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lee-kangin · 2 months

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AUDERE EST FACERE. ↳ "I want us to be brave, to be aggressive. To play like Tottenham Hotspur. All I care about is this football club. Tottenham Hotspur Football Club is the most important thing."

Push and run football AKA 'make it simple, make it quick', the mother of Total Football, as designed by Arthur Rowe / Rowe meets Puskás and passes on his philosophy / Ange Postecoglou talks about the inspirations behind his footballing philosophy / Bryan Gil on Tottenham's style of football / Cormac McCarthy, 'The Road' / Tottenham 2-1 Sheffield United / Tottenham 2-1 Brighton & Hove Albion / Tottenham 3-3 Manchester City / Tottenham 2-1 Liverpool / Fall Out Boy & Elton John, 'Save Rock And Roll' / Ange Postecoglou mic'd up at Celtic training / Ange Postecoglou on compromising on his attacking style of football / Tottenham playing a high line against Chelsea despite being only 9 men on the pitch / Bill Nicholson / Ange Postecoglou waves to the crowd and his family after winning against Liverpool at home in his first season of the PL, caption from the fan song 'I'm Loving Big Ange Instead' sung to the tune of Robbie Williams' Angels, created by thevoiceofspurs / Young Sheldon, Season 4, Episode 1: 'Graduation' / Tottenham players celebrate after winning against Liverpool at home / Ange Postecoglou on Tottenham weathering a major injury crisis and suspensions leading to players playing out of position / Son Heungmin on Tottenham's underdog comeback victories / Son Heungmin on the feel of the new stadium before the UCL match against Man City, 2019, 'No Filter UCL' / Stray Kids ft. Tiger JK, 'TOPLINE' / Off the Shelf Ep. 20 ft. Brennan Johnson / Lord of the Rings: Return of the King / James Maddison's 'FEARLESS' tattoo on the side of his neck / Ange Postecoglou on Tottenham's chances of clinching the title in the 23/24 season / EDEN, 'love; not wrong (brave)' / Tottenham players link hands and run toward the South Stand in celebration after winning 2-1 against Sheffield United, both goals scored in injury time / Lao Tzu / Pape Sarr runs into the Tottenham fans' arms after equalising against Brighton, 2024 / Destiny Udogie points to the club's badge over his heart after equalising against Brentford, 2024 / James Maddison on Ange Postecoglou encouraging the players to play his way in the first North London Derby of the 23/24 season / To Dare is to Do, fan tifo, at Tottenham Hotspur Stadium / Dejan Kulusevski on playing for Tottenham under Ange Postecoglou

#web weaving #tottenham #spurs #tottenham hotspur #football #in the end it is always about BRAVERY. tottenham hotspur and BRAVERY!!!! it's in our dna from the inception of this club #i will probably make a web weave about that at some point but yeah the connection btwn rowe & puskas & ange makes me go insane #and madders' fearless tattoo naaaaah this guy was made for us #basically just shocked with the way that ange fits us 100% tbh #not quiiiiiite satisfied w this but physically cannot look at this anymore #but yeah this is kind of an homage to the players & ange #rahul.txt

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fuckblast · 3 months

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I hate cars and car culture but I need to get a driver's license this year so I can operate in this society. When I was afraid of spiders and 12 I researched the fuck out of them to understand them better. I was moving to the south where there were more spiders. I learned there are only two ones you need to really worry about (brown recluse and black widow). Brown recluses can be confused for wolf spiders so I spent a while on that and came out extremely passionate about wolf spiders! Did you know the mothers will often carry the thousands of young on their back? I'm such a spider guy now inspired because of the curiosity from the fear. I tried to get curious about the automobile in the same way. Bad results. There are way more than two types of automobile that you need to really worry about, in fact, any of them could kill you at any time. You can die as a passenger going as low as 15 mph, but that doesn't particularly matter as you can also be hit by another car at any time. Massive death machines that are in an arms race to only be bigger and brighter than the opponent. So I tried to look into car culture and boy howdy the deeper you go into that the more revulsive it becomes. It's very American, y'know, expounding the idea of freedom, when it's within the lines of the scars you'd crisscrossed into the country, made so that soldiers had an easier time moving about. There is of course the legacy of Henry Ford, who should be given so much more discredit than he receives. I'll save the American history textbook but maybe I should've read Cormac McCarthy instead and bought into the idealized version. I'll still think about my friends working in the car factories and those conditions. And I'm only going to glance on how much fucking constant money a car is; cost, gas, upkeep, repairs, since I hardly know the half of it from others complaints. I think freedom is too often used as a synonym for convenience, and I try to be aware about what is lost for convenience. I like my long walks and bike rides.

That said, in preparing myself to drive this year I am desperately searching for anything that motivates me or that I find likeable about the American automobile. And it's van art. It's the van as well, if you're going to be a vehicle, have purpose, let me use you as a second space, let me be able to lie down or carry a couch. Does this make me no better than the jacked up truck guys? Maybe no, I'd love a little smart car Hugo looking vehicle. I'd love an old short truck, if I can find one secondhand. Really it's about the art. I can try to think up something poetic to say but if you're going to guzzle around the road in a dangerous machine, fuck me, at least put a sick ass wizard on the side. I love a hyper detailed dragon being fought by a muscular man. Is that it? Is it almost a parody of car culture? Who cares, I'm getting through my driving lessons by thinking of a sick ass painted van.

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campgender · 2 months

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Thank you, Ulrika. My words tonight, my expression of fem power, grows out of the courage of the young fem-butch trans people, lesbian-feminist people, peace and gender activists both Palestinian and Israeli, with whom I spoke in Haifa, Tel Aviv, and Jerusalem two years ago. It is inspired by the courage of Raouda Marcos, the founder of ASWAT, the organization of Palestinian gay women, who fights for the lives of all her people on so many fronts.

In 2008, I found the poetry of Mahmoud Darwish, the Palestinian poet who died at age sixty-seven on August 9, 2008 in exile and who lived his life labelled as a ‘present-absent alien’ by the Israeli government. I will carry his words on this fem body for the rest of my life. Dear Poet, how did I find you, through the dusty roads of unknown histories, you whose words live on so many tongues? I was so ignorant of the love you poured into your differently metered lines, of your swirling solid notes of exile, of the white mare that runs down into the valleys no longer safe, that drinks from your fathers’ wells, now empty of their sense of self. I came as a stranger, a Jewish fem stranger, into your cadences of loss and exultation, into your Andalusian sunsets and endless stony roads that lead to children carrying fathers on their backs, to endless journeys past familiar olive trees but with no rest allowed, no fruit given.

I stood in front of the grey looming wall that divided life from life, that marked the loss of history for one people and the loss of a soul for another. That impenetrable wall, with its razor wire far above us, froze my fem queer body. And that is why I am here tonight. For many years, I have written, mapped, tracked the power of my fem desire, the strength of my thighs to grip the wanted body and shake it loose of its hard places, to offer my fullness of desire and flesh as a way through, as a break in the wall, as a yearning that refuses solid borders and policed boundaries. I have revelled in the thrust of penetration, the opening in the wall. In other writings, I have charted how desire for a certain kind of touch can push a woman off the map. And on that deserted sandy road in East Jerusalem facing the wall’s solid brutality, I had an inkling of a new fem politic, something beyond my earlier years of celebration of the fem-butch courage that had walked the hate-filled streets of Joseph McCarthy’s America.

