#black bostonians
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I was looking for information on the Rt2 Rotary in Concord MA so I could show a friend. I used to have to drive on it for work and it is wild. Rt2 is a two lane divided (in parts) highway that ostensibly has a 55 mph speed limit, but being one of the major routes into Boston everyone drives 70+ on it. Anyway, I found this.
Note how they're not trying to eliminate the chaos. They know this is impossible. They have the slightly more realistic goal of organizing the chaos.
How will they do this? Maybe by rebuilding the Rotary? Maybe by changing the approaches so you don't go slinging into it at full tilt?
No. With paint.
As if paint will stop a Boston Driver from driving the way they know they have a God Given Right To Drive.
Old friends Séan and Randy meet up at the Dunkin' Donuts outside of Arlington, MA. Séan drives a beat to shit first gen Osyssey filled to the top with paint, dropcloths, ladders and brushes. There are paint stains all over the car and on the back is a Boston Red Sox’s license place surround, Red Sox stickers and a “MY KID WAS FUCKER OF THE MONTH AT CONCORD HIGH” Séan is not a painter by trade.
Randy drives a 1993 Nissan Hardbody pickup with a headache rack and that diamondplate lock box everyone had. The truck cab is full to the smokers windows with empty Dunkin cups, cigarette packets (Parliaments) and the back has an old tire, a waterlogged bag of cat litter and some frayed wire cable. Randy has been out of work for 15 years and nobody knows how he still has money for Dunkin.
“Séan! You old fucker! Howyadoin?”
“Fuckin terrible Randy. They’re changin my commute!” He takes a sip of his extra-large coffee "regulah" (coffee with cream and sugar is "regular" around Boston).
“Fuckinell. How?” Randy lights a cigarette.
“Get this: theyre tryin to make the Rout 2 rotary LESS CHAOTIC”
“Wha? Fuck me that’s nuts”
“I know right? I need my Dunkin, I need my cigs, and I need to be sliding around that rotary at 70mph.”
Randy nods, takes a drag. He sucks the cigarette down in two puffs and lights another.
#writing#I blacked out and this appeared#sometimes things just come out when I read something#Fucker Of The Month is pretty good though#Humans are Bostonian#boston#Boston posting
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There's maybe like one line of dialogue about how baldurians have a bit of an accent and I am choosing to believe they all sound like they're from Boston
#why?? because bostonian accents in a fantasy setting TICKLES me#same with midwestern affectations#just like#imagine a dramatic fantasy speech a la aragorn at the black gate with some of that in there#incredible#i love it
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💓 don’t touch me 💞
Shot by me.
IG: kriscaptured
Twitter: krisnevaeh
#me#dope#boston#beautiful#cute#beauty#love#photography#pretty#photographer#black is beautiful#melanin#natural hair#bostonian#popular#portrait#self portrait#reblog#follow#fyp#afro#curly hair#curls#afro punk#bisexaul#bisexual lighting#krisnevaeh#krisntyler#kntyler
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Blu scout and red sniper getting into a fight on the battlefield, but its just insanely homosexual?
A/N: Yes!!! Thank you sending this in 🤣 also sorry it took so long life has been busy plus I got a million bouts of writers block trying to finish this 😞
Caught ya.
Sniperscout/speeding bullet Oneshot (Scout x Sniper)
Warnings: Maybe a teeny eeny bit suggestive? Blood, knives, death before respawn, yelling if that’s triggering, Scout and Sniper beating each other up
Sniper could hear bullets firing and loud screams from every direction. He had just respawned from the other Soldier killing him for the fourth time. He seemed to have been getting targeted recently.
“Bugger.” He grumbled under his breath. He stepped out of spawn and he heard calls for help coming from the right of him. Sniper ran and started fumbling down the staircase to intel as fast as he could. He lifted his rifle to his face and looked out the scope rounding the corner, but his field of view was instantly splattered with red. He could hear blood-curdling screams of pain and familiar laughter. Sniper froze up. The Scout had been cackling like a hyena, dominating him at least once in every battle for the past week. What did he find so funny? Whatever the reason for this sudden interest, Sniper wanted to know before he personally assassinated him when the battle was over.
The Australian threw his gun to the ground, but he couldn’t manage to get his Kukri before the Scout knocked him hard against the back wall, aiming straight at his head.
“Ha. Maybe I should be your new Sniper. Your aim is TERRIBLE!” The Scout chuckled, then everything faded to black.
The familiar clicking noise, and Sniper was thrown back into spawn once again. He had to come up with a strategy, or nothing would get done this battle.
He began thinking before leaving spawn. The administrator sounded over the speakers: “Your intelligence has been dropped.” Sniper knew one thing: the Scout was going to come back to get the case when he respawned. If he could ambush him before he got there, he might have a chance.
Sniper headed to the intel room and waited around the corner.
Some time had passed and he was starting to wonder if he should just give up sitting there. Then, he heard the fast pattering of footsteps echo through the rock and concrete walls.
Sniper pounced at the Scout’s legs as soon as he rounded the corner, intel falling off his back and knocking them both to the cold floor.
“CAUGHT YA, YA LIL’ PRUDE!” Sniper shouted aggressively. He looked at the scout squirm for a moment caught under his grip like a wild animal. Then he just stopped.
“Fine, hot stuff, you win.” The Bostonian looked at Sniper and made eye contact. His face had a cheeky and sly expression on it, despite him being extremely red in the face. Was that just Exertion? What was going on? It seemed like he wanted to be caught.
“What’d’ya want from me!?” Sniper asked him. “Because I’m gonna—“ Scout cut him off with a sharp blow to the face. Sniper was knocked into the ground in pain, and Scout was kneeling over him, giving him several more weaker punches. His blue shirt getting slowly more painted in Sniper’s blood.
Sniper snatched his Kukri and slashed it across the BLU Scout’s face. He let out a high pitched yell, and Sniper took the chance to push him into the wall, pinning the smaller man down again.
Scout opened his eyes to find Sniper’s sweltering angry face, which he only smiled back at.
“Oh, you’re smilin’ now? Think that’s funny?” Sniper muttered.
“Nope. I think it’s super terrifying…in a hot way.”
“WHAT!? WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?”
Scout managed to shimmy his hand out of Sniper’s, and he brushed it under his chin before kangaroo punching the Australian down to the ground with his leg. Now it was Scout’s turn to pin him down. His Kukri was just out of reach, but it didn’t stop Sniper from trying to grab it.
“Quit wigglin’, already.” Scout smiled down at him.
“Agh. You bloody—“ Sniper was cut off by Scout leaning down to kiss him on the cheek.
“Been trying ‘ta get your attention all week. Don’t lie, I’ve seen how you look when you’re about to shoot me. You get all red and you have a hard time aiming for me? Sound familiar?”
Sniper broke eye contact, embarrassed.
“An’ when my other teammates a’ there, you always go for them first. I’ve noticed a little pattern with you, Snipes.”
Sniper was dead silent. Now it was his turn to become beat red. “…fine. Maybe I don’t wanna shoot someone who isn’t as much of a maniac as everyone else in this dump.”
“When we met at the bar, I might’ve got a tiny hallway crush too…” Scout looked at him, confident but red enough to explode.
Sniper pulled him into a kiss. Something Sniper could’ve only dreamed of. He reached up to hold his waist. Scout’s hand drifted up to rest on Sniper’s face.
A gunshot shot out one of the security cameras from their right, breaking the kiss.
One of the team’s spies re-cloaked and ran out of the room.
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Haha hopefully that was gay enough. I do in fact love writing gay little men. Thanks for sending this in! 😂 and thanks for reading, dear viewer!
#team fortress two#tf2#scout tf2#tf2 scout#sniper tf2#scout x sniper#sniperscout#speeding bullet#tf2 fanfiction
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Bets on con outfits!? //
Oh I agree, I think we'll see the East Side Ink t-shirt. Probably the black joggers he's been wearing. Is it cold in NYC? Maybe a sweatshirt or hoodie. No pleated brown ill-fitting pants! I will riot! 😂
Sadly probably no velvet pants.🙁
It’s chilly in NYC, but nothing a Bostonian couldn’t handle. I’m leaning more towards joggers than jeans. I’m thinking joggers Saturday. Jeans Friday. It’s about comfort.
What about which hat he’s going to wear?
We haven’t seen the Guns N’ Roses hat in a hot minute.
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Be Honest
Characters: Chris Evans x black!reader
Summary: Chris wants to know what you prefer, mustache or no mustache
Warnings: Implied smut, suggestive language
A/N: More of my works here and if you want to be on my taglist click here. I tried tagging everyone but it wouldn't let me post. Sorry guys!
What a huge mistake this was. You invited Chris over for an intimate dinner since he’s been so busy with Gray Man, Buzz Lightyear, and APC, leaving little time for his best friend.
Under your dim lights, you could see gray hairs through the sides of his beard. Every bone, muscle, nerve, and organ of your body was screaming at you to jump him. Honestly, you weren’t focused on his words, just the body part that they were coming out of.
“Huh?” You did your best to pretend that you misheard him, instead of just not totally paying attention.
Chris let out a small chuckle and rolled his shoulders as he licked his lips. The little laugh was directed towards you and him. You, because he found you adorable and to him because he knew he had you hooked. Tonight, he would finally make his move. He was tired of “just being a friend.”
“I asked,” he spoke slowly, loving the reaction to his voice. “If you would attend the Buzz Lightyear premiere with me?”
Should you go? Your friendship was pretty much on the down low because you were just a normal person who enjoyed your privacy. Did you want a bunch of crazed fans digging into your personal life?
Girl, you know that’s not the reason you’re hesitating. Going to that red carpet premiere symbolizes something more serious than friendship.
“Lemme think about it, okay?”
“Sure thing, sweetheart.” He winked at you as he drank his beer.
This man was dangerous. He could yawn and you would have a heart attack. Maybe you should put 911 on speed dial.
“Any luck on dates?” You blurted out. Great, you tried to shift your thoughts on him. Now you gotta suffer through his exploits.
Chris slowly smiled. He could see through all of the nerves. “Nope, but I have a feeling that I’ll hit the jackpot soon.”
Grabbing your wine, you chugged at least half of it. “At least one of us is optimistic.”
“Aw c’mon,” His Boston accent was coming out more and more. It was a blessing and a curse. Seeing him be himself was great, but you were freaking soaking all the time. His voice was already a huge turn on. Now you has to deal with the Boston meatball.
“You’ll find someone. Someone who’s worthy of your greatness.”
“Tuh, I’ll settle for someone who can just give me an orgasm.”
Now we’re getting somewhere, Chris thought. “Mustache or no mustache?”
You looked up from your plate in confusion. Chris had that mischievous look, like he just finished doing a jump scare on you. But this was different. This was darker, more intimate…more sensual. “What are you talking about, Christopher?”
“What do you prefer?” He rolled his shoulders and leaned forward. “What. Do. You. Prefer? Mustache or no mustache?” He intentionally licked his lips. Based on the way you were antsy, he could only imagine the way you would struggle once he was teasing you in bed.
Were you tripping or was this getting sexual? Maybe the alcohol was clouding your judgement? You know, rose colored glasses kind of thing.
You opened your mouth to answer, but Chris interrupted you. “Sorry, I didn’t ask that correctly.” He rested on his elbow as he stroke his beard. “What do you prefer?”
“Chris, this sounds like the same question.” Yeah, his ass was drunk. Ain’t no way you letting him drive home tonight. Intent on preparing the guest room for Chris, you got up, but you were stopped by Chris’ hands.
