i imagine that they are like the joker for gay people

𝚁𝙴𝙽𝚃-𝙰-𝙱𝙾𝚈𝙵𝚁𝙸𝙴𝙽𝙳 | Hinata

𝚆𝚎𝚕𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚁𝙴𝙽𝚃-𝙰-𝙱𝙾𝚈𝙵𝚁𝙸𝙴𝙽𝙳! 𝙴𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚜𝚝 𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑... 𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙰𝚃𝙰 𝚂𝙷𝙾𝚈𝙾.

Anxiety was a fun thing to deal with sometimes. You know - like when you triple checked the details of the test date you had scheduled today. You pressed a hand to your chest as you woke your phone. Eyes were glued to the pin on the map that your date, Hinata Shoyo: Rental Boyfriend, put on it. You thought maybe, just maybe, he canceled last minute or after seeing your face IRL. A chill ran through you and you muttered to no one in particular, “God, how embarrassing would that be…”

  As you swiped through the app, you pat all around your neck, your cheek, your collarbone in a few nervous motions. Sure, you knew the area. Sure, you went out a few times to sketch the roads for a comic or two. But as you stood, cool fingers drumming nervously along your skin, it all felt unfamiliar.

  A voice cried your name out, jolting your attention away from insecurity for a moment. You squinted, thinking you misheard. The wind! That’s all it was. Just as you were about to check your phone for the nth time, you caught a glimpse of tangerine. Through the hoard of 9-5ers, five fingers raised in a wave until a broad shoulder shimmied its way through the crowd.

“H-Hinata?” His name came out a lot more hushed than you intended and you could feel the heat of your cheeks. Oh no. He’s cute. Duh. You knew he was. He had a profile picture and some extra pics that you and your friend scrolled through the night prior. One caught your eye in particular; it was with a dog that wasn’t his according to the caption (and the added note of ‘but imma get a big boi some day’’). There was another with a guy with short black hair. They all radiated a type of warmth and welcome to them even if those around him seemed ready to punch a wall - a trait not missed out on in person.

  He beamed, taking your hand in his as though it were as natural as the sun shining, “Hey babe!”

  The words put a bar in the cogs of your mind, stopping all rational thought.  Babe. Babe?! Oh fuck. I’m babe! Oh wait. Yeah that’s right. You rented him to be your boyfriend. It’s supposed to be natural. You scolded yourself for forgetting that simple fact. 

Hinata laced his fingers through yours and you could feel the slight dampness of his palm. The thought that he may be as nervous as you put you slightly at ease. It would make sense as he didn’t have any reviews or ratings or anything. He was new! A beta-boyfriend babe!

  It took a moment or two for you to realize that not only was he guiding you down the sidewalk, but you had been staring at nothing but your shoes the entire way there. Shyly, you apologized. 

  “For what, babe? Oh! Wait! I didn’t get to mention yet,” Bright eyes burned with excitement as they tilted over his shoulder, “That’s a cute dress!” He genuinely thought so, too. Trying to act all coupl-y with a stranger was definitely weird, but, like anything he tried, he wanted to put his best effort in. Hinata wasn’t sure on what to expect, truthfully. When looking at your profile after the booking was made, he was caught off guard by how cute you were. In person seemed even worse. Better? Hell if he knew.

  As a lanky waiter shuffled you both into a booth, you were off put by your boyfriend slipping in next to you. Right smack dab next to you. Thigh touching thigh and the heat of his sent a shiver up your spine. You placed a hand on your chest again and spent more time reading a menu than you thought you ever had before.

  Hinata’s expression fell thoughtfully as he saw the slight shake in your slender digits and the way your teeth gnashed at your lower lip. He tilted his head with a small laugh and a nudge to your ribs with his elbow. The corners of his mouth piquing to such a point you could practically feel the mischievousness from it, “Play along, ‘kay? Kay?”

  Suspiciously, you peaked over the top of the menu roof you made with a nod. As the waiter returned, a strong muscled arm wrapped around your shoulder and snuggled you close. Mouth falling into an ajar ‘o’, your confusion was as palpable as his joy, “It’s my girlfriend’s birthday today! You guys got some cake, maybe a candle or OOOH a song?”

  “Hinata!” You smacked his head with the menu, “It’s n-“

  He brought a finger to his lips to silent-shush you, lashes dipping in a wink. You smiled pleasantly, yet awkwardly at the waiter and in the least convincing tone, chimed,  “It’s my birthday. Yaaay.”

  “See! How could you deny that!” His sheer and pointed enthusiasm made up for your lack thereof.

  The waiter, not buying any of it but needing the tips to pay his rent, congratulated you before excusing himself. Ten minutes later, two others trailed behind him singing a specialty birthday tune. In their hands rested the most delicious looking chocolate cake. To say you inhaled that thing would be an understatement. It was creamy, rich, everything you could’ve wanted in a cake.

  “Take a bite!” You offered a forkful to your date, one hand below to catch the droppings. Obliging gleefully, he did.

  “‘m pwetty bad wif dates but I saw you like fweets!” The words came between chews, and he gestured here and there as he swallowed, “Glad you liked it cause we got five more restaurants to try!”

  “Excuse me?!”

  And just like that, Hinata whisked you from one restaurant to another. Each one was slightly ritzier than the last and with each one, he could see the tense scrunch of your shoulders melt away. 

He made you feel safe and you started to joke with him more openly, smile more frequently, and sarcastically quip at him. He liked the way you smacked his arm every time he called the waiters over too dramatically. He liked the way you acted surprised they’d come around the corner with cakes and songs. You managed to melt his heart with the cutest ‘Oh! Babe!’ whenever he tried to genuinely surprise you. He adored watching your eyes light up whenever you got a taste of each decadent sweet. It would be an outright lie to deny that you feeding him made his heart flutter, too.

  You clung to Hinata’s arm, cheek resting heavily on bicep as your stomach decided to churn all the sugar you ate like it was a tilt-a-whirl. He patted your hand, thinking you were just trying to be cute, “So, what made you want to rent someone?” 

  The night sky took over the afternoon sun. Tiredly, you gazed up to your ‘boyfriend’, letting a moment of silence occupy the time it took to get over the small wave of nausea, “This is… embarrassing.” You chuckled softly, letting your fingers fall onto your neck, “I uh… never dated someone before. I have a date set up and got so anxious I almost canceled three times. I really want to put myself out there though and be more comfortable.“

  “Is that why you were so red?! I thought I was meeting a cherry when I saw you! All like –“ His hands flew to his cheeks in a damn near perfect imitation of you and your voice, “-i-i-it’s n-n-ot m-my-“ before he could stutter the rest out, you interrupted with a loud and embarrassed groan. His laugh hissed passed teeth, “It was cute! You’re adorable, ya know?” The words slipped out so naturally and with such warmth that you wondered where the act was put down and where it was picked back up.

  “As I was saying,” you jested with a light hearted eye roll, “My friend was really worried about me. I mean, it’s not often you’re a date-virgin in your twenties.”

  Hinata pursed his lips, thinking about it, “Ya know, maybe it is weird - ” You felt your heart stop and your comfort crack just slightly. You probably would have laughed had it not been for the wave of heat then ice that swept over you, “- that someone as… as…” His lips pursed as he tried to find a word. Your anxiety built with each delayed second. In a grand gesture, his arms swang back, “WH’BAM as you never got asked out before!” Despite your death grip on him, the ginger still managed to hop on cue, “’sides! You got a pretty good friend looking after you!”

  “Heh,” You laughed, “Guess you’re right, but wh’bam?”

  “It just makes sense!” He slapped your hand a few times with the soft palm of his, “Okay okay! Now, we’re going to that one!” A finger pointed to a fancy black double door. 

  “Hinata I-“ You began to protest, feeling your palms dampen and your stomach curdle. 

