#Thinking about the years i loved the x files... it's all rose tinted to me. loving the x files was there for me even when personal stuff go | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

yeojaa · 4 years ago

Text

( LOVED YOU BETTER. )

You put your love and trust into people not things, you tell him.

They’ll leave, he says about humanity - about that precarious nature that both beguiles and terrifies him.

But they’ll love you back, you remind him.

pairing. kth x f!reader.

genre + rating. slice of life. an angst angel food cake with a fluffy, strawberry centre. general.

tags / warnings. minor (ish) character death, heartbreak, kim taehyung is bad at feelings, summer romance, abandonment issues, moving on, healing. idk.

wc. 4.3k

beta reader(s). @hobi-gif @snackhobi @midnighttifa 💖 i love y’all!

author note. this was written for the 'a long hot summer' event hosted by @thebtswritersclub. my member was taehyung (obviously!) with the sense being sight. this is my first project for a net, so i hope you enjoy it! 💖

He spends most of his childhood in Lyon, skirting the rivers in search of inspiration. It isn’t Paris, his mother tells him, but it’s just as lovely - quieter and more peaceful. She insists, one day, she’ll take him home, where his maternal grandparents are buried and she’ll show him all the parts of her world.

The first time he paints - eleven years old, seated at the edge of the Saône with a brush held between his teeth and pigment smearing his hands - his mother is delighted. He fills the house with his works: pretty watercolours that mimic the blue of the river, the white of boats, the amber of the sky. She loves them and she loves him and she tells him day in and day out, offering praise as readily as he offers his heart on canvas.

He’s sixteen when he migrates stateside, to where his father grew up and his mother’s accent stands out. He hates it there. It’s boring and bland and it stifles his imagination. There are no sail boats, no rivers, no pretty girls. The days turn grey and so does his mother, as if she’d left the best parts of herself back in France. She still tells him she loves him, promises that they’ll go back someday.

At twenty-one, he learns love isn’t real. His father files for divorce and his mother withers away. When he goes, he packs his bags and doesn’t look back. It’s a slamming door in an already abandoned home. Beautiful as it might be, love is nothing but infatuation - fleeting and easily broken and fit only for the books that line the study. It exists truly, wholly, only in the blood that runs in his veins.

At twenty-two, he realises absolutely nothing lasts, for his mother leaves too, taking her lilting laughter and rose perfume with her, buried six feet under soil she’d never called home. Her death is a nail in the door, sealing his childhood shut.

His father does not attend the funeral. Hardly anyone does.

The paintings - lovely portraits of her wide eyes and full lips, of Parisian sunsets and paved streets - are all he has. They serve as memories, painful reminders of the woman his mother once was, of the life he’d once lived. They fill the house that’s no longer a home - hasn’t been, for years - tucked away in a room he refuses to enter.

His mother had called him her petit choux because he was born with dough-soft cheeks, sweet as pie. As he grew older, the name stuck - even if the fat hadn’t, slipping off his face with each passing year. By the time he’s eighteen, he’s uncut edges rather than honey brioche. At twenty-seven, he’s hardened far more than she would’ve ever expected of her beloved boy. He is week old bread, stale and hard to the teeth.

But he is still her petit choux and he thinks she’d love him regardless.

So Kim Taehyung promises to go back. For her - to find all the pieces she’d left behind and fashion them back together. What he doesn’t expect is to meet you along the way.

He discovers you on a day that scorches his bones, Parisian sun shimmering pavement and cobblestone. You are a whirlwind of colour, every shade of the rainbow presented in the glory of your smile. You treat the Seine like a lover, living at the edges of its shores with bare feet and bare legs and a bare face that begs to be memorised.

You laugh and it’s radiant, pealing bells that ring in his ears long after noon has struck.

You call him mon chéri like it means something.

It reminds him of his mother and he wonders whether she ever did these same things, dancing across the grass with an apricot caught between her teeth. He hopes so.

“Come, come,” you coax, with a mouth that threatens to tear his chest wide open. It presents pretty, in shades of ruby and wine; it draws him in, sticky sweet, and he’s defenseless to your whims. He goes where you go, following the flow of your hair, the curtain that draws back and has him seeing in technicolour.

He laughs when you laugh, smiles when you smile. You bring him to all the places he’s never been: the cobbled streets his mother once roamed, the darkened bars filled with champagne, the sunlit warmth of your bedroom where wisteria branches hang low. He paints you in all of them - sweeping watercolours into the silk of your hair, the curve of your lips, the swell of your hips when his palms grip them tight.

You’re an ingenue, a muse, everything he’s ever wanted. But he doesn’t love you - because love doesn’t exist. Not in the ways they portray on the silver screen, with heartfelt declarations and bundles of overflowing roses. He can’t give you those things; he’s grateful you don’t ask.

Sometimes, he thinks you might dare to. Can see it lurking in the lovely shade of your stare, how you study him when you think he isn’t watching. Furtive glances, made beneath the thick line of your lashes, behind the brocade of your sun-drenched strands.

But he’s Kim Taehyung and he’s always watching - always aware. He hates to miss a single thing.

Don’t ask me to love you, he tells you without words.

“Should we go to Lyon for the weekend?”

You’re draped across the bed, drenched in lavender and warm like baked pastry. Your tongue licks cream from your lips, sweetness touched with honey. He drinks in your every movement, dedicating them to canvas. There’s a freckle on your knee and another just below. One more on your ankle and three along the top of your foot. A constellation he hasn’t named yet.

“No,” he answers, devoid of the same delight that frolics behind your teeth.

“Why not?” You press, because it’s what you do - forcing each button until you find the one that stirs something to life within him. A coin-operated boy, rusty and in terrible disrepair. He thinks you’d be wary of the bright red warning light but you seem almost colourblind, looking through rose-tinted glasses that dress all of his actions in warmth he doesn’t deserve.

He doesn’t answer, sweeping his brush back and forth. Lilac filters into water, a lovely shade that grows lighter and lighter with each pass of bristles. It’s not quite the same as your dress - a silk creation that begs to live on your skin - but it’s close enough. He’ll settle for it.

It reminds him of the flowers in the garden back home. Back when his mother was alive and she still breathed life into the greenery, trimming stems and drying petals.

“I don’t want to.” A simple enough answer.

You wait for him to elaborate, pouting and pleading like you might break him down with the sheer force of your beauty. If he were any lesser man, you might have.

“Please,” you purr, too persuasive for your own good. You’d settle into his lap, twist his honey strands between your fingers, if not for the stare he levels you with. One that screams be good and stay still because the last thing he wants is you ruining the painting. He doesn’t want to start all over and the light is already waning, sun lost somewhere behind drooping branches and the gauzy softness of your drapes.

“No.”

“Please.”

Brush to water, then to colour. A sweet orange - the flesh of a fresh cantaloupe without seeds. “No.”

“Mon chéri—”

He booms out “No!” like a cannon. It’s akin to being scolded, stilling the playfulness in your hands. You’re ignorant to all the reasons he refuses to indulge you but you think of it as nothing but selfishness, a cold you can’t weather. One you refuse to when flowers are in full bloom and the air outside lays a salt-crown atop your brow. This is your kingdom, your rightful place - you bow to no one.

You stiffen, rise from the bed in a motion that disrupts every part of him. Motions still, knuckles white. No no no. You’re ruining it. You’re ruining—

“Get out.”

Taehyung can’t quite believe his ears - staring at you in such aghast you almost laugh right in his face. He has the audacity to perform such theatrics after yelling at you? How dare he! It enrages you, brings your blue blood to a boil beneath your skin.

“Pardon?” The sound rolls, trips, and stumbles, dirt on his palms and knees as he stares up at you.

“I said get out, mon chéri.” You’ve unbuttoned the rumpled shirt - his, with his initials embroidered across the cuff - allowing it to drop from your shoulders and into his lap. He glares down at it, stained now with the watercolours in his palette. It’d be pretty if it weren’t so infuriating.

“I’m not done.”

You tch, a derisive sound that bites worse than your love, your nails painted in Chanel. “I don’t care.”

“I’m not done,” he repeats, perhaps a little lost. It crawls out between his teeth, a lost man seeking solace. He needs to finish this. He hasn’t painted you this way yet, bathed in faded light. It’s an empty slot in his album of memories. He can’t let it go.

You’re unrepentant, dismissive. A table turned. “I don’t care.”

He hates you then. He doesn’t realise how close the emotion is to love.

He doesn’t know when his boyhood waned away, lost itself to the wind and the rivers. He only knows, suddenly, he was not a boy but a man, a miserable soldier made to walk the plank. He thinks it might’ve been when she died, taking the last traces of his youth with her. Gone was the innocence, the gentility, the voraciousness; all at once, the ease - the glory, the good - had evaporated, leaving in its place a broken boy too angular, too angry.

He doesn’t know when his boyhood waned away, but he remembers all too well when her death had eclipsed the light, leaving him in perpetual darkness.

It makes sense then - that his whole life is a charnel house, built on the foundation of someone else’s bones. It’s only fitting it becomes a memorial to a long-gone mother, a weeping wife, a star burnt out too soon.

He’s somehow still surprised when his kingdom - formidable, impenetrable, guarded - comes crumbling down, an overgrown old city ruined. As if he’d expected those skeletons to hold him forever, to carry the weight of his desolation within their hollows. He begs for absolution when it falls beneath a thousand leagues, lost to saltwater and liquor. He drowns within it and it seeps, sticks, stirs - catching in his stare and trembling his fingers.

Nostalgia comes like ghosts - old men lost at sea.

They’re dim, twilight, held behind a heavy fog. Old memories on a carousel ride, spinning in perpetual motion. They’re snapshots of his mother, his youth, his home. They pass too quickly; he can never catch them.

Years old misery claws its way up his chest and he chokes on it each night, lying awake listening to the city groan, straining like a dying beast on its last legs. He misses her, he misses you, he misses the person he used to be. He aches for it - a nameless thing just out of reach.

Something Taehyung begs and cries for until he’s blue in the face.

Something you’d given him, in the form of kisses and promises. Something he’d only shoved you down into the dirt for - right where she was. Because no one kept promises, and he didn’t want to hate you later. (For loving, for leaving.)

Instead, he hates himself, and that is a neater, cleaner way to end the story.

He is bereft, drifting between days he has neither the desire nor wherewithal to consider.

He sees women just like you - girls that run barefoot through the grass, fancying themselves dancers, muses, inspirations. They laugh, they kiss, they cite vague poetry. They preen when he asks to paint them, throwing exaggerated shapes with the lines of their necks, the flutter of their lashes.

Still, none of them are you - too soft and rounded.

None possess the same insolence, polite phrases toeing the line of sophisticate and street urchin. They are all wind-up ballerinas, dancing on rotation, with smiles not right, too tight. They’re too flat, too freckled, reminiscent of rotting cherries and mint-green Ladurée bags you’d scoff at. They leave his canvases better off bare, boring and one-dimensional. Taehyung resents them.

But he doesn’t love you, and he tells himself that whenever he misses you.

A victim of ennui, he slips into a pattern he abhors. Supine lounging in the evenings, preceded only by listless wandering during the long hours of the day. He drifts with the rise and fall of the sun, eyes blind to the beauty around him.

Nothing feels quite right anymore - not in the way it used to. There are no memories of his mother, no sweet tales told by a ghost. It’s empty empty empty, only shit-stained streets and hollow bodies.

He prays for an answer, a sign, anything.

It comes in the form of you - nearly three weeks later, beneath a stream of sunlight that casts you in chiaroscuro. For the first time, he itches to paint. The need thrums in his fingers, a million little nerve endings firing off. He itches to touch you too, but he ignores that, shoves it into the deepest, darkest recess of his thoughts as he can. He needs to focus on one thing and one thing only: doing what he came here to do.

“Bonjour.” It comes bare, undressed and vulnerable. By the look on your face, it isn’t what you want.

You twist away, entire body angling uncomfortably in your effort to ignore him. “What do you want?” You’re cruel, capricious - a god looking upon a lowly farmhand with no offering. It stings in a way it shouldn’t, pulls his expression into a frown before he can mask it.

That’s better, you think. He can practically read the smug emotion dancing in those pretty irises.

“You haven’t called.”

“Neither have you.”

“You told me to leave.”

“And you left.”

For every excuse, you have a rebuttal. It’s a game of chess he’s bound to lose. It’s as frustrating as it is enticing, stirring something warm and heavy in the cavity behind his ribs. A little hummingbird come to life, wings beating relentlessly and kicking up all the dust of his childhood trauma.

“I’m sorry.” It’s hardly an apology, too greedy to come the way it should. Taehyung does this for himself, for his promise, for memories he refuses to let go.

You see right through him. “Are you?”

“I am.”

“You’re not.”

“I am.”

“Tell me what you’re sorry for.”

The words I am are poised on his tongue and reduced to ash with your question. He’s never had to try so hard a day in his life. It feels wrong, messy, awful. Every part of him compels him to rebel - to wax poetic about the things he’s done right, how what you’re asking is too much. I cannot love you, he thinks.

“I thought so.” There’s nothing but disdain in your stare, turning it sharp like a knife that threatens to glide through his armour. “You’re selfish, Kim Taehyung. All you want is to take and take and take. You refuse to give.”

You’re not wrong. He wears his sadness like a solid steel plate; it curls around his vertebrae, writhing in his belly until he’s full, aching, complete. He doesn’t know how to exist without it, apart from it. It keeps him safe, satisfied, out of harm’s way. It’s both a blessing and a curse.

As you leave, he wonders whether it’s worth it.

Six long days pass. Six too many, drawn out and miserable. He aches to create, to sketch, to paint. He calls you in a moment of weakness; you come, nonetheless.

“What do you want?” You repeat, mouthful of thorns and scar tissue.

This time Taehyung has an answer. He’s ready, confident in his recital. It spills forth loosely, with abstract brazenness. “I want you.” There’s no room for uncertainty, zero leeway to be found in between the syllables. It’s the most sincere he’s been all season, made true by the summer sun and your focused, unyielding stare.

“You want moi?” It’s a dance with the devil - question poised like a hand. “Do you even know what wanting someone means?” You’re steady, unwavering, just as he is.

He hesitates then, just barely, with a tick of his jaw, fingers curling around nothing. You take that as weakness, delicate mouth curling into a sneer. He sees it - all the I told you so’s poised on the tip of your tongue, ready to silence him. He beats you to it, crashing his mouth against yours with a recklessness that thrums in his veins, sending his heart on a wild chase for that something.

He’s spent his whole life in pursuit of a feeling, a spectre, a bittersweet memory. He thinks he might’ve lost himself along the way.

“I want you. I want you - and us.”

What he means to say is he wants all the things that come with it: the bratty rebuttals, the early morning eagerness, the taste of you every night. He wants the eyelashes on his pillow case, the lipstick stains, the scent of your perfume - citrus and nectarine blossom, cocoa butter, fresh cream. He wants the trips to the countryside, the new memories, the paintings full of you. He wants it more than he’s ever wanted anything. He needs it like he needs air, light, art.

He needs you - his muse.

He tells you, shamelessly, around a lump that forms in his throat and makes it hard to breathe. “We’ll go to Lyon. If you want to go, we’ll go.”

The place where he grew up is different, wrapped in ivy and devoid of light. Windows are drawn and everything leans grey, weeds sprouting beneath his expensive leather loafers. They curl around his ankles, creep up the back of his knees; they threaten to crush him beneath their weight. He imagines his insides look the same - neglected and vacant.

He wishes he hadn’t come. This isn’t his home, his kingdom, his heart. Not anymore.

“Come, mon chéri,” you hum, stirring him from his reverie, pulling his thoughts through the seven circles of Hell until he’s back in the present, stiff at your side with your fingers interlaced. You offer an affectionate smack of your lips - wine-stained and pretty - to his cheek. He does not soften.

“Let’s go.” It comes despite himself, before he can help it, in a voice that isn’t his. It’s too soft, too unsure - fifteen years younger and vulnerable.

You regard him closely, with a careful narrow of your stare. He can read the pity there, the frustration that swims in the depths - circling sharks seeking out the scent of his blood. It’s inescapable. He wishes you’d stop. He doesn’t need you to lecture him.

Misery rises, licks up his throat like bile, and he worries it might spill out, red as the crimson sea. Part of him wants it to - a defense mechanism he can’t control; the other part of him knows he should swallow it down. He has no reason to fight you.

“Come,” you repeat, and he’s defenseless, lost to your siren song. He steps back in time, white-knuckled and terrified.

There are no longer peonies in the kitchen, nor roses in the front hall. Dust settles over every surface, dry soil kicked up beneath his feet.

Taehyung tries to recall the way his mother would busy herself in the garden, bent over her flowers like an altar. How her knees were perpetually scarred, dirt caught beneath her nails, dark hair a braided wreath worn like a crown. It was the only time she was anything but composed - full of light and laughter and a love for the alive. He’d eat breakfast with her in the front yard, a shadow that would follow her every move. Back and forth, he’d go - on his feet, with his brush, in his thoughts.

Every painting was of her - of tulips and daisies, bare ankles and sun-kissed skin. The shape of her mouth, the freckle on her nose. Her delight when his father would come home.

He swears he smells her perfume now, standing in the place he’d grown up. He’s reminded of hot coffee and fresh bread, her fluttering laughter and brass watering can. He’ll dream about it for days, memories rolling like a Super 8 film through his mind.

He cries I’m fine when he isn’t. You hold him until he is.

You sleep together on a Sunday afternoon.

When you wake, the sun is low on the horizon and you’re the prettiest Taehyung’s ever seen you, features thrown in stark relief. You’re salt-sweet and striking, dressed in linen whites and the shape of his mouth.

He paints the pale soles of your feet, drawn against your leg, and the shade of your nails, a pretty colour he attributes to springtime and sonnets. He indulges in the sound of your voice, soft and hazy in his ear. You kiss him like he isn’t broken and you taste like memories - ones he hasn’t made yet, but desperately wants to. He is both sinking and floating, as if you’ve taken his heart from his chest and hold it, beating, somewhere high above his head.

He carries your perfume for weeks after, heavy on his skin. Lingering, like you’ve become a part of him, like he’s fallen in love.

