#there have been some times when Maria from west side story made me cry

[notquitecanon]

Ohhhh or maybe one where the reader just makes jasper talk for a while just cuz she adores his accent 🥺

Jasper could feel your bad mood from outside your house- he was always so attuned you you. If his abilities were anymore developed he would probably be able to see your mood like a dark storm cloud hovering outside of your bedroom. Alice had a vision in the middle of their hunt of how your day would go, but with the sunny weather and the face they were already in the Canadian wilderness- he could do nothing but hope it wasn’t too bad. After stopping by his house to change clothes, he made a beeline to the tree line that surrounded your yard like a natural property line. He’d seen your silhouette in your window starting at five pm, but couldn’t make a move until the sun had gone down. The last thing his family needed was Chief Swan getting called because your neighbor caught him climbing into your window. The moment the sun dipped below the tree line, he raced up and into your bedroom.

You had been wallowing in self pity: already showered, in pajamas, and lying face down in bed with your computer playing some of your music quietly. The moment he crossed into your room, you felt his presence like a calming wave washing over you. Eyes fluttering shut as some of the tension left your body, you muttered, “Jasper.”

“Evenin’ Darlin.” His voice was like honey-warm, sweeter than sugar, slow, and sticky. Drawing you into his words and keeping you there while he lingered on the edge of your room. Ever the gentleman, waiting for your invitation. Prying your head out of your pillow, you faced him.

While you observed his freshly glowing golden eyes, slightly disheveled blonde hair, statuesque posture, and heavenly face- he did the same, taking in your tense muscles, dark under eye bags, flushed cheeks, and the general feeling of resignation and annoyance in your emotional map. He didn’t fail to notice you’d been crying- you didn’t fail to notice that he noticed. You were the first to break the silence, adjusting yourself to meet his eyes easier, “Good hunt?”

Jasper breathed a quiet laugh, such an abnormal question asked so nonchalantly, but entertained the notion nonetheless, “Most of us went up into Canada, into the mountains. Emmet took on a pretty big grizzly so he’s in a particularly good mood. I got a Moose and a couple deer.”

You didn’t know what truly constituted a “good hunt” but his thirst seemed appeased so you nodded. The head ache that came after a long day hadn’t put you in a particularly chatty mood. Jasper filled the silence, “Alice told me you had a bad day- well, told me you would have a bad day. I’m sorry I couldn’t help, doll.”

Shaking your head, you brought your knees up to your chest before wrapping your arms around them, “Not your fault, Jazz, bad days happen.”

There was a beat of silence as the two of you stared at each other, him trying to dissect every emotion you were feeling and you mentally begging him to just drop it. Finally, you just patted the spot beside you, motioning for him to join you. Talking waant something you wanted to do, but just having him close would be a big step towards feeling better.

As always, the vampire had a hard time saying no to you. So with the mattress dipping beside you, he easily slid beside you- staying perfectly still until you were situated. As usual, you bunched up a blanket where you cheek would rest against his chest- thick enough to cushion against his stone chest but thin enough to be close enough to smell the comforting scent he always had on him. Cologne, cedar, leather, something woodsy, and a sweet scent you could never quite put a finger on. After letting you settle, he looked down to you, “Wanna talk about it, sugar?”

He felt you shake you head before you nestled closer to him, so he just wrapped his arm around you alternating between tracing patterns up you arm and running cold, graceful fingers through your hair. One of your arms flopped across him just to have more phsyical contact, and Jasper frowned out of your sight. Besides truly changing your emotions (which felt invasive), he didn’t know how else to help. So for the moment, he just let you curl into him. Golden eyes raked across the room before landing on a book on your nightstand so without jostling you, he easily snatched it up.

Not bothering to read the synopsis, he began flipping through the first chapter- quickly becoming amused at the scandalous historical fiction set during the Civil War in Mississippi. Now that he thought about it, he remembered Angela passing it off to you during third period. He chuckled at a particularly inaccurate and racy part. His laughter was deep and reverberated through his hard chest which roused you, at your movement, he tried to quiet himself, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. This book is just so terrible.”

His amusement made it hard not to smile as you tried to snatch the book out of his hands, the racy novel had been on lend from Angela and after the second chapter had been collecting dust on your nightstand. He easily kept it out of your reach, amusement growing at your protest (and quiet proud that he’d got you laughing again, he could already feel your mood lightening up). Listening to his laughter made you long to hear him talk in the smooth southern accent, about anything (anything other than that awful book), “Well, if the book isn’t up to par, how about you tell me what it was really like?”

As his chuckling was dying off, he thought about it before tossing the book back on the nightstand. It wasn’t that his past was an off limits topic, there was just a lot of it and he preferred to live in the moment with you. But you were staring up at him with hopeful eyes, and he could feel the remnants of sadness and frustration so he just nodded. “Well, first of all Mississippi didn’t see battle until The Spring of 1862, and union soldiers didn’t make any head way until a year later. So the notion that a this woman met a union soldier celebrating victroy in New Albany is just wrong. Even if it was true, she wouldn’t be so eager to fall into any soldiers tent considering Conderate troops would of torched her father’s plantation for being a sympathizer or vice versa.”

“Hmmm.” You hummed in response to the history lesson, before he continued going back and forth between learned history and personal experience until he hit where he was changed. You’d heard this story, traced the silvery scars on his arms, so once he went quiet you didn’t press any further. “So where were you at the turn of the century?”

“I was still with Maria, we were going back and forth across the border in Texas and New Mexico, I honestly didn’t now it was the new century until 1905, but we were the cause of the Austin Dam failure.” He mused, thinking pack, “I left shortly after the start of the First World War, to search for my friend Peter and because I was tired of fighting Maria’s battles- she starting to lose trust in me and me in her.”

You’d heard him talk about Peter and Charlotte, the only two he ever let escape, “Did you find him?”

“No, not until the late 1930’s, so I mostly just wandered around the South and the West as a nomad. The roaring twenties were fun between Chicago and Mexico City, I’d like to go back to New Mexico someday.” He thought aloud, cold lips ghosting on the crown of your head as his grip on you tightened ever so slightly. The hand laid over him searched for his so you could intertwine you fingers with him. He squeezed for a moment before detaching just to play with you fingers, burning hot compared to his cold touch.

“Where’d you go next?” You asked, letting him gently tug and curl your fingers with his. Jasper laughed bringing your knuckles up to his lips. When he had just fed, it was so much easier to be so close- which is where he preferred to be.

“You’re mighty full of question tonight, ma’am.” He teased, dropping you hand in favor of lightly digging his fingers into your side. The quiet squeal, laughter, and weak attempts at fighting him off was so delightfully human that he couldn’t help but do it every now and then. Jasper gave you a moment to calm down before continuing, “I spent some time in Tennessee and then Kentucky, the Great Depression hit those areas pretty hard, but it was better than being involved in a territory war.”

“Peter and Charlotte ran into me in the Appalachian mountains- that would be the late 30’s- it was easier to hunt without gaining attention up there.” He paused to gauge you reaction, carefully checking for any fear. Finding none, he sighed in relief before continuing, “They told me about Coven’s in the North, how there weren’t many territory disputes and how in some areas they could even go out in day light...”

You let your eyes slip closed, tension melting as you listened to his honeyed words, and his fingers toyed with your hair. Jasper kept going, talking about traveling with Peter and Charlotte through the Midwest and Northern states before breaking off from them too. Then it was the Fifties, going into a diner and meeting Alice. You’d always envied Alice a bit for her closeness to Jasper, even though you knew neither of them felt that way for each other, but you were also incredibly grateful to her- who knows where Jasper would be without her.

“I remember she said that I’d kept her waiting long enough and I thought to myself I’ve never seen this woman in my life, but I sat down with her regardless and she told me about ‘vegetarianism’ and our future family. I could feel her excitement but I thought she was crazy.” He laughed to himself, a beautiful sound. You’d heard this story a few times from him and Alice. “I was about to go on my way, leave Alice in the wind when she told me something I couldn’t ignore.”

You perked up, neither of them had ever mentioned this part of the story. Craning you’re neck up, you saw he was watching you expectantly with a soft smile tugging those perfect lips up- waiting for a reaction, “She told me that she’d seen me with my soulmate and her future family. She couldn’t tell me when, or where, or how, but she’s seen it and I had to trust her. She felt so sincere and I’d been lonely for so long that I left with her that very afternoon.”

You sat up very suddenly, blood rushing to your cheeks ass you turned around to him, “Jasper, you’ve never told me that before! What are you doing with me then?”

Jasper couldn’t help but grin at the flash of indignation and feisty anger, but quickly frowned when it morphed to hurt. His movement was much faster and infinitely more graceful than yours as you took your face in his hands, “You were the girl in the vision, (Y/N), you’re what I’ve been waiting for.”

It was like someone pulled a plug on your negative emotions as they drained out to be replaced by jittery happiness, and he didn’t need his brother’s telepathy to see the wheel’s turning in your head, “Oh.”

Meanwhile, you were trying to figure out the appropriate reaction to being told your someone’s soulmate. You’d never really imagined life without Jasper, you’d long since admitted to yourself that he was the love of your life, “Well, I’m glad you believed her otherwise I could be with Mike Newton right now.”

It was a bad joke, but he laughed nonetheless and pulled you back down with him, now wrapping both arms around you-effectively trapping you to his chest, but you had no reason to be afraid or even attempt to break free. There was a long pause of silence, him sending off soothing vibes, (it was getting pretty late) listening to the sound of your heartbeat as it slowed, and waiting for you to doze off. It did surprise him when you spoke back up.

“Where’d you go next?” It was quiet, sleepy, but a request he wouldn’t deny. He’d pay you back by asking a hundred inane question about your childhood tomorrow.

Pulling your comforter over the two of you, he adjusted you to what would be a more comfortable sleeping position. He continued, “Well, in took a few years but eventually we met Carlisle who welcomed us to the family with open arms. It took a bit to adjust to the new life of going to highschools and colleges, being around humans. Alice would occasionally drop little hints about you, your hair color, eye color, things you would do in her visions, and that was enough to encourage me to stay with it.”

You only hummed in response, turning over a bit as you let him nudge you towards sleep. Jasper was more than surprised when you made it to the mid-seventies without falling asleep, but was satisfied that he could no longer read any anger or frustration on you. Brushing a lock of hair out of your sleeping face, he silently laughed at your unconscious reaction to his cold touch. Yes, he had waited nearly sixty years for you.

“Good night, darlin’. I love you.”

Bad moods and all, he’d wait a hundred years more for moments like these.

[dorevenge]

where ignorance is bliss - chapter 10: snow will follow

SUMMARY: Maria is expecting, and the pregnancy is rough on her and Howard. [AO3 LINK]

CHAPTERS: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 [10] 11 12 13 14 15 ☆

May 22, 1970 – Manhattan, New York, Stark Manor

“Howard!” I scream, halfway down the staircase to the first floor, hands clenching to the railing. “It’s happening!” I’m nine months pregnant, and it feels like a pit has opened up behind my stomach, squeezing the life out of me at the same time, my knuckles going white from the pressure.

Howard runs over to me, one of the quickest 53-year-olds I’ve met, pushing up his sleeve to count the seconds on his wrist, whispering the time to himself. He guides me down the stairs, arm around my waist and shoulder supporting my armpit.

“Have Edwin bring the car around,” I saw. Tears stream from my eyes, my knees wobble from the pain, and Howard says the same thing he always does.

“They’re just Braxton Hicks, doll. The contractions aren’t close enough together.” He sets me down on the couch and wipes my face dry.

“They feel real,” I snap at him without meaning to.

“I know, I’m sorry. Let’s get you something to drink, settle your stomach.”

Edwin runs off to the kitchen, “I’ll put the kettle on.”

“You have to stay hydrated, and lay on your left side,” Howard continues. He brushes my hair out of the way and guides me to a horizontal position.

“I don’t want to lay on my left side, I want my body back,” I whine, adjusting the pillows underneath me to support the bowling ball sticking out of me. The pain behind my abdomen rages on like a wildfire. “Can you put the movie on?”

“Are we feeling West Side Story or Singing in the Rain today?” Howard prides himself on our home video library, collecting almost every film we would go out to see at the cinema. Our home theatre was impressive, given he had tried to make his own film production company at one point. It was his only unsuccessful venture, so we don’t talk about that aspect of it very often, but he keeps up with the technology and is obsessed with recreating the feeling of going to see a talkie at home.

“West Side Story.”

He puts the tape in, and the familiar opening plays out. Watching it reminds me of the first Academy Awards Show I accompanied Howard to, where we watched West Side Story sweep the competition, when Rita Moreno won in that stunning dress. It was only eight years ago, but it feels like a lifetime now, like many lifetimes have passed during Howard’s and my relationship. And now I’m cramping and swollen and bloated, as far as I can be from walking down a red carpet.

I’m asleep before “Something’s Coming” plays.

“Can you chew any louder?”

“Maria, we’re having soup. There’s no chewing involved.”

“It’s making me sick,” I say.

“I’ll go in the pantry,” Howard offers without complaint, used to this by now, kissing the top of my head and taking his bowl of soup with him into the pantry, shutting the door behind him.

Edwin and Ana look up cautiously from their bowls. “Shall we leave you as well, Mrs. Stark?” Ana asks.

“Why would you? You’re completely fine.”

I wake from a dead sleep at two in the morning, after a long day of getting mad at Howard for things that he couldn’t help, and I know I’m going into labor. This time, it isn’t Braxton Hicks, I know it. I rustle Howard’s shoulder. Then I shake it harder. “Howard, wake up,” I whisper harshly. He slowly blinks his eyes open. “We need to go to the hospital.”

“Let me get my watch,” he reaches over to flick on his bedside lamp.

“It’s for real this time.” I know it. I don’t want him to question it, I can feel it in my gut; today is the day we meet our child for the first time.

“If we go in again for more practice contractions, I don’t think the hospital will let ever let us come back.”

I pause before replying.

“My water broke.”

I’ve never seen Howard get out of bed and get dressed so quickly before. He throws my already packed bag at Edwin to have him bring the car around, asks Ana to change the bedsheets, and helps me dress myself, ushering me out the door. For the first time in the last nine months, I’m the calmest person in the Stark household, focusing on my breathing and answering the nurses’ questions as Howard stammers, trying to take care of everything at once. They confirm I am indeed in labor, run their preliminary tests, and show us to the suite we had reserved.

I didn’t realize the suite would be so luxurious; it was nicer than some hotels I’ve stayed at. A jacuzzi and a pool table are tucked away in the corner, along with a full-sized refrigerator and a private bathroom. We’re given a run-down of the amenities, including an on-call masseuse and chef, but as we settle in, I just want Edwin’s cooking and fanciful retellings of his days spent running around Los Angeles with the SSR. The way he tells it, he makes Peggy sound more heroic than Captain America.