“Lemme finish.” Full Bostonian Chris was here. “What do you prefer between your thighs? Mustache or no mustache?”
Your eyes went frantic, looking for hidden cameras. This had to be some kind of prank. It’s been awhile since Chris pulled on you. He couldn’t seriously talk about eating you out. “Um,”
“C’mon, be honest.” He massaged your head while staring deep into your eyes. There was no mistake who’s mustache he was talking about.
“Um, no mustache.” You answered finally gaining your voice back.
Chris licked his lips once more. No way you could deny you were the ones would rather was on the dinner table.
His hand left your hand, so he could draw you in by your hips. “I figured. Now answer this.” He stood up, completely towering you. The gray in his beard was much more noticeable. DILF energy was on high.
Chris leaned forwards, not that he had to do much. He noticed you naturally drifting towards him. “Wanna find it how it feels?”
Your lips were forming to say no, when Chris interrupted you by rubbing your bottom lip. ��Remember be honest.” He smirked, saying the phrase in a much deeper tone.
The feel of his hands were coaxing the truth out of you. Every knead loosened your lips. “Yes.”
Once that word was spoken, you were no longer on the ground, Chris was carrying you bridal style. “FYI, I’m ruining you tonight.”
“You better or I’ll be sorely disappointed.”
Chris chuckled darkly. There was no way he would lie about this. After all he had a motto to live by: be honest.
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@steddiemas Day 11 Prompt: Pop/Alt Holiday Songs
Tags: Alcohol Consumption, Established Relationship, Santa Con, Karaoke, Steve Harrington Is A Tease
wc: 1596 | Rating: T
Read on ao3 | ao3 collection
Eddie’s had his fair share of wild nights bar hopping in Seattle. Sometimes with Steve, sometimes with the Corroded Coffin boys, sometimes alone desperate to break out of the deep-seated loneness that overtakes him every few years.
But he’s never experienced anything quite like this.
After a night of endless hopping, they find themselves at a karaoke bar in the heart of Downtown Boston packed with college students and young adults all dressed in their best Santa suits like them. Miraculously, they find an empty booth in the corner and stake their claim.
Robin and Nancy collapse into each other, shedding their red coats over the worn edge as they do so. Jonathan and Argyle aren’t far behind, though Argyle stays fully in costume. (“I really think I should grow a beard, my dude,” he slurs for the hundredth time of the night as he shuffles across the cracking vinyl.) Steve goes next, sliding in next to Robin and then Eddie follows, nearly missing the seat entirely as the opening chords of Wham’s “Last Christmas” rips through the small bar from the stage across the room. A pair of best friends laugh their way through the opening words, absolutely massacring the song.
“Oh god,” Steve groans. “They’re disrespecting Wham!”
“That’s the point!” Robin giggles, moving to rest her head on his shoulder. “No one is supposed to sing good at karaoke! S’why we’re all here!”
“We are not singing karaoke!”
“You better turn that Grinch face of yours around because we absolutely are! Nance and I signed us all up weeks ago.”
“You devious lesbians,” Eddie laughs before leaning around Steve to place a slobbery kiss on Robin’s head. “I owe you so much for this one.”
“Buy us drinks and we’ll call it even!”
It’s a fair deal as far as Eddie’s concerned so he quickly gets himself back on his feet and wades through the hoards of Santas until he gets to the bar. It’s just like any other dive bar he’s been in. Sticky countertops, shelves, and shelves of liquor, charming but overworked bartenders working and flirting their asses off for tips. He knows exactly what it’s like bartending and he doesn’t miss it.
Though maybe he would have had more fun if the places he worked had events like this. At least he’d have people to make fun of beyond the sad drunks that became his regulars.
Eddie returns five minutes later with a tray of mixed drinks and shots. If he’s being totally straight with himself, he’s not sure what he ordered. They look pretty though and judging by the puckered face on Robin and Jonathan’s faces, they must be mixed well. Lightweights the both of them.
Needing the least bit of persuading, Eddie takes the stage first, serenading the crowd in a rock and roll rendition of “It’s Beginning to Look a Lot like Christmas” that goes off the rails given he sings it at double the speed. Argyle drags Jonathan up next, the two stumbling their way through “Feliz Navidad” — Argyle carries the Spanish sections while Jonathan squints at the teleprompter during the English bits. It’s a hilarious disaster that has the entire bar cheering them on.
Nancy and Robin’s rendition of “Last Christmas” gets everyone going and suddenly a complimentary round of drinks ends up on their table as they belt out the final line. A few groups of strangers take the stage next. They’re decent but nowhere as entertaining as any of them. They’re only half watching at this point, too engrossed with their own conversations and carry-over argument over who the best-dressed Santa of the bunch is.
(“Obviously s’not Eddie,” Nancy giggles.
“You wound me, Wheeler,” Eddie gasps, clutching a hand over his jet-black fur coat. “Gothic Santa would have killed it in Seattle. You Bostonians don’t understand culture.”)
Another round of drinks materializes on their table and then they’re back in the karaoke rotation again. By the time Steve’s name is being called by the poor bar employee tasked with keeping things running smoothly, he’s the perfect amount of drunk that he doesn’t protest Eddie’s careful tugging. He doesn’t go willingly, but he’s sporting that crooked smile of his that tells Eddie he’s not exactly mad about the events transpiring in front of him.
“See sweetheart,” Eddie croons, leaning into his space as he passes him the mic. “Just needed a little liquid courage. Now show the world how great of a singer you are.”
“S’gonna be a disaster.”
“Oh, definitely,” Eddie smiles, pecking his cheek. “But that’s the point!”
Eddie doesn’t give Steve time to reach out and instead retreats to the booth. He slides in next to a giddy Robin as they both wait with bated breath for Steve to choose a song. A minute or two of silence passes before Steve looks up from the machine. The old stage lights cast a beautiful shadow over him. Eyes sparkling in the harsh fluorescents. Usually, Steve would be complaining about the godawful lights, but right now he’s winking at Eddie and practically skipping to the center of the stage.
Another moment of silence passes before the bright cheery guitar of Britney Spears’s My Only Wish (This Year) floods the place. Steve starts rocking his hips to the beat, hand gripping the microphone tight enough that Eddie can see his knuckles turning white. The nerves evaporate from his body the minute he starts singing, though. If Eddie didn’t know better, he’d think Steve has been possessed by the spirit of the Princess of Pop.
“I signed my letter that I sealed with a kiss,” Steve sings, throwing a hand over his lips before blowing a sloppy kiss in Eddie’s direction. And then he’s moving again, skipping around the stage as his Santa coat glides around behind him.
By the time the second verse hits, Steve’s shimming out of the coat, putting on a show for the group of girls sitting at the front tables. Eddie wants to scream. Wants to stalk over to the girls and tell them to back the fuck up, but he’s held steady in his seat by Jonathan’s comforting hand and Steve’s unwavering gaze as he locks eyes with him across the hoards of people.
“I want my baby, baby,” Steve scream sings, already losing the beat as his hips continue to sway.
“Someone to love me, someone to hold!” Eddie shouts along with him as the rest of the table eggs him on.
It’s chaos after that. Steve throws his Santa hat into the crowd, Robin’s on the table filming the entire thing on her ancient iPhone. “That’s your man, Munson,” Nancy wheezes, nudging Eddie’s ribs every time Steve turns to shake his ass for the excited crowd.
Eddie’s absolutely captivated by the performance. When he first met Steve years ago he was uptight and reserved. It didn’t matter how much effort Eddie put into his conversations, it was like trying to pry open a bank vault. But when he finally cracked the code, Steve sparkled in a way Eddie couldn’t even dream about.
Steve’s better now, more open with himself and who is he. Fully embraces the fun that life has to offer, but Eddie can tell there are moments when he retreats to that small boy who never got the attention he deserved. It’s what makes moments like this so much more amazing. Seeing Steve shine and live his best life, free from judgment is the best gift Eddie’s ever received. And he’s not about to miss a damn minute of it.
When the bridge drops, Steve prances around the stage like one of Santa’s reindeer. He’s sporting a reindeer headband that someone threw up there and there are a handful of dollar bills crumpled up on the edge of the stage. Somehow it’s gone from a karaoke show to some erotic dance number as Steve shimmies around and tries to keep up with the words.
Eddie’s never been more in love in his entire life.
“Santa, that’s my only wish this year,” Steve sings the final line, holding out the note like he’s the Princess of Pop herself instead of some high school teacher.
A standing ovation follows, but Eddie doesn’t have time to bask in the affection being thrown at his boyfriend because he’s moving through the crowd faster than he’s ever moved in his life. When he gets to the end of the stage, Steve practically dives into his arms. He wraps himself around Eddie, legs around his waist, arms around his neck and smiles that perfect, beautiful smile of his. His cheeks are flushed pink from the performance and the amount of liquor coursing through his veins and his eyes are big and bright.
“What’d think? S’Santa gonna grant my wish?” Steve asks.
“Sweetheart,” Eddie coos, ducking his head to get his lips on Steve’s. “You know I’ll be waiting for you under the tree in a big red bow.”
#steddiemas#steddie#steddie fic#steddie ficlet#steddie fan fic#steve harrington#steve harrington fic#eddie munson#eddie munson fic#dani writes
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Can you explain why you think the LU fandom is disrespecting the South?
gladly. in no particular order, and not comprehensive but here are some reasons:
- non-Southerners apparently don't understand that the Deep South, Appalachia, and Texas all have distinct cultures yet always lump them together when making Twi headcanons
- the constant "jokes" that Twi is stupid or uneducated. Twilight. the Southern coded character. being uneducated. classism much?
- the jokes that Twis accent is unintelligible. again, the Southern coded character.
- the sheer ignorance about the South. I've seen multiple posts about how Twi can't handle spice, about how he finds black pepper spicy. again. Twi is Southern coded and even if not often headcanoned as Southern. has anyone ever tried Southern cuisine? do y'all under that the South is literally the birthplace of Nashville hot chicken and Cajun food? if you did even a modicum of research into our diet, you'd see how flavorful and spice heavy it is!!
sure, you can say these are jokes but how do you think it makes southerners feel? to be told our way of speech is wrong? that we're all idiots? that we don't deserve to be known and understand as deeply as the rest of the country is forced to understand the difference between a New Yorker and a Bostonian? how do you think we feel seeing everyone make fun of our "meals" (even though y'all wouldn't know good southern food if it hit y'all in the face)
it's disrespectful. it's rude. and worse, it's rooted in unchecked classism and hatred for the South. do you know we're told to change the way we speak to be taken seriously in the workplace? because people only think northern accents are smart. do y'all know I've had people basically shut down their trying to know me to make a friend as soon as I said I'm southern? have you seen how people shut their brains off as soon as "y'all" comes out of my mouth? or did you stop reading as soon as I typed it.
to be clear: there's nothing wrong with headcanoning Twi as Southern or Texan or Appalachian or even just country. I love it in fact! But try using your braincells a little before you make yet another post about how stupid Twi is, kay?
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Small post on my redesign of Rosie. Decided to make her more like a vulture, specifically a Black Vulture as they’re known to engage in cannibalism. Not live cannibalism, but they have been seen to eat dead members of their own species.
It’s at this point I’ve realized how much I’ve made the cast more anthropomorphic, and it just kinda became unintentional cause I like drawin’ critters. But it’s also fun to give them more distinctive silhouettes and deeper meanings through using these animals. Even if most of them were from the original designs, it’s cool to give a deeper meaning to some of them.