How does a fem face history; how does my body, which always speaks of my desires, confront the atrophy of national compassion that so marks our world? A port of entry, a simple thing, a taking in, an opening in the wall. Over ruins so huge they threaten to blot out all hope, your words find me. I have tasted your heat, seen the olive trees in exile, decorative in the gardens of the usurpers. What a strange two the world would think us, a 1950s Jewish fem from the Bronx and the dying Palestinian poet who lives in every Arabic mouth—but the only way I can live in a world where such a wall exists is to take your words into my mouth. A port of entry, a simple thing, a taking in, an opening in the wall.

Joan Nestle’s 2009 speech at the Melbourne launch of the book Femmes of Power: Exploding Queer Femininities by Del LaGrace Volcano and Ulrika Dahl, as published in her foreword to Persistence: All Ways Butch & Femme, ed. Ivan E. Coyote & Zena Sharman (2011)

#anti zionism #free palestine #joan nestle #mahmoud darwish #quotes #fem #femme #high femme #stone femme #fem(me)#persistence: all ways butch and femme #mac’s bookshelf #everything goes back to femme

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proustianlesbian · 5 months

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*i forgot to do my reviews for ep 3 and 4 of ft during both weeks smh.

episode 3 : very sweet vacation at the see also i was not aware of the joseph mccarthy and roy cohn gay allegations (not together). chokbar de bz like we say in french.

[insert here abby lee miller looking around her gif].*

diversity wins i guess, the anticommunist prosecutor who ruined so many lives is jewish AND gay. like tbh i didn't know at all because it wasn't written on his wikipedia french bio (but him bringing his mom to parties was though). like i thought the jokes about him and schine were just because theses environnement are full of men. i love the lightning on this show but it really stroke me during the scene where marcus walks in the alley at night. the costumes are so beautiful, i love the cuts of their suits.

*episode 4 : loved the christmas episode too. i knew mary's colleague was plotting something since episode one's ending. but also i'm scared for 80s timeline tim :(*

i love the actor of roy cohn also. like he's serving. serving conservative homophobic self-hating jewish but serving nonetheless (i'm not a irl roy cohn stan btw, will brill just absolutely serves as him). it was so sweet seeing tim and hawk being happy though (especially as i write those lines specifically right before the diffusion of the last episode). also small detail but it was interesting to see how even when the jewish person (here cohn) is on their side and does everything "right" to be accepted, people will still be antisemitic towards him (mccarthy and his wife).

episode 5 :

the scene of marcus and frankie on the bench ☹️☹️☹️ "i should have let him paint them red." killed me. i was so shocked by the death of senator smith though ??!! the scene where he looks at pictures with lucy was so sad in retrospect. also it's very funny seeing tim lurking around the mccarthy/cohn/schine trio. he's just a little guy. also lucy smith leave your husband and runaway with me !! i can make you happy queen ! she's so gorgeous and dresses so well i love her so much, and even more since this episode. i felt so sorry for her brother and how he gets no real help from anyone. and the last scene ☹️.

episode 6 :

lucy's outfits and hair are so gorgeous !! i really love what we saw her wearing in this episode's 1950s timeline, especially her baby blue and yellow dresses.

hawk being a daughter's father oh he's so real, kendall roy feminist icon coded to me.

the shot of tim in the police car with the back window showing hawk on the road is SICK. like i felt a pain in the heart. and i loved the last shot of hawk hugging jackson.

i kinda wish there was an episode in between 5 and 6 but at the same time it makes sense. we just didn't get used to hawk's children and had jackson for only one episode.

episode 7

an episode for the tim laughlin lesbian fans for real !! it broke my heart for the romance part but i could learn some things about harvey milk ! i'm not american so i didn't know he was murdered (or didn't remember it) but i read on wikipedia that he was jewish too ! i really love the costumes of the 70s, they're all so beautiful and fitting for the characters :'). i love all the small details in the sets and decorations, each of the era have a unique vibe ! i'm absolutely terrified for tomorrow's episode, i'm not ready to see them go at all !!

#between the * is what i had in my drafts for several weeks and just didn't update or post each week..#fellow travelers #fellow travelers spoilers #terrified for tomorrow i don't know about you all.. i was glad i could start it the first week though !!#i was a good ride. a really great one.#i don't expect an happy ending though.. (pretending i don't think there will be one so it can come to me faster etc..)#i used this tag every week

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leftistfeminista · 21 days

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On Paul Robeson's 126th birthday, I would like to celebrate one of his lesser known songs. His rendition of Beethoven's Ode to Joy with his own interpretive translation of the lyrics. It captures the humanistic spirit of the Enlightenment, French Revolutionary and Romanticist eras in which Beethoven worked. And the egalitarian ideas Robeson championed. Those who struggle are supported and those who might dominate are kept in check. It is the deepest level of solidarity and fraternity where none are allowed to fall. A powerful antidote to an age of unchecked individualism, competition, cruelty and glorification of strength for its own sake.

..Build the road of peace before us, Build it wide and deep and long Speed the slow and check the eager, Help the weak and curb the strong. None shall push aside another, None shall let another fall March beside me, oh, my brothers,

ALL FOR ONE AND ONE FOR ALL

Paul Robeson Sings For The Underdog

During his career, vocalist Paul Robeson usually avoided singing classical music, once stating that European traditions had “nothing in common with the history of my slave ancestors.” He almost exclusively devoted himself to spirituals, protest songs and folk ballads, championing the oppressed through music. That was certainly the case with his unlikely but devoted relationship with group of working-class miners in Wales, whom Robeson supported in their protests against low wages and unsafe working conditions.

On the occasion he did perform classical works, he reframed them as folk music. Robeson’s “Ode to Joy” replaces the orchestra with a single piano, and he opts to sing in English rather than German, driving home the message of brotherhood to his English-speaking audiences. Robeson’s leftist politics lead to his blacklisting during the McCarthy Era, leaving him unable to travel with a revoked passport. So when the Welsh miners invited him to perform at a festival 1957, his only choice was to sing across the sea via a transatlantic telephone line. He dedicated his version of “Ode to Joy” to the crowd of 5,000, supporting their struggle for what he called “a world where we can live abundant and dignified lives.”

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Chilean Women Protest A Violent Dictator

In 1973, military dictator Augusto Pinochet assumed power in Chile and oversaw the imprisonment and torture of tens of thousands of people belonging to opposition groups. At the risk of their own lives, female protesters gathered outside torture prisons to sing the “Himno a la Alegria,” a hymn based on “Ode to Joy,” to bring hope to those being held inside. You can see a clip of the protest in the documentary Following the Ninth:

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Another of his lesser known performance is of Luther's famous hymn, which launched in the religious sphere the bourgeois democratic revolt against Medieval Feudalism.

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While we are still a long, long ways away from the just society Robeson dreamed of, we have at least made some progress from the McCarthyist days in which he was blacklisted, to being officially recognized today in our nation's capital.

#paul robeson #beethoven #ode to joy #classical music #Youtube

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dreaminginthedeepsouth · 6 months

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An eventful coming week.