“Don’t get mad at me, but you’re as beautiful now as you were the day I met you back in Monaco.” Howard dabs my forehead with a cool cloth.

“I have half a child sticking out of me!” I yell from gritted teeth between contractions. “And you’re flirting with me right now?” Rivets of sweat trickle down my brow between my breasts, chest heaving with effort. The pain from the contractions pulses through me. We’re almost 14 hours into the labor now, and I’ve never been more tired in my life. I want to sleep, but every fiber of every muscle in my body is engaged and trying to get through this.

“Jesus, doll, I said don’t get mad at me.” I take his hand and squeeze it hard enough he winces, like I’m siphoning the pain out of me and into him. He whispers words of encouragement into my ear, watering me and obeying every order from the doctor, not straying from my side - until we hear the peal of cries and the magical words –

“It’s a boy.”

Anthony Howard Stark was born May 29, 1970, a healthy 6 pounds and 10 ounces, with ten fingers, ten toes, and two powerful lungs that never stopped crying. And I do mean never. Baby Tony had no respect for what time of day it was, who was visiting, or how tired his parents were. Although we hadn’t discussed names at all before that day, it came together perfectly; a beautiful name for our beautiful boy.

Howard returned to work within the week Tony was born, taking Edwin with him every day to try to make up for the lost time at S.H.I.E.LD. base at Camp Lehigh. At dinner after his first day back, Howard had nothing about complaints about the way things had been run in his absence. “One of the security guards said the Tesseract went missing for five minutes and showed right back up in its containment unit. I think we have a breach, but everyone swears they didn’t see anything out of the ordinary,” he says over a plate of chicken and asparagus.

“When was this?”

“Back in April. We need to up our security.”

When I announce I am ready to retire and go to bed, everyone at the table stands to help. While I appreciate the attention and assistance, I’m looking forward to being able to get up on my own. The delivery has had an immense toll on my body, wiping me out completely with the emergency Cesarian. I can’t stand on my own for more than thirty seconds at a time, and Ana has been instrumental in my recovery. She takes care of Tony when I can’t, and when Howard is kept late at the office. She changes every diaper, cleans every dish, and I cannot thank her enough times. I think she took to the role quite well, and I don’t look forward to the day it’s taken from her again.

“Master Tony, you are quite the tornado,” I hear Edwin say down the hall as I fold laundry in the living room. Tony has just turned two, and his favorite word currently is “no.” Edwin does his best to toe the line between butler and substitute father-figure, but Tony needs a firm hand – the opposite of what he gets from Howard when he’s either stuck in the lab or nursing a gin and tonic.

“Tony Tornado! Tony Tornado!” Tony sprints down the hall, giggling, spilling his cup of Cheerios and leaving a trail behind him.

“Master Tony!” Edwin takes off after him. He is almost 60 by now, and, somehow, he still keeps up with the toddler. The two of them were practically inseparable. We lost Ana last year to a long battle with cancer, and it’s almost like Tony made it his personal mission to keep Edwin entertained and distracted enough to forget about the tragedy. I often find them playing make-believe with flying robots or watching cartoons on Saturday mornings, cross-legged on the carpet in the den.

I spend my first two years of motherhood caressing egos, trying to be the entertainer and people-pleaser, but I find myself just wanting all four of us to be together at home, instead of stuck late in offices or meetings or dinner parties that no one wants to attend in the first place. I miss my husband because even when he’s at home, he’s really back at the Stark Industries headquarters, still thinking about that damn arc reactor.

[deniigi]

I always need Mike Murdock flirting with an unimpressed Foggy Nelson in my life!

Agreeeed

------

Foggy wondered, deeply, truly wondered, what chemical imbalance in Mike’s head made him think that he could do this shit every time and get away with it.

Matt was literally in his office.

Karen had just brought him a cup of coffee and clapped him awake from an unintentional mid-day nap.

Karen slowly turned her head towards Foggy with her lips so tight they could have been marble.

“I think we need to call security,” she said.

Mike balked.

“No need for no security, hon,” he drawled in that aggravatingly smooth accent. “I got all the protection you need right here in these guns.”

Karen refused to acknowledge his presence or his ‘guns,’ no matter how dramatically he flexed them for her.

“Fogs, do you think you can call security?” she asked stiffly.

“I can,” Foggy confirmed solemnly.

Mike recoiled and removed himself from Karen’s desk.

“Hey, hey, hey, now,” he crooned to Foggy with open palms in front of him, “No need for that, Foggy, my man. We’re just talkin’, ya see? Me and this lovely, lovely lady got a connection.”

“The only connection you’re gonna have is a single phone call from the station if you keep that up, Mike,” Foggy said.

Mike scoffed.

“Well, then call me ‘Matthew,’” he said with a charming smile. “Lord knows baby can’t do no wrong.”

“You’re eleven minutes apart,” Foggy deadpanned.

Mike’s lip curled.

“Baby can’t do no wrong,” he repeated like the thought was acid.

“Hm. Jealous, I think,” Foggy noted. “Did you need something from the more adjusted and successful brother, or…?”

Mike set Karen’s stapler firmly onto her desk and drew himself up to full height.

“I do, actually,” he said while Karen surreptitiously disinfected the stapler. “I need a date.”

“Oh, fun,” Foggy said. “Incest. You’ve finally stooped that low.”

Mike hummed.

“Well, you know, I would never say no to fucking my clone, but I’m afraid I’d rather eat asphalt than sleep in the same bed as Matty ever again. No, dearest Franklin. I don’t need Matthew. I need you.”

Foggy set down his mug.

“You’re making it weird, Mike,” he sighed. “Don’t make it weird.”

“But you like weird,” Mike needled.

“Take one of your showgirls,” Foggy said.

“I can’t, it has to be either you or this doll,” Mike purred in Karen’s direction.

Karen squinted at him.

“Are you blind?” she asked him.

“No, babe, just dazzled,” Mike said with a widening grin.

“You have the right to remain silent,” Foggy told Karen immediately.

“By what?” Karen asked instead.

Aigh.

“By you,” Mike crooned.

Karen stared.

Then her eyes went wide.

She stood up.

“I think get it now,” she said, “I got him, Fogs. Don’t worry, I’ll handle it. Come on, starry-eyes. You and me got a date.”

Foggy watched Karen pop up and Mike realize how tall she was. He then watched as Mike did some mental calculations before decided that this was a good thing.

He absorbed the cheesy thumbs-up tossed his way as Sir Asshole followed Trouble Herself out through the office door.

And then he decided that no, actually. This wasn’t his problem.

 --

 “Mike stopped by when you were asleep,” Foggy told Matt as they were closing up. “Karen took him out.”

Matt paused in stacking files.

“He did? She did?” he asked.

“Sure as day,” Foggy hummed. “They gonna be cool, you think?”

“What was he here for?” Matt asked instead.

“Trying to get me to go on another date with him. Seems like he’s trying to steal your identity for the eightieth time,” Foggy said.

Matt hummed.

“He’s probably running a con,” he said. “Best of luck to him for Karen.”

“Yeah,” Foggy sighed. “Fucker doesn’t even know what he doesn’t know.”

“Did she like him?”

Foggy huffed a laugh.

“I think she’s gonna love him,” he smirked.

Matt tried to muffle a snicker.

 ---

 Foggy was picking out all the mushrooms from his take-out box and stuffing them in Matt’s when the long-awaited call came.

Both he and Matt addressed Matt’s phone buzzing across the coffee table.

“Mike. Mike. Mike,” It rattled.

Matt let it vibrate its way off the table and onto the carpet.

“To answer or not to answer,” he asked it, still buzzing away on the carpet.

“Not to answer,” Foggy said.

Matt cocked his head towards it, then shrugged and turned around to go back to picking through his box for newly-acquired fungus treats.

 --

 Foggy’s phone was next and they put both of the phones in a bowl so that they could vibe together while their owners appreciated all that was West Side Story.

 --

 It was about midnight when the front door rattled in its frame. Foggy snapped awake and wiped the drool off the corner of his mouth. Matt asked him if West Side Story was supposed to be about Hamlet or Romeo and Juliet.

“You can’t tell?” Foggy asked him in disbelief.

Mike shouted at them to open the damn door, you traitors.

“I mean, I thought I could, but the girl always seems to die, so I’m trying to figure out if there’s a gender switch thing going on here,” Matt said.

“Matt, first of all, this was the 60s. So no. Just. No. Not even wishful thinking could have made this movie that deep in the 60s. And second, Ophelia drowns herself. Is Maria drowning herself?” Foggy asked him.

“Well, no. But maybe there’s a metaphor happening. Maybe she’s drowning in emotions,” Matt said.

Mike informed them through the door that they weren’t cute or funny and he would wake up Mrs. Rodriguez and all of the fucking neighbors if he had to.

“I guess we should answer,” Matt finally hummed.

“Or?” Foggy tried.

“I’m answering,” Matt sighed.

Foggy moaned and flopped back onto the couch.

“We were doing so well,” he lamented.

Matt huffed a laugh and finally opened the door, only to hit the floor moments later when Mike collapsed on top of him.

Mike shoved himself up first. Matt shoved a hand against his jaw and pushed him back further, as any good sibling would.

“Who is she?” Mike slurred around the shoving.

“Who? Karen?” Matt asked. “I told you: our third partner.”

“You’re lying,” Mike gritted out, dislodging the hand and then trying to catch the wrist of the other one as it came to take the first’s place.’

“You ain’t said she was the Punisher’s gal,” he growled.

“I ain’t said shit,” Matt told him. “You’re the one waltzin’ in and tryin’ to steal my friends. Go get your own.”

“It’s more convenient to take yours,” Mike growled. “That guy’s batshit.”

“Amen to that,” Matt said, taking back his hand and wriggling out from under his brother.

“You coulda at least warned me,” Mike pouted as he sat up on his heels in Matt’s absence.

“You don’t deserve it,” Matt sniffed. “I don’t got anything for you. So you can sit there like a putz or you can watch Maria crying over whatshisface.”

“Man tried to shoot me in the ass and you’re here fussin’ over fuckin’ Maria, Matty? Where’s your family honor?” Mike demanded.

Matt stared over his shoulder.

“Maria or putz,” he repeated.

“I ain’t a putz. I was just nearly murdered,” Mike said. “Come on, man. I’m just trying to—”

“Maria or putz,” Matt repeated with no room for argument.

Mike groaned.

“Fine. Maria,” he relented.

“Don’t talk over her,” Matt stipulated.

“I won’t talk over her,” Mike sighed.

Matt lit up.

“Great. I’ll go get the first aid kit,” he said cheerfully.

Mike and Foggy watched him hurry off.

“This wouldn’t have happened if you’d just said yes, Fogs,” Mike said.

Foggy hummed.

“I’m not suited for criminal life, Michael,” he said. “You’re just gonna have to try again later.”

“Oh, I will,” Mike told him. “You ain’t seen the last of me.”

[songtoyou]

Chapter One: Move You

Would You Call That Love

Pairing: Chris Evans x Raina Morrison (OC) Rating: PG-13 (Will be 18+ for some chapters)

Description: There was always one person Chris Evans tended to turn to when he was not in a committed relationship, Raina Morrison. He could confide in her about things going on in his life that he did not feel comfortable talking to his family or close friends about. Chris and Raina were able to establish a way to communicate with one another openly but also being respectful of the other’s time and needs. It was the only constant “relationship” he had, but without all the nonsense of trying to build a life together. A “friends with benefits” situation.However, what happens when Chris starts rethinking his “relationship” with Raina and if either is willing to pursue something more?

Chapter Rating: PG

Warnings: Mention of anxiety

Word Count: 2,530

Note: This is the first fic I have written in ages. Everything about it is fiction. Sadly, I do not know Chris Evans and this is just a fictional take on his life. I do not permit this fic to be reposted on other platforms.  

Thank you to @southerngracela​ and @sullyosully for the support. I also want to give a shout out to @royallyprincesslilly​​ for the text divider. 

*Updated for grammar edits.

June 2019

The early morning sun was peeking out of the sky, and the air became crisper after a night of pouring rain. It was supposed to be a scorcher day in June, according to the weather reports. That was not something Chris Evans was looking forward to since he would have to be on-set partaking in outdoor scenes wearing sweaters, business suits, and heavy coats for most of the day. Despite the uncomfortableness his job could be at times; it was all worth it in the end. Acting was Chris’s passion, and he was fortunate to do it for a living. Chris knew he was lucky to be where he is at in his career. From the ups and downs to disappointing film projects that either went nowhere or were rejected by critics and moviegoers, it all helped steer Chris to become the actor he is today. 

With Captain America’s story arch now complete, Chris understood that it would take a while for audiences and some of his fans not just to see him as Steve Rogers. Taken on Marvel’s top Avenger’s mantle was one of the best decisions he ever made as it took his career to new heights. Yes, Chris had some reservations at first when he was approached for the role. He did not feel confident enough if he could handle the responsibility of playing such an iconic character. Chris was also worried about losing his anonymity. He liked being able to walk down the street with no one recognizing him or asking for a photo and autograph. Now Chris was lucky to make it a few blocks without someone yelling out at him or screaming “Captain America!”, it most definitely did not help ease his anxieties. 

“You got that Marvel money saved up. You can live comfortably while pursuing projects that people would not expect you to take. It’s a win-win situation for you,” said Raina, one of Chris’s best friends, when mentioning the project, Defending Jacob. 

“You sound like my mom when you say that,” Chris replied.

Raina laughed at that and said, “I take that as a compliment, you know.”

“Good. I meant it as one. You both don’t take shit from anyone. And I know you’ll always have my back as she does.” 

Raina and his mom kept telling him to accept the lead role as Andy Barber in Defending Jacob. And how it would not only be beneficial to his career, but also because 1.) the show was filming in Massachusetts so that he would be in his own home every night, and 2.) it was a role he never played before: a father.

Sipping his coffee, Chris stood on the porch of his house as he watched Dodger relieve himself. “Come on, buddy. Let’s get you some breakfast,” Chris waved Dodger over to get inside. The pup was happy to oblige his owner and trotted up the steps into the house.

Chris heard his cellphone buzz just as he put down Dodger’s food bowl. Reaching over the counter to retrieve it, Chris smiled when he saw the name pop up.

Raina: Why didn’t anyone tell me that New York is always hot as balls! I can’t take it!

Chris: I warned you about that, but you didn’t listen to me. What are you doing up so early?

Raina: Couldn’t sleep. Nervous about the preview shows for Moulin Rouge. It is coming up quickly. 

Chris: Again, congrats on Moulin Rouge. You got nothing to be nervous about; you are going to be great. 

Raina: I’m just worried if people will like the show. 