  “Don’t worry about price! I got it!” He tugged at your arm.

  “N-no, We need to-“

  “You’ve been having such a good time! We can do one more!”

  “Just come over h-here-“

  “This one has the best cake from what I read! It’s not too expensiiiiiiive.”

  The end of his sentence tumbled out of his mouth like the night’s worth of cake and frosting tumbled out of your gut. Directly onto the ground. And on the expensive nude heels your friend leant you. And on Hinata’s own pricy looking sneakers.

  There was a moment of silence as you lit the coffin of your pride and watched it sail away into the ocean. (Goodbye sweet trait, it was nice while it lasted. Rest in Pieces.)

  Hinata blinked. The event registered in his squirrel brain like a dial up modem. She just threw up. It’s on my shoe. It’s on her shoe. OH NO I MADE HER THROW UP! Red alerts blared as he whipped his head around, making the biggest display of ‘nothing to see here’ that could’ve been humanly possible. All too easily, he slid an arm under your knees and scurried around for a place to sit. It took about ten minutes for him to find a bench on an empty walkway. He sat you down and patted your head with long, sweet strokes. Each pat, while good natured, went unnoticed as your intestines tried to murder you in cold blood.

  Hinata sprinted for the convenience store and bought the first couple of antacids he could find, along with some anti-nausea medication and water. A small bit of sweat broke out along his brow as he dashed back to you. Agile as a leaf in the wind, he squatted right in front of you, hurriedly dumped everything out of the double-bagged plastic bags to give to you. He stuttered out his menu of medications and you down some of them with water.

  “Hey, heeey,” his gentle voice cooed to you, both hands rubbing your arms in soothing motions (a little roughly, but he’s trying), “It’s okay, you’re okay, you don’t need to cry!” You waved a hand, lips parted as you waited for another wave to hit which never came. You thought he’d make fun of you, laugh in your face about how pathetic this was, but it never came. For some reason that made you even more emotional. He was just a rental boyfriend. He didn’t need to deal with this. Instead of quitting then and there, Hinata took a seat right next to you and pulled you to his chest. Your back flinched reflexively as a calloused hand rubbed calming circles along it. He started talking about a time he was at a volleyball game and had the nervous-shits so bad he nearly had to sit out.

  “That’s… disgusting,” The words came out as a half-laugh, half-cry. You wiped your eyes, ignoring the makeup now dripping down your face from sweat and tears.

  “You’re telling me! Tanaka called me ‘little-shits’ for two months after that!” His laugh was contagious, spreading warmth through your fingertips and toes. It was rare to meet someone who had such a natural talent to make you feel so wholly accepted.

  After about 10 minutes, the medication began to fully settle your stomach. The bag was tossed into a stray trash can. Hinata had barely even realized that his chin was perched on the crown of your head as he talked about other embarrassing stories (including the time he got pegged in the nuts during training camp). The warmth of you in his hold simply belonged and he didn’t want to let go just yet.

  “Thank you,” you peered up at him with eyes so pretty and a smile so kind he wanted to kiss it then and there.

  “For what?” His head tilted again. If he were a puppy, his ears would flop with each tilt.

  “Being so sweet to me for my first trial date. Even if it’s your job, you really went above and beyond. And uh…you know-” You kicked your shoe to his.

  The athlete ruffled his hair, feeling a blush creep to his cheeks and ears at the thought of being your first date, “Don’t need to thank me for it! I had a blast! You’re pretty warm too!”

  “Thanks?” You sputtered a small laugh before checking your phone and the time. It was nearly up. As per request, a text of your location was sent to the friend who started it all.

  For a while, you rested in Hinata’s hold, savoring the rich batter of comfort and calm it baked you in. He chattered on about this and that, exchanging a remark here and there when you poked fun. 

Once you pulled away from him, he couldn’t help but miss the feel of your mold on the palm of his hand like a volleyball right at the precipice – right in his reach. You checked your violently buzzing phone, confirming the spot where you were sitting to your friend. 

“Who was that?” Hinata asked, a boyish hint of pouting sad laced underneath his natural curiosity.

“My friend,” you answered, popping another antacid in your mouth, “our time is up, so she’ll be here soon.”

 Those words were a bitter sound, one that reminded Hinata that this wasn’t real. This was a bet that he wanted to win. One that he secretly cursed. In all reality, he wanted to have fun and when he saw that you booked him, he didn’t know what to think. Dating wasn’t really his thing. He rarely had time to when it came to practice and had it not been for the bet, he probably wouldn’t have sought someone out at all, let alone someone as out of his league as you.

  The headlights of your friend's car came into view. Just as you went to take a step forward, a strong hand circled around your wrist. In a swift movement, you turned to look at the culprit. 

  “Just make sure to rent me again if you have some time, yeah?” Hinata’s smile held a hint of something you couldn’t identify. 

 Nevertheless, you returned the sentiment, “Of course!”

You parted with a long hug.

As the car pulled away, Hinata flicked through his phone. Once the dates were done, each point of contact would be deleted automatically. A reasonable company policy that felt like a sour punch to the gut.. A small twinge of sadness came over him, but he knew that if it was meant to be, you’d find your way to each other again. In the mean time…

   𝚆𝚎𝚕𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚁𝙴𝙽𝚃-𝙰-𝙱𝙾𝚈𝙵𝚁𝙸𝙴𝙽𝙳 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎.... 𝟷 𝙽𝚎𝚠 𝙱𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐!

  He was going to kick Atsumu’s pancake ass!

 “Sooooo~ How was the ‘date’? Looks like you two got along!” Your friend’s voice rang as she shimmied in her seat in excitement, brows wiggling in expectation.

  “Oh shut it!” You cried in false annoyance, “I threw up, can you believe that?!” Dramatically, she gasped, listening as you recounted the events of the boy who was the sun itself. Finalizing your long winded tale of cake-filled adventure, that same warmth spread across your chest, lapping small butterfly wings at your stomach, “I had a good time. I… definitely feel more comfortable with the idea of putting myself out there now.”

Introduction | Navigation

The dust settled around him, and he wore it like glitter.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29724879

“You’re not the one who slagged off the crown and your own family in the emails that everybody in the world has read. I’ve got to handle that on my own before you come back over.”

-page 384

It was two days after Henry had been cuddled awake in the Queen’s Bedroom, tangled up in fuchsia sheets and Alex’s legs. After an international flight, two sleepless nights, and a whirlwind of damage control, Shaun dropped him off for therapy. 

As he walked from the car to the clinic, he thanked God for his PPOs and empty parking lots. Paparazzi on his way to therapy would’ve been just too much. In his state of constant apprehension, he noticed the creeping chill of autumn air forecasting the upcoming Presidential election. For the past few days, he had felt like he was burning through the sky at the speed of light, but apparently the world was still turning at its normal pace.

He sat down on the sofa in Shanon’s office gingerly, because his body ached as if he’d just run a marathon. Mostly he’d just been pacing in his bedroom.

Shanon sat down in her chair across from him and said, “So, I hear you’ve had a bit of a week, huh?”

“You could say that.” Henry’s breath was shallow, as it had been ever since they’d been outed. “How much do you know?”

“Henry.” She gave him that therapist look. “You know that I try not to read news about you. I just saw that the whole world knows about you and Alex, and I know that can’t be easy for you. That’s all. I want to hear what you want to tell me about it all.”

“Right, I… well.” He wasn’t sure if he was ready to hash through it all, but he knew he could try. Despite the excess of cortisol that had been tensing him up into a knot of adrenal fatigue, he knew he was safe in Shanon’s office. He had been going there for an hour every week for the past four years. The familiarity of twinkly lights dangling in her potted tree and the meditation cushions in the corner encouraged him to speak.