Was originally going to make her a mantis, but many people have went the insect route. Also gives me another excuse to draw more birds.
Probably wouldn’t change much about her character, although I have leaned more into the Southern Belle aspect of her character. Also would get rid of the weird Bostonian accent she has in the show. As much as I like the voice I just don’t think it fits.
Some lil bonus info, cause I have also changed the town although I still have yet to make background redesigns. She’s still the head of the town and has overlord status, and she’d normally run it with her partners who always seem to pass before her. She will eat her deceased partners once they pass out of respect, and as a memento to them she keeps some of their feathers to use as the headpiece for her hat.
The town still looks and acts friendly under the guise of “southern hospitality.” Everyone in the town is also an animal that engages in cannibalism, so you’ll have the classic ones like mantises, frogs, and many fish species; but you’ll also find more unconventional ones like lions, leopards, and hamsters. All giving off the guise of this nice cute animal town that leaped out of a storybook, but in actuality is full of cannibals.
#sketch#digital sketch#hazbin redesign#character redesign#hazbin rewrite#hazbin hotel#sketch dump#traditional sketch#hazbin hotel rosie#hazbin rosie#rosie redesign#character rewrite#alastor redesign
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Libby: Hi Molly, how’s it going- What are you wearing?
Molly:*in a green dress* Top o’ the Mornin’, Libby! I was having a bit o corned beef and cabbage for lunch and was about to do a traditional Irish River Dance while cursing out the Hated British before you came around. *stomps in place in a poor attempt at roving stomping before she tricks and falls down*
Libby:*looks her in the eyes with a black expression* Your cousins from your father’s side came to visit, didn’t they?
Molly:*nods her head*
Libby: And you felt insecure about possibly not living up to your heritage and are overcompensating again, correct?
Molly:*nods her head again*
nah, it's Darryl who does that as we saw in the Silly McGee ep. and it'd b the Bostonian aspect of the family than just the Irish aspect
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Nancy Lawson was a free Black Bostonian woman who lived through the decades leading up to the American Civil War. While originally from Maine, she moved to Massachusetts and married a clothing merchant. The couple were connected to the Millerite, a religious movement led by Reverend William Miller, a Baptist minister who predicted the end of the world in 1844. While an eccentric, many of his followers, quiet possibly the Lawsons among them, made up the ranks of abolitionists and the Millerites advocated equality across races and genders.
This portrait was painted by Maine artist William Matthew Prior in 1843.
#history#black history month#for my afrofolio of period dramas#nancy lawson#our history is your history
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GUESS WHAT TIME IT IS??
THATS RIGHT IT'S TIME FOR THE STICKY RICE CAPER!!!
Alright, I'ma be honest here- there are a few episodes in CS which I just NEVER rewatch, and this one is kind of one of them. I don't know why. The start of Season 1 just never really invites me to click on it...BUT I DON'T KNOW WHY!
Every time I DO watch them I really like them!! So weird little mental block. ANYWAYS you know the drill by know let's get crack-a-lacking (or crackle lacking...his memories lmaooo)
WOO HOO our first caper episode!!! I love the caper formats- such a staple of the series (at the same time I wish we'd have gotten some deviation sometimes for...character based episodes or something but oh well).
OKAY HEY HI HAVE I GUSHED ABOUT THE INTRO ENOUGH YET BECAUSE I WILL NEVER EVER SKIP IT. ITS SO GOOD. THE BLACK AND WHITE WITH ONLY THE RED THE COOL BADASS MOMENTS THE AMAZING ANIMATION THE SCENE DESIGN HELLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
see the intro sets up a sort of mystery and finesse about carmen's character i wish we actually got more!! like she seems so mysterious but they infodump everything about her onto us in the first two episodes immediately. i promise ill stop complaining about the infodumping thing now though
okay also but the moment in the episode when it match cuts to carmen walking from the tower to the crosswalk its sooo fucking gooood
Carmen Sandiego Fun Fact: That guy who's Agent Zari's partner in Season 1 and shows up sometimes is actually not one guy but three identical ones who keep switching out
OH also the shift into color as she looks up godddd its so good i will talk about the intro more than the fucking episode
also the!! she does the thing from s2 e1 in the intro!!! in rio!!
the tone of voice she uses when she says "looky-loos" i didnt know that word could be kind of hot
i like how offended she sounds "I DID" djfdhasfdg shes like player of course i fucking did what do you think i am an amateur
calling vile sleazy is so funny as a kid (13 yo) watching for the first time i thought sleazy was kind of a bad word (its not) and it caught me so off guard
zack's first line....its so zack
ALSO i love the intro cards so much i didnt mention it last week (two weeks ago?) but theyre so fun
carmen: hey we've got a tail
zack: im going to shake my ass all night oh yeah
i love how little carmen is doing about the acme agents shes just like zack can we not :/ we KNOW she can do shit on boats, seeing as she clotheslined devineaux in s3 or whatever she did. threw a tree at him. what the fuck did she do to devineaux i dont remember
zack: HOW TO DRIVE A BOAT SAFELY (continues talking whilst not looking where he's going)
the background couple that gets doused with water twice as the boats go by and then are never acknowledged again are so funny why didnt they have more funny background moments like that jadshfgahdsgah
imagine if acme had actual projectile weapons like idk tranq darts carmen would be so arrested immediately
ivy did it first (talking about the suez canal)
love how ivy didnt need to have that beard on at all. really didnt honestly. she should have dressed in drag more actually i think
can you imagine the thoughts going through zari and jawline's heads when the frenchman turned into a 20 year old bostonian
THE BEARD WAS ONLY FOR THE CLOSE SHAVE JOKE.
how the hell did they scale the side of that boat
i like ivy's dumb orange cat energy in jumping 30 feet off of a barge without looking
i do agree with whoever else said they wished she'd gotten a better intro though. i don't think they quite knew what they wanted to do with ivy, and by the time they were like "hey maybe her thing with red drone is because she like builds stuff or whatever" they kind of. only got to relay that by having baby ivy go "hey we should give that lady a gun" in the boston tea party caper
the combination of three languages <3 never change ivy
"while i picked up carmen at the train station" okay so the river they're driving on is the river seine, right? its right by the eiffel tower as we see. fun fact: the nearest train station? 4 minutes away or less! cool detail
ivy definitely had time to get him food just saying . also still confused about why carmen took a train to paris but ive already hounded that detail last week so whatever
carmen completely blank faced saying "yum baguettes" to tease zack is so funny you didnt have to do that
i relish the intrigue and enthusiasm in carmen's voice when she goes "SO off to indonesia" we don't even see her face but she sounds so excited to go there agh
infodumping sections beloved. ive actually learned so much from them. we were talking about coffee and how it can be called java and i was like "OIHOOHOGFOGIHOOGOOGOG JAVA IS AN ISLAND IN INDONESIA HOME TO "THE BIG DURIAN" OR THE CAPITAL WHICH IS JAKARTA"
player: i have cool facts!! this is so cool!
carmen: i stopped paying attention five minutes ago actually sorry about that my thing now
so interesting btw that all records of acme agents are taken off of anything?? why dont they have identities anymore??
how?? did the cleaners manage to get crackle out if he "only woke up moments ago" which implies that someone like. watched him do that. moments ago. the cleaners just sliced a hole in the wall again like they do in s4 jkhfkhsadf
i like how devineaux thinks carmen would go after the gigantic blue diamond but also steal some more aussie shmuck's wallet AND his train ticket for good measure
the mints were suck a weird little thing to have devineaux have and i love that he had them?? idk if it was for the sole purpose of julia following them to the ACME Closet TM but theyre a cool little character thing that i kinda forgot about (bc the writers did too after the very start of the next season lol)
is crackle implying that he has crawled through sewer tunnels? is he referencing the shawshank redemption? is he referencing black sheep crawling through the drain pipes?
bellum is so funny "I AM LASER FOCUSED" (swimpes through fifteen unrelated tabs that are actively open) adhd icon
hey by the way why did she have missile launch sights and bomb tests and gun blueprints open. because. why didnt that ever go anywhere. i know she's orchestrated some of the most strange but also deadly capers in the show but. i. okay
"the student formerly known as black sheep"
PLS BELLUM IS SO SHORT
part of me wonders if shadow-san intentionally breaks up the height slant to make him feel out of place. if they wanted everything to look cohesive he would be sitting...maybe after malestrom. but he isnt, hes on the end and his height, in the lineup, is jarring compared to the slope of everyone else's.
mael also has some pretty good nicknames for her
love that one of their finest operatives is a year-in-the-field catgirl
the little silent laugh carmen does when zack starts reminiscing about how they met awww
r&d they make it sound so sinister. it means research and development
hello trailer scene. i love how carmen runs off screen for the trailer shot and then slows down to walk with them immediately because she actually has to be in the scene
the animation when she said "plan a" was so snappy
#feminism red drone is a she
(a bunch of lights flashing and making pew pew noises)
zack: STATE OF THE ART???!?!?!!
just kidding zack love ya
that tracking shot of red drone going through the lasers?? mwah
red drone out here with a strontium nitrate fire damn
what was their plan if someone was at the lab
that light moving behind them as they walk forward into the labbbbb
SEE theres the transition sentence for next ep!
what braincell of zack's saw a pile of white rice in a petri dish, first thought "that must be someone else's food" and then thought " i should eat this stranger's petri dish food"
also i am in love with how he just was about the bite down on the whole dish at once
the teeny tiny twitch of carmens teeny tiny nose as she sniffs the petri dish dahdjhdsdsg
cleo's capers: im going to steal four dresses >:)
bellum's capers: i will cause a famine for the entire population of the fourth largest country in the world and force them to either starve or submit to me via creating a monopoly of overpriced rice which is shit quality but their only choice, and will do so by releasing an untested superspore which hypothetically could mutate and wipe out all life on these islands if all goes wrong. teehee cat videos
zack and ivy's dialogue sounds like. you know when a teacher presents a problem and then in a really dumb vice they suggest an obviously bad solution? that
"we're thieves" ivy tomorrow you're going to tell a goat that your boss's name is carmen san jose and then almost die five times in the next week
ivy's so supportive. no braincells on planning but such a cheerleader /hj
here we see the majestic long-necked ivysaur stretching her neck for a leaf
pls zack looks so hungry and sad
"so vile can make a quick buck hehaha she has a surprise coming 😌"
she looks so hot when she jumps on the roof of the jeep and then jumps off a cliff. well right before anyway lmaoo
loook
ok just thought the glider mechanic was cool. anyway
VILE HENCHMAN WATCH THE FUCKING ROAD
"HYASSSSSS" tigress never change
i love that they kept the consistency in the boston bean caper that tigress wasnt there- just the gays
tigress free plastic surgery!! good surgery? no. but free
i love when cs does high motion shots and the background just becomes one streaky color
zack driving down the cliff so true actually
ivy saw carmen climb on the hood and jump off a cliff and did the same thing. ivy dont do that
i also love the consistency of ivy being able to pick locks. she's been able to since the boston molasses disaster caper
carmen almost falls off of very quickly moving vehicles quite a lot
yes i would thats why im asking pls this show
carmen isnt really so much protecting the face as dodging very quickly and hoping
the animation of the car swerving as the durian hits it 👌
i like how immediately ivy goes flying and ZACK COULDNT SEE THE WHOLE TIME??? HOW DID HE NAVIGATE THAT TURN
that weird "eYAHOO" ivy makes is playing my my head 24/7
vile ops constantly have carmen in situations where they could do anything and they just let her do whatever. tigress. you had her hands bound and she was under your control why did you kick her in the back
also i love how carmen is getting batted around all day but tigress kicks her once and she can't get up
ivy and jumping 30 feet into vehicles
ivy's voice when she shrieks about the durian is so cute
ok its 4:30am im sorry im gay
why are there so many roads that go to the same place
"sky rockets" what other kind are there
carmen u literally have a glider you could have NOT shot the tire and caused zack and ivy to almost crash and die
love how zack hits her with the car
me too honestly zack and ivy
HELP?