Kim Taehyung had once surrounded himself with beautiful things - paintings and drawings and girls. He’d thought if he fenced himself in with all things good, there would be no cracks for the outside world - the real world, full of misery and deceit - to seep through. He’d kept his hands occupied by brushes, by thorns, by a million little material things.

He hadn’t realised all he needed was yours, warm in his.

You put your love and trust into people not things, you tell him.

They’ll leave, he says about humanity - about that precarious nature that both beguiles and terrifies him.

But they’ll love you back, you remind him.

The confession comes at the end of summer, edges past the cage of his teeth into the quiet of the evening. It comes and comes, so softly he thinks you might laugh, corners of your eyes wrinkling like the sheets in which you’re bare.

Maybe it’s the way your hair falls over your shoulders, a curtain he aches to part, to feel beneath his hands. Maybe it’s the way you look at him with hungry eyes and wet lips and teeth that could crumble all of his walls as if they were made of papier-mache.

Maybe it’s just you, skin like silk and eyes like the night sky.

“I think I love you,” Taehyung states, careful, with his entire heart in his hands.

“You think?

He nods, although he mustn’t. He can’t, he reminds himself.

And yet he does, because there is no denying how well you fit each other’s curves, the truth that you are two pieces of the same puzzle. He wakes up early each day with the taste of you still on his tongue, the memory of you seared into his palms. Your body has become his home and it is real, flesh and blood, not broken bones buried six feet under.

You fill his silence with your laughter; it sounds like redemption and feels like hope.

Before he knows it, seasons change.

Autumn becomes a waiting room, a time between the unyielding heat of summer and the unbearable cold of winter. Taehyung loves the quiet of it, the progression as steady as the chill that creeps beneath his clothes, within his bed - everywhere but in his head.

He remembers his mother, his home, all the things he’s lost. He pays homage to the woman who had raised him right but left too soon. He finds the places she’d told him about and folds secrets into their corners. He creates new memories, introducing his present to his past. You call her mamman and tell her not to worry, promising that you’ll take care of him.

He lives beneath the fading leaves that serve as a benchmark for which to measure the growth he’s undergone. He imagines his life in film, in rolling scenes laid out in sepia tones. He imagines weeks passing by and versions of himself doing the things he loves most.

Laid out under the copper sky, your head in his lap and a brush in his hands. He doesn’t need to look at you - can fit you among the pages purely from memory. The turn of your smile, the twinkle in your stare, the little freckle just beneath your lip. He sees you in his dreams and he commits them to paper, filling his sketchbook as you fill his thoughts.

Wandering the streets, hand in hand, guided by your laughter and the smell of warm pastry. Bare legs, echoing footsteps, the sight of your smile when he’s said something particularly funny. You cry Mon chéri! and force a cherry between his lips, savouring the tart taste under the afternoon sun.

Upon your balcony, skin searing beneath high noon and the feel of your mouth. He lets you paint him - sits terribly still as you show him who he really is - stripping his pretenses with each pass of your brush. He is bare but not broken, a beautiful boy painted in earth tones and paired with intense eyes.

Taehyung tells you your painting is beautiful and that he loves it - that he loves you.

tag list. @neverthefirstchoice @youwannabelostandnotbefound @snackhobi

453 notes · View notes

avengerscompound · 6 years ago

Text

Hiraeth

Hiraeth: A Stucky Fanfic

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing: Steve Rogers x F!Reader x Bucky Barnes

Word Count: 1775

Warnings: angsty, probs some adult themes.

Synopsis: Steve misses his home and gets caught up in his memories of it.

A/N: For @until-theend-oftheline ‘s #MCU Beautiful Words Challenge using the prompt Hiraeth.

Hiraeth

Hiraeth: A homesickness for a home you can’t return to, or that never was.

It’s funny how when you look back at your past it’s through rose tinted glasses. It’s always the good old days when you spoke about them. You always think about the things you missed and not about the stuff that made your life hard.

Steve missed so much. He missed his mother with a burning ache. Sometimes in that zone between waking and sleep, he’d think about the life he had now, the one he shared with you and Bucky and for a split second, he’d forget Sarah was gone and want to tell her. The immediate and sudden realization she’d died around 65 years ago was almost like losing her all over again.

He missed the Howlies. The first group of people he really had thought of as friends. He missed their humor and snark and the way he knew they had his back. He had wished he had gotten to see what had become of them. What their lives had panned out like. He missed that he had missed that.

He missed Peggy. He missed her smile. Her ability to take absolutely no shit from anyone. The way she never let herself be intimidated. The way she saw him. The real him in a way no one else really did. Aside from his mom and Bucky that was. He missed that he never had a life with her. He imagined what that life would have been like and it was so different from the one he had now. Not the white picket fence, but closer to that than what he had now.

He would look back on that life and see this big mass of missed potential. Of children that were never born. Weddings that were never had. Cookouts never held. Family dinners never eaten. A mother’s pride he had yet to earn even though it had been freely given. Thinking of his old life was like a dull ache, and while he hated himself for thinking it, a large part of that was because he missed Bucky.

God, how he hated himself for thinking things like that. He had Bucky now. He had him more completely than he had ever had him back then. He just missed seeing that smile that wasn’t weighed down with years of suffering. He missed the way he could talk and talk and talk and always seem excited. He missed how he got dragged out on dates he didn’t want to be on, with women who wouldn’t look twice at him. He missed the Bucky he grew up with and he hated himself for it.

“What’re you doing?” You asked as you and Bucky filed into the room, your arms laden down with shopping bags.

Steve looked up from the archive box he had open on the floor and smiled. It wasn’t that he dwelled in the past. There was a time he did. When he first woke up it was like the only things he felt were a mixture of isolation, regret and a deep desire to one day fall asleep and wake up and find out it had all been some fever dream he had. It wouldn't be the first time he had one. Or if that couldn't happen, perhaps he could not wake up at all.

He had adapted though. He had made the best for himself and truth be told he quite liked this new life. He loved his new friends. They were smart-mouthed and intelligent and didn't take his shit. He liked working for the Avengers. Sometimes it felt like he might be trapped doing it. That he was fighting the same fight over and over and there was nothing he could do, nothing would ever actually change. Still, he did believe in the fight and if he could hold back the people that wanted to oppress others to some extent, he would.

Most of all he loved his life with you and Bucky. You were like this breath of fresh air in his life. Even though you hadn’t known him back when he was small, so he could never know for sure, he didn’t think you would have rejected him. You were kind and your heart was open. You had been so good for Bucky. As much as he had wanted to be the only one Bucky needed, that wasn’t going to be the case. Steve knew Bucky felt guilty about not being who he used to be, just like Steve felt guilty for missing him. With you, Bucky would relax and be himself. If it meant he was quiet and standoffish, you had a way that made him feel comfortable enough to do it. You could reach out and make him feel wanted but also heard. Steve was trying to learn that himself. He really was. For him, you were the future. The promise of a life that maybe wasn’t the one he had expected, but the one he wanted and actually fit the person he was.

Bucky might not totally be the guy he missed. He was in there though. He was still fiercely loyal and had a strong need to protect people who were weaker than he was. He was still loving. He still loved new technology. He was still a snarky little shit when he wanted to be. He was a new person too. There was a lot to love about the quiet Bucky. The one that had gotten a new love for cooking and loved taking in stray pets.

So he didn’t dwell in the past.

He just missed it.

“I got a few boxes sent to me from the Smithsonian.” He explained. “I periodically ask for my stuff back. They hate it. They think it’s theirs, which is kind of what museums are known for I guess. Unfortunately for them, they actually don’t have a leg to stand on. So when I ask they go into their archive and send me some of the things they don’t think they’ll use.”

“Anything interesting?” You asked taking a seat beside him.

“Oh yeah, this is a good lot.” He said, taking out some photographs. “There are some photos of us as kids. Here look,” He handed a photograph of the two of them as boys together at Brighton Beach. “That was a good day. We had fun.”

“Is that how you remember it?” Bucky asked. “I remember you not hearing when some guys kicked their football in your direction. Wanting to fight them for calling you a jerk for not kicking it back. It setting off your asthma which in turn made something happen to your heart and you passed out. Your mom had a fit and we had to take you to the hospital.”

Steve dropped his eyes. He’d forgotten that. Health things he tended to box up and put to the side. He hated remembering how painful it was to even exist before taking the serum.

He shuffled thing around and pulled out a small ring box. “I got my mom’s engagement and wedding ring.” He held out the box to you. You took them and opened it looking at the simple bands sitting in the box. “I’d always thought I might propose to someone with that. I guess with…” He indicated to the three of you. “I won’t be doing that.”

Bucky took the box from you and looked at them. “That’s cool. I wonder who got my ma’s.”

Steve looked up at him. “Becca maybe?”

Bucky nodded. “Yeah. I should look her up. I just… she’s probably…”

Steve saw that loss in his eyes. That feeling of missing out on a life he was supposed to have. Steve put his hand on Bucky’s leg. “Maybe, maybe not. She might have had kids though. You could be an uncle.”

Bucky furrowed his brow like he was mulling over what the implication of that was. “Maybe you could give these to our kids one day.”

Steve tilted his head and assessed him for a second. He pictured the potential of a life the three of you could have together. Maybe a house and some room for the animals that Bucky had been talking about. Kids. Two or three.

“Buck, you ever just feel homesick for the past?” He asked.

Bucky nodded. “Sure. Kinda had something really fucking shit happen to me that I wish hadn’t happened.” He said. “But I try not to focus on it. I have both of you. Didn’t have that back then.”

You smiled and ran your hands through Bucky’s hair and he leaned into it, humming softly.

“You had me back then,” Steve said.

Bucky shook his head. “No, I didn’t. Not like this. I wanted it, but you and I both know it wouldn’t have happened. Even if we did get up the courage to live that way, how long would I have had you for? You’re homesick for something that was never real. This is. Besides,” He pulled you down into his lap and nuzzled into your neck. “Someone wasn’t even their parent's happy thought back then.”

You squealed and started giggling. “Bucky!”

He kissed your cheek and you held out your hand to Steve. He took it and leaned in against you both. “I sometimes miss my home too. It sucks you can’t go back. I can tell you, whenever I do I just remember how far I’ve come and how glad I am that I’m not there anymore. Sometimes you just need that.” You said.

Steve looked at you and smiled softly. “Maybe you could take the rings for now?” He suggested. “I mean, we can’t exactly all get married, but I feel like we already are.”

You put your hand to your heart. “Really?”

“Yeah. Really. If you want to.” Steve picked up the box and took the small gold band with the small round cut diamond set into it. You offered him your hand and he slipped it on your finger. The look of pure joy on your face at that moment. How your eyes shimmered with tears that you were doing your best to hold back. The way that Bucky wrapped his arms around your waist and nuzzled into your neck while his legs moved so they were draped over Steve’s lap. They reminded Steve of what he had now. What was real and tangible and not just hope for something that could have been or might be someday. He had love and a family and a place in the world. He needed to live in it.

#mcu beautiful words challenge #steve rogers #bucky barnes #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #stucky #steve rogers x bucky barnes #stucky x reader #steve rogers x reader x bucky barnes #captain america fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #reader insert #hiraeth

473 notes · View notes

waitingtobeimpressed · 5 years ago

Text

Fragile (1/?)

Bellamy Blake x Oc

Lemony (elle) Randall

‘Elle’ pronounced ‘L’.

The low buzzing of various machines and mechanical structures fell in sink with each other as Elle sighed and rolled over on her cell cot for at least the hundredth time in the past hour. It was no use, she finally decided and forced her aching body into a sitting position. Her pounding head and her already blurry vision became worse as she strained to see the three grey wall’s in front of her. In a sleepless haze, she attempted to locate her too weak prescription glasses which should have been just under her bed where she left them. She couldn't feel them so Elle rested her whole body weight on her front and looked under the bed, finding that her glasses had mysteriously moved towards the back wall.

“ Why me?” She grunted as she sat up again and asked if she really needed them to survive. The answer was, of course, yes, but Elle really didn't want to have crawl under her bed to retrieve them. Sighing again she flopped onto the floor and stretched her arms forwards, almost grasping one of the frail frames. After a few minutes of this meaningless struggle, she decided to just face the thick layer of dust that stuck to the floor like carpeting and grabbing the frames of her ugly glasses.

“God I hate you” She mumbled as she slid back out from underneath the bed and placed the glasses on top of her head, using them instead to hold her hair back from falling into her face rather than to actually see with.

Elle Stood up and brushed off the remaining dust off of her black worn jeans and a simple v-neck khaki t-shirt. She pushed the remainder of her golden blonde hair off of her shoulders and proceeded to make the bed she had attempted to sleep in.

Sleeping had always been hard for Elle. She didn't know whether it was the lack of human contact or the amount of noise the Ark provided that kept her up but on the bright side now she had more time to think. In another life Elle thought that she might have been an author; she loved to think up stories of what if? But most of the time she just thought about how different her life would be if she was wanted.

Elle was not a prisoner of the Ark in the way that the only crime she had committed was being born at the wrong time in the wrong year with the wrong chancellor being in command. This evidently led to her current situation, standing in the middle of the room she at called home for almost 18 years. On her eighteenth birthday, Elle would be allowed to go to trial and enter the population of the ark. That promise was the only thing keeping her sane but the thought of being surrounded by people utterly terrified her.

Just as Elle had finished clearing her bed a sharp knock erupted throughout the room and her blue eyes quickly darted to the door. She looked over at the clock hanging on her wall and noticed that no guard should be here yet with her daily ration. She furrowed her eyebrows in confusion but complied with the standard protocol with Elles type of case, which stated that if a door is knocked upon in a prison cell, the prisoner had 30 seconds to move to the centre of the room so the guards may enter. Elle Moved to the centre of the room just in time for a young guard to walk in with a panicked expression on his face. Elle noted to herself that the boy didn’t look much older than her self and she felt herself go numb with anxiety. He didn’t act the same as the other guards. Seeming kinder and understanding. It must have been his first day.

“ Hands behind your back,” he said and quickly glanced at the wall on the other side of the door, where all of her info was kept, “ Lemony?” He smirked, finding her Name quite amusing.

“ I actually prefer prisoner 743 or Elle, is that not still written up there?” she mumbled under her breath.

the boy looked immensely confused and began to step back slightly to look back at the wall before he realized that she was kidding.

“ohh a witty one!” he mocked to try and hide his rose-tinted cheeks.

Elle rolled her eyes, ‘no not really’, but complied quickly and quietly, not wanting to get into any trouble at all. She looked at the Boy and noticed he was in quite a hurry to move her. He softly grasped onto the pale flesh of her upper arm. The boy had longish Black curly hair, which corresponded with his perfect olive skin and freaked cheeks. He was handsome which only made Elle feel even more awkward.

The boy hurriedly led Elle out of her cell and into the outer skybox. Elle stared in awe as she stared at all of the of prisoners being led out of their own rooms and down a couple of paths and stairways until the reached a large room filled with seats. The room was half full people around her and the boy’s age she would have guessed but to be perfectly honest she had no idea. To the right of her, she noticed a ladder And the guard urged her towards it almost like he was more eager to get out of sight than she was. Once she reached it Elle looked up and saw there were two more floors. She looked towards the guard who had his head turned to look anxiously and all of the people who were already sat down like he was looking for someone. when he noticed that Lemony Wasnt moving he looked at her with a furrowed expression on his face.

“ You going up or not, Darl’in?” he said and as soon as the words rolled off of his tough Elle’s cheeks turn a dark crimson.

“Do I have a choice?” She asked as she glanced up again and gulped at the height she would have to climb.

He smirked, looking down at the floor and shaking his head. “Nope, not really,” he said and turned his head again. Another guard entered the room clutching a blonde girl as she lulled about unconsciously in his arms. She must have put up one hell of a fight for the guards to use a tranquillizer on her, Elle thought.

Elle glanced at the young guard again to see he was already looking at her, waiting for her to start moving. She took this as her cue to climb up the thin ladder with the guard closely following behind. When she placed her feet on the second floor she felt the guards hand on the small of her back as he motioned for her to take one of the last seats on this level. As she did so Elle could feel everyone’s eyes boring into her. Her head began to race and she felt her cheeks heat up an unhealthy amount.

“ Who the hell is she?” she heard someone say. “does anyone know her?”

One girl looked up at her in awe and Elle looked back in pure confusion, “ She's so pretty” the girl once again shook her head. “I would recognise a face like that!”

“Probably got done for-” others laughed.

“Whore!” , “Slut!” more shouted and Lemony could feel the guard’s eyes linger on her figure.

“Oi! Sit down and shut up!” he bellowed At the young delinquents.

Elle felt a wave of emotion course through her body and she became light headed. She wasn’t used to people at all so when they began to taunt her she was submerged, drowning almost. Blinking rapidly she attempted to refocus her mind on something else. Her anxious thoughts consumed her and fuzzy black dots began to fill her vision. Elle felt as if she might faint until her eyes eventually closed and she could no longer make out the hushed murmurings that surrounded her.

“Hey.” A quiet voice whispered. Elle could just make out the sound of people cheering as she felt a cool breeze tickle against her face. she felt someone shaking her shoulders.

“Hey, wake up.” The same voice stated a little louder than before. She felt her eyes involuntary flutter open but immediately close again as a bright light penetrated her vision.

As her vision somewhat cleared she could see a dark-skinned boy kneeling in front of her, his hand was lightly smacking her face in an effort to wake her.

“My glas-ses?” she trembled, as tears began to prick at her eyes. She felt sick to her stomach, her whole body aching as her joints unstiffened and she became more fluid. Lemony felt like she had just walked ten thousand miles only to be hit by a truck.

“Oh, sure,” he said as he reached up above her head and carefully removed them from her unruly hair. The boy opened up her glasses and placed her on her nose so that she could see.

“I’m Well’s by the way” he grinned sweetly, noticing Elle’s stressed state. She forced a smile back and wiped her salt sodden cheeks with the sleeve that was tightly grasped between her fingers, turning her knuckles an ugly shade of white.

“Elle, My name is Elle.” She sniffed. Elle glanced around the room and noticed that she and Wells were the only two left on this floor. However, people were still filing down the ladder from the floor above.

