#not when you find it oh so easy to list off and pinpoint every single wrong i've ever done

[psalmsofpsychosis]

.

[theonewiththefanfics]

Heartbreak For A Gift (Part 1/?)

Synopsis: Sometimes relationships start off like love stories in books. And sometimes they fall apart in a minute.

(Kind of an AU! I guess??)

Pairing: Harry Styles x fem!Reader

Genre: angst bruh

Warnings: swearing, sadness, angst, but nothing else that I can remember. Minimal editing

Word count: 2547

A/N: Please note I don’t know what the situation is between Harry and Olivia, if it’s a stunt or they’re actually dating. Whatever the case do not harass them. This is fiction and only for the purposes of the story. If they’re actually together - GOOD FOR THEM!!! No one is entitled to other people’s private lives!

Can be read as a one-shot if ya want, but I might turn this into a very small series cause I already have ideas as to where to go further with this, so hit me up if that’s what you’d like :)

If you know you’re a part of my tag list and see you’ve been crossed out, it means I can’t tag you for whatever reason. If you still would like to be a part of my tags please message me with your previous username and updated so I can update my lists :)

When she’d first said yes to going out with Harry, she’d had zero ideas as to who he really was. Well, that was a lie, she obviously knew of him, it’s not like she completely lived under a rock, and she’d seen a couple of his interviews, but 'One Direction' or Harry Styles as a solo artist hadn’t been that big of parts of her life, so she didn’t really care much for it.        They’d met at a bookstore on a sunny day in London. That’d been a good day. Her boss had let her go home a bit earlier than usual, the weather was warm, but not it’s-so-warm-I’m-sweating-my-ass-off kind of warm, sunglasses covering her eyes and hair free as the warm summer winds blew through her locks she was walking beside the Thames on her way inside the heart of the city.        Because she had a little bit more free time, she decided to pop into Waterstones, which was generally not a good idea for Y/N to do if she had things in store for the day; this time she could spend the rest of the evening if she wanted to, browsing books and living her best life.        Surprisingly for London, that particular Waterstones, even though it was in a densely populated area, was pretty empty, so Y/N felt free to skim through the options without having to press through a crowd of people to find the next section.        As she scanned what the shelves of New-Adult fiction offered, a man also came to look at the books. He stayed a bit further away, but he was certainly someone who caught people’s attention with the bright green daisy-print covered T-shirt, chequered shorts and the three scrunchies on his wrist.        The thing was as much as he’d grabbed Y/N's attention, she was more interested in the Waterstones exclusive edition of a book she’d been dying to buy, so when she saw it just sitting on the shelf, a small gasp escaped her lips.        Two eyes were immediately on her, and Y/N could feel them slip back onto her form from time to time as she greedily paged through the book, but she couldn’t say her own Y/E/C eyes didn’t flit over to the man as well.        He had a small bun on the top of his head, curly hair pushed away from the face, cheekbones for days, which were shaved and smooth and perfectly groomed brows arching over what seemed to be green orbs which were looking at the spine of a crime book way too intensely for it to be genuine interest. All in all, his side profile would be that of one of the characters Y/N’d simp over in a book, let alone the nails painted all colours of the rainbow which made her happy because nothing was better to see someone sticking it to the patriarchy.        But their little meet-cute was interrupted as an employee apologised while he tried to squeeze past them with a giant cart filled with new release books, and almost like a lost puppy, she started to follow the stacks of books when a hand on her shoulder made her spin around only to be faced with the man. She instantly recognised his face, but, at the same time, couldn’t really pinpoint what it was about him that was so familiar.

       “Sorry,” he said in a rough voice. “But you left this behind.”        And in his hands was the Waterstones exclusive.        Y/N’s eyes widened as she gingerly took it from him. “Oh my god, thank you! I’ve got no idea how I let it out of my fingers.”        He chuckled, motioning with his chin to the employee disappearing by the corner. “I’d say you got distracted.”        “Yeah, a little.” She bit her lip and drummed her nails against the cover of the book. “Well, uh… thank you. For not grabbing it for yourself.”        But he just lifted his hand. “More of a Murakami kind of a man.”        “Yes, well, I,” she nodded towards the book in her own hand, “like to read about people living out my dreams.”        He raised his eyebrow. “It’s a murder mystery.”        “Your point?”        “Would you say I have issues then if I wanted to ask you out on a date?”        Y/N’s heart stuttered in her chest, but he looked so nervous, so genuinely open and almost scared, she couldn’t feel any ill intentions from him, so she tapped her chin a bit as if contemplating before saying, “No. I’d say you have good taste actually.’        The relieved laugh he let out made him seem even prettier than Y/N already thought he was.        He extended his palm towards her, swaying on the balls of his feet a bit. “ ‘M Harry. Would probably be proper to know my name before we go anywhere further.”        “Y/N.” She smiled and clasped his hand in hers. “And it would probably be proper to know I was kidding about the whole ‘watching others live out my dreams’. People living out my dreams are actually in the books having hot sex with Fae.”        His laughter was loud and sudden, making Y/N duck down like she was in her Uni library and the librarians would come and shush them. But now, almost two years later since they’d first met, there was no sign of those butterflies she’d felt in the middle of the thriller section of Waterstones. Now Y/N was sitting by a large table, body slowly numbing as was her mind to keep the pain from her heart spreading. Whatever Jeff was talking about now, she didn’t hear. There were eyes on her, had to be to gauge her reaction, but they wouldn’t get anything more than slightly parted lips and a blank stare turned towards the marbled top.        She knew Harry was nervous; from her peripheral vision, she saw his thumb scraping at the rest of his nail lacquer, chips of pastel yellow and green polish flaking off and floating to the carpeted floor.        Y/N didn’t like LA. She’d never wanted to go there. Maybe as a tourist for a couple of weeks sometime down the line, but because of Harry and his commitment to ‘Don’t Worry, Darling’ and because he’d basically pleaded with her for days on end, she’d agreed to move there with him for the time he was shooting the movie.        It’s not that the city wasn’t beautiful. The sun, the sea, the greenery surrounding her was absolutely breath-taking, but it was the people that she didn’t really mesh with. Sure, she knew dating Harry came with a lot of what LA’s society was like. The need to look absolutely physically perfect to match the unachievable barbie standard, the fake niceness people usually exhibited just to get something for themselves or possibly raise them higher on the popularity scale, but Harry had always wiped away those doubts. But now all of that seemed like one big lie. He’d told her he didn’t care for any of it, not when it concerned Y/N nor when it concerned himself. But the contract in front of them said something different.        A hand touched her back. “Y/N?” Harry’s voice was tentative, wavering at the end of her name.        For the first time since the proposal had been thrown out, she lifted her eyes to look around at the people in the room.        Harry, Jeff, both their attorneys and Olivia Wilde and her attorney. The other woman, once their gazes met, immediately looked away. Y/N wanted to scoff at that.        “What…” Harry gulped, brushing a hand across her back. She’d never flinched away from him, but this time she did. Harry visibly shrunk in his seat and pulled back. “What do you think?”        What did she think? Well, she was thinking a lot of things, and the urge to say all of them was immense, but instead Y/N bit down on her tongue, reaching for the legal papers in front of her and skimmed through them.        She’d read each and every word as they’d been read out loud by the attorney, and every letter had been burned into her brain now. There was no way to get them out from her mind, and they’d haunt her forever.        “The fact that you’re asking me what I think of it already means you’re considering this.” Surprisingly enough, her voice was steady even though she was on the verge of collapsing after everything. “So, I’ll make this really easy for you – do it. Because, from now on, you’re a single man and you can do whatever the fuck you want.”        Harry’s face paled immediately at her words, hand moving to grasp Y/N’s, but they were in a tight ball in her lap, not moving an inch at his touch.        “Y/N, please.” Olivia was the one reaching out now, a pained and terrified look on her face, but the girl just stood up from her chair and went to the coat rack taking her coat and the bag that was discarded by it.        “No, you asked what I thought.” Tears had started to form in her eyes while she shrugged on her jacket. “This is what I think. If you even for a second assumed I’d be alright with this shitty stunt, Harry, then through the last two years we've spent together, you’ve learned nothing about me, and to me, it means it’s not worth it.”        Harry was now standing, desperate to touch her face, but Y/N once again pulled away.         “You two,” Y/N said pointing between Olivia and Harry, their faces twins of fear and regret. “Have never needed publicity. Not like this, so don’t try and bullshit me that this will make great promo for the movie. There are so many other ways you could drum up interest, but this…” She let out an unamused chuckle. “How could you think I’d be okay with you pretending to be in a relationship with someone else?”        “No, please… just hear us out. You don’t know what it’s like.” Harry tried to plead, hands in his hair, but it was the wrong thing to say, as she took a step back, eyes wide in disbelief.          But Y/N was calm, and with how rigid Harry became he knew he’d fucked up more than before.        “I don’t understand?" she breathed. “The number of things and events I’ve said ‘no’ to… the…” Her voice was as still as the sea before a storm as she took in a deep breath and exhaled. “Harry wants Y/N there for the opening of his tour, so Y/N drops everything and flies out even though she misses a presentation that could have her up for a promotion. Harry doesn’t want to be seen walking inside a club with someone, so Y/N goes to the back entrance to save his face. Harry is tired and just wants to sleep, so Y/N passes on her friends’ birthdays because he wants cuddles. What Harry wants, Y/N does. And I did. I did all that happily while keeping our relationship private while snaking in and out through back doors like I was some dirty secret of yours just so you could keep the illusion you’re single…” Y/N shook her head. “I think I understand very well… But now… it’s my turn, my time to ask of you something.”        “Anything,” he pleaded, probably thinking that Y/N was going to ask him not to go with Jeff’s stunt, and he’d gladly tell them all to fuck off if it meant her staying. “I’ll do anything.”        “Let me go.”        If Harry’s heart hadn’t been in his chest you would’ve been able to hear it break as it smashed against the floor.        “Let me go,” she repeated. “And don’t come after me. Because I won’t take any part in this.”        “But –,” he was choking on his words. “But I don’t want to. I love you; I can’t just let you walk away like that. I won’t do it, none of this is worth it.”        “And I didn’t want to do a lot of things, especially sit in a meeting on Valentine’s day where my boyfriend was talking about faking a relationship to promote a fucking movie, but here we are.”        This time when he reached out to cup her cheek, Y/N let him. “Please. I swear I won’t do it, just please let’s talk about this. Don’t give up on me.”        But she was unwavering. “For the rest of our relationship, however long that might’ve been, I would’ve wondered if you hated me if you despised me for not agreeing to go with it if the movie didn’t do as well as your management predicts it will with this. And I won’t have that. I won’t be in a relationship where every second will be spent in doubt that I’m stifling your career and you could potentially resent me.”        “I could never hate you.”        “Yeah.” She let out a sob. “You actually claim to love me but would be willing to put me through that kind of fuckery, so something has to be a lie.”        Without looking at anyone else in the office, Y/N stepped away from the man who once made her feel like she could conquer the top of the world and opened the door, but didn’t even manage to take a step outside when the voice of the person she never wanted to hear from called after her, and although Y/N had been calm and collected, she snapped at him. “Oh, don’t worry, Jeff,” she snarled. “It’s not like I can talk about anything that happened here. You made sure of it. Smart move, by the way, I’d say you should continue it. NDAs right before any meeting… I guess that’s how you keep your clients' careers spotless, so your stunt won’t be exposed.”        The way she whipped around to move towards the door would’ve given her whiplash, if not for Harry standing in front of her, arms weaving around to keep her in place.        “I’m sorry." He was verging on hysterics. "Please just… please Y/N don’t…”        It seemed like he no longer even understood what he was pleading for. For Y/N to not break up? To not leave the room? LA? All he knew was that if he let her walk out of the door, he’d never see her again, and she’d make sure of it.        “No, Harry, I think I actually will, because the thought of being in the same city as you, is going to make me throw up right now,” Y/N said eyes not daring to meet his, because if she did, she'd break and her resolve would dissipate. “Besides, you have loads of things to talk about. By the time you get back, I’ll have my stuff out of the hotel. And Jeff?”        His manager looked sheepish as she glanced at Y/N.        “The least you owe me is a ticket back home. The first flight you can find.”        He didn’t answer, just nodded. She didn't deign to thank him.        “Happy fucking Valentines to you two.” She looked at Olivia and Harry, who was breaking apart at the seams, but no longer could she find it in herself to care. He didn’t care enough about her anyway. “Hope you have a very happy relationship.”

Tags (crossed out wouldn’t take):

Harry Styles tags: @sarcasticallywitty15​ @breezykpop​ @girlboss99​ @harrystylesdoesntknowiexist​ @alliyjane​ @sirtommyholland​ @raylovessarcasm

Everything tags: @lumelgy @palaiasaurus64 @supernaturalbaesduh @breezy1415 @crazy--me @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @sea040561 @staryeyedgirl @deathbyarabbit @s-c-a-r-e-d-po-t-t-e-r @reblogger-not-a-blogger @m-a-t-91 @dalilx @i-need-a-hero-i-need-a-loki @maladaptive-ninja-returns @averyrogers83 @in-the-end-im-still-trash @gallifreyansass @dewy-biitch @avxgers @unlikelygalaxygiver @magicwithaknife @ollyoxenfrees @bnhvrdy @tvwhoresblog @celebsimagines @thatkindofgurl​ @sj-thefan​ @teenwolflover28 @lestersglitterglue​ @im-squished​

A/N: I’m (kinda?) back? I guess. I dunno. I’m in this weird place where I’m writing my books and then I get inspo for fics and I start writing them, but can’t seem to finish them so I dunno :D

P.S. what did ya think?

P.S.S. please don’t repost my works on other platforms (Wattpad Ao3 etc without specific written permission)

P.S.S.S. my tags are always open :)

[biaswreckme]

looking for something right | jjk/knj

Summary: When Jungkook needs to find a new apartment with a roommate to share expenses, he thinks that the universe must be either laughing at him or conspiring in his favor. Because when he finally finds an ad that fits his budget, his roommate is the tall and handsome man from the coffee shop.

Pairing: Namjoon/Jungkook

Member: Namjoon, Jungkook, Jimin, Yoongi

Length: 3568 words

Genre: smut, fluff

Type of AU: roommates au, university au, coffee shop au (kinda) (yes i used all my favorite tropes and aus in one fic)

Rating: 18+

Triggers/Warnings: heavy pining, slightly dom!Namjoon, slightly sub!JK, dry humping, handjob, dirty talking

Project: @thebtswritersclub​ April project with the theme Bloom 🌸

A/N: A huge thanks to my lobely beta-readers @taegularities​​ AND @voiceswithoutlips for help in revising and editing ♥ and also @voiceswithoutlips for the conversation that inspired the smutty scene :3

cross-posted on AO3 too!

Jungkook had seen him around campus before, more specifically in his favorite small coffee shop just outside the university that was much cheaper and actually catered to students’ financial range when it came to prices. He always had a book with him - usually a tome so big Jungkook thought he could do some real damage to someone with it -, reading and taking notes in the margins, which Jungkook thought was an atrocity, but the other boy didn’t seem bothered or apologetic.

He must be an early riser, because he was always there before he arrived, a steaming cup of hot coffee on the table and a bottle of water next to a small open pencil case and sticky notes. He looked too well-put together to be an undergrad, so he assumed he was a grad student. Philosophy maybe? Or something that demanded a constant consumption of large books. And maybe - just maybe - Jungkook shouldn’t have been spending so much on coffee when he could be brewing it at his apartment, but his apartment didn’t have the tall boy - man? - to discreetly look at while having his morning drink.

What his apartment did have was Jimin, his close friend and dance major that moved from Busan at the same time as him. They’d been sharing a place for some time now, but things were about to change. Jungkook knew this had been coming, but the day Jimin came home announcing that he’d been accepted for a scholarship abroad and that he would need to move soon came as a shock. He was extremely happy for him, but they would need to rush the process of moving out and Jungkook finding a new place or roommate.

They opted to let the apartment go, and so Jungkook began his search for a new place to share. He’d looked at listings, visited some places that were out of his budget, and then he found it. It was a small poster at the coffee shop’s cork board from a guy named Namjoon; the place was a block away and it fit perfectly into his budget and what he wanted for the location. It seemed too perfect; there had to be a catch, right? He texted the number - who calls anyone these days anyways? - and arranged to meet him at the coffee shop the next day before classes.

The catch. Oh, there was a catch.

He entered the place as usual, and the only person there was the tall man with a book on the table, steaming drink in his hand. He looked up at Jungkook who froze for a second, nodding his head and going to the counter quickly, barely mumbling his order to the barista trying to not freak out at the eye contact. So he avoided it for the next few minutes, until he heard his name being called out. What? How did he know his name?

“Jungkook?” the man repeated.

“Yes?” he took a deep breath and turned around at the sound of the deep voice.

“I’m Namjoon,” he introduced himself, standing up and motioning for Jungkook to join him at the table. No, no, no. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t be him. The universe had to be joking. “Nice to meet you.” He reached out to shake Jungkook’s hand.

He was touching him. And he smelled so good. And his voice was so deep. Jungkook felt like a schoolgirl with her first crush, sighing at the very sight of Namjoon, whose name he now knew. He nodded in response and looked at the counter, trying to take a break from that smile, pretending he was checking if his order was ready. It was not.

“So, you’re interested in the apartment, right?”

“Ah, yeah… my friend and roommate right now, Jimin, you might have seen him around campus? He’s an amazing contemporary dancer, so he got this incredible and super rare scholarship to go study at this academy... I forgot the name,” he shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts and stop his rambling - to no avail, “anyway he’s moving too soon and I need to find a new place but everything’s so expensive. Yours fits the budget and is so close to uni and I couldn’t help but check you out, I mean, check it out…” He closed his eyes in embarrassment at the slip up, hearing Namjoon’s soft chuckle.

“Alright. What are you studying? Undergrad or grad school?”

“Media. Photography, film making, this stuff. I’m into it. I mean. Excuse me,” he was saved by the barista calling him, and as soon as he got back to the table, he took a sip, burning his tongue - but at least it stopped him from babbling for a second. “Undergrad still,” he complemented.

“Cool. I’m in grad school for social studies, so I’m a TA, but I also work with music production,” Namjoon began, but upon Jungkook’s raised eyebrows and brown eyes rounding up, he continued. “I wanted to get a better grasp on understanding society, so I can write better lyrics and try to integrate that into the music writing itself, you know?”

Jungkook nodded, fascinated. So he was cute and smart. And captivating. The interview didn’t really seem like one; it was so easy to fall into conversation with Namjoon that he did not notice time passing, and soon enough they were cut short, remembering they still had classes to attend.

“Alright, Jungkook. You don’t seem like a serial killer, so how about you visit the apartment to see if you like it?”

Jungkook choked on the last sip of his drink, and he really wanted to answer that he did not need to see the apartment to know he liked him, but he managed to catch himself before letting it out. He knew what Namjoon was seeing right now: his eyes wide open in shock, maybe even a light blush on his cheeks? His ears certainly felt hot. Dear lord, he needed to get a grip on himself.

“I’m not a serial killer, I promise. I’m a law abiding citizen. When are you free? I have classes the whole day today, but I’m free around lunchtime.” Jungkook wanted to dig a hole and hide right in there. Did he sound too eager?

“The sooner the better, but wait,” Namjoon stopped midway while getting up, looking very serious all of a sudden, “I forgot a very important question that might change my mind.”

Jungkook inhaled deeply, dreading the question that was about to come. Did he seem too forward and let the other man know he was into him? Would that be a deal breaker?

“Can you cook?”

“Ah… yes?” Jungkook was caught by surprise, confusion stamped on his face again. “Yes, I can. The basics at least.”

“Oh great! I can’t cook to save my life and I can’t really afford to live on take out anymore, so… we can work something out with that for sure!” He laughed, those dimples adorning his cheeks appearing again.

Soon Jungkook would learn that not only could Namjoon not cook, but he was actually a disaster and walking hazard in the kitchen. The man didn’t even know to properly hold a cutting knife to chop some vegetables or kimchi for a simple plate of fried rice. They attempted cooking together one time and that was enough for Jungkook. That was his kitchen from now on, Namjoon would be responsible for other chores but he himself would do all the cooking in the kitchen. Namjoon was even forbidden from boiling water on an electric kettle; that was the level of disaster-waiting-to-happen that he was.

The apartment was cozy and filled with books and musical equipment, and soon enough Jungkook’s filming materials were sharing the same space. It warmed his heart to come home in the evenings after class and see how his camera bag would be sitting beside Namjoon’s headphones, or how his black chunky sneakers rested beside the other man’s boots at the entrance. Whenever he put on or took off his shoes - which was almost every single day of the week, mind you - he would get a fuzzy feeling in his stomach. He would tilt his head quickly to try and shake the thoughts away, not letting himself hope too much. He had no idea or indication if Namjoon even liked men, and he had no idea why he was even wishing for something more.

He was not exactly sure if he could pinpoint the precise moment in time when his adoration had turned into real infatuation with Namjoon. Maybe it was the fact that the older one was a disaster in the kitchen and always thanked Jungkook, each and every single meal the younger one cooked. Maybe it was the look he sported whenever he was engrossed in a book, glasses almost falling off his nose before a finger would softly push it back up (and Jungkook had found out that he only used his glasses comfortably at home, preferring contacts whenever he was out).

Maybe it was the way he always listened to Jungkook’s ramblings, no matter the topic of interest, from deep art films he had to watch (and Namjoon would actually sit down and watch with him) to the new game he’d been playing. Maybe it was the way he would always wish him a good morning and a good night with that dimpled smile. Maybe it was the way he offered to produce a freaking song to be used as a soundtrack to one of Jungkook’s short films. Maybe it was the way they ended up watching the first snowfall of the season together, side by side, looking out of the living room window. Maybe it was the way Namjoon’s left arm enveloped Jungkook’s shoulders in a soft side hug while they watched the snowflakes drift down and when Jungkook didn’t move, those dimples appeared on his cheeks.

But that was the only physical proximity for a while. The next day Jungkook could barely look at Namjoon and spent the day over at Yoongi’s place. He arrived just in time when Jimin was video calling his boyfriend, and proceeded to freak out about watching the first snow of the season together and it had to mean something, right? He put his arm around him while they stood in front of the window, Jimin, what the hell did it mean?

All the while Yoongi watched him with a cocked head, as if he was thinking hard about something, and then an amused smile shaped his lips. Jungkook thought it must have been because he had never had such a strong reaction for a boy - a man - before, especially one who was his roommate. Was it a brotherly hug? Namjoon hadn’t said anything or done anything else, did it mean he was interested in him or did he see Jungkook as a little brother? He was full of questions and asking them to the wrong people for sure, but he did not want to risk the little he had with Namjoon.

It was winter. The small affectionate moments he had with Namjoon were keeping him going, fueling and warming his heart enough to get through the coldest season. They watched movies together on the couch, huddled up under a blanket with cups of tea warming their hands. Going to the coffee shop in the morning for a cup of coffee before classes. Namjoon waiting for him outside the media building with a cup of hot chocolate in the evenings when he had classes later, walking back to the apartment together. Watching Namjoon work, focused on creating the loop he had been struggling with for a while, nothing seemed to fulfill what he wanted. Namjoon watching him work, editing an experimental short film he filmed for a class group project.

The freezing weeks passed like that, with Jungkook cooking different types of jjigae for them, Namjoon being allowed back in the kitchen mostly to keep him company, telling Jungkook he was hungry and will it take much longer?

He visited Yoongi once a week, calling Jimin together so he could freely talk about his growing fondness for Namjoon and get some advice he was keeping for when he thought the timing was right. Yoongi told him he had to create the right timing and he would actually probably be surprised if he acted on his desires. But Yoongi couldn’t know. He still had no clue about the mystery that was Namjoon’s love life, only that he had never taken anyone to the apartment.

Whether he was even interested in that, Jungkook had no idea, but he also had no courage to ask. Jimin suggested he did what he knew best: work with images. So he had been filming small snippets of their lives, their walks to their coffee shop, comfortable scenes at the apartment when no one else was looking but Jungkook through the camera lenses. Sometimes Namjoon asked to film Jungkook too, or positioned the camera so both of them were caught in the recording.

Winter went and spring came. Just as the flowers were starting to blossom on the street outside their windows, Jungkook was getting ready to show Namjoon the film. As he edited throughout the weeks, he noticed more than once how fondly he would look at the older man, and he could almost swear the gaze was reciprocated when he was not looking, but he didn’t want to get his hopes up. He made Yoongi promise he could crash at his place for a while in case things got weird and Namjoon kicked him out, to which Yoongi had let out a full laugh, something the boy had never heard before, and merely gave him a Sure, almost as if he was mocking Jungkook.

And so the day came. He chose the perfect song, adjusting his editing to fit the rhythm and lyrics, hoping it would express his love. Yes, he would call it love. He fell in love with the good person that the man was, with all the small quirks and imperfections.

He told Namjoon he had something to show, that he had finally finished his project and wanted to him to see. He waited for Namjoon to come back from his day out nervously, heart racing as he made them some tea while the man showered and got into more comfortable clothes. The video was ready to be played and Jungkook almost gave up, but decided this was the time.

He could not hide his feelings anymore.

And so he pressed play and closed his eyes. He had heard that song over and over again while editing, perfecting each millisecond of the final product. His heart was beating almost as loudly as the song, the sound filling his ears, his fingers clenching the fabric of his oversized black t-shirt, a shaky breath leaving his nose when he heard the final notes.

“Jungkook?”

He took a deep breath before opening his eyes, suddenly finding Namjoon’s face much closer than he was expecting, the man’s eyes staring into his own.

“I love you, too.”

The words had barely registered in his brain - although they had been imprinted on his heart - when Namjoon’s pillowy lips pressed softly against his, one of the man’s hands caressing his cheek, wiping at a tear he did not notice had fallen. He sighed into the kiss, relief perpassing his entire body. He loved him. When it finally clicked for him, his brain finally sent the necessary signals that made his arms go around Namjoon’s neck, his fingers entangling in the man’s hair and pulling him even closer. They moaned almost in synchrony when their tongues touched for the first time, Jungkook’s body almost undulating in a way that made Namjoon tug his hips towards himself, making the younger man sit on his lap.

“Fuck, I’ve wanted to do this for a long time,” the older broke the kiss, staring into Jungkook’s eyes, “been waiting for you,” he murmured against the younger’s lips. As their mouths clashed in an open-mouthed kiss, Namjoon pulled Jungkook’s longer hair, making him bend back so he could have access to the expanse of his neck.

Jungkook moaned when Namjoon’s lips pressed onto his skin, licking and biting and sucking and definitely leaving some marks, and all he could do was clutch the older’s biceps, shifting his hips to try and alleviate some of the pressure that was making his pants tighter. The hand that was not entangled in Jungkook’s dark strands made its way down his body, grabbing a firm buttcheek first, then going to the younger’s hip.

“Wanna ride me?” Namjoon asked low on Jungkook’s ear, biting his lobe after.

“Yes, hyung” the word came out as a whine from Jungkook’s lips, his hips starting to move aided by Namjoon’s firm grip. “Your thighs…” he started, but couldn’t continue when he adjusted his hips just right and his hard erection pressed against one of Namjoon’s thighs.

“Yeah? I’ve seen you looking at them, Kook. So go on, ride my thigh, come on,” he said as he flexed his muscles, his other hand joining the one at Jungkook’s hip, one on each side now to help him move, to watch him fall apart.

Jungkook just closed his eyes and surrendered, his hips moving on their own accord, pressing his cock closer and closer to Namjoon’s, soft whines and pleas tumbling out of his mouth as he lost himself in the movements. It was too much and not enough, his erection pressing just right so his skin glided back and forth on the fabric of his underwear stimulated by the older’s thigh, the couch too small for this - yet he couldn’t imagine being anywhere else at the moment. He needed it, and the sense of urgency overtook his body, his movements more frantic as he gripped the older’s hair and kissed him sloppily, letting out his breathy whimper against Namjoon’s lips. He wanted it.

“I’m… I’m close, hyung,” he had to pause to whimper again, a shiver going through his body from how close he was. “I want to touch you, hyung.”

“Touch me, Kook, make me cum with you, hold on just a bit,” Namjoon all but moaned into his lips when one of the younger’s hands reached into his pants.

Namjoon’s cock was heavy and hard and big, yet the skin was so soft in his hand, and Jungkook immediately closed his fist around it, his palm wet from the precum that had already gathered on the bulbous head, aiding his movement. And if Jungkook thought Namjoon’s speaking voice was deep, his mind and ears were certainly not prepared for the low guttural moan leaving those swollen lips, his own hips stuttering, pleasure coursing through his entire body, from the tip of his toes to the ends of his hair, his cock pulsating with release inside his pants as he pressed it against the strong thigh beneath him. He took a second to breathe and enjoy the tingling in his body, but soon noticed his hand had stopped. His gaze met Namjoon’s, his hand moving up and down inside the man’s pants.

“Cum for me, hyung, please,” he begged, wanting to pay attention to that moment of euphoria when it crossed his hyung’s face. And so it did; he watched as Namjoon threw his head back on headrest of the couch, hips raising and fucking into the tight grip around his cock, that heavy moan escaping his lips again as Jungkook felt the thickness of the release coating his hand. But he kept moving, prolonging Namjoon’s pleasure until it became too much and his hand was stopped, a smile stamped on the older man’s face.

There were no words needed for a while, until it seemed to finally click for Jungkook.

“Wait, you said you love me too.”

“I’ve been trying to express it for a while... And your eyes do this cute thing where they widen whenever you think you are caught and should change your gaze, so I noticed you were interested too. Plus Yoongi told me.”

“Wait, what?” He turned his head fast to look at Namjoon again, “You know Yoongi-hyung?”

And so he explained how they’ve known each other for years and how they’ve collaborated in music production before, under the names of RM and Agust D. He’d heard of RM, even heard Yoongi mentioning it more than once, and thinking back, he kept talking about RM more and more after he moved in with Namjoon. Oh. And then he remembered Yoongi’s smirks and head shakes, his certainty that Jungkook would not be turned down.

“You still haven’t said it.”

“I love you, Namjoon-hyung.”

