into the kitchen chairs. She is kind of like a furry ball in a pinball machine…she bumps into something and then just turns and moves on…it makes me smile – although i know it’s just not that funny. I think i laugh because what i really feel like doing, is crying – Jann Arden • My family lived off the land and summer evening meals featured baked stuffed tomatoes, potato salad, corn on the cob, fresh shelled peas and homemade ice cream with strawberries from our garden. With no air conditioning in those days, the cool porch was the center of our universe after the scorching days. – David Mixner • My favorite healthy foods are Jamaican chicken soup, Jamaican chicken stew peas, Jamaican brown stew chicken, plantains and banana chips. – Sanya Richards-Ross • My musical taste is like a 16-year-old girl’s when it comes to working out – Rihanna, Black Eyed Peas, Miley Cyrus. I love it all! – Jessica Capshaw • My solo album is different from the Black Eyed Peas albums because I’m a singer first and foremost. There are more ballads and more intimacy between me and the listener because sometimes when you’re in a group you don’t have space to air out your dirty laundry. – Fergie • My teacher said my brain was the size of a pea. He made my life miserable by singling me out in the classroom as a failure. – Willard Wigan • No member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints who has canned peas, topped beets, hauled hay, shoveled coal, or helped in any way to serve others ever forgets or regrets the experience of helping provide for those in need. – Thomas S. Monson • Nobody wants somebody who wants them for what they have or the position their in- you want somebody who wants you for you. In case it all goes crazy and it all turns to dust. I want somebody who loves me in the welfare line, eating gumbo, eating fish,black eyed peas and rice. I want somebody that loves me. God wants you to love him, not his cars, not his house, not his blessing- love him. – T. D. Jakes • Nothing rekindles my spirits, gives comfort to my heart and mind, more than a visit to Mississippi… and to be regaled as I often have been, with a platter of fried chicken, field peas, collard greens, fresh corn on the cob, sliced tomatoes with French dressing… and to top it all off with a wedge of freshly baked pecan pie. – Craig Claiborne • Now hoppin’-john was F. Jasmine’s very favorite food. She had always warned them to wave a plate of rice and peas before her nose when she was in her coffin, to make certain there was no mistake; for if a breath of life was left in her, she would sit up and eat, but if she smelled the hopping-john, and did not stir, then they could just nail down the coffin and be certain she was truly dead. – Carson McCullers • October, baptize me with leaves! Swaddle me in corduroy and nurse me with split pea soup. October, tuck tiny candy bars in my pockets and carve my smile into a thousand pumpkins. O autumn! O teakettle! O grace! – Rainbow Rowell • One recent menu for suspected terrorists at Guantanamo consisted of orange glazed chicken, fresh fruit crepe, steamed peas and mushrooms, and rice pilaf. Sounds like the sort of thing you’d get at Windows on the World – if it still existed. – Ann Coulter • Our full humanity is contingent on our hospitality; we can be complete only when we are giving something away; when we sit at the table and pass the peas to the person next to us we see that person in a whole new way. – Alice Waters • Pea was aware suddenly of how fragile her heart was, how much darkness was inside it, fighting, always, with the light. She did not like the rat. She would neverlike the rat, but she knew what she must do to save her own heart. – Kate DiCamillo • Peas baffled me. I could not understand why grown-ups would take things that tasted so good raw, and then put them in tins, and make them revolting. – Neil Gaiman • Peas went with carrots as infallibly as ham went with eggs. For years I thought carrots and peas grew on the same vine. – Peg Bracken • People ate bread made of the shells of peas because there was no flour. – Bel Kaufman • Poetry is a rich, full-bodied whistle, cracked ice crunching in pails, the night that numbs the leaf, the duel of two nightingales, the sweet pea that has run wild, Creation’s tears in shoulder blades. – Boris Pasternak • Reader, you may ask this queston. In fact, you must ask this question. Is it ridiculous for a very small, sickly, big-eared mouse to fall in love with a beautiful princess named Pea? The answer is… Yes. Of course it’s ridiculous. Love is ridiculous. But love is also wonderful. And powerful. – Kate DiCamillo • Rice and peas fit into that category of dishes where two ordinary foods, combined together, ignite a pleasure far beyond the capacity of either of its parts alone. Like rhubarb and strawberries, apple pie and cheese, roast pork and sage, the two tastes and textures meld together into the sort of subtle transcendental oneness that we once fantasized would be our experience when we finally found the ideal mate. – John Thorne • Runny’s Nicpic One day Runny Babbit Met little Franny Fog. He said, “Let’s have a nicpic Down by the lollow hog.” He brought some cutter bookies, Some teanuts and some pea. And what did Franny Fog bring? Her whole fog framily. – Shel Silverstein • She could not explain or quite understand that it wasn’t altogether jealousy she felt, it was rage. And not because she couldn’t shop like that or dress like that. It was because that was what girls were supposed to be like. That was what men – people, everybody – thought they should be like. Beautiful, treasured, spoiled, selfish, pea-brained. That was what a girl should be, to be fallen in love with. Then she would become a mother and she’d be all mushily devoted to her babies. Not selfish anymore, but just as pea-brained. Forever. – Alice Munro • Soft petals, yes, but not so barren quite, Mingled with these, smooth bean and wrinkled pea; And go along with you ere you lose sight Of what you came for and become like me,