“Where is everyone going? We only just sat down.” She asked wells who was still trying to unbuckle her tight seat belt. Apparently, her belt hadn’t automatically opened like everyone else. Just her fucking luck.

When Elle looked back at Wells’ face she saw shock evident on his face.

“ What was the last thing you remember?” He asked, still trying to free her from to restraints.

“ Well, I was led into a room, made to climb a ladder and then forced to sit in this seat. After that, I listened to people call me a whore just because they didn’t recognise me, which is completely beside the point because if I was the Arks whore all of those twats would have known me because I guarantee that no girl in her right mind would put up with that amount of douchebaggery unless she was being paid.” She muttered bluntly which caused Wells to roll his eyes.

“ Okay, Smartass.” Wells smiled. Eventually, he managed to forcefully unlock her and held out one of his hands to take, Elle accepted but as soon as her body straitened she became light headed again and swayed against Wells’ body.

“Let’s get you downstairs with the others,” He said in a soft voice before grasping her wrist and leading her towards the Ladder. Wells went down first and when his feet firmly planted on the ground he took a few steps back and expectantly looked up. He smiled at her unwillingness and shook his head.

“Come on L.” He smiled. God this boy was smiley. Elle huffed and grasped onto the ladder tightly before making her quick descent. Once she too made it on to the bottom floor the presence of people cause her breath to hitch in her throat and butterflies formed in her stomach. She looked at Wells who was staring at the boy who had escorted her onto the dropship.

The boy tightly hugged a girl who had just walked up to him, her long brown hair effortlessly cascading down her back.

“What the Hell is going on Wells?” Elle whispered into his ear as the guard’s eyes locked with hers briefly.

“We’ve landed” he muttered in utter disbelief.

“Wha-” Elle started but was cut by the loud hissing.

#bellamy blake #bellamy blake x reader #bellamy x oc #the 100 #bellamy #octavia blake #clarke griffin #finn collins #wells jaha #john murphy #season 1 #angst #anxitey

11 notes · View notes

megamegaturtle · 6 years ago

Text

gorgeous (chapter one)

Spencer Reid x Reader Fic

No Rating

Ao3

Summary: You're early for your first day at work, but the universe is a funny thing where butterfly wings cause hurricanes from a wing’s single flutter. A story about how you and Spencer become friends and one day lovers.

WC: 11K

(First Criminal Minds Fanfic. Here goes nothing!)

Everything has a beginning and an end and yours starts when you pass through security at 8:05 AM. You're early for your first day at work, but the universe is a funny thing where butterfly wings cause hurricanes from a wing’s single flutter. Being early by 25 minutes has that effect as well, events brewing in your future that you won’t see until years later. Your every movement spins with faster velocity, creating a pressurized cyclone wherever you go. Gales under your fingertips as the world goes round and round and round.

Your true beginning started a few years prior, where you luckily got a job working in the administration and payroll department at your regional Census Bureau Office. Who knew that serendipity laced fingers with surveys and data of the American population? Who knew life held on tight as you moved your trajectory to where you are now?

It was a nice pre-beginning, a small start towards a government career you always wanted and maybe you weren't an analyst right then how you dreamed, but payroll paid well and—life in Los Angeles can only be so exciting and—there was a posting in the FBI and—

(You have always been defined by your ambitions, by your zeal, your need to strive and chase after things and be better and life had been so stagnant and—)

You applied, were interviewed three months later, and waited six months and thirteen days to receive your final offer after that. Waiting and waiting and waiting because bureaucracy is slower than glaciers moving in the Arctic. Slower than drip coffee pods when the machine is clogged. Slower—than waiting for your period to start when you are ten years old because your best friend had hers at nine.

(At twelve when it happens, you think maybe it began all too soon. Maybe childhood should have tried a little harder to cling on you.)

And then life springs into action, butterfly wings causing hurricanes in the Gulf of Mexico and the Caribbeans and the world is ending as there is an onslaught of terrible news every day and yet—

You get a job in the FBI. In a Bureau people actually know by name. A step closer to prestige and recognition as you sign your name on the dotted line of your new contract. A step closer to an image you’ve always wanted for yourself because you want to be someone important. You want and want and crave to be someone important.

It’s human nature, you’re told, to see that grass is greener on the other side and you try hard to humble your roots, but the sun shines so bright as the future promises good things for those who work hard. And you’re not the kind that gives up, not the kind that goes home if there is work to be done, not the kind who says no to when opportunity knocks.

(Pride will continue to be your biggest folly, a double edged sword that is painfully sharp with a wobbly handle.)

You are a new admin and timekeeper clerk for a bureau built on secrets and hidden information. It's a stepping stone like how going to grad school was a stepping stone, how working for the Census was a stepping stone, how this will be a stepping stone to being an analyst or researcher or—

(Anything will do. You just. Want to work with information. You want something fast paced. You want something that makes you think. Puzzles. Calculations. People. And you can be cross trained and transfer because once you’re in, you’re in and you just—you just—

You want to think.)

You wear an outfit you've kept from all your precious new beginnings, wearing a milestone ring on one hand, wearing milestone earrings too. Gifts to yourself for being better than you were yesterday. Jewels to reward yourself because someone has to love you and you love yourself. Sometimes. With therapy. Reminders to yourself that hard work will see you through to as many as tomorrows you’re willing to see.

You wear a plum colored dress with plum colored lipstick. Contour carves out your cheekbones and you angled dark purple blush to make you look striking. You wear winged eyeliner and waterproof mascara that can thankfully hold a curl. You feel powerful, otherworldly as people smile a bit brighter and the several security guards all comment they have never seen a lipstick match a woman's dress so perfectly.

This is your reckoning. A beautiful, colorful storm and no one will ever be ready.

(Butterfly wings flutter against your heart and your stomach and metals that wrap around your finger and pierces through your ears anchor you to this moment, become armor from nerves that start to accumulate at the levys, threatening to flood every quarter of your being.)

But everything comes back to serendipity, to fate working in mysterious ways and metaphorical hurricanes as you wander the halls of Quantico, looking for Human Resources which is tucked away in some odd room by the vending machines the guard told you about because of remodeling and—

You round the corner quickly, happiness and giddiness soaking in your veins as you think of your higher pay grade, a song in your smile. A brilliant tune of glistening silver and persuasive chimes. Earbuds in each ear as you play your favorite song of the moment one more time, the words on your lips and a hum in your heart. Vocal courage, you think, as you sing your most favorite line quietly and maybe too much excitement as you bump into another human being and…

All their files go tumbling to the ground, clashing like thin cymbals and fanning like ocean waves.

The music that rang with every step fades as reality comes rushing back, your rose tinted glasses cracking into something useless. You blink once, then twice as the concept of manners come back to you, your mortality recognized as you are filled with acute embarrassment. A surprised gasp escapes your lips as you see the mess scattered around a man’s feet. You tear off your earbuds and tuck them back into your purse, music still blaring from the tiny speakers.

Mindful of your dress, you hurriedly get to your knees and help the man pick up the files you rudely knocked away from his person.

Papers are everywhere as you collect them, trying to be as neat as you can. Without looking at him, you say, “I am so, so, so sorry. I—ah, today is my first day and I am a bit excited…” you babble. “I just—you know, new career and ah—”

(Your pride is a shaky thing, battle armor useless once you interact with another human being and you’re reminded that purple lipstick can’t erase social fumbles.)

He laughs, the first sound you hear him make. “No, it’s fine. Thanks for helping me pick these all up.”

Your bangs cover your eyes as you grab a page tucked under a bench. “Of course. I hate it when people just like…walk away or something. Biggest pet peeve ever.”

He hums in agreement.

You two work for a few more moments gathering the fallen files, once you have a generous stack in your hands you look up finally, stunned a little at a smiling handsome face. Long curly hair and hazel eyes greet you as pleasant warmth spreads into your own girn.

(Oh, your heart was not ready. Not ready at all for someone so cute this before you had a second cup of coffee.)

You check your watch and see it’s about 8:20 AM, panic brushing your insides again as you quietly squawk about the time. You hurriedly stand up as he does the same, noting with abject humor that he towers over your extremely small frame.

(He grins a little unexpectedly wider when he realizes you’re so tiny even in heels.)

You extend the stack in the space between you and help him gather it into his arms. You adjust the strap of your purse, time ticking in your ears.“I’m sorry about bumping into you again. Hopefully there’ll be no more collisions today. ”

He nods, looking at you a little brighter. “Ah, yeah. That might be good.”

You smile and wave goodbye at him, glancing down at your watch once more. “Yeah. Anyway, I hope you have a great day, Mystery File Guy. I gotta run and try not to be late for paperwork. Whoo!”

He fixes the papers to rest more comfortable in his arms, bidding you a feeble wave. “Good luck on your first day.”

“Thanks,” you beam, happiness fluttering in your being.

As pride will always be your folly, honesty with always be your strength so you’re not surprised when you pause and let the words fall from your lips in complete sincerity.

“By the way, before I go, I just wanted to say you’re really gorgeous and I hope you have an awesome day.”

The man snaps his attention at you from a page he was examining, caught off guard as he tries to reply. Honesty colors his expression, the unperceived positivity shocking him. Somehow he whispers his words of thanks.

You giggle as you turn on your heel to embark on a new journey in the FBI.

(It dawns at you hours later you forget to ask for his name.)

(Unbeknownst to you, he thinks the very same.)

You learn his name is Spencer Reid.

Doctor Spencer Reid to be precise and this is where everything starts to go downhill because the other day you called a man with eidetic memory gorgeous. You called a man with three PhDs and two BAs (maybe three if you heard the humor correctly about philosophy) gorgeous. And the universe works in funny ways because you’ll be his new timekeeper and write his paychecks and—

Dear lord, he’s everything you’ve ever inspired to be wrapped up in a generally nice person as your new supervisor introduces you the Behavioral Analysis Unit and he’s there.

The man you bumped into.

The one named Doctor Spencer Reid.

In the back of your mind, you’re aware that he will not forget this because he does not forget anything and you try not to stutter, but you stutter your name anyway and he gives you a look of confusion because a few days ago you were this striking young woman you told him he was attractive and you know and he knows that and—

The universe works in funny ways as your growing admiration for the man before you makes you unable to speak.

(He’s everything you’ve ever wanted to be.)

(You don’t realize until years later that he’s everything you’ve ever wanted.)

You rarely have to speak to Doctor Reid which makes you count your lucky stars as months go by because talking to him is impossible because you have so many questions and questions and questions and—

You might have read a lot of his papers. It begins innocently enough. You’re just Googling him—for science and/or morbid curiosity—and there he is in Google Scholar and then you find his website that a friend runs and… Okay, you don’t really understand the math behind them, but the theories are understandable and you wish you were just as accomplished and talented.

And when you hear his name you feel a little more centered and focused because you’ve always needed a goal, you’ve always needed inspiration, and what is more inspiring than watching a young genius be so good at striving?

The East Coast is a little lonely, you think, one early winter day. Sunny California is across a vast continent and maybe, maybe, maybe you were a little rash when you packed up and left because adventure was calling you, but the East Coast is a little lonely.

Watercolor art prints and patterned sofa cushions can only keep you so much company. Who will see your teal and golden plates? Who will to come over to play video games and watch movies snuggled under fluffy throw blankets? Who will you invite to dinner one night after you cooked all day?

Your lovely apartment isn’t as warm with just one body. You need someone to talk to minus the lonely girl in you find in every mirror you own.

(Granted, there is nothing wrong admiring the self, just you can only tell your own joke so many times until it stops being funny.)

But friendship finds you fast one morning as you walk to the BAU and find the local tech analyst to certify timesheets for her colleagues.

(Sure, you could have dialed her extension, but sitting is the new silent killer and well—there is nothing wrong with meeting people. You can only talk to Mary for so long. The woman could easily be your grandmother.)

Your heels click once last time as you stand outside her door, hearing her voice muffled through the thick material. You pause with your fist raised and wait for her to stop speaking, not wanting to interrupt. But after awkwardly standing outside her door for five minutes, you think it’s best to try again later.

You sigh to yourself and turn to leave when the door swings wide open.

“Oh, a visitor!” she squeaks, asking about your name.

You clear your throat and tucking fallen hair behind your ear. “Yep, that’s me. Um, Ms. Garcia, I just wanted you to certify these timesheets are correct? I was told to ask you when Agent Hotchner wasn’t on site.”

She’s wearing a lovely shade of oxblood lipstick, her teeth far more than pearly when she smiles at you. “Yeah, the team just finished up their latest case and will be on their way home soon.” She glances at you and moves out of her door. “Come inside and I’ll sign these for you, alright?”

You nod and enter her office. There are computer monitors everywhere, much like a spy movie. “Thank you, if I’m not too much a bother. You seemed—like you were about to maybe leave?”

She plops herself in a rolly chair and laughs, logging back into her computer to e-sign if she needs to. “I sometimes get a little stir crazy in here, but my precious angels saved the day as usual so I thought I would get some fancy coffee or something.”

You like her outfit, you like the swirls and shapes of her dress. You like her snowflake earrings and headband and the way she smiled when she saw you was so cute you can’t help but ask.

“I’m about to go on my lunch. We can...we can go together if you’d like?”

(Winter is such a lonely season and you're desperate to connect with someone, to make sure that this move was worth it.)

Ms. Garcia peeks at you over the rim of her glasses, a friendliness in her very smile. “I think I’d like that very much. Lord knows I have to know where you got your blush!”

You laugh and find that in the months to come, things are less lonely with a new friend.

(The answer is you shop indie; loose powder blushes are best with a light hand.)

You go home for Christmas and run into your ex-boyfriend. Your heart calls out to him, wanting so much to pick up where you left off because you haven't stopped loving him yet.

He's smart, makes you laugh, is the one you've known for so long, that that familiarity is hard to replace.

As he kisses you, you realize he feels the same.

(He told you once that his home is California, but now he tells you that his home is with you.

A dark part of you wonders how long he’ll keep this claim.)

Winter snow melts and the seeds you planted in your friendship with Penelope bloom into soft laughter and happy conversations. You have someone whose office you run towards when paperwork gets boring and—

And she listens to your hopes and dreams as you crave to do more.

“My job,” you tell her, “is stupidly easy. Everything I do is stupidly easy which is fun and all, but I just…want to do more.”

Penelope laughs. “Okay, but I think payroll would hard. Like, really, dollface, there is nothing simple you do.”

You shake your head. “Nah, I used to work at a car dealership and I had to do all the math by hand. I had to learn how to do sales commissions by hand in about a month’s time. And while it was time consuming, even that wasn’t that hard. They’re just numbers, you know?” You groan. “I was just hoping for something a bit more fast paced, but I finish all my work so quickly and stuff? They’re running out of new tasks for me to learn because I keep getting them all.”

Penelope takes a sip of her coffee. “You should come work for me. I’d keep you busy! Plus, the department over here is a little understaffed in general.”

“Haha, maybe I can come train with you at least when I finish some of my other work?”

Garcia looks at you, thoughtful for a moment, and then grins. “Let me see what I can do.”

You get caught in an elevator with Doctor Reid. You avoid speaking to him still, but you have a notification setup that you get an email if he writes a new paper.

His latest one was about the mathematics for poetry formatting in books and how there is an algorithm to which poems are deemed best. It was a lovely weekend morning read. You left an anonymous comment on the journal’s page.

(You dug out your grad dissertation on universal global feminism and you’ve always wanted to rewrite it and submit for publication. You started a new document on Sunday.)

“Good morning,” he says.

You mumble the greeting in return, wincing internally that this will only add to your fumble tally.

He notices your bracelet, a lovely arrangement of turquoise cast in silver. A gift from your grandfather.

“Did you know,” he starts, “that the ancient Egyptians thought turquoise was a holy stone that brought good luck? And it’s goddess, Hathor, was a cow goddess and the mother, wife and daughter of the sun god, Ra. She was known as ‘Lady of Turquoise’, ‘Mistress of Turquoise’ and ‘Lady of Turquoise Country’.”

You briefly glance at him, taking a mental note to look up more about her when you get home. You’re about to respond, say please continue, enquire more because you want to know more...when the elevator dings and you—and you—

—panic as usual.

You brush by him, whispering, “Interesting.”

(You’re reminded when you had a Japanese teacher in college who told that Americans only say “interesting” when there is nothing nicer to say, but you know that’s not true. It was interesting and fascinating and left you wanting more! You know it’s not true, you just can’t…befriend Doctor Reid.

He’s far too cool to be your friend, you think.)

Long distance is hard, but seeing Matthew’s face after a long day is worth so much. It’s dark in your room, your hair in a lazy bun with your big headphones your ears as you both video chat.

It’s getting close to 1:00 AM and you’re rambling about what happened in the elevator the other day. How awkward you were, how adorable Doctor Reid was.

Matt laughs, his voice a familiar balm for your anxiety. “Babe, I hate to break it to you, but it sounds like you have a crush on this doctor guy,” he tells you with an easy smile.

You loudly snort and bury your face in your pillow. “Matt, don't be ridiculous! Besides the only doctor I need is the one who I'm gonna marry,” you tease.

(Marriage is a fickle subject for you, both wanting a future together, but each of you stepping forward and back and your feelings hardly sync.)

He pauses for a moment, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Well...if I get into Georgetown, then I think I can make that a reality.”

Doctor Reid’s comment in the elevator starts a fixation on knowing the meaning on every stone you own.

Pearls are for wisdom acquired through experience. They are also used to calm oneself and to balance out one’s karma. Natural pearls form when an irritant - usually a parasite and not the proverbial grain of sand - works its way into an oyster, mussel, or clam. As a defense mechanism, a fluid is used to coat the irritant. Layer upon layer of this coating, called 'nacre', is deposited until a lustrous pearl is formed.

Diamonds are created out of pure carbon. They have very strong crystal structure where the carbon atoms in the crystal are especially strongly bonded. They can form octahedral (classical diamond), trapezoidal and dodecahedral crystals. Diamonds represent faithfulness, love, purity, innocence, and relationships filled with love.

Emeralds are for hope; to help tranquilize a troubled mind. The characteristic live green color of this stone originates from chromium impurities built-in within its crystal structure at the positions of aluminum. Emeralds come from a stone called beryl. Lots of stones come for beryl.