i like how the car is at normal speed but carmen is in slow motion at the same time
PLS THE TIRE TRACKS ON THE GROUND WHERE ZACK SWERVED
this episode doesnt even get to what specifically vile is doing for the caper until 16 minutes in and its still good i love it
zack and ivy changing the tire just like their racing days </33
what time of year is it that player was contemplating both new years eve and 4th of july
chase is like a bad parent like julia says something and then chase calls it her fault ihgahsgajds
the glare julia shoots chase jshdgsh
i love when she's sarcastic
the way she stares right at the camera when she says "details are lurking just out of view somewhere in the shadows"
OHHH THE MUSIC FOR THIS EP IS REALLY GOOD
why do they keep putting ivy high up. poor ivy
"tigress, you know the rules. but i will say them again for the audience's benefit"
fedora the explora!!!
that kick had to hurt so bad
just imagining carmen on her new phone on like. facebook tapping "unfriend"
the way carmen just takes tigress out wheeze
cat lesbian <3
this fight is honestly so good
POOR IVY
THIS FIGHT IS. SO. GOOD. I LOVE HOW THEATRICAL IT IS
the confused looks as they keep playing music kills mee
the curtsey and the way carmen just keeps lying there for a little while for the dramatics is hilarious
tiny layering issue
and here (and once more too lazy to ss it tho)
love how she lit that match with her finger
also love hot the fuse just gets eaten. no burnt rope only FIRE
i wonder where?? like under lock and key...where?? po box?? lol
poor zack hasnt eaten in a day
oNe jUmPy RoO
the please from mael...ugh
mr. crackle
the poor sad puppy noises gray makes in the chair jdgsahdgds
that mindwiper really honestly sounds like shes gonna just kill him. yeah crackle it wont hurt. we're gonna send u to live on a farm
CHIEF ON THE OTHER END GOING "again" THATS SO FUNNY
PLAN B
Okay sweet!! Solid episode. See ya next Saturday wink wink its not 5am on sunday i promise i didnt stay up for 5 hours doing this
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World’s Largest Haunted Place
by Troy Taylor
Lying beneath the forests and hills of central Kentucky is the largest known cave in the world. Mammoth Cave became a National Park in 1941, and now welcomes some two million visitors annually, but humans first explored its endless paths, passages, and tunnels as long ago in 12,000 years. Indigenous peoples used the cave as a burial for their dead, and several mummies have been unearthed here over the years.
The first owners of the land mined the save for saltpeter (essential to the production of gunpowder) until demand dropped off at the end of the War of 1812. It was then that the owners opened the cave to tourists, and it became more and more famous as the nineteenth century progressed.
It’s hardly surprising that an underground world of dark corners, shadowy crevices, and black waters have given rise to a number of ghostly tales, and those said to have taken place in Mammoth Cave span several generations. For every tourist who has no understanding of the natural phenomena of caves and consequently interprets an occurrence as “weird,” there is a knowledgeable park ranger, guide, geologist, or spelunker who has encountered things that cannot easily be explained.
I’ve visited Mammoth Cave several times and have talked with many of the people who work there. Most of the park rangers are reluctant to discuss ghosts stories, but a few don’t laugh off the odd tales and will share their observations of strange phenomena. Among those are three ghosts who are particularly noteworthy: a slave who had the distinction of being the first man to map the cave system, a girl spurned by her beau, and a onetime owner of the portion of the cave system known as Crystal Cave.
The Slave Stephen Bishop
In 1838, landowner Franklin Gorin introduced Stephen Bishop, a sixteen-year-old slave, to the cave. Bishop would become the first man to explore and map the cave system. He served as an expert guide there for the rest of his life, and so loved the dark underground world that he purportedly turned down a chance for freedom because it would mean leaving Mammoth Cave behind.
Science teacher Larry Purcell, of Bowling Green, Kentucky, worked as a summer guide at the cave for a number of years and had some strange experiences, one of which could have been connected to the ghost of Bishop.
One day, Purcell was on a tour when the group stopped as another guide delivered his regular talk. The lights were all off, and it was Purcell’s job to go down the path and turn them back on.
“As I was walking along, I saw a black man with a woman and two children,” Purcell said. “The man had on white pants, a dark shirt, a white vest, and a white Panama hat. The people were real enough that I walked around them. But when I turned on the lights, they were no longer there.” The late 1880s attire worn by the vanishing man was from Bishop’s time, so who knows whether Bishop might have been in the mood to conduct a family tour of the cave.
Purcell isn’t the only one who may have encountered Stephen Bishop. Other visitors have reported seeing a man of the former slave’s description and have assumed him to be part of a historic tour, perhaps playing the part of Bishop. When they’ve asked about the man or have looked for him again, he is gone.
Spurned Melissa
Another cave ghost more famous, probably because her story was told in “A Tragedy in Mammoth Cave,” an article that appeared in Knickerbocker magazine in February 1858. The central character is a girl named Melissa, who lived near Mammoth Cave. The article states that she told the entire tale on her deathbed before succumbing to consumption-the affliction now known as tuberculosis.
Melissa had fallen in love with her tutor, a young Bostonian named Beverleigh. But the tutor rebuffed Melissa’s affections and began courting a neighbor girl instead. So Melissa plotted her revenge.
Familiar with the twists and turns of Mammoth Cave, she lured Mr. Beverleigh there for a “tour.” At Echo River, an underground stream deep in the cave, she vanished into a side passage, leaving the poor man to find his own way out.
Days passed without any sign of Beverleigh. A despairing Melissa, who had intended only to play a cruel trick, began to make daily treks underground. She searched and called out to the object of her affection until she was hoarse, but Beverleigh would never be seen again.
A few years after the tragedy, Melissa was diagnosed with consumption and died a short time later. It is said that she never recovered from her guilt over her tutor’s death. Many believe that her ghost is still seen and heard in Mammoth Cave, desperately searching for the unfortunate Mr. Beverleigh.
The story has its share of melodrama, but don’t dismiss it too quickly. Gary Bremer, a former Mammoth Cave guide, says there may be something credible about the tale. Several years ago, Bremer and four others were in a boat on Echo River. One of men left to get another paddle for the boat, and Bremer remembers what happened next: “Those of us in the boat all heard a woman calling out. It wasn’t screaming. It was more like she was looking for someone.” It wasn’t until the next day that Bremer first heard the story of Melissa.
This wouldn’t be Bremer’s last encounter on the Echo River. A short time later, he was there with a new employee who had never seen the river before. She suddenly turned and grabbed his shoulder. “Did you hear a woman cough?” she asked. Bremer felt a cold chill. Melissa had died of tuberculosis, he remembered.
The other employee verified Bremer’s version of the experience and added that she had also heard garbled voices wafting through the cave, and on another night believed she heard someone whisper her name.
A Ghost Named Floyd
Not all of the weird tales from Mammoth Cave are set in areas accessible to the public. Many of the strangest come from Crystal Cave, once believed to be a separate cave and operated as a private attraction. It is no longer open to the public, yet the stories that surround this portion of the cave are too mysterious to ignore.
Most of these legends involve the ghost of W. Floyd Collins, an avid cave explorer and the former owner of Crystal Cave, which he had discovered by accident in the winter of 1916-17. He and his family opened the cave in 1918, after which Collins constantly sought a commercially exploitable hook that would ensnare tourists.
His explorations led him to a hole on a nearby farm that the press would later call the Sand Cave-in reality, a series of narrow, twisting crevices that Collins sought to expand. What he thought could be a commercial boom actually become his undoing. While working at the site on January 30, 1925, he was trapped in a small passage after part of the cave collapsed and his foot became wedged under a rock.
Despite a massive effort, constantly shifting earth prevented searchers from rescuing Collins, who was trapped for two weeks before he died.
A few decades, a group of Mammoth Cave employees was on an after-hours excursion in Crystal Cave when they noticed an old whiskey bottle resting on a rock ledge. One of the men in the group picked it up, looked at it, and put it back in the same spot. The group then walked on deeper into the cave.
Later that evening, one of the men was walking back toward the cave entrance and was passing the bottle when he heard something. “It was just behind my ear,” he stated. “I heard as though someone had flicked a finger against glass . . . a clink. I turned around just in time to see the bottle hit the ground.”
Another man who was with him jumped back in shock. He claimed that the whiskey bottle hadn’t fallen but instead had come straight out from the ledge and just dropped! “That little clink was loud enough to make me look back toward the ledge,” he remembered, “and as I did, the bottle actually came out and then went right down in front of me. It was very bizarre.”
Could the ghost of Floyd Collins be responsible for this strange occurrence? The men involved wondered whether this was the case, but a later event took place in the area would have a more direct connection to the man.
In July 1976, a former Crystal Cave employee named George Wood filed a report saying that he and another employee, Bill Cobb, spent a day checking springs for a study on groundwater flow. They didn’t make it to the last spring, which was near the abandoned Collins house on Flint Ridge, until after dark. Cobb went to the spring while Wood waited near the truck. After a few moments, Wood heard the sound of a man crying out. At first, he thought it was his friend calling for help, but the voice seemed too high-pitched. It was also so faint that he had to listen carefully to hear what it was saying.
The voice called out over and over again: “Help me! Help me! Help me, I’m trapped! Johnny, help me!”
As wood stood there on the edge of the truck of a dark road, he felt a cold chill as he recalled hearing about how Floyd Collins was trapped-and where he was trapped: In Sand Cave, only a short distance away.
A few minutes later, Cobb returned to the truck and Wood asked him if he had been calling for him. Cobb said no, and that he had heard nothing while at the spring. But after hearing his friend’s account of the cries, Cobb admitted that he was spooked. The two men didn’t waste any time before driving off.
Could the spectral voice have really belonged to Floyd Collins? And if so, could the “Johnny” heard in the mysterious cry have referred to Johnny Gerald, a friend of Floyd’s and the last person to speak with him before the cave collapse sealed him off from recuse? Is his spirit still trapped in the cave, or could the sound have been merely an eerie echo of yesterday?
A Media Circus
The determined but failed attempted to recuse Floyd Collins became a national sensation even without the aid of TV. Radio and the press were enough to keep the public fascinated by what was happened. In fact, it could be said that the story reached historic proportions. Louisville Courier-Journal reporter William Burke (”Skeets”) Miller, who interviewed the trapped man several time, won the Pulitzer Prize for his coverage. Years later, the drama surrounding Collins’s death inspired the 1951 movie Ace in the Hole (originally titled The Big Carnival), and famed author Robert Penn Warren based his novel The Cave (1959) on the event.
Two years after Collins died, his family sold Crystal Cave to a local dentist, who would cash in one the media circus surrounding the death in a rather macabre way.
As part of the property transfer, the dentist gained the right to exhume Collins’s body and move it to Crystal Cave. It was placed in a glass-covered, bronzed metal coffin that would be set in the middle of the tourist trail leading to the cave’s main concourse. Thereafter, guides recounted the former owner’s exploits as wide-eyed tourists gazed at Collins’s waxen face.