“The entire world saw my insides.” He looked at the twinkly lights and took his time telling the story. “They took a picture of us through a windshield, you know, after the er, date with June. They took another through my bedroom window, but it was grainy. They didn’t publish it because it wasn’t enough to prove anything, but still. I haven’t opened my bedroom curtains since. It’s been rather dark in there.”

“They invaded your privacy,” Shanon said, understanding. “It was wrong, and it makes sense to feel vulnerable.”

“Yes, well. Then there’s our emails.” He stops and tries to take a deep breath. It doesn’t work.

She gives him some time before gently prompting, “Your emails?”

“Yes.” He was glad he got to tell her this himself and that she hadn’t read the news. It gave him back an ounce of control. “All of them. Every… every word. They were published and anybody in the world can read them. The things I said, I… That was for him. For us.”

“Wow.”

“It’s too much.” His throat was dry and his temples pounded. “It’s worse than feeling vulnerable… it was violating. Obscene.”

“Super violating, yeah. That’s a lot.”

“Indeed.”

“So, how do you feel about all of it?”

“I’m… er.” It’s odd how easy it is to spill every part of him into his writing, but as soon as he tries to talk, his stiff upper lip takes over, even with his therapist. He looked up at the feelings wheel poster on her wall to pick out some of the right words. “I feel… angry, apprehensive, overwhelmed, kind of helpless. Er… stupid for getting caught too, I suppose. Definitely experiencing some bursts of hysterical panic. I’ve been eating Jaffa cakes, and took a couple lorazepam, and Bea hasn’t left my side. So that helps.”

“Well yeah, this huge thing happened to you, completely out of your control and without your consent. Of course you’re overwhelmed.” She must know the gravity of the situation, because Henry very rarely used his ‘just in case’ benzodiazepines. “And you’re effectively using some of your coping mechanisms, so that’s admirable.”

“Thanks, yeah, I’m playing a lot of piano too.” Despite the list of negative feelings, Henry felt the corners of his lips twitch up. “Lots of Elton John.”

“You’re smiling,” she said, mirroring with a small smile of her own. “I know this smile. It’s an Alex smile, isn’t it?”

Henry actually laughed a little in response with a shrug in confirmation. His shoulders relaxed a miniscule amount. She knew him so well.

“So you’re scared and overwhelmed and angry, but what else are you feeling?”

“You see, that’s the thing. I also feel absolutely amazing.”

“Amazing! Tell me more.”

“I’m, well… I’m free. It’s exactly like Bea said, they already know everything, so I don’t have to hide anything. I kissed Alex in front of people! And I introduced him to my mom. As my boyfriend.”

“That’s amazing!”

“Shanon, it’s… I haven’t faked a smile in days.”

They sit there, just grinning at each other. That shortness of breath? Sure, it was the crippling anxiety of his secrets laid bare. But it was also the sweet flutterings of lovesickness, clear as day.

“In some ways,” Shanon said, “this is the happiest I’ve ever seen you.”

“I think you’re right. I’m...” He was positively giddy and he shrugged again letting his thoughts be nonlinear. “Well. There’s also the public support. You know I hate the spotlight, but, well. I’ve never felt so… like England loves me.”

“Your country matters to you.”

“Well, yes.” He nodded. “And I always thought the only way I could be their Prince and fulfill my duty was to be what Philip and the queen wanted. But now I don’t think that was ever my duty at all. See, I try to avoid social media because it’s all too much. Way too much. But Bea keeps showing me anecdotal stories of how I’ve helped people come out. Poor, rural teens. It feels good.

“You see, I could go to pride this year, and wear a bloody rainbow cape. I can tell everyone that my dog is named after Bowie. I could geek out about queer history -to the press! And that picture they dug up of me from uni? I looked so gay and I was embarassed and hid it, but now I’m thinking… I can look like that if I want. Hell, I could wear eyeliner if I wanted! I mean, I won’t, obviously. But the point stands.”

“That’s really exciting.”

“Yeah. It is. And bizarre. See, also, I had completely forgotten about Lord Ivar Mountbatten, my third or fourth cousin, once or twice removed? He married his husband a couple years ago and he called me yesterday,” he continued. “He’s not, like, an heir, and most people don’t know who he is, but you know. He called and it made me realise, even though this is a huge deal, even though we’re putting a dent in history, it also isn’t so big of a deal, is it?”

“Two seemingly contradictory things can be true,” Shanon agreed.

“I know,” he nodded, remembering the basics of dialectical behavioral therapy. “Like, it’s empowering to be dealing with everything on my own for once, but I also just wish I was with Alex again. I can’t seem to breathe when he’s so far away.”

She hummed, nodding.

“I’m trying to put it all together, set up the formal courting thing, adjust to mum’s new found investment in my wellbeing… it’s a lot.”

“It sounds like you’ve been really brave, deciding to come back to England alone to take care of everything,” Shanon told him. “But it’s really hard and I can tell you’re holding a lot of tension in your body. Being outed like this… it’s traumatic.”

Henry looked at his shaking hands. He hadn’t thought of it that way, but he knew she was right. “I just… we wanted to do it on our terms. Like we talked about. And now I just, I haven’t slept in days. I just feel all of the feelings and my brain won’t shut up.”

“I know,” Shanon said, voice full of compassion. “Would you like me to guide you through a body scan meditation? Then perhaps we can set some specific goals and action steps, once you’re de-escalated a bit.”

Henry agreed. His parasympathetic nervous system could use a little wind down. So she led him through a meditation and his body relaxed. After that they were able to walk through how he would relate to his mum, to the press, and to his new future. They talked about how much he loved Alex. And Bea, Pez, June, and Nora. How he was proud to be able to tackle the royals on his own, and how he was so grateful to have his support system. By the end of the session Henry’s shoulders hung heavy, and his breath deepened and slowed.

“Thanks, I’ll see you next week,” he said as he left the office.

“I’ll see you next week, Henry.” They shook hands as usual. “You got this.”

He nodded, believing her. On his way out to the car he snapped an exhausted selfie to Alex with the caption: ‘You got this.’

Within seconds Alex responded with an equally frazzled smile. ‘Love you.’

So, his steps were long and the autumn air did not spook him with it's implications of their very public future. His world had exploded and now the dust was settling around him. He would wear it like glitter.

And maybe he’d take a nap.

"Who Knows?"~s.m.

My first imagine…here goes nothing….

Y/B/S=  Your Birthstone

                                                          ~~~~~~

I was just helping him pack his things. I didn’t expect to take an unwanted trip down memory lane in the process.

“So where are you moving to, again?”

“Downtown Toronto,”

“Cool,”

Interaction was so weird to me, but also assuring. Maybe our break up two months ago wasn’t totally on bad terms.

“Sorry my closet’s such a mess,” he chuckled lightly,, shuffling through a show box that was hidden under his bed. He looked up at me only for a second, seeing that I was beginning to take out his shirts. They were either halfway on a hanger or not on one at all, laying in a heap at the floor of his closet.

“No problem. Not like mine is any better,” I joked in a soft voice.

“Yeah, I remember,” he said. I wasn’t looking at him as I held onto one of his sweatshirts. I knew he was smiling at me.

For a few seconds, we were silent. The only sound was the soft singing of John Mayer emitting from Shawn’s record player. It was from his vinyl edition of ‘Continuum’ that I had bought for him for no particular occasion. I just knew that he would like it.

“What’s in the box?” I asked, shifting my attention away from his closet after I had folded most of his shirts and placed them in one of his suitcases. I may or may not have counted the amount of sweatshirts that used to be at my house.

Four.

It took Shawn a while to answer my question, maybe because he heard me, but was so occupied by the things in front of him. I didn’t mind, though. His concentration was one of my favorite things about him.

“Its just a bunch of old stuff. Newspaper clippings, ticket stubs, receipts,” he shrugged. He closed the box and shoved it under his bed again. He then got off his knees and began to strip the beige sheets from his bed.