Chris: You and the crew wouldn’t have gotten to Broadway if people weren’t interested in seeing it, especially with you as Satine. This is what you were born to do. Scott, Ma, and I will be there on opening night. Carly and Shanna won’t be able to come but plan to see the show on a girls’ trip to New York later in the summer. I know both are proud of you as well. 

Raina: Stop! You are going to make me cry. All of you are so sweet. Seriously, I am forever grateful to you and your amazing family for supporting me all these years.

Chris: Can you believe it has been ten years since we met at that Vanity Fair photoshoot for West Side Story. 

Raina: Oh God! Do not remind of that shoot. I was a ball of nerves that day.

Chris: I thought the paramedics were going to need to be called for you.

Raina: Haha. Seriously though, they probably would have if you didn’t help calm me down.

 January 2009

“Wait, what is this photoshoot about?” Raina asked her manager, Jerry, who sighed in response.

“Raina, I’ve already told you. It is to celebrate the Broadway revival of West Side Story. The photographer is re-creating scenes from the film version,” explained Jerry.

Now it was Raina’s turn to let out a sigh. Despite being in the music industry since she was 16 years old, the whole idea of photoshoots still did not make her comfortable. Plus, the long hours, the bright lights, and the shoots’ craziness left Raina feeling drained. It was now adding other celebrities to the mix brought on a whole new set of anxieties.

“You don’t have anything to worry about,” Jerry assured Raina and added, “Today’s going to be easy. You don’t have to worry about being front and center this time. You’ll be in the background so that you can relax.”

“If you say so,” Raina retorted with a small smile. She trusted Jerry.

When Raina finally arrived at the photoshoot, she was whisked away to hair and makeup and then onward to change her costume. She had already been introduced to her fellow photo mates, such as Ashley Tisdale and Robert Pattinson. Both were very pleasant and nice. 

“I am such a huge fan. I have all of your albums,” Ashley gushed admirably. 

“Thank you. That is very sweet of you to say. I loved your album ‘Headstrong,’ by the way. Such great bops,” Raina complimented, and Ashley’s face lit up like a Christmas tree.

As the two made their way to the set, each shared what project they were currently working on until Ashley stopped dead in her tracks.

“What is it?” Raina asked, concerned.

“Chris Evans,” whispered Ashley and went on, “Chris Evans is over there.”

“Yeah, didn’t you know he’d be here? Oh my God, you guys didn’t use to date, did you?”

“Ha! I wish. He is just so cute,” Ashley said dreamily.

Raina just laughed and shook her head, “Yeah, he isn’t bad looking.”

They filmed the dance scene from the movie where Maria and Tony see each other for the first time. Camilla Belle and Ben Barnes were assigned the lead roles for the shoot. Raina had to admit; both looked the part. The photographer, Mark Seliger, gathered everyone around to discuss how the scene would go. He started placing people in their spots with Jennifer Lopez and Rodrigo Santoro in their positions as lead Shark dancers Anita and Bernardo, with Camilla and Ben on their respective sides. Ashley was assigned as a Jet girl dancing with Chris’s character, the Jets leader, Riff. 

Raina hid her smile when Ashley shook Chris’s hand and introduced herself. Poor thing looked as if she could faint. Settled in the back, Raina was one of the Sharks. She was perfectly content where she was at standing next to Minka Kelly and Jay Hernandez. The three would even make little side chat here and there. 

Overall, the photoshoot was going well. Until the bright lights, the loud music, and the uncomfortable costume started getting to Raina. She felt like she was going to pass out.  However, Raina was determined to pull through in fear of being labeled a “diva” or, worse, “difficult” to work with; that was not the kind of press she needed now. Remembering what her mother told her to do when the first signs of an anxiety attack were coming on was to breathe in and out. She did that a couple of times as she closed her eyes when Mark said they were changing film and wanted a couple more shots. 

Unsurprisingly, someone else was beginning to get restless during the shoot as well. Chris was not a fan of photoshoots. He always felt awkward and never understood what he was supposed to be doing. He would continuously worry if he were coming off stupid or looking like a fool. 

Chris was more cautious of the types of photoshoots he would take part in and made sure to steer clear of the ones wanting him to be viewed as eye-candy merely. He was working hard to make a trajectory in his career from heartthrob to serious actor. However, Chris knew he had more to prove to audiences and critics for them to see past his ‘Not Another Teen Movie’ or ‘Fantastic 4’ roles. 

Nevertheless, when he got word about Vanity Fair’s West Side Story photoshoot, Chris was immediately on board. He was a theater kid, after all, thanks to his mother. Similarly, with other shoots, it all starts the same. The photographer talks about the art direction of the shoot and expectations for the day.  

During the short breaks on set, Chris looked around to see the other actors and performers. While he knew some of the folks on set, he did not honestly know any of them personally. The only person he was more acquainted with was Camilla, and that was because both filmed the movie Push a year ago.

As Chris’s eyes roamed around the room, they landed on Raina, who was fanning herself with her hands. While others were making small talk, he noticed that Raina took deep breaths and her eyes were closed. She stepped down on the chair she was standing on to take a seat and put her head in her hands. 

Chris felt bad. He knew an anxiety attack when he saw one. Slowly making his way over to Raina, he kneeled in front of her.

“Hey, are you okay?” Chris asked in a whisper.

Raina jumped at the sound of his voice. She did not expect anyone to come up to check on how she was doing. She thought she was doing her best to be discreet.

“I don’t know. It’s too hot in here. The lights are hurting my eyes, and it’s hard to breathe,” Raina said, continuing to fan herself.

Instinctively, Chris reached out to hold one of Raina’s shaking hands to help calm her down. 

“Have you ever tried the 4-7-8 breathing technique?”

Raina shook her head no and said, “Never heard of that technique.”

“Trust me; it has helped me out a lot. Okay, so you’re going to breathe in for four seconds, hold it for seven seconds, and exhale for eight seconds. Do you want to try it with me? Breathe in 1, 2, 3, 4. Hold 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 and exhale 1, 2, 3, 4 ,5, 6, 7, 8. Very good. Let’s do it again,” Chris calmly instructed Raina.

“I’ll get you some water. Just keeping doing the breathing exercises, okay.”

When Chris returned, he again kneeled in front of Raina and handed her the water cup.

“Thank you,” said Raina as she sipped slowly.

“You’re welcome.”

Raina let out a little chuckle, “I can’t believe I had an anxiety attack. I told Jerry I was worried about this happening. Again, thank you. I appreciate you helping me out,” expressed Raina gratefully.

As Raina continued to sip her water, Chris took the time to look at her. She was attractive, and he could tell she was a little bit younger than him. While this was Chris’s first-time meeting Raina, he had seen her before at other Hollywood functions. Neither having their paths cross until now.

“Okay, folks, let’s get back in your positions!” Mark yelled to get everyone’s attention.

“You going to be okay?” asked Chris as he stood up.

“Yes. I’m going to be fine,” answered Raina, standing up as well.

Chris helped her back up on the chair, and he returned to his spot next to Ashley. It was weird. No one else seemed to notice what went on between the two. It was like for those few short moments, Chris and Raina were in their own world. 

Chris kept stealing glances towards Raina for the rest of the shoot. He kept telling himself it was to make sure she was okay, not that he was drawn to her or anything. 

‘Don’t go there, Evans. The last thing you need is to be in a relationship, and she doesn’t look like the type to do hookups,’ Chris scolded himself and added, ‘Most likely won’t ever see her again after this day.’

“I am glad that it didn’t take long for us to meet again after that day. We do have Scott and Shanna to thank for that, by the way,” Chris happily reminded Raina.

He decided to call her that morning after their text exchange. He preferred hearing her voice anyways. 

“Oh yeah, at my concert in Boston. It was fate. We were destined to be friends.”

“Yep. Even though you are a fan of the New York Mets and Giants fan, I still love ya,” teased Chris.

Raina groaned, “Let us not bring up sports, shall we. It can only get ugly from here. Anyways, I’ll let you go. I gotta start heading out for rehearsals. Talk to you later. Bye,” said Raina.

“Bye, sweetheart. Take care,” replied Chris and ended the call. 

He looked over at Dodger, who had finished eating and was now lying in one of his dog beds near the kitchen table. As Chris continued to sip his coffee, he decided to make breakfast and went to the fridge to take some eggs. Once he got everything ready to begin cooking, his mind drifted to Raina. Chris noticed that his mind had been doing that more recently lately. 

For Chris, his relationship with Raina was more than just a friendship. She was someone he could confide in about things he was not comfortable bringing up to his family or close childhood friends. Their friendship evolved when both began a “friends with benefits” type of relationship. This would only occur when both were not in committed relationships with other people. 

Surprisingly, this arrangement only managed to make them closer friends. The boundaries they agreed upon were put in place not to fracture their friendship. He went into the situation not wanting to build some domesticated life with Raina. However, at times, Chris kept thinking if he could turn his friendship with Raina into something more. Something more than friends, more than sex buddies, but as a life partner. A wife and mother to his children.

‘Stop lying to yourself,’ Chris’s inner voice spoke up, ‘You’re in love with Raina. Just admit it!’

Nevertheless, Chris could not admit to himself. He was not ready to deal with those feelings for one of his closest friends. 

Not yet, at least. 

[reminiscences]

another attempt at blogging

i started this tumblr a couple years ago at the same time kate did. i can’t remember why—i’m sure tumblr was in the news again for some reason. i guess it was before the great porn purge. i was talking about blogging again this week with my friend daniel, and i woke up this morning and he had sent me a blog he wrote on a new tumblr account early in the morning, so to continue my regression to the early 2010s, i too have rebooted tumblr, given it an era-appropriate name, and decided to give it another go.

the problem with having a newsletter is that i don’t think anyone wants to hear from me in their inbox daily, so i’ve become very precious about the things i write there. it feels like it has to really matter. i like blogs because they’re disposable and can be dumb and not your best writing. how many two-graf tumblr posts did i write in 2011 that were just thoughts i idly had during a statistics lecture? anyway, here’s the first blog, they won’t all be this long probably. 

When I think about eventually looking back at this year I think about what I want to remember from it. I will remember the first week of March. I’ll remember the last birthday party I attended in person at Branch Ofc, a perfectly serviceable Crown Heights bar that was very full of people. I’ll think about that night and how I showed up to the party with a Ziplock full of homemade salted chocolate chip cookies in my purse, how I shared them with a table where the birthday-haver and their friends sat. Breathing in the same air as the four dozen other people crammed into the bar. I can’t imagine it now. I like Branch Ofc because it is unpretentious without pretending to be a dive, unlike Sharlene’s, which tries too hard to mimic the aesthetic trappings of an authentic dive bar but is really just a normal Park Slope bar. Branch Ofc is just a bar where you can buy drinks, and it was an eight-minute walk from my old apartment. It used to be a bar with a photobooth and Big Buck Hunter but I think both of those are gone now. 

For a few days in March, it felt like people were preparing for a snow day. Everyone was slightly more on edge than giddy—but only slightly. “WFH but make it a coffeeshop” I saw on someone’s Instagram story, a selfie with four of their friends coworking somewhere in Bushwick, completely nullifying the point of a work-from-home edict. I ran into my friend Maddie at the renovated Key Food on Nostrand the next week. Maddie, her roommate and I were in the aisle with the Pop Tarts and the Oreos. “I feel like I should get those?” we asked each other, pointing at junk food. I wasn’t wearing a mask or gloves; nobody was. Some guy wearing a Cornell University Sigma Chi tshirt walked by us with the largest bag of dried beans I’ve ever seen in my life slung over his shoulder. That was a man who had never soaked dried beans in his life. I wonder if he ever ate the beans. We were a bunch of idiot 20-somethings blindly grabbing for cans of soup and Fritos for the end of the world. What were any of us doing there? Why was it imperative that day that I make and freeze a lasagna? Maddie’s roommate had fresh lasagna noodles from Eataly she wasn’t going to use before she left for her parents’ house, and she said I could have those. She brought them over for me and I idly wondered if you could get Coronavirus from someone else’s fresh pasta noodles or if the heat of the oven would kill the germs. I made my lasagna.

I’ll think about how March-to-May is just one long gray blurry streak in my head. I baked, I got into running, I said “running with a mask? No thank you, no more running for me,” I got a job, I felt bad about getting a job when everyone I knew in journalism was getting laid off. I did a lot of Zoom Zumba. At first I slept terribly, and then I started sleeping too much, and then I stopped sleeping again at some point during that stretch. There was a novelty to suddenly being inside all the time that made it feel like an excuse to get “really into martinis.” I got really into martinis. Then I stopped drinking for a couple months. Remember “Zoom happy hours”? 

The thing I use most as a means of setting apart different eras in my head is the music I used as a soundtrack at the time. I rang in the 2014 new year in my cute apartment on Westcott Street in Syracuse with my college boyfriend, drunk and blaring Cold Cave, before we walked down the street to Alto Cinco and got Mexican food and passed out. It was my senior year and I only had a few more months of living like this and I loved the small life I’d built for myself there. Of course, it couldn’t stay. When we broke up a year and a half later after he moved to New York, where I had been living for most of a year, I walked around the neighborhood near the Myrtle-Wyckoff stop, close to where we were living together, listening to Mitski’s 2014 album Bury Me At Makeout Creek. I sat in Maria Hernandez Park and watched a bunch of kids play Red Rover. I didn’t especially want to go home because I hadn’t taken an escape route into account when we broke up and somehow timed it out so that things ended after the first of the month, leaving me with three-and-a-half weeks of continuing to share an apartment with someone whose heart I had just broken. In retrospect it’s clear to me that I had just outgrown a relationship with someone five years older than me who hadn’t grown up at all, but I hear that Mitski album now and all I think about are the cold early April days of 2015 when no place and no person felt like home. There’s a line in First Love/Late Spring, by Mitski, where she sings “胸がはち切れそうで,” which translates to something like “My chest is about to burst (with grief).” My advice to recent college graduates moving to New York is to simply not do anything the way I did it. 

So when I think about 2020, I do not want to associate any music I previously had fond memories of with this year. This is unfortunate because every musician I like who produces sad music has nothing but time on their hands now and they’ve all come out with new songs and albums. My recently played selections on Spotify look like a cry for help: Phoebe Bridgers, Bright Eyes, even Tigers Jaw. 

On Saturday I couldn’t sleep in. I woke up at 5:30 and watched the sun appear through my bedroom windows. I kept rolling over, trying to sleep again, but it was futile. Eventually I got up and got dressed, and left my apartment on foot. The walk into lower Manhattan is a few miles from my new place in Fort Greene. I walked west on Fulton, and then down Flatbush. It would have saved me ten minutes to take the Manhattan Bridge, but I’ve always regarded it as the ugliest of the bridges to cross on foot or on bike—last fall, I would walk home from Ben’s apartment over the Manhattan Bridge, and it was just so grey. You get an okay view of Dumbo, I guess, on the walk east, but it isn’t much to look at. When I got back to the Brooklyn side on those walks, I’d get on the A at High Street and take it back to Nostrand instead of walking the last couple miles. 