And as Jungkook woke up the next morning, warm and cozy under Namjoon’s blankets, legs entangled and bodies pressed together, he breathed easier, lighter, happier. And he made a mental note to thank Jimin for applying for that scholarship and being so good that he’d gotten it. Maybe he would have met RM at some point, but he didn’t want to think of other possibilities. Living together and falling in love, getting to know each other was perfect for now.

They met in autumn, got closer through the cold days in winter, and their love bloomed in spring.

He could barely wait to see what summer had in storage for them.

[collecting-stories]

Comfort - JJ Maybank

Request: hi!! i love your fanfic about obx and i was wondering if you could write something where the reader is struggling with her body image/self-confidence and the pogues don't know but JJ, her bf, somehow finds out and comforts her? i haven't been feeling very confident lately and i feel like this would help idk why. thank you <33 - @teaheeee

A/N: This was a tough one but here it is.

Outer Banks Masterlist

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

“I’ll be like five seconds.” JJ swore, running up the stairs to your room where he’d left his wallet.  

“JJ come on.” You groaned, falling back onto the couch. This was at least the fifth time he’d stalled the two of you from leaving the house. You were supposed to be meeting everyone at the beach and you hated being late.  

“Hold on!” He shouted. He had dropped his wallet under the bed earlier and almost left without it when the two of you were leaving. While you waited downstairs, he grabbed the wallet, pausing when he noticed the ripped picture on the floor. Shredded by hand into pieces was your school picture, the one you’d just gotten last week.  

JJ picked up the pieces, sifting through them for a moment until you called him again, reminding him that the task at hand was getting his wallet so you could get to the Wreck. He didn’t want to bring down the evening and he wasn’t sure what to say so he said nothing when he came down, only holding up his wallet to show you that he found it.

It was entirely possible that he was reading too much into things. That you had really just hated your senior portrait and thought it was awful. There was nothing wrong with that, school pictures were always cheesy. But ripping your picture to shreds wasn’t an isolated incident, not in his mind at least. You’d been avoiding any type of jean or tight all week. He was honestly surprised today to find you wearing a nice dress though he supposed that it was for everyone else’s benefit because you kept holding the hem like it was going to billow up.  

You were fine at lunch. It was JJ that caught Kiara’s attention, seemingly more distant than she remembered seeing him before, she leaned over at one point to ask if everything was okay at home.

“What do you mean?” He asked, gaze straying to you as you pushed at the food on your plate.  

“Are you okay? You seem really distracted.” She replied, keeping her voice down so no one else noticed.  

JJ shook his head, “fine.” He didn’t want to tell Kiara that he was worried about you. If you hadn’t said anything to her, and you clearly hadn’t because she seemed oblivious to your behavior, then he didn’t want to draw attention to you.  

It wasn’t any one thing. You couldn’t pinpoint the moment or the day, it wasn’t that you stepped on a scale and gained a few pounds. It wasn’t that your jeans felt a little too tight around the hips. Though now that you thought of it, you were feeling kind bloated lately. But it wasn’t just that. It was the sudden breakout of acne near your jawline and the way you felt like you just couldn’t quite ‘pull off’ the clothes you were wearing. It was the feeling of something being wrong but not being able to pinpoint it. That unsettling, unnerving feeling of looking in the mirror and knowing that it was all wrong. That you were all wrong. Your hair looked dull and lifeless, your skin was puffy and it didn’t glow the way the serum you bought said it would. You could name something from head to toe, there was list, sprawling inside your head of all the things that were wrong. Your posture, your nose, your waist, your legs, your eyes...everything had something wrong.

JJ waited until you were back at your house, sprawled out on the couch with you while you watched some rerun of a stupid show. Never good at confrontation that wasn’t with someone he didn’t like, JJ jumped right in, “Are you okay?”

It was a simple enough question. You could just say yes and he could be satistfied and everything could go back to normal. You could hope that you would eventually shake the awful feelings and be okay. Or you could tell him that you were just tired or just not feeling well or just whatever. It didn’t matter what you said, there were a million excuses and all you had to do was choose one.  

But that was easier said than done and you found yourself floundering for a moment, trying to think of the most believeable way to say that you were fine and he didn’t have to worry. He had enougn on his plate, he didn’t have to be bothered with you too.  

“Yeah.” You replied, voice a little shakier than you meant it to be and you grimaced slightly at your own voice.  

“Are you sure?”

If he was asking the question than it meant that he probably knew the answer.  

“Yeah, fine, good.” You nodded.  

“I saw you ripped up your picture.” He admitted.  

“I can explain-”

He nodded, “you know you’re awesome?” He asked, as if he was expecting some sort of response from you.  

“Sometimes,” you shrugged, “I don’t know...I just feel like...it’s not worth it. Like I just want to stay in bed and under my covers because then no one has to look at me.”

“Well I like looking at you so I can’t say I’m a fan of that idea,” JJ replied, smiling when bit your bottom lip, “although if the bed’s big enough than that’s fine, we can hide together.”  

“JJ,” you sat up more and so did he, “I’m being serious!”

“So am I,” JJ replied, “you think I’d hesitate to do anything you needed me too? You don’t have to believe me but that doesn’t mean I won’t remind you ever day how incredible you are.”

“You’re such a sap,” you tried to play off his words as if it didn’t make your heart race to hear him say those things to you.  

“Eh,” he shrugged, pulling you against him and kissing the side of your head, “worth it. Now, you wanna tell me what’s the matter, really?”

“I told you.”

“More than that.” He stressed.  

“I just feel gross I guess. I don’t know, it’s not any one thing it’s just like, every little thing that I see that I don’t like. It’s so easy to just...look at myself and see all the ways that I’m falling short. All the things I wish I could change about myself.”

“I don’t know how helpful it is to say it but, I wouldn’t change anything about you.” JJ admitted. “You’re my best friend, I mean...” he shrugged, almost as if he wasn’t entirely sure how to end that sentence. JJ wasn’t the best with words, he had always had trouble getting his thoughts. He could name every single thing that he loved about you, and the list was extensive, but saying the words felt like his throat was closing up on him.

It didn’t really matter though, you knew what he meant. The soft look and the kiss on your forehead that had you closing your eyes when his lips touched your skin. He wasn’t used to comforting, hadn’t ever had any example of it in his own life, but he was good at it. He was good at letting you know it would be alright. Even if he didn’t say it outright.  

-

taglist: @maplelattes22 @poguesrforlife  @freckled-and-daydreaming  @chasefreakinstokes @millie-753 @fangirlwithme @alex12948 @katherine097 @tangledinsparkles @carbonated-beverage @mariofgreengables @damonsalvawhore27 @dopedoodes @dolanfivsosxox @belledutchess @poguelifeeee @faded-blue @parkerpetertingle @thebookwormlife @summer-clouds-and-long-days @jellyfishbeansontoast @minigranger @hoewkeye @love-someone-special @tiredfeels @strangerthanfanfiction713 @the-only-nana @tomzfrog @mozz-are-lla @vindictive-hearts @ssprayberrythings @jenahbell @beautyandthebleh @gothackedalready @teenwaywardasgardian @sarahcxmeron @haha-fuck-you-thot @stillbelieve398-5 @rewindlr @queenniccimicci @kissessforharryyy @thedarkqueenofavalon @alytavzla @bqmblebee @linniep @nerdypartytrashpsychic @xxchxrryxx @spencer-reid-is-a-cutie @danielladreaming @obx-saltlife @youngestxhearts @spnobsessedmemes @wowitswondergurl @mybnkjj @pineappleandcherries @mysterious-adventurer @justawilddreamerchild @rhyetaylor62 @calm-rejects  @oh-annaa @aiifandomsunite @x-lulu @ceruleanjj @wicked-laugh @obxwriterfan @allie-mcginn @literarycharleton @khiaraaa-in-spacee @crushe-s @teamnick @daydreamlilys @collectiveuniverses @activist-af @mdgrdians @buckys-sunflower @vindictive-hearts @copper-boom @talksoprettyjjx @5am-cigarette @smiithys @dontjinx-it @outerbanksbro @mysticsthinking @heavenlymama  @rudy-pankow-needs-an-oscar @babymatilda @raekenliar @lemur46 @under-a-canyon-moon @calums-betch @jolomez @summerkaulitz 

[tonystarktogo]

(this could’ve been) a villain’s origin story 

part IV

For @shitistanstank who wanted to see Bucky’s reaction and @everything-is-applepie who asked for more [Warning: Bucky is an unrepenant killer and his mindset is dark(er) than Tony’s parts were]:

James hates mentals. Doesn’t matter if they can read your thoughts, break out illusions that have you question everything you believe, make you forget everything you are, everything you used to be or if their powers are even more insidious -- every single one of them is a manipulative fucker with a god-complex. 

Usually, James doesn’t generalise like that -- it leads to assumptions and assumptions lead to stupid mistakes that get you dead -- but in this case he’ll make an exception. It’s widely known that, as fussy as the Winter Soldier can be about his jobs, he always takes contracts involving mentals. Doesn’t matter how old they are, what gender, how powerful, what specific abilities.

Mentals are weapons in a way that physicals aren’t, can’t ever hope to be -- and it doesn’t matter what their intentions are, what fucking alignment they hold -- like alignment isn’t just a skewed personality test gone wrong -- or what laws they follow.

[Every supe uses their power. You can’t not. You can’t be less than you are, even if some like to pretend otherwise. Like to play at being human, idealising what they’ve lost and will never achieve again.

Even when you don’t want to, even when you train yourself mercilessly, grit your teeth against it-- a supe’s first instinct is to use their abilities to the fullest. To survive. To live. To make life more comfortable.

There’s better men than James out there who like to offer long lists of requirements, of all the people they refuse to kill. As though not killing children, women, supes, humans, whatever the fuck their line in the sand is, somehow absolves them from the fact that they kill others for money, power or pride. As though having rules -- morals, as they like to sneer pretentiously -- makes them better, when all they do is choose and find one life more worthy than another.

James doesn’t have a list. He takes a contract or he doesn’t, depending on whether he trusts the contractor to pay up and not stab him in the back while he’s at it.

Have you ever seen a five-year old in a temper-tantrum that can bend the minds of those around them to their will? Have you ever considered what a toddler with the ability to erase memories is, what they become? Do you really think it was morals that kept anyone under fourteen from being chosen?

Rules, after all, are rarely implemented before they’ve proven to be necessary.]

The problem with having a reputation for killing mentals is that mentals don’t take kindly to being killed. And it’s hard to be prepared for a threat you don’t know exists until it reveals itself and tries to twist your mind into hushquietobeybenothing.

Granted, that doesn’t stop most of the stupid ones who track him down from monologuing about their righteous revenge before they get on with it. So convinced that just because James didn’t see them coming means he won’t kill them anyway.

Arrogant fuckers, all of them.

He’ll make them regret that before he’s done.

At least the last set of attackers wasn’t stupid. Makes it more of a pain, but ultimately a more satisfying fight. And fuck, if he hadn’t been blind-sided by the witch, James would’ve gotten away clean. But Scarlet Witch [And what kind of bullshit name is that when everyone knows her powers are anything but magical?] has been a persistent pain in his ass for a while now.

She’s smart and powerful and embodies everything James despises in a mental. The only reason they haven’t gone to war so far is because Scarlet Witch couldn’t care less about mentals as a whole. The only thing she values is her brother -- and the guy is a physical. A physical James wouldn’t try to land a hit on unless he was 100 percent sure he could take out the witch as well.

And Quicksilvers is a hard man to hit.

They don’t have an understanding of any sort because James doesn’t do understandings with mentals. But The Captain does, which puts Scarlet Witch and James into an awkward position as far as battles go. That’s the only reason James assumes their last showdown was an accident -- and, also, presumably the only reason he wakes up at all.

James doesn’t wake up slowly. Hasn’t since they shoved the pills down his throat for the first time, back before they realized that injections were that much more effective.

[The doctors never did figure out why James activated at all from such a low dosis, why he survived at all when the pills turned out to be useless with the sole exception of him. Granted, James killed them roughly forty hours after the first test, which might have played a hand in that.]

He comes to from one moment to the next -- finally, finally free of the black nothingness the witch trapped him in [nothing like what she can do, or so the rumors go, but that doesn’t make him itch to see her brain splattered over a sidewalk any less] -- and is immediately aware of his body, his surroundings, himself.

He’s in an unfamiliar place. He’s half-naked. He’s in a negligible amount of pain. He’s unrestrained. He’s not alone.

James is up and moving before the observation fully sinks in. It doesn’t have to. He already has all the data. [Has pinpointed the steady breathing and puttering motions of one person, placed him to his left, four steps, notices his odd surroundings even as he moves. There’s a wrench in easy reach that James aimes before he even sees the person -- man, young, brown hair, a head smaller than him -- and throws before he’s finished taking stock of his surroundings.

It’s more reflex than cold-blooded murder, really, not there’s much of a difference between the two where it concerns James.

The man ducks, proving that he’s not quite as idiotic as James initially assumed for keeping him unrestrained in his direct vicinity. That or he has good instincts.

He’s not a mental though, James can tell. He can always tell. His killing intent goes down a solid 60 percent with that realisation, though that still leaves him with plenty to work with should his potential client [James has lived through weirder recruitment strategies, though not all those potential bosses have] and potential victim prove troublesome.

It’s not that James wants to kill every human he meets. It’s just that he prefers to plan for the eventuality of needing to kill them and how to accomplish it efficiently, rather than be caught off-guard when the inevitable happens.

[There’s something that never made it into any of the papers and articles about supes and it’s this: A supe’s life is insane. There’s no logic, no rationality, no clear reason why you can’t go to a public swimming pool without accidentally ending up in a lagoon filled with starving piranhas. The Captain once theorized that supes offend the natural order or balance and this is nature’s way of striking back, of wiping them out. That or their unnaturalness attracts similar insanity.

James thinks that’s bullshit, not that it matters. He still has to live with the painfully ridiculous situations he tends to get himself into, after all.]

As such it really is nothing personal that as soon as James finally gets a clear view on the man -- kid, really, can’t be a day over twenty -- who’s found him, he immediately plans the guy’s death. It’s not like he acts on it right then, James isn’t a total barbarian.

He even gives the kid time to regain his footing and stare at him in shocked surprise, mouth half-way open and holding a bag of marshmallows as though those will somehow soften the next blow.

James is not gonna lie, he totally expects the boy to pull a sonar death ray, explosives or something similar out of some hidden stash and start some tirade about James having killed his parents and how he’s been planning this moment for a long time, or something along those lines.

Not to offer him marshmallows.

James gives the innocuous bag the deeply suspicious look that offer deserves. 

[On an unrelated note, his respect for the boy rises a smidge. James doesn’t know many people with the foresight to keep something ans inconspicious as poisonous marshmallows within easy reach.]

“No.”

“Oh.” The boy looks disappointed.

A scientist eager to see his newest creation in action? James doesn’t frown, but it’s a near thing. He’s not fond of scientists. [They tend to end up dead in his vicinity, but most people do.]

“Can I offer you something to drink?”

James raises his eyebrows, but fairly obvious attempt to drug and or kill him aside, he’s never before wasted a chance to be a little shit and he’s not planning on starting to now. 

“You can.”

The kid blinks. Snorts. “Oh, I like you.”

James smirks. He can’t recall the last time anyone told him they felt that way, but he doesn’t recall very many things beyond how to hunt and make them bleed.

“You’re the exception of the rule then.”

The boy laughs and if James wasn’t what he was, he wouldn’t have heard the bitterness echoing it. If James looks closely, he can even see the fractures in that pretty, wide smile.

“Believe me, Goggle Eye, I’m the exception of every rule.”

[It’s a good hour later, after the kid -- call me Tony -- has recounted where he found James and needled him endlessly -- “Come on, there’s got to be something you need! If not food or clothes, what about information? The adresses of your attackers? Schemantics of the newest SI rifle? Clean papers? Give me something!” -- that it occurs to James. A stray thought that nonetheless leaves an impression: It’s a good thing he’s human.

Because there’s something broken underneath Tony’s easy words and open gestures, something sharp and jagged -- still bleeding -- that was crushed and never healed quite right. Because when it comes down to it, you can forget the pills and the injections and the endless treatments and experiments designed to push for moremoremore. Because all the miracles of modern technology can’t build a monster out of spite and thin air. The drugs only reveal the potential that’s always been there.

And there’s no doubt what Tony would have been, should he have found himself among the test subjects.

His mind is a weapon worth killing for already.]

James leaves Tony’s lair two hours later, armed Quicksilver’s current adress -- one can never have enough leverage --, detailed information on four potential targets and the knowledge that Tony is the kind of competent that is as useful as it is dangerous and has an agenda James doesn’t yet understand. 

He’s not yet sure what to do about the latter.

[chickensarentcheap]

Best Part of Me -Chapter 71

Warning: profanity

Tagging: @innerpaperexpertcloud​, @c-a-v-a-l-r-y​, @alievans007​

“We need to talk.”

It’s the easiest way to transition into it that he could come up with. After the meeting with Anil, he’d stalled as long as he possibly could. Spending the remaining hours of the day keeping the news secret while working himself to a state of sheer mental exhaustion attempting to come up with the best possible way to tell her.  Plastering a smile on his face and adopting an easy going attitude -both fake-  while both doting on and spoiling his pregnant wife AND spending time with the kids; easily submitting to every request and demand while simultaneously showing them with affection.  

The moment he’d seen the photos of Neysa and Aarav, he’d known his fate was sealed; he’d be going to Dhaka and there was a damn good chance he wouldn’t be coming back. Too many ghosts there; too many painful memories. The cards already stacked against him before he even steps foot in Bangladesh; an enormous bounty on his head, his face and name plastered everywhere and readily available to everyone from normal citizens to the police to the military. It will make navigating the streets extremely difficult. His side and build alone will attract considerable attention AND suspicion, and if he needs to talk to some of the locals, they won’t have a hard time recognizing his tattoos or pinpointing his accent.

Seven years ago he’d been the one initially in the background; simply there to protect the person entrusted with getting the information needed before it was time for his part of the job to begin.  And even if he is successful in both getting around Dhaka without being spotted AND getting the three safely out, the chances of surviving himself -even with backup- are slim. Once the shooting starts, the place will become a war zone; regular citizens, the cops, the military. It won’t take long for them to assemble, and no matter how quick and quiet the actual extraction is, getting himself the fuck out will become the biggest hurdle. The end is often the hardest push; when you’re exhausted and hurting and mere minutes...mere feet...from freedom.  That’s when you tend to let your guard down; thinking you’re in the clear and you’re finally starting to catch your breath and the adrenaline is beginning to wane.  He’d made that mistake in Dhaka the first time around; believing he’d taken out the last of his targets and that situation was no longer ‘hot’ or ‘hostile’. Until Farhad had shot him from behind and put one in his neck. It's the worst mistake he’s ever made on the job; turning his back and thinking he was in the free and clear. It was a huge fuck up; completely uncharacteristic on his part. And he’s determined not to screw up that badly again.

This isn’t the way he wanted to spend his night; telling her about Dhaka and his decision to go there. But despite his best efforts it’s been eating away at him; struggling to keep that smile on his face and his nerves and emotions under control for the sake of his wife and kids. There’s so much going on inside of his brain that’s hard to prioritize just what to feel; which one the emotional should be first and foremost. Pure and utter rage directed at Mahajan for ever getting OVi -and in turn, everyone around him- involved in such bullshit in the first place.  Frustration at having to take so much time off to recuperate; unable to help get things handled sooner. Fear and worry not only for himself, but that he’ll have to once again be away from his family and rely on others to keep them safe. So much torturing an already battered and weary brain that he feels as if he’s struggling to hold on to his last threads of sanity.

“Uh-oh,” Esme frowns, as she raises her head from his chest and looks at him.

It’s a beautiful night; no humidity and a cool breeze blowing through, no sounds but the rippling of fountains in the ponds below and the chirping of crickets. After all the kids had settled, they’d retreated to the balcony off their bedroom; lying together on the two person lounge chair, both of his arms wrapped securely around her and her head resting against him. Neither of them speaking; her body completely relaxed against his and her eyes closed; his wide open and staring up at the night sky while his brain continues its torture.

“I don’t like the sound of that,” she says. “Nothing good  ever comes after ‘we need to talk’. I should know; I use it all the time. Nothing about us, right?”

“What?” Tyler gives a small, incredulous chuckle and then combs a hand through her hair; palm settling against the back of her head. “Of course not. We’re good. We’re more than good.”

“I saw your face; after you talked to Anil. I knew something was up right away. But I also knew you weren’t ready to say anything. That’s why you threw yourself into doing things with the kids and waiting on me hand and foot. You were totally stalling.”

He nods.

“It must not be good news then. For you not to say anything right away.”

“It’s pretty bad, actually.”

“Okay…” she rolls over onto her stomach and rests her chin on his chest. “...just how bad are we talking? Are you talking normal bad, pretty bad, or pretty fucking bad?”

“Pretty fucking bad,” he says, as he pushes her bangs off her forehead and tucks hair behind her ears. “In all capital letters.”

“They need you back out there, don’t they.”

“Yeah. They do.”

“I can’t say I’m surprised. It was bound to happen. I’m actually more shocked it didn’t happen sooner. I guess I should just be happy that we got as much time as we did. I was only expecting a couple days and I got over a week. That’s pretty damn good actually; a lot better than the times you go away and you don’t come home for almost a month.”

“I said I’d stay. That I wouldn’t leave you and the kids here alone.”

“We’re not exactly alone. And while I would prefer you here and not out there getting shot at and God knows  what else, at least it isn’t just the kids and I trying to fend for ourselves. Things aren’t going well out there, are they. They’re not doing so good on the list?”

“Anil says they’re down to two names. That’s a lot quicker than I thought things would go.”

“So why do they need you then? If they’ve handled everyone else on it so far, what makes the last two so difficult?”

“It actually has nothing to do with the list. I wish it did though.”

“Oh God,” Esme groans, and glides her knuckles along his jaw, beard rough against the skin. “I don’t like that look on your face. What’s happened? What’s going on?”

“They got to Neysa and Aarav. Mahajan’s people.”

Her eyes widen in panic. “They’re not…”

“No. They’re not dead. But if things keep going the way they are, they’ll wish they were.”

“You saw them? How? A video? Pictures?”

“Both. Pictures were taken three days ago. Video was this morning.”

“How do they look? How bad are they? How…?”

He keeps his emotions under control by continuously sliding his fingers through her hair; marvelling at the way moonlight causes it to shimmer and just how soft it is to the touch. “They’re pretty banged up.  But they look more scared than anything.”

“I know I would be.  That used to be my worst nightmare when I did what I did. That someone would catch on to me and grab me and take me somewhere to teach me a lesson. Did they make any demands? What do they want? What…?”

“There’s more to it.”

“It gets worse? How much worse could it possibly get?”

“They’ve got Nathan too. He’s pretty fucked up. Was putting up a good fight though, I’ll give him that.”

Esme scowls. “That doesn’t make any sense. He’s been gone for a week and a half and they’re just letting you guys know they have him? Doesn’t that seem a bit strange to you? That they’ve had him all this time yet they didn’t reach out? You’ve been in the game a hell of a long time. Think of all the things you’ve seen and heard. Don’t they usually reach out before this?”

“Usually,” Tyler admits. “Why? What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking it’s weird. That all of a sudden he just shows up.  Just as quick as he left. And how convenient is it that they have him? It’s been a week and a half and there hasn’t been a single peep from them all that time? How bad did he look?”

“Pretty beaten up.”

“Was he missing any body parts? Did he  look like he could walk on his own? Did it look like they’ve been starving him?”

“He looked like Nathan. Just a fucked up version of him. Like he caught a beating but nothing too major. You think it’s faked?”

“It’s happened before. It’s how you got sucked into the whole McMann thing. Those pictures of his wife and his kids. Would it honestly surprise you if Mahajan sunk to that level?  If Nathan IS the mole, is it too far of a reach to think he’s in on it and making it look as good as he can?”

“He did drop my name. First and last. Told them I’d be the one who’d come and get him.”

“Sounds like he’s trying to lure you there,” Esme concludes. “I don’t trust him, Tyler. Not after everything you’ve told me.”

“The files you got from the Marines didn’t show anything out of the ordinary.”

“Doesn’t mean there isn’t, though. Just means he wasn’t caught. You don’t trust him, do you? You can’t honestly tell me you believe him.”

“I saw it. The video. Seemed legit.”

“So did April McMann in her video. We need more proof. That it IS Nathan. Because we find out it IS him, we can just leave him there to rot.”

“Can’t leave Neysa and Aarav . Gotta get them out somehow.”

“You mean someone has to get them out,” she corrects. “Because I know you’re not talking about yourself.”

His fingers continue to move through her hair; pushing it away from the sides of her face and over her shoulders, palm sliding slowly along  the back of her neck and down to the middle of her back.

“I know you’re not talking about yourself,” Esme says. “There’s no way you are. Because you are not ready for that kind of thing. Not in the slightest.”

“I’m almost at ninety percent.”

“Since fucking when? This morning you said it was seventy five. You just skipped ahead another fifteen just like that?”

Tyler sighs. “Baby…”

“No. Don’t you dare. Don’t you ‘baby’ me. You ARE talking about yourself. When it comes to getting them out. You weren’t talking in general.  You actually meant you. As in you have to do it.”

He nods.

“An extraction. They want you to do an extraction.”

“I’ve done hundreds of them. You know that.”

“You don’t have to do this one. Tell them no. Tell them you’re not doing it; that you’re not ready for that. Because you’re not. And you’re lying if you say you are.”

“I’m in a lot better shape right now than I was seven years ago for Ovi’s extraction,” Tyler argues.

“That’s bullshit and you know it. Yeah, you had your issues back then. Most of them caused by booze and those stupid goddamn pain meds. But you were in damn good shape. A week and a half ago, someone drugged you. They were going to take you God knows where and do God knows what to you. Your back is messed up, your knee is fucked, and your shoulder is even worse. And you’re lying to yourself if you say those things are better now.”

“I’m almost back to where I am.”  

“No. You’re not. You’re nowhere near it. So you’re going to tell Anil you’re not doing this. That you’re going to stay here with your family. Where you're safe. Because you’re not safe out there. Even in the best shape you wouldn’t be. Tell them, Tyler. Tell them to get someone else.”

“There IS no one else,” he argues. “Who do I have...besides Nathan...that’s done an extraction? We were holding off on hiring more experienced guys until this was over, remember? That’s what we agreed on. That once things were done and settled, we’d bring more people on. And now Nathan’s caught up in this and I have no one else. There’s only me.”

“Then tell Nik to get one of her people. One of her experienced guys.”

“She doesn’t want to bring anyone else in. It's a big enough mess as it is.”

“Anil must have someone.”

“They took out seven of Anil’s best guys. And they do bodyguard work; that’s it. He went into business with us so we could supply him with mercs. So he doesn’t have to train his people to do this kind of shit.  There is no one else.”

“There HAS to be. There can’t be just you. There has to be someone else.”

“Esme…” His voice is firm as he takes her face in his hands. “...there’s not.”

“And let me guess; you already told Anil you’d do it. You already made up your mind. I don’t really get a say in all of this, do I.”

“I can’t leave them there. I can’t. And I know you wouldn’t want me to. She’s your friend.”

“She is,” Esme agrees. “But you’re my husband and that makes you a little more important to me. And I know you’re not ready for this. I see the pain you’re in; I see it every second of every day. And it was bad enough before all of this. I do NOT want you doing this.”

“I have to.” He presses her lips against her forehead. “I have to. I can’t leave them there. I owe it to Saju to get them out. After what he did? Giving up his life to protect you? And Ovi? I have to do this.”

“Unreal. You are fucking unreal, you know that?” She shoves his hands away from her face, then angrily yanks the sides of the hoodie around her body as she sits up. “I love you, but sometimes I don’t fucking understand you. Why would you go back out there? Why wouldn’t you just stay here with me and the kids?  Why are you so hell bent  on going back onto the street and getting killed? Don’t fucking be who you were seven years ago. Because lots of people rely on you to be okay. Don’t be a selfish prick, Tyler!”

“You mean the selfish prick I was seven years ago when I didn’t tell you to fuck off in Dhaka? That selfish prick? The one that fucked you and still kept you around even though he should have sent you away? The one that dragged you into this life? Who helped bring kids into it? THAT selfish prick?”

“Don’t you even start with that shit! That is way off base and you know it. You didn’t force me to stick around. You didn’t hold a gun to my head so I’d marry you and give you children. So don’t even start with that.”

“I didn’t exactly stop any of those things from happening, did I.”

“Because there was nothing wrong with what we were doing! We both knew what we were getting into. I could have said no in Dhaka, but I didn’t. Because I wanted it to happen. I wanted you. In the same way I wanted to marry you and have a family with you.  It is NOT the same thing.”

He snags her by the back of the sweater when she attempts to stand. “Where are you going? We’re not fucking finished. We’re talking about this.”

“What’s there to talk about? You made up your mind. You’re going. You said you’d go, then go. Pack your shit and leave. If Neysa and Aarav are more important to you than your own family…”

“How can you fucking say that? Nothing is more important to me than you and my kids. Don’t stoop that low.”

She tries to wiggle out of the hoodie in order to free herself, then heaves a loud, angry sigh when he wraps an arm around her waist to keep her in place. “We should have talked about this. You should have come to me first.  Not just go ahead and tell Anil you’d do this!”

“That’s what you’re pissed about? That I didn’t talk to you about it first? I don’t need your goddamn permission.

“It’s not about needing my permission. It’s about respecting me enough to let me know ahead of time you’re sending yourself out on a suicide mission. And talking about needing permission? Oh that’s rich, Tyler. Who’s the one that always needs it from you? I can’t even volunteer at the school or go to a moms social group or have friends because you don’t want me to. Yet you can’t talk to me about this?”

“When have I ever told you that you need my permission to do anything? It’s not about not wanting you to do things or talk to people, it’s about wanting to keep you safe.”

“Because you’re paranoid as fuck that there’s always someone out there wanting to kill me!”

“Well right now there are people who want to kill you. So can we not fight about this?”

“Leave me alone,” she orders, and tries to use her elbows to push him away. “Let go of me.”