I just nodded. I wasn’t going to pry; I felt like I had lost all privilege to enter deep conversations with him. Clearly, that box held more things that he said- the look on his face was a clear giveaway. I guess I’d never really know.

“How’s Oxford?” he asked.

“Good. Pre-Law is kicking my ass, but I’ll survive,” I answered, stifling a small giggle. I felt slightly suffocated, and in such an empty room, too. Maybe it was the tension in here. It balanced off of good and bad.

“I’m happy for you. It’s just a shame you’re so far from your family and friends,”

“I could say the same for you,”

“I always find my way back, Y/N,” he told me pointedly. He balled the sheets up and tossed them on the ground.

So many things happened on those sheets…

He took a seat on the naked bed. The room was almost completely bare; the walls empty as well as the flat surfaces such as his desk and dresser. Packing away the things that were once displayed in this room was like packing away memories that the two of us stupidly let slip through the cracks.

I had been going to Oxford for a year at that point, but I was never able to fully shake the feeling that something was missing from my life. But what? I was attending my dream school, studying for my dream job, and living in my dream country. What more could I have wanted?

I knew fully fucking well. I was just too much of a coward to admit it.

“I know you do, Shawn. But I just….feel like England is where I belong, now, you know? I’m better off there,” I mumbled, running a finger along his desk, a thin coat of dust transferring onto my skin, tickling it ever so slightly. I wiped it off on the soft fabric of my shorts.

Shawn grabbed the collar of his speckled black button up in both hands and pulled it in opposing directions, giving me a better view of his pale chest- which I had been exposed to many times prior. Clearly feeling hot, he stood up and turned the ceiling fan on, stretching his long, muscular arm up to tug on the chord.

“How’s touring?” I asked, trying to lighten the mood. Talking about University or London with Shawn never ended well. I ceased that part of our conversation before I could take a turn for the worse.

He smiled, shoving his hands into his pockets as we stood opposite each other. “Amazing. There’s just something about getting up on stage every night and showcasing my creations and fulfilling my passion that makes it the best damn job in the world,” he mused.

If there was one thing that Shawn knew how to do, it was describe his profession in the only way he deemed worthy- with pride and endearment.

He spoke about me like that once.

“Well I’m glad to hear that,” I smiled.

“I wish you could’ve come to the London show,” he said.

You didn’t ask me. “I had-”

“To study. I know, I know,”

“Not necessarily, Shawn,” I sighed.

“Well, that seemed to be the main reason anytime I would ask you to come out on tour for a day or two,” he retorted.

I was suddenly angry. “I can’t drop everything to be with you,” I hissed. He knew that. We talked about it a few days before I  left for London. He was so childish when it came to this.

“I’m not asking you to, Y/N. You’re a busy person, I get that. But when we were together, it just hurt me a lot that our relationship came to an undecided halt when you left,”

I opened my mouth to oppose, but felt it just hang there. A shallow breath escaped as I realized he was right. We never officially broke up. Our relationship just dissolved into nothing. Late night calls became nonexistent, and we never even texted when we realized how long it had been since we interacted. I felt that we were both to blame- we never acted on this. Was it because we knew efforts would be futile?

“Why’d you call me?” I asked seriously. I was back home for two days for my brother’s birthday weekend. Shawn had called me after saying he saw me at Tim’s.

“Hey, can you come over? There’s something I need your help with,” he told me, hesitance in his voice. I could imagine him fiddling with his fingers- a nervous habit.

I sucked in a breath. “Okay? What is it?” I asked. I would’ve decline yet.

“I need to pack my things. I’m moving out,”

I didn’t question why he didn’t request help from Brian or Ian or Matt. Maybe he had called already and just needed another set of hands? “Alright, yeah,” I said without thinking. “See you in a few,”

“Thanks,” the line went dead not even a second later.

Ten minutes later, I arrived to an empty house, just Shawn and I. Aaliyah was at hockey practice, and Manny and Karen were at the supermarket.

An hour later, no one else showed. It was still just Shawn and I, few words exchanged as he packed things into cardboard boxes. Occasionally he would hum along to a song, or curse lightly when he knocked into something.

“Didn’t we specify this over the phone? I needed your help to-”

“So Brian, Ian and Matt were unavailable?”

“Yes, actually. Can we continue this later? I’m going to get more boxes,” he said hastily, striding out of the room.

“There’s nothing left to-” I started to protest, but he was already out the door.

I exhaled harshly, pressing a palm on my forehead. Our communication skills had become pure nothingness. How sad, that we when from not being able to keep from telling each other everything, to struggled words and tight lipped smiles. I knew that neither of us would be able to really understand what had happened between us.

Here’s what I thought: He was doing his own thing, I was doing mine. Maybe, silently, we realized we couldn’t do that and be in love at the same time. Which was bullshit, because I regretted everything we didn’t say, 100%. If we had just talked to each other, we wouldn’t be in this borderline monsoon of awkwardness.

I saw down on his bed, shoving hair out of my face. I felt like I was going insane, the way these observations and truths were flooding my mind. I swung my legs back and forth, but felt my heel come in contact with something. I then remembered- the shoe box.

Quickly, I bent over and retrieved it from below the bed. I held it in my hands, running my thumb pads over the lid. The box was old, with rips and wrinkles in the cardboard. I couldn’t tell what brand it was from.

I looked up at Shawn’s door- but then realized he wasn’t coming back anytime soon. He wasn’t collecting boxes- he was collecting himself. That usually took a while, so I had enough time to rummage through this mystery box.

I knew I said I wouldn’t pry, but the box was here, at the tip of my fingers, and this was entirely on my own accord, not because Shawn told me I could or could not.

Slowly, I removed the lid and placed it off to side. Shawn wasn’t lying, there was really nothing much in side of the box. Magazine clippings, ticket stubs and receipts, just like he had said.

I picked up one of the receipts and say that it was one for a White Chocolate MooLatte from Dairy Queen. I smiled slightly- Shawn had bought so many of those for me whether I asked for them or not. He just always had a way of knowing when I was craving one. MooLattes were, after all, one of my favorite things on this planet.

I placed the slip of paper back and looked through the other ones. I took out a ticket stub that was stapled to a magazine clipping. I drew my brows together. Why would he attatch them?

I read the ticket stub, and again, I smiled, wider this time. It was from the time he took me to see Cinderella, the 2015 remake. I was so taken with him and him alone I didn’t pay attention to anyone else around me. Call me cliché, but it really felt like were were the only two people in the theater.

I flipped the stub upward to read the glossy piece of paper below it, an I almost laughed. There was a picture of the two of us standing in line for tickets, Shawn standing behind me, his large arms wrapped around me shoulders as I cuddled into his embrace. Looking at the photo made me almost feel his hold again like it was happening at that very moment. The caption of the snap was ‘Shawn Mendes cozies up to Y/F/N during movie date!’

It was the first time, if I recalled correctly, that we had been spotted properly in public. Neither of us were in the mood to hide that night. It people saw us, so be it. We were in a relationship and there was no harm in letting people know that.

I put the ticket and cut out back in the box and rummaged through it a bit more. The rest was just more receipts for MooLattes or Chipotle, ticket stubs from the movies or concerts, and magazine articles from out sightings together.

I was about to close the box again, but my eyes caught sight of something peeking out below the paper that had shfited. I placed my hand inside again, only for my fingers to come in contact with a velvet texture. My eyes widened. Did I dare to pull this out?

Ignoring my conscience, I pulled the item out, only to discover that it was a box- black, velvet just like I felt, and rectangle shaped. My heart sped up as I slowly opened it, and when I did, I gasped.

Inside, looking untouched and glimmering in the dim light, was a beautiful silver necklace, bind by tiny links, accentuated by a Y/B/S charm as the ‘crowning glory’.