So I chose the Brooklyn Bridge this time. It was as busy as you’d expect it to be in a non-pandemic event. Instagram boyfriends took pictures of their girlfriends, who took off their masks for a few seconds for the right shot. I saw a couple taking engagement pictures in front of the lower Manhattan skyline. It felt so normal, pedestrians and bicyclists squeezing past each other at the narrow points. 

I was listening to Saint Cloud, the Waxahatchee album that came out a few months ago, turning it over and over in my brain like a rock you pick up at the beach and end up carrying with you on a long walk. The album, outwardly, has this gauzy blue-sky Americana vibe but when you listen to the lyrics of some of the songs it feels like peeling back layers of skin until you hit a raw nerve ending. Every song feels like a eulogy for this year. “You might mourn all that you wasted/That’s just part of the haul,” Katie Crutchfield sings on Ruby Falls. I got to the title track, which closes out the album, as I ascended the bridge. When you get baaaack on the M train, watch the cityyyyyy mutaaaaaaate, she sings. I guess she’s singing about New York. Is there another M train somewhere? I don’t know. I’m going to think about this stupid year whenever I listen to this album, I thought.

I got off the bridge at City Hall, surveyed the ongoing occupation movement there and the literal dozens of cops that had seemingly been deployed to stand there and, at best, do nothing. I walked down Centre Street, eventually winding through the little park by Baxter Street where two adults were playing ping pong, which felt like a socially distanced sport, all things considered. I walked down all those side streets in Chinatown as the sun struggled to break through the oppressive clouds. I walked by Nom Wah, past the salon Polly taught me will give you a very good $12 blowout, past that annoying bar where the bartenders are dressed like scientists, past the place where Kate and I got our auras read on her birthday in January, and ended up at Deluxe Green Bo. I ordered my spicy wontons in peanut sauce and ate them right there, the hot plastic container burning my knees as I sat on the sidewalk. 

Afterwards I walked by all my favorite places—the skatepark under the bridge, Cervo’s, Beverly’s (RIP), Little Canal, Jajaja, the Hawa Smoothie near the East Broadway F. The skaters were hanging out in Dimes Square. Everything had changed but standing outside Kiki’s, it felt for a second like almost nothing had. It was almost a normal Saturday on Canal Street. The sky stayed electric blue until I got back to Brooklyn. 

[thatgirlintheaudience]

Dear Evan Hansen 1st National Tour- July 24, 2019 

Maria Wirries on as Alana

Ben Levi Ross is giving the performance of a lifetime as Evan Hansen. He had the audience in the palm of his hand. With one look or facial expression, he made the audience burst out laughing. His singing and acting was absolute perfection and I just thought he was phenomenal. From the minute he comes on stage, he speaks so fast and yet gets through his dialogue effortlessly. His singing voice is so clear and beautiful. 

In For Forever when he sings “or girls we wish would notice us, but never do,” he glances at Zoe and awkwardly looks away. And when Heidi is over at the Murphy's house and they’re explaining how much time they have been spending with Evan, he was sitting in a chair and was bouncing his leg up and down and looked like he was about to burst out crying. And when giving his speech, he crawls out of the spotlight and looked so scared. And when he began You Will Be Found he was crying and I could see the single tear stream down his cheek.  (I was second row, so I was blessed to notice very specific details!) He was just brilliant and I can not say enough good things about his performance. 

I also wanna shout out Jessica Phillips as Heidi Hansen. She was also phenomenal. Good For You was such a highlight for me. It was intense and gritty. The dialogue scenes between Heidi and Evan were just so intense and brilliantly delivered. They had a great connection and I love how they hug at each curtain call. Anyway everyone is just so angry and frustrated at Evan in Good For You and how they surround him as he tries to desperately save this story he’s created. 

In Anybody Have a Map? Cynthia and Connor are on the left side of the stage, while Heidi and Evan are on the right side, and it shows the parallels between the two moms and the two teenagers. How even though these two people come form different backgrounds and do not know each other, both moms are struggling to connect with their teenage sons and both sons are struggling on  their first day of senior year. Also, how in Waving Through A Window, everyone forms a circle around Evan and face away from him, but in You Will Be Found, they all face towards him. It was moments like this that literally had me saying wow out loud. It was also moments like that that makes me scream, “How does Michael Grief not have a Tony yet??!!” I really will never get over how Evan and Connor could have been friends. And Connor saying, “now we can both pretend we have friends” is a line that will forever hit emotionally hard for me and so many. 

Marrick Smith was a tough Connor. I can’t explain it well, but I always saw Mike Faist as a sort of playful and humorous Connor Murphy who tries to guide Evan after his death. Smith’s Connor was much more daunting and fully played upon the darker elements of Connor’s life. Just a different portrayal which I appreciate seeing since I believe Connor is a complex character who could have many different interpretations. 

Christiane Noll was completely heat breaking as Cynthia Murphy, especially when she hugs Connor’s pillow during Requiem. I think Cynthia is such a great character who doesn't always get the love she deserves. Just like Heidi, she is an imperfect mother who is trying her best. 

In act 2, Jared tells Evan that he can’t do much for the Connor project that weekend because he’s gonna be hanging out with his “real” friends. And when Evan says fine, we don’t need you anyway, Jared’s face is so hurt and he uses humor to act like he doesn’t care when he really so deeply cares! It’s very important, I think, to note that Jared and Alana feel just as lonely as Evan. It’s important to note how this (anxiety, depression, loneliness, disconnection) is happening to many people, not just Evan. It’s also important to note how Evan doesn't even realize how lonely Alana and Jared even are because in real life we don’t know how people truly feel. And how Heidi blames herself as a mother for not realizing how lonely Evan was. This is why this show is so important. 

Maggie McKenna was great as Zoe and she does have stars on the cuffs of her jeans! 

Also some other fun facts: the tweets shown before the show started were tweets from DJ Khaled, Kanye West, Kim Kardashian, and Neil Degrasse Tyson. They were all from Fall 2016, which is right before the show opened on Broadway so it makes sense.  

Also when in Connor’s room during If I Could Tell Her, Connor’s room was shown on the screens. I noticed a middle finger poster and a no smoking sign. 

And in To Break in a Glove, that is real shaving cream because I could smell it! 

And then the blue sky at the end is just stunning and Evan finally gives a real smile to the spotlight which looks like the sun shining on his face. It is a beautiful ending. 

If this tour is coming to a city near you, do anything you can to go. You can read my Broadway review of the show under the tags theater review and dear evan hansen. Also I was in the balcony the first time I saw DEH and the second row this time. The response I had to the show was incredibly stronger this time. Do you all find similar experiences with this show or other shows? Orchestra seats versus balcony seats? Or are some shows just so good, it doesn't matter where you sit? Feel free to respond! 

But I love this show and I hope you enjoyed reading this!

[popentertainmentconcertreviews]

Patti LuPone – The Kimmel Center – Philadelphia, PA – June 9, 2019

Legendary Broadway diva Patti LuPone took the stage at Verizon Hall at Kimmel Center for a rare afternoon concert – I guess Patti wanted to be sure to watch the Tony Awards later that night – with her latest one-woman show Don’t Monkey with Broadway. Well, not completely one-woman, she was accompanied throughout the show by stunning pianist Joseph Thalken and the local choral group Brotherly Love – made up of members of the Philadelphia Gay Men’s Chorus – backed her on several songs in the second act.

It became a guided tour of the Great White Way from someone who really knows the terrain. LuPone has been touring with this show on and off for a few years now, and it should be catnip for Broadway fans. The spectacularly talented singer discussed her life and career between doing standards and obscurities from the songbooks of such legendary composers as Richard Rodgers, Lorenz Hart, Jule Styne, Stephen Schwartz, Charles Strouse, Leonard Bernstein, Stephen Sondheim, Cole Porter and Irving Berlin.

As spectacular as the singing was – and you know you’re going to be blown away vocally when watching Patti LuPone – much of the fun was simply listening to the diva talk. She discussed her training, her career, her love of New York, her feelings about the current state of Broadway, and modern life, and she was never less than charming and funny in her opinions.

Looking back on her earliest days as part of the first dramatic class in Juilliard with “Houseman” (as she lovingly referred to actor/acting teacher John Houseman, star of The Paper Chase and other films), she brought us back to a pre-stardom LuPone. She explained how she was looking to be a dramatic actress. The group didn’t even do any musicals until Houseman recognized that some people in the class (which also included Kevin Kline and David Ogden Stiers) could actually sing. Even then, the musical choices were rather questionable. (She laughingly promised not to sing anything from their first musical, an obscure and highly dry-sounding project.)

The opening tune – which gave this show its title – showed the audience what they were up for. She performed a minorly obscure Cole Porter title called “Please Don’t Monkey with Broadway,” which is about the sanctity of the famous theatrical district. The rest of the area can fall to pieces, but please don’t monkey with Broadway. LuPone stopped and started in the middle of the song to bring it up to date (it was originally from the Fred Astaire film Broadway Melody of 1940). Therefore, she discussed current New York mores like gentrification and superstores, and naked cowgirls performing outside of giant kid’s toy stores on Times Square. (“Why is there a toy store on Times Square?” she asked puckishly.) And, of course, she took a quick swipe at Trump.

From there on, she took us through a series of songs which were important in her life – explaining her connections to the tunes, whether as a performer or as a fan. She showed her amazing dexterity as a singer, seemingly effortlessly tossing off such tongue-twisters as the infamously verbose “Ya Got Trouble” from The Music Man, and then toning things down significantly for the sweet and sadly mostly forgotten “Sleepy Man” from The Robber Bridegroom.

She closed the opening act in the way that befits a diva, doing a show-stopping version of perhaps her best known song, “Don’t Cry For Me, Argentina” from Evita (her breakthrough was in the original Broadway cast of that show), and then on the final notes the theater lights went to black.

The second act was more of an overview of some of her favorite standards. She did a mini set of three songs from her self-described “favorite musical,” West Side Story. Particularly fun was a version of “A Boy Like That/I Have a Love” in which LuPone acted both roles in the duet, Anita and Maria, simply by shifting her gaze and her manner.

Then she continued with four more Stephen Sondheim songs (Sondheim wrote the lyrics to the West Side Story tunes but did music and lyrics for all the others), including the jaw-dropper “Being Alive” from Company, which LuPone just finished playing in London a few weeks before the show. (One of my companions at this show was also lucky enough to see her final performance of that play in London.)

Don’t Monkey with Broadway was a smart, sweet and funny look at theatrical history with one of the great singers to come from modern stage.

Jay S. Jacobs

Copyright ©2019 PopEntertainment.com. All rights reserved. Posted: June 10, 2019.

Photo © 2019. Courtesy of The Kimmel Center.

[lottiedoesthings]

Hamilton west end

Guess who wrote this months ago but forgot and left it in her drafts

Matinee, 21/2/19 - the little details

SPOILER WARNING? For the staging I guess?

-firstly there were two understudies on: Ellena Vincent as Angelica Schuyler, and Waylon Jacobs as Lafayette/Jefferson AND THEY KILLED IT! Ellena was a stunning Angelica, and Waylon was hilarious as Jefferson

- Alexander(Jamael Westman) is so tall (he was practically crouching next to me at stage door for a photo) and Eliza (Rachelle Ann Go) barely reached his shoulder which I should not have been laughing at during take a break with Angelica and Eliza on either side of him looking actually child sized

- Mulligan (Tarinn Callender) high pitched voice for the 'come again' in Aaron Burr, Sir and the 'man??!!!' in Story of Tonight (reprise)

- King George (Jon Robyns) has such a nasally voice and I loVE IT. THE Perfect balance between petulant child and sinister-ness , also my mum's favourite character

- PEGGY AND MULLIGAN GRINDING DURING HELPLESS

- Satisfied: God is a woman and her name is Ellena Vicent

- Ham's 'oh shit' in Story of Tonight (reprise) was basically that daymmmmn meme. So Great.

- Wait for it killed me. Burr's (Sifiso Mazibuko) riffs were on fire!

- the gunshots in in Yorktown (and in general) are so loud and go right through you, it's a weird feeling

- lighting design in Yorktown was amazing and so was Mulligan (Tarinn was also incredibly friendly and great at stage door)

- I'm a cellist so hearing the cello solos in Yorktown and Say no to this live was an out of body experience, legit is my dream to play the cello in the Hamilton band because it's such a great part

- King George stomping his foot and the lights changing blue for 'i'm so blue' in what comes next made me wheeze

- Ham was so extra for non-stop, so many flourishes, like the funky little kick Gretchen does at the end of meet the plastics but 10x better

I was crying too much in act two to remember a lot of the details but here's the main things I noted:

- the wall that's broken in act one is complete for act 2 and if it's some metaphor for America idk but that's a cool detail

- Eliza's beatboxing while visually encouraging Philip on was adorable

- The BIGGEST eye roll from Ham after the King Louis head lines

- Alex was actually so done in all the cabinet battles also that mic drop might be the best thing to ever happen, period.

- I was a bit worried that Washington (Dom Hartley-Harris) was going to hold back a bit during One last time because it was a matinee but Jesus, he was freaking fantastic

- the lighting design in Hurricane is phenomenal, it makes everything seem so ethereal

- King George waved to Burr at the beginning of the Adams administration, not really sure how that works but it was hilarious

- Maria hands Hamilton the quill to write the Reynolds pamphlet!?

- idk the fact that they made specific costumes for the fake play that features for like 30s in Blow us all away just gets to me

- the heartbeats while Philip and Ham are dying are really noticeable in the theatre, especially when they stop so yeah thanks Hamilton sound designer, I didn't need my heart anyway

- Rachel Ann Go's Eliza is everything to me and I sobbed buckets during Who lives, who dies, who tells your story?

- I stage-doored for the first time and it was great, though alleyways are really cold and windy in England in February and I had to put the flash on for photos so my face is completely white with bright red cheeks in my pictures so thats great

[inopinion]

Writing prompt: "would you give everything up, if it would save him?" "No."

Another prompt given to me pre-War Storm. Forgive the late delivery.

See Part 1 here…

@lilyharvord, @mareshmallow, @redqueenfandom, @anyone-anything-canbetrayanyone, @tiberias-vii, @runexandra, @mom2reesie, @scarletguardsource,  @adraxsteia, @redqueenfandom,  @wrenskonos, @Maria-habs, @cordelnight, @naercxy, @morebooks-pls, @lamemathpuns, @booksmusicmoviesandmore, @thespacebetweenthestars, @book-fandoms-rule-the-world, @juggyandbetty, @redqueen214, @giihmonzane13…

Remember, War Storm Spoilers are involved…

And reblog to share with a friend.

