#unhinged pinterest adventures have me thinking of her

[whatwouldmickeydo]

✨ Joy List ✨

Le sigh I love joy lists, thank you for the tag my sweet bumblebees @metalheadmickey @energievie @creepkinginc @gallawitchxx 🐝✨🩷

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The eucalyptus next to my bed that scents my room every so often even when I think it’s long since died 🌿

Unhinged feral convos with my silly silly friends

The smell of the air out the window in the early morning

Banana bread 🍞

My giant green shirt dress 👗

Coming home and climbing right into bed

Holding hands

Peppermint coffee creamer

Additionally, mixing coffee cream and coffee just right so it’s not too much creamer or too much coffee ☕️

When the writing juices are flowing and feeling particularly proud of how certain things turn out, like my brain and my hands and my thoughts are all working together for once

Wildflowers 🌸

Wandering around farmers markets 🧺

Finding fun lil drinkies to try 🥤

My Pinterest style board 👚

Perfect Caesar salads 🥗

Tiny animal figurines 🦔

The time warp that happens when talking to and being with my favorite people and how literal hours will go by before realizing how much time has passed

The way my fiancé recently got a promotion and how he karate chopped his way into our bedroom to tell me

The anticipation of it being cold enough to wear my big color block winter coat again

Elote 🌽

Fionna and Cake

My kitty wanting to lay in my lap but not knowing how to get there so allowing me to drag her onto my lap and showing her how to sit so she’s comfy

Upcoming weekend adventures 🧚🏽‍♀️🧙🏼‍♀️🧝🏽‍♂️

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Tagging a bunch of cute-cumbers 🥒

@heymrspatel @gardenerian @sluttymickey @howlinchickhowl @rereadanon @whatthebodygraspsnot @thisdivorce @crossmydna @self-absorbed-pretty-boy @nicksobotka @abundanceofnots @sleepyfacetoughguy @y0itsbri @too-schoolforcool @xninetiestrendx @squidyyy23 @tidalrace and any other lil fruities and veggies out there that have joy they’d like to share 🩷✨

[hollywoodx4]

First Valentine’s Day

Alternately titled Beets.

(This can be read as a standalone, but is part of my Schuyler Series. we’re a few months away from this in current timeline, obviously I had to post it today.)

<Also I live for our dear Eliza’s happiness>

Alexander and Eliza have been seeing each other for almost five months now. He’s not quite sure what the standard celebration of the holiday would be for a couple of their status (and he greatly fears going overboard and facing rejection) so he decides it would be okay to discuss what they should do. They come to a mutual agreement to do something small, just the two of them.

After the month they’ve had, it only seems right. And then there’s the fact that she knows, she just knows that every self-respecting paparazzi will be out. And really, there’s nothing more she’d hate than having a night ruined by the anxiety and pressure put on by the mere thought of those jerks.

“We can go out, we can do whatever.”

“But that wouldn’t make you happy.”

“Honestly? No.” She’s treading lightly over the conversation, tapping her fingers along the table of their Starbucks booth. He lets her linger on the thought for a moment, sipping his coffee and looking back at her with comfort. Security. It makes her smile, the way he’s waiting-the way he’s found continual patience with her lately.

“You know what we should do?” It’s Alexander who speaks again, suddenly alight with an idea. It’s another thing she admires, the way he’s turned from hushed and reserved to sitting with lifted posture, licking his lips and re-tying his hair in a messy ponytail at the nape of his neck. Her enlightened Alexander-she teases him often about his sudden shifts in persona.

“What should we do?”

“We should cook.” She can’t help but hold in her laughter at this point-only a slight chuckle surfaces, but it’s enough to make his eyebrows raise in question and feigned offense.

“It’s not that I don’t think that’s a good idea but since when do you cook?”

“Since now,” He’s put on an air of confidence, and once Eliza sees his shining, hopeful eyes she knows she can’t say no, even if she’d wanted to. “It’ll be an adventure.”

“Okay, it’s a deal. As long as you pick the recipe.”

“Deal.”

“I can’t wait to see what you come up with.”

It takes him a considerable amount of sifting through websites to find it-John’s directed him to some DIY-inspired website he barely understands, but he manages to get a hang of it with all of the researching he does. And then he finally settles on one-the photograph looks fancy, yet fairly easy enough. There’s the small fact that he knows next to nothing about vegetarian cooking, but it’s pasta-he figures it can’t be that hard to mess up, especially with Eliza in the kitchen

….

“I think this one’s the winner.” He holds a piece of paper up to her, a proud smile crossing his features as he looks it over once more. “I found it on Pon-Pin….”