I hovered an index finger over the small rock, afraid to touch it. This must have cost a fortune- the company written in cursive on the inner lid wasn’t exactly known for being cheap. Who was it for?

“You like it?”

My head snapped up as I slammed the box shut, wincing at the sound it made. I hastily placed it back inside the shoe box and closed that too, placing it on the bed and standing up.

“I-I’m sorry, Shawn. I didn’t mean to invade your privacy. I was just-”

“Its okay, Y/N,” Shawn held his hands up, and I stopped rambling. My tense shoulders relaxed as he walked towards me and picked up the box.

I looked at his hand movements. He removed the lip and took the velvet box out once more. Placing the show box on his desk, he looked at me, his caramel gaze, glassy and serious.

“Shawn-”

“I bought this a month ago,” he started, and I remained quiet. I would let him talk. I had become guilty of not letting him do that.

“I was planning on visiting you on campus. I wanted to surprise you. When I had my London show, I was going to come before it started. I was going to invite you to come to show and see me perform. I was going to give you this, Y/N,” he opened the box and showed me the necklace again. It took my breath away once more. It was a stunning piece of jewelry. Did I deserve to adorn something that seemed so precious?

I was never a fan or expensive gifts, and Shawn knew that. What was his reasoning for buying me this gift?

But we never had reasons for buying each things other than the fact that we loved each other, even if true love wasn’t measured by material possessions. The reactions we would give when we presented each other with out bought items would always brighten everything in that one moment, no matter the circumstances. Maybe that’s why we did it so much.

However, they were never, ever this lavish.

“I decided against it. I thought you didn’t want to see me. I thought you were ignoring me because you were fed up with me. You were fed up with me being gone,” he choked up, the lump in his throat affecting his speech.

I grabbed his wrists. “Shawn, I was gone too-”

“I was gone more, Y/N. I felt horrible. I didn’t know how to make it up to you. Until one day in Paris I was at this mall and I was passing at jewelry store. I saw this exact necklace in the display, only with a diamond. I knew you loved white gold. I had to get it for you. I had them change the diamond to your birthstone,” he explained.

I looked down at it. “The Y/B/S,” I said.

“Uh huh,” he nodded, smiling down at me, baring his teeth.

“Its beautiful Shawn,” I said.

“Its yours,” he said, taking it out of the box.

I shook my head immediately. “I can’t-”

He pressed a finger to my lips, his face only an inch away from mine. I was silenced as he turned around gently until my back was facing him. I held my breath as he placed the necklace around my neck. The cold material tingled against my skin, which already sported raised pores. He connected the two ends of the piece of jewelry and turned me back around.

His eyes were on the necklace, and my eyes were on him.

“So what now?” I asked.

Wordless, he drew me closer my the forearms and pressed his lips to my forehead. The kiss he gave me was warm and sent a wave of heat throughout my body.

He ran his thumbs along my cheekbones as his kiss drew down to my lips. Our first kiss after those dreadful months. The feeling had become so forgotten, but, now that it was happening again, it all came back to me, how much I loved it when he kissed me. How his soft lips would part, then come upon mine, softly, slowly, then escalating into the most amazing feeling ever. I literally felt sparks fly every time, no matter how much I’d get used to it.

After a few blissful secons of his plush, pink lips upon mine, he broke the kiss softly. He pulled me into his embrace, his strong arms wrapped around me in a hold that seemed invulverable, yet comforting and reassuring. For a while, we stayed like that, just enjoying the feeling of each other’s embrace. If possible, his arms got even tighter, and that only urged me to do the same. I buried my head in his neck, not wanting to move any time soon. He smelt like axe body spray and chcocoalte muffins- the scent I’d come to love.

He buried his nose into my hair, tangled his long fingers into the strands. He breathed out his next words, and I had never felt more  at ease with any answer in my life.

“Who knows?”

                                                        ~~~~~~

Hope y’all liked this! Sorry if the ending seemed a bit abrupt  🙊 ❤️

6 Best Brands That Dominate User-Generated Content on Instagram

User-generated content is a powerful form of marketing for any brand. It allows you to strengthen your relationships with followers and customers and broaden your online presence.

Around 86% of millennials believe that user-generated content (also known as UGC) is a good indicator of a brand or product’s quality. UGC speaks volumes more about your brand than your own content.

With an average of 60 million + images uploaded to Instagram every day, making Instagram one of the biggest platforms for sharing and finding UGC.

Instagram plus UGC equals marketing gold.

What is User Generated Content (UGC)?

User-generated content (UGC) is content created by individuals outside of the business. It’s authentic and created by people who love your brand.

Interested in adding UGC to your social media content mix?

To learn the best practices for finding and using UGC, here are the six best brands that dominate user-generated content on Instagram.

1. AirBnB

Airbnb is known for its captivating images of user-generated content, in fact, almost all of Airbnb’s social media content is UGC. The only time you’ll see something fully branded from Airbnb is in its ad campaigns.

Everyday, Airbnb shares UGC from around the world, asking questions, and making suggestions to their followers. Developing discussion with wanderlust travels who might be interested in bookings with Airbnb for their next stay.

A picture is worth a thousand words

It may seem like a simple task, but this marketing strategy has helped to create Airbnb’s online culture. 61% of marketers said authenticity is what makes content marketing most effective.

Airbnb’s UGC Lesson: Select the Best Images

UGC. Can represent how people genuinely feel about your brand (for better or worse).

Let’s be fair; not every UGC is worth a repost. Try to find the best images that represent your brand and repost them on your social media pages.

Here are a few guidelines for selecting UGC images or posts:

1. Pay Attention to the User’s Profile: You want to make sure the person’s profile matches your brand values. If your followers view the personal profile tagged to the image, they shouldn’t be caught off guard by the person’s own personal values.

2. Check the Caption: It’s easy to get distracted by a good photo, but what the caption says is also important. Read through and see if it’s all words of praise or hint of sarcasm. Also, check to make sure your competitors aren’t mentioned or tagged.

3. Get the Perfect Product Picture: UGC doesn’t always need a face or person present. It can be a creative layout and setting, just be sure that your products and label/logo are prominent at first glance for good publicity.

Luckily, today everyone wants to be an influencer, so it’s become much easier to find content that puts quality at the forefront.

Still need help to decide what kind of UGC to post? Check out this article on how to use User-Generated Content effectively.

2. Adobe Photoshop

Adobe Photoshop is another account known for sharing and publishing UGC on social media platforms. Each post highlights the tools, features, and the artist in the caption.

Adobe has mastered the art of soft social selling by showing off not only the creative community but also developing discussions and features that put them as the primary focus.

65% of customers agree that UGC is more interesting than the content created by brands. Which explains why Adobe makes little to no effort to sell Adobe products or its monthly subscription. Instead, they let the art do the talking, drawing in each follower.

Adobe Photoshop UGC Lesson: Always Tag or Credit Your UGC

We’ve all heard the term “sharing is caring.”

It’s true; sharing is caring for both the followers posting UGC and the brand reposting it.

People want to share content on social media as badly as they want to be recognized for it. So give your followers some props!

Customer Insight Group and Latitude Research found that people share for these five main reasons:

To bring valuable, enlightening and entertaining content

To define themselves to others (and to themselves, too)

To get and stay connected to others

For self-fulfillment, to be credited by others for what they shared

To support causes they believe in and brands they like.

That’s how important sharing and having content shared is to people.

Which leads me to my next point.

Ask for permission.

I’ve noticed a few big brands have skipped this part, well except for brands like Whole Foods and GymShark. As much as people love sharing content, it’s their content first and foremost, even if your brand is tagged in the picture.

After you’ve gotten permission, give your fan credit for their content. It’s become a social media etiquette to tag people in UGC on your page. This encourages people to keep sharing content and tagging your brand. It says, “Oh, We notice you.”