In 1989, W. Floyd Collins-cave explorer, businessman, promoter-found his final resting place at nearby Flint Ridge Cemetery. Today his memory lives on in the Floyd Collins Museum, located in Cave City on Old Mammoth Cave Road.
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sometimes i do wonder about identity politics, and whether they truly serve us well. but then i remember! i live in a nasty queer progressive bubble that's not at ALL representative of reality.
If you do live in America, I can't recommend this article highly enough. Nikole Hannah Jones is inevitably going to be written down in the annals of history as one of the great writers of our time. She really truly blows the whole issue wide open, every time.
Excerpt:
Thus, the first time the court took up the issue of affirmative action, it took away the policy’s power. The court determined that affirmative action could not be used to redress the legacy of racial discrimination that Black Americans experienced, or the current systemic inequality that they were still experiencing. Instead, it allowed that some consideration of a student’s racial background could stand for one reason only: to achieve desired “diversity” of the student body. Powell referred to Harvard’s affirmative-action program, which he said had expanded to include students from other disadvantaged backgrounds, such as those from low-income families. He quoted an example from the plan, which said: “The race of an applicant may tip the balance in his favor, just as geographic origin or a life spent on a farm may tip the balance in other candidates’ cases. A farm boy from Idaho can bring something to Harvard College that a Bostonian cannot offer. Similarly, a Black student can usually bring something that a white person cannot offer.”
But, of course, a (white) farm boy from Idaho did not descend from people who were enslaved, because they were farmers from Idaho. There were not two centuries of case law arguing over the inherent humanity and rights of farm boys from Idaho. There was no sector of the law, no constitutional provision, that enshrined farm boys from Idaho as property who could be bought and sold. Farm boys from Idaho had no need to engage in a decades-long movement to gain basic rights of citizenship, including the fundamental right to vote. Farm boys from Idaho had not, until just a decade earlier, been denied housing, jobs, the ability to sit on juries and access to the ballot. Farm boys from Idaho had not been forced to sue for the right to attend public schools and universities.
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Lois Mailou Jones was born in Boston, Massachusetts.
Her parents, a cosmetologist and a lawyer, encouraged her interest in art from childhood.
While always a Bostonian at heart, she did do much of her growing up in Cape Cod at Martha's Vineyard where her parents bought a house. There, she would meet great influences on her life. Artist, Meta Warrick Fuller, Novelist Dorothy West, and Composer, Harry T Burleigh. And with such a pedigree as her influences, she could only be destined for great things.
She attended the High School of Practical Arts in Boston and took night classes at the Boston Museum of Fine Arts through a scholarship. Her first exhibition, was at just seventeen, in Martha's Vineyard.
She was also apprenticed to costume designer Grace Ripley, and this sparkled her interest and influence by African masks.
She continued studying at the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston, studying design and winning a scholarship and also took night courses at MassArt, then called the Boston Normal Art School, while working toward her degree.
She graduated and went on to get her graduate degree from the Design Art School of Boston. Then later, in 1928, the shift happened. She attended Howard University, and began to focus on painting.
A life longer learner, she never stopped going to school. She took classes and earned more degrees throughout her life.
She began teaching soon after finishing college (the first one), but the director of the Boston Museum School refused to hire her because she was a black woman.
In 1928 she was hired by Charlotte Hawkins Brown to teach at the newly formed art department at Palmer Memorial Institute, a black prep school in North Carolina.
If it wasn't clear already that Lois was renaissance person, while teaching at the prep school, she also taught folk dance, coached basketball, and played piano during church services.
But soon she was off to Washington DC. Recruited by James Vernon Herring to join the Art Department at Howard University.
She would stay there as a professor of both design and watercolor until her retirement in 1977.
Through the 1930s she sough recognition. She began to exhibit her works with the William E Harmon Foundation. The first piece, a simple charcoal drawing of a young black man, entitled Negro Youth (1929).
She spent time in Harlem as the Harlem Renaissance began. By this time she had been a designer, leaned into portraiture, and now began to meld the two disciplines. A unique style began to develop that was all her own.
In 1937, Lois received a fellowship to study in Paris, France at the Académie Julian. In that year abroad she produced 40 paintings, watercolor and en plein air. Two pieces were selected for exhibition at the Salon de Printemps at the Société des Artists Fraçais.
Like many black artist that traveled abroad, Lois fell in love with France where she felt more free and more accepted.
She would extend her time abroad and travel to Italy, but she did return the US following.
She traveled often to France, staying with her colleague and friend, Céline Marie Tabary. They no doubt influenced each other's work, but Lois was also influenced by the culture around her, and it's visible in her work from the geometry of her shapes to her use of color.
In 1941, Lois would enter a painting into the Corcoran Gallery's anuual competition. At this time in history, black Americans were not allowed to submit their own art. So, she had a colleague at Howard University, Tabary submit it for her in order to get around the rule.
For her piece, Indian Shops Gay Head, Massachusetts, she won the Robert Woods Bliss Award. Though, just as she could not submit her own work, she also could not pick up her own reward. But Tarbary would do this for her as well.
These difficulties did not deter Lois. She only dug her heels in and kept working.
She worked alongside and within the Négritude movement. Her work the visual for the primarily literary movement. For example, her piece, Parisian Beggar Woman was completed with text from Langston Hughs.
Back in 1934, Lois met Lois Vergniaud Pierre-Noel while she was a student in Columbia University. A prominent Haitian artist, they corresponded for nearly twenty years before marrying in the South of France in 1953.
From here, her frequent trips to Haiti would great influence her work.
In 1954 the Haitian government invited her to paint the people and landscapes of Haiti, and she returned to the country often as well as to France.
The works she produced between the mid 50's and mid 60's are among her most prominent and well know works.
As time went on, she was still extremely prolific and her style only becoming more colorful and more seamless in it's blending of Post-Impressionist, African and textile-like design.
In 1990, The Meridian International Center with the help of Lois, created an exhibition that toured the US for several years.
While this was not her first exhibition or her first solo exhibition, this was the first that garnered national attention.
While her skill was incredible, she did not paint what was in vogue for black artists. Despite this lack of appreciation, her work is in museums all over the world. From Haiti, to the White House.
Lois would die in 1998 at her home in Washington DC at the age of 92.
While history has done Lois a disservice, she was so prolific that's easy to see her work today. And it truly is incredible. All her influences filtered through her into something unique and challenging.
If you'd like to see her work or learn more about her life:
Loïs Mailou Jones: Creating A New African-American Image
Smithsonian American Art Museum - Lois Mailou Jones
Illustration History - Lois Mailou Jones
Black Past - Lois Mailou Jones
Medford Arts - Lois Mailou Jones
#lois mailou jones#Loïs Mailou Jones#Black Art#Black Artist#Black History Month#Black Art History#Art History#American History
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A Little at a Time, Part 5
Summary: you can’t quit running into Andy
Pairings: Andy Barber X Reader
Rating: explicit
Warnings: explicit language, explicit sexual content, smut, unprotected sex, PIV sex, loss of virginity, blood, mentions of cheating, 18+ ONLY
Word Count: 8.5K
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Series Masterlist
*dividers by @firefly-graphics
“Uh,” you look over the lengthy menu of the coffee shop. It was more than just a K Cup and CoffeeMate. The menu was extensive, and you just wanted coffee. Exactly how hard was this supposed to be? “Well, what would you suggest?”
The girl slumps her shoulders staring at you. “Coffee.”
“Oh, I, um…I like caramel, and…I prefer creamy coffee. Not too sweet. Mamaw always says you’ll rot your teeth if it’s too sweet. Which she always likes drinking sweet tea all day.”
“What kind of coffee do you want?” The girl says shortly. She definitely wasn’t making this process easier, and still you apologize to her for the inconvenience, and being too dumb to figure out what coffee you wanted.
“Candace!” Another girl steps up behind her. “Please go make yourself useful and make some cold brew. Sorry. She’s…well, she’s just blunt. With very little patience and rarely is up front. Name is Tori. I’m always here. Own the place. What’s the problem sweetheart? Overwhelmed?”
You give her a bit of a nod, and she looks over your body a bit. Smiling as she steps back. “I’m sure you would love some of the seasonal brews, but everybody needs a go to coffee. You look like a caramel girl. Yes?” She was lovely. Much nicer than Candace before her, and it was like she was reading you to determine your perfect drink. “Okay, today, I’m suggesting a caramel macchiato. Don’t be afraid to tell me it doesn’t work. Or are you a tea girl? Judging by that accent I’m guessing it’s the good ole sweet tea, though. You already have the sugar in there?”
“Yeah. Two cups per gallon. I’m more of a one and half cups per gallon, but my Papaw always gives me a side eye. You gotta steep the bags for a long time. Actually I bought me and Mamaw some tea from Ireland, Lyons tea. Have you heard of it?”
“No,” she giggles at you, sliding over a cup of the iced macchiato that another employee had made, and you give it a taste, moaning at how good it was. “I only keep the best beans here. So you’re into hot tea?”
“It’s not terrible. I like a black tea, but herbal tea wasn’t for me. It’s,” she points at a customer behind you, and you raise your cup. Walking over to find a seat. You liked it here. It wasn’t pretentious, and the owner enjoyed having a traditional coffee shop while still trying to have high quality products and trying new things.
You smile, looking out the window. You liked it. You felt comfortable. You pull out a book, casually reading and sipping on your coffee. Settling back in the cozy chair. It smelled amazing here. It was one of the first times you felt comfortable. Apart from any times that the hot Bostonian was around you.
It didn’t make sense that this man you knew very little about had occupied your time so much. How you couldn’t stop thinking about him, and his kind smile. It was like he always appeared just when you needed him. He laughed at appropriate times, and not at you. Cole always seemed to talk down to you, and you had known him for years.
You hang your head down low, wondering why you had ever forced yourself to continue in that relationship. It was comfortable and uncomfortable at the same time. You had made yourself believe that was all you were going to be good enough for, and yet he still made you too uncomfortable to ever be truly intimate with him. Every time you were intimate it was always him initiating it. You sniffle, refusing to let yourself cry another damn tear for Cole Turner. He wasn’t worth it.
Andy steps up to the counter, getting a quick head nod from Tori who was already making his regular brew while he scans the shoppe. Landing directly at a table for two with you alone, and one cup on the table. You looked zoned out while reading a book. Mostly touching your hair, or rubbing the bridge of your nose. Not paying any mind to anything around you.
“How long has she been here?” He asks Tori, who smiles at him. “What?”
“She’s a pretty girl. A bit overwhelmed with coffee. Talks a lot. Not from around here,” Andy nods his head, confused as to what point she was trying to make. “She’s probably just visiting. Why waste your time?”
“She’s not just visiting. She’s living here with a cousin,” his eyes go back to you, and you were none the wiser. He was able to actually look at you. You didn’t seem miserable to be here. You were at peace. “I’m going to talk to her.”
“Uh-huh. Is that all?” Andy offers a smile as a response. Grabbing his coffee to walk over to your table.
He stares at your expression, trying to get a better read on you. Poppy had told him to give you time, but you looked good. Happier than the first time that he had run into you. Definitely happier than when you were at the bar. Clearing his throat, you look up at him. With the biggest and prettiest smile, “This seat taken?”
“Oh, lord, yeah…I mean, no. Yeah, sit down. Sorry,” you bashfully laugh, trying to control your breathing. “You like coffee? I mean, of course you do. Unless that’s tea, is that tea?”