November 13, 2023

ROBERT B. HUBBELL

Current funding for the government will expire on Friday, November 17 at midnight. Speaker Mike Johnson proposed a “laddered continuing resolution” on Saturday that was met by deafening silence. Well, almost. The White House called it “unserious.” But there was little evidence of legislative activity over the weekend with only five days before shutdown.

A “laddered continuing resolution” has rightly been called “gimmicky.” It has never been used before. It probably won’t be used now. But since we will hear the phrase “laddered CR” for the next 72 hours straight, let’s take a look at the context and meaning of the proposed “laddered CR.”

When Congress fails to pass a budget, it frequently passes a “continuing resolution” that keeps the government operating at existing funding levels until Congress can do its job. But Mike Johnson couldn’t pass a regular “continuing resolution” if his job depended on it. So, he has proposed a hybrid resolution that amounts to “kicking two cans down the road” at the same time. Let’s take a look at the possible options to see where Mike Johnson’s hybrid solution fits in:

Congress passes a budget on time (which requires twelve appropriations bills to pass). That is a good outcome but nothing to write home about. Passing a budget on time is, after all, one of the primary duties assigned to Congress in the Constitution. Republicans gave up on this option about six months ago.

Congress passes some appropriation bills but not all twelve. A partial shutdown results. This happened in 2018-19. Republicans gave up on this option about three months ago.

Congress passes no appropriations bills but agrees to a “clean” continuing resolution that funds the government at current levels for a set period. Former Speaker Kevin McCarthy agreed to such a continuing resolution in September and lost his job as a result. Mike Johnson floated this idea last week in a Republican conference meeting, but it was shot down before ever making it out of the GOP conference closed-door meeting.

Congress proposes a “laddered” continuing resolution that funds parts of the government for different time periods (here, through January 19 and February 2, 2024) at current levels. This is what Johnson has proposed. The “laddered” continuing resolution does not include funding for Israel or Ukraine. Nor does it include cuts from current spending levels—a demand made by the most radical members of the House Freedom Caucus. See below.

Congress can’t pass a regular continuing resolution or a laddered CR, so it proposes a continuing resolution that cuts spending from current levels. This proposal was championed by the Freedom Caucus under McCarthy (but ultimately rejected). The proposal for “continuing resolution with cuts” may make a return under Johnson if he can’t get support for his “laddered CR.”

The relative calm (and silence) over the weekend is disquieting. Either the chaos is so bad that no one knows what to do or everyone is confident that Congress will pass a “clean” continuing resolution. After all, what politician wants to be responsible for US troops not being paid during the Thanksgiving holiday?

This story will dominate the news next week. Apart from the drama of “Will there be shut down or not,” the real story is that Republicans are simply incapable of governing. We need to get that story out to friends, family, neighbors, acquaintances, and complete strangers.

Trump's statements on Veteran’s Day weekend echo Hitler and Mussolini.

This next story may be upsetting for some readers, so let’s start with a shortened version, followed by a more detailed version. In short, Trump's unhinged statements over Veteran’s Day weekend became even more unhinged as he began to use epithets reminiscent of the hate speech of Hitler and Mussolini. Bottom line: Defeating Trump is a matter of national urgency and human decency. Do not relent in your efforts.

The longer story is this: In statements at a campaign rally and on his vanity social media platform, Trump used words and phrases favored by Hitler and Mussolini as they attacked their enemies in the run-up to World War II. He said, in part,

We pledge to you that we will root out the communists, Marxists, fascists and the radical left thugs that live like vermin within the confines of our country that lie and steal and cheat on elections. They’ll do anything, whether legally or illegally, to destroy America and to destroy the American Dream. [T] he threat from outside forces is far less sinister, dangerous and grave than the threat from within. Our threat is from within.

See Washington Post, Trump calls political enemies ‘vermin,’ echoing dictators Hitler, Mussolini. (This article is accessible to all.) The headline writers at The New York Times did not see the need to raise alarm about the historical antecedent to Trump's speech, writing blandly, “In Veterans Day Speech, Trump Promises to ‘Root Out’ the Left | New York Times.

As usual, the rest of the Republican Party pretended not to notice that Trump had descended into Hitlerisms in his speech. Republican National Chair Ronna McDaniel dodged questions about Trump's speech by saying (a) she hadn’t read the speech and (b) wouldn’t comment on a Republican candidate involved in a presidential primary for the GOP nomination. See The Hill, RNC chairwoman dodges questions over Trump’s Veterans Day post. Coward!

Comparisons to Hitler and Mussolini should not be made lightly, but they are appropriate here. For a superb (and unsettling) historical comparison, read Lucian Truscott’s Newsletter, This is how it begins - by Lucian K. Truscott.

For those whose parents, grandparents, and family members suffered and died under Hitler and Mussolini, Trump's deliberate effort to model his language on theirs is unsettling, even traumatizing. Every American should be alarmed and concerned by this dark turn in the hate speech of a man known for his hate speech.

Trump must not be normalized. He is not merely a candidate for the GOP presidential nomination—as he is frequently portrayed by major media. His plans are anti-democratic, unconstitutional, and despotic. Despite that fact, in a series of polls over the last three weeks, he has been presented as merely “another horse in the race” to become president—a characterization that is morally and intellectually dishonest. For Jennifer Rubin’s take on the normalization of Trump through polling, read on!

The threat to democracy posed by “normalization of Trump through polling.”

Jennifer Rubin hits the nail on the head as she takes down the NYTimes poll last week that dominated three days of front-page coverage by the Times. See Jennifer Rubin in WaPo, Opinion A wasteland: Political coverage ignores the threat to democracy. (Accessible to all.)

Although Rubin covers themes I addressed last week, she brings her own style and clarity to the problem of normalizing Trump by reducing everything to the “lowest common denominator” in polling.

Rubin writes,

Last week demonstrated the sorry state of political coverage in this country. The fixation on early, non-predictive polling and endless speculation that President Biden might step away from the 2024 race (contrary to all evidence) created an endless cycle of frenzied coverage, none of it informative about democracy, the issues or the threat of an authoritarian regime in a second Trump presidency.

After discussing the yawning deficiencies in the Times’ poll (which are substantial) and reviewing the true state of the race, she indicts her colleagues in the news media for ignoring the threat to democracy and focusing on the horse race:

Many media outlets after Jan. 6, 2021, vowed to focus more on threats to democracy. (Occasionally, they do; but it doesn’t dominate coverage, as polling does). However, most are stuck in overhyped horse-race coverage and endless chatter over meaningless Republican debates. Americans deserve better. Our democracy needs better.

Robert B. Hubbell Newsletter

#Robert B.Hubbell #Robert B. Hubbell Newsletter #media bias #U.S.House of Representatives #Clown Caucus #Government Shutdown #Deacon Mike Johnson #Religious fundamentalism #CR #Government funding

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commonguttersnipe · 2 months

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Baggy Trousers Down Python Road: Chapter Five- If I Said You Had A Beautiful Body, Would You Hold It Against Me?

Warnings: Swearing, internalised homophobia and things get a bit spicy at the end (ooh!)

Strings of pink and red were scattered over the school hall; the curtains drawn and the lights as bright as they could be without turning on the floods. Valentine’s Day had arrived at MacNaughton’s and much like every other holiday, it would be celebrated as prudishly as possible. The students arrived in their bundles, their voices bouncing off the walls like hoards of bumblebees. The faculty stood ready and waiting to stop any lip-locking or necking that would inevitably occur.