3. Xero

Xero is an accounting software that’s mastered the holy trinity of social media marketing; community, branding, and most importantly, UGC.

Each post speaks more about the customer, their mission, and the results of supporting the community that surrounds them.

Scroll through each post, and Xero’s tools or services are never really mentioned. Only the customers they serve.

Xero’s UGC Lesson: Share Real Experiences

Social media was originally meant to be social. Social selling was just something that we all stumbled on.

Today, people buy experiences, not products.

Customers want to hear more about experiences and stories; they buy into a concept or an idea rather than the product itself.

Sharing real experience also humanizes your brand

Maybe you’ve considered using storytelling for your social media marketing, but you don’t know where to start. Look at these 20 Creative Ways to Use Social Media for Storytelling.

4. Preview App

Preview is an app for editing, filtering, and cropping images to your Instagram’s aesthetic. So naturally, they use their social media to show off all their users’ Instagood feeds and post.

Did you know custom hashtags help you to find UGC

Preview also has a custom hashtag, #iPreview used by fellow previewers for Preview to find their content.

Instead of waiting to be tagged or lurking around on Instagram or Twitter, promote a branded hashtag that allows you to see content in your explorer feed easily.

Preview App UGC Lesson: Openly Ask for UGC

Over 50% of consumers want to be told what sort of UGC to create.

Just ask!

Yup, it’s that simple. Letting your followers know you're open to reposting or the type of UGC you want can send them into a creation frenzy.

Preview has been reposting UGC since the first day it created its Instagram page, but now and then they still ask followers to send in UGC. Check out the post below:

If your followers are camera shy when it comes to providing UGC, you can host a giveaway. Ask customers to submit UGC to enter. Once you’ve selected your winner, you can ask for permission to repost your followers’ favorite giveaway entries.

Ready to run your UGC contest?

Book a free call to learn how our team of contest experts can help you create high converting social media contest today.

5. SuperGoop

Super Goop is a sunscreen beauty company that prides themselves on their trending hashtag #butfirstsunscreen. Unlike the other UGC brands listed so far, Super Goop publishes a content mix of promotional, educational, and UGC to represent their branding.

How do you create the perfect content mix?

When you’re planning your content strategy (for marketing or social media), you want to consider the content that represents your brand. Here are five types of content to consider:

Industry expertise: Focus on what your business does best and provide advice to your target audience.

Brand focus: Highlight what your product or services do for your customers and how you’re shaping your niche.

Audience goals: What does your audience want to accomplish? For example, if you’re in fitness, talk about how the gym can get you closer to your fitness goals.

Audience interests: If you sell sports gear it means your audience might be interested in tips related to their sports. You are balancing your industry expertise and their interests.

Free resources: What kind of resources or freebies can you provide your audience? Think of Ebooks, quizzes, giveaways, or infographics.

SuperGoop UGC Lesson: Get Testimonials From Your UGC

UGC can be a great platform for real testimonials. Testimonials and reviews from customers are the icing on your content cake.

According to BigCommerce, the regular use of customer testimonials can help you generate roughly 62% more revenue.

Maybe you found the perfect image for your UGC, but the caption is lacking. Reach out to the person and ask for an honest review.

6. Glossier

Glossier has been listed as one of “The Social Media Brands to Follow” by marketers consistently over the past four years. Their social media marketing success boils down to their simple but effective content mix of branding, audience interest, goals, and UGC.

One of the key contributors to the brands success is how strong Glossier’s color palettes is for spot-on branding, even with its UGC. Ragan says that 80% of brand recognition regularly comes from color impression alone.

Glossier UGC Lesson: Use UGC to Get Customer Feedback

UGC can also be a safe medium for customers to give feedback and suggestions on products you might want to consider for your next sale or product idea.

Think about it

Your customers are already talking about you, why not control and direct the conversation to you?

Starbucks

You can get customer feedback by reading through the comments. You’ll be surprised what customers have to say about you through the content they share. It also allows you to reply and show off your superb customer service skills.

Ask for what you want. Let your customer know that you want to know what and how they think about your products, from dm’s to the comment section.

Summary

Building a community, consistently posting and monitoring social media, can feel overwhelming. But with the help of a loyal following and fans, UGC can take away from the day-to-day content struggle.

But with great power comes great responsibility, so consider these six things when curating UGC for your brands:

Select the Best Images

Always Tag or Credit Your UGC

Share Real Experiences

Openly Ask for UGC

Get Testimonials From Your UGC

Use UGC to Get Customer Feedback

Which brand caught your eye on this list? What brands do you think should have been added. Comment below and let me know.

I’d love to hear from you.

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The Banality of Suburbia

​​2/1/17 "Pretty places make me realize how ugly Cary is." This is the caption of an Instagram post on my friend's sister's account, featured under a picture of her posing candidly at a beach in Charleston, South Carolina. It was upon seeing this post when I came to an epiphany: I'm not crazy. I'm not the only person who sees our "perfect town" as a bland, vanilla suburbia filled with social-climbing housewives and chemical lawns. I'm not the only person who sees my town as a mecca for upper-middle class Yankees, coming down for warmer weather, cheaper square footage, and a highly-regarded public education system. Let's dive in: Before I start the rest of this post, I want people to understand something; I know I'm privileged. I'm fortunate enough to be white and living in America; I'm fortunate enough to be able to write this blog. While I wouldn't consider myself upper-middle class like the rest of my town, I understand that my family has it tremendously better than most people in the world. Even in this seemingly-despotic presidency, I know that not much will change in my personal life. While all white people weren't avaricious colonists in the 1700s who monopolized off of Native Americans (which I'll expand on in later posts), I understand my place. Let me say it again: I AM PRIVILEGED. While I'm about to complain about the town I live in, don't get the assumption that I'm pitying myself or my living situation. Don't say I didn't' tell you. Now, onto the meat of this post. I'll you some background knowledge on the area. The Raleigh-Durham community of North Carolina is the second-largest metro in the state and is one of the fastest-growing areas in the U.S. The region has experienced very recent, prolific growth with the construction of Research Triangle Park. This attracted several immigrants from the North, and from farther places like Southeast Asia. Most of the homes here have been constructed in the past twenty years, as well as several of the schools and shopping areas. There's no real history in the town except for our "downtown" (which is barely a street) and Cary High School, the institution in which we pride ourselves enormously in having. A majority of people weren't born here, and most people only live, eat and sleep in Cary; you get the point. It's the epitome of a bedroom town. With all of this new growth comes several problems. One of the more prominent issues surrounding the area is the lack of any real entertainment. While suburbs are often characterized as the "best of both worlds," I and several of my compadres find them to be quite the contrary. We don't have the freedom or sense of community of small towns in the country, nor do we have the actually interesting events of cities. For the youth of Cary, we're stuck in an inescapable catch-22. Our big "town events" are silly little parades and outdoor matinees that are commonplace in most small towns. The only problem with this is what was stated before; we have no real sense of community. Cary is simply a place to eat and sleep. New England snobbery has taken hold of the suburbs, drowning out camaraderie in the area. It is not uncommon is to see a pair of tuft-hunting homemakers power-walking down our streets with a Fitbit on the right wrist, drinking a wickedly green kale smoothie with almond butter with their free hand. What's even worse with this competition is that it's so fake. The suburban moms who rank Cary in one of the "top ten best places to live" are the same women who drive their ankle weights into the ground on strolls through Cary's streets. We're trying to be something that we're not. We hold all of the superficiality of Fairfield, Connecticut (a town not far from my parents' homesteads) without any of the money or establishment. We surround ourselves with country clubs and golf communities without having any real passion for recreation or golfing. We're no Princeton, New Jersey; we're no Westchester, New York. We're just one small, pretentious town with an attitude outweighing its sad, young history. This juvenile pomp feeds into more than just the fakeness of the town, or the plethora of insipid elementary school plays. We're literally killing ourselves. When my brother and I went on a walk the other day to a stream that we frequent, we couldn't help but notice the poignant stench of dead, rotting fish. Their lifelessness pervaded the river, and we followed it upstream to nothing of our surprise. The water was fed by a lake, surrounded by a field of neon green lawns. We filed a complaint to the town the next day, to no avail. This is the Cary I've come to despise. And yes, I know I'm not a refugee from Syria. I know I'm not sixteen-and-pregnant living in the slums of Detroit. But I do know this: Cary has become the legitimate scapegoat of many of my personal problems, and I find the area to be the source of a lot of my issues--angsty teenager or not. I'm tired of going to Downtown Raleigh in search of genuinely interesting events. I'm tired of going to the backwoods of Wake County for nature walks and exploration. I'm tired of being shown the faces of plastic people, a town of walking Barbies. I'm tired of being surrounded by a hub of McMansions and ugly condos, ones which any architect would deem unpalatable. I'm tired of watching PTA moms run with false vitality into the depths of our streets, protein smoothies hand in hand. I'm tired of being told that "every kid hates their hometown," or that "Cary's a great place to raise a family." The town's fine if you want to raise your kid to be an unexposed teacup on the verge of breaking 24/7. It's not a good place if you want to raise your child with a sense of bona fide community. With all this being said, I have nothing against Cary. I just have a problem with me living in Cary. It's hard to explain on paper without looking too spoiled, although I might've already accomplished that. While I understand that I'm fortunate to live in a "safe" (and paranoid) community, I also lack the organic sense of origin that surrounds most American communities. Yes; that's the word. Organic. I want an organic life. With real people and real character. I want to make my mark in a world that isn't afraid of being fat or having dull lawns. I want to make a name for myself with genuine people in my life. Take a break from the pesticides, Cary. You're killing all the fish, and you need to start caring. Try to be more . . . organic. -JM