“It’s coffee,” he chuckles, and you have to look away. Biting at your tongue, and wiping your hands on your pants. “You come here often?”
“First time actually. Just a walk down the road. You know that you guys have everything within walking distance?”
“Poppy does because of the apartment. There’s houses further out that don’t. I’m guessing where you’re from, you don’t have that?”
You nearly choke on your coffee, trying to swallow it quickly to answer him. Wiping off the bit that spilled on the cup, and apologizing, “No, there’s a McDonald’s and a Dairy Queen. If you want coffee you pretty much have to make it at home. My Mamaw and Papaw they’re old school with the drip coffee, but I like a Keurig and a milk frother and I think I’m doing something special,” letting out a nervous laugh, you can’t help but to stare into his eyes. They were beautiful. That overflowing feeling of kindness and comfort warming you up.
“So what is it that you do Andy?”
“I’m the assistant district attorney, and you?”
“I taught pre-k. Nothing quite as glamorous as you. I put in an application at the daycare. I haven’t heard back from them though. I really need to find a job. I’d prefer not to go through all my savings, and I was blowing through a lot with the food delivery.”
“I think working with children is quite admirable. It can’t be easy,” you shake your head no, starting to giggle. Why were you like this? You never could have an easy conversation, but with Andy it was different. You weren’t trying to be anybody, but yourself.. “Does working with kids make you want them, or make you want to stay far away from them?”
“I’ve always wanted kids. Having a child or two is different than having twenty or more four year olds in one classroom. But they’re just little people, you know? They have their good days and bad days. They’re still learning right from wrong. Being introduced to other kids their own age that have been raised differently. They’re trying to control their big emotions in these little bitty bodies. Kids don’t confuse me. Adults do.”
“Hmm,” Andy had never thought about it quite like that. It made perfect sense. By the time people were adults they should know right from wrong. Should know that cheating on your husband was very wrong. “So…why Boston?”
“My cousin Poppy. I didn’t want to be in a small town around people who spread false gossip around like a bowl of tater salad at a cookout. You have the luxury of not everyone knowing your business here. I know that your inner circle may know, and some outside of that. But imagine going to a grocery store and people commenting about your relationship. Or finding out the immense amount of people that he was cheating on you with. You start questioning maybe I did something wrong, or maybe if I would have done this. But the fact of the matter is he wasn’t a good person, and he didn’t deserve me, and doesn’t deserve the friendship of his best friend. Yeah, he told the town I was sleeping with his best friend. I still don’t understand why he started that.”
“Wow,” you shared too much. Whatever this was is completely squashed because you shared too much. “He sounds like an asshole. How long do you think he was cheating?”
“Too long for me to stay with him. Out of sight out of mind. Figured it would eventually stop. Made excuses that my mind was running all these crazy scenarios only for those crazy scenarios to actually be true. So I’m the idiot.”
“He came home every night?” You give him a shrug, and Andy isn’t sure what to think. Did you really not care, or was there something more?
“I didn’t live with him. He is a cop and had weird hours. I hate being in a house alone. I stayed with him a lot, but lived with my grandparents. Pretty sure a lot of his cheating was while he was working.”
Andy hated this man and he didn’t even know his name, “So…he was engaging in sexual activity while in uniform?”
“He was engaged in sexual activity as a payment to get out of tickets. So I’ve been told. Nobody could tell me while I was engaged. But they like to talk now.”
“That’s illegal. Bribery is not just frowned upon, but is illegal an punishable. I’m sorry. I know, I didn’t do it, but…on the behalf of mankind that does not cheat, and will value a woman’s worth, I apologize. Not all men are like that, so I don’t want you to walk around here thinking that we are. Some are just bad. They’re going to cheat. Women, too. I don’t judge future women for what my ex wife did. That isn’t fair to me, and most certainly not you…uh…other women.”
You catch it, and Andy is fully aware that you caught it. He noticed your eyes light up at the comment, and he starts to relax more. He was hoping you would pick up on the fact that he was interested. Very interested. He would never treat you the way that Cole did. He would want to come home to you every night. “So you didn’t move in with him just because his work schedule?”
“There’s many reasons. I didn’t want to live with someone before marriage, but then I would stay days at a time. It was nice, but there was always something, you know? Something that never felt just right with Cole, and I think subconsciously I knew there was something wrong, so that’s why I never moved in. Even my Papaw wasn’t the biggest fan, he would talk to anybody. He just sat there and stared at things when Cole was around, and never looked in his eyes. That’s a big thing for Papaw. Mamaw…she’s your typical southern woman. She just wants to stuff food in your mouth and hear your flattery. But even she asked me so many times if I really wanted to marry him. I was so far in, I felt like I had to. He proposed, so I said yes. I’ve always allowed people to tell me what I need to do, including not living with someone I wasn’t married to.”
It made sense. This Cole, that Andy was definitely going to be digging more into, had used your obedience and people pleasing nature to shift things in his favor. He knew men just like Cole, and he couldn’t stand them. Here was this sweet woman who was this angelic little ball of radiance. You were personable, even if you overshared a bit. You were eager to make friends, or at least with him. You adapted to your surroundings, and Cole took advantage of that.
He sits across from you, listening to you talk about your hometown, and home life. Poppy was never quite this forthcoming. Choosing more to forget where she came from, but you spoke of this place like it was what shaped you into who you were, and you were proud of that fact. There was a fondness when talking about your grandparents especially.
“Wait, your mom?” He asks when you mention her, and you nod your head, finishing up the coffee, “How does she fit in your life?”
“Oh, that always confuses people. She’s the mayor of the town. When my dad passed, she put everything into her political life, and had no room to take care of me. I moved in with Mamaw and Papaw, and she comes by at least once a week, but she didn’t raise me. I think it was too hard for her. I remind her of my dad. And I don’t have daddy issues. Cole seemed to think I did. No, Papaw was a good father figure for me. He took me fishing, taught me how to play string instruments, even though neither of us can read music. He came to every one of my basketball games, or t-ball. He was always present, always steady. I don’t remember my dad, but I remember every time that my Papaw was there for me. He’d burn the world down if it meant protecting me. I became his other daughter.”
“I didn’t think you had daddy issues, Papaw sounds like a good man. Which string instruments?”
“Uhh…the only thing I’m not great at is the banjo. All those finger picks. Mandolin is my favorite. I can play a fiddle. Papaw used to help me with the stand up bass. I couldn’t hold it on my own. Guitar is his favorite though. They did these picking nights. Yes, in the south some people pick on their front porch, this is a real thing. Mamaw can’t play, but she has this big beautiful church voice, you know? The one that doesn’t need a microphone. You feel her words in your gut. It’s beautiful. Deep and rich. I don’t hate my childhood or my mother’s need to have someone else raise me. I had a good life. My Papaw, he had this thing for buying weird animals. We had these peacocks that roamed around the yard for awhile, and there was a buffalo. He was old and they were going to put him down, but Papaw wanted him to live his last days roaming in a pasture with a bunch of cows.”
“Peacocks randomly walking around your yard. Sounds…interesting. So you lived on a farm?” You shake your head no, and now Andy was even more confused. “A pasture of cows?”
“Oh, that was my Papaw’s brother. The cows were Uncle Sonny’s, but the pasture touched our driveway. Papaw talked to the cows. And of course Barry the buffalo,” you were fascinating. He could sit and talk to you for hours. Your face is so animated with every bit of information you give him, and he just couldn’t learn enough. “We always had a ton of mutt dogs. And they had official names, but Papaw seriously called them whatever name he could think of at that moment. Peanut and Snickers were his favorite names. There was a cat, but she was a useless thing. A few chickens, but he only bought them because they looked cool. There was a goat in the pasture, and Papaw called him Satan. Swore that ugly thing was the devil himself. He just randomly appeared on the porch making a mess of things, or would be on the hood of his truck.”
“Satan makes sense,” you continue talking to Andy, and he listens to every bit. It was like reading something completely made up. It was crazy to think people had grown up like this. You were able to run around completely unattended and barefoot creating stories of far off adventures, and eat apples with peacocks.
You were able to walk down this country dirt road and explore all day long. There was this sense of innocence to you, that he couldn’t place, but with a quick glance at his watch seeing the hours that had passed, he didn’t want this to end.
“Oh, lord, I am so sorry. I could seriously talk the horns off a goat. I’m sure you had something you needed to do. I just sometimes forget all that part of my life. It’s nice to relive my childhood.”
“You’re fine, honestly,” adorable is what you are. From the way you talked right down to your sweet accent, you were adorable. “I’ve loved this. I, uh…I don’t want to seem forward or anything, but I would like to continue this. Over drinks or something?”
“Wait…are you talking about a date?”
“That’s exactly what I’m talking about, but it doesn’t have to be something like that at all. It can be two people who enjoy talking, and someone wanting to show another someone the city of Boston.”
“No!” Andy laughs when you practically shout at him. You wanted to explore something more romantic. This was nice, but Cole never wanted to date. It was always wanting to get you home, and hoping that with enough making out you would actually have sex with him. He had fallen in love with your body, but not your mind. “I would love to go on a date with you.”
“Okay. So…uh, Friday night at seven work? Poppy’s bar? It doesn’t get rowdy until around nine. Nobody is eating food and everyone is drinking at that time, but I promise the food is amazing.”
“Okay. Yeah. Yes…yes, Andy, I think dinner sounds lovely. Seven? Friday? I can do that.”
“I look forward to it,” it was a quick motion, but he lays his hand over top of yours, and you can’t help but to preen up at him. Andy takes a quick look at your beaming face, having to say goodbye again, because his heart was fluttering. It felt like a school age crush all over again.
“Poppy!” Your cousin runs into the bedroom that you had been occupying, and immediately starts laughing. “Help.”
“Where are you going on a Friday night? I’m off tonight, I thought we were going to…Peach Blossom, this is date clothes.”
“Yep,” you agree, pulling something else out of the closet, before tossing it on the bed. “Help me.”
Poppy cocks her hip to the side, looking you up and down. Gauging your demeanor to see if you looked uncomfortable or just nervous, and then back to the clothes. A new pink Victoria’s Secret bag on the opposite of the floor. When you catch her looking, you slide it closer to the bed, hoping she didn’t actually see what she thinks she saw.
“Who?”
“Uh, don’t hate me. But you know that guy I kept telling you I was running into?” Smiling, she nods her head, “Well, his name is Andy.”
“Andy what?”
“Um…I didn’t get that part, but he’s the assistant district attorney, so it shouldn’t be too hard to find, right? Anyways.”
“Did you actually check? I mean, is there an Andy that’s the ADA?” You shake your head no, starting to reach for your phone. “I mean, how do we know anything this man has ever said? What if it’s all a lie?” She was right. How did you know? How did you know anything? You had seen this man at a grocery store twice and at a coffee shop.
“Well…I shouldn’t go on the date then?” Poppy wants to keep the charade up a little bit longer, but the look in your eyes when you start to think about canceling was almost hurting her darkened heart. It was a look she hadn’t ever seen you make when talking about someone you were engaged to. “But…he seems really nice. He was just recently divorced. And we were at the coffee shop for about four hours talking.”
“You talked to that man for four hours? About what?”
“Things. Life things. Like growing up in Georgia, and…Poppy, I really like him. If I can prove that he is in fact an ADA do you think, honestly, that it would be okay? Like surely if he works for the government he wouldn’t kill me right? Or…Poppy!” You scream at her when she starts laughing. She always had an easier time talking to men. She exuded sex appeal. Was a natural flirt with the prettiest lashes, puffy lips, even beauty marks that looked faked.