It started with the spiked punch. Once weak and watery, it had been contaminated with the cheapest liquor Bert Nudge could find. It went undetected for around 20 minutes until the year 8s started dropping like flies. Miss Weston was the first on the scene, tending to the bruised head of Reg, who was still drinking the potentially lethal liquid.

Judith sat with Brian outside the hall, raising a half-full bottle of water to his lips, encouraging him to sip. Brian had taken a good swig of the stuff and was now clutching his stomach in very well-hidden agony.

“You silly sod…” Her soft Welsh accent acted as a plaster to Brian’s troubled tummy “What on Earth did you do that for?”

“I didn’t know it was spiked!” Brian whinged, as the punch bowl was hurriedly carried out of the room by a panicked-looking Mr Palin.

“I’d hate it if something horrible happened to you…” She pats his head, becoming increasingly aware of the leaking water seeping into her sparkly dress. That didn’t matter. All that her world currently revolved around was Brian, who was resting against her shoulder. “I love you too much for something horrible to happen to you” The sentence dripped out like drool, prompting a messy reaction.

It didn’t receive one though.

In fact, it was met with no words at all. Just a gentle kiss on the shoulder was all it took to tell her that it was very much appreciated. It was perhaps for the best that she didn’t tongue Brian’s vomit-lined mouth. She mentally snapped her fingers and dug the minty gum deeper into her pocket.

Far across the floor, Miss Weston and Mr Gilliam were whispering about their suspicions. The redhead had her notebook out, evidently overjoyed her Agatha Christie phase when she was fourteen was finally going to pay off, while the long-haired man was intent on condemning the entirety of the Year 7s (no one was going to object, everyone despised the naïve little assholes). After an almost thorough list of attendees had been scrutinized, the pair had their leads… everyone.

What had started as a quiet investigation had become a bloody McCarthy trial, a Watney’s red scare if you will. No one was safe. Fergus McTeagle was intimidated by Byron, Rita Fayworth was frightened with Brigadoon as the school’s end-of-year musical and little Gale A’ Had burst into tears after being threatened with an invitation to the girl’s tennis match (the mere mention of the short skirts gave him a nosebleed).

Despite their drilling, it seemed to be all for nought. No one confessed. They considered recruiting Elliot Ximenez to help with their inquiries but he was on the other end of some rather sinful fellatio from Jean Sydney on the tennis courts. Providing it wasn’t in front of the younger years, Mr Gilliam let it slide.

Halfway through the dance, Miss Weston sat on the foyer stairs, her notebook covered in inexplicable scribbles and conspiracies.

“How difficult can it be? One of those little bastards did it” Mr Gilliam sighed.

Mr Idle came waltzing through, licking off the sugar on his fingers from leftover, stale doughnuts. He looked at the pair in smug amusement.

“What are you two gits looking so miserable about?” He asked with his signature rat-like grin.

“We’ve been looking for the punch culprit. You have been paying attention right? Or have you been ignoring the bunch of sick kiddos to stuff your face?” Mr Gilliam looked down at his investigation partner. She looked rather pretty when she was one step away from strangling the next human being she came into contact with.

Fighting back to ignore his colleague’s atrocious grammar, the long-haired music teacher scoffed.

“It was Nudge”

The couple looked up.

Of course, it was.

“Drank half of the slop, then puked on John” He smirked when mentioning his co-worker’s unfortunate accident.

“Admitted mid-barf”

Miss Weston looked at her list again, finding Bert’s name right at the top.

Hidden in plain fucking sight.

Mr Idle shrugged and left them, probably to see if there were any leftover pastries to gobble.

The duo sat there, the muted screams and surf-rock becoming the backing music for their failure. Brown eyes met green as they took the courage to look at each other.

“So… I have some coffee in my apartment and-”

“Sounds good.” Miss Weston nodded. Dates that came from humiliation would be the cherry on top of a pathetic evening, but honestly, if it meant that something could bloom from a disaster, she’d take that chance. All art started like that, after all.

Halfway to his boarding, it came to Miss Weston’s attention that she’d actually been neglecting the punch’s victims during their disorganized investigation. Miss Gullet had it under control… surely?

She did. Surrounded by paper towels and the vile stench of sandwich spread, she and Mr Palin had become the accidental heroes of the night.

Much like their relationship, she’d taken control, directing the students in her efficient pop-up hospital amongst the skipping ropes and gym mats.

Mr Palin looked upon his wife with an infatuated gaze. Sure, she saw him as an idiot, but he was her idiot, and no finer title could have been bestowed upon him. Knighthoods paled in comparison.

Taking her maiden name was necessary for work, but the lovers were so obviously married from day one, that she almost got fired on her first day. A Shakespearean ramble from Palin, got her to stay and ever since then, the power couple had become McNaughton’s official moral support.

Pupils had become so used to their Geography teacher writing on the blackboard while also feeding his baby son mashed peas, the infant had become almost a mascot for the department.

Nevertheless, seeing her here, the gentle lighting caressing her face like his fingers made him feel like he was 16 again. The shy church boy meeting the tall, cheeky girl of his dreams on some beach that felt like continents away from Sheffield.

He’d say that it was times like this, but this was every day for him. So inevitably tangled in the roots of devotion, any action she did felt like a kiss after being parted for months.

Intertwined in love’s desperate grasp with her, felt like the Eden he’d been promised as a child.

“Michael?” She swept her fringe from her eyes “Would you be a darling and pass that tissue?”

He complied. After all, he was her darling.

Tommy didn’t like dancing. It was poofy and he was no poof.

Mary always assumed he didn’t like dancing because he was one.

Standing on the rim of the dancefloor, as if he were to be consumed by effeminate waves, the serious boy watched his girlfriend spin with Jocasta, laughing loudly and squealing louder. Mary was a pretty girl, everyone thought so… except for Tommy.

Homosexuality crossed his mind often. Sweaty, half-naked Rock Hudson plagued his consciousness the first time he’d kissed Mary, though that may have been the residue from a late-night watch of Send Me No Flowers. It had to be. He wanted it to be.

“Come on Tommy! Daniel says they’re playing Windy next!”

He shakes his head. A look of disappointment crossed her face before being brushed away with a rogue curl. She appeared purple in the blue lighting. Lavender, even.

Lavender. As in a gay man.

Tommy felt non-existent sweat drip down his forehead as his world became lavender, glowing with anger like an inculpatory finger.

Mary’s world was in shades of neon, everything shining with the veracity that there was always tomorrow. The only grey was Tommy. However, she knew he needed her to feel normal.

If her heart had its way, she’d encourage him to be happy with himself, but her head reasoned that coming to terms with himself would slowly destroy him and what he thought he’d worked for.

Being in Daniel’s arms felt right. Warm with the ease of accepting his masculinity, it was the fire her heart had hoped Tommy would light. By the way, her boyfriend was looking at her, he seemed nonchalant about her dancing with another boy… and that made her feel sick with guilt. Daniel nuzzled his head into her neck, his soft nips earning gentle whines.

Tommy’s world was now turning blue.

Stormy blue.

Ernie couldn’t believe what Jim just said.