Slave to a springtime passion for the earth. How love burns through the Putting in the Seed On through the watching for that early birth When, just as the soil tarnishes with weed,

The sturdy seedling with arched body comes Shouldering its way and shedding the earth crumbs. – Robert Frost • Some are trapped in boxes of pea-sized Christianity, full of myths about missions that rob them of incentive to care about the unreached – David Bryant • Some days confidence shrinks to the size of a pea, and the backbone feels like a feather. We want to be somewhere else, and don’t know where – want to be someone else and don’t know who. – Jean Hersey • Someone is dead. Even the trees know it, those poor old dancers who come on lewdly, all pea-green scarfs and spine pole. – Anne Sexton • Sometimes when you are trying not to think about something it keeps popping back in your head you can’t help it you think about it and think about it and think about it until your brain feels like a squashed pea. – Sharon Creech • STAY HOME FROM SCHOOL FAUX VOMIT: 1 cup of cooked oatmeal 1.2 cup of sour cream (or buttermilk ranch dressing or anything that smells like rancid, sour milk) 2 chopped cheese sticks (for chunkiness) 1 uncooked egg (for authentic slimy texture) 1 can of split pea soup (for putrid green color) 1/4 cup of raisins (to increase gross-osity) Mix ingredients and simmer over low heat for 2 minutes Let mixture cool to warm vomit temperature Use liberally as needed Makes 4 to 5 cups – Rachel Renée Russell • Straight up from this road Away from the fitted particles of frost Coating the hull of each chick pea, And the stiff archer bug making its way In the morning dark, toe hair by toe hair, Up the stem of the trillim, Straight up through the sky above this road right now, The galaxies of the Cygnus A cluster Are colliding with each other in a massive swarm Of interpenetrating and exploding catastrophes. I try to remember that. – Pattiann Rogers • Sweet pea?'” Alec said. “I was just trying it out.” Alec shook his head. “No.” Magnus shrugged. “I’ll keep at it. – Cassandra Clare • Tess and I are a good match. She understands intimately where I came from. She can cheer me up on my darkest days. It’s as if she came perfectly happy home instead of what Kaede just told me. I feel a relaxing warmth at the thought, realizing suddenly how much I’m anticipating meeting up with Tess again. Where she goes, I go, and vice versa. Peas in a pod. Then there’s June. Even the thought of her name makes it hard for me to breathe. I’m almost embarrassed by my reaction. Are June and I a good match? No. It’s the first word to pop into my mind. And yet, still. – Marie Lu • That admiration of the ‘neat but not gaudy,’ which is commonly reported to have influenced the devil when he painted his tail pea green. – John Ruskin • The best minds come from the most unexpected faces and places. There is no image for intelligence or genius. Genius is something that cannot be seen. It cannot be produced or manufactured. It is something that even the true genius thinks is unattainable. The genius recognizes he’s just a small pea in a sea of infinite atoms. Knowledge is as infinite as the universe. The man who claims to know all, only reveals to all that he really knows nothing. – Suzy Kassem • The Black Eyed Peas sell thousands of seats in every country on the planet. You can’t get nervous. We’re all succeeding in all different parts of our careers. Just because I produce Nas and John Legend and Justin Timberlake doesn’t mean it will change the dynamic of the Peas. – will.i.am • The Colonel led all the cheers. Cornbread!” he screamed. CHICKEN!” the crowd responded. Rice!” PEAS!” And then, all together: “WE GOT HIGHER SATs.” Hip Hip Hip Hooray!” the Colonel cried. YOU’LL BE WORKIN’ FOR US SOMEDAY! – John Green • The meal was pretentious – a kind of beetroot soup with greasy croutons; pork underdone with loud vulgar cabbage, potato croquettes, tinned peas in tiny jam-tart cases, watery gooseberry sauce; trifle made with a resinous wine, so jammy that all my teeth lit up at once. – Anthony Burgess • The only really interesting thing about someone that makes you want to explore them further is their heart, and Miss Honeycut has a teeny tiny pea-sized one and it takes you nowhere you want to go. – Polly Horvath • The Owl and the Pussycat went to sea In a beautiful pea-green boat: They took some honey, and plenty of money Wrapped up in a five-pound note. . . They dined on mince and slices of quince, Which they ate with a runcible spoon; And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand, They danced by the light of the moon, The moon, The moon, They danced by the light of the moon. – Edward Lear • The owl and the pussycat went to sea, / In a beautiful pea green boat. / They took some honey, and plenty of money, / Wrapped up in a five pound note. – Edward Lear • The peanut is neither a pea nor a nut. Discuss. – Mike Myers • The Princess and the Pea?” Gabrielle suggested. “Not enough time,” Kat said “Where’s Waldo?” Gabrielle went on. “No.” Hamish recoiled. “I am still not allowed back in Morocco. – Ally Carter • The sower may mistake and sow his peas crookedly; the peas make no mistake, but come up and show his line. – Ralph Waldo Emerson • There are few pleasures like really burrowing one’s nose into sweet peas. – Angela Thirkell • There are m]oral precepts that we consider really important, such as ‘don’t pick your nose’ or ‘don’t eat peas with a knife’. There may, for ought I know, be admirable reasons for eating peas with a knife, but . . . early persuasion has made me completely incapable of appreciating them.