“Andy Barber is in fact the ADA, you’re fine.”
“You…you know him?” You ask, slinging a shirt at her. “You know this man, and you made me have second thoughts, because I felt he was going to kill me? You’re…you’re mean.”
“Ooh, shot to my heart. And you’re naive. I just want you to be careful. Your track record of one boyfriend and one fiancé, and they’re both the same person just doesn’t do you any favors, but,” her fingers begin lifting up different pieces of your clothing, before pairing the perfect outfit for you, “Andy is genuinely a good guy. He comes to the bar sometimes. Came a lot after divorcing Laurie. That’s how we met. He helped me out with my…well, he helped me press charges, and…this isn’t the time to talk about this because you have a date. And he’s a good man. He was there the night you were at the bar asking about you.”
“And you led me on like that? I can’t believe you, we’re supposed to be cousins and friends. I really like him. Like I like him more than I ever liked…Pops, can I be honest with you?”
“Does it have something to do with that bag of what I’m assuming is new lingerie?” You hate to admit it, but there was no denying the fact that you had bought lingerie just for this evening. It wasn’t overly revealing, and should things not work out, you could still see yourself wearing it. “Can we openly talk about yours and Cole’s relationship?” You nod your head, knowing that eventually this was going to come up. “What happened?”
“When we started dating, I did have that whole save yourself for marriage mentality because that’s what the pastor said. That continued, but then…the first time he touched me I liked it. But he scared me. Not like he ever hurt me, but I didn’t trust myself with him. He always wanted things to move so fast, and never wanted to just talk and get to know each other, and then it got to the point of me saying, well, I’ve already done this, might as well do more, but I never wanted to have sex with him. He wasn’t special enough.”
“But you were willing to marry him? Got that big fancy dress.”
“His mom insisted on that dress. But…I don’t know if I ever wanted to give him that part of me. It was like in the back of my head he never thought I was that special. I fit his idea of a wife. I would look good as the future sheriff’s wife. But I think we were two people that were just going through the motions.”
“And you think Andy is that person?” The big questions. You weren’t positive by any means, but positive enough to get something nice for the occasion.
“I don’t know. What I do know is I have talked to Andy more in the few hours we’ve been together than the three years Cole and I were together. I don’t know if Cole ever listened to me. If he did he would have made me feel comfortable around him. He always wanted to push my boundaries. Always wanted pictures, or videos, and I just wanted to talk. He only wanted to talk if it led to, well you know. With Andy, he listens, I feel comfortable, and I don’t have those reservations. I just want things to happen as they will.”
“I’m not going to give you a curfew, but I want you to at least communicate to me what’s happening. Like if you’re going to his house, tell me. You’re not losing your virginity in this apartment. I’m not listening to that shit. You could do a lot worse than Andy. Hell, you have. Peaches, I envy you,” you didn’t understand where this was coming from, because it was Poppy you had always envied. You wished you had her tenacity and her ability to not take shit off no one.
“You had this charmed life with Mamaw and Papaw. You knew what you wanted, and that was your perfect house with the white picket fence, two to four kids because you didn’t want your kids to be only children. A cute little dog that kept your kids rounded up and happy, and for some unknown reason you like people in power. Like Cole, the police officer, and now Andy. Hell, didn’t you used to have a crush on that one guy that became a fucking lawyer? You have always known what you wanted, and I wanted it all and wanted to try it all. What I’m saying is I see now how you wanted everything perfect, but just remember there’s no such thing. It’s okay to make mistakes, because you will always get back up. You will not let those mistakes drag you down. So go out and make mistakes. Because we’re Jackon’s, we always figure it out.”
“You think Andy is a mistake?”
“I think not going and thinking too much is a mistake. Have fun with Andy. Judging by your bag, have too much fun. If it feels right, it’s right. But don’t rush it either. If you’re having second thoughts, I promise that man ain’t going anywhere. He’ll wait on you,” while you had always been closer to Anna Kate, she always had the ability to agree with you, but Poppy told you what you needed to hear. And you loved her for that. The wild child of the Jackson granddaughters.
“Thanks. I’m going to enjoy myself.”
“You don’t like wine?” Andy asks, laughing when you grimace from the taste. “You liked what I suggested the other day.”
“Can I have that again? I’m sorry that was rude,” you hold the glass up, looking at it, and feeling so bad. “What is this?”
“A merlot. Quit trying to apologize to me, I suggested it, and you tried it. You don’t like it, and that’s fine. What do you normally drink?”
“One old fashioned. I’m honestly not big on drinking. I get…I’m friendly,” he holds a hand up for the waitress, asking for her to bring out two old fashioneds. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“We’re enjoying our food and drinks tonight. So no dry wines for you. Old fashioned, huh? Whiskey. It’s true what they say about southern women.”
“Not always. Poppy likes vodka. My Papaw is the whiskey and bourbon drinker. Mamaw doesn’t drink. You drink what you know. When Poppy, Anna Kate, and I were little we’d sneak to the cellar and get a bottle of Jack Daniels. No, it wasn’t a big wine cellar. It was this creepy underground bunker type thing. You had to walk past this crooked tree. There was this gnarly stick that kept the door closed, but eventually it was a lock because Papaw’s liquor kept going missing. Mamaw said we shouldn’t be drinking, but Papaw gave us the key. We earned a drink after walking past that old shed that had all these pigeons in there and that crooked tree. I always said it was poisoned, and if you touched it you would be cursed.”
“Did you ever touch it?”
“Hell no. I believed that. Didn’t stop us from sneaking down in there. What about your childhood?”
“Single mother. Not much to talk about. I’m more curious about yours. It seems so…almost made up, but I have no doubts you were doing all of this. Lived on a dirt road, never saw cars coming down the road unless they lived down it. It sounds beautiful.”
“You can walk to the house my grandpa grew up in. It’s more a shack than anything. There’s no power lines, because he didn’t grow up with electricity. No running water. It’s falling down now, but that place held magical powers, too. It’s funny the things we take for granted, like being able to bathe when you want to. Being able to take a drink without making sure the buckets were filled with spring water.”
“I’d like to see it someday.”
“I’d like to show you. Sorry,” you answer too quickly, ruining the moment when your foot knocks on Andy’s. “I’m such a clutz.”
“Keep it there,” oh boy. You were feeling things. Feeling things you had never felt for Cole. Things that you had thought you would only feel for your husband, but Andy was proving that all wrong. You were thankful for this tight seating, and Andy’s ability to rub his fingers on your knee.
A surge of heat rushes to your core, and you feel like you can no longer breathe. This was very different with Cole, because you want more. “You okay?” You give Andy a headnod, pepping yourself up to breathe. Just breathe.
“Is it hot in here? Are you hot?” Andy smiles, shaking his head. You were completely flustered, and it made you more adorable. Reaching for a glass of water, you take a big sip, and when his hand starts sliding away, you slam your own hand over his, “No, I like it.”
“Okay.”
“I like it too much,” your eyes go wide with your admission. How was he able to make you feel comfortable, and yet so nervous at the same time? “I hate myself.”
“It’s fine. Come here,” you stand up from your side of the table, moving to sit next to him, and he picks up your hand, placing it over his heart. It was beating out of his chest just like yours. “You’re not the only one, okay? It’s like every time I’m around you, this…this is what I feel.”
“I feel my heart pounding…all over,” you cuss under your breath, because you shouldn’t have told him that. He did not need to know everywhere that you could feel your pulse. Instead of his hand being on your knee it was much higher on your thigh. His thumb caresses your leg, but it stays properly over your skirt.
“Is this okay?”
“Yes. It’s perfectly fine.”
“You should drink your old fashioned. Please, keep talking.”
“And then what happened?” Andy asks, leaning in closer to you. It was getting late, and you could already hear the amount of people that was piling into the bar. But it was just a low hum. The only thing that mattered was Andy beside you. His head starts to tilt, and you rush towards his lips. You didn’t care about that careful build up because your body was aching with a need to touch him.
He slots his mouth against yours, and the kiss was an immediate connection. It seemed silly, but you could feel sparks flying. Lips parting as his tongue slides past your lips, gasping when it touches your own. Your body arches into his, and the hand that has been resting at your side travels up. Far enough up for his thumb to graze over your nipple, and you pull away from him, gasping for air.
“A-A-Andy?” You had to have been drunk off his lips, because what you were thinking in this moment is nowhere near what you normally would, but it felt right. “I don’t wanna stay here anymore.”
“Oh? I’m not quite sure I follow. Did…did I do something wrong?”
“Is there somewhere quiet to go? Like…”
“My place?” You nod your head enthusiastically, and Andy lays down a hundred dollar bill to cover well over the food, drinks, and tip. The two of you standing up, walking hand in hand out to the car.
The further away you get from the bar, the closer you lean into him, but Andy also couldn’t get enough. There was not enough time to touch you like he wanted to. Calculating in his head the amount of time it was going to take to drive you to his house, but he was going to make the most of it.
Every traffic light had him pulling you back in for a kiss. Hating he had to keep his eye on the light, before the two of you would look back out the windshield. His hand that rests on your leg, was dangerously high. He could feel the heat coming off your cunt. Feeling like a furnace that was radiating a blaze of arousal to his hand. You needed relief. He could almost smell how wet you were, and he wanted this night to last on into the morning.
Pulling into the garage, he rushes to your side of the door. Crashing his lips against your own as he struggles to open the door. The two of you hit and knock over too many things off the wall and counter until he stops in the living room. Waiting on you to decide where to go from there. Your chest heaves with a fervent need to have him all over your body, but also wanting to catch your breath.
The couch looks comfortable, so you back him up on it. Letting him fall to the cusions when you ruck up your skirt, and crawl over him. Having to pick up his hands to place on your body, “You’re okay with this?” He asks in between kisses.
“Just touch me,” and he does. He touches you all over. Squeezing and groping. Smoothing over your skin, and before you know it he was sucking bruises on your neck, while your body grinds over him, and you moan at the feeling of his cock growing harder under you. You hate comparing things to Cole, but you had never felt like this.
Andy’s fingers were capable, but still he gives you a moment to decide if you wanted to continue. When he realizes you weren’t objecting, he continues his motions in that spot on your body. Exploring every inch of your supple skin. It isn’t until his finger slides up and down your drenched and brand new panties, that you gasp, stopping your body.
Andy throws both hands up, panting as he stares at you, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I thought…thought that’s where we were going. I’m…I didn’t mean to.”
“No, no, you’re fine,” you smile, slowly rolling your hips on him. “I liked it.”
“Yeah?”
“Mhmm,” grabbing the hemline of your blouse, you pull it over your head, and he gets to stare at your pretty little new underwear. It framed your curves perfectly. Andy’s hands slide up and down your thighs, causing your kiss swollen lips to tremble.
“Will you tell me if we’re going too far?”
“Yes.”
“You promise?”
“Yes.”
“So, if I do this,” his hand dips back in between your thighs, letting his thumb rub over your soiled panties. “You like that?” You nod your head, and he slips his hand under the panties. Pulling the gusset out far enough that he was just feeling your slick on the lace. “You’ve made a mess for me.”
When he allows his thumb to touch your skin, your eyes close, rolling back in your head, and you let out a deep pornographic moan. “You like this?”
“Uh…huh,” squeaking out your words when he touches your bundle of nerves. Giving the little pearl flicks. Removing his hand, he circles both around your hips. Readjusting you, and leaning you back so he gets a clear view of your covered and weeping cunt.