Paranoia isn’t an unfamiliar partner after what I’d been through, but I am certain it’s not just my damaged psyche nor the influence of the alcohol. People are watching us. Strangers that I don’t know crane their necks and track us off the dance floor. Each step becomes a stomp that defies their judgement–real or imaginary. 

So close to him, I can’t imagine allowing enough space to do anything but test the strength of the thread holding his buttons. Cal is like no other lover I’ve ever had because there is.. was.. I guess is actual love between us. Has been, will be, forever. Some part of me belongs to him even if that part got left behind on a battlefield. Perhaps he carries it with him like I carry his earring. I’m eager to see if I can find it, the search will be fun enough of a reward.

Except, Farley looks at me like she looks at Clara when she’s headed for a collision with gravity. But I know she’ll let me fall and scrape my knees and cry just the same. Only Clara gets a cuddle and set back on her feet. Farley won’t patch the holes I tear into myself. We’ve been through too much together for me not to respect what that look means: slow down.

Just outside the door I stall. He slows to match. I swing my head around. He takes note of our surroundings. We stop entirely.

Cal is agitated, glaring at a gaping serving girl. He exudes enough warmth that I don’t think I’d need a coat even though it’s snowing. He tugs me, resigned to the gossips. But It doesn’t feel right leaving with him, not like it did before I saw Farley’s face.

“Door’s there. Or I guess we could find some place here to talk.” He waves around us. I swallow. There is no place in the palace without ears. “Second thoughts?” he asks, bitterness coating his tone as he internalizes my hesitation.

He drops my hand and runs his fingers through the curls on his head. It sticks up in weird ways showing exactly how long the top has gotten. I have a third thought, then a fourth, but that’s mostly the alcohol.

“Hey, I want to talk. We should talk. How often are we in the same place, right?”  I cringe at his wince. I’m an expert at throwing salt in his wounds. “I just don’t think now is a good time. I mean, I have had more wine than I should. We deserve clear heads, right?”

He swallows, agrees because there’s no other option being given then we hastily make plans. He is scheduled in most of the same sessions as Farley. Almost an entire week completely booked from nine to six. Dinners with various councils and factions take up his nights. I can hear the unspoken conclusion: this is the only time he isn’t already booked.

“But you have to eat lunch, right?” I ask before he can suggest otherwise.

“Provided.”

“But it’s not scheduled. I mean, it isn’t for Farley. Can you get away for lunch? I know a cafe that makes nice sandwiches.”

“Okay, lunch, I guess. I get out of session at eleven-thirty, rejoin at one-fifteen. So, at best, ninety-minutes.”

“Plenty of time,” I respond. 

Cal’s face falls. He looks as if he can’t breath, a feeling I know so well that I hurt for him. But I can’t quite fathom why he’s stricken when he never answered my last letter. 

“If you’re not ready, that’s okay. It’s okay.” He doesn’t sound like he’s talking to me but to himself, assuring himself. 

His chin snaps up in a court-trained posture. He’s let his emotions drip down his sleeves and he makes an effort to recover. 

“I meant to start talking. I didn’t mean… I don’t know Cal. Don’t look at me like that.” I can’t help but snap at his neutral mask.

The muscle in his jaw flexes. His eyes are steady and controlled, his temperature moderated, and his voice even when he says,  “Where is this cafe?”

Cal gives me whiplash when he squeezes my hand gently and pulls his lip up on one side. Regardless of how much time it is, or what gets said, or what he thinks I’ll say when we get there, we have a date. No, not a date. A meeting. It’s just a meeting, we’ll talk, catch up, trade war stories like other soldiers. We’ll see where he is and where I am. And it’s a fucking date, and I can’t help the surge of excitement.

I walk away, back to Farley who’s critiquing dancers on the floor with another Red General. I’m too caught up in how quickly my word choice crushed Cal to remember her name. One hand, he still likes me, obviously. On the other, he didn’t exactly strike me as emotionally stable. Then again, I almost broke down before dinner just from seeing him, so who am I to talk?

“Oh, you’re still here. Lovely, let’s leave,” Farley muses, flashing teeth.

“Leave? There’s still wine isn’t there?” I smirk as I snag another glass. 

I don’t see Cal reenter the ballroom nor can I stop looking for him. I don’t even finish the glass. I hold it just to make Farley wait, which she does with expressive sighs and head rolls. Clara kept her up the night before, too excited about visiting grandma to sleep. But if I wasn’t a pain in Farley’s side, would she still think of me as a sister?

Wriggling out of ballgowns, even those so delicately tailored to my requests, is still a relief second only to a hot bath. Farley’s tub is not luxurious. It barely holds enough water to consider it a soak and my knees stick out if I want my shoulders in, but still, I fill it with water, bubbles and –for good measure– I drop Clara’s mersive and her battleship from eye height just to see them splash.

Between evasive maneuvers and using a bubble-cloud as a fog-storm, my mind veers off of elementary battle tactics and towards the more dangerous realm of silver princes. Ex-princes. Generals. Men.

Cal got upset so quickly I wonder if he expected to sweep me off the dance floor and back into his life. I very nearly left with him. I could have let him carry me out the door and to where ever he has a bed if only for a few more minutes of his warmth. But that was always our problem, too much chemistry and not enough math. We never added things up, not until the very end, and then we were both surprised when we couldn’t quite make it work. Bad analogy, I was never that great with math. 

More like we’re two pieces so closely shaped that if you squinted, we fit together perfectly. But eyes wide open, at least when we last parted, there were gaps. We didn’t fit. I couldn’t keep squinting and neither could he.

Maybe I’ve managed to fill-in the right parts of me, and maybe he’s made himself into a new shape, too. That’s what I hoped time would give us. Walking away last night, seeking a clearer head, I don’t think I could have done that before. Surging with pride, I sink the mersive to strike the battleship from below.

“Don’t sleep all day,” Farley tosses something at me, it lands with a thud. She’s out the door before I can roll over.

Bundled together with a rubber-band are brochures, pamphlets, and adds from a newspaper all about jobs. Red retraining programs touting the achievement of a true education and a trade all in one. The Guard’s military brochure is a three page tri-fold with the benefits listed in bold, red letters on a white background. The Montfort pamphlets are similar but green and lack a navy. More describe the training to join the tech sectors in the old tech towns. I let them fall on the floor and flop back over. 

It’s not that I don’t want a job, or that I don’t have one. I just don’t have one that pays money with any regularity. I can smell my mom’s complaining on the bold gesture. When we first got to our small town west of Ascendant, I helped Gisa set up her shop, read documents, kept the ledgers, took down orders. But Gisa learned to read and write and then there was little for me around the shop. Besides, my mom deserved the easy job of helping my sister. I haven’t held a steady job since. I’m unreliable. I’m flighty. I’m sensitive to sounds, fast movement, aggressive tones. At least Farley had the sense to offer me service positions, when I tell mom where I got the brochures, she’s gonna let Farley have it.

With a small pinch of joy, I fall back asleep imagining Farley’s face as my mother lectures her on getting me out of trouble and not into it.

The sun is high and the light is beautiful through the translucent drapes over the windows. They alternate purple and blue and cream creating shadows and casting color on the plain walls. I haven’t woken so rested in a long time, at least a month. My stomach growls.

I am hungry.

The sun is up, high in the sky.

Flying from the couch to the kitchen I squint through sleepy eyes at the clock and panic. There’s no time. I yank on pants, a mostly clean shirt and stuff my feet into boots. I squirt some tooth paste into my mouth and rinse with water. I am leaving five minutes later than I should. I run and it feels so good to be heading somewhere, to have the adrenaline, to chase that high all the way up the hill and down the other.

At the bottom of the hill, work crews struggle. Water pulses out of the storm drain onto the street. On the edges, it freezes into ice and builds up in layers as the waves come faster than the nymph can redirect. The silver isn’t very powerful and can do little more than redirect the water. The entire street is blocked.

I race up the hill to the road at the top and rush down half a block to the alley and then back down the hill. The detour forces me to loop around the building that holds the cafe. The clock on the bank across the street says it’s almost noon. I am nearly thirty minutes late, fifteen if he didn’t leave the council until eleven-thirty.

Through the door, I pause to watch. I want to see him without him knowing that I’m watching. I want to read him, how he is without me. How he is when he’s on his own and not a general or a lord of a high house. He looks stoically at the server behind the counter. His coat floats up as his arm pushes into it and pulls it on, preparing to leave. When the server looks away, he glances back at the table in the corner. Cal turns back, eyebrows drawn together, mouth looking pained. A few coins come out of his hand and fall in the tip jar. A bag is pushed across to him, his lunch to-go. I time it so that I walk through just as he turns to head out so I can clearly see his face.

He is appropriately disconcerted that his path is blocked, then his entire face lightens as he flushes. Blood rushes his cheekbones, he blushes into a pallor and a coy smile. Cal’s caught not knowing what to say, lips moving, tongue still. His eyes are so soft and kind and then concerned.

“Thought you might have gotten lost,” he lies.

“Nope. Just late.” I step forward. 

For every two steps, he backs up one, leading me towards the table in the corner. He slips his jacket off and sets it on the chair, his back to the wall. I peel off my coat and drape it over the chair.

“I’ll just order, be right back.”

I order a sandwich, a cup of coffee, and an apple. Cal isn’t fast enough to look away when I glance over, but the fact that he tries confirms where his eyes were wondering. It’s nice to know he still appreciates me in that way. I hope we’re ready to consider something a little more. As weak as I am when it comes to him, I try to swear my self to a resolution: slow, steady, and not just for the sizzle.

“I over slept.”

“Ah, the troubles of the victors.” He teases, I think. 

I don’t laugh, stuffing my mouth with a bite of food instead. 

“Aren’t you going to eat?”

“Not if you’re going to talk with your mouth full.” 

The disgust on his face is real. That makes me laugh for real. I cover my mouth with my hand, somewhere between me and Mareena in my manners. He unwraps his sandwich.

“So?” I ask.

“So… how’s your family? Do they like Montfort?”

If he’s asked Farley then he should know, but it’s an easy enough topic to break the ice. He keeps me talking. He asks about everyone: mom, dad, Gisa, Bree, Tramie –no one is left out.

“And finally, Kilorn. What’s that fucker up to?”

There is no other way I would want someone to refer to Kilorn. For all he is, he is at his very heart a pain in the ass. An amazing, wonderfully loyal and insufferable friend. He has managed to endear himself not just to me and my family but to Farley, and Cameron, and even, apparently to Cal. 

“Couldn’t keep him away from the water. He’s in the Nortan Navy. We get letters sometimes, mostly he’s bored. Sometimes he’s in trouble. But he’s always got a good group of people around him.”

“What ship?”

“The Cardinal.”

“I’ll keep tabs.” He holds my gaze and I know that even now, Cal will help keep Kilorn safe in what ever way he can, for me.

“Thanks.” I catch myself dry mouthed and tired lips. My coffee is cooling and my sandwich is only missing a few bites while his is all gone. I’ve talked so long. “What about you?”

“Well, you know. I’ve got fewer to look after, I guess it makes things dull.” He pushes quickly past the pain but I see it all the same. “I just keep my soldiers fit, ready, mind our posts.”

“You haven’t picked up a hobby?”

“I have, actually. I am becoming an expert at budgeting.” He smiles broadly, proud and cheerful in acknowledging his new position. 

“Damn, did you have to cut back on the armor?” His eyes flick past me, again.

He’s been looking over my shoulder, at the door every few minutes. I turn and look. The door swings shut and a patron greets another at a table. 

“You waiting for someone else?” I ask, turning back.

“No. I am here completely for you.” His eyes flick again and I hear the door shut again.

“Why you watching the door?”

“Nothing. Just a habit.” 

He crushes the paper from his sandwich between his fists. I can still read him well and there’s shame in his posture. I glance behind me again, the suspicion that I’m sitting square in a trap flashes through me and the lightning comes to my fingertips.

“Easy, Mare.”

“You’re making me nervous. Why are you watching the door?”

“I’m… checking for assassins,” he barely mumbles. When the door opens again, I watch him fight his insticts then finally give in with a glance over my shoulder.

“Assassins? You’re not the King, Cal.”

“Yeah, well, some people forget. And the last time, I almost didn’t make it.”

Silence. Stillness. Processing is slow when someone you love is uncomfortable and embarrassed and admitting their weaknesses when they want you to think they’re strong. It made Kilorn shake under our house in the Stilts, and Maven dare me from his bathtub, and Cameron open up to me as we circled the Piedmont base. I want him to tell me more, trust me with what he finds shameful. So I wait and let him come to his words.

“The girl, the one the papers got a photo of me–”

“Kissing?”

“Yeah. She got me alone, um… and then she stabbed me.” Something about how his hands drop into his lap is defensive not casual, an indication of where. I wince with him. “I almost bled to death.”

“Who found you?” The idea that he had a couple suitors never crossed my mind before. But who else would come to find him in his bedroom?

“I didn’t let her get away without injury and she didn’t make it very far before the alarm was raised. Thank my colors, I had my bracelets on.” 

“Yeah, I guess so.” I sip my coffee and avoid looking directly at him. He’s ghostly pale he’s blushing from his collarbones to the tips of his ears. Some levity seems to be needed, I reach out and touch his hand. He looks up, shocked I’d touch him. “Most importantly, did they take care of that… um… curve?”

“Shut up. It is not curved.” he retracts, losing his breath in laughs.

“Well, I mean maybe not now. I wouldn’t blame you for taking advantage of the situation. I mean, making some improvements.”

“Surprised you didn’t say bigger.”

“Oh, honey, it’s not about the size. It’s how you use it.”

“And how was I at using it?” his knee brushes mine under the table and his lip pulls up goofy and flirting.

“You got better,” I begrudgingly admit after some contemplation.

“I’d happily remind you by how much.”

“I might just…” I stop myself. His lips slam shut. He straightens and clears his throat. I can’t finish what I’m saying.

“Sorry.” He looks at his watch and then back at the door. It’s time for him to return to sessions, discussions, strategies. “Time is up.”

“This was nice,” I admit. My hand is still on his on the table.

Warm fingers slide over mine until he’s gently massaging my palm. “I liked it.”

“Enough to say the past is forgiven?” I ask.

“You never needed forgiveness from me.”

“Didn’t I?” I hold his eyes steady, not letting him look away. For the first time since we sat down, I’m being completely serious. I need to know what might follow us forward.

“What for?” He asks.

“Just one question, one honest question. If you could go back and do it all over again, if you could just flip me that coin and walk away? And I never fall into that arena, would you go back?” I can’t bring myself to use the words, but I need to know if he will live his life regretting meeting me because, in the end, and actually at the beginning, I took his brother.

Cal pulls back, leans against the chair. “Julian says it’s the curse on the survivors to spend our time trying to remake our regrets.” 