“But she’s your girl! I- I-”

“Yeah, and you're one minute away from your cock shrivelling into a raisin” Jim blew out his smoke into the cold air. “You know I’m not a jealous man”

“But coupling with your girlfriend-”

“Fucking. Use fucking, for fuck’s sake” Jim looked over at his friend. Ernie’s face had turned the shade of Aggie’s lipstick, which she was currently reapplying.

“Really, I’m happy to!” She confirmed her consent, smiling sweetly at him.

Jim stamped out his cigarette and groaned.

“Look. You’re my best friend Ernie and I’m not allowing you to be a virgin for the rest of the school year. You’re not saving for marriage and honestly, if Elliot can get pussy, so can you”.

Ernie scrunched his nose at his friend’s crudeness but couldn’t deny his desperation to be taken. One thing his friend didn’t know was that he loved Aggie. Surely he couldn’t be pity-fucked by a girl he loved. Then again…

Aggie had decided the shrubbery near the football pitch was an appropriate location, it not being under the cheery supervision of Mr Jones. Ernie felt his t-shirt stick to his chest as they made their way over to the foliage.

Noticing it had recently rained, she opted for the protection of a tree, pressing her back against the rough bark. Ernie licked his lips awkwardly.

“I- I don’t know what to do” He admitted.

Aggie smiled sympathetically.

“You do want this, right?”

“Yes. God please-” He blurted eagerly, making her laugh. Good. He liked it when she laughed.

“Why don’t you unbutton my shirt?”

Guiding his trembling hands to her cold blouse, she helped him with each pesky button, slowly revealing her goose-pimpled skin. Eventually, her plain white cotton bra came into view, her cleavage being teased through the thick fabric. Overwhelmed, Ernie leaned forward, pressing neat kisses against her neck, timidly cupping her chest with one hand.

“You needn’t be so polite” Her voice almost begged, secretly aching for him to make her forget her own name.

“I don’t want to hurt you”

“Don’t worry, I’ll say if you do” They looked into each other’s eyes, the consent and understanding feeling somehow erotic.

He nodded.

She closed her eyes as he unclipped her bra, sucking on the swell of her breast, grunts of pure worship rippling against her skin. Hungrily, he pushed up her skirt, squeezing her plump thighs as she almost feverishly unzipped his trousers.

“Ernie?” She whimpered, gazing up at the cloudless sky above them.

“Yes?” He moaned, his fingers skimming over her soaked panties as he buried his face in her bosom.

“Fuck me like the world is ending tomorrow”

He smirked. In a way it was, but then again, his world was clinging to him, wanting him to love her. The apocalypse could happen tomorrow but it wouldn’t matter.

Tonight happened.

#monty python #monty python fanfiction

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rockislandadultreads · 11 months

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In Memoriam: Cormac McCarthy (1933-2023)

The Road by Cormac McCarthy

A father and his son walk alone through burned America. Nothing moves in the ravaged landscape save the ash on the wind. It is cold enough to crack stones, and when the snow falls it is gray. The sky is dark. Their destination is the coast, although they don’t know what, if anything, awaits them there. They have nothing; just a pistol to defend themselves against the lawless bands that stalk the road, the clothes they are wearing, a cart of scavenged food—and each other.

The Road is the profoundly moving story of a journey. It boldly imagines a future in which no hope remains, but in which the father and his son, “each the other’s world entire,” are sustained by love. Awesome in the totality of its vision, it is an unflinching meditation on the worst and the best that we are capable of: ultimate destructiveness, desperate tenacity, and the tenderness that keeps two people alive in the face of total devastation.

All the Pretty Horses by Cormac McCarthy

All the Pretty Horses tells of young John Grady Cole, the last of a long line of Texas ranchers. Across the border Mexico beckons—beautiful and desolate, rugged and cruelly civilized. With two companions, he sets off on an idyllic, sometimes comic adventure, to a place where dreams are paid for in blood.

This is the first volume in “The Border” trilogy.

The Passenger by Cormac McCarthy

1980, Pass Christian, Mississippi: It is three in the morning when Bobby Western zips the jacket of his wetsuit and plunges from the boat deck into darkness. His divelight illuminates the sunken jet, nine bodies still buckled in their seats, hair floating, eyes devoid of speculation. Missing from the crash site are the pilot’s flightbag, the plane’s black box, and the tenth passenger. But how? A collateral witness to machinations that can only bring him harm, Western is shadowed in body and spirit – by men with badges; by the ghost of his father, inventor of the bomb that melted glass and flesh in Hiroshima; and by his sister, the love and ruin of his soul.

Traversing the American South, from the garrulous bar rooms of New Orleans to an abandoned oil rig off the Florida coast, The Passenger is a breathtaking novel of morality and science, the legacy of sin, and the madness that is human consciousness.

This is the first volume in “The Passenger” series.

No Country for Old Men by Cormac McCarthy

One day, Llewellyn Moss finds a pickup truck surrounded by a bodyguard of dead men. A load of heroin and two million dollars in cash are still in the back. When Moss takes the money, he sets off a chain reaction of catastrophic violence that not even the law–in the person of aging, disillusioned Sheriff Bell–can contain.

As Moss tries to evade his pursuers–in particular a mysterious mastermind who flips coins for human lives–McCarthy simultaneously strips down the American crime novel and broadens its concerns to encompass themes as ancient as the Bible and as bloodily contemporary as this morning’s headlines.

#cormac mccarthy #in memoriam #fiction #Western fiction #literary fiction #Book Recommendations #book recs #Reading Recs #reading recommendations #library books #TBR pile #tbr #tbrpile #to read #Want To Read #Booklr #book tumblr #book blog #library blog

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wowbright · 11 months

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Fic: Finlandia

Tan Hands and Tan Lines Word Challenge 2021: mouth

Words: ~750 words

Rating: Teen and up

Summary: In which Elder Anderson ends up in a recording studio.

I’m belatedly going through the prompts for The Tan Hands and Tan Lines Summer Event 2021 to flesh out my Mormon!Klaine universe. This one takes place after Lovely Day (soon after the mission conference). My Mormon!Klaine Masterpost.

Notes: IDK what’s going on with the formatting. If you have any questions or typo corrections, feel free to use my ask box!

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They stopped by Mason McCarthy’s place next, hoping to catch him at home since this week was a non-touring one for the twins and their entourage. “Oh, hello, elders!” he said cheerily as he opened the door. “I thought you might drop by. Elder Anderson, you haven’t seen the music studio yet. Let me give you a tour!”

“Oh!” Blaine answered in surprise. “That's so kind of you. But we actually came here to see if there was anything we could do to help you stay active in the church with all your travel.”

“Not really. I mean, obviously, we can't really do any callings that require us to be in Ingolstadt every week, but Madison makes sure we read the scriptures every day.” Mason waved the two missionaries inside and brought them to the kitchen, where he pushed a bowl of chips at them. “Missionaries are always hungry, right? All that biking everywhere.”

Blaine became aware of the empty pit that was his stomach as Kurt popped several into his mouth. Blaine followed suit as Mason pulled two mineral waters from the fridge.

Kurt took a sip. “What about sacrament, Brother McCarthy? It’s important for you and your sisters to be able to renew their baptismal covenants every week. And I understand you’ve received authorization to hold private sacrament meetings with your family members when you're on the road. Have you started doing that?”