“No.” Tyler tightens his hold on her, then sits up. “You’re not going anywhere. We’re going to talk about this.”

“There’s nothing to talk about!” Esme insists. “You already decided. You’re going. So go.”

He curls his other her waist and then slides behind her; a leg on either side of her body, chest pressed against her back. “Don’t talk like that.”  He presses a kiss to her temple, then her ear and her cheek.   “You don’t want me going.”

“That’s EXACTLY it! I DON’T want you going. I want you to stay here. Would you stop?” She huffs dramatically and once more attempts to squirm away from him. “Leave me alone! Don’t be so kissy and touchy feely and shit. I’m mad at you!”

“You never stay mad at me for very long.”

“I can hold a grudge for a very long time, thank you very much. So don’t test your luck, buddy. I love you, but I could shake the ever loving shit out of you right now. I don’t understand why you would agree! I get that you feel some kind of responsibility because  you brought Saju into things in Dhaka and look how that ended. But there are other people who can do extractions. Are you suddenly the only experienced merc on earth?”

“No. But I’m the best. And I’m the only one with experience at Anil’s disposal. And I know I said I’d stay here, but I also told you that I gave Anil mu word that I’d go back out if I was needed. And now I’m needed.”

“You’re needed here too,” Esme reminds him. “Or did you forget that?”

“The kids will be fine. They’ll be safe here. They’ve got Nik and Anil’s people watching over them. They’ve got all those nannies and they’ve got Uncle Kyle. Ovi’s even going to come and stay and give them another familiar face.”

“I notice you didn’t mention. Where am I going to be?”

He presses a kiss to her cheek. “With me.”

****

“Oh what a damn second!” She uses her elbow to push him back. “You’re deciding THAT now too? That I’m going with you and getting involved in this?”

“Well technically you are involved in this.”

“Fuck your ‘technically’. I’m not in the game anymore, remember? I’m just the supportive wife. And I’m not feeling very  supportive towards you right now. Why the hell would I get mixed up in this?”

“I might need your help.”

“How could I possibly help you? Moral boosting blowjobs? I don’t think so.”

“I might need an intel person. If Anil can’t find out what I need…”

“Then get one from him. Or Nik. I assume they both have intel people.”

“I don’t want just any person. I want someone I can trust. And I trust you.”

She frowns. “You really need to broaden your circle of trust, you know that?”

“It’ll be two or three days. Tops.”

“Did you suddenly forget we have children?”

“There’s a nanny for each one. And two extra.”

“I’m their mother!” Esme argues. “Addie isn’t even three months old yet!”

“Three days tops,” Tyler insists. “They’ll be fine. There’s tons of people here to take care of them.”

“You’re insane. I’m pregnant, remember? And you want me out there on the street? Are you serious right now?”

“I just need you to do some intel. It’s not you people will recognize. It’s not your face that’s plastered everywhere. Not yet, anyway.”

“You are not helping your cause.”

“You’re smart. You’re tenacious. You’re strong. And I trust you. I need you.”

“I may be all those things, but I also have a human being inside of me. That YOU put there. Yet you want me out there? Tyler…”

“You’ll be fine. You can do this. You won’t be alone. I’ll always be watching your back. You know I will.”

“This is insane!”

“Baby, I need your help.  And I know I said I’d never ask for it again…”

“You’re right. That’s exactly what you said.”

“But I trust you, With my life. More than I trust anyone else.”

Esme sighs heavily, body finally relaxing against his. “Before I agree to anything, I need to know where we’re going.”

“That’s where it gets a little complicated,” Tyler admits.

“Oh fuck. Of course it does. Why do I even ask? Where is it?”

“Dhaka.”

“Are you out of your fucking mind!” She uses both elbows to shove him onto his back, then springs to her feet. “Tell me you’re out of your fucking mind. That you’ve finally lost it. Because that is the only thing that can explain this. Tell you’ve actually snapped and gone insane and that’s why you’re doing this.”

“Esme…” he sits up and reaches for her, fingertips brushing against the backs of her thigh before she steps away; backing her into the balcony railing. “Esme…”

“You can’t be serious! Dhaka? You want ME to go to Dhaka? Of all goddamn places! You know the last seven years have been like. How screwed up I am because of that place and what happened there. Yet you want me to willingly go back. Are you fucking crazy?”

“I can’t help where they’re being held.”

“No. You can’t. But you can say  no to going there. And not expect me to go there.”

“It has to be me. I’m the only one who can  get them out. I can’t help where they’re being held.”

“I am not okay with going there. And I’m definitely not okay with you going there. Did you forget you have PTSD from that place? From what happened on the bridge? Because I can’t forget that. I can’t forget what happened and I certainly can’t forget what it did to you.”

Tyler slides forward on the lounge chair, perching on the edge as he lays his hands on her hips. “I need your help.”

“I can’t go there. I can’t. Because I will lose my goddamn mind if I do. Because all I’ll be able to think about is what happened seven years ago. All I’ll be able to think about is what happened in the woods and what happened at Gaspar’s and what happened on the bridge. I can't do that to myself. Why would YOU do it to me?”

“I’ll be with you. You’re not going alone. I’ll be there and I’ll have your back; nothing’s going to happen to you. I need your help, Esme. And I wish I didn’t. Or at the very least, I wish I trusted someone else. But I don’t. I trust YOU. And I want you to do this. I NEED you to do this.”

“I can’t!” she cries. “I can’t go there. I can’t, Tyler. It’s too hard. I’m still dealing with left over shit from seven years ago. But you want me just to walk back in there like it’s no big deal? You don’t realize how bad that place would fuck me up? Even worse than I already am?”

“I’ll be there with you. We’ll be together. I won’t let anything happen to you. You trust me?”

“You know I do. But this isn’t about whether I trust you or not. This about being able to mentally survive that place. What if I get there and totally lose it?”

“You won’t.”

“What if I end up back on that bridge? I WON’T get past that. I will not be able to cope with that.”

“I’ll be there with you,” Tyler stresses. “I’ll get you through it.”

“Oh that seems fitting, doesn’t it? You having to get me out of Dhaka and off the bridge a second time. I don’t want to go there. And I definitely don’t want you going there. You almost died there!”

“You don’t think I know that? I’m the one who got shot in the fucking neck.”

“I almost lost you to that place once. I don’t want the second time to be successful. And what if something happens to both of us?”

“Nothing like that is going to happen.”

“If something or someone takes both of us out, our kids are left with no one. No mom, no dad. Then what? What happens to them? They go into the fucking system? They end up separated and in foster homes?”

“Kyle will take them. We agreed on this; it’s all in writing, in a legal document. But nothing is going to happen. To either of us. It’s an easy in and out.”

“Isn’t that exactly what you said about Dhaka last time? You were pretty sure that was going to be easy, too. And it was   fucked up and it was scary and I do not want to go through that again. If something happens to you….”

He tightly squeezes the backs of her thighs. “Nothing is going to happen to me. We’’ll go, you’ll get the info I need, I’ll get shit, we’ll get the fuck out. That’s it.”

“This is nuts.” She lifts the bottom of her t-shirt to her face, wiping the tears from her cheeks onto the gray fabric. “Going there is nuts.”

“Believe me, baby. It’s the last place I want to go. But that’s where they are.”

“You know they’re baiting you, right? That they’re baiting you into going there? Why else would they be in Dhaka? There’s no other reason. Other than to fuck with your head.  They’re hoping it will mess with you and you’ll make a mistake and that way they can catch you off guard and kill you. You realize that, right?”

“I do. But I’m not going to make a mistake. No mistakes this time.”

“I don’t even understand how they ended up there. Why would Mahajan take the risk of sending his people into Asif’s territory? He’s not stupid; he knows that would kick up a whole lot of trouble.  Asif might be dead, but there’s people keeping him very much alive.”

“He didn’t send his own people,” Tyler explains. “He’s using Asif’s people.”

“They’re working together?”

“Putting their issues for a common cause, I guess.”

“Oh my God.” She runs both hands down her face. “This is insane. This is pure fucking insanity. And we’re going to walk right into it?”

Tyler nods.

“How? You just said your name and your face are out there. That they’re coming knowledge. How…?”

“There’s always a way. All I need to do at first is get from the airport to the hotel. That’s it.”

“And then send me out into the street to get what you need.”

“I don’t even know if I WILL need you. But if Anil doesn’t come through…”

“So who is going to be watching my ass?”

“I will.”

“How? If you can’t get out on the street…”

“I will find a way. You have to trust me.”

“I DO trust you, Tyler. But this is messed up. Going back there? We’re asking for trouble.”

“Trouble is already here.  It found Neysa and Aarav. And unless we do something about it on both ends, it’s going to find you and the kids and I will a put a bullet in my fucking brain if anything happens to you or them. Anil ends Mahajan, we take care of shit in Dhaka. End it all once and for good. No more fucking around.”

“It’s not that easy!” Esme argues. “It never is! So we go to Dhaka and I find out where they are and you go in and get them and get out. You’re forgetting about all the steps in between. All the people that will be there to stop you from getting them out.”

“They won’t even know I’m coming. Catch them by surprise.”

“And if there’s twenty of them? Thirty of them? Forty? You’re good. You’re damn good. But you’re not THAT good.”

“I won’t be going in alone,” he assures her. “I’ll have back up. Koen and Rata and a couple of Nik’s people. It’s not like I’m going in by myself. People inside with me, people outside. All the bases covered.”

“This isn’t going to be another incident like a week and a half ago, is it? Where you think you’re going to have back up and find out  the hard way you don’t?”

“I completely trust these guys.  You really think Koen will drop the ball? He’s probably more protective of me than you are. I’ll be okay. I know these guys know what they’re doing.”

“I wish I had as much confidence in them as you do.”

“You trusted Koen enough  to get him to babysit me,” Tyler points out.

“It wasn’t babysitting. I wanted him to keep an eye on you. Because you’ve been struggling. In a lot of ways. And I didn’t want this whole thing breaking you. Breaking US.”

“Do you think it is? Breaking us?”

“Do you?”

“Honestly? The ���us’ that existed even a couple of years ago? That ‘us’ wouldn’t have survived this. One of us would have walked away by now. Probably you.”

“Would have you let me? Walk away?”

“I would have fought like hell to get you to stay. I learned my lesson the first time. And I fucking hate myself that I was that weak and that much of a fucking coward back then.   But now? I’d stop at nothing to get you back now. So yeah; two years ago I would have fought. But probably not as hard I am willing to fight now.”

“Is it weird that I actually this crap has made us stronger?  I felt it when you first got here. That night we were lying in bed and you were holding me and we were talking and there was something so different between us. Something suddenly seemed so amazing and so right. More than it ever has before. It was like overnight we changed. Like we became what we’ve been fighting to be for seven years. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah,” his hands tighten on her hips and he pulls her into him, allowing her to stand between his splayed thighs. “Makes sense.”

She pushes both hands through his hair, fingers locking together at the nape of his neck. “You have to promise me something, Tyler.”

“Anything.”

“If something happens to me, in Dhaka…”

“We’re not having this conversation,” he interjects. “We’re not. We’re not talking about this. This is the last thing I want to talk about.”

“If something happens to me, you have to promise me that you’ll hold it together for the kids. OUR kids. Because they’ll need you more than ever.”

“Nothing is going to happen to you. Why…?”

“You can’t go back to drinking, you can’t go back to the meds. No matter how bad it seems or how horrible the grief is.  You can’t go back to those things. Because you will lose the kids. You will lose the last tie to me and you will not survive that.”

“I won’t survive if something happens to you. You know I won’t. And I don’t give a shit if that makes me sound weak or pathetic. It’s the fucking truth.”

“And then our kids would be left without mom or dad. You’d survive. For them. And you have to promise me you will. That if something happens to me…”

“Stop it,” he snarls. “Just fucking stop it!”

“Promise me you won’t let the kids down. That you won’t fall back into bad habits. That you’ll hold it together for them. You’re all they would have left. And I need you to be there for them. Promise me, Tyler. Promise me.”

“I promise you. I’ll keep it together. For them.”

Giving a small, sad smile, she presses a slow, soft kiss to his lips. “I love you. I’ve always loved you. I always WILL  love you. You need to remember that, okay?”

“I will,” his voice cracks with me. “And I love you. So much. And we’re going to get out of this. Both of us.  I promise.”

“I don’t know if that’s a promise you can keep.”

“I’ll get us out of there,” he vows. “No matter what it takes. I’ll get us out of Dhaka.”

[thepotionbat]

All These Things That I’ve Done

Hello everyone! Long time, no update. Let’s call it a good old-fashioned mixture of writer’s block, work, and school. I hope you enjoy this chapter! I’m not gonna lie, I certainly struggled through it. The beginning italicized bit is from Pink Floyd’s Wish You Were Here. Chapter word count: 3,148

Story summary: The world post-Voldemort is a complicated one to navigate: the Ministry is taken over by a Minister who does not know of Snape’s service to the Order, Dementor’s are still at Azkaban, Snape’s name remains uncleared, and, perhaps surprisingly of all to Snape, Harry seems to have respect for him now. Despite the uncertainty of his future, Snape is amazed to find that he actually has one in the first place – his years of living as a spy and a puppet to Dumbledore as well as undergoing faux obedience to Voldemort have left him in a state of mind that abandoned all hopes of living a life for himself –now, however, he realizes there is a life post-war for him after all, no matter how unsteady it may be.

Chapter summary: Severus comes to grips with being alive and with the uncertainty of his fate. Harry and Severus have more in common than they thought.

Chapter Two

Did you exchange A walk on part in the war For a lead role in a cage?

Over the next several days, Severus was left with ample time to think.

There were many places his thoughts could wander to now that all he was doing was lying in a hospital bed; after all, there were no more students under his watch, no more meetings with the Dark Lord to attend to, no more need to look behind his shoulder after every move — well, that one, perhaps, would need more time.

Severus’s time as Headmaster had been a harrowing one, one that, at many times, felt like some sort of a sick ode to his past: Minerva’s trust in him had completely evaporated, as it also had from the rest of the staff he had come to acquaint with; he rarely descended from the Headmaster’s office, and he was once again steeped with the presence of Dark Magic and Dark Wizards.

He had promised Dumbledore that he would keep the students safe, and that had been a promise he had meant, but safety was a rare luxury in the times they were in. The Carrows took pride in terrorizing the students, as if they were doing the Dark Lord the greatest favor of all; they were like cats toying with a bug under their claws, and Severus could hardly burst in and tell them to stop without blowing his cover.

Children everywhere were sporting black eyes and intense fear as they were marched around the campus; wherever he could, Severus would assist Madam Pomfrey with the students who had been sent to her bearing injuries dealt by Dark Magic, but that hardly did enough to relieve the contriteness he felt inside.

Indeed, he had spent many sleepless nights in Dumbledore’s office, kept awake by the guilt threatening to eat him alive.

“You’re doing all that you can,” Albus’s portrait had assured him, more than once, but it never made him feel any better, not really. The Headmaster’s office without Dumbledore was just a shell of what it once had been, as was Hogwarts before the Death Eaters had been welcomed inside; the school was bones in a graveyard of good days gone by, and Severus was in the center of it.

He had spent many days in that office, held many meetings; the Carrows had come to him with the names of students that refused to do as they were told and had boasted about their subsequent methods of discipline; Minerva had continually spoken her concerns to him, all veiled under a thin layer of stiff fury, disgust in her eyes every single time she could bring herself to look at him. Most of his 38th birthday had been spent in there, too, before he was called out to a meeting with Lord Voldemort.

Despite the many horrors he had faced recently — his disturbing brush with death being one of them — Severus found himself dwelling also on another year, his thoughts pulling towards a time further back in his past, a time of similar turmoil:

1981.

It had been a period of darkness, anxiety, and stress, and not just for him — the entirety of the population had been panicking, fearful to even speak of Lord Voldemort, let alone say his name. The distress that he had felt in the air over the past year was all too alike to the kind felt during 1981 and the years building up to it.

He could clearly remember the moment he had found out that the Dark Lord was targeting the Potters and how his life had subsequently been sent into a whirlwind of changes — approaching Dumbledore, swearing his allegiance to the man, desperately doing all that he could to save Lily and her family from the fate he felt he had very much set into motion —

And yet it had all been for nothing, so it seemed.

All in one night, Lily and James were murdered, the Dark Lord had vanished, Sirius was sent to Azkaban, and Peter was dead… A list of names that fit right in with the litany of dead and damaged people making up his generation.

Severus himself had been left with a fading Dark Mark on his arm and no purpose in life, just waiting to answer for the sins he had committed.

The weeks following Lily’s death, he had all but become a ghost right along with her. He had drifted through the halls of Hogwarts, taught his classes, and maintained his Head of House position, but through it all had only thinly concealed his rage at the world and his intense grief — grief both for Lily, and for the sorry excuse of a life he had made for himself.

On top of it all, he’d been the youngest of the Professors by far and because of it, he felt as though he had had double the amount to prove of himself. He could tell the majority of the staff thought he was too young, too neurotic, too volatile, to teach students; he struggled socially, and mostly kept to himself. Minerva’s distrustful eye had trailed on him nearly everywhere he went, the woman having been completely unconvinced of why Albus had hired him.

Dumbledore had kept the Aurors at bay for as long as he could, but eventually Alastor Moody and a couple of his colleagues had come to collect Severus, for he had been named by one of the other Death Eaters; and so it was, at 22, he had landed in Azkaban. It was his luck that he didn’t stay long before Dumbledore yanked him back out, the man having proved his case of being a spy for the Order to the Ministry.

As he lie in the hospital bed, hidden from the outside world by curtains, the flow of time interrupted only by the mediwitches who came to deliver his healing potions, Severus couldn’t help but feel that he had escaped one cage only to be placed into another — but hadn’t that been his whole life? He had found escape from his home life at Hogwarts, and then, when Hogwarts had become another nightmare, he had his time with Lily to cherish; when that too had been crushed at his own hand, he found himself running with Death Eaters and blood purists, soon to change the course of his life forever.

In truth, Severus could barely remember what it was like, before he was a spy… before he was a Death Eater. He wasn’t sure if there ever really was a before. If there was, he knew he couldn’t exactly pinpoint when before ended and became now.

Sometimes he wondered if he was always going to be branded with Lord Voldemort’s Mark, or, if things had happened differently, he would have made different decisions.

Even amidst all of these thoughts, his mind continued to replay the moment the Aurors had dragged him away from the school grounds of Hogwarts all of those years ago, and he couldn’t help but think that he was soon to face a similar fate once again — this time, however, Dumbledore wasn’t here to save him.

Often, he fell asleep with these things still swirling in the forefront of his mind, and all he was able to do when he woke up was continue to mull them over.

————

A number of days had passed when Severus woke up to another presence in the room, disrupting the routine he had become so familiar with.

Harry was sitting in the same chair he had before, but now his eyes were idly observing the tiles on the ceiling. Truthfully, he looked as though he may drop off to sleep at any moment, but despite his apparent weariness, he still must have sensed Severus’s movement, as slight as it was, for then his eyes trailed down from the ceiling and met his.

Severus blinked at the boy, studying him for a moment, before looking away dismissively.

“I’ve been thinking,” Harry began, the unexpected initiation of conversation winning Severus’s eyes on him again.

“How were you able to keep the password as Dumbledore with all of those Death Eaters coming in and out?”

It took a moment for him to understand that he must be referring to the password needed to get into the Headmaster’s office, to the Pensieve.

“I enacted… special instruction to the Gargoyle,” he explained. “It would have permitted you to enter no matter what you may have said.”

“Oh,” Harry said. “I didn’t know it could be… instructed, or whatever.”

After a second, Severus raised an eyebrow, ever so slightly. “‘Dumbledore?’”

“First person I could think of,” he mumbled.

Severus supposed he couldn’t blame him for that.

“Oh, and another thing,” Harry added, a second later. “You knew my Aunt Petunia?”

Those were hardly the next words Severus expected him to say, and for a second, he was stunned into silence. The last thing he wanted or expected to do was dredge up memories from his childhood, particularly not of that dreadful girl.

“…You could say that.”

“Huh.” Harry crossed his arms. Then, after a moment, “She kept me in a cupboard.”

Severus blinked at him. “…What?”

“A cupboard,” he repeated, as if that would be any more clearer the second time. “The only other unoccupied bedroom in the house was used for Dudley’s — er, her son’s — toys. I got the cupboard.”

He didn’t know what to say.

“You thought I lived an easy life, didn’t you?” Harry said shrewdly. “Born with a silver spoon in my mouth, that sort of thing.”

There was a storm brewing in Harry’s tired eyes, no doubt born from the trauma and grief of all of the things that had happened to him that he had never been allowed to fully process, and it shouldn’t have come as a surprise that Severus would become the listening board for the brunt of it. It wasn’t necessarily anger, no; Severus more or less got the sense that the storm inside Harry was compiled of mixed emotions and what could have been carefree childhood years gone to waste.

“Sometimes they would lock me in there,” he continued. “If I did something wrong, I mean. They might remember to feed me, might not.”

Severus watched him steadily, feeling a pang in his chest at the words. If he was reminded of his own childhood of fending for himself, he would never say, just like he would never admit that Harry was completely catching him off guard with what he was saying.

“You don’t know me, not like you always acted like you did,” Harry said. He stared at Severus with Lily’s eyes, full of conviction. “…But I suppose I don’t really know you, either. We were both wrong about each other.”

I’m sorry.

The words crawled up Severus’s formerly ravaged throat, willing themselves to be spoken aloud; they were appropriate words, something anyone else would have said, but as much as he knew he should speak them, the apology couldn’t make it out of his mouth; he had never been a person that was good at apologies, and his near-death experienced had still not changed that about him. The opportunity passed, and Severus finally tore his gaze from the boy, letting the moment go to simmer in silence.

When it was clear that Severus wasn’t going to say anything, Harry rose from his chair, a sound that scraped against the former quiet.

“The reason I came is to tell you that I went back to the Pensieve and got your memories,” he said. “I turned them in to the Ministry. They’re going to review them.”

With that, Severus watched him push past the curtains and leave.

————

Severus hadn’t expected Harry to come back.

He had barely expected to see him again after the first time he had woken up, but even less so after their last conversation — this was why he was surprised when Harry did in fact return again, and more times after that.

It seemed that after getting out a most of what he had wanted to, Harry was more liable to speak to Severus with a lack of pent up emotion, seeming to consider him with trust and perhaps even respect, which was what was most shocking of all.

Either way, Harry was quickly becoming his source of information for what was going on in the outside world.

“They’re taking their time on deciding that your memories haven’t been tampered with,” Harry had told him the third time he had come back, his tone indicating that he rather thought they were dawdling. He seemed a bit more well-rested, less emotional.

“It is difficult to determine whether or not memories have been altered,” Severus said dismissively. “Surely you know this.”

“No—well, yes, I suppose—but yours haven’t,” Harry said. “I’ve seen tampered memories before, they don’t look like that.”

Severus refrained from rolling his eyes at the boy’s naive certainty, for once managing to rein in his annoyance. “What it really depends upon is the current… political climate,” he remarked instead. “Who is the new Minister?”

“Oh. His name’s Willem Ironwood,” Harry said. “I’m not sure about him, yet. The public likes him, though. He seems like the strong leader sort. I guess that’s what everyone’s looking for, these days.”

The name rang vaguely familiar to Severus, which was a bit concerning, considering the typical manner of the crowd he had been acquainting with, but nothing of certainty could come to mind, so he let it go, for the moment.

Harry had told him, in greater detail this time, of how he survived his confrontation with Voldemort, how he had gone to the forest and taken the Killing Curse, and then how Narcissa Malfoy lied about his death.

Severus had disliked Harry for a long time. It made things easier, as was having the boy hate him in return. It was easy to picture the boy who was a nearly exact copy of his father’s image as having the same personality, one born from an arrogant, pampered life; surely, the Boy Who Lived would have grown up in one similar.

Instead, he found that it was him and the boy who had far more in common than he had ever considered. Their near-deaths had even been delivered by the same person, their fates much the same, when considered in accordance to Dumbledore’s plans.

“Why didn’t Dumbledore leave you anything to help prove you were working as a spy the whole time?” Harry asked.

The Headmaster had never expected Severus to live, but Severus couldn’t exactly hold it against him — he, too, had never considered a life after Voldemort’s death. Truly, Voldemort’s death was a concept he could never really imagine at all, as impossible as it seemed.

Dumbledore had instructed Severus to kill him, and in doing so, Severus was to become the true owner of the Elder Wand, thus keeping Voldemort’s damage potential as minimal as possible — but Tom Riddle was no fool. Both Severus and Dumbledore knew that he would work it out eventually, and then kill Severus, seeking the wand’s full potential — but by then, Harry would have had an ample lead on getting rid of horcuxes, which Voldemort didn’t even know he would be hunting.

“It was not in Albus’s plans for me to survive.”

Other days, Harry wasn’t so well off. Severus found himself listening to the rants brought to him by the boy, all about those he had cared about that died in the war, about Dumbledore and everything the man had kept from him, about what it had felt like, walking through the forest to face his death.

It was obvious the boy felt guilty, and, well, guilt was an emotion Severus knew well — the difference was that Severus deserved to carry his guilt. His guilt was his contrition, his penitence, and he never expected it to ease, never thought he would ever be due for it to. He had committed many mistakes throughout his life, mistakes he could never run from; their damage was done.

Harry, on the other hand, was just a child, and his guilt was misplaced — it was not Harry’s fault that all of those people had died, as he seemed to think. They had all died facing Voldemort and his army, fighting for their freedom, for justice in the Wizarding World — but Severus hardly found himself qualified to know how to tell the boy what he needed to hear in a way that would be sensitive, so mostly, he just let him talk, let him say whatever he felt he couldn’t to his gang of friends or to his surrogate Weasley mother. Maybe it was the fact that Severus listened and didn’t try to argue that Harry felt he could speak his mind at all.

Sometimes Harry stayed briefly, sometimes he stayed for an hour or more. Severus had been able to focus some of his thoughts on the boy and maintaining a conversation with him rather than on the memories that had begun to be relentlessly turned over in his mind, but even so, things had become to easy, too peaceful.

Calamity was surely lurking, just beneath the surface. It was just something Severus had come to expect.

————

As usual, Severus was right.

It was one morning Harry came in rather early, a look of urgency on his face.

“Professor,” he rushed. “I came as quickly as I could — they didn’t validate the memories. They want you to go to trial. The Aurors are on their way to get you now—”

It was at that moment that a hush fell over the ward outside the curtains, and somehow, that was louder than any of the routine bustle had ever been.

“Potter,” Severus began, making to tell him to leave, but it was too late. Two Aurors pushed past the curtain, led by a Healer.

A stiff second of silence passed.

“Harry Potter,” one of them said, looking Harry up and down. “Fancy seein’ you here. I thought we made it clear you weren’t to conspire with the accused.”

“I wasn’t—”

The other went over to Severus, undoing the magical ties with a couple quick flicks of his wand, beginning the next quick succession of events distracting Severus from whatever argument Harry had been attempting to make. The Auror gripped him with a tight hand, urging him from the bed and pulling him to his unsteady feet; upon standing, a weight seem to crash down on Severus’s shoulders, as if he weighed much heavier than he had before the war, but he straightened himself, unwilling to appear weak.

“Severus Snape,” the first Auror said, obviously having dismissed Harry, and gripped him by his other arm. “It’s about time.”

With that, they drug him out of the curtains and into the bright world that Severus had almost forgotten what it was like to be a part of.

Here is a great post that served as inspiration for the bit about Snape and Dumbledore’s plan regarding the Elder Wand.

I’m going to be honest; I didn’t really carefully proofread this chapter. I was too excited to post it and too tired of staring in concentration at my screen. If there’s any slip-ups on my part, forgive me. If you want to be added to future tag lists, let me know! Tag list: @madamecoyote @eruditeslytherin @moonie-writes

[cake-writes]

Little Lies (Kentucky)

Pairings: Steve x Reader // Bucky x Reader (mentioned)

Chapter Warnings: Angst, Smut, Fluff, Oral (Receiving), 18+

Summary: You went to Bucky when you wanted punishment. He’d be rough with you because he understood your self-loathing, and he’d leave bruises on your hips that wouldn’t go away for a week. You loved it. He didn’t.

You went to Steve when you wanted reassurance. You went to him because he liked to whisper sweet, sweet things into your ear as he made love to you. He’d tell you that you were perfect and amazing and beautiful. Then you’d get your fill, just far too much of it. He cared too much.

It all came to a head when the three of you went on a mission together. You’d done it a hundred times, even during this mess of a situation, and still neither of them was any the wiser. Your little lies always slipped right through the cracks - until one night, they didn’t.

Master List

August 2015

Kentucky was absolutely sweltering. It was a hot summer, for one, and for two, Steve was from Brooklyn. He wasn’t used to such sticky, uncomfortable heat because New York summers were much milder than this and Germany’s were much of the same. He wasn’t used to the humidity, either, even after you’d managed to wrangle him into a tank top, cargo shorts, and flip-flops. It was much less stifling than his uniform or even his civvies, but he felt out of place in such bizarre, 21st century clothing.

Then again, that was exactly the point. He was undercover. You both were.

You, on the other hand, seemed right in your element as the two of you unloaded the moving van you’d just picked up a few miles away from one of Tony’s associates. It was stocked full of boxes – mostly empty ones, just for show – along with a couple pieces of furniture: table and chairs, a small sofa, and a bed.

You were wearing a tee shirt with some faded band logo on it – Steve didn’t recognize it – and a pair of short denim shorts. Those he recognized only because Sam had teased you about them right before the two of you left the compound – called them ‘Daisy Dukes,’ whatever that meant. You’d just winked at Sam, made a lasso motion with your hands and cheered, “yee-haw,” like a cowgirl. Then you and Sam shared a laugh. It was a reference that Steve clearly didn’t get, but that was fine. It gave him something to think about, to distract him from how short those shorts really were.

The flight to Kentucky had been fine. You hammed it up a bit, already putting on the newlywed façade – told the flight attendant that you’d just gotten married and darlin’, isn’t my new hubby just the greatest? and it flustered him. You were showing him off. Even if it wasn’t real, he couldn’t help but preen a little.