For example, if there is too much blue in it, then it is an aquamarine. The Romans believed that if the figure of a frog were carved on an aquamarine, it served to reconcile enemies and make them friends.

(You’re not sure if Doctor Reid would appreciate a frog carved on an aquamarine.)

Two months later your supervisor calls you into her office and informs you that on Mondays and Wednesdays you will begin cross training with Penelope Garcia, provided there is no payroll that needs to be completed.

Butterfly wings find welcome in your heart again as your run back to your desk dialing her extension. She picks up on the very first ring.

“Thank you for dialing Penelope, the Fairy Godmother for admin clerks!”

You whisper loudly into the phone. “What did you do?”

Penelope chuckles and you can hear her shrug. “Nothing minus give you a challenge. Plus, if I train you, I can take more vacation days.”

You sink into your seat, disbelief seeping from your pores as you try to wrap your mind around everything. “But Garcia, I only know basic IT. I can’t even hack anything or anyone.”

“Oh, don’t worry, my sweet. You’re the one that said you’re a quick study.”

You scoff. “I meant for like! Simple things! I’m really not that smart.”

Garcia’s voice is warm over the phone. “Oh, I’ll be the judge of that. If you’re no good, I’ll send you back to admin full-time, but for now, be ready for next week!”

Your mother tells you she's so proud of you. So very proud of the young woman you’re becoming, happy that you’re seeking out good things out for yourself, so pleased that you’re living a life she didn’t get to have.

Matthew is oddly quiet at the news. He only sends a small congratulatory text and then proceeds to tell you about his day. He had avocado toast and is helping contribute to why millennials can’t afford houses.

It really bothers you when he does that. Ignores your successes because he thinks things are a competition between the two of you. Ignores your good things to shadow them with his bad.

(Recently he mentioned about applying to UCLA again. That California is a wonderful place and—

You tell yourself to be patient and just wait.)

You’ve always been one to like getting your feet wet, you’ve bragged enough times how you just jump into things without thinking it through. And the same is true come that Monday when the BAU is already hard on a case and you shadow and watch Garcia with amazing speed find all the information she needs.

You sit and shadow her, awe and fear rolling off you in waves.

Your mind spins after that first case, trying to keep up with everything, but you heart hammers happily in your chest and you feel breathless as you reason that you’ve been looking for this all along and—

Garcia smiles at you, warm and inviting.

“Show me what you can do, Miss Smartypants.”

(Lives were saved that day and you were apart of that.)

You properly meet Special Agent Derek Morgan on a night out with Penelope for dinner. His warm brown eyes size you up, see if you’re authentic or made of lies.

(Since you started therapy years ago, you no longer need to stitch yourself with false truths.)

You proudly grab his hand and give him a firm shake. “It’s wonderful to finally meet you. Penelope says you’re the light of her life.”

His smile widens as his fingers wrap around yours. “You know, my Baby Girl says the exact thing about you. Says you’re one of the smartest kids she knows.”

You scoff at that and roll your eyes. “She’s a flatterer who only wants vacation days. Truly, I have a wonderful mentor though.”

You sit with them on a late spring evening, enjoying good food and great company.

(You’re finding roots here, finding a home as people slowly begin to enter your life and call you their own.)

You mother calls you sounding tired. Her cancer has come back, but she goes to chemo every three weeks and is doing well.

You wish you weren’t so far from home, but she tells you she’s proud of you, proud of what you’re doing, proud of who you’ve become.

“You’re like me, my love, always chasing after something better.”

You see Doctor Reid in your local bookstore, browsing for something new to read. You’re doing much the same, perusing the oh so stimulating romance section.

You could say “hello” or ask what he’s reading next. You could ask him if he prefers paper or e-ink. You can ask him if he’d like to chat or discuss the weather or...

You could ask him a lot of things, but for some reason, anytime you see him, your bravery runs away.

(You don’t know this, but he sees you too. He’s at the same crossroads trying to befriend you.)

Penelope’s smile is so wide when you enter her office, two coffees in hand. “Why are you so happy?”

She spins in her seat and sighs with glee. “Oh, my wonderful and local genius has a girlfriend and gah, it makes me so happy!”

You giggle, “Well, that sure does sound wonderful! Congrats?”

She babbles about super genius babies as your mind drifts away. You wonder when your boyfriend will trek out East like you did too.

Doctor Reid doesn’t write for a long while. Can’t when you find out from a weepy Penelope that his girlfriend was murdered in front of him.

(He didn’t even touch her once and you find that’s far too intimate of information about a man you don’t even know and—)

You weren’t there when it happened, not training or shadowing. You went home to sunny California to visit your family and loved ones and yet—

Who knew that nine days away could change everything in a man’s life?

(Butterfly wings create hurricanes after hurricanes after hurricanes.)

Matthew breaks up with you via text.

I love you, but moving to the East Coast can't be part of my plans.

The message flashes over and over in your mind as you jab a punching bag. You don’t really know how to use a punching bag, but that’s besides the point as you smack at it away anyway. And since you don’t get field time, there’s no reason for you to have a gun. And maybe when someone is so angry, they shouldn’t want to practice shooting for the first time at the range.

You jab too swiftly to the right and your wrist bends in a way you’re positive it’s not supposed to and you hiss out in pain. In a fit, you kick the punching bag and it does little to soothe your building rage.

“Hey, hey, hey,” a concern voice says. It’s warm and kind, like milk and honey. “Pretty sure pretty girls like you should know how to put up a fight.”

You roll your eyes and cradle your wrist. “Hey, Morgan,” you say flatly.

He gestures to take a look at your wrist and he happily decides it's not broken. “So, what’s his name and how should I hurt him?”

He puts up both his fists and your mirror him, following his motions as he shows you how to punch correctly. You smile for the first time since this morning.

“His name is asshole and good riddance!”

(The calluses on your knuckles do little to ease your broken heart.)

Butterfly wings cause hurricanes and you’re sitting at a used car lot alone signing the contract for a 2012 BRZ in white. You’ve always wanted a sports car, wanted to learn how to fix one up, have a nice car to drive on pretty days, have one to call yours and—

Matthew didn’t think getting a second car would be worth it, said weekend cars were lame and—

—you realize once again, that things just aren’t the same.

You’re not very good at driving manual, and you stall about five times on the way home, but it’s okay.

Doctor Reid doesn’t come back to work right away. That makes sense. The love of his life just died in a most violent way.

But that doesn’t mean you don’t hurt a little, don’t feel any empathy. A life is gone from this world and now there seems to be a light missing.

(Will she be a star that watches over him and protects him? Does he even believe in those things?)

You might not be his friend, might never actually talk to him because he makes you tongue tied because you’re constantly afraid of fucking up in front of him so you always fuck up in front of him—

But that doesn’t mean you can’t send him your sympathies in an unsigned card, your heart going out to him as his remains missing.

(You kinda get the feeling.)

You might be, might be running yourself ragged as the months go on. Torn between payroll and the BAU, you can never get a moment’s rest. You’re in Garcia’s office more than just on Mondays and Wednesday. You’re there all the time, trying to soak up as much information as possible, learning the ins and the outs of her system, learning how to use computers in a way you’ve never thought before.

(You might use binary code to wash away every trace of Matthew from your mind. Try and try to forget him and just achieve.)

You’re taking over her little tasks slowly. Soon, you’ll run all of the inventory for all the field agents in the region, you’ll fix small problems, reset passwords, keep the world going and going as Garcia saves lives.

It’s hard work, being backup, but you go forth and try your best because this—this is what you’ve wanted all along.

It’s late one night as your eyes feel like they’re going to pool from your head. It was a payroll day and everything bad happens on payroll day, but you stay late in Garcia’s office long after she’s gone home to better familiarize yourself with her system.

It’s not hard, but there is a learning curve and just remembering all the things, all the little odds and ends.

Garcia is making you code a new program. She said it would be good to understand computer pathways. You want to pound your head against the desk, but you—you’re not the kind to give up. You’re almost there. You can do this by yourself because one day she won’t be here and you’ll have to help the team.

You refuse to give up and back away when you’re so close to something exciting and new and—

You see Doctor Reid pouring over paperwork when you go to get coffee and you feel slightly more renewed. If he can do it, then you can do it too.

You sit and close your eyes for a moment, finding yourself caught in the suspended reality of your body nodding off to sleep while your mind races. Black spots fill your vision despite you’re sure you’re still awake, but you’re not.

You wake hours later at the table in the kitchenette with a worn sweater around your shoulders.

(It looks oddly familiar.)

Fall welcomes you with open arms as you find yourself in Special Agent Aaron Hotchner's office a bright morning. You woke up at five, unable to sleep because today is the day and butterflies are swarming with every heartbeat.

You decided to wear dark red today with lipstick that looks much the same. You adorn yourself in pearls, praying for wisdom and maturity, for—

(Please remember to breathe, one breath, then two. In and out, out and in.)

You can—you can do this.

Hotchner sits across a dark wooden desk, a neutral expression on his face. “I see there is something you’d like to talk to me about?”

You nod, refusing to break under pressure because the man can read every micro expression. He can’t know there is tension between your shoulder blades. He also can’t know that it’s taking everything you have to not bounce your leg as nerves course through your whole body.

But the universe works in funny ways as it did almost two years ago, and events lead you to here as you catch a glimpse of Doctor Reid and you remember that this is where the man you most admire works and this is place your dearest friend works.

And this is the place you feel like you’ll belong because you’ve always been defined by your ambitions and this is no stepping stone, but somewhere you clawed to get to as you stayed up late for countless nights and learned how to code a computer in less than a year’s time and—

You square your shoulders back and let pride sing like your favorite song lyric.

You grab your resume and letter of reference from the folder sitting across your lap and push them across his desk. You read about this, performing a power play like successful businessman.

“I think it’s time you hire me, sir.”

Special Agent Aaron Hotchner gives you the briefest of pleased smirks as he takes your papers.

“Go on.”

Everything has a beginning and an end and yours starts when you pass through security at 8:05 AM. You're early for your first day at work, but the universe is a funny thing where you cause hurricanes because you have butterfly wings.

You greet the security team as you have done each morning, the sun shining brighter as it glistens spectacularly from a diamond milestone ring. It glows and sparkles with promises of a better future to come. You performed a small ceremony between you and this new opportunity.

You make your way up the elevators, finding friendly faces along the way. Today is a beginning, a new one for you, one you didn’t think you’d find but yet—

You’re the newest technician specialist for the BAU and they haven’t seen anything yet.

You’re ready.

You meet Hotchner in his office as he extends a warm hand and takes you to the meeting room where you are formally introduced to your new colleagues as Garcia’s new subordinate who will also do admin, payroll, IT, filing, inventory, and much more for the team.

“A jack of all trades, a master of none…” you start to say.

“...but better than being a master of one,” Doctor Reid finishes for you. He offers a small smile, an attempt, perhaps an olive branch.

(You want to reach out, you want to accept it like how Athena would want you to, but fear flashes fire in front of you and you...can’t.)

You swallow, your heart thudding in your chest, your smile falling, your tone more flat.

“Yes. Exactly.”

His own smile disappears, a slow descent like embers in the wind.

(Oh, you think with shaky feelings, maybe you’re not completely ready.)

You surprise the team with your efficiency, surprise them especially when you carry a crate and set up your desk in a half hour’s time. Your kettle sits on the corner of your desk, filled to the brim with steaming water.

You set up your packets of tea and line them up accordingly, place the sweetener in their container, organize your lipsticks and rollerball perfume bottles in their selected bin. You have knickknacks and things and a small plant.

You already knew which supplies you wanted, place every pen where it needs to go, setup your desktop and login, rearing and ready to go.

You surprise them with the snacks you have, always prepared with a bandaid and lint roller and anything thing one needs off hand.

You surprise them when you expedite their things and find files they need before they ask. You surprise them with extra thoughtfulness.

It’s only been two weeks.

(You ignore that your desk seats across from Doctor Spencer Reid. You ignore that fact, but you still politely offer him tea.

You no longer stutter, but butterflies dance on your tongue, the beats of their wings taking the rest of your words with them.)

You both politely exchange “hello” and “goodbyes” and work well enough when he requires something of you, but there’s a distance that stretches two years long of fumbles and weirdness and you’re not sure exactly how to take it away.

(You know he remembers every mistake. You know he knows ever ill attempt. You know he knows a lot of things, but you doubt he knows that you just want to be his friend.)

You know it’s wrong how you are able to laugh with the team, you being you and slipping your way to patch up the cracks effectively. It’s just how you are, you see the problem and fix it because you’re a fixer and—

—it’s so wrong when you can’t fix the awkwardness that sticks to you whenever you see Reid.

JJ smiles at you, but there is a distance in her smile, the same sizing you up, the same decision on the tip of her tongue that Morgan once gave you. She wants to know if you’re good enough, if you are quick enough, if you are enough.

She’s just too polite to directly ask.

You learn quickly that Doctor Reid is someone she cherishes most in the world, an underlying easiness and trust between them. Her son is the doctor’s godson. A bond of family and forever intertwining their lives.

However, there's a barrier between you and her as you continue to unsettle her.

And you're not sure how to branch the divide. How does one cross a desert in the middle of a sandstorm? How does one exit a forest but have no map? Yet the universe works in the funny ways and you find her struggling to carry heavy boxes. Wordlessly you take some from her and give her a hesitant from.

“Hi.”

JJ blinks then acknowledges you slowly. “...hey.”

“Tell me where to go, yeah?”

She blinks again, her mouth in a twitching line as thoughts speed through her head. After another pause, she nods and gestures not too far down the hall. “Follow me.”

It's a little stilted, but not impossible as you help her lift crates from one room to the next. There's a slight tension in the air; however, it does not hurt you. You don't mind. You're just trying to not dirty your dress.

After many quiet minutes, she gestures around the room. “Thanks,” she says as she wipes her hands on her jeans. “For everything. You're actually doing an awesome job.”

You feel warm at the unexpected praise, as if permafrost is melting. “Thank you,” you bashfully reply. “I'm still really nervous and I triple check everything no matter how small the job.”

Her firm mouth softens, understanding present in her blue eyes.”I was just like that when I first started. From media liaison to actual agent, micromanaging will always be my forte.”

You nod, sitting down and twisting your diamond ring. “Yeah, my business brain is good at it. It likes everything nice and organized.”

“Business brain?”

Your gaze meets her slightly before going back to your ring. “Yep, business brain. I’m much more relaxed when I’m not working. More chill, I guess? I just get really focused when I’m working so when I’m at home I kinda just...let my mind wander? Disarray doesn’t bother me as much and I’m quite messy much to my mother’s frustration.”

For the first time since you’ve met her, you hear JJ laugh because of you and it’s a nice sound. A bit warm and kind like she is. “I definitely know that feeling. The tunnel vision is real and by the time I get home, I just want to kiss my kid and husband. Who cares about dirty dishes when you get to lay in bed?”

Even though the two of you stand on opposite cliffs, the gap between you and JJ closes a bit more that day.

There will always be a gap between you, between the awkwardness that surrounds you when Doctor Reid is concerned. And he is one of JJ’s most precious people, a bond between them only needing glances, brimming smiles and inside jokes and—

JJ is more fond of you now, but you will not forget where her loyalty lies.

Will not forget where all their loyalties lie.

You have desks scattered around the office as the weeks go by and after forty-one days, you’ve accepted that your most central desk will continue to be the one right across from Doctor Reid. You tried to make yourself at home by one down the hall near the windows, in Penelope’s bat cave, and even at a small kiosk by counterintelligence.

But home is where your kettle is and the desk closet to the filtered water and the bathroom happens to also be the same once near Doctor Reid.

So you accept your fate and call that desk your home base, slowly giving that name to tell others where to find you if they need you. You say it in your emails, in your phone messages, in conversations had briefly in the halls.

“If you need me, I’ll be at my home base. The desk right across from Doctor Reid’s.”

(Of course, the other three get names as well: the windows, the bat cave, and the boondocks.)

But home base is yours as much as it is his in a way. It’s easier when he’s not there, when the whole team is away on a case and you can breathe without his all remembering eyes keeping detail of your every action. There is a freedom in doing the tasks without distractions and Doctor Reid’s eyes are inquisitive and curious things that follow your many movements throughout the day.

It’s unintentional, of course, the way his sight falls on your form when you’re there sitting across from him. They are not of lingering looks of longing from a lover or even jaded jealousy or fracturing frustration at the constant chatter. No, they are just learning eyes that can’t help but soak up information with their movement.

Maybe it comes from the fact that people have the eyes of a predator, always looking forward, always stalking, always hunting in slow motions. That humans have only survived so long by the ability to endure slowly, by always following, by tracing and remembering every detail. By pure stamina alone.

Sometimes you wonder if the Doctor realizes he’s a predator of memorization—of knowledge—his gift as easy as breathing, his mind a shimmering wonder. It—he—his mind unerves you. By one look and you feel exposed and the butterflies in your chest cavity break free and you feel very alone.

But you are just as human as he is, you think, so you continue to endure, continue to also look forward as you help a colleague reset his email and meet the Doctor’s quick instinctual glance with your heart hammering against your chest in both uncertainty and admiration.

If only you can be a predator of knowledge as he is, the world a book for your to reveal in every detail without forgetting, perhaps you would look at others so innocently and kindly without regard to their notice of your every movement.

You rarely speak full conversations with Doctor Reid. They are speechless and brief encounters as he tries to get you to open up. Mainly you just nod and listen before dashing. If you’re lucky, you avoid him before he sees you. But on the off chance you haven’t hidden yourself somewhere away in the vast building, he tries to talk to you.

(Bless him. Bless him because you’re awkward and you know that you shouldn’t be afraid but—

—the lingering fear of him always remembering your fumbles stops you from continuing.)

He’s tried jokes. Awful jokes about philosophy and physics. Little literary tidbits that delight your day. You smile small, your face feeling tight and you mutter you ever rude American interesting again and again and again.

Sometimes you switch it up. Sometimes you say “I see”.

But of course when you go home and have time to process, you cackle at his hilarity

He’s tried greeting you, asking you about your day, asks what you’re doing, but his very existence causes your hair to stands on ends and you don’t know why and you trying and so—you barely answer him.