Mason pursed his lips. “Don’t you think one of my brothers would be better suited to do that? Martin and Morris are older than me, and both of them are married.”

“They don't always tour with you though, right?” Kurt said. “I thought that was only for the bigger festivals.”

Mason gazed at Kurt. They seemed to be having some kind of silent standoff, though Blaine didn't quite understand what it was about. Was this something that Kurt had nudged Mason about before Blaine had come to Ingolstadt?

Mason struck his palms together in a single, loud clap. “You know what I’d love to do? Record Elder Anderson playing the piano in our music studio! He was so good at the Easter service. Actually, you two both have amazing voices—you should sing a duet! I’m still not great with the soundboard but this will give me a chance to practice. What do you say?” And with that, he spun around toward the kitchen door and waved for them to follow him.

Blaine ran scales as he thought over what to play. He longed to sing The Circle of Our Love again with Kurt, and he was sure he could figure out the chords with a little effort.

But they were here as missionaries, trying to build Mason up in his faith. Now was not the time for Blaine to woo his companion.

Then again, maybe he could do both at the same time.

He played the first few notes of Finlandia.

“Oh!” Kurt touched his heart with his right hand.

It was exactly the effect Blaine had hoped for.

“Ah, yes,” Mason nodded at Kurt. “This is a lovely hymn.”

“The loveliest,” Kurt said.

So, it was decided. Kurt and Mason left the room and reappeared on the other side of the glass: Mason settling down at the computer, Kurt standing beside him. His eyes were on Blaine, and he was smiling with a soft reassurance.

As Blaine began to play, Kurt’s mouth formed the shapes of the English words:

Be still, my soul: The Lord is on thy side; With patience bear thy cross of grief or pain. Leave to thy God to order and provide; In ev’ry change he faithful will remain. Be still, my soul: Thy best, thy heav’nly Friend Thru thorny ways leads to a joyful end.

Blaine remembered when they sat side by side on the piano bench in the Schönfelds’ living room the week after Easter. The skin just about Blaine’s elbow tingled from where their arm hairs touched. Kurt’s body had been so wonderfully warm, and his smile irresistible, and they had been so close that Blaine, for the first time, could clearly make out the flecks of color in Kurt’s eyes, blue and green and gold—like standing up close to a Monet painting. Kurt told him the way Blaine played “Be Still My Soul" made him feel the love of God, and something inside Blaine came to life for the first time.

That was the moment Blaine truly fell in love with Kurt, wasn’t it? And he’d had no idea what it was.

#mormon!klaine #wowbright writes fic #tan hands and tan lines #my thatl #snarkyhag's smut challenge: mouth #only it's smoot not smut

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the-eternal-quest-for-balance · 6 months

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Quite honestly, THIS is what Hope and Change REALLY looks like. Principled, committed, unwavering. Make no mistake, what they are doing could easily be career ending for these folks. Their willingness to put it all on the line reflects their understanding that we've come to the do or die fork in the road. Fight and you might lose, do not try and you already have lost.

It's now or never and I for one applaud every one of them.

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daisychainsandbowties · 1 year

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10 17 22 idk if you've done those I'm illiterate

10. Has a piece of writing ever "haunted" you? has your own writing haunted you? what does that mean to you?

EM. YOU. yourself. come over here and ask if i am haunted?? yes, every day, by the image of shannon slipping mary's motorcycle helmet off her head. this:

"then she steps forward and removes Mary's helmet with careful hands and Beatrice has never felt more a voyeur in her life than when she watches Sister Shannon dab the blood from Mary's split lip with the pad of her thumb. Watches Mary bat her hand away, her eyes rolling, "I'm fucking fine" and "Language" a practiced one two punch" ~ tmtl ch. 1

and this:

"Lilith shudders at her touch, makes a mournful sound, then comes awake in an instant.... Beatrice withdraws, sits for a moment on the edge of Lilith's bed before rising. Lilith's melodramatic groan of relief makes her tempted to drop back down, to curl up alongside her and try to pick the pieces out of her, to reassemble them and form an image that's whole, but she resists. All the better to let sleeping Liliths lie."

~ tmtl ch. 3

i terms of other things i think the book of the outsider trilogy by Mark Lawrence is quite haunting, as a story. i find a lot of the poetry i read very haunting. but mostly it is lines like those above - moments of absolute intimacy shadowed by restraint. that line from harrow the ninth that goes "you were so afraid she might touch you. you were so afraid anyone might touch you. you had always been afraid of anyone touching you, and had not known your longing flinch was so obvious to those who tried."

my own writing... sometimes. when i write about sickness, certainly. that feels haunting. but mostly my own writing is when i let the ghosts fly out of the window.

17. talk to me about the minutiae of your current WIP. tell me about the lore, the history, the things that won't make it in the text.

as you well know i have about eight WIPs. but my actual novel really actually resonates with that very popular line from, again, tasmuir "love is too long and life is too short" but ah... kind of flipped. what happens when the life goes on and the love is there but not the beloved? the story started there, moved onto a dragon with a clockwork heart and a boy and the colour purple, of a very empty landscape and the very loud dead. naturally i have spider-people and none of my characters have bodies without a bit or the horrific or the angelic crammed into them (often both). the lore is a lot, but the story is about gods and spitting in the face of fate. it has Monster Hunter vibes and also a bit of Cormac McCarthy's the road (vast emptiness. two bodies inside it). it has all the things i like - horror and blood and intimacy. but yeah, the lore doc is a chonky boi.

22. how organised are you with your writing? describe to me your organisation method, if it exists.

my entire process involves the notes app on my phone and like three documents all called the same thing except lore 1, lore 2, lore 3 where i dump vomited-up fragments of sentences and half-baked ideas and then occasionally a 8000 word dump of pristine lore. i plot only inside my own brain. my masters thesis supervisor had to cut me open to get a plot outline from inside me, and it was all lies anyway. i am more of a character writer than a plot-specialist, but i feel like once i have My Guys and A Problem the story pretty much writes itself (and i'm so wrong about that). mostly i outline in my brain and then by writing random lines from the start, the midish, and the kind-of-end, and then i do linguistic gymnastics to reach those sentences. (and boy am i clumsy)

i type everything. writing with pen + paper is still not my favourite thing to do - still slow and a bit painful - so i prefer to type. i have calluses, in fact, from typing, which is really quite embarrassing.

#em but not pvp #casper writes #you ask me an organisation question like you don't already know i have clown blood

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bongaboi · 7 months

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Collingwood: 2023 AFL Premiers

IT CAME down to the last minute. We wanted the best and we got the best.

In one of the hottest Grand Final days ever recorded, with the two best teams of the season, in one of the best seasons in recent times, we got perhaps the best ever premiership decider.

And now it's official: Collingwood is the best team of 2023, with the Magpies edging out Brisbane by four points on Saturday in a Grand Final epic in front 100,024 people at the MCG.

In a game full of remarkable highlights, brutal toughness, brilliant goals, spectacular individualism and hard-nosed team ethos, it was Craig McRae's men who claimed this year's premiership, winning 12.18 (90) to 13.8 (86).

Collingwood's triumph breaks a 13-year drought without a premiership and sees them claim their 16th VFL/AFL flag, joining rivals Essendon and Carlton with a competition-leading 16 premierships.