That said, there was no doubt in his mind that someone else would have better suited the role than him. The decision wasn’t up to him, though; there had quite literally been a vote to see who should take this mission, and he’d been selected the prime candidate because of course he was. Everyone thought it would be hilarious to shove you and him together in a box for a couple weeks, like some warped version of Seven Minutes in Heaven: you, the scandalous minx you were, and him, the prude.

Steve didn’t mind it, really. He was actually a little excited for it. Nervous, too. He was in love with you, had been for months now. He knew should have said no to the mission because of the clear conflict of interest but he didn’t.

His attraction to you started out as an objective appreciation for the way you could handle yourself in the field. He noticed the glimmer you got in your eyes from a fight, when you did something perfectly or landed a particularly good blow or when he saved your ass at the last minute. He noticed the excited flush that came over your cheeks and the mischievous look you got when you fought alongside him, the two of you working together so well that it was almost like an elaborate dance.  

He’d had always known how attractive you were in other ways, too. Every now and then, he’d catch the slip of a bra strap, or you’d lean over and your shirt would accidentally reveal far too much cleavage. Sometimes, you’d wear a short, tight dress and go out to a nightclub with Natasha, and he could barely keep his eyes off of you. Other times, the hint of your thong peeked out of the top of your tac pants. Not often.

He tried not to look. You drove him crazy.

The mission itself was the easy part. The two of you were undercover in this small Kentucky town to find out where some particularly important intel had been downloaded. Tony’s satellites had only been able to pinpoint it to a one block radius, which coincidentally was smack dab in the middle of suburbia.

Your new residence was a charming little house at the end of a cul-de-sac, two bedrooms, one bath. A white picket fence bordered the yard, with pretty pink and purple flowers blooming under the windowsills and in the front garden. The exterior was painted light blue and it seemed a bit older, likely heritage – almost looked like something from his childhood, if he was being honest.

The moment Steve saw it – really, truly took it in – it made him stop in his tracks.

Some people actually got to have lives like this. They married, settled down, popped out a couple of kids, maybe got a dog. They had normal, ordinary lives. He wondered for a moment if this was what it felt like.

Your shoulder brushed against his as you made your way up the paved driveway, carrying a big box. You were humming some tune he didn’t recognize. He just stood there like an idiot, watching you as you went inside to add the box to the ever-growing pile and when you came back out, you waved at someone – one of the nosy neighbours, no doubt.

Then you gave him a sweet smile. “Honey?”

God, the word was so, so sweet on your tongue and it made his heart race. Somehow, he managed to get out an easy, “Yeah, sweetheart?”

It felt so strange and unfamiliar to use such words of adoration for you, but he certainly didn’t mind it in the least. It felt nice. While he called you ‘doll’ every now and then out of habit, he tried not to out of respect for you. Now he didn’t need to hold back.

“Do you wanna come help me with this? I can’t lift it.”

“Of course,” he responded, readjusting his grip on the box in his arms before he started up the walkway.

You waited for him at the door. When he got there, you gave him another one of those sweet, disarming smiles, and then you kissed him on the cheek, batting your eyelashes at him.

It was an act, of course, to appease the nosy neighbours and it also helped the two of you blend in. You were just trying to sell the story, and he knew that – but this was a terrible idea. He wasn’t sure how long it would to take to finish the mission, but he hoped it was sooner rather than later. You were going to be the death of him with the pet names, the southern drawl, the skimpy outfits and, just – you.

The house was pretty much already stocked with anything either of you would need. There were two bedrooms, one for each of you, but you’d have to share a bathroom. That was fine, because you’d done it plenty of times before during other missions. It was actually pretty nice that you had your own rooms, for once, because you usually had to share a single motel room or set up camp somewhere outside.

The first night, you ordered takeout because that was pretty much a moving day tradition. The two of you joked around like usual and talked about all sorts of things, but none of them were really personal. You kept the conversation breezy and light, even when it drifted to the mission at hand. Over beer and pizza, the two of you developed a plan to canvas the area. You’d distract the neighbours while Steve got into their homes and searched for the intel. Easy as pie.

Quite literally.

Steve was a heavy sleeper, but he woke to the smell of warm apple pie wafting through the house. It was still relatively early, sun just rising above the horizon, but you were already putting the plan into action.

When he came downstairs, he caught a particularly nice view of your ass as you leaned over to pull the pie from the oven. You weren’t wearing those short denim shorts anymore, but a pair of tight high-waisted jeans and a crop top.

“Mornin’, sugar,” you said with a wink.

It caught him off guard. He remembered that the two of you were undercover, but it wasn’t necessary behind closed doors like this. You were purposely trying to get a rise out of him.

He gave you a deadpan look, but he still felt his cheeks flush and, when he saw your eyes shine mischievously, he knew you’d noticed it too.

“Didn’t realize apple pie counted as breakfast nowadays,” he commented.

“Come on, Cap. We deep fry everything nowadays. Of course it’s breakfast,” you told him, laughing. He studied your face for a moment, and then, when he actually went to reach for the freshly baked pie, like this was yet some more knowledge that he’d never learnt while he was frozen – you gently pulled his hand away. “Oh, no, I’m sorry, Rogers. It’s for our cover.”

You rarely apologized for anything, but for this – for him, you did. The fact that he’d been frozen for so many years wasn’t something to joke about to you, even if it was unintentional. You hadn’t meant to make a joke of it.

Steve looked a little surprised by that. It didn’t really bother him all that much when people made jokes at his expense. Sensitive topic, absolutely, but the jokes were never malicious and he knew that. It was more prodding fun at the fact that while yes, he’d certainly missed a lot, it also meant that people were looking out for him, suggesting to him things that he should look into.

Your warm fingers lingered on his hand just a little longer than they should have.

He shook his head. “Don’t worry. I’m used to it. There’s a lot of stuff I need to catch up on.”

“Got a list going, huh?” you teased.

“Yeah, actually,” he said with a grin, pulling a small notebook out of his pocket. “Sure do.”

That morning, the two of you went through his list one by one, and you gave some comments and suggestions of your own. Instead of writing them himself, like he usually did, he relinquished the pen and paper to you.

Steve inadvertently wound up saving those notes, and on particularly bad days, he found himself studying every curve of your handwriting, like it held whatever answer he was seeking.

Over the next few days, he came to realize that you were purposely fucking with him.

You’d always been a tee shirt and jeans kind of girl, at least in the couple of years he’d known you, but for this mission all you wore were cute, dainty outfits. You started wearing floral dresses or the occasional blouse and skirt, paired with light makeup and heels. You hardly ever wore makeup or heels unless you were going out with Natasha.

You were playing a character. He knew that. But seeing you in such a different light, so sweet and girly, it did something to him. It sparked something in him – or maybe it just added fuel to the fire that was already burning for you.

He’d always treated you respectfully, at least he liked to think so. Even though he’d had an undeniable attraction to you for a long time – longer than he’d been in love with you – he’d always treated you like an agent first and a woman second. Seeing you like this, though, it made that an extremely difficult task to accomplish, especially when you were calling him, “Honey,” and “Baby,” and introducing him to your new neighbours as your husband.

He loved seeing that ring on your left ring finger. There was a matching one on his, and a large part of him wished it was real.

After about a week, neither of you had made any headway in your mission yet. The two of you had tried multiple residences nearby, now, but no luck so far. It became routine, almost, the way you went about your days.

Steve was a morning person. He woke early to go for a run, much earlier than you, even before the sun started to rise. The small house you shared was a little older, and the floorboards creaked as he crept past your room to go downstairs in the early hours. It never failed to wake you, but hearing the gentle creaking every morning soon became a comfort that you never realized you’d miss until after it was gone.

You, on the other hand, were a night owl. You stayed up late on the sofa downstairs, using your work tablet to investigate new leads and potential suspects well after Steve went to bed. Of course, that only did so much to distract you from the fact that the eerie quiet of the small town got to you. It made you relive memories you’d rather forget.

When you were alone, that was when you suffered most. Unfortunately, Bucky wasn’t here to help you. You’d only recently discovered how good he was at making you forget, but for this, you’d just have to make do on your own like you’d done for so long already.

It was more difficult than ever before.

You followed Steve up to bed once, with every intention of starting something you knew you shouldn’t. He was in the middle of brushing his teeth when he found you standing at the top of the stairs, staring at him in a way that just a little bit unsettling.

He pulled his toothbrush from his mouth and asked, “What’s the matter, doll?”

He was too sweet. You lost your nerve.

“Forgot my phone,” you said blankly, before you held it up like it was proof that your intention hadn’t been anything but innocuous.  

Steve just shrugged and went back to brushing his teeth, completely oblivious as to what you’d nearly done. You’d nearly crossed a line that shouldn’t be crossed. Not again. You’d already done it with Bucky. You didn’t need to do it with Steve, too.

Despite it all, some nights you needed to be held – especially here in this awful quiet town that made it so easy for you to lose yourself in your memories. You needed to be treated sweetly, and in a lot of ways, Steve did that for you. Not intentionally, of course; just a kind look here, a gentle hand on your lower back there, not to mention the praise he offered you sometimes. He often told you after missions that you’d done a good job.

Good job. From his lips, it almost sounded like he was saying good girl.

What really did it for you, though, was that you didn’t even have to say a thing for Steve to know you were doing your best. He didn’t know you, not really, aside from one single side of you that he knew almost too well – the small part of you that wanted his praise, along with his acceptance of your mistakes. Steve had seen you make a number of them over the past couple of years, and despite them all, he always treated you so kindly. He never judged you or blamed you for them.

You never, ever let anyone else see you that way, let alone Bucky because if he did, then he’d have seen far too much. You only let people have a glimpse of who you truly were here and there, because if they saw too many sides of you, then they’d be able to piece together who you really were deep down. It wasn’t pretty.

You offered Bucky the dangerous, broken part of yourself, the one that killed and murdered and didn’t feel a lick of remorse. You got him to punish you, ruin you, break you, because that was what that part of you deserved – and he was so, so good at it. You loved him for it. You thanked him. That side of you well and truly belonged to him. You never showed it to anyone else.  

Not that you’d ever tell him that.

The other part of you that Steve got to see – the sweet, clueless girl who did her best and it just wasn’t good enough sometimes – that part of you was all his.

Not that you’d ever tell him that, either.

Your weakest point was always late at night when you were alone. You found yourself coming closer and closer to climbing into Steve’s bed more frequently as the days passed, but you held strong. Somehow, you managed.

Sometimes you stopped yourself when you got to the top of the stairs, staring at his closed bedroom door. Other times, you found yourself in his bedroom, taking in every bit of his peaceful, sleeping face. Once and only once, you ran your fingers through his hair and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. On that particular night, you very nearly hadn’t stopped there – but you managed.

You always managed.

During the day, you put on a façade just like you’d always done. It was routine. It almost felt normal to do this – to cohabitate, to get groceries and toilet paper, to worry about how your lemon bars were going to turn out today – but you never let yourself fall too deep into that normal, ordinary line of thinking because you knew how hard it would be to pull yourself out of it.

Every day, Steve went for an early morning jog, and after he’d come back and showered, you finally started to rouse. By the time you sluggishly made your way downstairs, he was in the kitchen fixing breakfast for the two of you. He never failed to have a hot cup of coffee waiting for you with the exact amount of cream and sugar you liked.

It was the same every day, and some part of you – that sweet, clueless girl – loved every part of it. The normalcy. The domesticity.  

Your pet names for each other started to become insufferable in the best way. You used to greet him with normal ones – honey, baby, sweetheart – and he did the same. As the days passed, though, in private the two of you got more and more ridiculous to the point that you made each other laugh with them. And, every now and then when one of them slipped out in public, it only added to your newlywed persona.

“Good morning, honeybun,” you said airily, taking a seat at the counter where you’d plugged in your work tablet the night before.  

Steve gave you a grin just like he always did when you said a particularly silly one. “Morning, gorgeous.”

He didn’t blush as easily anymore when he said such sweet things to you. You assumed that he must have just gotten used to it, but it was a little bit disappointing. You loved to rile him up.

As he dished up two plates of pancakes, you took a sip of the coffee he made for you and scrolled through the new intel from HQ that had come through during the night. There wasn’t much, just another potential location to check out.

After a quick breakfast, Steve did check it out, and it was yet another dead end. It was well into the afternoon by the time he was finished. On your side of things, you spent the day distracting the residents of that particular home so that Steve could get in and out unseen.  

You met up a block away, and on your way back to your new home, you remembered that you needed to pick something up for dinner. The two of you took a detour to the corner store where you usually got your groceries.

Steve was wearing his favourite baseball cap and sunglasses, and you were in a particularly flattering sundress and wedge heels. The mid-afternoon weather was lovely – hot, but not quite as sweltering as most other days. It was nice.

It was almost second nature at this point for you to reach out and lace your fingers with his. The first time you’d done it, he looked surprised as hell and the flush that came across his face made your heart race. Now, he just offered you a small smile and pressed a kiss to the back of your hand like he’d done it a thousand times before.

It still made your heart race.  

All things considered, it seemed like a normal day – except it wasn’t. You should have noticed the extra staff at the corner store. You should have noticed the bulk around their waists – guns – but you didn’t. You were too focused on what to make for dinner. For the first time in a very, very long time, you let your guard down. You forgot.

Steve did notice, but it took him a little longer than normal, too. When you felt his familiar hand on your lower back press against you just a little more firmly, you immediately knew something was up but you continued to act like everything was just peachy, even when he whispered into your ear, “We need to go.”

You didn’t have to be told twice. You grabbed a couple of random things from the shelves: two tins of beans, a bag of chips, and a candy bar, and then the two of you made your way to the register. You paid in cash. Steve carried the bag for you on the way out.

It wasn’t difficult to notice the two men on your tail. Your cover was blown. Somehow, your cover was blown and you hadn’t even fucking noticed because you were too distracted by this newlywed façade. You were too distracted by what it felt like to be normal.

Steve took your small hand in his free one, then, and gave you a gentle squeeze – as if to reassure you. When you glanced over at him, the way he smiled at you made your heart flutter just a little.

This isn’t your fault. Stop worrying. It’ll be fine.

You believed him.  

You made your way to another house, one that had no cars in the driveway and no garage. Hopefully no one was home. It was some random residence a couple of blocks away from your safe house, but you picked the lock so quickly that it looked like you were just opening the door with a regular key. Then you and Steve walked inside like that was where you’d been living this whole time.

You watched from the second-floor window as the two men on your trail radioed something in, probably your location – and then you both slipped out the back and hopped the fence. It was a little higher than you’d normally be able to scale, and Steve helped lift you over. He put his hands around your waist to lift you up, first, but you still couldn’t quite reach, so you quickly told him, “Grab my ass, Rogers.”

Steve’s grip noticeably faltered at your request and your sundress fluttered in the breeze, but he did as you asked – slid his hands from your waist to your barely-covered ass and soft thighs, which provided just enough height and leverage to finally pull yourself over the fence.

When you landed on the other side, you felt like you’d just run a marathon. His touch had been so hot, almost burning, and he’d gripped you so firmly, so close to where you’d been wanting him to touch you for what felt like ages that wet, sticky heat had started to pool in between your legs.

Neither of you discussed it.

The run home was fast, but silent and uncomfortable. You didn’t speak much, and neither did he. You shared a dinner of canned beans and potato chips, but neither of you had much of an appetite. You needed to figure out what to do, now, but you barely had a chance to discuss it when the loud sound of an explosion shook your quaint little safe house.

You both immediately knew what it was.

The perp – whoever the hell it was – had blown up the house the two of you had gone to earlier. It wasn’t your house. It belonged to some random family. You could recall seeing their photos on the walls, a happy family of four.

Steve said something to you, but it didn’t really register. He pulled on his uniform and went to check it out. That didn’t really register, either. All you could focus on was the fact that you’d very likely gotten people killed because you’d been too stupid and distracted to notice that your cover was blown.

By the time he returned, you had turned on the news to find that the explosion was being blamed on a gas leak. The grim expression on his face told you that definitely wasn’t the case, but you already knew that.

A couple more hours passed in silence as you stared blankly at the television. You weren’t watching it. You weren’t paying attention at all. Instead, you were reliving every single mistake in your career and as much as Steve desperately wanted to reach out and hold you, help you feel better, ease your pain, he didn’t.

Things like this always hit you hard, but you never wanted comfort. You always had to handle it yourself. He’d tried in the past to help – told you that it wasn’t your fault, gently rubbed your back – and you’d shoved him away. You didn’t want to be coddled. You didn’t need it.

Except tonight, you did.

Steve went to bed first, sometime after eleven. It wasn’t that the night’s events didn’t bother him, because they certainly did. He’d just experienced things like this a lot more than you, especially during the war, and he knew how to compartmentalize. Somehow, he could still sleep at night, whereas he knew you probably wouldn’t get a wink of it.

He’d help you pack in the morning. He’d contact HQ. He’d write up the mission report. He’d do all of it for you, because he loved you. He’d do anything for you.

Sometime in the middle of the night, you stopped resisting your impulses. You crept up the stairs and, for a brief moment, paused as you stared at Steve’s closed bedroom door for what was probably the umpteenth time.

Your heartbeat was pounding in your ears as you slowly turned the doorknob and stepped inside.

The moonlight was streaming through the open curtains onto the bed, where you found him fast asleep. Of course he was. He’d always been a heavy sleeper, even now.

You brushed away a few strands of hair stuck to his forehead, and he almost seemed to lean into your touch; then you trailed your fingers down his bare chest, further south, pushing his sheets back along the way. The only thing he was wearing was a pair of soft plaid sleep pants that you’d teased him about once – said they suited him, the old man he was.

Right now, though, they were almost too low on his hips. Must have shifted sometime during the night.

His skin was damp to the touch from the summer heat. As your eyes trailed over him in the moonlight, you had a fleeting thought of how perfect he was and you stopped holding yourself back.

Your lips were hot on the sweat-slicked skin of his abdomen. He tasted like salt and smelled like heaven – like soap and fresh laundry, clean, with the slightest undertone of musk.

It turned you on.

You kissed your way up his body until he stirred with the softest, quietest moan, his muscles shifting under your touch. You didn’t stop. Instead, you met his dazed, half-lidded eyes with a sinful smile.

“Wait, wait,” he breathed, fumbling to take your hands into his. His voice was rough from sleep. “Talk to me, doll. Please.”

You didn’t.  

Instead, you nudged your dress out of the way and straddled his hips, which let you feel exactly how much you’d affected him. His cock was rock hard and straining against his pajama pants, and you did nothing to soothe it. Instead, you rolled your hips against him.

“Sweetheart,” he groaned, his head lulling back against the pillow. “It’s been a bad night. We shouldn’t.”

He didn’t mean it.

When you laced your fingers with his, he was so receptive – squeezed your hands right back, especially when you leaned down to kiss him. Your breasts nearly spilled out of your bra when they fell against his chest. With your dress half-unbuttoned, you saw his eyes flicker down to your cleavage for a split second before he looked back up at your face in awe, cheeks flushed, lips parted.

You kissed him, then, softly and sweetly, and sighed against his mouth, “Make me forget.”

Almost instantly, his hands left yours to cup the sides of your face, and he kissed you so deeply, so passionately that all you could think about was him. His lips were soft, but his kisses weren’t, especially when his tongue swept into your mouth as if to claim you, make you his, make you forget.

Then he trailed his fingers down the sides of your body, feeling every inch of you against him before they settled on your hips. He held you in place as he ground his hips up into yours, and you gasped against his mouth, relishing in the feeling of his hard cock against your folds – clothed or not.

The way he gathered you in his arms and lay you down on your back was sweet and gentle. He peppered kisses down your neck and torso as he finished unbuttoning your dress, before it was off entirely, discarded haphazardly to the floor – and then he sat back on his heels to just look at you.

You weren’t fully revealed to him yet, still wearing a lacy peach-pink bra and panties, but you felt absolutely naked in front of him. You were attractive, you knew that much – but the way his eyes took in every single one of your curves made your face flush like that stupid, clueless girl that had gotten people killed tonight.  

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered as he leaned in to kiss you again.

Something about the way he said it made you want him even more and you whined – actually whined – against his lips, “Baby, please.”  

Jesus Christ, he could have come right then.

Instead, he pulled away just enough to press a kiss to your stomach, your navel, your hip – and then he tugged your panties down and off before he buried his face between your thighs. He’d been wanting to worship your body for ages, and you deserved it now more than ever.

Your reaction was immediate. You gasped and writhed against his mouth, so much that he had to firmly hook his arms around your legs to hold you in place. You were so god damn responsive and it drove him crazy, especially when you gripped his hair in your fingers and pulled him closer to grind your perfect pussy against his face.

The taste of you was intoxicating – sweet, just a little tart – and he barely even realized what he was doing when he slid two fingers inside of you. Not one to start like he normally would have, but two, because you were so fucking soaked and desperate for him already.

“Stevie,” you whimpered when he curled his fingers up in a particular spot that sent you reeling.

God, he loved the sound of his name on your lips.

“Does that feel good?” he cooed against your slick folds, his hot breath sending a chill through you.

“Yeah,” you responded breathily, and you whimpered when he did it again. “Yeah, honey, just like that—”

Honey.

The word spurred him on and he went right back to devouring you, his tongue circling your clit as his fingers curled roughly against your g-spot over and over. It brought you higher and higher and higher until he couldn’t hold you down anymore and your back arched off the sheets, legs shaking against his shoulders as you came with a sharp cry.

When you collapsed back against the sheets, he crawled up your body to see your flushed, fucked-out face. Before he kissed you again, he went to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand out of consideration for you – but instead, you tugged on his arm and pulled him down to settle in between your thighs.

“Kiss me like that,” you told him, and he readily complied. You could taste yourself on his lips, but you didn’t care; all you cared about was the sharp breath he took in as you slid your hand into his pants and wrapped your fingers around him. His cock was hot, thick, and heavy in your palm, and you wanted him inside of you.

Your other hand slid his pajama pants down just enough to pull him out entirely, and then you ran the head of his cock back and forth through your slick folds.

Steve broke away from the kiss to lean his forehead against your shoulder. His voice was unsteady when he started, “If you’re not sure—”

But you just wrapped your legs around his waist, then, and used the leverage to drag him inside of you. All you could manage was the tip because of the angle, but at your eagerness, he actually growled – deep and feral before he slid the rest of the way inside in one fluid motion.

“Fuck, Stevie,” you gasped, “You feel so good—”

Then his lips were on yours again, swallowing every single word you wanted to say. He wasn’t rough, but he wasn’t exactly gentle either as his hips rocked into yours so easily – almost like this was meant to happen, like the two of you should have been doing this all along. His tongue dominated your mouth as his hands caressed your body all over, palming your breasts, your hips, your thighs as he made love to you.

That’s exactly what it was. You knew it, and he did, too.

The realization of that brought you to the brink almost in an instant.

When he hiked one of your legs up higher around his waist, you felt even closer – both to him, and to your orgasm. It was intimate. It was perfect. The new angle was incredibly deep, and his cock reached spots inside of you that you’d never even known about before.

You broke away from his mouth to bury your face in his shoulder, arms wrapped tight around his neck. “I’m close, god, I’m so fucking close, Steve—”

Judging by the way he was throbbing so much inside you, he was close, too. His breath was hot on the shell of your ear when he rasped, “Where do you want it?”

“Inside,” you gasped, your nails digging into his back. “Fill me up, honey, please.”

His hands gripped your thighs even more firmly as he held you in place, his thrusts stuttering just a little at the knowledge that you didn’t want him to pull out, no—you wanted him to come inside you. You wanted him to fill you up. You wanted him to give you every single fucking drop of his cum.

“Fuck, Steve, I’m coming, I’m coming—” you babbled mindlessly against his neck, wrapping your legs around him even tighter as you reached your peak, pleasure cascading around you in waves.

Those breathless moans paired with your walls clenching down on him so tightly were what pushed him over the edge, and he buried himself to the hilt, filling you up just like you’d begged him for with a groan of your name right into your ear. It might have been the sexiest thing you’d ever heard in your life, but your mind was blissfully blank.

He left to get you a washcloth to clean up – the two of you had made a mess after all – and unlike how you’d been with Bucky, you let Steve take care of you. You needed it.

After he wiped you clean, you curled so snugly into his side, using his chest as a pillow. He pressed gentle kisses to the crown of your head and muttered sweet nothings to you, and his soothing voice eased you to sleep.

For the first time in a very long time, Steve overslept.

At first, he thought he forgot to turn on his alarm. Then he remembered that it automatically set itself every morning. He didn’t forget to turn it on. 

You’d purposely turned it off.

He knew that because by the time he woke, you were gone. He found a note from you downstairs, on the kitchen counter where you used to have breakfast every morning.

Headed to my next mission. See you around, Rogers.

It was that same curly handwriting as what you’d written in his little notebook. He recognized it in an instant, but when he realized what you meant by it – that this was a one-time thing, a moment of weakness, a lapse of judgement – he couldn’t say it didn’t sting.

What hurt worse was that, when he tried calling you, it went straight to voicemail and when he sent you texts, you read and then ignored them.

You brushed him off, because you got what you wanted.

He made you forget.

Master List

[linernotesandseasons]

My 19 Favorite Albums of 2019

       2019 is coming to a close. The entire decade is coming to a close. This list has been an increasingly comforting exercise the last few years. I guess this will be the eighth annual version of the linernotesandseasons favorite albums of the year list! Crazy how time passes. So here are the collections of songs that I used to mark my personal time & space this year. The lyrics that I learned by heart & sang out in dark & dirty rock clubs. I also made a spotify playlist with two songs from each album if you’re interested in listening along as you read. 

This year most of my writing focuses on when & why I fell in love with a specific album. Sometimes the history is important, building a base or connecting some threads, so when relevant, I have also included my history with when I fell in love with a specific artist. And finally, as has become more important to my music chasing brain in the last few years, why this artist or album is important to music right now. What they’re doing to leave a mark on the world, in whatever small space or way.

So without any further ado, here it is, in no particular order (unless you’re particularly knowledgable or fond of the english alphabet) my 19 (well actually 20 cuz freaking Big Thief put out two!) favorite albums of 2019. It’s been a pleasure.

BETTER OBLIVION COMMUNITY CENTER   /   Better Oblivion Community Center

    Spring 2019 in Denver was cold & breezy, sunny & exciting. I had spun the Phoebe Bridgers/Conor Oberst match-made-in-indie-emo-sad-folk-heaven record once through, but in late March I made a game time (like I bought a day-of ticket off stubhub at 6pm!) decision to drive down from work and see their show at the Gothic on South Broadway. I’d been up since 7am the night (morning?) before, watching opening day baseball live from Japan (on March 20th?!). Ichiro’s final game and I was feeling maybe a little emotionally fragile already. But anyway… Better Oblivion Community Center’s live show (they call them meetings) has all the potential to come off as cheesy or contrived. A recorded voice welcomes you, self-help-cult style, and invites you to “celebrate sound & light” & “travel the well worn pathways,” because “we are one.” A mystical backdrop gives a hint of what you’re in for (I didn’t know what I was in for...) with letters at the top reading “It will end in tears.” The band is brilliant, loose, & fun. They play all the songs. They play “Lua,” “Bad Blood,” & “Easy/Lucky/Free” from the endlessly varied Bright Eyes catalog. They turn Phoebe’s “Funeral” into a punk blast. They cover The Replacements! They wear shades and sing a song from lawn chairs! The show feels effortlessly cool and I feel like I’m part of something special again. Music has a way of doing that.

The record is perfectly equal parts Phoebe & Conor. From the opening lines, where Phoebe takes control with “my telephone it doesn’t have a camera” sounding for all the world like a gloriously mopey “Smoke Signals Vol. 2″ to the way Oberst sings the first lines of ethereal closer “Dominoes” sounding 100% like Cassadaga-era Bright Eyes. If you know & love either, you should know the other now. Phoebe carries a torch from early 2000′s emo with a sad-at-heart, genius songwriting style that emphasizes pinpoint autobiographical lyrics, a cutting, (even humorous at times) wit, and a teenage, feminist, internet, millennial heart. Oberst for his part has kept up a steady output since Bright Eyes, and (at least lyrically) doesn’t seemed to have cheered up much. Better Oblivion Community Center’s self titled debut feels fresh & catchy. While there is definitely an aching sadness in the duo’s songwriting, light hearted moments abound, and the writing often points to getting older, all hard work & growth. There is the bouncing outro to “Sleepwalkin’” where their voices rise in unison singing “Acting insane, playing it safe, I wasn’t sold on that plan anyways. Feeling afraid of making a change.” Or in the bright, rolling verses of “My City” where they go looking for “little moments of purpose.” But the one song I kept going back to; the one I recorded to cassette tape and played on almost every drive home from work at 4am through April & May, is the bittersweet closer “Dominoes.” Ironically, this one is a Taylor Hollingsworth cover (I think that’s him adding the random, spooky voice overs) but Conor takes the lead on vocals, singing a mostly lonely, hopeless tale, until the last verse when Phoebe cuts in. She’s “carpooling to kingdom come, into the wild purgatory.” Encouraging us to “Experience a magic rainbow, all you gotta’ do is follow. & if you’re not feeling ready… There’s always tomorrow.”

    “The world will not remember when we’re old & tired / We’ll be blowing on the embers of a little fire…”

BIG THIEF   /   U.F.O.F. & Two Hands

       2019 was the year that I finally finally got really really into Big Thief. A band’s band known for their live show (I still have yet to see them live) their following seems equal parts cult-y and universal. How a band that sounds the way they do, made it almost to the top of the indie-rock world is an exciting & inviting mystery.

This year, for me, the catalyst was “Cattails.” Released at the beginning of April, this song struck me and stuck with me, making its way onto almost every mix I made last Spring, Summer, & Fall (including this one for my Mom!) A real song of the year contender (& my #1 most listened to song of 2019 on spotify!), “Cattails” is a melodic, driving, beautiful tune, that finds singer & front person Adrienne Lenker marking Time (”riding that train in late June”) & Space (”going back home to the great lakes”) with grace & depth. There is a sacredness & mysticism tied up in a lot of Lenker’s writing and she refers to her writing experience with “Cattails” saying…

“It was one of those electric, multicolored waves of connectivity just sweeping through my body. I stayed up late finishing the song and the next morning was stomping around playing it over & over again. We thought why not just record it … & when James and I were playing it felt like a little portal in the fabric had opened and we were just flying. Listening back to it makes me cry sometimes.”