“Hello.”

“It’s going well.”

“Working.”

Today you promise—will be different. You cannot continue to be like this around him as you grow closer to the people he loves most. You promised it will be different the day before and the day before that. But today’s a new day and you’re making coffee—

You feel cheerful at a dumb mug that’s ages older than you from your mother. A stupid mug for a worker in the cog and it’s faded yellow with the inside all marked up. You love this mug more than anything in the world because it reminds you how much time has passed since you were a little girl.

And you’ve always wanted to be just as hardworking, just as strong and powerful as the woman who raised you by herself for years and years and years until she found good love sometime later. You’ve always admired her and wanted to be like her and there was this dumb mug of hers that she said would be yours one day if you worked hard enough and—

It showed up in the mail a week ago, filled with all the sweets you adore most. Tucked inside rested a folded up note with her praise written carefully.

For my child, who has done everything I’ve ever wanted to accomplish and more. Who makes me proud every day and who will always be better than her yesterdays.

Love you more than anything in the world,

Mom

Joy surges deep within as you take a sip of coffee made from your press. Also a present that came with the mug. A glorious French press to only add to your stylish ambiance you’ve spent years crafting. Shining stainless steel glistening and gleaming as hot water simmers coarse ground beans into something delicious.

You feel a little complete, your back straighter than other days. Today will be the day you stop being a chicken and finally cease the awkwardness around Doctor Reid. It just has to be. You mote it be.

He comes in not too long after you’ve settled down while going over inventory for the department. He says hello to Morgan and Blake, and situates himself at his desk. He’s a little late, you notice, knowing that punctuality is important to him, but you ignore his slight frazzled rush as you recount the number of items you’re ordering.

Anxiety cements your stomach as you force yourself to look up and brave him a smile. You know it’s not your best, but you try as you steady your mug in your hand.

“Good morning, Doctor,” you say, meeting hazel eyes.

The mug is warm in your hands as you bring it to your lips to sip. You mentally pat yourself on the back.

He stares at you for a moment and gives you a tight nod. “Morning.”

In a flash, as if an idea has come to him, he’s searching for a paper in his stacks on his desk and you return to your inventory counting. It’s a start, you think. Just enough of something that you find yourself grinning a bit to yourself. You tally up the amount of one item and you’re quickly on to the next when he addresses you offhandedly.

“You know, you are lucky to work here,” he says.

Your pencil halts in your hand, a milimeter away from making a new checkmark in its column before you are entirely distracted. You swallow. You look back up, seeing he’s completely immersed in his search.

“I’m sorry, can you repeat yourself?”

Doctor Reid looks at you and smirks, though there is an oddness in his expression and you’re not able to quite place it. It...it unnerves you. “Yeah, I said that you’re lucky to work here.”

You blink and stop breathing. Anxiety clings to every part of you, you replaying his words on loop. And he’s right, because it’s only by dumb luck you’ve ended up on this team and hard work can only get your so far and you’ve seen talented and it’s comprised entirely of the BAU and—

The gap between the two of you widens beyond compare and you’ll never be his equal—its just not possible—and he’s knows that. He has all seeing remembering eyes, Penelope the greatest tech whiz on the planet, the list goes on and on and you count each thing in lightning speed and—

(Oh my, you might need to write this shit down later to talk about in therapy.)

You nod only once, getting to your feet and grabbing your cell phone. You clutch it so tight you’re afraid it will snap, the intensity hurting your knuckles.

“Duly...duly noted, sir,” you say quietly. A crashing train rings in your ears. Your mouth is dry. “There’s coffee cake in the break room if you’d like any…”

In the corner of your eye, you see Morgan start to rise. You can’t bare to look at Doctor Reid and ignore further still when he calls your name. You can’t look at any of them, the difference between them and you so striking. It makes the diamond ring on your finger turn into lead.

Tightness expands in your chest, but you expel it instantly when you see a supervisor is calling you. And supervisors don’t care if you’re in the middle of reevaluating your self worth.

“Hello, BAU Automation. How can I help you?”

You escape the rest of the day from the prying eyes of the profilers of the BAU. You ignore their looks and you don’t see Reid for the rest of the day. You count your blessings. Each one a soothing balm on the burns upon your skin and your heart and your disposition.

You are in the break room washing the coffee cake platter that you realize you haven’t washed your mug from this morning. Coffee was long forgotten as your heart sped up too much for you to stand. Makes you too antsy when you’re already in turmoil, you stomach too weak and your nerves too strong. When you get back to your desk, memories of this morning smack you with clarity as everything begins to make sense.

You’re lucky to work here, he said. You’re lucky to work here, he said, he said, he said.

Shame floods you instantly as embarrassment comes like an unwanted bully taunting you. Your mistakes laughing at you once again as your mind thought too far ahead without all the facts. Without asking. Without understanding.

(You’re a selfish creature, it seems. Sometimes caught up in your own mind on your own time without a care in the world for others.

Oh, what a stupid and foolish girl you truly are.)

For there, written as plain to see in red letters is the phrase: tell me again how lucky I am to work here again.

Penelope confronts you first about it, catching you in the kitchenette as you fill up your kettle.

“Hey, lovely, I don’t know how to say this, but—”

You stiffen for a moment, before bowing your head, accepting what fate has in store for you. “Please be blunt. I’m sure whatever you’re going to say won’t be that bad.”

You hear her swallow as she leans against the counter. “Well, as your closest friend on the team, we just—have kinda noticed—”

(You wince. You know. You know what she’s going to say. You know.)

“You’re really weird with Reid. And it’s super weird because you’re so nice and I’m pretty sure you actually read his articles and I was wondering if you—maybe had feelings? For him?”

Her words hang in the air, a squeaky echo that rings with your very heartbeat as everything comes swinging back in full motion.

You slam on all metaphorical breaks and refuse to let this conversation continue down this road. Refuse to take your heart down this road. You shake your head and groan. “No, no. Just. I don’t have a crush on him. I just—” you sigh and sit at the nearby table. “I just—”

Penelope grabs your hand and gives it a squeeze. “Did he do something wrong? Is that what it is?”

You laugh and feel heat spreading to your face. You can’t believe you’re about to say this. To someone who you work with because you’ve only talked about this with people detached from your job. “No, I just...really...stupidly admire him and he...intimidates me…because I think he’s one of the most remarkable people on the planet....”

(In fact, you told your therapist the same thing two weeks ago when you saw her last. Before the whole cup debacle, you told her how you were failing at this one attempt of friendship and you were watching everything go downhill in a fiery crash.)

Penelope blinks, her mouth forming a little “o”. She tries to speak, but laughs instead. Such a delighted sound spills from her and you want to bury yourself in quicksand knowing that it will never be like the cartoons.

“Oh, that’s rather sweet.”

You rest your head on your forearms. “No, it’s anything but sweet. It’s really weird and I keep obsessing that he remembers every stupid fuck up I’ve done so I fuck up more and...Penelope, it’s freaking awful. So yeah, there you go. I admire him very much and he gives me intense anxiety.”

Penelope leans forward, her cheek resting in her palm. “I don't think I've ever heard anyone say that Reid gives them anxiety, let alone intense anxiety.”

You look at her straight in the eye. “Penelope, that man is a demigod and terrifying. Terrifying!”

She chuckles again, her eyes warm. “Sweetie, this is Spencer we’re talking about. He’s a bonafide dweeb,” she declares with mirth. “I should know. He and I are the greatest of geek buddies!” She pauses for a moment before her eyes narrow. “Hey! Why is he a demigod and I’m not a revered goddess?”

This time you laugh, a true smile digging into your cheeks. “No, no. Don’t worry, my dear. You are most def a terrifying goddess, but I happen to love you.”

Penelope stills before melting in her seat. “Oh my god, I love you too, you sweetest of sweet talkers.” She captures your hand in hers again, mischief and happiness dancing in her eyes. “But still, there’s no need to be afraid of Spencer, he’s just a dweeb.”

You focus on the texture of her skin as your heart thuds in your chest, your mouth in an awkward line.

“Sure, Penelope. Whatever you say.”

A few days pass in relative quietness as the team is away on training. You’re praying that perhaps, just this once, Doctor Reid will be able to forget everything. Just once. Just one time and you’ll go back to your normal life where you’ll continue to be awkward and weird and—well, that’s the status quo you know and you’re gonna fucking stick with it if it kills you.

Because, okay, sure. You fucked up the other day, but today is the day! And yes, the status quo is awkward and weird, but you’re such a glutton for punishment, such a person who survives on succeeding, that you go back to the drawing board and will yourself to try again.

But of course, you’re an overachiever. A frightened and terrified overachiever, but one nonetheless.

So, you do the one thing you’re elementary school teacher told you to do: you write him a letter.

A hastily written letter detailing your vague explanations for your odd behavior. Your apologies are peppered with compliments and fear sprinkling in loopy misspelled words. You write only one page length, refusing to pen a novel. Because even you have standards when it comes to desperations and it has been two years of awkward miscommunications for this to continue any longer.

You stick it under his stapler and hopes he doesn’t notice it right away when he first comes in. You’re already knee deep in updating all the property passes for cell phones right now in the department, finding your stride as you listen to movie and video game soundtrack scores.

(You read somewhere that those kind of scores are good for keeping concentration.)

Doctor Reid pauses for a moment as he settles his bag down, his ears straining to hear what you’re listening to. You can feel his curious gaze wash over you as you continue to do your work, but you lightly swallow and glance up at him.

“Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood soundtrack. It’s an anime,” you say. Your voice sounds muffled as you continue to stare at the screen.

In your perphiary, you see him nod. Someone across the room catches his attention and he leaves his desk before he even sits down.

You ignore the part of you that wants him to notice the letter. You know that if he does, then things will change and change is hard and—it’s a lot easier listening to the part of you that hopes he never finds it because things can continue as they are.

You let out a breath and answer an email instead, finding out that Kevin needs you down in counterintelligence to help one of his guys with a password issue. It will be a welcome break from the waiting.

Or dreading.

(While you’re away, Reid finally notices a note under his stapler.)

An hour later after dumb conversations, you finally wind your way back home to your desk to suffer under property passes when Doctor Reid all but slides up to you.

You yelp, placing a hand over your heart. “Oh my god, you scared me.”

His mouth is in a firm line, holding something in his hand. “Like how I scare you daily or…?”

Your eyes drift to the paper, thoroughly crinkled now after you last saw it. “I—I think the words I used were intimidating and awe inspiring. It’s truly a compliment.”

He quirks a brow, his mouth twisting more with displeasure. “A compliment? Seriously?”

You take a step back, finding air in your lungs again as you assess the situation. You’re tired of the tension that simmers between the two of you. You’re reminded of a rubber band.

You shrug, putting on false airs. “Yeah, a compliment. You make me speechless and that’s kinda remarkable.”

Doctor Reid looks down, the paper crackling in his hand. “That’s really sad.”

Your heart is beating like thunder in your chest. You’ve been avoiding this like the plague because confrontation is hard and you’re—not as amazing as you claim to be. You’re just a person.

(And so is he.)

And relief rains down over you as you feel a giggle bubble in your chest. Doctor Reid snaps his attention to you, confusion marking his features.

“Are...are you okay?”

You suck in a quick breath of air, nodding. “Yeah, yeah. I’m just—oh god, this sounds so stupid, but I feel so much better now.” You smile is wide as you look at him, your shoulders feeling less tense and the world a bit more bright. “I’m sorry for being weird, but can we start over?”

The doctor blinks and quirks his lips in a wry smile, baffled yet pleased. “Um. Sure? Like right now?”

“Yeah, like right now,” you tell him. You stick out your hand. “Nice to meet you, Doctor.”

You know he doesn’t do handshakes, it’s not his thing. Germs and whatnot, but he stares at your chipped fingernail polished hand for a moment before grasping yours. He’s warm to the touch even if his grip isn’t the strongest you’ve felt.

His smile is careful as hope digs into his dimples. “Nice to meet you.”

There’s a gentle mist outside as you leave to go home that night. Doctor Reid is not far behind you, adjusting the strap of his messenger bag as a sudden chill sinks its teeth into both of you.

A hung silence stills as you peer over at the man beside you, your body on autopilot to flee, but your heart wanting to root your feet into the ground.

“It’s scary how you don’t forget things,” you tell him honestly. You scuff your shoe on gritty concrete, the sound a clashing cymbal. “And I got really hung up on that. I’m sorry.”

Doctor Reid doesn’t say anything for a long time, the night air frizzing your hair. Your adrenaline tries spiking again, but you’re tired. You’re tired and you just to have clear air between the two of you. Forever.

His voice is gentle and just as frayed as you feel. “When I first met you, the very first time, I was the one who was awestruck and intimidated,” he chuckles. “You were this bright purple entity and you smiled at me so brightly and called me gorgeous. I was…” he pauses, “...I literally stopped thinking.”

Heat rushes to your face, a natural blush creeping under your makeup. “I agonized over that for so long, you know,” you tell him quietly. “Like I felt like such a fool because you’re truly are inspiring and well—yeah.”

It’s hard to say all the things you think about him--idealized and fictitious and real. Too real to share with a practical stranger.

(If only you realize your feelings would spiral into something more fond than admiration, perhaps you would have jumped feet first faster.)

There is a magnetism between the two of you as you stand in the quiet. An otherworldliness where hurricanes no longer exists and all the butterflies sleep. A change happening quicker than you can think.

He hums. “I think—you don’t realize that you’re scary too. You’re actually terrifying.”

You snap your attention to him and he gives you a kind grin. “What? No, I’m not!” you protest.

Doctor Reid laughs and it’s a good and pleasing sound. It lights up his whole face as he gestures towards you. “Yes, yes you are! You are so calculated and great with people. Always fashionable and you’re so intelligent. And teachable. You just...absorb information. It’s fascinating. And everyone knows that you’re an extremely hard worker and adorable overachiever.” he says with a smirk.

Your throat feels thick with all the praise. “It’s not that hard...someone has to do it...”

Doctor Reid steps in front of you and briefly touches your upper arm. “See? You don’t even realize that to someone else watching you achieve all these great things, that you’re terrifying. You have no idea how high of a standard you’ve set. You have no idea how remarkable you are. I’m truly and utterly impressed.”

The pretty hazels of his eyes have turned a warm brown in the poor lighting. You nod only once, your voice soft. “...thank you, Doctor.”

“Spencer,” he corrects. “My friends call me Spencer.”

Everything has a beginning and an end, but there’s not end in sight as you grin. “Thank you, Spencer. Truly.”

—

Condensation mists at the coffee shops window as you both step inside, unsure exactly how you got here with Spencer, but pleased all the same. Who knew that a lame letter would be catalyst you needed?

You both order your respective drinks and sit down at table towards the back, away from the chatter of college students pretending to study.

Both of you don’t know exactly what to say.

“It kinda feels like an awkward first date,” you tell him and you squash all shame that comes up from feeling stupid because you’re not stupid.

You’re not.

(You’re so intelligent.)

Doctor Reid--Spencer!--lets out a surprised laugh, almost spilling his drink on his clothes, but only getting the table. “Dear god, I hope not. I have been on a lot of those. Enough for this lifetime, that’s for sure.”

You giggle as you sip a tea latte. “Mmmm. I have only been on a handful. None recently though. I don’t date much these days.”

“Yeah, it’s a bit...difficult to date...in this line of work.”

You see him swallow and slight unease rolls off his shoulders. You think of a card you signed almost two years ago, tucked into a basket Garcia left on his doorstep after--the you know, the thing.

“Well,” you start, picking up the energy. “It doesn’t have to be! This can be--this can be, I don’t know a fun first friend date. Friend dates are kinda best dates anyway.”

“A friend date?”

You nod. “Mmmhmmm. Friends don’t let you know, just dumb ex-boyfriends who break promises about not moving to the East Coast with you,” you sing.

Spencer’s eyes widen at. “Oh?”

You laugh. “Oh no, you have to go on like--at least, three friend dates to unlock my tragic backstory. Like a dating sim. It can be a heart event!”

He takes a deep breath through his nose, trying to suppress a laugh. “You know I’m...basically a technophobe, right?”

“I might not be as techy as Penelope, but I think I have enough gadgets for the both of us. I’ll get you up to speed with my farming simulation games.”

Spencer runs a hand through his hair, this time actually laughing. “Do I really even want to know?”

You smirk and lean back in your seat. “Look, farming simulation games where I can marry a cute villager is important to me. You’re just gonna have to deal with it.”

“Because we’re gonna be friends now?”

You smile wide and pat the top of his hand. “Exactly.”

(Oh, how the future looks merry and bright.)

#Spencer Reid #spencer reid x reader #sepncer reid x you #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid x #spencer reid fanfiction #reader fic #drabble #oh yeah i also personally call reader sunny #here is my first cirminal minds fanfic #please enjoy????

129 notes · View notes

marshmallow-phd · 7 years ago

Text

The Experiments

Genre: Sci-Fi, Thriller, experiment au

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Exo (????)

Summary: You were a med school graduate who just wanted to help research cures for the world. Instead, what you got was a dream job at EXO Applied Sciences. That is, until you discover the secrets of Level Sixty-Six and the nine inhabitants that inhabit there….

Part: 1 I 2 I 3 I 4 I 5 I 6 I 7 I 8 I 9 I 10 I 11 I 12 I 13 I 14 I 15 I 16 I 17 I 18 I 19 I 20 I 21 I 22 I 23 I Final

Another six months had gone by and you still hadn’t seen a single face of any of the subjects. By now you had memorized all the facts of their lives, you could rattle off their heights in centimeters and their different weights and cell conditions, but you didn’t know details like what even their hair color was. It drove you a bit crazy. You preferred to operate on a more personal level.

Dr. Wang loved your progress and suggestions as you analyzed their blood. However, after that first day, you thought you were going to be fired.

Deciding to look over the blood cell slides before diving into the technical language of the files, you were surprised by what you saw. No one was lying when they said your suggestion on molding human and animal DNA together would fit right in here. But what you found scared you. The way the cells moved on the slide was not how you expected. Your research had been focused on mixing the DNA with that of those who fit in the same class, i.e. mammals. And that seemed to be their main staple for the foundation. Each subject had wolf DNA as the basis for the fusion, but that was where things changed between them.