It’s a non-answer that might as well be a yes. I start to stand, tears prickling. Laughing with him, hearing him sigh, and joke reminds me of too many things I want to keep. But I don’t want to be a reminder of all that he lost. Why he lost everything.

“Mare, I have a lot of regrets. But you’re not one of them. Elara would have ruined him no matter the path. Maybe I could have had a few more years, or a few months, but she would have taken him in the end. Jon only knows, but I tend to think this might have been the best I could have hoped for, at least the way it happened, I didn’t go through it alone.”

“So, where does that leave us?”

He stands and pulls on his jacket. He takes in a deep breath and lets it out. “How about same time tomorrow?”

And the next day and the next. We have one week of sessions and meetings before he’s back on a plane to Norta. And it’s exactly the slow pace I need, that we need, to see exactly where we’ve grown and what we’ve left behind. Maybe at the end, we’ll find that we finally fit. Or maybe it answers the question differently, with less pain, fewer choices to rehash that never asking in the first place.

Reblogs appreciated.

[keywestlou]

DISRESPECT TO ABRAHAM LINCOLN STATUE.....SMEARED IN FECES AND PAINT

What’s wrog with people? The number of crazies seems to be growing.

One of the latest incidents involves a purported BLM leader and former professor. He was arrested after an Abraham Lincoln statue was discovered smeared in feces and paint. The statue was one of Lincoln seated. Its location a public park in Boise, Idaho.

The perpetrator a Terry Wilson. The police spotted him. He tried to run away. However, the police caught him.

His vehicle was found to contain a firearm, marijuana, and drug paraphernalia.

Many blacks believe Lincoln was not without sin. They are keenly aware the Emancipation Proclamation only freed slaves in Confederate states. Lincoln feared they would be made to fight against the North.

Lincoln’s personal feelings re Blacks was well known at the time. Before and during the Civil war he had expressed himself re his adverse thoughts involving Blacks.

One is, “I can conceive of no greater calamity than the assimilation of the Negro into our social and political life as our equal.”

We are to quick in American society today to condemn what was consider valid when spoken, but is not so today. History is not stagnant. It is a moving story.

If we are going to find acceptable smearing a statue of Lincoln with feces, then we also should do the same to Washington’s Mount Vernon home and Jefferson standing in all his glory in the Jefferson Memorial.

Both were slave owners. Jefferson it is claimed even made pregnant a woman of color and their descendants are well known today.

Biden held his first official press conference yesterday. I thought he was terrific! Responded to each question, even where it was obvious the reporter was trying to sandbag him. Biden’s preparedness was obvious.

The reporters failed to distinguish themselves. Questions were repeated after answered. Reporters pushed when the question was so inappropriate that there was nothing to push.

I suspect one of the reasons for the poor questions and the manner asked was the age of most of the reporters. On the young side. Seeking a “gotcha” moment.

Biden looked like a President, acted like a President. He responded to questions knowledgeably.

At the end I felt comfortable. No one, whether a reporter or Kim Jung Un is going to rock his boat.

FOX News and Trump are birds of a feather. During Trump’s 4 years, I often thought FOX News bore the same degree of responsibility as Trump for spreading the distortion and lies of the truth.

Distortion was in vogue for FOX yesterday.

Trump had a 2 hole binder with him. He did not read from it. He did occasionally check to be sure his facts were to correct. FOX referred to the notebook as “cheat sheets.”

There is only one way for the filibuster to go. Out the door! Get rid of it!

Biden knows it, as does the rest of thinking Americans. Anything less than complete abdication of the filibuster will cause Biden to fail in producing that which is needed and he promised.

Reverting back to the old way and compelling long floor argument represents compromise. I understand the problems in getting around some members of his own party. He has to figure a way, however. He has been a member of Congress since he was 29. He knows all the tricks there are to know.

I hope he can get it done. Death to the filibuster a necessity.

McConnell evidenced this week that he is a cry baby. Though he cannot be accused of wetting his pants. At least, not yet. He told reporters the President has not spoken to him since he took office nor has he invited him to the White House.

It is obvious Trump knows his adversary. He has legislated with him more than 30 years. More importantly, he was Obama’s Vice-President for 8 years when McConnell did everything to block needed legislation supported by Obama. He jerked Obama around at every turn.

Biden obviously understands the axiom you can fool me once, but not a second time. Nothing wrong with Biden treating McConnell persona non grata.

Something I can understand. A University of California study was released this week. It reported that most Americans have gained 2 pounds a month during the pandemic.

I can understand. I gained no weight. However my stomach has gotten bigger while my pants have gotten smaller.

Tomorrow a big day for me! I get my second vaccine shot. It will also be my 392nd  self-quarantine day.

I do not plan going out tomorrow night. My understanding is one should wait 2 weeks before mingling with people again. I can handle another 2 weeks.

Cocktails at 7 is in Key West. All the way from Seattle, Washington. Unknown to me till she arrived yesterday. Sent me an e-mail that she had arrived, was staying at the Pier House, had a reservation for dinner there also.

Meet me, she said. No, I said. I did not intend to blow the more than one year of self-quarantine I had suffered. I have only 2 weeks to go till I’m with Willie Nelson on the road again!

Her name is Cathy Hakola. She lived in Key West in the late 1980s at the “haunted house on Virginia Street. The former “Mercedes Hospital” run by Maria Valdez de Gutsens.

Maria is long dead. The story however is she still walks the floors and rooms of the former hospital. People claim to have woken at night seeing her with a hand on their head or touching an arm. Once seen she is gone.

Cathy says she believes the story. However never was touched by nor saw the good Matron.

As to what she observed last night on Duval was not surprising to me. Two other persons have told me the same thing since last weekend.

The people on Duval were not just spring beakers. Cathy says 50 percent were people in their 50s.

More observation data. Only 10 percent of all on Duval were wearing masks. She and her daughter visited a couple of Duval lady attire shops. Bought several outfits. Masks required.

Cathy has had a good and expensive time so far. In less than 24 hours. We spoke on the phone this morning again.

She rented a car in Miami to drive down. She told me she had become aware of a car rental company called Turo. They rent cars personally owned a couple of days a week. She rented a red Mercedes convertible. Claims it was “adorable.” Sounds it. They drove to Key West with the top down all the way. Cost: $175 a day.

Staying at the Pier House. Six hundred some odd dollars a night.

Cathy has always wanted a Mel Fisher gold coin neck piece. A good one she always told me. I assume the one she bought last night was a good one. Cost: $6,000.

My friend Cathy is having a good time.

I recommended Latitudes for dinner tonight. She was told they were booked solid for 4 months. I believe it.

Enjoy your day!

DISRESPECT TO ABRAHAM LINCOLN STATUE…..SMEARED IN FECES AND PAINT was originally published on Key West Lou

[bloomsoftly]

take your time (in a hurry), ch. 1

in honor of @ragwitch​‘s birthday on August 31, i’m posting the first chapter of her birthday gift. because i really can’t help myself, and it turned into a full-blown fic. i’ll be posting more up to and on her birthday (but it won’t be finished by then, because this thing is a monster, for real).

i love you, queenie, and i hope this story comes close to expressing exactly how much!

read: part 2, part 3

Chapters: 1/? Relationships: wintershieldshock (Darcy/Bucky/Steve), Darcy & Tony  Rating: T (for now) Summary: an old west!AU in which Darcy is the bastard daughter of one Tony Stark, who was banished for getting a girl pregnant out of wedlock. Now that her grandparents have died, she embarks on a quest to find her long-lost father. 

Her eyes were dry. They were supposed to be, she supposed. No one else was crying, either, and her Grandma and Grandpa certainly wouldn’t have wanted her to abandon decorum over misplaced sentiment. Well, Grandma would've wanted her to mourn, in private. Grandpa Howard would've laughed at her for it, if he was drunk. If he was sober, he probably wouldn't have remembered she existed at all.

They hadn't spoken to each other in months, not since he’d rooted out all the letters her Papa had sent from when she was a baby, the ones Maria had used to read to her before bed. He'd burned them all in a fit of rage. All but one. Dipping her fingers into the folds of her skirt, searching for the hidden pocket that had the letter safely tucked away, Darcy rubbed the parchment between her fingers. She was in need of its security today, of all days. It was a familiar method of reassuring herself; the letter was one of her oldest companions. It and Maria were the only friends she had left in the world.

A world that was full of snakes and sharks, circling tighter and tighter as they tried to figure out whether she would inherit the Stark fortune. She'd been the only descendant, despite her Papa’s disgrace and banishment. And now she was alone, with no buffer from the rakes and the back-stabbing, conniving upper society of New York. She was so tired of feeling like prey.

Which was why she was hiding in the corner of the receiving room, away from the parlor and all the vultures dressed in black. Staring at the casseroles and the pies, wondering how she’d ever eat them all. Wondering if they’d known it was too much—too much for a girl just breaking into her twenties, and a housekeeper, and a small set of servants—but brought them anyway, needing a reason to swoop in on the memorial. Maybe that was overly cynical, but the headache that pressed at the edges of her eyes said not.

When Arnim Zola stepped through the door, crowding the doorway and blocking her route out of the room, she realized the mistake she’d made. Foolish girl, to cut herself off from the rest of the room. Even in her grief, she never should’ve made such a stupid mistake. As much as her Grandpa and Grandma had liked Zola, had entrusted him with watching out for her, she’d never liked him. More importantly, Maria had never liked him. A snake in the grass, she’d always thought him. The calculating gleam in his eyes as he looked at her, making her shudder, had Darcy thinking that her best friend was right to be wary. There was something serpentine about him, and her heart started to beat almost frantically in her chest.

(read more link here)

It wasn’t a good feeling, not like when Ian Boothby murmured teasing words in her ear or held her hand as they walked through the apple orchards. Her palms began to sweat, and she pressed them against the heavy fabric of her black skirt as she gave a polite smile. “Mr. Zola. How do you do? I’m surprised you’re not in the other room with the other mourners.”

He ignored her attempted dismissal without even dropping his smarmy smile. “I wanted to see how you were doing, Miss Stark. And I’ve told you many times, you can call me Arnim.” He stepped further into the room as he spoke, pinning her between his short body and the sympathy food laid out along the table. Lewis, she wanted to snarl. My name is Lewis. But she didn’t. Instead she kept the scandalous words trapped behind her teeth, hidden where they couldn’t do any harm to anyone but her.

His gaze was calculating on hers, as if he knew she couldn’t do anything but stand there. And he did know that, she realized, the bastard. He’d been an active member of society as long as her grandparents. “I’m worried about you, Darcy,” he said, murmuring the words with flat eyes and a pinned-on smile. She vaguely wondered whether he truly thought he was fooling her, or if he simply didn’t care. It didn’t matter, really. As he took another step, she dropped that thought and wracked her brain for a way to escape. “All alone, in this mansion, with no one but a few servants to take care of you. And you must be in such low spirits at the passing of your grandparents. So devastating for a young, fragile woman, I understand.” There were words he didn’t say—weak and stupid were two of them—words that he was careful not to say, but that he meant. She heard them loud and clear, as if they were spoken aloud.

“I’m alright,” she demurred with a blank smile, shooting inconspicuous looks at the doorway. “Maria takes care of me just fine.” She darted another glance at the hallway, as if saying her name would somehow miraculously summon the woman in question.

“Ah, yes. The housekeeper, right?” The disdain that dripped from every syllable made Darcy want to smack him. Instead she fisted her hands even tighter in her skirts, twisting and ruining the fabric beyond all recognition. She’d have to throw it away, after this. But still she couldn’t bring herself to let go. “A young, beautiful woman such as yourself needs more guidance at home, dear.” With a sick feeling in her stomach, she realized his true purpose in cornering her.

Her suspicions were confirmed with his next words, though not in the way she’d expected. “If I were several decades younger, I might be tempted to try for your hand myself. But you’re far too lively and energetic for an old man like me,” he said with a self-deprecating grin, light and cheerful as if the very thought didn’t make her want to vomit. “But there is a young man I want you to meet. Helmut Zemo is his name,” he said, looming over her in a way he never had before. How a short man could look so vicious and intimidating, she had no idea. “He’s a great friend of the family, and I’m sure you’ll like him very much. I expect you’ll show him every courtesy, hmm?”

There was no mistaking his glare, or the way his lips quirked on the word courtesy, and her breath caught in her throat. She didn’t know what to say, what she could say that wouldn’t be an unwitting promise or an unintelligible noise of disgust. A flash of movement at the corner of her eye had Darcy looking toward the door in supplication, looking for a savior. And there she was, Maria Hill, Darcy’s personal champion and the only person truly on her side.

“Miss Lewis,” she said sharply, face as blank as ever. Her eyes were like flint as they traced an icy path between Darcy and her grandparents’ friend. As always, her gaze missed nothing. Darcy had never been so grateful for her friend’s sharp instincts in her entire life. “The Carters are asking after you. I believe they plan to take their leave, and wanted to give their well-wishes.”

“Thank you, Maria,” she softly replied, grateful when her voice held steady. One thing Howard had taught her was to never show weakness, not in front of anyone but certainly not in front of potential enemies. Turning to the older man, she dipped into a light curtsy and said, “Please excuse me, Mr. Zola. My duties as a hostess call, surely you must understand.”

There was nothing he could say to prevent her from leaving, not with a witness, and she swept out of the room with her head held high. Her hands trembled in her skirts, betraying her to Maria. With a soft touch to her arm, so light and fleeting that it would look like an accident to anyone else, her friend and the only mother she’d ever known whispered, “Strength, little dove. Have strength, and keep your chin up.”

The rest of the evening passed in a blur. The Carters were lovely, as always—Aunt Peggy had never been anything but nice and kind to her, and she’d always encouraged Darcy’s independent streak behind Howard and Maria’s back. And Sharon was one of her few, true friends. Which was why they both looked at her sharply, seeing straight through the mask to the trembling girl beneath. Reaching out to touch her wrist, not giving a damn who saw, the older woman peered into Darcy’s eyes. In a low voice, she asked, “What happened, dearest?” Sharon didn’t say anything, but shifted her body slightly so that she and her aunt flanked the frightened young woman until she was almost out of sight from the rest of the room.

“Nothing,” Darcy assured them, badly. Her smile wobbled unconvincingly in her face, and she lost it altogether as Peggy’s eyes drifted from her face to follow someone across the room. Darcy’s shoulders tensed at the movement, knowing  that Mr. Zola had just entered the room behind her. She didn’t turn her head, refusing to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he’d frightened her. But she watched from the corner of her eye as he headed straight for an unassuming young man who was loitering in the corner and observing the rest of the room. Not someone she knew, nor that her grandparents knew. Not to her knowledge, anyway.