Moving aside your panties, he stares at your folds, before looking back up at you. Two fingers push into your warmth, and he stares intently as your jaw goes slack. Your fingers dig into his skin as he scissors into you, “You have a tight little pussy. Are you still doing okay?”
“Andy…Andy,” you whimper his name as he slowly pumps into you. He was getting off on your pleasure, and still you wanted more. “I want you. I want you!” His fingers drive into you faster, curling up. Hitting over your spot over and over until your toes curl. Feelings that you had never felt before. Body tensing up as he works you over. Screaming out his name until your juices were pouring out of you, and you couldn’t focus. The room was blurry and spinning around.
You grab at his wrist, and he stops completely. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”
“Do what?” Andy gives you a devilish smirk. Whoever you were with before did not know how to properly care for you if he could never make you squirt like that. “Peaches, what did you do?”
“I think…oh god, I think I peed. It’s not funny. I’m sorry.”
“Sweetheart, has peeing ever made you feel that good? If it has, I'm very jealous of your bathroom habits. Honey, have you never squirted?” You shake your head no, because your body most definitely had never done that before. “What you did was nothing to apologize about. So…what do you want to do now?”
“You?”
“You want to do me?” Now would be a perfect time to let him know you were a virgin, but you didn’t want him to take things slower. You were committed to it being tonight. You wanted Andy. It felt right. There was nothing even remotely telling you to slow down. He made you feel safe, and made you desire more.
“Yes. In the bed?”
Letting you stand up, he grabs at your hand, leading you into the bedroom, when he turns around to kiss over your sticky skin. Hands behind your back when your bra drops to the floor. Grabbing a handful of your tit, he lets his greedy mouth suck on you. You shimmy out of your skirt, and reach towards his pants. Nervously starting to undo his button. Letting the jeans sink to the floor when you palm his boxer briefs.
His breath comes out labored, and he just rips his button up off while you gaze at the thick cords of muscles that made up his arms and chest. Leading you to the bed when he removes his underwear. You glance down at his thick and heavy cock, and have never wanted nothing more. Staring up at him through your lashes when you back up on the bed. Setting in the center, and stare at Andy. He was a god among men.
Andy reaches into a drawer beside the bed, and pulls out a foil packet. Bringing it to his mouth his teeth clench as he rips it open. Blowing the excess out of his mouth before rolling the latex on his fat cock. Placing his knee on the bed, when he looks at you. Not your body, but you. “You sure?”
“Yes,” you whisper, and he crawls closer to you. Adjusting your legs wider to accommodate him and his broad body. Andy runs his fingers through your slit, changing to bring his tip to tease at your entrance. Watching your face as you nod. Staring at only him when he pushes into your tight channel, making your back arch into him. You wouldn’t cry, and you wouldn’t scream, but he had set you on fire.
“Fuck. Fuck. You’re so fucking tight. Shit. What…this is going to come off rude,” Andy struggles to breathe right along with you. Drawing his hips back, when he shoves himself back in. “Was…fuck…was he that small?” You laugh despite wanting to do other things. Trying not to cry even though it stung like hell. Every movement he made was worse than the one before.
Gripping at his back when he really starts thrusting into you. It stung. There was such a fullness to his girth inside your virginal cunt that it overwhelmed you. Nothing could have prepared you for this. “Andy…Andy.”
“Fucking hell,” he leans up a bit, seeing the tears in your eyes as he slows down. Looking down at where the two of you connect to see his cock wrapped in blood. “Oh my god. What happened? Are you okay? Did I do something?”
“I’m fine. Just keep going.”
“You’re bleeding. Did you start your period? What…?” You lift up to your elbows, horrified. He had you so stretched out. No wonder it was slightly painful. You drop down on the bed, mortified. “What is wrong?”
“I’m a…well, I was, I guess this is official, but I was a…uh, well, you see…you’re my first person. This is the first time. I was a virgin.”
“Oh,” Andy is a bit relieved, and a bit bothered you wouldn’t just tell him. “You…you didn’t think to tell someone? I mean, I just assumed. You said you stayed for days with deputy douche bag, and you never had sex?” You shake your head no, still covering your eyes. You couldn’t look at him. “Why? And please, just look at me. I’m inside you, I don’t think things get more intimate than this.”
You slowly let your hands fall to the bed below, looking up at Andy. Things weren’t feeling quite so uncomfortable anymore. Your pussy was adjusting to his width, and you were beginning to love the way the pressure felt, and even more how close he was to you. This was awkward, and still so very right. Even as he starts to pull out, you hold onto him, “Please don’t. I wanted to wait for marriage.”
“Okay, this…this doesn’t make me feel good.”
“No. With him. I went in thinking that’s what I should do, but all those years later, I still never felt comfortable enough to actually have sex. I was beginning to even dread the wedding night. I was using the excuse of waiting until marriage, because I didn’t want to fuck him. But with you…Andy, I wanted this. I wanted you. I’m not saying we have to get married. I’m saying I wanted this. I wanted you, and I wanted you to have this. I felt more comfortable with you than with someone who I had slept with, not sex, but slept beside, and held. I just didn’t want to have sex with him. I didn’t trust him.”
“If you would have told me…”
“You would have made me wait,” he shakes his head no, smiling down at you. You were completely right. He would have made you wait. He would have enjoyed taking you apart slowly. “Yeah, you would. You’re that kind of a guy. One date wouldn’t have been a long enough time.”
“I could have taken time with you. I could have used my fingers to stretch you out a bit more. I could have taken the time, and kissed on you a bit more, tasted you. Slid into you slower, or hell I don’t even know, realize what I had laying in my bed. You deserve more than you were given and if that jackass ever pushed you and made you feel like he was owed this, I’m sorry, but I think you deserve more than I just gave you, too.”
“I’m sorry, but I’m not mad. This wasn’t some romance movie moment, but tonight has been the best night of my life. I came home with you because I like talking to you, and I like the way you make my body feel. I came home with you thinking that just making out would be plenty, but I did want this. I like the way you make me feel, yes, but I love the way you treat me. I barely know you, and still feel like I’ve known you my whole life. I don’t regret tonight. No part of it, maybe the not telling you part. But this feels nice, no?”
“This feels a lot better than nice. I just wish…”
“I don’t need a bed of roses because those wither away.”
“That sounds familiar.”
“It's a country song, anyways, I want you. And this moment. I want you to fuck…make love…have sex, whatever to call it. I want to feel you all over my body. Please…please just — I want this Andy, I want to feel you take control over my body,,” with a deep breath, Andy slowly pulls himself out of you, and slowly sinks back in. “Andy, are you clean?”
“Yeah.”
“So am I. Just don’t come in me.”
“You say that now,” he whispers, pulling himself completely out of you. Looking at your tight but gaping hole. He pulls off the condom, touching his tip at your entrance with a moan. “I do not care what you say or beg of me I will not put my cum in you, and I mean that.”
“Okay. Just…holy shit,” hands on his back, you scratch down the muscled skin as he pushes through your entrance. This was such a different feeling. Skin on skin. Everything became more sensitive, more intimate. And he doesn’t stop until he is fully sheathed into your wet heat. Settling his weight over you. Using his fingers to push back your hair as he starts a slow and steady pumps.
“Uh…uh,” a round of whimpering squeaks exit your mouth, and you want to close your eyes, and want to keep staring up at him. “Andy…An — dy.”
“Does it hurt?”
“Not anymore.”
“And it feels good?”
“So good. So — good. Oh!” He picks up the pace. It had been so long since he had someone like this. He couldn’t remember when he was able to fully feel what they felt like from the inside. He never trusted Laurie. But you were freely giving him every part of you. Every part of you was gripping him tightly; hand on his back, legs around his waist, and your cunt was making it hard to breathe. You were perfect.
He would have made you wait. You deserved that, but this was better than he could have imagined. Your perfect little whimpers, and the way your nails dig into his skin when he hits a certain spot just. Right. There. Lifting your back off the bed, you and him were so close, and fused together.
“Yeah. Yeah, you like the way I make you feel, huh?”
“Uh-huh. Andy…”
“You wanna try being on top? From behind?” You shake your head no, you didn’t want Andy to leave you for any second. “Okay, just this once. You’re gonna have to be a good girl and try other positions eventually, okay?”
“Okay. Andy…Andy. I’m…”
“Trust me, I can fucking tell. You’re doing such a good job. Have you stretched out and full of me. Got you right….right…right…fucking — there,” your cunt clenches down tight. Too tight for Andy to even move. He lets you ride out your high. Your eyes were deep dark pools of lust as you gaze owlishly up at him. Still panting with tears leaking out of your eyes as he pulls completely out of you. Wrapping his hand around his girth, fisting himself before spurting his thick cream up your stomach.
Giving a glance down to your ruined cunt when he rubs over your sensitive bean, “How are you feeling?”
“Overwhelmed,” Andy stares up at his spend laying on your body before gathering it up. Rubbing your clit with the mess, and you sit up. Moaning at his motions, but also everything else, “What…Andy, what are you doing?”
“Sperm dies outside of the body in about two minutes.”
“Do you always do this?” He shakes his head no, and he wasn’t lying. He had never wanted to see his spunk leak out of anyone more than you. Had never yearned to see someone’s cum mix with his own. “Do you want me to go home?”
“I’d prefer you stayed right there. I need to take care of you. Clean you up. Make sure you rehydrate. Snuggle you. Smell you.”
“And have sex again later?”
“No. We’ll do this again,” he slaps at your pussy before standing up, and waddling to the bathroom. “You’ll need a moment to rest.”
“We could try?”
“I don’t want you to think I’m interested in just a tight pussy. Tomorrow, breakfast in bed. We’ll go to the park or something. Watch a movie. Doesn’t matter. Just…” he walks back into the bedroom with a warm washcloth. Pressing it up against your tender sex, and moving up to wipe himself off you. “We can just enjoy each other.”
“But I want to have sex with you again,” you beg, tears forming in your eyes. You were going to be trouble. Your legs were still spread as if he was laying in between them. Your hole was spread so wide, but it was those pouting eyes. You had fully trusted him, and was pleading for more. Your pussy showed the signs of him having been seated so deep inside of you.
And it was like you wanted him to have a front row seat to view it. He doubted you were quite as cunning as that. There was still this confusion of not knowing of what to do. Judging by your conversations, you wanted the same things that Andy wanted out of life. Essentially a perfect match.
Andy had to remember that the two of you were still new. He didn’t want to jump in too deep into this relationship, but he could see something becoming more real. He did not feel things this passionately with Laurie. Didn’t have this strong desire to protect her, stay with her, and dote on her like he did you. She didn’t even want kids. Lied to him from the beginning about that.
You sigh softly, curling into his chest, and he holds you so tight. He should have known the second he pushed through your entrance that you were a virgin. The shock on your face, and biting at your lip as your eyes fill with tears. You were something he hadn’t felt before. Petting his hands up and down your back, he knows he could keep you like this forever.
“Andy, I don’t believe in dating around.”
“Don’t worry,” he takes a deep gulp. “I’ve only got time for one person, and she’s laying in my arms,” there was a soft giggle that vibrates his chest, and he pulls you even closer to him. He is sure there would be hell to pay with Poppy tomorrow, but right now, he just wanted to bask in the loss of your innocence glow. The way you randomly kissed over his chest, and your fingers tickle his belly. He could get used to this. He never wanted you to leave. He knew he needed to chill, but he was also going to let you decide what you wanted to do, and it did not appear that you wanted to be anywhere but in his arms. And he was not complaining.
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