Experts Expose the Deadliest Garden Writing Tools! And Five Fabulous Coneflowers that Defy News Feed Blues!!!

July 15, 2020

Cincinnati, Ohio

Dear Marianne,

Thank you so much for your letter dated June 26th. During this chaotic, busy time, it reminded me that I’m still in this relationship, and just as importantly, it reminded me why. I’ll explain this a little later on.

Before I do, I want to address my Facebook overshares. I’ve been accused of this before, and I have brought it up with health professionals. Mental health professionals. Through this I’ve learned new things about myself. Some of it is rather technical, but the short answer is that my oversharing is caused by vodka and tonics. Thing is, my life is hard. Very hard. I live in the Midwest. Where everything sucks. Everything here can either kill you or leave you begging that it does. The Midwest especially hates gardeners. So the drinks are well-deserved, and the things I then say on Facebook are what they are. I do get “likes,” but, to be honest, I’m never really sure if they are true “likes” or just feeble reactions of worried “friends” who don’t know what else to do. Besides, it’s only Facebook. Not like anyone sees it or as if anything could ever come back to haunt me. Right?

This Rant is a bit thin on horticulture, so I’m providing a parallel theme of beautiful Echinacea in photos and captions. This is Echinacea Fiery Meadow Momma.

Another thing before I continue. Apparently, I need to justify vodka and tonics over gin and tonics. That’s fine. I can do that, and it will all be based on things I know to be true. Yes, while gin is basically an English vodka, the addition of juniper berries and other various spices give it a unique flavor. By carefully crafting their recipes, gin makers offer their customers interesting and lovely tasting experiences. Literally, millions of people the world over, English and those they’ve colonized, truly enjoy gin and tonics. Few are faking it. And yet, despite all this, there are some very good reasons why some people cannot drink gin. Mine is that at age 15 I drank way too much of it. Spent an hour, maybe five, enduring the trauma of my body trying its damnedest to expel the entirety of my digestive system onto the asphalt of a drive-in right off the Mosteller Road exit in Sharonville, Ohio. Forty five years later, I’m still unable to disassociate the one thing from the other.

Echinacea Sombrero Orange, it is said, cures hangovers and even prevents teenagers from making poor choices!

So, for me, it’ll remain vodka and tonics, and, my, aren’t they refreshing on a hot day! It doesn’t bother me in the least that the sole purpose of vodka was (and sort of still is) for peasants to make alcohol from whatever spare rotting vegetation was lying around the village, and that the less it tastes like that from which it was sourced, the better. And while I realize that you were probably being snarky when you suggested I resort to Everclear, there’s actually solid reasoning behind your comment. But in my defense, however, I feel compelled to mention that I’ve never made a habit of buying the expensive stuff.

One more stray item before I try to address the real essence of your letter. You referenced the band Cake. Recently, my son has been trying to get me into them, which led me to the horrifying realization that I might be old enough to be your father! Imagine, then, my relief when I remembered that we’ve managed to keep things platonic between us! A trophy girlfriend just wouldn’t work for me. I’m not confident anymore, and just too damned gross. But it did get me thinking about our relationship, as it sometimes seems an odd one. To me, although you are younger, it feels like you are more worldly, learned, and a million times more mature. This makes you the sage. Me? I’m just an (average, at best) student. This gets reinforced every time you correct me when I get parts of things wrong, as I frequently do, or when I get all of it wrong, which also happens. Additionally, you have introduced me to many new things.

Echinacea Purple Emperor.

Case in point, I understood nothing in your letter after the parts about gin and Facebook. I have to admit that almost everything else was like it came from another world. I literally spent days afterward googling the various topics. I questioned friends and family too, and once a random stranger in the park before I began to feel even vaguely acquainted with stuff like Search Engine Optimization, Yoast, and something about worms.

Echinacea Kismet Raspberry.

So, SEO is why all the crap that shows up in my Google feed is written so strangely! And badly. Worse, it felt to me that you also effectively argued that tools like SEO, which exist merely to land any lame writer prime real-estate on a million billion feeds, are to good writing what roomfuls of Macedonian teenagers, their online accounts stuff with thousands of rubles worth of bitcoin, are to honest and intelligent American political debate. It is inevitable, I think you continued, that between them, such bad garden writing and those horrible Macedonian kids capturing the spare-minute attention spans of a million billion lemmings on their feeds, that mankind is doomed to witness the loss of basic human decency, the end of civilization, and fewer and fewer articles by Monty Don. If this is indeed what you were saying, I think you’re on to something!

Echinacea Evening Glow.

But I’m not exactly sure what I can do about it, other than to not care. By this I mean that I write to write, and always have. Even as a kid, I just wrote. All of it crap. As a young adult, I wrote more crap. No voice. No wisdom. Nothing to say and so profoundly aware of it. Eventually I found a passion in horticulture and scraped together some knowledge, and even a little confidence in that knowledge. An utter lack of pride and absolutely no ability to hide anything gave me something that might resemble a voice. Years and years of so many poor decisions infused me with maybe a bit of wisdom. Or at least some good stories. End result is that only now at age 60 am I able to even like some of what I write. Just enough to keep me at it, And just enough that I’m not going to change how I do it. Although, it turns out I might be using too many exclamation points! At least according to a paragraph deep into your letter.

While still in my previous life as an airline employee, I took some part-time jobs in nurseries to learn plants. These were not jobs I needed, and the experience was somewhat enlightening. All the crap that bothered employees who needed their jobs, didn’t mean anything to me. Disputes, rumors, conspiracies, and whatever else that were whispered during down times meant nothing to me. I just didn’t care. If my last day on the job was this one, so what? This informs my approach to garden writing. I do it because I love it, and that’s why I’ll keep doing it. Sure, it would be great if my stuff gets read, and making some money would be really nice, but I’m not going to stop if none of those things ever happen. I’m just going to continue, and I’m going to write as I want it to read. Key phrases or whatever else be damned.

Echinacea Sombrero Lemon Yellow.