In truth, U.F.O.F. (the last f stands for “friend,” a way of humanizing the foreign) is a gorgeous record. Soft & gentle, full of songs about the constant tussle between things known & unknown. A real headphones-on-an-airplane record. And then, out of nowhere, Big Thief announced that they had a second (!) record on the way in the Fall. A dirt & earth twin for U.F.O.F., a special surprise gift for their burgeoning fan base. They announced Two Hands with the vicious single “Not,” a song very unlike “Cattails.” A brooding, ravenous rock song that made me remember why I love unhinged, well-written, unafraid rock & roll music. Another song of the year contender. If you’ve followed this blog the last few months, my well thought out comments to “Not” were “ohhhhhhhhhhhhh shit” & “oh my holy shit.” to the live version! But it was actually the second track on Two Hands that solidified Big Thief’s greatness for me. “Forgotten Eyes” is sonically similar to “Cattails” and rides the same effortless rhythm, driven by Lenker’s repeating guitar riff and James Krivchenia’s consistently impressive drumming. The riff seems to fall in & out magically, and the writing bookends “Cattails” with lyrics that speak to both a great pain & a great universal truth. While she wanders through homelessness & death, Lenker reflects beautifully on the life cycle we (& our planet, & maybe everything?) are all going through.

    “Forgotten dance is the one left at birth / Forgotten plants in the fossils of earth / & they’ve long passed but they are no less the dirt / Of the common soil keeping us dry & warm / The wound has no direction / Everybody needs a home & deserves protection…”

BLACK BELT EAGLE SCOUT   /   At the Party With My Brown Friends

    After finding Black Belt Eagle Scout’s debut album late last year, I soundtracked many a dusk, dawn, or midnight drive with her swirling vocals & entrancing guitar, usually in the cold & dark, through the early part of 2019. It made my 2018 favorites list, and her Larimer Lounge show in May was a highlight. I guess it makes sense then, that I didn’t truly fall for her sophomore album At the Party With My Brown Friends (released in August) until it got cold in November and I was able to take it out for some dark, snowy drives. Moody & serious at times, Black Belt Eagle Scout sounds every bit like the gray Pacific Northwest where front person Katherine Paul (KP) hails from. The lyrics are simple, repeating phrases, full of deep, important ideas. Family & friends. People & land. There are bursts of guitar coming out of rewarding slow builds, shredd-y, rhythmic, & melodic. Also, all the instruments on ATPWMBF are played by KP, and the drumming is fucking fantastic.

I have some sort of longer form writing building somewhere in the back of my mind about listening to music in cars, and both Black Belt Eagle Scout albums are perfect examples for that. I have always loved the feeling of having roads (highways or simply long straight dirt back roads) & music to listen to. In high school, we would sometimes get in the car simply to drive & listen to music (small town life ya know?) and I still relish any chance I get to take new (or old & long loved) songs & albums on road trips or just commutes around town. The time to sit with the songs, to focus on nothing but the words & melodies, instruments & voices, & the pull of the road, mystical & magical. Black Belt Eagle Scout’s songs have been a calming companion on a lot of drives over the last year, and I recommend you taking them out on a spin of your own. Drive to that coffee shop that’s 30 minutes away that you’ve been wanting to go to, drive out of town just to drive, alone with your thoughts & the road. You just might learn something about yourself.

    “& I wake up / I love you / Screaming loudly / Screaming softly too / Am I here? / My heart dreams…”

BON IVER   /   i,i

    Bon Iver is a long time favorite and if you’ve followed this blog at all, you know how much I love his albums and how much Justin Vernon’s Eaux Claires festival has helped shaped my musical timeline. Seeing 22, A Million (the record that precedes i,i) live in Wisconsin by the river for the first time, was something special. That record made my 2016 favorites list, but until this year, until i,i, my story of the music felt very insular. Special & secret for me, confined to very specific times & places. Only to make me feel certain things. It’s why I was hesitant to buy a ticket to see the Red Rocks show last September. Or why I questioned streaming the album early while I was on vacation in Holden Beach, North Carolina. I thought the songs were only meant to carry me back to the river, back to Wisconsin, back to the Summer. Back to a very specific, special place in my heart. But thanks to the wonders of spotify, and the Bon Iver crew just up and releasing the album a week early under the simple & generous guise of “wanting folks to have the album & learn the songs before the tour!!” I obliged and… YESSSS that’s how you do an album release in 2019! I had the album in my headphones as I ran and sweated on the beach in North Carolina, letting brand new songs transport me thousands of miles away.

i,i is a gloriously weird, perfected mess of a hit indie record. It’s everything I wanted the next chapter of the Bon Iver story to be. It feels personal & widescreen. Little moments stretched out and shared with family & friends. Lyrics about growth & hard work & life (& a few WTFs, it’s Bon Iver after all!) The gang’s all here again (the massive crew that worked on the album are all pictured on the record’s gloriously, weird inside gatefold!) recorded from Vernon’s home (April) base in Wisconsin, to Sonic Ranch in west Texas (also pictured in the liner notes) walking distance from our southern border. The sounds are all here again too. There are hints of For Emma’s Winter falsetto folk in the gorgeous acoustic guitar of “Marion.” There are the industrial swells & stomps, bleeps & bloops of bi, bi’s Spring in the warbling, green grass, warmth of “Holyfields.” Then there is the distortion, the choppy samples of 22, in the jigsaw glory of “iMi,” the way it starts & stops, all choruses & voices, real & programmed. Threads of new songs tied up with threads from long, long ago. There is a fullness to i,i, a generosity, a true front to back album, with hits & new favorites sprinkled everywhere. The second half blooms with the charging folk of “Salem” & “Faith” and the contentedness of closer “RABi.” These are songs that I will love for years to come. These songs make me happy. They make me think. They make me want to share them with friends. They make me want to work on relationships. Songs about life. Songs about true, unconditional friendship. As Justin said way back in 2015, when my journey with the Bon Iver story began “The story is history, nothing more. Only the music can rise anew. & it is gone as soon as it is sung. & so we sing again…” I am soo soo happy to sing again, with songs anew.

    “Living in a lonesome way / Had me looking other ways / Cuz I am lost here again / But on a bright Fall morning I’m with it / I stood a little within it…”

EARTHGANG   /   Mirrorland

      EARTHGANG’s major label debut Mirrorland comes in hot & dancing, a hip hop duo with a true tribute to Southern culture, and a whole world encapsulated in 14 tracks. My personal introduction to the EARTHGANG universe, came courtesy of a dusk till dark dance fest at Denver’s Underground Music Showcase on South Broadway back in sweaty July. Their energy was infectious, their stories hilarious, & their songs stuck in my head. Specifically the Young Thug featuring “Proud Of U,” a song that carries enthusiasm & positivity through to the end. Other standouts include colorful, bouncing opener “LaLa Challenge,” & the squealing horns of Atlanta hot spot, name dropping “Wings.” A concept album of sorts Mirrorland references “The Wiz” as a jumping off point saying,

“We thought about how, if we’re going to make a project sonically to rival The Wiz, we got to create another world for people to imagine & go to. You know when Dorothy got swept away and she met the Munchkins? That was such a beautiful thing. You could see Quincy Jones on the piano, just playing away. It’s really colorful. It’s really dangerous. It’s really trippy. It’s literally Freaknik Atlanta in the summertime—folks riding around in cars with big rims with paint on their faces.”

EARTHGANG was formed in 2008 by high school buddies Johnny Venus & Doctur Doc in Atlanta, GA.  It’s impossible to ignore Outkast comparisons and for their part, EARTHGANG does their best to keep up the Southern hip hop tradition. Mixing in bits of soul, blues, & jazz, Mirrorland plays like an homage, a soundtrack to the South. A real reminder that the album is not dead. These songs sound best played together. Also, that the hip hop group, or duo, is not dead. And finally, that touring and playing live shows is most definitely not dead. I probably still wouldn’t have heard about EARTHGANG if it wasn’t for their primo UMS slot (at the same Import Mechanics stage where Leikeli47 & Kiltro played!) and infectiously positive live show. Speaking of their live show, see y’all at Cervantes on February 3!

      “One time, one time for your baby moms / Two time for the hand in the candy jar / Holy Ghost showed up in my favorite thong / Three times in the car for the way we are / Another white man scared, another black man dead / Another rich man war, another red man bled / I been writing this album down way too long / When I drop my shit, pray it hit the toilet like lala, lalalalala...”

FRUIT BATS   /   Gold Past Life

    In the Autumn of 2013, my coworker Cassandra Disney at Mile High Organics played me “When You Love Somebody” by Fruit Bats (had that song already been out for 10 years in 2013?!) on one of her early morning work mixes, and I immediately put it on one of my favorite (if embarrassingly bro-folk heavy) mixes I have ever made myself. Discovering a weird/cool indie band in the vein of all my other loves (Band of Horses, The Shins, Modest Mouse, Yeah Yeah Yeahs, etc…) but more underground (!) was hipster heaven. I subsequently forgot about Fruit Bats for awhile, but was reminded with their graceful “comeback” album Absolute Loser in 2016. Although that one missed my favorites list, it gradually became a constant road trip companion; from the mountains of Colorado, through the great American Southwest, and even on some epic Mexican back roads. All alt-country, lost 70′s AM radio classics, and wistful, witty, & wise writing about highways and scenery. A true classic.  

I was therefore super excited for Gold Past Life (Fruit Bats’s seventh album?!) to drop on Merge Records this Summer, and fell in love pretty quickly on a late afternoon drive across the high road between Taos and Santa Fe, New Mexico back in late June. Swirling guitar, bouncy piano. and Eric D. Johnson’s piercing, clear, impassioned vocals. Fruit Bats sound timeless & effervescent. Upbeat guitar rock with some weird twists, and Johnson’s consistently bittersweet, humorous, & big hearted lyrics. Growing up, growing older, & grinning a wry smile at a golden world. After catching back to back beautiful Fruit Bats shows in Fort Collins & here in Denver at the Bluebird this September, these folks are the real deal. Long live touring bands, long live seventh albums, long live music marking time & space! Here’s to many more Fruit Bats albums, Gold Past Life will be car stereo classic for awhile.

    “Still waiting around for some mystical shift in the winds / So honey please, don’t go just yet / Cigarette fingers, a shake in the knees / A bit blue, kind of tired, but not broken… Anticipating a magical bend in the road / So hang on, take it slow / Your go bag is packed & your hangover gone / Another dawn at the edge of the known world…”

HISS GOLDEN MESSENGER   /   Terms of Surrender

    Durham, North Carolina’s Hiss Golden Messenger (folklorist, family man, & singer-songwriter MC Taylor & revolving crew) have become something of a mainstay on this music blog & in my car’s cd player over the last five years. I picked up a used (!), advance (!) copy of Lateness of Dancers in the $1 bin at a record store in Seattle, Washington. after having been passed a burned copy of his 2010 solo album Bad Debt by an old coworker. Lateness ended up on my 2014 favorites list. Two years later, Heart Like A Levee made my 2016 list, and the next year, Hallelujah Anyhow was one of my favorites of 2017! I referred to the songs on Hallelujah as Hiss “building a repertoire, creating a legacy.” This may seem like quite a bit of superfluous backstory, but believe me, it is essential to the story, a journal of the journey. Geographic art for a topographic heart if you will. But anyway, Terms of Surrender…

The title is cryptic, referencing (as Taylor puts it “what we are prepared to sacrifice in order to live the lives that we think we want”) and the songs are deep (& growing deeper) & timeless. Not so much timeless in the way Yola’s songs sound timeless (skip down a few albums on this list to read about Yola!) but timeless in the way the songs seem to seep their way into my bones and stay for years. Terms burst on the scene with the release of the first single “I Need a Teacher” back in stormy June. With bright, rolling guitar stabs courtesy of The National’s Aaron Dessner (whose upstate New York recording studio was home for the Terms recording sessions), “Teacher” is about “the search for infallible guidance in an ever-changing universe.” but it is also about everyday work. Dedicated every night of the tour to all the teachers in the room, a political statement wrapped up in the seemingly obvious sentiment of “Defend Public Schools.” See what I mean? Timeless songs written for the here & now. “Bright Direction” & “My Wing” are reminiscent of Hallelujah’s “Jenny” & “Darkness.” a 1-2 punch of driving, drifting major key numbers, written from a hillside in Virginia, high on mushrooms. They contain multitudes. With a murky middle (Brad Cook gets funky on “Old Enough to Wonder Why” & “Cat’s Eye Blue”) & the already canonical Hiss’ live fav “Happy Birthday Baby,” the back half of Terms spreads out the Hiss’ sound in new ways. New live favorite, the nostalgic “Down at the Uptown,” had me googling maps of San Francisco to find the mythical Uptown bar where Taylor first heard Patti Smith’s Horses.

In late October, Hiss played an absolutely glorious three night run at little Globe Hall over in Globeville, just Southeast of where Interstate 70 meets Interstate 25. I went to all three shows. The shows were special & career spanning; from “Jesus Shot Me in the Head,” to Dead covers (& a Jesus & Mary Chain cover!) to all the Terms songs.  I spent the Saturday afternoon before show #2, walking around the disappearing & rapidly gentrifying neighborhood in & around Globeville (& drifting across the highway into Sunnyside) listening to Terms of Surrender on my headphones. Thinking about the things I’m willing to sacrifice, thinking about the life I want, what are my Terms? After all, “It’s a real live world & I wanna live in it.”

    “Something drove me crazy / Love had me lazy / Backwards won’t get me to my destination / Move me in some bright direction / Looking to be captured, looking for my freedom / Oh, dreams will come to get you / So careful what you’re wishing / Your family might correct you / Your heart might take a pounding / Make sure you take a picture…”

JUNE JONES   /   Diana

    I can’t remember where I first heard of June Jones, but I’d like to think it was from one of my many Australian music friends (thanks Camp Cope, Julia Jacklin, Middle Kids, Courtney Barnett, Gang of Youths etc…!) The music community is a wonderful thing. June’s songs can be hard to explain, but Diana is an epic album that burns with a steady, stately drama. Most of the songs ride swelling synths and measured, 80’s sounding drums and center around June’s unique, emotive voice and head turning lyrics. Jones had fronted the Australian rock band Two Steps on the Water and written songs on the guitar for many years, but it’s pretty clear from listening to the writing and sound on Diana that these songs were meant for piano, synth, and a solo album. Her own writing. Her own words.

The album begins with the brooding “Rome From Afar” and the opening line “I got drunk again last night & I fell down outside the bathroom at my little sister’s party.” It then follows a dancing bass line into an apocalyptic nightmare of a world ending. “Meryl” is a gorgeous, autobiographical (?) song, an ode to “complicated” hard working women everywhere. There are parts of Diana that nod to it being a break up album, like in the gorgeously melancholic “Boulder Falling Slow” (”I am a boulder falling slow / You’re a magnificent spiderweb”) but I have been viewing it as just a complex, everyday life album. Jones lets her magnificent voice trail slowly over seemingly uncomfortable or awkward topics that she strives to make… not so. Sorry Alex Cameron, your “eating your ass like an oyster” line in “Miami Memory” is only the second best “eating ass” line this year after Jones’ “Look at You Go!” Her voice often belies the emotion in her lyrics, she works it up & down, and lets it stretch out over words, like in lonely closer “Sixteen Horses,” but she also sounds almost matter of fact at times. There is a moment in the piano led “Thorn” where she glibly throws “Have you seen the moon tonight? No, me neither, who cares about the moon when everything is dying?” over an understated horn trill. Everything is dying after all, but I want June Jones to sing it to me like an Australian Lana Del Rey or Matt Berninger. Trust me, you’ll be hearing more about June Jones in the coming years. Watch out.

    “I haven’t thought too much about family / Ain’t got no husband or a couple of kids / I’ve spent 26 years in this office / I said goodbye to my relationships a long time ago / What does the mayor of a small town heart do after she retires?”

JUSTIN PETER KINKEL-SCHUSTER   /   Take Heart, Take Care

     My long time music friend Adam over at songsfortheday had been trying to tell me about Justin Peter Kinkel-Schuster for quite a few mixes with songs I loved from his 2016 release Constant Stranger. But it somehow wasn’t until I needed Take Heart, Take Care, that Schuster’s work hit me right. It didn’t feel like a light at the end of the tunnel, but more like a light in the tunnel, something lasting, a collection of songs lifting up & out towards a light. As Schuster wrote upon it’s release…

     “Here, I’ve fumbled my way, as always, and of necessity, into a collection of songs that hold a light to the joys & comforts of life not given up on, those that appear over time as we are looking elsewhere, to surprise & delight us when we need them most. Sure, it’s me, so there are glimpses of and nods to the dark, but the dark is not winning anymore. I simply mean to acknowledge its presence. To me, that’s the most fundamental job of songs, of stories, of all art — to be allies, friends, companions, when we need them most and it’s my hope that these songs can do that work in a world that seems to need it. If you are lucky enough to have something good to say, say it. Please. We’ll thank each other, now & later.”

So i guess it’s that second part that I have found solace in through my 20′s and into my 30′s. That songs (and stories & all art, but songs & albums seem to be my thing) can be allies, friends, & companions, and that sometimes (like Hanif Abdurraqib wrote in his brilliant collection of essays “They Can’t Kill Us Until They Kill Us”)…

     “If you believe, as I do, that a blessing is a brief breath to take in that doesn’t taste of whatever is holding you under: say I Speak To God In Public and mean more than just in his house, or mean more than just next to people who might also speak to God in public, or say God and mean whatever has kept you alive when so many other things have failed to.“

Take Heart, Take Care is a straightforward, well written, indie rock album. The songs ring true with light & darkness, an uplifting take on growing older and finding “Plenty Wonder” still to be found in the world. Schuster played the Hi-Dive on South Broadway in November, the last show on the Take Heart tour. A show I had bought tickets for months in advance, and I found myself in a crowd of maybe 15 people, celebrating the songs of Take Heart, Take Care. Listening to a writer with something good to say. Trying all in our own way to hold our own. I have a feeling I’ll keep these songs with me for awhile.

     “Time is the mender / Whose strange mechanics yet untold / Bid us rise entwined together / So take heart, take care / Be true but beware / & honey we need not be scared…”

KARA JACKSON   /   A Song for Every Chamber of the Heart

      In only 10 minutes & 42 seconds, Kara Jackson creates an intimate, magical world with just her voice and a guitar on her debut EP A Song for Every Chamber of the Heart.  Four intricate & intentional songs, none longer than three minutes, finger picked slowly & methodically, Jackson balances a poetic, whimsical wandering with a steely focus on the craft of songwriting. These are the bones of songs, played honest & upfront, with no adornment. There is room for Jackson’s lyrics to really shine, all aching & wistful, yet practical. Like the way she balances “I have a crush, I have an ache” with “I know that love’s just a pain in the ass” in the bittersweet “Crush.” Her songs buzz with a youthful energy & teen angst. Wise beyond their years, finding their way in the world. As a songwriter and a poet, Jackson writes about race, activism, social justice, self, bodies, & humanity.

At 20 (!) years old, Chicago’s Jackson is... oh also a poet. The 2019 National Youth Poet Laureate (!) in fact, and it was her absolutely breathtaking writing about being a teenager that first caught my attention. She quotes Gwendolyn Brooks (pulitzer prize winning American poet) in her Ted Talk saying “write what’s under your nose.” She says that Brooks took the mundane and put it on a pedestal. That she understood there are “poems in train cars, poems on front lawns, & poems in microwaves & tea kettles.” An almost obligation to celebrate the ordinary. Ordinary folks celebrating similar ordinary folks. It’s the way that John Darnielle howls on The Mountain Goats song “Werewolf Gimmick” (track nine on 2015′s Beat the Champ) about “nameless bodies in unremembered rooms.” In his prerelease essay for Merge Records, music writer Joseph Fink wrote that the entire career of The Mountain Goats has been about “giving names to nameless bodies and remembering unremembered rooms.” and what a worthy cause that is. That thought has stuck with me for years and I have always loved the specificity of it. Whether it is Darnielle resurrecting historical characters real or fictional, or the way Lady Lamb (keep reading a few more albums down!) celebrates the specifics of her friends & family, in all the messy details. Written in song, remembered forever. It is also essential that all cultures have artists who look like them and think like them, as the ones doing the remembering.  It’s why it’s so important that Kara Jackson is the one doing the remembering for young black girls. The same way Eve Ewing did for her, and Gwendolyn Brooks did before that. I can appreciate the magic of the remembering, but I need to let them be the ones to tell the stories. Oh, speaking of appreciating, I bugged Jackson enough on social media and got a handmade PHYSICAL copy of the EP that I’m hanging onto forever cuz it’s probably gonna be like the next original pressing of Bon Iver’s For Emma! Thanks Kara!

      “Don’t take my pillowcase, that's my place to be alone / Don’t take my lamp from me, it helps me read about places I don’t know / Don’t take a lot for me to be on my own...”

KILTRO   /   Creatures of Habit

      My end of the year albums list usually has at least one local Denver band. The Lumineers way back in 2012, Gregory Alan Isakov & Covenhoven in 2013, Nathaniel Rateliff, Covenhoven (again!), & The Yawpers in 2015, Nina de Freitas in 2017 (hey Nina & the Hold Tight, new album in 2020 please?!), and Izcalli last year. Kiltro is a part Coloradan, part Chilean folk band that have been putting on one of my favorite live shows around town this year. The brainchild of Chris Bowers-Castillo, a native Coloradan who spent time growing up in Valparaiso, Chile, Kiltro is named after the Spanish word “Quiltro” meaning a mixed breed dog. A dog that Kiltro has taken for their logo. In their own way, Kiltro is a mix breed; both in the way they mix the sounds of South America with the folk music of North America, and also the way they mix organic, acoustic instrumentation, with electronic, looping sounds and effects pedals. Their live show is a masterclass in layers, with Bowers-Castillo adding loops of guitar rhythms (sometimes simply bare hands slapping beats on the top of the guitar) to steady bass & drums, until the songs swell & build into dramatic crescendos and almost EDM-influenced drops. The extended intros & outros are my favorite parts of their songs and the live versions (from their sweaty 2pm UMS dance party, to Lulu’s Downstairs in Manitou Springs) have stirred hearts & feet alike with dancing not usually found in the Colorado “indie-hipster” scene. Keep an eye on these guys and maybe come out to Larimer Lounge in January and witness the dance party for yourself!

      “Somewhere down the bank where the dogs go / Por la calle que te lleva a Curicó / & down the beach, where no others can find / Ni por agua, piso, coche, ni avión...”

LADY LAMB   /   Even in the Tremor

      As I have been writing this year’s favorites list, I’m realizing that so many of the albums I loved & learned, came hand in hand with experiencing the artist, and specifically that new album, live. Lady Lamb released Even in the Tremor, her masterful & moving third album, way back in April, and I had a Spring-y three weeks to learn all her intricate, visceral lyrics to sing back at her Larimer Lounge stop in Denver on the Deep Love tour. Maine by way of Brooklyn’s (by way of a bunch of other places) Aly Spaltro has always written songs for Lady Lamb like her hair’s on fire. Wailing & gasping about blood & guts & death over spiraling electric guitar, there is a realness to her writing that reminds me of the east coast emo I grew up on. But for all the blood red gore & messy heartbreak that colors much of the Lady Lamb discography, there is a light hearted tenderness as well. Tremor has songs written for & about friends, lovers, parents, & god. Quirky opener “Little Flaws” is a first-dance-worthy love song, while personal favorites “Strange Maneuvers” & “Emily” are odes to platonic friendships, mental health, & growing up. In the same way I wrote about Kara Jackson celebrating the ordinary, Lady Lamb has always celebrated specifics of people, time & space. Tremor’s characters are Spaltro’s real life people (Emily, Shervin, Kurt (Kurtie Bear), Isaac, & her Mom), and the places (the diner, the batting cage, Templehof Park, Midtown, Berlin, Montreal, Madrid, a fast food joint, the stage of a church, someplace upstate, Lavanderia & Graham Ave) are specific, varied, & globe spanning. Her stories are autobiographical and rewarding and the music is stirring, singer-songwriter rock & roll with some punch behind it. She is one of my favorite modern writers for her ability to not just tell a story, but to find wonder in the small things and to celebrate the ordinary. Like she tells Shervin, minutes before “Emily” closes the album on a gorgeous, uplifting high note, “No photographic artifact, but here is something better than that.”

      “There’s a picture that I found, my first car in the falling snow / Seems like yesterday I drove down into low tide / & Isaac snapped a polaroid of me pretending I was sinking, pressed against the glass pleading / I misplaced it but I’m looking... / When we are young, if only we could see beyond our fears where we are free / When we are lonely if only we could know that in our stillness we are growing... / All the portraits we collected, while we were running around in the desert / We were trying to seem fulfilled to rewrite our New York City narratives / But Emily we were utterly dejected / We took turns crying on the passenger side of America / Too clouded to be empowered by towering Redwoods... / When did we lose the ancient truths? / Is it what we’re born bending our bodies toward?...”

LIZZO   /   Cuz I Love You

      For much of 2019, Lizzo could be heard playing everywhere. The 31 year old Minnesotan’s third full length album Cuz I Love You, came out in April, after a busy three years of huge singles, consistent touring, & building a repertoire of songs capable of headlining arenas. When Lizzo finally exploded these last few years, it has been fun watching the whole world embrace her uptempo, bold, self-love anthems, and hearing them blaring from open Subaru windows in Cap HIll, from balconies & rooftops in uptown, and on the lips of countless joggers & bikers, loving themselves in the Denver Summer sun. I know for my part, I took Lizzo with me to the beaches of North Carolina & through the Southern mountains of Colorado, dancing, singing, & gleefully giggling along. Bottom line, the songs on Cuz I Love You are FUN! You try not to crack a smile as Lizzo romps through “Never been in love before, what the fuck are fucking feelings yo?” on the bouncing, brassy, vocal led, track one title track MOMENT. Or the way she makes up the word “accessorary” on the spot (“my ass is not an accessorary”) and then fires back with “Yeah, I said it, accessorary!” Lizzo has been an outspoken supporter of our generation’s version of the self-love, body positivity movement, and has put her money (and body) where her mouth is, inspiring legions of teens & twenty somethings to do the same. “Soulmate” is a loner anthem that finds Lizzo belting “True love ain’t something you can buy yourself / True love finally happens when you’re by yourself / So if you by yourself, then go and buy yourself another round from the bottle on the higher shelf.” The soulful slowdown “Jerome” is about being the bigger person and ending a relationship that isn’t working. Lizzo manages to actually address her own issues, focus on the work she needs to do (“I’m trying to be patient & patience takes practice.”) and still absolutely belt a singalong chorus that rhymes Jerome with “take your ass home.” Also, the deluxe version of Cuz I Love You tacks on three previous Lizzo singles that hadn’t found an album home. Those singles? “Boys,” “Truth Hurts,” & “Water Me.” Three songs totaling almost 555 MILLION plays on Spotify. With apologies to Ariana Grande & Billie Eilish (Billie see ya in a few months at the Pepsi Center!) Lizzo is the biggest superstar that I want on this list. And she 100% deserves every bit of it.

      “If I’m shinin’ everybody gonna’ shine...”

ORVILLE PECK   /   pony

      There is an appealing, theatrical quality to the dramatic country songs on Orville Peck’s debut record Pony. I spent my high school years growing up in small town Western Colorado so country music has been embedded in my brain since I was 11. I’ve gone through so many phases of loving it, hating it, loving it ironically, nostalgically, hating it for it’s sound, cheesiness, backwards politics, etc... But with Pony; these are true country songs written by a gay, masked cowboy anti-hero from.. Toronto? Maybe? Who is Orville Peck?!?! It’s like all the best parts of “country” music came together. And the mask? The fringe? All the packaging & theatrics? It makes it fun. Part Bowie, part Coheed & Cambria, part Grace Jones, part Ghost, part Brandon Flowers. Hollywood meets Vegas meets Carson City.

When I listen to Orville Peck’s songs it brings together so many feelings from my youth. From country radio & boxes of old country cds, to the dramatic side of theatre, play acting on a stage, dress-up, halloween, cowboys, loneliness, & the open road. From the tumbleweed roll & mournfully powerful coyote howl of opener “Dead of Night,” to the shoegaze rumble, autumn ride of “Winds Change.” Peck’s lyrics are honest & heartfelt, drawing on sweeping, western imagery, & idolizing the classic country ideal... the cowboy. Music marks time & place and Peck makes sure to reference the cities along his highway songs. Salt Lake City, Las Vegas, Carson City, Kansas, a veritable Rand McNally road map of the American West. In the same manner as both Black Belt Eagle Scout albums, Fruit Bats, & Caroline Rose from last year, it wasn’t until a highway drive that I truly fell in love with Pony. It was a brilliant November sunset & still warm, but windy & changing, and we knew we had to hustle to beat the snow back to Denver. Highway 159 from the Southern Colorado border through Costilla County, on the way towards Fort Garland & then Walsenburg. Purple & Orange out the window to my left, Winter on it’s way. Peck’s songs sang with a heartache... a loss. a rhinestone loneliness that country finds a way to revel in. When “Kansas (Remembers Me Now)” statics out like a long lost FM radio. When “Hope to Die” fake ends at 3:30 and instead key change pivots like a washed-up Broadway starlet, shooting her shot on a dusty jukebox. When “Nothing Fades Like the Light” draws its last, peaceful breath, closing Pony like the last light of that November sunset. Thanks Orville, this one’s a classic.

      “Fell in love with a rider / Dirt king, black crown / Six months on a knucklehead hog / I like him best when he's not around / He gets me high, oh, big sky... Fell in love with a boxer / Stayed awake all year / Heartbreak is a warm sensation / When the only feeling that you know is fear / I don't know why, oh, big sky...”