With five-and-a-half minutes to play, Lions star Charlie Cameron looked set to snatch the flag for Brisbane when his snap put his side four points ahead. But Collingwood superstars Nick Daicos and Jordan De Goey teamed up to immediately grab back the lead, with Daicos' swift handball to De Goey giving the Pies' No.2 space to bomb it from 50 metres in the 10th lead change of the game.

It restored the Pies' four-point lead, before Steele Sidebottom marked on the wing and was dragged to the ground by Lion Jarrod Berry. A 50-metre penalty was awarded and the Pies veteran slotted a goal from the 50-metre line to give the Pies a 10-point break with 4:23 remaining.

The game looked over before some Hugh McCluggage magic saw Joe Daniher snap a goal to get the Lions within four points with 93 seconds to play, before the Pies ground out the last moments to clinch an extraordinary flag.

Five years after the heartbreak of the 2018 Grand Final loss, the Magpies got their moment in pulsating fashion, with heroes all over the ground.

Bobby Hill kicked four goals from 18 disposals in a career-best game to win the Norm Smith Medal, while Nick Daicos had a stellar afternoon, with the young superstar having a game-high 29 disposals and a goal to end his special second season.

McRae's men have become the kings of the close contest over the past two years and did it on the biggest stage of all.

After legendary rockers KISS put in a super pre-match performance, the fireworks kept coming right until the final siren.

Daicos kicked off a frenetic first term, slotting the opening goal after a free kick. The sensation had started forward in his second game back from injury, with the Pies having all the early running. They skipped to a two-goal lead before Brisbane had caught its breath, with Zac Bailey's two first-quarter goals helping edge the Lions ahead.

The first goal was good – an on-the-run banger that sailed through – but the second was an all-timer, seeing the Lions star smother Mason Cox, collect the ball, evade two Collingwood tacklers and then snap it through. The Lions had jumped to a three-point advantage before again the Pies took back control, with a De Goey long bomb after the siren establishing Collingwood's 10-point lead at the first change.

If we thought the first quarter was good, there was the most epic of second quarters to come. During the quarter-time break, the MCG speakers blasted John Denver's Take Me Home, Country Roads, igniting three crowd singalongs.

It also lit the fuse for Cameron, who was making them sing for him soon enough with two quick goals and another goal assist to get the Lions firing.

Brisbane's efforts to keep the ball at ground level in defence had Collingwood unsettled and their fleet of small forwards went to work, with Deven Robertson busy, Bailey terrific and Lincoln McCarthy kicking a cracker from the pocket to put them 13 points ahead.

But the Magpies weren't ready to stop there. In a first half that will rank alongside any Grand Final for highlights and quality goals, Hill then put his mark on the game – figuratively and literally. He kicked three goals for the quarter and by half-time had a career-best four, including a left-foot snap and a huge screamer inside-50 that he converted.

Again it was some Daicos magic – weaving through traffic, slowing down, speeding up, spotting an option and hitting his target – that set up the final goal of the half with his 19th disposal before the main break as Brody Mihocek put the Magpies up by six points.

After full throttle footy in the second term, the third quarter hit arm wrestle territory. Collingwood was kept to 0.6 until the final two minutes, when Hill smartly spotted Scott Pendlebury open 30 metres from goal. Having watched his side surrender the lead, the Pies champion's never-in-doubt kick put his side ahead by four points heading into the last quarter.

The Lions conceded a goal in the final two minutes of the term in each of the first three quarters, and it proved a costly momentum shifter at the end of the third after they had otherwise been on top with their efficiency.

Daniher was a big part of Brisbane's push, with the key forward having an important day, helping set up Robertson's crucial goal in the third quarter with his contested mark on the wing.

The Lions had their opportunities at the start of the fourth but Collingwood's mantra throughout the year has been to play every single minute.

It's the mantra underneath McRae's uber-positive, open-door, belief-is-everything philosophy that has sealed them a premiership cup, coming to the fore when they needed it most.

COLLINGWOOD 4.4 9.9 10.15 12.18 (90) BRISBANE 3.0 9.3 11.5 13.8 (86)

GOALS Collingwood: Hill 4, Crisp 2, De Goey 2, N.Daicos, Mihocek, Pendlebury, Sidebottom Brisbane: Cameron 3, Daniher 3, Bailey 2, McCarthy 2, McCluggage 2, Robertson

BEST Collingwood: Hill, N.Daicos, Crisp, Howe, Mitchell, Pendlebury Brisbane: McCluggage, Daniher, Coleman, Andrews, Bailey, Cameron

INJURIES Collingwood: Murphy (concussion) Brisbane: Nil

SUBSTITUTES Collingwood: Patrick Lipinski (replaced Nathan Murphy at quarter-time) Brisbane: Jarryd Lyons (replaced Callum Ah Chee in the fourth quarter)

Crowd: 100,024 at the MCG

2023 Norm Smith Medal voting 15 - Bobby Hill (Coll) 5 - Keidean Coleman (Bris) 4 - Nick Daicos (Coll) 3 - Tom Mitchell (Coll) 2 - Jack Crisp (Coll) 1 - Scott Pendlebury (Coll)

Judges' voting Luke Darcy (Chair) – B Hill 3, N Daicos 2, S Pendlebury 1 Eddie Betts – B Hill 3, T Mitchell 2, K Coleman 1 Jude Bolton – B Hill 3, K Coleman 2, T Mitchell 1 Sarah Olle – B Hill 3, K Coleman 2, J Crisp 1 Luke Shuey – B Hill 3, N Daicos 2, J Crisp 1

#2023 #afl #australian football league #collingwood

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dreamqueenkala · 9 months

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ACT 1

The Caterpillar

"Because I remember, I despair. Because I remember, I have the duty to reject despair."

SALEM’S GROVE

Previous Chapter

Episode 1: Welcome to Salem

Salem, Massachusetts

Saturday, June 4, 2022

5:27 PM

The mid-day sun cast a warm glow over the browning leaves of the forest surrounding Salem. Birds flew freely over the hills and valleys, dipping beneath the branches to perch or feed before rising again to follow a different flock. The sweet sound of cicadas chirping filled the air, accentuated by the soft whisper of the early-summer wind. A bronze 1972 Impala drove along the cobbled streets of Salem, closely followed by a faded navy blue Ford F250, a sleek silver Benz and a powder pink Nissan Micra.

The first car carried three occupants, the front passenger of which was ogling his cellphone map and trying to instruct the driver where to turn, whilst the backseat passenger was screaming the lyrics to the radio louder than the other two could talk.

The other three cars carried two occupants each, all relatively calmer than the first vehicle, though idle chatter flitted amongst only two, the silver Benz dead silent except for temporary judgmental glares directed between the two inside.

Inside the impala, the driver's blue eyes flickered between the road and the brunette to his right, his left hand gripping the wheel tightly while his right tapped at his knee anxiously. The brunette tapping away at his phone mumbled incoherently and reached up to tug lightly at his soft hair, which had grown a bit longer in the past year. He gasped as his seat jolted forward, tilting his head to the side as the bulky ravenette behind him leaned forward, his arms draped over the headrests of both seats, his taller frame leaning over the other two brunettes with a jovial grin on his face.

"So, Dyl, where's this farm or whatever you said you're cousin has? It's been, like, two hours longer than it should've been." Jacob Custos, the tall broad shouldered male inquired, his deep brown eyes gazing over the male in the passenger seat.