“Pinterest?”

“Yeah, that one. It looks pretty good.” When she finally gets a hold of the printed recipe she stifles her laughter-it’s not just one page, it’s three, with a photograph between every paragraph and a detailed and very wordy page of instructions.

“It’s not that I don’t trust you but my god, you really think we can pull that off?”

“Sure we can, it’ll be easy. Honestly, look at that picture and tell me it looks ridiculously hard. Plus, it’s vegetarian fancy, not vegetarian cardboard.” She shakes her head and cracks a smile at his joking, holding the printed recipe in her hands. Eliza’s warmed by the effort. And the thought. Which leads her to nodding her head, tucking the printed recipe in her backpack.

“Alright, pasta it is. This should be fun.”

…

“Are you a thief? Because you stole my heart.”

“Seriously, Alexander?” From her place at the stove she rolls her eyes, a thick and consuming blush decorating her unfiltered grin. She chuckles, stirring the sauce and taking in the night; he’s chosen a particularly difficult Italian recipe-we can do this, Eliza, easy-and she can’t help but stare as he struggles in chopping the vegetables they’ve set out to add to it. He’s still smiling, though, cracking jokes as they come to him.

Who in the world decided that beets were something humans could eat? I can’t even cut this the right way. And why does it smell like I literally just pulled it from the soil?

She laughs at him before moving to help, a hand over his as they work through the pile of taxing vegetables together. He tells her it’s only a ruse to get her closer to him. She kisses him in spite of it.

               It’s a nice addition to the soundtrack of the moment; he’s put on Ella Fitzgerald. (He just wants her to sing-he hangs on every note of her dulcet voice, pausing in his chopping and prepping to watch her dance around the kitchen. And when she notices, somewhere between a bout of scatting and another verse, she keeps hold of the spoon in hand and grabs his arms, leading him to the middle of her tiny kitchenette to dance.

               Alex isn’t much of a dancer.

               He dances his heart out for her.

               And, much to his utter bliss, she continues to sing. It’s a bit more reserved now that she knows his full attention is on her, quiet and careful, but he doesn’t mind. He spins her, getting into the silly mood of the music and the red wine, trying his best to replicate Ella Fitzgerald’s powerful vibrato. Eliza laughs, the unfiltered sound erupting from her belly, and holds his shoulders so she won’t fall. His hands move to her hips, drawing her closer. As her laughter subsides they sway gently, her head falling light on his shoulder. Her heart is full, her entire being relaxed. It’s as if the entire world has become background noise to this moment, her mind settling into a happy daze, where it’s only the two of them in her tiny kitchenette. She can keep her head on his shoulder; she can kiss him whenever she feels like it. In their little bubble she’s allowed the world, and she’s taken this rare moment of uninterrupted privacy with the greatest care.

               She tips her head slightly to kiss him then, moving her hands to the back of his neck. Gently, she’s pulling him in, and Alexander’s gladly accepting her request. And then she’s consumed, drinking in his familiar comforting scent; old books and dark coffee, and then…

               She pulls herself away from him, abrupt and shocking, and at first he’s left looking on extremely guiltily, wondering what he’s done to illicit such a strong reaction. But then he smells it too-like coals on a campfire-and his own heart is racing in a completely different direction than it had been just a moment before.

               Eliza’s standing at the oven, pulling a tray of darkened wedges from it before setting it on the counter, turning on the fan.

               “Eliza,” He moves to comfort her, to apologize, but then she turns around. Her eyes are laced with tears and she’s rested one hand on the counter for support. It takes her a drawn out moment to catch her breath, and when she does she’s suddenly erupted with laughter, tears spilling as the hearty sounds come in waves from her bent over frame.

               “Who-who even eats these damn things anyway? They do smell like dirt!”

               The gift she has-this complete, unintentional ability to create a living artwork from the simple sound of her laughter-he’s enamored by it. It’s bright yellows and minty blues, sunshine and lemonade and freshly grown flowers emitting their scent into an empty, sky-enveloped field. It’s an artwork, he decides, that he wouldn’t mind living the rest of his life in.

               And although he’d known it before-felt lingering hints of it in the back of his mind-the realization hits him so suddenly that he’s laughing along with her, unhinged and completely consumed in bliss. I love her, this is it. She’s it. And later, as they’re sprawled on her living room floor surrounded by layers of takeout, he knows that it’s true. He wants to spend the rest of his life making her laugh like that-even if it means living eternally with the lingering, earthy smell of burnt beets. For her, that’d be worth it.