RAPSODY   /   Eve

      Rapsody’s third album Eve is a masterclass on rap music, and the Snow Hill, North Carolina rapper sounds relaxed & loose, while still staying focused & on topic with an album that reads as, as Rapsody herself puts it “a love letter to all black women including myself.” She is at the top of her game right now, and these songs cement Rapsody as one of the premier rappers in an exciting field of rap talent both young & old.  

Each track on the album is dedicated to one of Rapsody’s personal heroes, and I am going to focus these words & my research for Eve (besides listening to it nonstop, which I’m currently doing now!) on those black women. Track one is for Nina Simone (”without Nina there’s no Lauryn Hill, & without Lauryn Hill there’s no Rapsody.”) and features critically important verses about black heritage & culture over Nina’s terrifying & sobering classic “Strange Fruit.” Rapsody is recognizing her legacy and the importance of heritage, but she is clearly claiming her spot in that bloodline. “Cleo” preaches standing up for yourself over a Phil Collins sample (between Cleo & Lucy Dacus, “In the Air Tonight” is getting some serious love this year!) and is named after Queen Latifah’s character in the 1996 movie “Set it Off.” From there Rapsody recognizes artists (Aaliyah), philanthropists (Oprah & Michelle Obama), actresses (Whoopi), athletes (Serena Williams & Ibtihaj Muhammed), writers (Maya Angelou & Reyna Biddy), models (Iman & Tyra Banks), and historical figures & activists (Hatshepsut, Myrlie Evers-Williams, Sojourner Truth, & Afeni Shakur). Bottom line, ALL of these women are essential google material (you’re reading this on your phone or laptop, google and give yourself a five minute refresher if there’s anyone you don’t already know!) While you’re at it, google the lyrics for Eve (and Jamila Woods’ equally incredible, equally name dropping LEGACY! LEGACY!) and listen along. This is an important time capsule document for Rapsody and it’s just a damn good rap album.

      “I am Nina & Roberta, the one you love but ain't heard of / Got my middle finger up like Pac after attempted murder / Failed to kill me, it's still me, woke up singing Shirley Murdock / As we lay these edges down, brown women, we so perfect...”      

SABA LOU   /   Novum Ovum

      When I listen to Saba Lou’s intoxicating sophomore album Novum Ovum, I am transported to somewhere magical & different. Maybe older, maybe out of place & time. Everything about Novum feels… classic. From the dusty, record-store-bin-find look of the out of focus cover photo, to the laidback natural way Saba Lou seems to dance along on top of a rollicking house band lifted from the 70’s. There are elements of surf rock, shoegaze, late night soul, and classic rock & roll on Ovum, but it is all driven by the singular writing & vocals of Saba Lou. In the liner notes of the record, a note can be found, claiming that this album is meant to be from the future. 2286 to be exact! Is a concept album?! Is it actually from the future & delivered to us by a time traveling band of Germans?!! Does it have songs about Star Trek??!! Maybe, mayyyybeee... & YES!

Yet to turn 20 (!), Saba Lou is a German born singer songwriter who has been making & releasing music since she was literally six years old! Novum Ovum is Latin for “the new egg” and features a hot four piece full band, and wonderfully fleshed out songs that bounce and swing with palpable energy. The lyrics span an awesomely wide spectrum from endometriosis pain (the title track obv) to a Star Trek mindmeld tune sung from the perspective of Gracie the pregnant whale (closer “Humpback in Time”)!! All in all, Saba Lou is an absolutely electric songwriter and her youthfulness & fervor are contagious. It’s the reason I love making this list every year, and what makes discovering new music so exciting. Can’t wait for the next one!

      “A brick wall around your placenta / Cut them all off from her mother blood / The hounds call for appassionata / A phoenetic paste for the fetal bud...”

SHARON VAN ETTEN   /   Remind Me Tomorrow

      Over the last few years I started the practice of making a draft favorite albums list in January and adding albums throughout the year, as I fall in love with them. This way I don’t forget the ones I loved in January & February, the ones that got me through the backend of the Winter. I’m able to track my year in music as it develops, a sort of captain’s log. A living, personal journal using music to mark time & space as I sprint my way through another increasingly faster, increasingly chaotic year. Sometimes, scrolling through the list acts as a comfort. “That album only came out this year?! OK, this year isn’t moving too fast, that feels like forevvverrrr ago!” Sometimes it helps to show me how much I’ve grown, how much an album has meant, or has helped with my mental & emotional growth. This year, the very first album I added to that list, the very first album that I fell hard & holy hell in love with... was Sharon Van Etten’s Remind Me Tomorrow.

A blast of energy. A weird synthy, pulsing red & blue darkness. Simultaneously club-y & indie rock vibey. Van Etten’s fifth album is supposedly written from a place of contentment. A marriage, a child, a life & happiness discovered. Less desperation, more introspection. I hear in her voice & words, how taking care of yourself, how striving to be your best self, can bring out the most powerful, most emotional art. She also isn’t afraid to let her voice go and I think her vocal performances are what truly take Tomorrow to another level. “Memorial Day” rides a haunting vocal loop & tumbles in nearly wordless, glimmering vowels, all ethereal magnificence. The chorus of the brooding “Jupiter 4″ spirals upwards & then rollercoasters, a late night drunken banger. But at the heart of Remind Me Tomorrow sits one of my songs of the year, one of my songs of the decade, “Seventeen.” I had heard it first live, way back in October 2018 in the rain in the mountains at Red Rocks. I got tipsy & wrote about it the day it came out, January 8, 2019, after a long, cold stretch working the night shift. This album & especially this song will stay with me for a long time. Sharon has taught me to keep working on myself. To look back in fondness. To think about how, with hard work, how much joy & peace & comfort await in my coming years. But she also taught me to lean into emotions. To embrace the ache of memories and the bittersweetness of growing up. Thanks for making this album Sharon.

      “Downtown hotspot, halfway up the street / I used to be free, I used to be 17 / Follow my shadow around your corner / I used to be 17, now you're just like me / Down beneath the ashes & stone / Sure of what I've lived and have known / I see you so uncomfortably alone / I wish I could show you how much you've grown...”

TIM BAKER   /   Forever Overhead

      I have a special feeling tied to the collection of intimate, swirling songs Tim Baker released this year from Canada. Forever Overhead carries a certain small town holiness, recognizable to those who grew up in small towns , but specific to his own personal, north-north-eastern-eastern “small” town, St Johns, in Newfoundland & Labrador, Canada. Growing up on the farthest coast of the Atlantic on the tippy, tippy point of Canada (seriously google it!), Baker fronted emo band Hey Rosetta! for four albums until striking out this Spring on his own with Arts & Crafts Records. There is a very Springsteen-esque bent to the way he writes about growing up somewhere (as someone) small & wanting to be somewhere very big and exciting. He captures the bittersweetness of growing up so perfectly. From the teenage romantic feelings in swaying opener “Dance” & the rousing “Mirrors,” to the friends & bars & singing found in the melancholic “Spirit” and the absolute hit “All Hands.” The latter is the core of the album, a bright, rhythmic guitar number that builds & swells with voices & instrumentation to a few huge, singalong choruses. A real song of the year contender. Baker isn’t afraid to let the songs go on journeys on Forever Overhead and they rarely finish where they begin. Horns & handclaps burst in at points, celebratory & fearless. The sexual tension of “Strange River” is lightened with a false start and a “sorry. In ‘D’” followed by a belly laugh, before restarting. The light & dark are present throughout Overhead and listening to these songs remind me of growing up. I feel like I’m being given a secret glance into Baker’s youth and the parts that mirror mine make me want to lift my voice in unison with those that understand. Sometimes small collections of well written & well played songs can do that, and to me... it’s sacred. Hopefully I get a chance to visit St Johns someday, and if I do, these songs will be playing as my soundtrack.

      “A boy in bed, all the windows wide / You can hear the hot rods running from the light / From the light, into the dark / That's all I wanted in my cousin's car / To listen to the wind & to the lead guitars / & feel the reckless running of your heart / Now is that gone or does that all remain? / Can I go back and have it all again? / Well now I know it, where I'm going / I'm going back behind the river / I'm going back behind the rain / Cuz no matter where you're heading / You end up where you’ve been...”

YOLA   /   Walk Through Fire

     It’s clear from the first minute & 30 seconds of Yola’s debut full-length Walk Through Fire, that this album is destined to be an all-time classic. She comes in slow & wistful with “wish I knew what you were wishing for...” over a soft wash of cymbals and mournful country-soul guitar. Then one minute in, her voice swells to gigantic proportions, seeming to lift the song right off the page, carried into another stratosphere, timeless & magnetic. That “Faraway Look” in your eyes.

From there, Yola (36 year old Yolanda Quartey from Bristol, England) takes her commanding voice through bluesy, fiddle-led country (”It Ain’t Easier” & the title track), and laid back soul (”Shady Grove” & “Deep Blue Dream”). Personal fav “Ride Out In The Country” became a backroads, summer anthem for me this year on multiple trips through Southern & Western Colorado. Through it all, her voice booms, whispers, & rocks gently, propelling the songs forward with warmth & light. Her lyrics are full of both dreamy memories & work-a-day stories about the challenges of life. It was fun this year to have different friends & family members get into Yola at different times, getting texts like “have you heard of YOLA??!!” Sharing songs, & collections of songs (like the ones on Walk Through Fire) is what makes making this list every year so fun, and I’m always excited to see what new, life-long favorites I will discover. See you in a couple months at the Bluebird Theater on Colfax here in Denver Yola!! Can’t wait!

      “A little shady grove / A memory long ago / A tale too old to know the ending / I gave it all away / It takes my breath away...”

[actuallyspencerreid]

Survivor | part 3

Read : Part 1 , Part 2

Word Count: 1.8k

Tags: @the-unfortunate-fangirl @cynbx @princesswagger15 @obsessivereader36 @hearts-to-the-sky @mantlereid @dreamxcollide @qu3n-elizab3th @hiya-imthatgirl @literallyprentissstwin @bauboywonder @everyday-imfangirling @spencerreidreads @alixcharmedworld @writer-of-camelot @grubler @10kcriminalsatthedisco @extremeobsessions101 @staygoldeea @sarrahgoode @spideysstarks @spence-imagines @hanasonly @mbmrocks

------

“Why does it matter to you what Spencer and I were arguing about?”

The unsub laughed at your firm voice. “Simple. You and Mr. Perfect never argue about anything. Sounds like he thinks you're cheating on him. Are you?”

“Never.” You wanted to cry again, thinking about the fight you’d had with Spencer. “I love Spencer more than anything. I could never hurt him like that.”

“That’s why I love you, (Y/N).” The unsub sighed almost dreamily. “You’re so fiercely loyal.”

“If you love me so much, why am I tied up?”

“Because I have to teach you how to love me back.” The belt came across your legs again and you cried out in pain. “Luckily, I know that you’re a good learner.”

------

“Guys!” Everyone looked up at Penelope from what they were doing. “I put an alert on (Y/N)’s name and face to see if anything came up, anything that could help us find her and this website just went live a few seconds ago. The link was emailed to me anonymously.”

She projected her screen onto the television, showing the team. The background was dark, but they could see a livestream and you were right in the middle. Spencer felt the air leave his body as he took in your unconscious appearance, flashbacks of Tobias Hankel appearing in his mind.

“Wake up!” The unsub yelled at you, smacking you across the face.

“Garcia can you take this down?” Emily’s voice was quiet as they watched you regain consciousness and look directly at the camera.

“Don’t!” Spencer reached out to grab Penelope’s hands before they could do anything. “She knows that we can see her. Look at her face.”

He was right. Your features didn’t show that you were hurt or even scared. They showed a woman determined to get away. Everyone saw as you turned to the unsub, whose face was just out of frame, with an irritated scowl.

“She’s not afraid of him.” JJ’s voice held an admirable tone.

“When my team finds you, I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure you never see the light of day again.”

The unsub laughed. “Your team is reckless. They don’t know how to separate their emotions from their work. They make careless mistakes and ignore the law when it’s convenient for them. You’re team has as much a chance as finding me as you do walking out here alive.”

“Sounds like pretty good odds to me.”

Spencer could feel himself shaking, beyond pissed he still couldn’t figure out where you were. “Garcia, can you track where this is streaming from?”

“No the IP address reroutes every fifteen seconds, I can’t pinpoint him.”

The screen went dark, but they could still hear everything.

“Tell me something agent. Would you die for them?”

“In a heartbeat.”

“Would you live for them?”

“Yes.”

“What was your fight with Doctor Reid about?”

You hesitated for a second and the BAU could feel an aura of tension. But you weren’t going to let this man get to you. “What is your obsession with my boyfriend?”

The unsub laughed again. “Doctor Spencer Reid is an enigma. For years, I’ve watched as this child has made an ass of everyone who dared speak to him. He looks down on others, thinking that his intelligence made them inferior. For a long time, I thought I hated him, but after a while I figured out that I was in awe of him. Ededict memory, an IQ of 187, can read twenty thousand words per minute. A genius. And yet, in waltz this rookie cop and all that is registered null and void. Around you, Spencer Reid goes from machine to human man, and a dumb one at that. How did you do it?”

Though they would never admit it, the rest of the BAU was slightly curious as well. Spencer did in fact get a little loopy when it came to you and sometimes it confused them.

“I didn’t do anything.” You were confused.

“Don’t lie to me!” Everyone flinched as the unsub yelled. “What did you do to him?”

“I don’t know what your talking about!” Your resolve was breaking. Spencer’s heart broke when you glanced at the camera and he saw the fear in your eyes.

“Maybe this will help.”

Everything moved in slow motion. You appeared on the screen again, belt tied around your arm above your elbow. Spencer immediately recognized the bottle and needle he pulled out of his pocket.

“No!” He screamed, Matt and Luke had to hold him back before he launched himself at the screen as the unsub measured out the Dilaudid.

“You remember this, don’t you sweetheart?” He pushed the needle into your vein and injected you with the narcotic. “Doctor Reid didn’t fare so well against this particular drug. Let’s see how you do.”

The BAU watched as you drifted into unconsciousness and then the camera cut off. Spencer broke, sobbing as Luke and Matt held him up.

“We have to get her out of there.” Penelope wiped her tear stained cheeks. “I have the list of officers who were absent on the day that all three victims were abducted and killed. It’s a pretty decent sized list.”

“And you compared that list to the agents who aren’t here today?”

“Just did. Still fourteen names.”

“Alright. I want every single address of everyone on that list. JJ, Simmons, Rossi, take the first seven. Luke, Lewis and I will take the other seven. Reid, stay here with Garcia in case he starts streaming again.”

“I’m going with you!”

“Absolutely not!” Emily was more firm than anyone had ever heard her before. “You are nowhere near emotionally stable enough for the field. You will stay here with Garcia and that is an order!”

Everyone watched as Spencer and Emily stared each other down. After a moment, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his badge and gun. “If she dies and he gets away, I quit.”

Emily gave him a curt nod. “I understand.”

The rest of the team left and Spencer sank into the chair next to Garcia, resting his head on her shoulder. She stroked his hair.

“Come on Boy Wonder. Build a profile. Maybe we can figure out who it is. Save them some time.”

He nodded and sat up, looking over the files on the table. Images and words swam in front of his eyes as he tried to fit all the pieces together. For hours he stayed there, circling the table and moving things around to get a better understanding. Garcia lost count of how many times she refilled their coffee cups. The sun was rising when he finally had an idea.

“We know he works at the FBI, so he’s smart and at least somewhat fit. The torture and stabbing on his previous victims suggest sexual sadism. Garcia, can you hack the IT department?”

“Easy peasy lemon squeezy.” Her hands flew across her keyboard. “What am I looking for?”

“Anyone who has looked into our files or possibly even into our pasts. He’s obsessed with one, if not both of us. He knew when the perfect time to grab her was, so he had to have been watching us.”

“Holy smokes.”

“What is it?”

“Dex Trengrove. He’s got everything you’ve ever written, everything you’ve ever been mentioned in saved on his hard drive. It also looks like he planted a trojan horse on (Y/N)’s work computer and has been recording random pieces of the day. There’s so much footage of her just laughing and filling out paperwork. There’s a clip of her kissing you cheek that he has labled ‘WHY?’”

Spencer called Emily on speaker phone. “Emily, our unsub is number four on your list, Dex Trengrove.”

“That makes sense. He was fired three months ago for hacking NSA. That must have been his trigger. But he wasn’t at his apartment. Does he have any other address on file?”

“Nope. He hasn’t gotten a new job since being fired and both his parents are dead.”

“What happened to his parents house?”

“They lived in a little house in rural Virginia. When they died two years ago, they left it to Dex, but he sold it to -- oh my god.”

“What is it Garcia?”

“He sold it to Harley and Robin Beth. The Beths dropped off the grid right afterwards and no one had heard from them since.”

Tara chimed in. “How much you want to bet, they were his first victims?”

Emily sighed. “Garcia, I need the coordinates for that house.”

“Coming to your phones.”

Just then, there was a ping. “He’s streaming again.”

They turned to the screen as your face appeared right in front of the camera. You were whispering, tears running down your face. “Spencer, if you can hear me, I’m okay. He’s one of the IT guys. I don’t remember his name. I don’t know where I am. Spence, I need you know that I love you. More than anything in this world. If I don’t make it out of here, always remember that I love you. ”

He saw your eyes widen as you heard footsteps. You returned to your chair, slipping your hands into the loosened binds. Dax had another full needle in his hand.

“Please don’t.” You begged, feigning desperation. “I’m fine, really. I don’t need it. Please.”

He chuckled and grabbed your arm anyway. While he was busying himself with the belt, you slipped back out of your binds and wrapped them around his neck.

“Son of a bitch.” You growled in his ear as he struggled against you. You maneuvered your legs around his flailing arms until you were completely wrapped around him.

“Go to sleep. Go to sleep.” You held steady, pulling tighter as he slowly lost consciousness. He dropped to his knees as you heard the sound of approaching sirens.

“Dax Trengrove. FBI!” You sighed in relief as you heard Emily’s voice. She busted through the door followed closely behind Tara and Luke, weapon raised.

“Thank god.” You let yourself cry as you untagged yourself from the man and ran into her arms. “I’m so happy to see you.”

“Let’s get you to a medic.” You nodded and let her lead you away.

------

“Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage.” -Lao Tzu

------

Your body ached as you opened your eyes.

“Where am I?” You groaned, trying to sit up.

“Don’t do that.” You were startled by Spencer’s voice, but immediately comforted when you turned and realized that he was next to you. “You’re at the hospital. You’ve been sleep for the past two days.”

“Have you been here the whole time?” You smirked at his messy hair and scraggly beard. Your nose turned up as he leaned in close. “Yes you have. You smell.”

“There she is,” He pressed his lips to your cheek and you got a whiff of his breath. “I’m going to go tell the team that you’re woke.”

“Brush your teeth while you’re at it!” You called as he walked out the door, laughing.

------

TO BE CONTINUED...

[cozypancakes]

Hi there! I have another question if you're still up for answering them! I wanted to know who's your favorite character to write/develop in your series.

Always up for answering questions, thank you so much for asking. This sort of got away from me by like 1.8k words...I’d blame the voice to text feature I’m trying out cause it really encourages my ramblings, but this would’ve happened regardless. I also ended up talking about what I would write/develop about every character. My current answer to who my favorite is would be everyone (leaning towards Shirley at this very second, but basically everyone). All of the characters are fascinating so below is the short version of the parts I’d be most interested in developing.

Abed takes incredible precision to get his character right because his personality only changes in subtle ways. Chang has had multiple personalities and roles so now I don’t even know how to write him. Those two are awesome cause I love a challenge. Annie was a drug addict and has serious mommy issues. Addiction doesn’t just disappear. She has to have struggled/relapsed with that. Shirley had serious drinking issues and was a bully growing up. What was her rock bottom that turned her into someone who tries to always be nice and when did Christianity start playing a role in her life?? Frankie came to Greendale to take care of one of her “insane” relatives...nothing more was ever said on that! Britta is a mess but doesn’t deserve to be the butt of every joke. And also, why is she so afraid of herself? Troy’s lack of career ambition is valid so that would not be where I give him personality. Pierce is an asshole but his fear of being abandoned by everyone is not on the list of reasons why. 

What lies ahead is a lot of ramblings into every major character outside of Jeff and the Dean. Proceed at your own risk...

 So obviously since I write primarily deanjeff fanfic so those are the two I focus on the most. And I couldn’t possibly choose one over the other. I know Jeff has been getting more attention but I think the Dean’s journey is just as, if not more, fascinating. The people I think would be hardest to write about, would have to be Abed or Chang. with Chang it's difficult to really pinpoint his character after season 3. I think I need to re-watch it a lot more because personally I want to keep his crazy antics, that did not involve murder. He was such a narcissistic, sarcastic asshole in the first season and I kinda miss that. But he's really calmed down when he’s Kevin. Then they try to mix the two personalities together?  I don't understand the balance just yet. With Abed it feels a lot more like walking a tightrope. You need needlepoint accuracy to get Abed’s character right cuz it's very easy to slip into either incorrect exaggerations or misinterpretations of his personality. So if I'm ever up for a challenge one of those would be the two I'd have trouble pinning down. 

As far as who I would like to explore more, that's a really hard decision to make too. It would really be like the entire cast. Annie has so much stuff with her perfectionism and drug addiction that's never really touched upon and her issues with her mom. There's also the whole thing with her sexuality cause obviously I read her as a lesbian, though extremely repressed. Like how does her relationship with her mom influence her as she tries to define what kind of person she wants to be? And that is stressful to navigate by itself but then you have her addition issues. So it like can't really even begin to deal with one of them because they all feed into each other and they all feed into her bigger  anxiety about being the best and it's just a whirlpool of emotional trauma.

Shirley is, of course, another character that we just do not know much about. I’d love to dive into her character development. She kind of stays the Christian mom friend who has a troubled marriage for the majority of the series. They never even touched on the fact that she was a black business woman and any of the hardships that must come with that, even being at Greendale. Some of the questions I have is if her early life of excessive drinking is what drove her to Christianity so hard or if that was something she had from childhood? we also see that she was a bully in her childhood because she was bullied. So did that lead her to the drinking or was it strict expectations under a Christian household that made her drink. What was her rock bottom where she suddenly decided to change her entire life and like get sober and be nice all the time? What was her motivation for suppressing all her negative emotions? 

With Frankie, it wasn't until my third or fourth re-watch of the first season 6 episode that I realize she says she's at Greendale because she has to take care of one of her insane relatives like what is the story there? How much pressure is she under to take care of her family? How much of that has influenced her personality of being productive and in control all the time? Does she ever get a moment to just be weird or careless or insane herself? Did she have to be the parent when she was a small child? Did she ever get to be free? Does she know how to be? Is she a super private person by choice or because she’s learned to hide her family cause mental health issues are so taboo? What about her sexuality? Was she something she always knew about herself but, like with many other aspects of herself, never really felt bothered or able to celebrate or embrace outwardly? Did she view it was a fact of herself? ‘I have brown hair, light skin, and am pan/bi/lesbian.” Her attitude towards life makes it hard to imagine her having any sort of big reaction to her sexuality. Like, “Oh, I actually find women attractive. Okay then, I’ll have to research lesbian later.” in the most monotone, unaffected voice possible. Maybe it’s a coping mechanism. Like she’s had to deal with a lot of crazy things throughout her life so she’s adopted to focusing on fixing/adapting to the situation rather than reacting to it.  

At this point I've done almost every single character so I might as well add in Britta. I will admit I'm having a bit of trouble getting a grip on her character. I would definitely focus on having Britta be dysfunctional but not in such a negative way like the show makes it. Cause everyone on that show sucks in some way or another and yet Britta is the one who's supposed to suck more than all of them? The first time I watched the series I was really confused when they started picking on Britta. She wasn't worse than any of the other characters so why are you signaling her out and coining the term Britta’d it?? She doesn't even need a redemption, she just needs to not be made the butt of the joke unnecessarily. And then there's so much to explore with her white feminism and misguided attempts at activism and the fact that she does things that make her seem to care because she is trying so hard to not be the selfish person she thinks she is. And that's both incredibly sad and incredibly brave. Because obviously she isn't as bad as she thinks since she's making the attempt to be better. I really wonder what happened in her life that made her fear so much being apathetic and if that’s her issue with her parents. 

There's also Troy who I've never gotten to write about or in the perspective of since I'm focused on season 6 right now. First time I watched the repilot episode and Jeff said his entire identity was defined by his relationship with a man, I thought that was an exaggeration. But rewatching the series a couple times, it's really true and they point it out a lot throughout the series. Troy's basically just going along with whatever Abed wanted and other than the AC repairman plotline, which he obviously did not enjoy, he never really got his own thing. Which I think is completely valid. So I would love to show that Troy can be one of those people that has no ambition in life and be perfectly okay with that. His biggest goal in life is to be happy. Which in a capitalist society is really hard to admit and/or embrace. So after he comes back from his trip around the world, sure he'll have crazy stories and millions of dollars but I would like him to keep that innocent, carefree behavior. I don't want him to become Pierce in the sense that he's just spending money and doing nothing. But I don't want him to suddenly be anything other than what we've seen him to be. I also love all the posts on Tumblr about how Abed was the one that kind of taught him to be himself. So yeah he kind of adopts Abed’s fascination with TV shows and role-playing but at the same time I think he just loves being goofy and sweet. And maybe that's through a different medium. Maybe he finds love for music and he just makes amazing at it cough Childish Gambino cough. And it’s a natural talent like plumbing/AC repair. And everyone is telling him to go out there and become a great musician or rapper and he's just like this is just what I do for fun, don’t ruin it. 

Screw it, let's do Pierce now. I've already written an entire essay so I might as well finish off the one character I've been avoiding. So obviously there's a line of what is Pierce's character and what is the writer's exaggeration for the sake of comedy. Now, in this day in age, there is very little tolerance of old people getting a pass for being racist, homophobic, or sexist. And there's a lot of things that just would not slide where Pierce is concerned. Like if I met the guy it would just be a hard no immediately. You're not even worth getting to know, you're not even worth the effort. Pierce would definitely need a redemption arc (a real redemption arc where he honestly tries to do better not whatever that scene with Jeff tolerating his racism/homophobia in the barber shop was). I also think it's really important to note that ageism plays a role in how Pierce is perceived by the fandom. Because yes, he is an absolute racist piece of s*** (voice to text is censoring me, boo!). But the moments where he is acting out because he does not want to be left out oh, those are the moments where I think he is over judged by both the writers and the fandom. Because those fears are legitimate. They could have been developed and fleshed out. Progress could have been made. It's just a constant of his personality where he keeps being an a****** pushing people away so that they leave and he’ll be justified in his fear. Other characters do pretty bad things and yet are more easily forgiven than Pierce. I am speaking for myself here, of course. And there was this tumblr post that said something along the lines of  annoying perks are tolerated depending on how good looking and young the actors/characters are. And I think that happens with Pierce's character that is then amplified by the fact that he is racist and sexist. If I were to write Pierce, I don't know if I would even be able  to stomach the racism, but his self-destructive behavior would be something I would find interesting to address. Also, what made him leave all his money to Troy? I thought Annie was his favorite...In what world does he have enough emotional depth to not leave his favorite all the money??

Holy crap that took an hour and twenty minutes...if anyone bothered to read all of that, I would love to hear thoughts or headcanons. And bless you for being just as obsessed with this show as I am.

[clansayeed]

Bound by Circumstance ― Chapter 1: The Middle of the Beginning

PAIRING: Nik Ryder x trans*M!MC (Taylor Hunter) RATING: Mature

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Circumstance ⥽

Taylor Hunter (MC) has made it good for himself in New Orleans; turns out moving to a new city fresh out of college to reinvent yourself isn’t as hard as people make it out to be. Things only start to get confusing when he finds himself the target of a malevolent wraith. Good thing someone’s looking out for him though — because without Nighthunter Nik Ryder as his bodyguard he definitely won’t survive long in the twisting darkness of the supernatural underworld he's tripped into.

Bound by Circumstance and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the book Nightbound and the rest of the Bloodbound series. Find out more [HERE].

Note: Circumstance only loosely follows the events and plotline of Nightbound, and features a separate antagonist, different character motivations, and further worldbuilding.

*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Circumstance/series tag list!

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

Four years after graduation Taylor catches up with his old college roommate, Kristin, and her work friend Vera for Mardi Gras. But a lot changes over time and Taylor isn't the same person he was back then.

[READ IT ON AO3]

The speckled pinks and oranges of rapidly-approaching sunset mirror the tourist’s neon shirts; plastered to their backs with patches of damp sweat.

He can’t imagine what it must be like to lead the pungent masses day in and day out. To mark them as prey with bright triangle flags flying high; leading them along like children with tethers of long camera straps and beaded trinkets from this shop and that stall.

It was hard enough to be an outsider when he first arrived. For his coworkers to see his born-and-bred habits like the traditions of a long dead civilization. To always be the other and to always be othered in a way he wasn’t used to.

Oh he’s used to being the other. Just for things that aren’t where he’s from and why he can’t handle the spice-coated flavors others were just born with.

It’s taken a year and some weeks but he’s finally close enough to being one of the rest that he’d never do something to damage his carefully cultivated reputation with something as tarnishing as a cemetery ghost tour.

So long as he keeps his distance he’s just another onlooker maybe digging for scraps of a heritage long-forgotten. No way is he one of them.

“All right-y y’all, let’s head on back to the carriages. They’ll take ya back to the Square and from there y’all’re free to enjoy the col-a-ful Quarter nightlife on ya own terms!”

The tour guide’s accent is thick and rich with generations of Cajun history. Taylor’s seen her run this route a dozen times in one day — she may not have a theatre to call home but he’d definitely consider her to be as much of a performer as he is.

No one could be that excited to spout out the same facts and deal with the constant barrage of insensitive Civil War-obsessed family dads every day. Not without being a little dizzy in the head.

Lo’ and behold one raises his sunburned arm. “Can we stay if we want?”

The guide almost slips — almost rolls her eyes.

“Ya paid for a ride back but that’s your dollar. You just gotta high-tail it with everyone else when the gates are closin’.”

“Why,” comes the petulant response, “don’t tell me they lock this place up because of the ghosts.”