Dylan Lenivy, the thinner, but equally as tall, brunette cleared his throat, his cheeks a little flushed a pale rose hue as he tapped at his screen again. "Um, well, it's just a couple of blocks down from here. Turn left, Max, should be a straight shot, then."

The driver nodded silently and flicked his blinker, turning down the left street which gradually grew emptier and emptier of buildings and people. Soon they were surrounded by trees again, mother nature dancing on either side of the broken cobble slowly transitioning to dirt and concrete.

"So, why exactly does your cousin live in the ass crack of mother natures beard?" Jacob hummed playfully, eyes flickering over the various types of trees and the distant glimpses of fauna roaming around.

"It's a family owned ranch. She's kinda the only one left to take care of it so, I guess, after her mom died she decided to take care of it all in her name...." Dylan cleared his throat and put his phone away as the road turned to dirt and gravel, the caravan slowing down slightly due to the terrain change. "...or something like that."

"There's a gate up ahead." Max Brinly, the driver, jutted his chin forward, eying the sign over the strong steel and wood posts. McCarthy Grove. "It's got a ring to it."

As the caravan rode forward, a fence line appeared on either side of the dirt trail. The left contained row upon row of various fruit trees, ranging from apples and oranges to plums and apricots. The right contained an open pasture with green fields, a small pond and various livestock including cattle, pigs, sheep, turkeys and llamas. Up ahead the pasture on the right split the fence line, another boxed area forming with a small array of horses in a corral, and one in the open paddock. A woman rested atop the saddle on its back, her boots strapped into the cuffs and her thin fingers gripping the lead as she guided it in circles around the paddock casually, gradually picking up speed.

"Damn, she's hot on that horse." Jacob grinned, a soft yelp following after as Dylan yanked on his cap and covered his face.

"That's my cousin, shithead."

Max moved his eyes away from the woman, blue gaze falling on the large house up ahead. Two girls and a guy stood out front, the two girls having a calm but somewhat dramatic discussion on the porch steps whilst the male sat on a hay bale in the shade near a small tool shed. As the cars pulled up, the girls fell silent, the short brunette smiling as she waved at them. Max rolled his window down the moment he'd noticed her lips moving.

"Hey! Hey guys! Just drive your cars around the side there to that little shaded area. We'll help you unpack!" Max nodded and extended his left arm, waving the truck behind him forward as he came to a halt. The silver Benz followed after it, shortly accompanied by the pink Micra, then Max drove forward to park behind it. The engine cut and the boys scrambled out of their seats, stretching after the long sixteen hour drive.

The short brunette made her way up to the impala alone, the other two having already split off to help the girls in their group, smiling at the trio. "Hey! I'm Bianca!" She extended her hand to the group, and Dylan was quick to notice the way her freckles were sprinkled across her hands and shoulders in the off-shoulder grey top she wore. She shook Dylan's hand first, and they both shared a shy smile as he stuttered his name. She shook Jacob's as he introduced himself with a big grin and loud voice that had her giggling quickly. As Max shook her hand, she couldn't help but notice the way his friendly grin did not meet his eyes, wrinkled almost with worry.

"I'm Max. It's nice to meet you, Bianca. You're...?" She clicked her tongue as she helped carry one of the larger bags in the trunk, the group quickly emptying the car in one go.

"I'm Dani's friend. I live here on the ranch with her. So do Wren and Eli, t-the two over there helping the girls." She gestured in their direction, earning a wave from both strangers as everyone made their way to the house.

"Dani's still riding, then? I mean, she's in the paddock, right?" Dylan quipped, his doe eyes locked on the brunette prancing just a couple steps ahead of him.

"Yeah, she's got five horses now. Harley's always been her favorite, just as wild as she is." Bianca smiled as she spoke highly of her friend, eyes on the paddock as they dropped their luggage on the porch by the door. Moving closer to the bales of hay by the paddock, the group tangled into one.

"Hey! What's up? I'm Elijah." The male that'd helped Kaitlyn(the very short Asian) and Laura(an athletic but stone cold blonde) stepped up, hand outstretched to greet the three boys, his long dark hair drawn back in a low ponytail, his free hand tucked in his muddy jeans. They introduced themselves and jumped into some idle chatter.

"Dani!" Dylan finally called, drawing the group into an almost silent moment. The woman on the horse waved her hand in their direction, turning the speckled steed on its hind legs and abruptly dashing like a bullet down the length of the fence. Jacob and Nick(the Aussie from the truck) whistled with delight, cheering with Bianca and Wren(the other stranger with lilac colored hair) as the girl known as Dani raced around the fence line. She pulled the horse to a stop and tossed her head back with a joy-soaked laugh, the horse raising onto its hind legs with a whinny. It clopped back down, kicking up the dirt as the ginger led the horse towards the corral, slipping off its back and unhooking the saddle. The gate slammed shut behind her as she trotted up to the huge group, a sparkling smile spread across her fair freckled face.

"Dylan! Heyyy!" She took three long strides forward and crushed the awkward brunette in a tight hug, the two grinning wide as they clung to each other. She stepped back after a moment and cupped his face, inspecting his eyes and his smile before reaching up to ruffle his hair. "I missed you. It's been, like, 4 years."

He scratched the back of his neck with a sheepish grin and chuckled nervously, glancing to the side. "Y-Yeah, well, school was an ass back then. A-And I'd already had plans this past summer so..." Dylan tried to hide the fear in his voice and the trauma-ridden anxiety in his eyes with a cough, but he knew it was in vain. Her green eyes flickered over his face and her grin faltered, her fingers twitching on his jawline as she stepped away.

"Right, well." A small silence ensued before she picked up her smile and fixed the country hat draped over her ginger pigtails. "Let's all head inside, yeah? It's hotter than the devils ass crack right now and I need some damn tea." A brief chain of laughter flit through the group and the tension dissipated. "Oh! And, as a local to this lovely town, I'd like to say—Welcome to Salem."

"Oh! Dani, this is my best friend Kaitlyn!" Dylan dragged the ginger away, guiding her towards the very short Asian woman, who smiled with her hands in her rear pockets.

"Hey. Dylan hasn't shut up about you for weeks." Dani flushed slightly and shook her head with a hum.

"Yeah, he's always been a bit of a talker. Never got that 'smooth' in there though." She teased. The two girls were delighted as Dylan took their teasing banter in stride, slinging his arms over their shoulders.

"Oh haha so funny. I don't need to be smooth, okay? I-I've got charm." The two girls shared a look before Kaitlyn slipped away with a snicker. "Wha—Kaitlyn come on! Hey!"

Dani stepped back as her cousin dashed after the smaller woman, turning on her heel. Things were different now. She could feel it. The hairs on the back of her neck tingled and she tilted her head to the left. Green clashed with blue, and even though the owner of those blue eyes was having a conversation with the the tall jock-type guy named Jacob, his gaze never lost any of the intensity it'd held gazing at her. She hummed and pursed her lips, her heart skipping a beat and a low hiss leaving her teeth. His body jolted abruptly and his fingers clenched around his luggage. Dani narrowed her eyes in reply, fixed her hat and traipsed the rickety wooden steps.

Max's eyes hadn't left her once.

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