Subject Zero-One had a donation from an unknown fish species while Subject Ten had a diverse range of reptiles in him. This mixture of classes was dangerous and unstable as their entire makeup was completely different and non-compatible. You voiced your opinion to Dr. Wang, who just patronized you.

“I know you haven’t been here long, Dr. (l/n), but trust me. We’ve been running these tests for years.” The way her tone was sent down on you made you feel like a child being scolded for not knowing how the TV worked. “The subjects we have here are the ones who stabilized and have shown wonderful progress. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if we expanded the results to start more trials on average humans.”

That expansion never came. Part of you wondered if that little piece of information about moving on with the trials was really just something she made up to pacify you. As the months went on, your rose tinted glasses that you’d been staring at EXO Applied Sciences with all these years were starting to fade to a less extravagant gray.

One shining light, however, was your ever growing friendship with Nada. Although she was technically your senior, she always treated you as an equal. Every Friday after work, the two of you would grab drinks at a bar, complaining about some of the nurses that worked down in your ward and gossip about the attractive security guards that checked in on the two of you every so often.

“I especially think that Marcus is totally into you,” Nada giggled about three cocktails in.

You waved her compliment away. “No way. He’s just nice. I wouldn’t be surprised if some lucky girl had already snatched him up.”

Marcus was anyone attracted to the male sex’s dream. He was handsome, with a chiseled chin and well tone body and a tender personality to match. In fact, you weren’t entirely sure how he ever made it as a security guard. He was of about average height and a slim build and you couldn’t quite believe that man had a mean or aggressive bone in his body. But somehow he stuck around. And while all that he possessed was like a perfect check list from a catalog, you just couldn’t quite bring yourself to stray that way with him.

Nada was only a little put out about that. “Well, if you don’t want him, than you wouldn’t mind if I tried to jump his bones?”

You clinked your glass against hers in a cheeky cheer. “You have at it.”

The playfulness of your friendship is what really made you excited to go to work every day. While the research was exactly you had been dreaming about doing, something still felt wrong deep down. Just a year into your dream company and you were losing your way.

“Have you ran those tests on Subject Sixty-One yet?” Nada asked, not looking up from her microscope.

Crap. “No,” you whined. This day had just been overly frazzling to you.

Nothing seemed to go right and now you had almost forgotten to do your main project for the day. While writing down your planned process for the test, you reached over with your other hand to grab your drink. Apparently that was too much of a multitask as you managed to knock over your thermal cup, which in turn pushed the exact vial of blood from Sixty-One that you needed, sending it crashing to the hard tile floor, shattering it in the process.

“Shit!”

Nada looked up to see what the commotion was about and saw you close to tears. You started cleaning up the mess, releasing a string of curses under your breath.

“Wow, now that was a klutz move,” she laughed. You simply sent her an evil glare. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve done it a dozen times. Just get a new vial out of the fridge.”

“I can’t,” you groaned. “I have to use the latest sample and the next one in there is at least three months old.” And on top of that, Dr. Wang was in meetings all day and not available to get a new sample.

“What happened?”

You shot up to your feet at the sudden appearance of your boss, now terrified of the consequences.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured, tossing the glass from the dustbin into the hazard can. “I spilled the vial for Sixty-One’s test. I don’t have another fresh tester for the trial.”

Dr. Wang frowned, but she didn’t yell like you’d expected. “Well, that’s unfortunate. I don’t have time to fetch it myself.” She walked over to a desk in the far corner, pulling out a sheet of paper and filling in a few blank spaces. “You’ll just have to go get it yourself. I’ll sign off on it. Just show them this paper if they question you.” Dr. Wang handed you the slip and you attached it to your clipboard after gathering up a sterilized needle and clean vial.

“Was there anything you needed, Dr. Kher?” Dr. Wang asked. Nada simply shook her head. “Okay, I just wanted to come check on you two before my next meeting. Don’t be afraid to let me know if you do.”

Nada stared at you wide mouthed as Dr. Wang left.

“What?” you shrugged. You were just thankful you didn’t get a verbal beating.

“She’s never done that before. Usually, she’d make me put it off until she could fetch a new vial.”

You picked up your supplies and head towards the door. “Well, first time for everything.”

The door to Sixty-One’s room was right in the middle of the first hallway. You’d never gone passed the first set of doors, too scared of getting in trouble to carelessly walk down there. It was never explicitly said that you weren’t allowed in this area, but since you’d never been given outright permission before now either, you hadn’t wanted to risk it. Unsure of what the protocol was now that you’d made it this far, you simply swiped your badge and pulled open the door.

Instead of a bedroom set up, you entered a viewing area. A large glass window gave you full sight of the white room beyond. Just below that was a control board that stretch across the whole length of the window. Sitting front and center was an orderly in black scrubs, leaning back in his office chair, feet resting up on the board.

He immediately sat up when he saw you over his shoulder. “Can I help you?”

“Yeah,” you breathed, your entire body going into overdrive. You were about to come face to face with one of level sixty-six’s biggest secrets and you weren’t sure how to handle it. “I need to get a sample of the subject’s blood.” You handed over the slip with Dr. Wang’s signature. “Dr. Wang has signed off on it.”

The orderly’s eyes flickered from the paper in his hand to you and back again. “All right. He’s been sedated, so you shouldn’t have any problems. But I’d make it fast. It usually doesn’t last too long on him.”

A loud buzz rang through the viewing room as the locks on the thick metal door clicked back. The door slid open in front of you and closed with a loud bang as soon as you were in the room. You bit back a gasp at the state of the room. It really was a jail cell.

In one corner was a porcelain sink and matching toilet. Shoved in the other corner and pushed back into an indention was a metal bed with a too thin mattress. The bed was welded into the walls, making it immovable. But what really broke your heart was the man who was strapped to the bed with thick leather restraints holding down his wrists and ankles.

The bed was just barely long enough to hold his tall frame. Thick, dark brown hair stuck to his forehead from the sweat dripping down his temples. His face was soft, save for the pinched skin in between his eyebrows. The sight of his large ears that stuck out from his head almost made you grin, but you couldn’t go through with it due to his current condition.

Grabbing the chair from the other side of the room, you tried not to dwell on the swelling sympathy in your heart for this person. You sat down by his side and started sterilizing the inside of his arm, right at the crease of his elbow. He thrashed a bit at your touch, obviously familiar with the feeling of the rubber gloves against his skin. Making quick work of getting the sample, you put the vial safely in your pocket and removed your gloves.

The amount of sweat that covered the subject’s skin worried you. Placing the back of your hand on his forehead, you flinch back at the contact. He was burning up.

Scared at what was going on with the subject and thinking he might need immediate care, you went straight into doctor mode. Thankful that you thought to bring it along, you poured over his file trying to find the right way to treat his fever. Until you reached the third page. You’d never read that far into his file, all the main information you needed being on the first two. Near the bottom of the page was a note from Dr. Wang dated four months ago.

As of day 768, Subject 61 still maintains his internal body temperature at 40 degrees Celsius.

It didn’t make any sense. With a core temperature that high, he should have been dead. But there he was in front of you, breathing. Reaching out one more time, the moment your skin made contact with his, his eyes flickered open, making you jump back and out of the chair.

Big, round brown eyes stared up at you in desperation. He only gave the restraints a few tugs before giving up. Without breaking his gaze, he parted his lips and let two little words escape before he drifted back to sleep.

“Help… us….”

You put the chair back against the wall, and walked briskly up to the metal door, pounding on the glass to get the orderly’s attention. He opened the door for you and you ran back to the lab. Barely acknowledging Nada when she asked you how it went, you got straight to work on the blood sample, wondering what the hell you had gotten yourself into.

662 notes · View notes

trade-baby-blues · 7 years ago

Text

Push to Shove

Pairing: Leonard x Reader (loosley lol)

Word Count: 1649

Warnings: probably some swearing, some angst, poor lifestyle i guess

A/N: This was 100% self-indulgent sorry not sorry. I’ve been having a really rough time at work and none of my friends really understand that I can’t just quit my job bc. 1. I need money to pay bills and 2. I want to be able to use this place as a reference so I didn’t just waste the last four years of my life. So this fic is a Modern AU kind of thing that was really just here for me to vent. Not proofread so sorry if there are mistakes.

There are few sounds as grating as the scream of an alarm clock tearing you away from peaceful dreams. You glared daggers at it as if that would silence it and allow you to return to the warm arms wrapping tighter around your waist. You knew you couldn't. With a groan, you pushed yourself out of bed, out of the safety of Leonard’s arms, and prepped yourself for another day in the office.

It was routine now. Get up, get coffee. Spill it on your shirt and change clothes so frantically you forget about the coffee and end up having to buy a cup on your way to work anyway. Your boss chastised you for being late, and you promised it wouldn't happen again (though you both knew it was a lie). Then you’d get to work and start your tasks for the day, usually cleaning and filing, and, if you were lucky, you’d get a lunch break in four hours. Of course, you’d never been very lucky.

Your stomach growled as your shift turned into a double which turned into an all-nighter when your boss asked you to review some paperwork for him as he left for the day, promising you the day of tomorrow. The thought of a whole day spent in your bed was the only thing that kept you through the slog of papers on your desk but when the sun finally poked its head through your office window and your boss made his way in, he sighed and asked you to come to his office. You followed him in, wondering what about your performance he could have found flaw with, but then he poured you a cup of coffee and you braced yourself for what you knew was coming. Can you cover a shift today? Is there no one else? Well, yes but you're the best. We’ll give you a bonus on your next paycheck. Well, I guess one more shift couldn't hurt. I’ll still have the afternoon off. Great, thanks so much. This is why you're the best. You smiled weakly at your boss, wishing for a moment that the bags under your eyes were as designer as the one he carried with him to work. Maybe then you could sell them for enough to be able to quit this job.

The hours blended together until finally you finished your work (your colleagues work, you reminded yourself) and made it home. Leonard wasn't home, yet, but he’d left you a note and dinner in the fridge but you were too tired to enjoy either. You dropped your purse on the floor and flopped down onto the bed, the ache in your bones finally lessening as you sank into the mattress. Every nerve in your body fought you as you pleaded with your brain to make your arms move. You should take your shoes off. You should get undressed. It would only mean more work later if you didn't, but maybe a quick nap couldn't hurt….

A shrill buzzing jolted you awake. Digging the palms of your hands into your eyes, you tried to rub away the tiredness. It was a battle to open your eyelids again, and in the end you conceded, allowing yourself to fall back against the pillows as the alarm continued to screech on. You couldn't remember how you’d gotten under the covers let alone how or when you’d put on your pajamas. And when had that stain on the ceiling been fixed? You swore it was there yesterday, or maybe last week, last month, last year? Everything seemed to blend together in your life now and the edges of your vision blurred to as your eyes fell shut again, the screeching of the alarm clock no match for the weariness in your soul.

Leonard rolled over with an exasperated sigh and all but knocked the alarm clock off your night stand. He hovered over you and brushed a lock of hair from your cheek but still you did not move. Finally, he pressed a kiss to your forehead and bade you get up before leaving bed to make breakfast. When had he gotten home? It seemed like you couldn't remember anything anymore.

“Is everything okay,” Leonard asked, peeking out at you from the other side of the newspaper. You hummed in response, stirring your tea. “You've been stirring that tea for ten minutes. Not to mention you put Sriracha on your toast not jelly.”

“No I didn't,” you scoffed, lifting the bread to smell it. You grimaced. That was definitely not jelly. You scowled and dropped the toast back on your plate, too tired to even care. You took a sip of your tea but it was cold. “You love being right, don't you?”

Leonard knew not to take offense. You liked mornings about as much as a root canal. “I’m just worried about you, sugar. You’re working yourself too hard and what about art school? I thought you were looking to apply again.”

“No, I’m happy at work.”

“Then why are you hiding brochures in the nightstand?”

You snapped your head up, eyes wide like a deer trapped in headlights only this time the light at the end of the tunnel was Leonard and you couldn’t understand why you were so damn scared. Why did you even bother hiding them? As if the canvases and paint stains on practically every open surface of your apartment weren’t enough to clue anyone in. Maybe you didn’t want him to know because you knew Leonard would try to convince you to quit again.

You sighed, covering your face with your hands as if hiding from Leonard would help you hide from the truth in front of you. “They need me,” you whispered, though to Leonard or yourself? “I can’t just quit. They said they’d be lost without me. That I might even be up for a promotion.” You could tell by the silence that followed Leonard wasn’t convinced either.

He stood and kissed the top of your head nonetheless. “Of course they’d be lost without you. You’re the hardest worker they’ve got on staff, but even the hardest worker needs rest now and again.”

You spent the rest of the ride to work thinking about how much rest you really needed. Every cell in your body felt tired - that special kind of tired you feel from too many all-nighters. Like your life has become a stop motion film and you’re just waiting to get to that next pose, that next frame because then you’re one step closer to being done for the day. You were a puppet on a string pretending to be the puppeteer.

Work was louder than usual. The sound of keyboards clicking and computers humming drowned by laughter and commotion coming from the break room. Was it someone’s birthday already? As you entered the break room your eyes were drawn up to a banner stretched across the room like a white flag. Congratulations. So someone was getting married, you told yourself. Or pregnant. Hikaru and his husband had been trying to find a surrogate for months now. Or maybe it was a -

“Promotion,” Jim said. He’d spent enough time in desk beside across from yours to know when you were confused about something. “Turns out little Pavel over there has been busting ass while we weren’t looking, and the boss says he was the best choice when it came down to it.”

You stared at Pavel as people shook his hand and clapped him on the back. You wanted to be proud for him, but the words echoed in your mind finding the darkest corners and planting themselves there like weeds, growing over any bright thought before it even had a chance to bloom. He was the best choice. You could hear your boss saying it because he’d said the same about you not a week before. Every word was another twist of the knife and every “congratulations” made your heart feel heavier. It was a wonder it didn’t fall out of your chest and through the floor. How could they do this? Hadn’t you given enough?

Every sleepless night came rushing back to you. Every double shift you worked seemed to weigh on your joints and anchor your feet to the ground. There were so many things you could have done with your life. You could be in art school now. You could be giving lessons or painting full-time. You could be enjoying a career you love in a life you love shared with a man you love. Instead you were angry. Not just at work. At home. At Leonard. At the dog that barked outside your window at 2 a.m. At the neighbors who were moving in and hammering nails into the wall at 11 a.m. because didn’t the know you were trying to sleep? You’d always heard of looking at the past with rose-colored glasses, but your lenses seemed to be tinted red.

“Hey, you okay?” Jim nudged your arm with his to get your attention.

“I quit.”

“Tell me about it. Doesn’t matter how long we’ve been here. Pavel is young and brings ‘something new.’” Jim pulled a face hoping to draw some response from you but you said nothing. His smile faltered as you turned away from him and started towards the door. You dropped your nametag in the trash can on your way out and it was like someone had lifted a mountain off your shoulders. You didn’t even know you’d been drowning until you finally tasted air. You weren’t exactly sure what to do next. It was a big wide world out there full of opportunities for you, but, when push comes to shove, you knew Leonard would be there to support you and that alone made you feel brave enough to conquer anything that came your way.

Tags:

@daybreak96 @8bit-arc-reactor @jimtkirkisabitch @sjlovestory @kristaparadowski (sorry i totally never responded to your post but I added you to the tag list :]) @outside-the-government @martinawalker @thevalesofanduin @goingknowherewastaken @yourtropegirl @mysteriously-lost-forever @feelmyroarrrr @yukki-art @atari-writes @pabegay1 @bolontiku @brooke-taylor0323 @anotherotter

#star trek imagine #bones x reader #bones imagine #leonard mccoy x reader #leonard mccoy imagine #again very loosely lol #my fics

77 notes · View notes

bobbystompy · 6 years ago

Text

My Top 127 Songs Of 2018

Previously: 2017, 2016, 2015, 2014, 2013, 2012, 2011

Not the most ever... just the second most ever. The record of 132 stands. I hope it is never broken.

As always, criteria and info:

This is a list of what I personally like, not ones I’m saying are the “best” from the year; more subjective than objective

No artist is featured more than once

If it comes down to choosing between two songs, I try to give more weight to a single or featured track

Each song on the list is linked in the title if you wanna check any or every out for yourself; there is also a Spotify playlist at the bottom that includes 122 of the 127 songs

Well?

youtube

/grins

127) B.o.B - “Food Fight”

Some triplet rap, pretty boring, and I have no idea what this song is supposed to be. But the “Food of the WiFi” part makes me laugh, and I always picture my buddy Matto singing it to his eye rolling wife (even though I’m pretty sure he’s never heard the song before).

126) French Montana f/ Drake - “No Stylist”

This song sucks -- even Drake can’t save it. French Montana is cancer except you don’t get to die.

125) 21 Savage - “Monster”

Not a huge Savage guy, but the Gambino verse helps.

124) The Kooks - “All The Time”

Kind of a lazy chorus, but it’s aight.

123) Sean Paul f/ Jhené Aiko - “Naked Truth”

Love Aiko, have never cared for Paul... but the collab weirdly works.

122) REASON - “Summer Up”

My buddy Josh sent this one, and it’s got the warm vibes. Money stretch:

P asked me is REASON still workin', shit N***a, is Amber Rose still twerkin', gold diggers still flirtin' horny teens still jerkin', all my exes still lurkin' black lives still hurtin', black lives still hurtin'?

121) Nipsey Hussle f/ YG - “Last Time That I Checc’d”

B’s vs. C’s. And a beat that sounds like DJ Mustard combined with ‘90s G-funk. Also, YG’s bandanna scarf is just very cute.

120) Thrice - “Only Us”

Weirdly, another reds and blues music video. But this time, it’s kids at a summer camp. This could absolutely be used by networks as a pump up song for sporting events.

119) Anderson .Paak f/ Kendrick Lamar - “TINTS”

Anderson .Paak -- ohhhh, that dot will always annoy me -- really does not make bad songs. Kung Fu Kenny fits right in, and it’s a very easy hit-the-spot driving song.

118) Mr Hudson f/ Vic Mensa - “Coldplay”

A serious song that uses an emotional reliance on Coldplay to take objective shots at Coldplay, which is pretty hilarious. Vic’s verse is good (”I lost my Queen poppin’ Ace of Spades at King of Diamonds ... I hate Coldplay”).