Taylor watches the perpetrator; a young man wearing the Hartfield University logo like he’s getting a thousand bucks for each separate instance, wiggle his fingers at a woman beside him. She playfully shrieks, swats him away with a “ohmygod stop it Jake!” and no matter the answer the guide is going to give they could care less.

And the guide’s noticed it, too. Squares her chest and brushes her braid over her shoulder with a nonchalant frown.

“Not so much them as the muggers and drunks who take advantage of scrawny lil’ white boys like you who hang around like dumb shit. But by all means — stay if you think you can handle it.”

‘Jake’ must decide he can’t handle it because no one but the guide is left behind when the masses start back to the carriages. Taylor can’t help himself when he laughs.

“You need a ride too, straggler?”

She’s looking right at him. There’s a coy smile on her lips and something about her that seems a bit hazy — Taylor chocks it up to the humidity playing tricks on his tired eyes.

“Yeah, you,” she says without being prompted; throws a look back to her charges before crossing the cobblestone path to the crypt Taylor’s been using as good vantage point. “Don’t think I ain’t seen you creepin’ on my path. Next time you pay; got it?”

“Oh, I wasn’t —”

“Yeah yeah, I’ve heard it all before so save it.”

He didn’t ask for a ride back — would appreciate it but he’s fully capable of using his two feet and turning them in the direction of the Quarter. So he tries not to bristle at her defensive tone; tries to think back to all the things he was pushed into learning growing up.

Being defensive is sometimes the only way to get through the day.

“You got kin in here, cher?”

She has to snap to bring him back to reality.

“Huh?”

But at least she’s smiling now. Even if her smile changes in the shadows that grow and stretch over the evening. He tries not to linger on it too much.

“Just I’s seen you around here a couple times, is all.”

“Oh, no,” —then when he realizes he’s just given the implication that he likes hanging around crypts— “It’s a nice place to think. Away from the crowds.”

As if the world exists to prove him wrong there’s a whoop of laughter behind them. Taylor and the woman look to see a pair of children trying to climb on a stone ledge while their parents argue several feet away.

The guide groans. “Will you think less’a me if I’m too tired to deal with that right now?”

“Not in the slightest.”

“Then get that cute butt up in that there carriage. Now I just plain owe ya.”

Taylor shakes his head. “No, you don’t —”

“Hush. Book it.”

He’s flustered and she knows it. Flustered in the heat and with the visible light slowly dimming — that’s what’s tricking his eyes. What’s making her ears look a little too pointy and her eyes a little too bright and wide.

After all — what’s he gonna say? ‘You’re looking a bit Lord of the Rings today, miss?’ Probably not.

“Anyway the gates is closin’ soon — so this ride’s on me.”

They probably exchange words (or in Taylor’s case flustered nods and smiles) but hell if he can remember them. Not when he finds himself in the same carriage as Jake and his friend with the friendly guide — “call me Tilly” — beside him.

He must be awfully flustered the whole ride back to the city.

One thing to know about New Orleans is Mardi Gras isn’t just a party or a festival that comes around once a year. It’s a way of life.

Adopted by the tourists who travel from all across the country in search of a place to forget all but the celebration for the short time they’re here but first birthed by deep blood running in red rivers and streams through the Bayou and down into the sewers on Bourbon Street.

Ask anyone who calls the Big Easy home and they’ll tell you; it’s in the earth and the sea and the sky. It clings to the hull of every boat on the Mississippi and catches on the breeze that carries fallen leaves through the streets. More than just the open booze and cheap plastic beads — it’s the collective time to share the heady atmosphere of do everything but more and bridge the divides that settle in the city’s oldest bricks.

For Taylor it’s an excuse to undo the top button on his shirt and lose himself in the sweet swell of jazz down every block.

For Taylor’s old college roommate Kristin it’s an excuse to take a week off work and invite herself onto his tiny (tiny) couch for a full week nowhere near sober.

Tilly was — is — cute but if Taylor’s being honest with himself he’ll probably forget the ripped brochure panel with her number on it. Only to remember it come laundry day with the regret of the single-but-okay-with-it crowd.

As he shuffles off with elbows pulled in tight to maneuver his way through the crowds he’s given a stark reminder of why he went to the cemetery to clear his head in the first place.

Ping.

[TEXT]: I C U!!!

Taylor’s well within his rights to be terrified of a text like that, especially when the ping that follows it is met with a blurry picture wherein the flash practically whites out his hair.

But this is Kristin and Kristin has absolutely zero boundaries. Even going so far as to send at least three more photos of him looking down at his phone before he can even try to pinpoint the rooftop she’s hanging off of.

Luckily he catches sight of her (hard not to with her bright and glittery costume and long arms flailing like willows in the wind) before he stalls the entire street. Awkwardly shuffles into the bar and gestures at the back staircase to the hostess who literally couldn’t care less.

The rooftop seating isn’t as crowded as the floor below — for that he’s grateful. Less so for the sudden onslaught of glittery, liquor-tinted kisses pressed to every visible inch of his face, though.

“You ma~ade it, you ma~ade it!” Kristin sing-songs; almost spills her half-drunk hurricane but is apparently still sober enough to keep from spilling such a valuable item.

“And you started the party without me, I see.”

She giggles and brushes her hair away from her shoulders with a flourish. Wiggles her half dozen plastic beaded necklaces in his face with triumph. “Indeed I did!”

“Just be glad I managed to get her down to something she needs to sip out of a straw.”

Taylor looks up at the unfamiliar voice — finds himself dragged towards it by Kristin’s eager hand.

When she mentioned a ‘friend from work’ would be coming with her on vacation Taylor hadn’t known what to think or say. After four years their lives had gone in completely different directions — as was expected to happen when a theatre major and an accounting major ended up sharing an apartment on pure chance.

Frankly, though he’d taken the pushover high road and not said a word about it, when he thought Kristin had invited both herself and her coworker to stay with him he hadn’t been pleased in the fucking slightest.

But Vera — “amazing Vera,” “perfect Vera,” “I don’t know what I’d do without her Vera” — hadn’t wanted to impose on a stranger and gotten a hotel room for the week.

How is it that Kristin always attracts the kind of people who take care of her?

The humid breeze rustles Vera’s curls; not out of place but just enough to make her seem like even the wind is staged to highlight her best features. She looks like she came to the roof straight from the airport in a lax business suit with sleeves rolled up and collar button undone.

Not that the sleeves make much of a difference — Taylor chocked up Kristin’s insistence that Vera “always wears long silk gloves — like always” to her penchant for hyperbole but nope, there they were. And judging by the humidity and the way she holds her sweating cocktail glass by the tips of her fingers they aren’t very comfortable.

“Keep sippin’ sugar,” coaxes Vera, her smile fond as she directs Kristin’s neon-green crazy straw back between her lips, “don’t want you to crash and burn just yet.”

She hums in compliance, smacks her lips when she’s done and only then realizes she needs to make introductions.

“Whoops! Tay — this is Vera! Vera — Tay —”

“The infamous Taylor, oh I know.” She extends a gloved hand that he shakes — tries to hide his confusion but apparently not very well.

“I’ve seen enough pictures of you to feel like we went to college together.” Knowing Kristin as well as he does that’s a perfectly valid answer.

“I just wish I could say the same.” He admits almost sheepishly.

But Vera waves it off like it’s nothing. “Nah, you’re good. Baby girl knows how much I value my privacy.”

Before he can answer Kristin’s calling out to one of the waitresses making her rounds and snatching a drink off her tray to head directly for Taylor. With mortification he takes it and hands it back to the now irritated waitress — hands her a solid twenty for her troubles, too.

When Kristin and drinks are involved he knows to always come prepared to placate wait staff.

“Does your friend need to be cut off?” the woman asks with a leer. It’s the second time he’s flustered that evening because there’s no way her eyes go from hazel to yellow. Obviously.

“No no, she’s good. We’ll take good care of her.”

“Oh really?”

“I’m the, uh, D-D.” Thank god his smile works because the last thing he needs is her to get him banned from every bar on Rue Bourbon in a single week.

There’s a reason they don’t go back to their college homecoming week.

“I’ll get you a pop then.”

“Thanks.”

When he turns around Vera already has their girl back in her seat gabbing; a few steps closer and he catches the end of what was undoubtedly a riot of a story about something that happened on her flight over.

Vera flashes him a sympathetic look and a nod. Oh yeah, he likes her already. They’re gonna get along swimmingly.

“Do you have to be so loud?!”

“You’re the one screaming.”

“No ‘m not…”

“Yes you are~”

“Am not!”

“Are too~”

Taylor’s never had the best reflexes; doesn’t have enough of a sixth sense for oncoming violence to duck before his sofa pillow smacks him in the head.

“Your aim’s gotten better.” He drawls. Rounds the kitchen island and throws the pillow right back at the hungover mess squished on the cushions.

Kristin looks at him through a ratty ginger mess. He can feel the hatred from the distance.

“I was aiming for your butt.”

“Oh, then I take it back.”

“Dunno how I missed such a wide load!”

Despite her general anger at the world Taylor continues making her the barest excuse of a hangover breakfast; fried rice and scrambled eggs slathered in the ketchup that might as well run in her veins.

He leaves breakfast in a little display at the island — plated with a side of orange juice and coffee brewing in the pot.

“I gotta head to rehearsal — please get up if only to turn off the coffee maker?”

He scratches her hair like a pet — smiles fondly at the memories it brings back. Memories of them in this exact position four years younger. He missed the company.

Now that her dramatic episode is over Kristin yawns and gives him a pitiful frown. “I don’t need coffee,” she whines, “I need vodka.”

“Well you’re fresh outta luck there.” She knows any space he calls home is a dry one.

She watches him grab his keys and head out. Calls out “love you!” just like they used to.

“Love you back!”

The door closes behind him.

New Orleans wasn’t exactly the place for young, fresh-out-of-college performing hopefuls to go searching for roles. Not unless they were returning to their roots. Truthfully if anyone bothered asking him why he’d chosen the Big Easy he wouldn’t be able to give an immediate answer; he certainly struggled finding a company to latch onto when he first came down. Struggled (and continues to struggle) between temp jobs and deciding whether to pay rent or treat himself to something other than grilled chicken — again.

Most of his struggles he could blame on the glamorous life of an actor; big struggles early in life surely meant big rewards in the future.

Yes; he’s well aware he’d have at least a few less struggles had he picked up his entire life and moved, say, to Los Angeles.

But Taylor’s never been a fan of the easy way out. New Orleans called (probably a wrong number, but who was he to fight fate) and he answered.

There’s a laugh off to his left while he scrubs the sweat from his face. The bottom cotton of his tee itches like hell — but it’s better than not being able to see.

“Trying your hand at stripping, Hunter?”

The thud of a body sitting beside him on the edge of the stage. He drops the thoroughly soaked hem — still has to rub his thumbs into his eyes — before catching a glance at the lead he’s under-studying.

“I mean I thought about it,” admits Taylor—only half-joking, “but I like beignets too much.”

Antoni rolls his eyes and leans back with all the casual freedom of a man who has played five starring roles of the seven productions the company’s put on. Once you have your spot secured like that you can pretty much get away with anything. Especially making fun of the newbie.

The only thing Antoni and Taylor have in common are the lines and blocking they’re leaning. Where Antoni is brunette, Taylor is blond. Where Antoni is lithe and wiry — perfect for dancing though the company refuses to put on any musicals until their tenth year — Taylor is a little broader in the shoulders, a little curvy on the hips in comparison to the almost ethereal way Antoni’s body shoots downward.

Sure, like anyone with a pulse, Taylor had walked into his audition with a slight crush on Antoni’s heartbreaking smile and bright eyes. Then the star opened his mouth and Taylor couldn’t remember one thing he found attractive about the New Orleans-born performer. He didn’t know whether being a pompous jackass was in the man’s contract but he sure carried himself like it was.

Antoni looks Taylor up and down; his lips pursed in an all-too-familiar judgy frown.

“Sure, that’s why you couldn’t pull it off.”

The words send violent little stings all over his body. Make Taylor turn away from the way his coworker suddenly zones in on his chest. Everyone in the scene was sweating their asses off but two layers of spandex compressed on his chest didn’t make it any easier on Taylor. Still, no complaints as he endures the exercise in stifling Louisiana heat.

Fucking Antoni.

The rest of the scene’s performers join them on the edge of the stage. Water bottles are passed around and Taylor takes one gratefully from the girl beside him. Antoni declines his offer like plastic bottles are for peasants and snaps at one of the non-speaking roles to grab his metal water jug from the greenroom. He’s Antoni so… the kid scrambles to do his bidding.

When everyone is gathered the director smacks his palm against his clipboard — every single time, without fail, it makes Taylor feel like he’s back in a class being wrangled by a teacher — until everyone’s focus it on him.

“Alrighty, y’all, that was a real good run! I just have a few things I wanna go over…”

He pays attention like a good little soldier, but even though the director is a seasoned pro and his feedback is good, some people can be way too chatty. Makes Taylor zone out and think about how badly he’d now like to shove his face full of fluffy hot donut to simultaneously prove Antoni right and give him the middle finger. It’s not like he’s going up on stage anyway.

Being the understudy is fun. Being the understudy to a guy with enough ego to fill the bayou and a spotless attendance is less fun. Just means he knows he’ll only ever play the lead if Antoni gets eaten by gators… and even then it’s a little up in the air.

Tangential threads of thought have him thinking of the last time he bought a bottle of Gatorade when there’s motion around him and everyone is getting up and saying their goodbyes for the evening. “Hey, Antoni, stay back a sec,” says the director — Taylor tries not to roll his eyes as he heads to the back to change.

The reason he’d picked this company out of the dozens of amateur theatre gigs in New Orleans was simple — if not a little shameful. He should have wanted to go where the talent was, where the stories were, where the audience was. But Comerlan & Company was the only group that boasted (like, boasted) their inclusivity. Like, made-sure-to-include-their-nonbinary-green-room boasting.

He’d been slightly confused upon entering to find a faulty light switch and storage supplies — but at least it wasn’t being used for the wrong reasons. A couple of the crew members even welcomed him with a personalized sign:

TAYLOR’S GREEN ROOM LEAVE YOUR SHOES & BINARY THOUGHTS AT THE DOOR!!

Antoni may be a stuck-up prick but Taylor has his own green room. If anyone was keeping score that was at least ten, maybe even eleven points in his favor.

He’s bag-slung-over-shoulder and nearly out the back door when one of the crew rounds the tight corner with a stack of boxes obscuring his sight. If Taylor hadn’t been scrolling through Kristin’s five literal million texts about plans for the evening that he has no say in he might’ve stopped just in time to avoid a crash.

Yeah, he doesn’t.

They both go tumbling down with boxes between them. It takes Taylor longer than normal to blink the daze out of his system — judging by the costumes spilling out of the boxes they shouldn’t have been that heavy yet he can’t shake the distinct feeling of running into a brick wall. Or a mountain.

“Oh jeez — not again —” comes a gruff voice off to his side; followed by a hand outstretched in offering.

“— are you okay kid?” —the hand switches to a set of three fingers— “How many fingers am I holding up? Have you ever had a concussion before? You know what — stay there. I’ll call an ambulance.”

The man towers so high over him — really towers even at Taylor’s ground-level view — that a chunk of the overhead lights is obscured by his frantic head. You’d think a man so high in the sky wouldn’t take a fall so seriously but he’s acting like he just tried to stab Taylor on accident or something.

“H-Hey — hey, HEY!”

He shakes off the cartoon canaries flying overhead and rubs the back of his head; sore but there’s no blood on the linoleum; not that he suspected there might be.

Then the lights shine in Taylor’s eyes as the large crewman crouches down; reveals a worried face cut in serious angles. Like a-jawline-made-out-of-stone angles.

And there’s no way a guy that hot should be looking so worried, so… almost innocent.

“Hold still — and if you feel the need to vomit —”

“I’m fine, man, fine,” the more he says it the more he starts to mean it, too, “I’ve taken worse falls than this.”

“Are you sure? I’m… a bit hard to run into.”

“Like a mountain.”

“Er — sure.” A strange look comes over the man’s face before he offers up his hand again. Taylor uses it to pull himself up, hold steady. Could swear the man’s face shifts and grows darker (literally several shades darker) out of the corner of his eye but this time, flustered or not, he’s pinning it down on the unexpected head trauma.

Before he can look around for it the man seems to conjure Taylor’s phone out of thin air — he checks the intact screen with relief.

“Thanks.”

The crewman is already bent down, though; putting costumes back in boxes haphazardly. “It’s my fault. I should have been watching where I was going.”

“Dunno how you could have,” Taylor chuckles as he begins to help, “those things were stacked taller than you are. And that’s pretty impressive, no offense.”

The man’s face goes a slight pink — Taylor’s glad for once he’s not the embarrassed one.

“None taken.”

When everything is cleaned up and the boxes are re-stacked (which, doesn’t that just ask for trouble, but Taylor doesn’t say it) he turns to leave without a word. Only stops when the other clears his throat at Taylor’s back.

“I’m Krum, by the way. I’ve seen you around… you’re the King Oberon understudy aren’t you?”

The understudy. Yeah… that’s all he’s known for — all he’ll ever be known for. But still he tries to take it as the compliment it is; forces on a smile and turns back on his heel.

God, he wishes he hadn’t. Because maybe he hit his head harder than he thought. Maybe he did need an ambulance. Judging by the sudden garish, almost monstrous appearance of Krum the Crewman’s face.

He compared the man to a mountain before but not like this. Not with his jaw suddenly cut from what looks like granite and the veins in his literally rocky muscles now black and glittering with sediment.

With the air whisked from his lungs Taylor squeezes his eyes shut. Grits his teeth so hard his jaw begins to ache and the fading headache from his fall comes back full-force.

It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s. not. real.

“Hey… you okay?”

The way ‘Krum’ asks isn’t like before. It’s startled — unsure. But why wouldn’t he be? It’s all in Taylor’s head — he’s just flustered again.

He snaps his eyes open; steals back what little oxygen is left in the suddenly too-crowded empty hallway, and nods.

“Yeah. Gotta go. Bye.”

Not that the jarring switch from air-conditioning to the muggy humidity of the New Orleans sunset does him any good. But he’ll take anything over hallucinating again. Anything.

Kristin accepts that Taylor won’t join her in her pregame, but she’s not a fan of him trying to delay the start of her very-good night.

“Tay, hon, I’ve accepted that you’re not gonna pregame with me but I don’t see why that means I have to start late because you wanna talk.”

And at first he’s okay with it — knows she can be a little self-centered at times but when it counts she’s always there for him — until she’s too busy texting Vera about the secret club she’s been raving about ever since he got back from rehearsal to notice that this would be those times where it counts.

“If you’d stop trying to relive your college glory days for one fucking second, Kristin, I could use a friend and not a human vodka bottle.”

It’s gets her attention because it’s not Taylor — not the passive, takes-everything-silently Taylor she knew.

But he needs her right now. Not just because he doesn’t really have anyone else.

Only when they’re sitting on the couch together with newly-brewed mugs of tea in hand, though, does the silence break.

“I shouldn’t have said that.”

Kristin sips her tea for something to do. “I shouldn’t have been, uh…”

“College-Kristin?”

“Yeah.”

Their hands meet where the cushions do and they squeeze. Things really have changed.

Only now he has the space to talk and in classic Taylor-fashion he’s unsure of what to say.

“Whenever you’re ready, okay?” While some might not consider Kristin taking her phone and turning it screen-down as a big deal, he knows better. Knows it means she’s living in the moment with him.

It takes him a whole twenty minutes to be ready — and she doesn’t look at her phone once.

“I never told you why I stopped drinking just before senior year.”

“No, you didn’t.” Not for my lack of asking she doesn’t say; doesn’t have to.

“I know it’s a bit late, but…”

“But better now than never.”

Better now than never. The same words Taylor said to her seconds before his first injection. Her hand gripping his shoulder tightly the whole time. It’s the only throwback so far that hasn’t made his stomach queasy.

“Right,” he nods, “better now than never.”

No one meeting them now would believe that it was Taylor with the drinking problem and Kristin worrying one step behind. As it was only a few people in their shared and close-knit social circle of queer outcasts and image-reinventors knew there was a time when sobriety was a fickle joke to him. He made sure it stayed that way, too.

Even back then he’d been good at hiding; hiding his drinking, hiding his therapy, hiding his doubts about who he really was. And maybe no one would have ever known had their group plans to visit Europe for their last summer not fallen through.

Because going back home to stay with his mother — not that he blamed her; he could never blame her — had been the tipping point. All those old familiar faces who kept calling him the wrong name, kept using the wrong words. The whispers behind cupped hands that would stop the moment he walked into a space. The once-friends who were suddenly ‘too busy’ to get to know the man he’d become instead of the woman they thought he was.

Each drink made the whispers and rumors easier to suffer. He could laugh them off and, on really bad days, joke around with them — turn himself into a joke at his own expense. But it was a double-edged sword and he knew it.

“Remember that trip my mom and I took to the city to see Wicked?”

Kristin nods. She’s been silent the whole time — through every admission of guilt, every notable time they had fallen out or he’d been caught up in something stupid that had only happened because of the drink — and Taylor wouldn’t be surprised if she decided to stay with Vera for the rest of her vacation.

Taylor exhales; this isn’t something he’s ever admitted beyond the safety of a private office, beyond a patient confidentiality clause. “She was never much of a drinker, you remember. So she didn’t know what I was ordering was way stronger than hers. And when we were done she went out to call a cab to the theatre and… and I remembered I hadn’t taken my meds that morning.”

“Shit, Tay…”

He shakes his head to stop her. If that’s what’s got her worried she won’t be able to handle the rest of the story. “Yeah, it was dumb. But to be fair I was pretty dumb back then.”

Kristin just shrugs. Brushes her thumb over his knuckles.

“That’s when I, uhm, you know I was a week late moving back to the apartment?”

“Yeah, you said…” No matter what he’d said it wasn’t the truth so she doesn’t finish.

But Taylor remembers. Remembers laying in the hospital bed trying not to panic himself into a heart attack. Remembers his mother crying over his bedside some nights and trying her best not to shout at him during others. Please don’t tell anyone, he begged her with bleary eyes and a fresh IV in his arm, I’ll get help, I’ll get help. Just don’t tell anyone.

“Well what really happened was… it was bad,” even with all his extensive vocabulary it’s the only word he can think of, “it was really bad. The doctors said it was the combo — that I probably took more of my meds than I needed on accident.

“I was looking at people but — but I wasn’t seeing them. They looked strange or inhuman or… or both. I’d hallucinated like that before but never… never that bad.”

Her nose scrunches up — she’s holding her thoughts back but right now that’s okay.

“You’d hallucinated before? And did the same shit knowing what would happen?”

There’s an accusation in her voice that makes him look away in shame. “It’s hard to explain.”

“Too bad — try.”

So he tries — doesn’t know how well he succeeds. Explains in broken sentences and half-started half-finished examples of when the hallucinations first started and how happy he’d been when drinking made them go away. Well… until that last time.

“So lemme get this straight;” Kristin pinches the bridge of her nose, “you were seeing shit, and started drinking to not see shit, but you still kept seeing shit so you kept drinking until you didn’t see shit anymore?”

“Pretty much.”

“Taylor that’s the stupidest fucking logic I’ve ever heard.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Like, it doesn’t even make sense.”

“It did at the time.”

“Bullshit — but continue.”

Only by that point there isn’t much left to say. He got help — missed the first week of senior year because it overlapped with his rehab. “Explains why you never answered my calls,” she mutters. “Mom passed along every single message, though,” he offers as consolation.

“Rehab was the easiest month of my life. I didn’t want to drink again — especially if it meant seeing… seeing stuff. And I wasn’t even tempted when I went back to school. I had my meds, and I had that terrifying last time to scare me straight.”

He tries not to let Kristin’s silence get to him — tries not to shift under the weight of imagined scrutiny. It’s not like this thing ruined their friendship and only now, four years after the fact, is he coming clean about it. It’s more like he’s… filling in the blanks. Giving the story more context.

So very meta of him.

“So why are you telling me this now?”

Man, he hoped she wouldn’t ask that. But why else would he bring it up if he wasn’t prepared for it?

“Because,” he says on a shaky inhale, “I know you’ll believe me when I say I haven’t had a drink in years. You’ve seen my place, you’ve seen how I am out on the town; I’m not even tempted. My mom… she loves me — and that’s why she’d probably think I’m lying if I told her.”

“‘Told her’ what?”

“That I think… I think I’m starting to see things again. And I’m scared, Krissy, I’m really really scared.”

He falls into her open arms without hesitation. Knows when things are less serious that she’ll get on his case for leaving wet spots in one of her favorite shirts later but she knows when to put the persona aside and just be there for him.

Others may not get the full story between them — and, really, now she knows the full story too — but god is he glad to have someone like her in his life.

Every time the full and unopened bottles clink in the bag between them, Kristin looks over his way. He gets it, really he does, but it’s starting to get annoying.

“No way are we going out tonight.”

“Seriously — it’s okay.”

“Dude you just had a full-on mental breakdown in my lap.”

“And that’s new?”

“I can’t enjoy myself knowing you’re miserable!”

“I’m not miserable, Krissy. I’ve been looking forward to seeing you for legit ever.”

“Ugh, well… you’ve got me there. But we’re gonna change things up a bit, okay?”

So she called Vera while Taylor showered the tears from his conscience. Gathered up all the bottles she bought while he was gone that day into one eco-friendly tote bag and made a second call to a rideshare with the destination set at Vera’s hotel in the Business District.

“I don’t want you guys to change your plans because of me.”

“Shuuuuut up, Tay. My liver will probably thank you in the long run.”

“But what about your friend?”

“Vee — oh she’s fine with it. Apparently she found a club or two we can get to instead!”

Not that there’s much difference between a bar and a club in any other town but here in the Big Easy (and especially during Mardi Gras) near-every bar is a club on certain avenues, but that doesn’t mean every club has a bar.

Kristin beckons him close and cups her hand over her mouth to whisper in his ear. “And if you start to, well, you know, then we’ll leave and go check out the sights. Cool?”

The driver probably gets the wrong impression of them when Taylor kisses her temple lovingly. That’s okay though. He wouldn’t be the first.

“Cool.”

[nilesarchives]

The Right Stuff ― CANON. (current verse)

The space they agreed upon can only last about a week because Nick promised to come to Miles’ mother’s wedding. They sneak off to break into Miles’ awful new stepdad Greg’s car and mess with his radio stations, as well as smoke the weed Nick brought. As with most other times, one thing leads to another, and they hook up in Greg’s car.

This is missing like the entire first half because it disappeared into the Chatzy void but basically they were just at the reception and Miles swiped Greg’s keys from his discarded jacket pocket. Also NSFW-ish.

Nick tried to suppress a laugh at the dig about Helen, just in case Miles wasn’t joking. “Speaking of Helen — how are her and your Dad?” He looked over at him curiously. “Are they here?” He didn’t want to stir up drama; he was just mildly curious and tended to get caught up in small talk. “We are pretty expensive.” He agreed, nodding quickly. “Adding you to the mix will just make her go bankrupt.” He teased before smiling to himself. “Guess there is…. Operation Steal Gregs Car is officially in progress now.” As they continued to walk on, he glanced at Miles in interest. “What were the themes? Was it good?” He asked, before speaking again, not giving Miles time to respond. “We’ll have to find it so we can watch it. Don’t get me wrong, I love Scout but I just don’t think she appreciates your love of Cupcake Wars like I do.” He said, seriously. “Shit man — maybe. Only I hope I don’t drive as bad as I do in GTA. Or else this might be our first and last car ride together.” He paused, grabbing the keys. “Anyway, buckle up!” He grinned as he unlocked the car and slid his way into the drivers seat. “Your wish is my command.” He looked around the car as he brainstormed ideas before brightening up a little and putting the key in the ignition to turn the radio on. “He’s never gonna know what hit him.” He busied himself with pressing random buttons on the control panel as he spoke. “Tell me what music he hates so I can reprogram his set channels.” It sounded cooler in his head, but if it were him, that would drive him crazy. “But that’s just the beginning… reach into my jacket pocket. I have a surprise for us.”

Miles shook his head. “Nah, they’re not here. They’re good, though, I guess. I dunno. I haven’t talked to Dad in a little while.” Miles sort of wished all this had happened when he was younger so he didn’t have to deal with all the angst of it now. But it is what it is. “So then we agree it is most certainly not worth it for me to marry your mom. Glad we had this talk.” He’d certainly missed these strange conversations with Nick. No one else ever made it seem so natural. “It was for, like, a wedding. It was pretty good. Not the best episode but I think we made a silent vow to watch every single one together. You’re right, though. Scout just doesn’t get it.” Miles laughed at that, settling into the passenger seat. This truly was wild. He’d never even been in Greg’s car before, and he didn’t think he ever would. But here he was. “He hates pretty much anything that’s not country so that should be easy.” He started to do just that, changing the preset stations on Greg’s car radio when Nick mentioned something in his pocket. He looked up at him curiously. Usually he’d be more wary about something like this, but he was pretty sure Nick didn’t have anything that would kill him. Curiosity got the best of him, anyway, and before he could ask he did as he was told, invading Nick’s personal space to dig through his pocket. He didn’t know what he expected, but it certainly wasn’t weed. Miles wished he could have seen the look on his own face right then. “Dude,” was all he managed at first, and then he laughed. “You should have mentioned this an hour ago!”

Nick nodded at the newfound information. “Ah, man. Well hopefully you get to talk to him soon. Hope he’s doing okay.” Nick didn’t mean to bring up a sore subject, if it was one. Bringing up Miles’ birth father while he was being cursed with a stepfather he couldn’t stand probably wasn’t the greatest conversation starter. “You’re officially ruled out as far as my future potential stepdads go. Congratulations. Crossing your name off the list ASAP.” Joking with Miles always came easy, despite the awkwardness recent events had caused between them. They always seemed to snap back eventually. “The worst episode of cupcake wars is still better than the best episode of anything else.” That probably didn’t even make sense, and held no real truth. Still, though, he didn’t expect anyone to read too deeply into the things he said sometimes. “So hard rap and top pop hits.” He stated and grinned at the radio console as he punched buttons. “I got you.” He shifted to allow Miles room to sift through his pocket, still messing with the radio stations all the awhile. Truthfully, he could have just handed Miles the weed, but that would have ruined the surprise. Finally satisfied with his work, Nick hit one of the now re-programmed station buttons and leaned back in the drivers seat. “I considered it, but I figured if I mentioned it in front of your family they’d try to take it for themselves.” He joked, reaching into his other pocket and pulling out a lighter. “—You ever smoked before?”