- Bertrand Russell • There are so many things to be tortured about, sweet pea. So many torturous things in this life. Don’t let the man who doesn’t love you be one of them. – Cheryl Strayed • There has long been a bemoaning of the lack of opportunity to make films that are anything but explosions or the ladling on the pea soup or whatever you want to call it. You can hardly make a movie today where somebody isn’t a murderer or a rapist or, if it’s a “Fried Green Tomatoes” that isn’t some wistful thing on this, that or the other thing. – Jack Nicholson • There must be a way to get more of these in me faster, thought the inventor of pea soup as he sat eating peas. – Dana Gould • This fellow pecks up wit, as pigeons peas; And utters it again when God doth please: He is wit’s pedler; and retails his wares. – William Shakespeare • Though loyal and able and brave, Pea had never displayed the slightest ability to learn from his experience, though his experience was considerable. Time and again he would walk up on the wrong side of a horse that was known to kick, and then look surprised when he got kicked. – Larry McMurtry • Thoughts come maimed and plucked of plumage from the lips, which, from the pea, in the silence of your own leisure and study, would be born with far more beauty. – Marguerite Gardiner, Countess of Blessington • Throw high risers at the chin; throw peas at the knees; throw it here when they’re lookin’ there; throw it there when they’re lookin’ here. – Satchel Paige • Tibby cried into her soup when it finally came. “I’m scared… ,” she told it. The carrots and peas made no reply, but she felt better for having told them. – Ann Brashares • Today, most women are surrounded by ingenious gadgets. They don’t grow the peas or raise the chicken that they serve for dinner; instead they hunt and gather in the grocery store. They go through catalogs or department stores to buy clothes instead of shearing sheep, carding wool, and weaving cloth for skirts and coats and blankets. – Helen Fisher • We all know what feminists are. They are shrill, overly aggressive, man-hating, ball-busting, selfish, hairy, extremist, deliberately unattractive women with absolutely no sense of humor who see sexism at every turn. They make men’s testicles shrivel up to the size of peas, they detest the family and think all children should be deported or drowned. – Susan J. Douglas • We have fried catfish, country fried steak and cinnamon-roasted pork. We have collard greens, black-eyed peas, hush puppies, biscuits, sweet potato pie and lots of gravy. Most players love it, but we also have a baked catfish for players who are still looking to stay on the approved diet. – Mark Farner • What you discover about life’s shell game is that it’s hardest to follow the pea when you’re the pea. – Robert Breault • Whatever cleaning goes on on the planet, women do 99% of it. But see, women are not as proud of their 99% as men are of our one! We clean something up, we’re gonna talk about it all year long. It might be on the news, you don’t know. A woman could be out re-paving the driveway. Men actually have enough gall to run out on the porch and go “Hey baby? Man, it’s hot as hell out here, ain’t it! Look, don’t worry about emptyin’ that ashtray in the den, I done got it, all right? Did it for you, sweet pea. I’m gonna go take a nap now, all right?” – Jeff Foxworthy • When Pococke inquired of Grotius, where the proof was of that story of the pigeon, trained to pick peas from Mahomet’s (Muhammad’s) ear, and pass for an angel dictating to him? Grotius answered that there was no proof! – Thomas Carlyle • When you look at the Lady Gagas of the world, or the Jay-Zs, or the Black Eyed Peas, these are people who have one album release and it’s a worldwide one. – Tinie Tempah • When you think of the “Exorcist” (1973) you think of Linda Blair and pea soup and all this madness, but really if you look at the first half of that film, the stuff between her and Ellen Burstyn is so naturalistic and so real. – Matt Reeves • When you’re the only pea in the pod, your parents are likely to get you confused with the Hope diamond. – Russell Baker • Who watches golf on TV? Who calls eight friends over and gets a keg of beer? Landscapers, I guess. They sit around the TV, yelling, “Will you look at that golf path?Pure pea gravel.” – Jeff Cesario • William Tell could take an apple off your head, [Phil] Taylor could take out a processed pea. – Sid Waddell • You know, when I eat three peas, I’m pregnant. When I visit a city, I’m buying a house. – Vanessa Paradis • Young people want to look like peas in a pod, and there is no use trying to make them different. – Ilka Chase

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