117) Logic f/ Wu-Tang Clan - “Wu Tang Forever”

Long cypher song. If you care about hip-hop, you probably know Drake also released a song called “Wu-Tang Forever” five years ago (which featured no members of Wu-Tang). There was talk of a remix -- RZA even recently said he wished they did -- but Inspectah Deck articulated why it didn’t happen back then:

“When I finally got to hear the song, I was more or less like, ‘Wow, I thought it was a tribute song like, it would be in respect of all eight members,'” Deck said. “And when I heard it, it was about a girl.”

You can just sense the colossal and spiritual disappointment.

Well, this one is more about fire than females; you’ll shout “Wu-Tang” proudly at least once. My MVP verse is Ghostface.

116) Jhené Aiko f/ Rae Sremmurd - “Sativa”

Rae Sremmurd* still sound like little kids to me. Conversely, Jhené Aiko is all that is woman.

(* - never knew they were brothers until just now)

115) Sam Coffey & The Iron Lungs - “First Time”

Sam Coffey first got on my radar with The Clash-sounding song “Talk 2 Her”. This is less of that and more, like, ‘80s hair metal. It’s almost hard to tell if this is sincere or parody. The video absolutely does not take itself seriously.

114) Saves The Day - “Kerouac & Cassady”

Always been impressed with the very unthreatening Chris Conley’s ability to create such sinister, dark, and menacing imagery. This maybe has the most bleak closing line of any of these songs.

113) 5 Seconds Of Summer - “Youngblood”

This is what Fall Out Boy tries to sound like with their new stuff... but they just suck so bad now.

112) She Killed In Ecstasy - “Dissension (Gold)”

I remembered this being a dope instrumental before totally forgetting about the just-as-awesome vocals; great band name, too. Recommended by my friends Jim and Bill over brunch after taking in their show at Subterranean in Chicago the previous night. This could be the closing theme for a critically acclaimed TV show.

111) Night Birds - “My Dad Is The BTK”

Straightforward, bratty punk rock that promotes snitching (if you’re sure it’s for the right reasons).

110) The Decemberists - “Once In My Life”

Why does such an outwardly melancholy song still feel so damn uplifting? Probably the video. They have a long statement attached on YouTube, so for sure peep if this catches your interest.

109) Mad Caddies - “She’s Gone”

Here we have a straight up reggae cover of NOFX. Sometimes I don’t think I like this song at all, but it might just be hard to separate it from the original; almost wish it was possible to go in with a clean slate. Maybe you can on my behalf?

108) Rivers Cuomo - “Two Broken Hearts”

Would you rather not know the video uses Bitmojis or the pre-chorus promotes two different ice cream brands before the song ends?

107) XXXTENTACION - “Train food”

This song is intense; gave me memories of listening to Kendrick’s “The Art of Peer Pressure”. X not surviving 2018 makes it that much more haunting.

106) Kanye West & Lil Pump f/ Adele Givens - “I Love It”

Not sure why, in his most embattled year yet, Kanye decided to be a part of such a derogatory song towards women. Listening to it makes me feel bad. And sure, the MAGA imagery will be what we think of when we think of 2018 Yeezy, but this picture shouldn’t be too far off either.

Shark: jumped.

105) New Lenox - “Do You Think We Made The Most Of Those New Years Eves”

That is a very long song title. But not as long as the time since passed on this reflection of the final night of the year, over a decade now gone. But even though he’s looking back, you know Chris Trott gets to hit reset at the end of the night, whether it’s December 31st or January 1st. And when NYE hits again, whether you return to the same party in the same place or a different experience in a totally different hemisphere, celebrating something is what makes this all matter.

(Full disclosure: yours truly has a minor backup vocal part in the outro)

104) Jeff Tweedy - “Having Been Is No Way To Be”

This for sure made it on the list because of the “And if I was dead, what difference would it ever make to them?” line, but upon closer scrutiny, the “And I’m sorry when you wake up to me” line is even more crushing.

103) Panic! At The Disco - “Dying In LA”

Brendon Urie’s voice is so polished and full. This song is him in complete control, and he knows it too (the “Dyin’ in LA” falsetto part at the end of the chorus is... probably not necessary).

102) Sugarland f/ Taylor Swift - “Babe”

Though Taylor’s impact in the music video is significantly stronger than her impact in the actual song, it’s still rock solid country. Or... country solid country?

/curtsies

101) ZHU & Tame Impala - “My Life”

This song has such a dancy cool on the power of its instrumentation; really doesn’t need vocals at all.

100) Kidd Russell & Southside Jake - “Slow Motion”

The poppiest SSJ has ever sounded. This is his best song to date. I’m not so sure if “Shots kill the butterflies” is an actual expression, but it should be.

99) Hop Along - “What The Writer Meant”

Hot damn, what a voice. This song is beauty in our not-often-beautiful world.

98) Retirement Party - “That’s How People Die”

This reminds me of a female fronted version of the departed Modern Baseball. Eager to see how they develop and definitely plan on checking their Audiotree session soon.

97) Lil Peep - “Sex With My Ex”

It’s... really good, you guys. The grimy nihilism of the “Fuck me like we’re lying on our deathbed” is palpable. It’s impossible not to think of the heights Peep would have almost definitely hit had he not passed. Also, super interesting tidbit on how the album got posthumously made:

Lil Peep died of an accidental drug overdose last November [2017] at 21. Afterward, attention turned to his computer. First, it went to London, where the files were backed up by First Access Entertainment, the company that helped guide his career.

Then it went to his mother, Liza Womack. In an interview in her cozy Long Island home, sitting on a nondescript couch that belonged to Peep and was shipped cross-country after his death, she calmly recalled walking into an Apple store, handing the laptop to a clerk, and saying: “My son died. This is him. Take this and put it on a new one.”

96) Kurt Vile - “Bassackwards”

I was on the beach, but I was thinkin’ about the bay

This has Kurt Vile’s signature laid back-ness (good) but also has a 9:46 track length (VERY VERY BAD). I’m not saying it has to be even four minutes long... but, like, could you have given us seven, KV? All of that aside, it really doesn’t slog at all despite mostly staying the same the whole time. Though I still can’t stop thinking about how much shorter it should be.

95) Christine And The Queens - “Doesn’t matter”

Kinda ‘80s pop sounding. Also, there’s a foreign accent there. British maybe?

/googles

French! Even better.

94) Brendan Kelly And The Wandering Birds - “Shitty Margarita”

Wish the drums were louder, BK.

93) Courtney Barnett - “Nameless, Faceless”

Barnett does not fuck around with her chorus/old adage:

I wanna walk through the park in the dark Men are scared that women will laugh at them I wanna walk through the park in the dark Women are scared that men will kill them

This type of perspective, down to the description of how she has to hold her keys in a way your average dude might not think about, remains so crucial as we all hope to continue to better understand each other.

92) Jeff Rosenstock - “Powerlessness”

Meet me at the Polish bar I'll be the one looking at my phone Shaking like a nervous kid Absolutely terrified of being alone

...it doesn’t sound how it reads. All of his skittish energy fuels this fist pumping jam. And don’t miss the guitar solo.

91) Charli XCX - “5 In The Morning”

Pretty standard fare pop song, but Charli makes it cooler and better than if the average person jumped on.

90) Pinegrove - “Darkness”

Gonna be honest: it was nearly impossible to listen to Pinegrove in 2018 without thinking of the sexual coercion accusations from the previous year. Jenn Pelly’s long ass piece really did nothing to help matters. So because of all this, I listened to their new album “Skylight” wayyyyy less than originally anticipated. The few times -- really maybe ‘time’ in all actuality -- I was able to separate the story from the songs, it definitely became enjoyable. This has head clearing guitar leads and a lyric straight outta Sublime’s “Garden Grove”.

89) Pete Yorn & Scarlett Johansson - “Bad Dreams”

Brooding, nighttime, driving; good ingredients for a successful duet.

88) Meek Mill f/ Rick Ross & JAY Z - “What’s Free”

Now, if I’m Rick Ross, I spend my entire career avoiding any situation where people can compare me to Biggie. But since Rick Ross is Rick Ross, he went with the opposite plan. This is his (to my knowledge) second reimagined Biggie song*, and... it’s... it’s rough. I mean, how far can you take it with the line “Mona Lisa, to me, ain't nothin' but a b***h” and end with a gay slur. Pass.

But we also have the GOAT. In classic Jay fashion, he spits a lot of good words, you know it’s complex, and there’s no way to process it without more listens. And yes, the immediate brand checks are super annoying, but he pushes through and delivers some bars:

They gave us pork and pig intestines Shit you discarded that we ingested, we made the project a wave You came back, reinvested and gentrified it Took n****s' sense of pride, now how that's free?

When he finishes, the song itself ends, and we have one of the more long and uneven Jay cameos ever put on wax. It’s, like, a 5-star B-.

(* - the first being 2014′s “Nobody”, a take off “You’re Nobody [Til Somebody Kills You]”, featuring French Montana, which spawned an all-time Rap Radar comment, “If someone killed French, he’d still be a nobody”; I will bring it up with the most minor of segues for the rest of my life)

87) Red City Radio - “In The Shadows”

I tend to prefer Red City Radio playing more uptempo, but they drag us down to a slower speed for this one. This centers around the cryptic “I show no fear when I know that the devil’s here” line, and the guitar solo is definitely overqualified for the genre.

86) Kanye West - “Yikes”

/cracks knuckles

The song: banging chorus, solid beat, lyrics meh. Of course it was the song he got Drake for, because it’s the only one on his solo release that vaguely resembled a hit.

The album: Calling “ye” bad is a little unfair, but the best and realest description is sadder: it’s Kanye’s most inessential record. It was forgettable at best and cringeworthy/offensive at worst. The one about his daughter was particularly appalling:

Don't do no yoga, don't do pilates Just play piano and stick to karate I pray your body's draped more like mine And not like your mommy's

This doesn’t even get into the entirely warped mental health takes that I’m not nearly qualified enough to address.

Kanye himself: Every Kanye fan has defended Kanye, some Kanye fans have abandoned Kanye, but 2018 was legitimately the tipping point where it felt like we all finally had enough, in unification. Shock, betrayal, and disappointment are probably the best adjectives. When you are willing to forgive someone for 90% of their behavior, and they up their bullshit to 110%, an understandable separation must occur. At this point, the man we once called Yeezus is now the hip-hop Louis C.K.: no type of constructive or negative feedback can penetrate his brain, and any new attempts at creative output only make everything worse.

85) Royce da 5′9′’ f/ Eminem & King Green - “Caterpillar”

As lyrical as it gets on this list, but what else do you expect from Em and Royce? Not a huge fan of the chorus (at least that loud part in the first half). Eminem legit goes off for, like, ten lines with a pooping metaphor to close the song.

84) Nicki Minaj - “Barbie Dreams”

Staying in the redone Biggie songs lane, we have Nicki with a passive evisceration of your favorite male rapper. You can call it crass, but I’d argue her playfulness makes the whole thing work, combined with the fact that it’s flipping the male gaze on its head. And though she’s having fun, some of these movie punches catch real faces. My favorites:

3) “Drake worth a hundred mill, he always buyin' me shit / But I don't know if the pussy wet or if he cryin' and shit”

2) “I remember when I used to have a crush on Special Ed / Shoutout Desiigner 'cause he made it out of special ed”

1) “Had to cancel DJ Khaled, boy, we ain't speakin' / Ain't no fat n**** tellin' me what he ain't eatin'”

Goodbye forever, DJ Khaled.

83) Bad Bunny f/ Drake - “MIA”

I do social media for my high school alma mater’s football team, and this song first got on my radar when of the players tweeted something like “I can’t understand a word, but this is really good”. I was piqued, and it delivered. Nobody cultural appropriates quite like Drizzy Drake. Also, am I the only one who would have maybe been happier if the song was called “Bad Bunny” and the featured artist was M.I.A.?

82) Phoebe Bridgers - “Christmas Song”

Christmas songs are hard to write because they’re either taken or terrible, but Bridgers definitely carved out her own lane. This could work as a single person under a spotlight or sung by a group of lonely strangers finding camaraderie at a bar; within the song, you actually get both scenarios.

81) Remo Drive - “Blue Ribbon”

Got into this band for the first time in 2018, and though some of their older songs got more spins, this was my favorite from the new album.

80) The Sidekicks - “Twin’s Twist”

Mostly just impressed they were able to seamlessly integrate the “Chronic 2001″ into lyrics of a lighter rock song.

79) Real Friends - “From The Outside”

My favorite chorus they’ve ever written. While remaining thoroughly pop punk, the catchiness puts it more on the pop side of that spectrum.

78) Mike Posner - “Song About You”

Posner sounds like he’s barely trying, and it’s still so, so good. Favorite moment is this non-rhyme: “Since you’ve been gone, I got nothing to do / I sleep until noon, I wake up and feel bad”. It’s like a pop freestyle or something.

Also, extra shout out for how well he took his social media roasting after the Thanksgiving performance in Detroit. Love this dude.

77) Bad Religion - “The Kids Are Alt-Right”

What if I told you Bad Religion made a song with an intro that sounded like Andrew W.K.’s “Party Till You Puke” but were somehow still able to stay afloat? Hell, I’m confused too. The satirical lyrics mark 2018 for what it was. The pre-chorus, I remain torn on.

76) Blood Orange - “Saint”

You said it before

Looped keyboard beat over some smooth lyrics and melodies.

75) Juice WRLD - “Lucid Dreams”

I cannot change you so I must replace you

Still unclear how this *isn’t* a Post Malone song.

74) Tancred - “Queen Of New York”

Own the city.

73) We Were Sharks - “Drop The Act”

Ohhhhh, I love this production.

72) Cloud Nothings - “Leave Him Now”

This band continues to possess all of the melodic fury (and the Russell Westbrook of drummers).

71) Childish Gambino - “Summertime Magic”

Wasn’t big on “This Is America”*, so Glover releasing an ode to the best season as an alternative selection helped.

(* - at least not the song; vid was interesting)

70) The 1975 - “Love It If We Made It”

The 1975 are one of those bands where liking them makes you feel like an alien because everyone else either loves or dogs them. I’m keepin’ this casual, aight?

Also, since all writers are contractually obligated, we must mention the “Fucking in a car, shooting heroin” line which opens the song.

69) Kississippi - “Cut Yr Teeth”

Saw this band play in a classroom at a high school (google “BLED FEST”) in Michigan in May of 2018. They were fun, diverse, and covered Jimmy Eat World’s “The Middle”. This tune is a little more serious and locked in.

68) Muncie Girls - “Picture Of Health”

Every part of this song is well-written, but it all builds to a massive chorus.

67) Justin Timberlake f/ Chris Stapleton - “Say Something”

There was a time, in January 2018, when not a ton of music had dropped yet, and this song was everywhere. It was like the dead-of-winter equivalent to the Song of the Summer. This one definitely gets docked some points for what I’d call weak lyricism. You can tell both dudes were way into it though, which does help make up for it some.

66) Interpol - “The Rover”

As speedy as I’ve ever heard Interpol; pretty unskippable.

65) Dashboard Confessional - “Catch You”

Imagine if this were the only Dashboard song you’d ever heard. You’d think they were, like, happy. Our protagonist has a trustworthy assurance that should put you at ease.

64) Gulfer - “Secret Stuff”

No singing on this list will alienate you faster than the first eight seconds of this one.

63) Rolling Blackouts Coastal Fever - “Talking Straight”

Though this feels like two band names in one, RBCF know exactly what they’re doing as it pertains to the actual songwriting. This would fit right in during the mid-2000s garage/indie rock boom; could listen to the chorus on a loop.

62) Rita Ora f/ Cardi B, Bebe Rexha & Charli XCX - “Girls”

This song has the unique distinction of being think pieced and outraged cycled before I even got a chance to hear a second of it. The case:

Now, it goes without saying that the best people to explain why this song feels damaging and hurtful to queer women are queer women themselves – girls who kiss girls whether they’ve been gulping back Malbec or not. “A song like this just fuels the male gaze while marginalizing the idea of women loving women,” wrote Hayley Kiyoko on Twitter. Kehlani said it has “many awkward slurs, quotes, and moments”. MUNA’s Katie Gavin noted that in ‘Girls’ she hears “the familiar chorus that women’s sexuality is something to be looked at instead of authentically felt”.

To her credit, Ora apologized the very same day that piece came out (PUN INTENDED). What’s weird is the idea of this song being problematic made me like it more. It gives the sexual flippancy of the chorus authenticity. I don’t know, man -- this stuff is complicated.

Not complicated? Cardi B’s awful green screen cameo featuring cheap looking special effects.

/shakes head in disappointment

61) Eminem f/ Ed Sheeran - “River”

Though not apples to apples -- since he’s not spitting -- we shall remember this as the time Ed Sheeran > Eminem in a song.

Marshall remains our unquestioned king of the ‘relationship dysfunction’ genre.

60) Culture Abuse - “Calm E”

Everyone’s getting back together

The writers of the perfect and generational “Dream On” continue to stay in the mellow lane with their subsequent releases. When you can pull off both, why not?

59) Brian Fallon - “Silence”

Fallon covers -- /checks notes -- Marshmello f/ Khalid, but it really could be an original. Dude really knows how to pick ‘em. I remember hearing this randomly at Shinto (a sushi/hibachi place) in Naperville; don’t remember if it was this or the original. Such a moving chorus.

58) Okkervil River - “Don’t Move Back To LA”

Gotta appreciate the persistent sentiment -- even though it’d be the opposite of my advice. Also took about 99.9% of the year for me to stop calling this band “Overkill” River in my head.

57) Natalie Prass - “Short Court Style”

Uber catchy and with a real groove.

56) The Interrupters - “She’s Kerosene”

2018 Rancid, down to the raspy-ish singing from Aimee Allen.

55) boygenius - “Me & My Dog”

When I heard Julien Baker, Phoebe Bridgers, and someone named Lucy Dacus were forming a super group, I was stoked. This tune was the one that jived the most with my vision of the project. Amazingly sick harmonies, dropping elbows on your heart like a professional wrestler, and introspection on introspection.