She had a sickening feeling she knew exactly who it was: Helmut Zemo. The man with whom Mr. Zola was intent on coercing her into marriage. Cynically, she wondered how much of her supposed fortune Mr. Zemo had agreed to give away, in payment to Mr. Zola for forcing the match. Some of her caustic disgust must have been evident on her face, because Peggy’s face firmed into a stone mask. Her arm was rigid against Darcy’s, like her whole body was made out of marble. But the touch of her hand was gentle against the young woman’s skin. “Nevermind, dearest. I see exactly what’s happening.”

Sharon’s eyes followed her aunt’s, but her look of confusion never faded. She’d been raised in a loving household, spearheaded by a strong, independent aunt. Even if Sharon’s parents had wanted to sell her off to the highest bidder, there’s no way Peggy would ever let them. Darcy felt a fierce stab of envious fury at the thought, roiling like a terrible beast in her stomach. Immediately, she was overcome with remorse. She wouldn’t wish this on Sharon for anything.

Peggy and Sharon kept her close for the rest of the evening, standing in one spot and forcing the other mourners to come to them to pay their condolences. It was unconventional, and with anyone else it would have been borderline scandalous. But it was Peggy Carter, and no one dared to challenge her. Not even Zola, though he held on to Darcy’s hand just a little too firmly, a little too long. “You’ll think about what I said, yes?” His hand tightened around hers in warning, and she struggled not to wince.

She offered a noncommittal smile, trying to think of the words to say that wouldn’t inadvertently commit her to a marriage she most certainly did not want, when Peggy came to her rescue. “Zola, whatever has gotten into you? You’re holding up the line.” There was nothing he could do but squeeze her hand one last time, bowing over it. Mr. Zemo did the same, pressing dry lips to her hand. There was nothing improper about the way he gripped her, nor did he linger overly long. But still she had to fight the urge to wipe the back of her hand against her skirt as they walked away.

Eventually, everyone was gone and only Peggy and Sharon remained. As the front door closed behind the last of her grandparents’ friends, Peggy immediately moved to call for Maria. The housekeeper was within easy shouting distance, as she always was, and came forward with that same blank look on her face. Darcy wanted to reassure her that her Aunt Peggy was safe, that even though she wasn’t related to Darcy by blood she’d never betray her. She opened her mouth to tell Maria that she could relax, but the older woman beat her to it. “Oh for God’s sake, Maria, wipe that look off your face. We need to strategize on ways to protect Darcy.”

In her surprise, Maria’s jaw fell open. She looked different, somehow, younger. Darcy was suddenly reminded that she’d been young herself when Darcy was born, had been young when the Starks had brought her on to take care of the young girl they had no idea what to do with. The bastard child that, for whatever reason, they’d decided to take in and raise in their household.

“I won’t let that slimy bastard get his hands on her,” Maria vowed, regaining her stony expression. But it was stiff with fury this time, not devoid of emotion. “I won’t.”

“Good,” Peggy drawled, her English accent more prevalent than ever. “Because I had no intention of letting anything happen to her.”

“Hello,” Darcy piped up, “I’m standing right here.”

“Yes, you are.” Peggy didn’t look chastened at all. Darcy didn’t think there was a single thing in the entire world that could rattle the woman. “And I need to talk to you about your options.”

With a sigh, Maria offered, “I’ll get Cook to make some coffee and biscuits. Yes, Mrs. Carter, I know. Tea for you.” As she headed out of the room, Darcy shot her a grateful smile. She had a feeling it would be a long night.

Peggy waited patiently for Maria to get back, then didn’t waste any more time. “What do you know of your father, Darcy?” she asked as she prepared herself a cup of tea. Darcy’s breath caught in her throat; no one ever talked about her father, no one dared. When she was a girl, Maria told her about him in secret whispers. But even they hadn’t spoken about him in years, despite the fact that Darcy carried his letter with her everywhere she went.

“Not much,” she prevaricated. She’d held every snippet of knowledge about her father too close to her chest for years to let it go now. Not even for Peggy, someone she loved and trusted.

A gleam overtook the older woman’s eyes, something mischievous and amused, but she didn’t call Darcy out on the lie. “He was a bright boy, Anthony Edward Stark. Perhaps bright isn’t enough to describe it. He was a genius, really. And I say ‘was’ because no one has heard from him in two decades. No one but you, I imagine,” she said, fixing Darcy with a gimlet eye.

It was everything she could do not to flinch, fingers spasming with the effort of not reaching for the precious letter, to check if it was still there. Still safe, after all these years. Peggy caught the aborted movement and harrumphed. “That’s what I thought.” She took a long sip of her tea, then set the cup onto the saucer with a decisive clink. “Well, girl, you’ve got three options, as I see them.”

“Option one is to roll over and let Zola have what he wants, which is your fortune.” Ignoring Maria’s furious gaze, she clarified, “I know nothing of this Mr. Zemo, but I do know Zola. And I can almost guarantee that you would have a miserable, lonely life under that man’s thumb.” At Darcy’s vehement negative, she grinned in vicious satisfaction. “I thought not. Good. But unfortunately, that does not leave you with many options.”

At her words, Darcy’s heart sank. She knew that, of course, but there was something about Peggy that inspired hope where she’d only had hopelessness, before. But the older woman wasn’t done. Pausing to take a sip of tea—she hated to be hurried, that woman, no matter the situation—she continued, “The second option is to find a different one to marry, one you could stand to live with for the rest of your life.”

She hadn’t thought of that, to be honest. Her first thought was of Ian, of the sweet kisses he’d given her beneath the apple trees, the way his hand had shyly pressed against the front of her bodice. Perhaps she could stand to be married to him, she thought, even if she didn’t feel like she knew him all that well. The idea didn’t fill her with excitement or dread, and she couldn’t decide if that was a good thing, or not. “Zola would never let that happen,” Maria cut in. Her disgusted scoff pulled Darcy away from her thoughts before she could come to any sort of conclusion.

To her surprise, Peggy didn’t disagree. “That is the problem, yes. You’d have to find a man who wouldn’t be scared away from making an offer,” by the prospect of displeasing the terrible little man, she meant, “and who couldn’t be convinced to bow to Zola’s wishes later.” Which ruled out Ian. And every other young man in her acquaintance, quite frankly.

Sharon was thinking the same thing, and she wore a matching look of distaste. “That rules that option out.” Her disgusted tone made Darcy laugh, the first moment all evening that she’d been able to find any humor. Maybe at all, since her grandparents had died.

Far from looking discouraged, Peggy was every inch the cat that had got the cream. All of a sudden Darcy felt like she'd been herding them somehow, steering them toward a conclusion she'd already reached. “Which leaves only one option. Darcy, you must leave New York.”

Her heart stuttered and stopped. “What?” Her voice was an achy whisper, matching the way her heart broke to pieces in her chest. Peggy's smile was gentle but firm, like steel overlaid with silk.

“You'll have to leave, Darcy. Otherwise Zola will haunt and hound you as long as it takes, dearest, for him to get his hands on that money. And I don't have any difficulty believing he would resort to force, if necessary.”

Sharon’s gasp was audible. “How could Mr. and Mrs. Stark be friends with such a man?” she wondered, indignant.

“He's very good at hiding what he is.” Peggy gaze was dark and troubled for only a moment before she hid it all behind a pleasant mask. For the first time, Darcy wondered exactly how she knew what Zola was capable of.

Leave New York, she'd said. And she'd asked about Darcy’s father. Oh. This time, she couldn't help but reach to stroke the letter in her pocket. Maybe, after all these years—

“May I see it?”

Peggy's face was gentle and kind, and that was the only reason Darcy was able to draw her hand out of her pocket and hand it over.

“Amazing,” the other woman said, “that you've been able to hold on to it for so long. Howard found the others, I presume?”

“Yes,” Darcy choked, the smoke of the remembered fire sticking like ash in her throat. “He burned them.”

“Stubborn,” Peggy clucked. “Just like his son. And his granddaughter, too,” she added with a wink.

“There's no return address,” Darcy said. She didn't want to talk about Grandpa right now.

“No. There isn't.”

“But—” Maria interjected, breaking her silence.

“But I might have something, anyway.” All at once, Peggy stood up. The rest of them scrambled in her wake. “May I call on you tomorrow, dear? I think I should have a solution to your problem by then.”

Darcy stuttered her assent, and the two women swept out of the room. Sharon, at least, looked as confused as she felt. And then they were gone, and Darcy was left with nothing but a piercing headache and her overwhelming fears. That wasn’t entirely true, though; she had Maria, who pulled her into a loose, warm embrace.

All of a sudden, she realized that Peggy had taken the letter from Darcy’s father. The last thing she had of him. Feeling its loss keenly, like a hole in her hip, she burst into tears against Maria’s shoulder. She sobbed and sobbed, and was overcome with a feeling of total despair.

Eventually, Maria coaxed her up to her bedroom to lie down. She fell into troubled dreams, pursued by phantom images of Zola and Zemo and the ghostly wraiths of her Grandma and Grandpa. Their specters haunted her with their crushing disappointment. But Maria was there, holding them at bay with her softly-crooned murmurs and the gentle touch of her fingers sifting through Darcy’s hair.

[floralmarsupial]

SIDE A

Despair///Yeah Yeah Yeahs - Oblivion///Grimes - Wisdom///Mother Mother - Cold Blooded///Ida Maria - Don’t Rain On My Parade///Barbara Streisand - (I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction///Cat Power - Emily///MIKA - Not Just a Girl///She Wants Revenge - New Person, Same Old Mistakes///Tame Impala

SIDE B

Shiva///The Antlers - Pace is the Trick///Interpol - Don’t Deconstruct///Rilo Kiley - All the Right Things///Son Lux - Write to your Brother///Perfume Genius - Ready to Die///The Unicorns - Kiss My Feet///Laura Mvula - R.I.P. Burn Face///Cocorosie - Eleanor///Cake Bake Betty

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Annotations under cut

Despair///Yeah Yeah Yeahs

Oh despair, you've always been there You were there through my wasted years Through all my lonely fears, no tears Run through my fingers, tears They're stinging my eyes, no tears If it's all in my head there's nothing to fear Nothing to fear inside

Oblivion///Grimes

I never look behind, all the time I will wait forever, always looking straight Thinking, counting, all the hours you wait

Wisdom///Mother Mother

Folding my clothes And I feel useless Don't think I know How to do this Once I was told But like any misfit I spit on some good advice

Out in the cold And tryin' to make fire Two sticks and stone Still got no fire Once I was shown But I was inside then And spit on that good advice Wisdom, wisdom Where can I get some? Wisdom, wisdom

Cold Blooded///Ida Maria

Go ahead for trying with me You can give it all you got I'm not so easily distressed I put my soul on ice So before you pick your price I've got this question in my head: Can you wake me from the dead? I am cold blooded! I am cold blooded! Cold blooded, cold blooded! I'm a cold blooded woman Cold blooded, cold blooded! I'm a cold blooded woman! Yeah, yeah

Don’t Rain On My Parade///Barbara Streisand

Don't tell me not to fly, I simply got to If someone takes a spill, it's me and not you Who told you you're allowed to rain on my parade

I'll march my band out, I'll beat my drum And if I'm fanned out, your turn at bat, sir At least I didn't fake it, hat, sir I guess I didn't make it

But whether I'm the rose of sheer perfection A freckle on the nose of life's complexion The cinder or the shiny apple of its eye

(I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction///Cat Power

I'm driving in my car And a man come on the radio He's tellin' me more and more 'Bout some useless information Tryin' to mess my 'magination When I'm watchin' my TV And a man come on to tell me How white my shirts can be But he can't be a man 'Cause he doesn't smoke the same cigarettes as me

Emily///MIKA

Emily, Emily, Emily, can't you write a happy song Get your ass to number one You could try a little harder Emily, you could be a millionaire But you're so full of hot air Gonna end up like your father Emily, you can't leave your life to chance Get a boy and learn to dance Be a girl like any other Emily, are you stuck up? Are you gay? If you are, well that's ok Cause it doesn't even matter

Not Just a Girl///She Wants Revenge (Kanaya)

Your kiss Your kiss so wet I lose my breath Makes me forget the old regrets It's everything You're not just a girl You're more like the air and sea I want you so desperately, and nothing's gonna keep us apart Your voice It's whispering against my neck Your lips erase the old regrets Of anything Your mind It makes me wanna know you more So tell me what we have in store Tell me everything

New Person, Same Old Mistakes///Tame Impala

I can just hear them now "How could you let us down?" But they don't know what I found Or see it from this way around Feeling it overtake All that I used to hate One by one every trait I tried but it's way too late All the signs I don't read Two sides of me can't agree Will I be in too deep? Going with what I always longed for

Shiva///The Antlers 

Well, I was lying down with my feet in the air, completely unable to move. The bed was misshapen, and awkward and tall, and clearly intended for you.

Pace is the Trick///Interpol

And to all the destruction in men Well I see you as you take your pride My lioness your defenses seem wise I cannot press And detentions are demised, my lioness Can't you hurt it some, think I hurt it

Don’t Deconstruct///Rilo Kiley

Something is changing inside of me Colors seem darker in light And i don't know what that means But it's not a good sign You can just add them upthen you could memorize prehistoric bones All of those old memories you can push them out and prep yourself for brand new information Don't deconstruct and then fill me in I'm not that basic i swear I've had enough of break downs and diagrams

All the Right Things///Son Lux (Doc Scratch)

Tell me a tale I can't imagine I can hold in my hand when I pray Because I don't believe you I don't believe you But I must You've got all the right things to say All the right things All the right things All the right things

Write to your Brother///Perfume Genius (Before the Green Sun Mission)

Mary, you should write to your brother Every night until he recovers In the letter press a fresh flower And bless it with a higher power Tell him mom treats you like a lover That you have to hide all the mouthwash from her And seal it with three closed-mouth kisses And write "Do not open 'til Christmas"

Ready to Die///The Unicorns

A sword, a switchblade, any way you cut it I'm not afraid, i know i'm going to get it

Oh maker! (of such fine products As palm trees, and the dead sea) Don't pardon me, there's nothing rude Things conclude, things conclude!

As i slurred that chorus, the ghosts got biggie Small sounds like a drill The death sweat suits me A death threat provides a thrill

I've seen the world, kissed all the pretty girls I've said my goodbyes and now i'm ready to die.