Once in a while the best way to play the game is to not play it. This feels like that to me. Today’s glazed glossing of a paper thin spray of half truths will grow old, and a new way will come that might, in fact, look kind of old. I hear the millennials are all listening to Cake on vinyl. Maybe today’s grade-school kids will grow up knowing that quality garden writing is really cool. Maybe they’ll even prefer books. And they occasionally go to a neighborhood shop to buy one. Maybe one from Christopher Lloyd. A few weeks later, one of yours. Possibly even one of mine. Of course, I’ll be dead, but at this point I’m perfectly okay with my genius being discovered after I’m gone.

  Experts Expose the Deadliest Garden Writing Tools! And Five Fabulous Coneflowers that Defy News Feed Blues!!! originally appeared on GardenRant on July 15, 2020.

The post Experts Expose the Deadliest Garden Writing Tools! And Five Fabulous Coneflowers that Defy News Feed Blues!!! appeared first on GardenRant.

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Experts Expose the Deadliest Garden Writing Tools! And Five Fabulous Coneflowers that Defy News Feed Blues!!!

July 15, 2020

Cincinnati, Ohio

Dear Marianne,

Thank you so much for your letter dated June 26th. During this chaotic, busy time, it reminded me that I’m still in this relationship, and just as importantly, it reminded me why. I’ll explain this a little later on.

Before I do, I want to address my Facebook overshares. I’ve been accused of this before, and I have brought it up with health professionals. Mental health professionals. Through this I’ve learned new things about myself. Some of it is rather technical, but the short answer is that my oversharing is caused by vodka and tonics. Thing is, my life is hard. Very hard. I live in the Midwest. Where everything sucks. Everything here can either kill you or leave you begging that it does. The Midwest especially hates gardeners. So the drinks are well-deserved, and the things I then say on Facebook are what they are. I do get “likes,” but, to be honest, I’m never really sure if they are true “likes” or just feeble reactions of worried “friends” who don’t know what else to do. Besides, it’s only Facebook. Not like anyone sees it or as if anything could ever come back to haunt me. Right?

This Rant is a bit thin on horticulture, so I’m providing a parallel theme of beautiful Echinacea in photos and captions. This is Echinacea Fiery Meadow Momma.

Another thing before I continue. Apparently, I need to justify vodka and tonics over gin and tonics. That’s fine. I can do that, and it will all be based on things I know to be true. Yes, while gin is basically an English vodka, the addition of juniper berries and other various spices give it a unique flavor. By carefully crafting their recipes, gin makers offer their customers interesting and lovely tasting experiences. Literally, millions of people the world over, English and those they’ve colonized, truly enjoy gin and tonics. Few are faking it. And yet, despite all this, there are some very good reasons why some people cannot drink gin. Mine is that at age 15 I drank way too much of it. Spent an hour, maybe five, enduring the trauma of my body trying its damnedest to expel the entirety of my digestive system onto the asphalt of a drive-in right off the Mosteller Road exit in Sharonville, Ohio. Forty five years later, I’m still unable to disassociate the one thing from the other.

Echinacea Sombrero Orange, it is said, cures hangovers and even prevents teenagers from making poor choices!

So, for me, it’ll remain vodka and tonics, and, my, aren’t they refreshing on a hot day! It doesn’t bother me in the least that the sole purpose of vodka was (and sort of still is) for peasants to make alcohol from whatever spare rotting vegetation was lying around the village, and that the less it tastes like that from which it was sourced, the better. And while I realize that you were probably being snarky when you suggested I resort to Everclear, there’s actually solid reasoning behind your comment. But in my defense, however, I feel compelled to mention that I’ve never made a habit of buying the expensive stuff.

One more stray item before I try to address the real essence of your letter. You referenced the band Cake. Recently, my son has been trying to get me into them, which led me to the horrifying realization that I might be old enough to be your father! Imagine, then, my relief when I remembered that we’ve managed to keep things platonic between us! A trophy girlfriend just wouldn’t work for me. I’m not confident anymore, and just too damned gross. But it did get me thinking about our relationship, as it sometimes seems an odd one. To me, although you are younger, it feels like you are more worldly, learned, and a million times more mature. This makes you the sage. Me? I’m just an (average, at best) student. This gets reinforced every time you correct me when I get parts of things wrong, as I frequently do, or when I get all of it wrong, which also happens. Additionally, you have introduced me to many new things.

Echinacea Purple Emperor.

Case in point, I understood nothing in your letter after the parts about gin and Facebook. I have to admit that almost everything else was like it came from another world. I literally spent days afterward googling the various topics. I questioned friends and family too, and once a random stranger in the park before I began to feel even vaguely acquainted with stuff like Search Engine Optimization, Yoast, and something about worms.

Echinacea Kismet Raspberry.

So, SEO is why all the crap that shows up in my Google feed is written so strangely! And badly. Worse, it felt to me that you also effectively argued that tools like SEO, which exist merely to land any lame writer prime real-estate on a million billion feeds, are to good writing what roomfuls of Macedonian teenagers, their online accounts stuff with thousands of rubles worth of bitcoin, are to honest and intelligent American political debate. It is inevitable, I think you continued, that between them, such bad garden writing and those horrible Macedonian kids capturing the spare-minute attention spans of a million billion lemmings on their feeds, that mankind is doomed to witness the loss of basic human decency, the end of civilization, and fewer and fewer articles by Monty Don. If this is indeed what you were saying, I think you’re on to something!

Echinacea Evening Glow.

But I’m not exactly sure what I can do about it, other than to not care. By this I mean that I write to write, and always have. Even as a kid, I just wrote. All of it crap. As a young adult, I wrote more crap. No voice. No wisdom. Nothing to say and so profoundly aware of it. Eventually I found a passion in horticulture and scraped together some knowledge, and even a little confidence in that knowledge. An utter lack of pride and absolutely no ability to hide anything gave me something that might resemble a voice. Years and years of so many poor decisions infused me with maybe a bit of wisdom. Or at least some good stories. End result is that only now at age 60 am I able to even like some of what I write. Just enough to keep me at it, And just enough that I’m not going to change how I do it. Although, it turns out I might be using too many exclamation points! At least according to a paragraph deep into your letter.

While still in my previous life as an airline employee, I took some part-time jobs in nurseries to learn plants. These were not jobs I needed, and the experience was somewhat enlightening. All the crap that bothered employees who needed their jobs, didn’t mean anything to me. Disputes, rumors, conspiracies, and whatever else that were whispered during down times meant nothing to me. I just didn’t care. If my last day on the job was this one, so what? This informs my approach to garden writing. I do it because I love it, and that’s why I’ll keep doing it. Sure, it would be great if my stuff gets read, and making some money would be really nice, but I’m not going to stop if none of those things ever happen. I’m just going to continue, and I’m going to write as I want it to read. Key phrases or whatever else be damned.

Echinacea Sombrero Lemon Yellow.

Once in a while the best way to play the game is to not play it. This feels like that to me. Today’s glazed glossing of a paper thin spray of half truths will grow old, and a new way will come that might, in fact, look kind of old. I hear the millennials are all listening to Cake on vinyl. Maybe today’s grade-school kids will grow up knowing that quality garden writing is really cool. Maybe they’ll even prefer books. And they occasionally go to a neighborhood shop to buy one. Maybe one from Christopher Lloyd. A few weeks later, one of yours. Possibly even one of mine. Of course, I’ll be dead, but at this point I’m perfectly okay with my genius being discovered after I’m gone.

  Experts Expose the Deadliest Garden Writing Tools! And Five Fabulous Coneflowers that Defy News Feed Blues!!! originally appeared on GardenRant on July 15, 2020.

The post Experts Expose the Deadliest Garden Writing Tools! And Five Fabulous Coneflowers that Defy News Feed Blues!!! appeared first on GardenRant.

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