I wanna be emaciated I wanna hear one song without thinking of you I wish I was on a spaceship Just me and my dog and an impossible view

So, so, so, so good.

54) Shack Wes - “Mo Bamba”

How do you explain “Mo Bamba” to someone who doesn’t like rap? How do you explain “Mo Bamba” to someone who does like rap? I don’t know, but I am Teddy Bridgewater now.

53) Lil Dicky f/ Chris Brown, Ed Sheeran, DJ Khaled & Kendall Jenner - “Freaky Friday”

If you thought Rita Ora’s “Girls” was messy, allow me to introduce you to our last bad rap song on the list. Actually, maybe the Virginia Tech women’s lacrosse team would be a better candid--OHHHHH LADIES NO!!!!!!!!11111111

So yeah, whether it’s the most lightning rod word in American history, cultural appropriation, reverse cultural appropriation, or even just a good ol’ “I Blame Chris Brown” take, this attempt at comedy hip-hop got put under a microscope for all the right and wrong reasons. No one came out unscathed. But, like Ora’s song, if you can ignore some components (read: nearly everything), it’s so god damn fun, man. I mean, Dicky and Chris Brown swapped bodies -- pretty nuts. And it’s rare for an MVP line to be “How his dick staying perched up on his balls like that?”

52) Jay Rock f/ Kendrick Lamar, Future & James Blake - “King’s Dead”

I gotta go get it- I gotta go get it- I gotta go get it- I gotta go get it

The back half of the Future verse is the worst part about this song... yet the most fun to talk about. He raps auto-tuned, in falsetto... and these are the lyrics:

La di da di da, slob on me knob Pass me some syrup, fuck me in the car La di da di da, mothafuck the law Chitty chitty bang, murder everything

What a disgrace. Yet, almost like a whimsy 2 Chainz verse, it’s really fucking memorable.

51) Soccer Mommy - “Your Dog”

Noticeably good bassline? Check. Skin crawlingly bad band name? Check. Cool swearing? Yup.

50) Vince Staples - “FUN!”

Vince could rap his way out a bottomless pit; floating elevation flow.

49) Dan + Shay - “Tequila”

Tried so hard to get this one next to “Shitty Margarita”. Genuinely love this song. Maybe it’s the mountains in the music video, but that chorus just soars.

youtube

48) Meg Myers - “Numb”

Look up in the air and see this tidal wave chorus crashing through the world in slow motion.

47) The Penske File - “Fairgrounds”

My new working theory -- which really feels more like fact -- is how cool lyrics with the phrase “Meet me...” are. It creates this aura of unknown, mystery, and maybe even danger; like anything could happen if you just agree. Here are some from songs just off the top of my head:

Meet me by the lake

Meet me at the reservoir

Meet me in Montauk

Meet me in the middle (more on that one later)

Meet me in the back

Meet me at midnight

The list goes on. So please say “yes” to The Penske File at the fairgrounds, won’t you?

46) Lil Wayne f/ Swizz Beatz - “Uproar”

Weezy goes this entire song only using “oh” rhymes; not sure how he does it. Sometimes, I listen to this and pretend I’m a buffalo.

45) Cardi B - “Be Careful”

Cardi sampled Lauryn (wayyyyyyyy more on this later) and made it work. The chorus always sticks with me, and though the verses have a few bumps along the way, they might even be better.

44) Elway - “Crowded Conscience”

Elway pulls up their roots in this All Colorado Everything lyric video, and you’ll be ready to tap the Rockies when the singalong chorus finishes.

43) Pkew Pkew Pkew - “Passed Out”

A punk rock drinking song with a real bummer of a chorus for how happy the theme itself comes across.

42) Joyce Manor - “I Think I’m Still In Love With You”

I have no scientific proof, but Barry’s lyrics seem to be getting worse and worse. The drug references are still there, sure, but there’s an almost elementary simplicity to the proceedings. Still, like “Heart Tattoo”, this song doesn’t get in its own way and takes advantage of the basic words to create a big, big hook. You sing along even though it feels too easy at times.

41) Alkaline Trio - “Throw Me To The Lions”

So much desperation in the chorus; this could work as their last ever song.

40) The Bombpops - “Dear Beer”

My favorite opening line on this whole list -- the sweet and simple “I’m about to hit send / I’m waiting for the weekend”. Before you know it, a full blown self-loathing chorus. It’s got it all.

39) Foxing - “Lambert”

In quiet awe listening to this masterpiece of a song. Saw this band way up close in 2018 -- here is a picture:

Hello, Foxing

38) Lucero - “To My Dearest Wife”

Civil War soldier or rigorous rock and roll touring schedule? Either way, the Lucero singer misses his wife and family, and he’s gonna let you know they’re on his mind. I saw them open for Frank Turner in 2018, and he played their new album front to back -- before it had been released -- as their entire set because “I promised to do this when drunk on Instagram”. Gotta respect a man with principles.

37) BlocBoy JB f/ Drake - “Look Alive”

Favorite Drake hook of the year. BlocBoy JB... less necessary. Also kinda crazy to think we didn’t know who producer Tay Keith was at the beginning of 2018; definitely made his impression felt by the end.

36) The Front Bottoms - “Tie Die Dragon”

As psychedelic as I’ll ever get. Unless it’s, like, The Beatles. But that’s different.

35) The Lawrence Arms - “Laugh Out Loud”

Released on their Best Of record (legitimately titled “We Are The Champions Of The World) and an “Oh! Calcutta!” b-side from 2006, TLA prove even their leftovers can be a main course.

34) Tinashe f/ Future - “Faded Love”

I know he’s a rapper and she’s a singer, but nothing is more illustrative of how much harder women have to work compared to men than the 1:36 mark when Tinashe sensually sings “Let’s just feel this feeling”, doubled with Feature’s auto-tuned ass doing the exact same thing, only 10x worse. Not enough to taint the song, even a little. His verse, however...

33) Chance The Rapper - “65th & Ingleside”

Chance -- who almost always makes the correct choices -- did this super annoying thing where he released a bunch of songs in single batches in 2018.

“But Bobby, he gave you tons of free music! Why are you complaining?!”

Because we couldn’t easily sequence it, bruh. Look at this shit!:

Not even Drake would pull this stunt. EP next time, Chano.

Anyway.

Fun lines, really contagious beat, and a few types of flows; he spazzes at the end.

32) Complainer - “Drunk (Again)”

Gotta love when a song can’t start until multiple beer cans crack. These guys are a tiny band inspired-by-but-better-than Jeff Rosenstock, and I hope they get so much more traction.

31) ScHoolboy Q f/ Kendrick Lamar, Saudi & 2 Chainz - “X”

I LIVE ON TEN

Always read this title as the letter X even though the word “ten” is used 40 times in the song.

30) KIDS SEE GHOSTS (Kanye West & Kid Cudi) - “Reborn”

From Kanye’s only useful project in 2018 comes “Reborn”. Luckily, it’s mainly Cudi on this track (chorus/bridge/a verse). It feels like Ohio’s son is breaking through... or breaking out; verging on real triumph over his demons. Kanye, meanwhile, is surprisingly understated (read: good) and fits into all of his parts like a non-OJ glove. The sparing use of Yeezy reminds me of how the master himself used to feature people like Chief Keef just enough to harness the talent but not enough to ruin the song or do too much. Those alpha days appear to be way in the rearview now.

29) Travis Scott f/ Drake, Swae Lee & Big Hawk - “SICKO MODE”

Stacey Dash, most of these girls ain’t got a clue

This joins “Mo Bamba” in the Top 2 of Rap Songs That Need To Be Played At All Parties In The Year 2018. While “Bamba” is more consistent -- seriously, “SICKO MODE” is four songs in one -- almost nothing tops hearing the start of this and immediately anticipating the rest (like the opening of “Tuesday” when that was hot). The third part is probably my favorite. #likealight

28) SOB X RBE f/ Zacari & Kendrick Lamar - “Paramedic!”

Our third selection from the “Black Panther” soundtrack. Second favorite beat of 2018; I can’t not move the second it drops.

27) Drug Church - “Unlicensed Hall Monitor”

Favorite guitar leads of 2018. It’s as sleek as the vocals are gruff.

26) Matt And Kim - “FOREVER”

Was a dead tie between this and the equally emotional “Youngest I Will Be”. But this one has a vid -- and they make the best vids. This song also references the 1992 Dream Team. Our world will never be shit if they stay a part of it; first time I’ve came close to tearing up so far. These two inspire.

25) The Ramblin’ Boys Of Pleasure - “Joyce Jawbreaker”

Speaking of turrs, my band of 14 years released our maybe last song ever in 2018. Written in Maine, titled for Joyce Manor and Jawbreaker, and about lost love, Chicago, futures, playing music with your brothers, tiny hands, and found love. We also did a video:

youtube

24) Ariana Grande f/ Nicki Minaj - “the light is coming”

I really, truly am not excluding “thank u, next” to be contrarian. While I agree that is her defining song of 2018 -- and biggest hit to date? -- “the light is coming” is so much more unique. It goes in so many directions while the hook ties the rope around you a hundred times. Yep, I’m right.

23) Laura Jane Grace & The Devouring Mothers - “Apocalypse Now (& Later)”

Wish I could forever keep this song’s opening line as my mantra: You make me walk away from the hate I carry.

22) Restorations - “Nonbeliever”

Another band that should be bigger, so they can always be free to do anything they want. This song will always boil down to this part, which captures the push and pull of 2018 America:

I love your protest lines Oh, but who has the time? We all saw the same thing at the same time, okay? Got a partner for starters And a kid on the way Can’t be doing all this dumb shit no more

For how crass, clumsy, and non-rhyming that concludes, the song itself ends dire.

21) The Get Up Kids - “I’m Sorry”

One of my favorite videos of 2018. Similar to “Apocalypse Now (& Later)”, I’m not sure if it’s about a love interest or a kid. Does it matter? No. But it does to me.

20) Antarctigo Vespucci - “Freakin’ U Out”

A band name for the ages. With Chris Farren (of Fake Problems) on vox and Jeff Rosenstock on instruments, this song could power a car -- or at least one person who didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.

19) Bayside - “It Don’t Exist”

Anthony Raneri has a new grill, but this song feels 50 years old. A classic in real time.

18) The Carters - “APESHIT”

Is this artsy, all-time vid somewhat undermined by the Migos ad libs?

Yes.

/makes note to maybe dress up like this for Halloween next year

17) Post Malone f/ 21 Savage - “rockstar”

This song is so good -- albeit misogynist and also bad -- it makes me genuinely eager for a 21 Savage verse. And though I love any bars relating to his 12-car garage...

my favorite 21 savage quirk is his yearly 12 car garage updates:

2016: “why you got a 12 car garage?”

2017: “they like ‘savage why you got a 12 car garage / and you only got 6 cars?’”

2018: “why you got a 12 car garage? / cause i bought 6 new cars”

(via @ottergawd)

...his intro line is just so, so terrible: “I've been in the Hills fuckin' superstars / Feelin' like a popstar”. You know that’s... not really a rhyme, right?

16) Andrew McMahon In The Wilderness - “Ohio”

/will always, always death stare that dumb name to start any Andy section

Ah, but if we did start with a lyric?

Katie’s counting crows

This song is about leaving the worst state for one of the best. But if we’re doing that, why do we feel so melancholy?

15) Kendrick Lamar & SZA - “All The Stars”

You've gotta be mesmerizing to make Kung Fu Kenny look pedestrian, but SZA's galactic hook does just that.

14) Frank Turner - “1933″

Frank isn’t from here, but he’s setting out to remind us of where this all began.

13) The Wonder Years - “Sister Cities”

As far as pop punk legacies are concerned, The Wonder Years’ is secure. There is no longer necessity to churn out bangers; they’re already on the Mount Rushmore. Still, they go. Every part of this song is essential: the build up verses, blown out chorus, Panic! At The Disco 2005-era hi-hat off-time drum transitions, end-of-the-rope bridge. The true standout is the closing of V2:

I'm guarded like I'm wounded, my first instinct's always “run” I wanna turn to steam I wanna call it off I wanna lighten the dark I wanna swallow the sun

Good guitar leads add even extra.

12) YG f/ 2 Chainz, Big Sean & Nicki Minaj - “BIG BANK”

“Alexa, what does big bank do to little bank?”

The highlight line from each:

YG: “Ayy, I set the bar, I'm the fuckin' bar / Look in the sky, I'm a fuckin' star / I don't fall in love 'cause I be lovin' hard / Do everything like my shirt, extra large”

2 Chainz: “Big shit like a dinosaur did it”

Big Sean: “I'm rare as affordable health care”

Nicki: “Told em' I met Slim Shady, bagged a Em / Once he go black, he'll be back again”

Let this also be remembered as the song that created a Madden controversy.

11) Dean Summerwind - “Parked By The Lake”

What is there to say about the legend that is Dean Summerwind? With only one song on Spotify, he’s batting a clean 1.000. Calling this genius feels like an understatement. It’s real, it’s parody, it’s persistent, it’s ours.

10) The Dirty Nil - “Bathed In Light”

The Canadian Local H. Reaaaaaaaally wanna see them live in 2019.

9) oso oso - “gb/ol h/nf”

I stylized oso oso as “Oso Oso” last year to stick it to their frontman Jade, but a year later, I’ve lost the energy. Blame Ariana Grande. This song -- which stands for “goodbye old love, hello new friend”* -- has my favorite chorus of the year. It’s so simple, it’s obvious: “But I still come through, when you want / And if I serve no use, where do I get my purpose from?”

Also, this is indie/pop/punk/rock’s version of “SICKO MODE”: got more parts than “The Wire”.

(* - had to look that up multiple times in 2018 and never retained, despite it being the bridge of the song... I didn’t notice)

8) Kacey Musgraves - “Space Cowboy”

If any song *survives* the existence of this list, I hope it’s this one. Kacey has this predictable-yet-surprising way of taking existing tropes and co-opting them with her own twist. Homegirl is like the Jim Nantz of pop/country in that way.

7) Direct Hit! - “Welcome To Heaven”

This song makes me want to die to, you know, check. Blustering chorus, fascinating premise, and charged up while simultaneously patient/in control.

6) FIDLAR f/ The 90s - “Are You High?”

This not being on Spotify was one of the worst non-Michigan football things to happen to me in 2018. Man, I hate Michigan football.

5) Drake - “Nice For What”

- My favorite beat of 2018 (New Orleans bounce, ftw)

- My favorite release of 2018 - Drizzy said it would drop on a Friday - We were thinking morning or midday (not late evening, in the last remaining hours of the day, when were were faded and had waited so long it was almost forgotten -- it hit perfect) - On top of that, he also sampled Lauryn Hill’s “Ex-Factor” -- the same week Cardi B did the same -- with even more pulsating results - I will always interpret that as a real or sneak diss, yet no one I know has ever said anything

- My buddy Josh sent a selfie vid of him and his girl and some friends bopping to it; I’ll remember that forever; the moment felt like such an event, as if the world simultaneously celebrated at such an atypical time

- Drake deserves 30% less credit for this female empowerment anthem because of the “these hoes” sample

- Maybe a Top 5 Drake song, all-time

- There is no planet, solar system, or multiverse where 2018 Drake finishes ahead of 2018 Pusha T

4) Pusha T - “The Story Of Adidon”

You are hiding a child.

Let’s not mince words: this is the No. 2 greatest diss track of all time. Pac is No. 1 -- this will not be debated. From there, Nas is DQ’d for “Ether” homophobia, annnnnnd no one else is in the realm. King Push...

- Unearthed a photo of Drake in blackface and uses it as the art for the song - Goes at Drake’s mom (”Marriage is something that Sandi never had...”) - Goes at Drake’s dad (”Dennis Graham stay off the 'gram, bitch, I'm on one”) - Outs Drake for having a child (and hiding said child!*) - Goes at Drake’s baby momma - And -- /gulp -- goes at Drake’s longtime producer 40 for having multiple sclerosis, suggesting he will not be alive soon**

He does this over “The Story Of O.J.” beat... a rather chill backdrop, all things considered.

(* - Drake responded later with the line “I wasn’t hiding my kid from the world, I was hiding the world from my kid” which just isn’t cool at all but is competent enough to win some people back over; /barf)

(** - HOLY FUCK***)

(*** - much debate occurred in the aftermath regarding if Push “went too far”; I was 50-50 at the time but now am 100-0 that it was the right choice; this song is cyanide venom, so why pull back even an ounce?)

Though Drake survived -- turns out the mainstream pop boost is bigger than hip-hop beef -- he took the fattest of L’s on this one.

Really can’t decide on a lyrical ending, so I’m gonna go with two:

Surgical summer.

If we all go to hell, it’ll be worth it.

3) Spanish Love Songs - “Buffalo Buffalo”

In my head, this was gonna end up ahead of The Menzingers, but that would be like putting Greta Van Fleet ahead of Zeppelin. Spanish Love Songs were my breakout band of 2018. They released my favorite album, I saw them as an opener at Sub-T in Chicago, and I promised their bassist I’d see them in Florida at the Fest (this did not materialize). While their vocals and guitar leads sound identical to Scranton’s finest, if you listen to them as much as I did, you’ll realize they offer a sound and perspective* of their own as well.

(* - no one hates themselves more than this singer)

2) The Menzingers - “Toy Soldier”

There’s so much to be sad about these days

/that guitar intro

Followed by the best musical moment of this year: from 0:06 to 0:07 -- the ever-so-slight delay before the band blows it out. Spent a lot of time in 2018 debating if I should change my Twitter bio to “I lost my accent in the plague”. Listened to this song on the floor of the living room on my 32nd birthday; then I read “The Great Gatsby”. From there (at this point, it was past midnight), I realized this sounded like The Lawrence Arms’ “Requiem Revisited”, which was inspired by Naked Raygun’s “Soldiers Requiem”. It’s all a triangle of that perfectly fitting punk chord progression. That’s right: I am Pepe Silvia.

1) Horror Squad - “I Smoke The Blood”

Best song title of 2018. Best song of 2018.

This has 729 views on YouTube -- be the 730th.

youtube

Spotify playlist.

Thank you for reading.

0 notes