Kiss My Feet///Laura Mvula (Kanaya)

Tried to build my house On a concrete ground Stone turned into sand And I was drowning deeper under land And I was drowning, I was drowning Drag my trembling hands Kiss my busy head And I will hold your hand And we can paint our story red, we can, we can paint it Together

R.I.P. Burn Face///Cocorosie (Rose thoughts before G.O. death)

In her mourning In her grave Don't you miss the way That she brushed her heavy hair Oh la la la la la ACID BURNED FACE CLOWNY TEAR SMILE She's the one who made you wild She made you question all your answers Made you beg for her forgiveness BABY GIRL don't cry Momma's gonna buy you a glass eye And it will glimmer like starlight She's got no reservations Ain't got no place to be The graveyard's in the backyard Where the meadows used to b

Eleanor///Cake Bake Betty

bound for new life, masons thunder east is over, west is under found the hum of drag race runners comfort flaring in my sheets now we'll head back up to Monmouth where the kids are seldom honest cross the borders, past the train yards i will enter just to breathe but the time will come for lovers we will cradle one another we will wander past the distance for our merry mouths to meet

[askia---1-blog]

Seraisis the final judgement part one

"Where am I?"I looked around shielding my eyes trying to get them to adjust to the blinding light which seemed to be coming from everywhere and was starting to make my eyes ache, I try to stand up and feel my legs give out from under me. "Hello I am Seraisis but you can call me ser, I assume you are confused you humans always are." I heard a deep voice say from behind me, I turn around and blink my eyes trying to get them to adjust to the dark figure standing over me. As they did I realised it was a man in a cleanly pressed Grey suit with dark Green eyes and short Brown hair he had his hand out reached to help me up, I grabbed it and pulled myself up off the floor. "Yes I am confused how did I get here the last thing I remember is." I stop trying to remember what happened my stomach turned and I started to wish I hadn't, the last thing I remember is standing on the roof of the eight story appartment building I lived in ready to end it all and with no one there to stop me i did. "Am am I in the hospital or a mental Institution or s'somthing where a I?" I stammered "You are dead and this is what I like to call the in between, the place where your soul comes to get judged by me Seraisis the almighty judge of those who are too stupid to value their lives, I get to decide what happens to your soul so you better have been good cause it's too late to change anything." he said "You decide where my soul ends up." I asked hoping he would say no and start laughing praying that this was some kind of joke or prank no such luck. "Yes I do with the help of Amari of course." while he's talking I look behind him to see a girl in her early twenties about the same age as me with long curly black hair and brown eyes appear standing next to him as if only becoming visable at the mention of her name. "There are three places your soul may end up the first is the pyrosphere located at the center of your planet, it is a place of eternal fire, hate and pain." he explained "you mean hell?" I asked frightened at the thought that hell might be real. "Yes that is one of many names given to it by you humans. The last place your soul may go is," "heaven." Amari barged in and finished his sentence for him. "Let me talk Amari its not your turn yet, that is also a false name given to it by you humans it's true name is Senova or in your language oasis in the clouds." he said looking at the white nothingness above. "The last place your soul may end up is the world of the living.""you mean I can go back?" I yelled cutting him off "You can but don't be mistaken being banished to the world of the living is a lonely existence, you will be completely alone forced to watch the world go on without you. Now if your done with the questions shall we begin Maria?" As he says this his eyes faded turning as white as the room around us. "Don't worry they're supposed to do that they'll change colors alot as we review your life we'll be starting with your first lie." the room around us began to warp and change into a familiar scene the apartment I grew up in "But mom it wasn't me!" I heard a kid's voice yell from the kitchen, I turn to see who it is and realise it's my own voice I heard looking down at my four year old self "Well if it wasn't you then who was it?" I heard my mom's voice yell back as I saw her I burst out in years I hadn't seen her since she died of brain damage from a bad car accident when I was fourteen, but here she looks healthy so different compared what me and my sister had grown used to visiting her in the hospital. "It was Sam!" I yelled pointing at my sister who is two years older than me. "Well well well a little white lie to avoid a whooping, your mother believed you cause she thought you couldn't reach the cabinet with your favorite cookies, but you stood on the counter didn't you?" Ser asked his eyes turning a blue and green color like a clear ocean with seaweed at the bottom. "Yes and I ate the cookies till my stomach started to hurt and got rid of the rest in the outside trash."I answered wiping away my tears "seems pretty normal to me." Amari said "I agree what's next?" Ser asked Amari "Next up there's a first cussword."  the room started to shift and fall turning into a new scene my second grade class "Maria it's your turn to come finish the problem on the board." Ms.Tussey who was my teacher at the time told me "NO!"my five year old self replied "And why not young lady." my teacher said back"cause maybe I don't want to you bitch!" I yelled at her, some of my classmates start giggling I laugh with them. "Go to the guidance office right now young lady." Ms.Tussey told me "I know where you got that one," Ser started as he did his eyes began changing from the ocean color and swirling into A stormy grey color. "A drunken, verbally abusive father."he finished. "next we have marias first fight." Amari told him the room began to change again this time turning into the playground outside of my elementary school my sister was under the monkey bars fighting the school bully and her younger sister, I see my 11 year old self come running from the slide on the other side of the playground I grab the bully's sister pulling her off my sister and hit her in the face and chest as hard as I can her face began to bleed but she wouldn't give up she hit my chin I get dazed and passed out. The room around darkens into an inky black, the only thing I could see was ser's glowing eyes as they changed from the the stormy gray to a sky blue. "Loyal even when it can get you hurt that's a good and respectable quality to have."he said "This memory is kinda weird ser I can't tell what's wrong with it yet it but doesn't seem to be her memory." Amari said "It's fine lets get into it." he told her the began to light up and come back into color turning into my best friend Jordan's garage where his parents kept their stash of weed, I snuck out the house that night around 10:00 to meet him. "Here dude you go first." my now seventeen year old self said handing him back the box after he showed me the cool eyeball bong that apparently changes colors when you smoke out of it. "Alright here." he grabbed the sandwich bag full of weed and filled the bong up half way then he grabed the lighter and started smoking, I payed attention to see if I could figure out how to do it without choking up a lung. "Here your turn" he said handing me the bong letting out smoke, I put the lighter to the bong and took a deep breath in, my lungs started to burn immediately making me cough and choke. "Your supposed to pull it into your mouth first then inhale slowly it doesn't hurt when I do it like that." he said holding back his laughter. I tried again this time doing what he said it worked I got so high I couldn't even remember what happened after we finished smoking but the memory went on. "Well we should head back now, i'm kinda hungry." Jordan said stuffing the box back in it's hiding place but as he did he felt something hidden behind the shelf where he sat the box. "What's this?" he said pulling out a small black metal box. From behind the small shelf he brought it over to the workbench we were sitting at and opened it "Woah is this thing real?" I asked grabbing a small revolver out from the box "I dunno maybe." he answered reaching for it, I pull the further from his hand and tried to check if it was loaded like they do on tv, but I couldn't figure it out so I just gave up and instead tried to have alittle  Jordan with it. "This is the Sheriff put your hands up your surrounded." I said playfully holding the gun up to him. "Alright alright you caught me just watch where you point that thing sheriff." he said putting his hands up. "I'm taking you in Jordan Humphries the most wanted man this side of the west." I said gesturing to the door leading outside into his back yard his parents were out of town so we had free reign over the entire house, half of which was under construction so some places just had rebar supports and pipes that would make for a perfect jail cell, I was walking him across the yard to one of these rooms when he quickly turned around and yelled. "You'll never take me alive copper." he grabbed for the gun and I instinctively pull the trigger and made gun sound with my mouth but it was drowned out by the sound of the gun actually going off the bullet flew hitting Jordan in the stomach. "Aaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhh jordan are you okay oh God oh God please be ok." I run and bend down next to him covering the wound as best I can with my hand. "Come on you can't die on me please." I beg crying harder than I ever had trying to stop the bleeding, But it was no use Jordan slowly stoped breathing. "This is where the anomaly begins ser the memory changes into someone else's." Amari said pointing at my younger self. "Well what is it Amari?"he asked sternly "I think it's another personality ser." she replied "Another personality what are you talking about this can't be real it can't I don't remember any of this." I said confused about what I just saw "Just listen." she said "But I don't hear anything." I told her but then I realised it my younger self stoped crying and began dragging Jordan's body toward The Unfinished pool. "No this isn't real Jordan isn't dead he just ran away." I said "Uh oh it seems Jessica has been very bad." ser said chuckling under his breath "Jessica?" I asked "Yes that is way your other personality named herself." Jessica made it to the giant hole and droped Jordan's body in he hit the bottom with a loud thud, she then went back into the garage and grabbed a shovel and began burying him under a thin layer of dirt, she then wiped the gun off on her shirt and dropped it on top and covered it in another more thick layer of dirt. By the time she was done it was about 3:40am we continued to followed her as she went back to my house and stripped down to her underwear in the back yard she then threw the clothes onto the grill and covered them in lighter fluid. "Your pretty smart aren't you?" ser asked as his eyes changed again this time to a dark orange color. "That isn't me." I replied angrily "Why of course not I was talking to her I guess I have two souls to judge now." he says pointing over my shoulder I turn around to see myself as if I were looking in a mirror but it wasn't me it was her Jessica standing right here with us. "I'm sorry I tried to protect us." she said lighting a match I look back to see my younger self set the pile clothe's on fire

[kyreniacommentator]

By Peri Sualp…..

Recently I was with the person who changed my life in so many ways …   Demetra George Mustafaoğlu.  Music changed her life and now mine and that is what we share.

I am so happy to have her in my life as my mentor and my teacher. Our journey together started 5 years ago and during this time I have been so lucky to get to know her better and have her as my number one role model. 

The story of her life and achievements cannot fit into this article but I think at least you’ll have an idea. Here are some questions and answers from our very own Diva…

Q: Who inspired you when you were young and why? A: Barbra Streisand because I loved her music and she had an ethnic background and she was fun and funny and she’s still singing.

Q: How did you start your music career, what made you decide? A: My music career began one cold and snowy morning when I was 12 years old and my mom, the church organist, called me away from Sunday school classes to sing in the choir when only my grandmother and the bass showed up. A foot of snow had fallen so people were afraid to go out but we made it and I sang the church liturgy that day.

Q: What did you want to be when you were a child? A: I had planned to be a school teacher until I was 15 when a tour of Fiddler on the Roof Broadway tour came through Oklahoma. The music, energy and dancing hooked me at that moment and I went home afterwards and informed mom I would go into musical theatre! The next year I was hired for chorus to sing and dance at 16. The directors thought I was 18 and I didn’t even drive yet. Mom would drop me several blocks from the theatre so no one would see me without a car. I was the baby of the company! At 17 the following year I sang the very difficult role of Maria in West Side Story and my death scene brought great reviews and a standing ovation from the audience.

  Q: What is your favourite song to sing and why? A: My favourite song to sing in opera is the aria Chi I’ll bel SOGNO di Doretta by Puccini from LA RONDINE. The melody is beautiful and has lots of high notes.  My favourite Broadway piece is Don’t Cry for Me Argentina that I sing with the symphony because it allows great acting to sell it and I give it all I have.

Q: Who is your number one supporter? A: My greatest supporter has been my husband. After my mom passed away my husband took over and he supported me in my performing and in auditioning and attaining the goals I had. When you have children you need that extra support if you are a performer because you need that extra backup and so he was always there for me and I also supported him in his business, then together we were able to contribute to our American community and share Turkish culture wherever we went in the United States. Mehmet and I have hosted a lot of events for Turkish American culture.

Q: Can you tell me a little bit about your mother? A: Mom was brilliant. She helped dad at the drycleaners, did some of his accounting, played the organ at church, organized the band jobs, held office in her ladies’ organization and taught me time steps and songs for my first audition. My girlfriends all loved her too and whenever I won some contest or competition she would get right in with us and celebrate like a girl! I miss her dearly. She had a good ear and a keen eye. She always had good musical advice and I really learned how to select a program from her guidance.

Q: What is your biggest achievement? A: Awards and honours are wonderful but I really think my biggest achievement I share with my husband Mehmet and that was raising two wonderful successful young women Devran and Deniz and they’ve given us grand babies too and continued working and we’re a very close family.

Q: You have a lot of awards and success, who do you owe this to? A: I owe the awards and honours to teachers and family who supported me. You never accomplish goals alone. My voice teacher Nina Hinson from Texas and educated in Oklahoma became part of our extended family and we even hosted her at our place in Istanbul.

Q: Do you play any instruments? A: I play the piano, guitar & bouzouki as my family had an ethnic dance band so while everyone was dating in high school I was off with the family performing at weddings, baptisms and conventions.

Q: If you weren’t a singer what would you be? A:  I wanted to be a teacher until I was 15 and discovered theatre, but I really enjoyed medicine and I am doctor mom at home so I would HAVE probably enjoyed being a doctor or a nurse practitioner. I would also have loved being a chef because I love cooking especially pastry cooking not beef and meat or kebab!

Q: What’s the one thing you like about Cyprus? A: Well first off, the people. People make a place, that’s very important. Here people are super kind, wonderfully warm, classy and gentle. Second, I love the food and since my roots are Mediterranean I mean it when I say this is the best cuisine ever!

Q: What’s the one thing that you don’t like about Cyprus? A:  Oh! The holes in the roads! Hahah!!

Q: What are you doing in your free time except for singing? A: I play tennis! Both of our daughters played tennis and when we lived in Los Angeles and we had a tennis court in the backyard which was wonderful because we had lots of tennis gatherings and the girls had company over and they would practice at our house and so I became a tennis player. I was a good tennis player! My county club picked me two years in a row for outstanding tennis player and I was given a hat that was autographed and belonged to the world champion Pete Sampras and then a tennis ball that was autographed by Andre Agassi. So I really love it and we just finished doing our tennis court here and it’s gorgeous! Ready to get out and play.

Q: Let’s go to some fun questions. If you were a Disney princess what Disney princess would you be? A: Probably Princess Jasmine because I like the Middle Eastern culture I think it’s cool and when the girls were growing up I even had an Aladdin birthday party for them.

Demetra George Mustafaoglu and Peri Sualp

Nuri Harun Ateş and Demetra George Mustafaoglu

Q: If you were an animal what animal would you be? A: The American Bald Eagle or a Falcon, same family because they have keen vision, great hunters/survivors and can fly above the crowd and all the mess in the world!

Thank you so much Demetra George Mustafaoglu for giving your time for this interview, which does not cover all of your amazing achievements, some of which are shown below :

Dr. Demetra George Mustafaoglu is a two time Grammy List Nominee for her cd “Demetra George Sings Love Arias”, a former Miss Oklahoma to Miss America, talent and swimsuit winner, San Francisco Opera Winner, recipient of the US State Department’s Cultural Diplomacy Award, awarded by ENMODA International magazine as Best Opera Singer and just recently selected by Turk of America Magazine as an Outstanding Artist for sharing art cross culture. She resides in Catalkoy, North Cyprus half the year and gives of her art to raise money for North Cyprus charities.

John Koenig US Ambassador to Cyprus makes an award

Bellapais Abbey

My idol and mentor, Demetra George Mustafaoğlu By Peri Sualp..... Recently I was with the person who changed my life in so many ways ...