Miles shrugged. “He’s fine. It’s not like that. We’re both just busy and not at the top of each other’s priority list.” It was true. He wasn’t hurt by it or anything. “Good to know. I removed your name from my potential stepdad list long ago. Now you’ve kind of lost your chance anyway, though.” Nick just wasn’t fast enough. “That is so true. I don’t know why we started watching that show but I’m really glad we did. It’s a blessing. I think it brings us closer together.” Really, he couldn’t pinpoint when or why it had happened, but somehow they’d developed a mutual obsession with Cupcake Wars, and Miles wouldn’t have it any other way. “Perfect. I doubt he even knows how to change it back.” Miles smiled smugly as he watched Nick change the stations. He finally settled on a station playing current hits that Miles thought he was too good for (but wasn’t), and he examined the weed in his hands while Nick spoke. “No doubt in my mind about that. So good call.” He glanced over at him at the question, raising an eyebrow. “I think you know the answer to that.” But he’d answer it anyway. “I haven’t. I’ve watched it happen enough in my life, though.” It wasn’t that he was against it or anything. It just never appealed to him as something to seek out, and it wasn’t often available to him. Right now, though, he didn’t see any reason not to. “I’m afraid I’m gonna cough up a lung, though. Maybe I’ll puke on the floor. Greg would love that.”

Nick made a noise of understanding and nodded. “Pretty easy to get caught up in your own life.” He commented, and he was just about to make a jab at him and say he knew Miles was good at doing that. But this was not the time nor place — and what slight (unjustified) bitterness Nick still felt toward him he was trying to push aside and work passed. “Unfortunately, I don’t think I’m your Moms type to begin with. As much as it hurts me to admit.” He joked, remembering back to all the times he joked about trying to date her years ago. He thought he was so funny when he was in High School. And he still did, but he was still low key embarrassed of his teenage self. Not that he was all that different now, but… still. “It’s because we both automatically knew it was gonna be good. It’s our show, dude. Watching it alone is ever the same as watching it with you.” He spoke, earnestly, because it was the truth. “Probably not. Hey, maybe he’ll develop a decent taste in music. So really we could be doing him a favor here.” He grinned as he turned his head to look at his friend. “I had a feeling you’d say that.” He admitted. Miles never was one to to really partake in such things, which he never minded. He figured he’d offer tonight though. After everything, Nick thought he might need it. “I guarantee you won’t cough up a lung. Your tonsils, maybe. Maybe some blood. But no lungs. You get to keep those.” He laughed again and reached out to take the already rolled joint from him. “It’s going to be harsh, so you’re going to cough a lot. So if it’s too much for you, let me know.” He instructed carefully. “I’m going to light it — and all you have to do is suck and hold it in for a second.” He paused .“But first let’s roll up all the windows… we don’t want anything getting out.”

Miles nodded. “Right. Not a big deal or anything. I stopped being pissed at him a while ago.” Being angry about it wasn’t going to do Miles any good, anyway. “Yeah, I’d have to agree with you there. She tends not to go for super skinny dudes who are, you know, friends with her son.” Miles couldn’t help but laugh at that. It was honestly ridiculous to even entertain the idea of Nick and his mother ever becoming a thing, but somehow it always came up. “You’re right. It’s good shit. It’s actually not that great a show on its own. Our commentary is the only thing that makes it bearable sometimes,” he admitted, because it was true. It really wasn’t all they made it out to be. The show itself was mediocre at best most times. But they got super into it, and honestly, it did often get pretty intense. Miles rolled his eyes. “Yeah, right.” He couldn’t see that happening. Miles sighed, shaking his head at Nick’s words. “Oh God. I’m not, like, actually gonna cough up blood or anything, am I?” he asked as he eyed the joint now back in Nick’s hand. He honestly couldn’t tell if he’d been joking or not. He nodded at that, using the ancient hand crank to manually roll up the windows, because of course Greg didn’t have automatic windows. “I’m a little nervous, man.”

Nick nodded at the comment, deciding not to press it any further. He laughed at Miles’ comment about his mom, and shook his head in faux disappointment. “I’m heartbroken. I’d say she’s missing out, but that’d be a lie. We all know it’s the other way around.” He joked. Miles should know by now he wasn’t serious about it. Especially after all that had happened lately. Rolling his eyes good naturedly as he rolled up the window on the drivers side. A grin crossed his lips at the question. “No, dumbass. The weed doesn’t contain glass particles.” He said teasingly before softening up some. “Hey, it’ll be okay. It’s everyone’s first time sometime. And I’ll be right here if you don’t like it or it’s too much.” He reminded him before lifting the lighter to spark the end of the joint. “Do you want the first hit, or would you rather me show you first?”

Miles rolled his eyes. “Yes, Nick, we all know that.” His mom totally was a catch. He wasn’t wrong there. Miles put his hand to his chest, pretending to be hurt by the insult. “Ouch. No need for name-calling here.” He knew Nick was only kidding, of course, and that was only confirmed when he lightened up and actually started to ease Miles’ fears about the whole thing. It really wasn’t a big deal, but honestly…he was just a weenie. “Okay. Don’t get mad if I cough on you or something.” He watched with wide eyes as Nick lit the joint. He licked his lips as he watched, then reached out to take it from him. “I’ll try.” He was feeling adventurous, clearly. It felt foreign in his hand, and he eyed it for a few moments before bringing it up to place it between his lips. He tried not too think too hard as he inhaled. Immediately, as Nick had warned him, it overwhelmed him. He started coughing almost instantly. As he tried to catch his breath, letting out a few more coughs to clear his throat, he thrust the joint back toward Nick. “How the fuck is this supposed to be enjoyable?” he asked, his voice rough from the strain of all the coughing.

Nick snorted at the response. They’d always joked around like this, and he could admit to himself that he missed it. He missed hanging out with him. “Eh, you’ll get over it.” He shrugged. “You cough on me, I’ll sneeze on you so it’s fair, alright?” He handed over the joint to him silently, quirking an eyebrow as Miles said he’d go first. Maybe he should have instructed him or something, but before he knew it his friend was inhaling the smoke. As he started to choke, he darted a hand out to clap down on his shoulder, slightly concerned even if he knew he’d be okay. “Give it a minute.” He coaxed as he took the joint back and brought it to his lips with his free hand, holding it in his lungs for a brief moment before letting it exhale. “You’re gonna feel it, trust me. You’ll barely even notice the sore throat.”

Miles figured that was fair enough. He hardly even noticed Nick take a hit because he did so quickly and without a sound other than his inhaling and exhaling. Miles wondered how long it took to get to that point, but he wasn’t going to ask. Plus, if he spoke again, he’d probably start coughing. He wasn’t really feeling any different, but he wasn’t sure how long it was supposed to take. “What’s it supposed to feel like?” he asked. He barely even noticed Nick’s hand still on his shoulder. “Should I try it again or give it a minute?’ He was honestly completely clueless here. He thought he’d know by watching other people, but clearly that wasn’t the case.

Nick knew Miles was new at this, but he couldn’t help but grin slightly at the reaction. What a proud moment. His best friend was smoking weird for the first time. Nick wasn’t sure if he should feel bad for corrupting him or be glad that he tried it with him first. So he settled on just being mildly amused. "Don’t try it again. I don’t wanna overwhelm you. Give it time to settle.” He instructed as he angled his body to face him a little better. “It’s supposed to feel like… I don’t know. Like you’re completely relaxed. And your head feels fuzzy, but you still feel good.” It was the sort of thing that he’d just have to experience himself. “Are you okay?”

Miles nodded. That made enough sense to him. “Okay.” He’d thought it was going to be an instantaneous thing, but it seemed to be a little more gradual. He figured he was starting to feel a little bit different after a few moments, especially as Nick explained what it was supposed to be like. He was pretty sure he was feeling a little more relaxed. But that could have all just been in his head. “Yeah, I’m okay. I…think I feel different.” He sighed. Though he couldn’t see the excitement in the whole thing, he was at least glad he had Nick with him. “Thanks for this. I guess it’ll be kinda cool to at least say I tried it.”

Nick laughed slightly in response. “Hey, even if it’s not your thing, now you know.” He had a sneaking suspicion it wasn’t Miles’ thing, judging from the look on his face. “You’re welcome. Plus, if Greg knew we were doing this, it’d piss him off so bad. So that makes it all worth it, right?” He let the joint dangle from his other hand, his right still resting on Miles’ shoulder absentmindedly. His words died off and it fell silent for a moment before he spoke again, voice quieter than before. “Are you really okay? About the wedding?”

Miles shrugged. “Yeah, I guess.” He didn’t think he’d be doing this again. At least, he wouldn’t go seeking it out. Maybe if Nick brought it up again in the future. He tended to make stupid decisions with Nick. “That’s true. And that’s the beauty of all of this, right?” he asked, gesturing around him to the car they were still sitting in. Greg would probably somehow find out. At that, Miles turned to look at him. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to talk about this. Not now. He shook his head, turning away. “I’m fine, Nick. Please, just–don’t make this something it doesn’t need to be.” He appreciated the concern, though. Nick was the only person who ever really gave a shit what he was thinking. He just didn’t have the energy right now to get into it. He turned back to meet Nick’s eyes again. “Are you okay?”

Nick nodded in agreement. “Right. I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it again. I’m always up for some harmless revenge.” He smiled at Miles briefly before the conversation melded into something more serious. “I’m sorry —” He cut himself off, going quiet as he contemplated what to say. He didn’t want to make him talk about something he wasn’t comfortable with. “I’m not trying to. I just… you know you can talk to me, right?” He looked up to meet Miles’ eyes. “You can talk to me.” He repeated, not knowing what else to say without pushing too hard. But then Miles was turning it back on him, and it startled him. “I’m fine.” He said automatically, not quite sure if that was true or not, but this conversation wasn’t about him. “I wouldn’t be here with you if I weren’t fine.”

Miles sighed. Here they went again, getting way too real without actually meaning to. “Don’t apologize.” Nick kept on reiterating that he could talk to him, but Miles wasn’t sure if that was true. Talking about things led to bad choices with them, mostly because neither of them really knew how to handle their feelings – whatever those feelings were. “I know,” Miles replied anyway. The way Nick spoke to him made Miles doubt that, somehow. He thought that maybe being with him was hurting rather than helping. It was for Miles, at least; he was still feeling confused, despite being happy to be reunited with his best friend. “You sure about that?” he asked quietly, raising an eyebrow at him. “I think we’d be somewhere else entirely if you were fine.” Probably inside right now, dancing together, or something people who could be honest with themselves did. But they were here instead, playing games. They were good at that.

Nick knew he should stop talking. He knew saying too much or letting get the topic get too serious was a bad idea. But he couldn’t seem to help himself; he wanted Miles to know he still cared. At the remark, Nick let the hand resting on Miles’ shoulder fall off. “You know that’s not fair.” His voice was quiet, and he tried not to show that it actually stung. Because he knew he was right. His chest feeling heavy, he exhaled slowly before saying something he probably really shouldn’t. “I’m here because I missed you.”

Miles knew he probably shouldn’t have said it. But so far, dancing around certain subjects had gotten them absolutely nowhere. Even if he didn’t say it out loud, Miles would still be thinking it, so he figured he’d rather just come right out and say it in the name of being honest with him. “I’m not…saying you should come out or anything like that. That’s not what I meant,” he clarified. “But you’re not fine.” He was taken back by that. No matter how many times he heard it, it still hit him just as hard. He’d missed him too, so much, after only a week, and that meant something to him. “Does it even make a difference if I say I missed you too?”

Nick felt his chest constrict and his shoulders tense as Miles spoke. Guilt, regret, and panic seemed to settle in all at once. “Well, what do you want me to say?” He remarked, unable to hold himself back. “No, Miles, I’m not fine. I’m actually pretty shitty?” He stubbed the joint out on the surface next to the cup holder, letting it fall there after it was no longer lit. He’d clean it up later, maybe. “Would that make you feel better? Would that help anything?” He shouldn’t feel this bad. He shouldn’t have missed him this much. And he most definitely should not be talking as freely as he was now. “You know I’m not fine.” He swallowed, trying to keep at least some of the emotion at bay. “But you also know that I care.” He shook his head to himself. “It always makes a difference.” Even if it shouldn’t.

Miles looked down at his lap, because he didn’t know where else to look while he gathered his thoughts. He wasn’t meaning to put Nick on the spot like this, but Miles of all people wasn’t going to judge him for who he was, and they’d be stupid to pretend that nothing was still going on here. “I want you to be able to be honest with yourself even if you can’t with everyone else. It’s me, Nick. Things aren’t just going to go back to normal between us like magic and you know it.” He’d say it was the weed making him suddenly want to bring all of this back into the light, but really the urge to had never gone away. Nick was right; Miles knew that he cared. And Nick knew that he cared just as much. Miles adjusted himself in his seat to face Nick completely. He lowered his eyes to look at Nick’s lips briefly before blinking back up to his eyes. “What are you thinking right now?”

Nick wished that he could be completely honest, just like he wished he could kiss him when he wanted and not care who saw or what anybody thought. He wished he could want him without feeling guilty, when he should be wishing that they could go back to being just normal friends. Nick hadn’t wanted things to get out of control, but they already were. “I know that.” His throat felt thick and that’s all he could think to say. “But talking only makes us worse. I don’t want us to get worse.” He didn’t miss how Miles’ eyes dropped down to his lips. He found himself doing the same, his words (not for the first time) contradicting his actions. “Something I really shouldn’t.” He said, a bitter sort of laugh escaping him as he shook his head. Internally debating with himself, his desires quickly won over rational thought. Talking made things worse, but this would make things even more complicated than they already were. But it was hard when he was so close, when Nick knew he wanted him too. It was too hard. So despite knowing this was a mistake, Nick reached out to clasp his hand over Miles’ shoulder once again. Only this time, it was to steady himself as he leaned forward to press his lips against his best friend’s.

Miles shook his head. “I don’t see how it can get any worse than lying about the way we feel.” His kept his voice low, as if this was all some big secret. It wasn’t, and it never was; they just forced it to be that way. At least now, Nick was being honest with him. Miles knew what he meant before he even took action. But as always, the hand on his shoulder and Nick’s face suddenly coming toward his own made his heart beat faster, even if he’d been expecting it to some extent. Without thinking twice about it, Miles’ own hand came up to the back of Nick’s neck, almost like he was afraid that he’d pull away if Miles didn’t keep him there. They were going to regret this because everything was going to go to shit again. No matter how many times they discussed how stupid it was, they’d always find a way to make it weird again. But for right now, Miles would just pretend that that wasn’t the inevitable outcome.

Nick wanted to agree with him, but he couldn’t help but feel like it could and would get worse. But right now, at that moment, he was willing to ignore the consequences. “Sometimes it’s easier to lie than it is to deal with the truth.” He didn’t mean to say that, but at least that was the truth. Words were quickly forgotten as their lips met and Miles’ hand was grasping onto the back of his neck. He leaned in closer, the hand sliding from Miles’ shoulder to the side of his neck. He didn’t want to let go. The seat was separating them, but he tried his best to bring Miles as close as he could, responding with more urgency now that the kiss was reciprocated.

Miles didn’t even want to think about what Nick had said. He was right, of course it was easier. But that didn’t mean they should. Similarly, it was much easier to forget what was going to happen after this was over than to think rationally about it. So that’s just what Miles did, casting those thoughts of what was to come aside, focusing solely on Nick and how good it felt to be close to him like this again. He wanted to climb over to his side already just to be closer, but the size of the car made that kind of impossible. He had to think on his feet because he didn’t want this to have to end so fast. He pulled away just enough to look at Nick’s face. “You’re not gonna run out on me because of work again, are you?” he teased, and then he smiled. Before Nick could even respond, Miles reached into his pocket to get his phone. “Gimme a second — you should get rid of the joint,” he said, a bit absentmindedly. He didn’t want anything to distract them this time, so he figured background music would help them drown out everything else. If everything was going to go to shit after this, they might as well make the absolute most of it.

Nick nearly let a noise of disappointment escape him as Miles’ pulled away, even though the kiss had to end sometime. He looked at him, almost confused, until he understood why he’d pulled away. It wasn’t to end it, thank god, because Nick didn’t want to have to stop until they had to. “No, if they call me I’m quitting.” He said, joking, but also just a smidgen serious. “Good idea. I don’t want to leave it for Greg to find. He might like the surprise.” He saw him take out his phone, and Nick wasn’t entirely sure what was happening, but he wanted to find out. After dusting the ashes away with his sleeve and grabbing the joint, Nick stepped out of the car and took a deep breath. After collecting himself, he made sure the joint was outside before safely tucking it in his pants pocket. Turning back to the car, he noticed Miles was now in the backseat. Now is the time where he should back out and leave. But he was already in too deep. Opening the car door, he joined his best friend in the back, turning to face him as he did so. “The evidence is gone. We’re good.” He wanted to kiss him again already, but he didn’t want to be too eager. “So…what’s up?”

Miles scrolled through his phone, barely even noticing that his hands were shaking slightly. Whether it was from nervousness or excitement he didn’t know, but it was likely a combination of both. Nick had that effect on him. He finally found the playlist he was looking for, one that he and Nick had made together one day, composed entirely of songs they both loved and some that one insisted be on there anyway. He connected his phone to the aux cord and let the playlist start on shuffle. He tried not to think about the fact that a New Kids on the Block song was the first to play as he climbed into the backseat. There was much more room back there, and a lot less of a chance for something to go wrong (despite how wrong this all was already). He watched Nick join him in the back, and he refrained from rolling his eyes at Nick’s words. He didn’t respond at first, instead moving to remove his jacket. He decided in that very moment that tuxes had way too many layers. “Stop talking,” Miles told him before reaching for the collar of Nick’s shirt to bring their lips together again. He’d be damned if he was going to let him stall and return to their back and forth bullshit again.

Nick faintly registered the familiar song on in the background, and realized that’s what Miles had been doing while he was outside. It was hardly surprising, honestly. If he’d thought of it he would have turned some music on too. He supposed it was only appropriate that this was their playlist. And one of their mutual favorite songs. All of that was an afterthought as Miles began to remove his shirt before bringing him in for a kiss, though. Nick didn’t need to be told twice. Unable to help but smile against the others lips briefly, his hands made work of removing his own shirt and jacket. Nick deepened the kiss, leaning into him while he unbuttoned everything as quickly as he could. They were definitely going to make the most of their time.

Miles had been right, which sort of really pleased him; the music really was helping. It filled the space around them, making it much easier to get lost in each other without having to worry about anything outside of what was happening between the two of them in that very moment. Miles took it upon himself to finish Nick’s job for him, pushing his shirt off his shoulders and discarding it on the floor of the car. He’d never truly been able to appreciate Nick’s body because that was creepy as a friend and this weird more-than-friends thing didn’t often leave room for that, so he took a moment to break the kiss and take it all in. It really was no wonder Miles couldn’t help himself around him. He leaned back in the seat, trying to adjust the way they were to fit in the small space. It was hard, but definitely doable. He reached up with one hand to thread through Nick’s hair, pulling him back down to kiss him again. This was certainly faster than he’d expected, but if they stopped to think about it, it would just get worse.

Nick happily helped Miles in the removal of his own clothes, shrugging his shirt off to the floor of the car before busying himself with trying to remove Miles’ shirt. Fingers slightly fumbling in his haste (and somewhere in his mind he might just be a little nervous too), Nick didn’t move away from their kiss until he had too. He took a sharp intake of breath as he noticed Miles looking at him. And while Nick was used to people staring at his naked body almost daily, none of those people had ever been Miles. And while sometimes the staring made him uncomfortable, this time he didn’t. It only spurred him on further; quickly working to pull his friends shirt all the way off to join his own on the floor. It was a little dark, but he still took a moment to admire the others body. He slid his hands over his chest and down to his stomach — his eyes following along until something on Miles’ arm caught his eye. Raising an eyebrow in surprised, he halted all movement in order to zero in on the picture on his friends skin. “Miles. What the hell is that on your arm?” He couldn’t help the amusement from seeping into his tone, despite the situation.

Miles noticed the way Nick’s breath hitched at Miles’ gazing, and he thought maybe he’d made it weird. But then Nick was doing the same to him and Miles had a similar reaction. He realized it was just as new to Nick as it was to him. Nick’s hands running along his skin made Miles shiver. His eyes darted down to watch his movement. He didn’t realize he was holding his breath until Nick spoke, and Miles let it out as he raised his head to look at him again. Shit. He’d completely forgotten about that. Miles looked at his own arm where the offending tattoo was, and he frowned. “Oh yeah, that — that’s my tattoo,” he stated simply. He licked his lips, meeting Nick’s eyes again. “It’s, um, it’s Scout riding a skateboard.” He hadn’t expected to have to explain it in this exact situation, but here he was. “I was really drunk. I got it with your brother.” He sighed. “I’m not really in the mood to talk about what I did with your brother right now, though.” He emphasized his point by running his hands down along Nick’s back, pulling him close and pressing his own body up against him. He lowered his voice, getting as close to Nick’s ear as he could. “I don’t actually want to talk about anything at all.”

Nick cast his gaze completely on Miles’ arm tattoo as the other male explained himself. He couldn’t help the small grin that made its way onto his face. Subconsciously, he moved his hand up to rest his fingers on top of the tattoo, tracing it as he inspected it briefly. “Nice.” He let out a breathless sort of laugh as Miles pulled him closer to press against him. “Lets not talk about my brother at all right now.” He almost laughed, but instead he leaned down to trail kisses from Miles’ neck to collarbone. “Then don’t.” He murmured against the skin, nipping gently while his hands resumed making their way down his body. “

Miles resisted the urge to swat Nick’s hand away, because he already knew it was there, so he supposed he’d let him get all his curiosity about it out now so they wouldn’t have to talk about it again later. Hopefully he’d just forget about it. Nick’s skin felt hot against his own. Miles’ eyes closed of their own accord, overwhelmed by the overall situation: Nick’s lips and teeth grazing his skin, his hands burning Miles’ skin, and most of all, no promise of either of them stopping anytime soon. Miles didn’t know whether he should worry about that, but he wasn’t about to say anything. He wanted this; he wanted Nick. His hands found the sides of Nick’s face so that he could pull him back up to kiss him again. He knew they should stop, that they should get out of the car and pretend this never happened. But he couldn’t bring himself to.

Nick was undeniably amused by the tattoo, but in all truth he wasn’t about to say more about it at that moment. He wasn’t sure what he was doing; what they were doing. But he did know he wanted to continue. That he didn’t want to stop until they had to, or until Miles changed his mind. He leaned back in to reciprocate the kiss as his friend grabbed him by the face. His hands drifted up Miles’ chest for a moment to cup his face instinctively before he started to deepen the kiss. Deciding to try his luck, his hands drifted their way back down until they were resting on Miles’ belt, thumbs resting against his stomach, he waited until he had some go ahead to go further. As lost in the moment as he was, this was still Miles. He didn’t want to move too fast and have them awkwardly fight with each other.

Miles originally wasn’t sure where this was going to go, assuming that something would happen to stop them before things went too far like the past two times, but this time there were no distractions and he was feeling sort of dizzy because of it. This was real and all of the alarms in his head were going off, telling him this was a bad idea, but he just couldn’t bring himself to care. It was Nick, and fuck if Miles had ever been able to just walk away from him. He broke the kiss, his breath catching in his throats when he realized Nick’s hands had made their way all the way down to his belt. He glanced down, feeling his heart beginning to pound in his chest, because form here there was no turning back. But he could think of no immediate reason to say no, and everything inside of him compelled him to look back up at Nick and nod silently, his arms looping around his neck, sliding a hand up into his hair once again. He’d always liked Nick’s hair, if he were being honest, so naturally he’d take this opportunity to mess it up a little.

Nick knew this was a mistake. He knew this was wrong and that he should just stop before they completely went too far. But being this close to him, with no distractions and after weeks of on and off again fighting, was addicting. At least right now he could admit to himself how much he wanted him. Right now he wasn’t thinking about the rest of the world, or the consequences. Right now, he just wanted to pretend like he was normal and that he could do this; that he could be what Miles wanted. Feeling his heart stutter in his chest at Miles’ signal to continue, Nick paused for a moment to lean down for another kiss while his hands slowly undid his belt and slid off and onto the floor. He let out a soft grunt of approval as Miles’ hands found his hair. He’d always liked his hair being messed with. The fact that it was Miles’ who was doing it was strange simply because it was new. But he wasn’t complaining about it. Cautiously, one of Nick’s hands brushed over the front of his pants, testing the waters before his hand found his zipper.

Miles expected there to be some level of hesitance within himself, even reluctance, but he found that nothing else seemed to matter now. Nothing but how Nick felt on top of him, how good it felt to be close to him in this way. He could feel all sense of self control slipping away with each passing moment. He was desperate to be closer, holding Nick’s head in place to deepen the kiss, and he let a low groan escape despite Nick’s cautious movements. He raised his hips eagerly, finding it much harder to hold back now. He pulled away from the kiss to let out a shaky breath. “Nick.” It sounded more like a sigh, but it reminded him that this truly was Nick here on top of him, kissing him and touching him in the back of his own new stepdad’s car. It was insane. He still couldn’t really believe it. Miles’ lips found Nick’s neck instead, his kisses sloppy and not very well placed, but he resolved to blame it on the drinks he’d had and the fact that he’d never wanted someone so much in his entire life. He supposed Nick wouldn’t mind.

Nick was quickly losing himself in every kiss and every touch. His heart was racing, and if he weren’t so immersed in what was currently happening he’d feel pathetic. He was used to feeling a lot of different ways during sex. Some bad and some good. But it was never quite like this. And they hadn’t even really done much of anything. Not yet. Hearing Miles say his name encouraged him enough to begin to tug the other’s slacks down his legs carefully. Eyes running over his body, Nick’s right hand found itself splayed across his friends stomach, fingertips slowly inching downwards, toying with the waist band of his underwear before beginning to bravely slide his hand under the fabric. The sloppy kisses against his neck only made him want this more, and he hummed under his breath at the sensation before angling his head for another kiss.

Miles could feel Nick’s heart beating at a similar pace as his own. It was a comfort to know that Nick was probably thinking a lot of the same things right now, though Miles would kill to know exactly what was going through his mind. If it was similar to Miles’ own nervousness and excitement and slight fear all rolled into one, though, he knew that he wanted to help him somehow, and the only way he could think to do that was by slowly brushing one of his hands all the way up Nick’s arm and ending up in his shoulder, leaving it there, mirroring how Nick had been a comfort to him just a short time ago — only then they hadn’t been half naked and going at it, but still. Miles paused when his clothes continued to come off, and let his head fall back the moment he felt Nick’s hand on him, finally. "Fuck, Nick,” he blurted without thinking about it. It was weird to him, how it could be so strange but so right at the same time, because he trusted Nick with everything he had, and yet he was still nervous, unlike how he’d been with Lily or anyone else he’d ever encountered. Nick was different in every sense of the word. Miles groaned approvingly before raising his head to meet Nick’s lips once again. Still unable to contain his downright desperation, Miles pushed his hips up once again into his hand. One hand remained firmly clasped on Nick’s shoulder while the other came to rest on his waist. He hooked his finger through a belt loop on Nick’s pants and tugged on them a bit. He wasn’t about to be the only one falling apart at the seams here.

Nick tried to relax as Miles’ hand ran up to his shoulder. This was only Miles, he tried to tell himself. But therein lied the problem. If it were anyone else, he wouldn’t be nervous. But if it were anyone else, he wouldn’t want this as bad. The way his friend said his name definitely spurred him on, though, and he couldn’t help but eagerly press their lips together again. Nick’s fingers wrapped around Miles’ loosely at first, a million things racing through his head. He was touching his best friends dick, and he was sure there was about a thousand things wrong with that concept, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He let out a small groan in return when he felt Miles’ tug on his belt. And with his free hand, he reached down to assist him, trying to take off his own belt the best he could.

Miles didn’t know if he should be more calm about the fact that this was someone he knew so well. It was a lot more nerve wracking instead, which was strange in a way. But he didn’t really want to spend too much time thinking about it. He tried to focus on removing Nick’s belt like he wanted to, but there were a hundred things going through his mind at once. He rocked his hips up steadily while attempting not to break the kiss. He finally removed his hand from Nick’s shoulder so both could focus on the belt and throwing it to the floor with the rest of their discarded clothes. This was so wrong on so many levels, he kept thinking to himself, but that didn’t stop him from pulling away from the kiss to look down and unbutton and unzip Nick’s pants with fumbling hands, moving faster than his brain could keep up. He shoved them down as far as he could from his position, desperation taking over completely. He tugged on Nick’s arm so that he could make space to pull Nick’s body flush against his again instead. Wanting to keep his hands busy, he had one on the small of Nick’s back, pulling him closer as he rocked up into him again, his other hand grabbing the first thing he could find: Nick’s hand. He found himself entwining their fingers without thinking twice about it, raising their hands up above his head to rest on the seat under him. It just felt like something he should do, so he did it, because clearly there was no time for rational thinking here.

Nick felt like everything was happening too fast and too slow at the same time. He could feel Miles’ hands all over his body; leaving his skin feeling hot. The second the other man helped him push down his jeans and pressed closer to him, he was gone. His fingers curled around Miles’ own without a second thought, leaving their hands clasped on the seat below them. With his other hand, he slid it out from under Miles’ underwear only to try to push them down. Chest heaving slightly, he leaned back to look at his friend for just a moment, before completely making up his mind and leaning back down to trail kisses downward. There was no going back now.

Miles felt…different when it was over. It wasn’t a bad feeling, but it wasn’t particularly good, either. He just felt weird. Off. He took a few moments to catch his breath before it really hit him what had just happened, that he’d slept with his best friend in the back of a car — his stepdad’s car, at that. He didn’t know what to make of it. Before he knew it, he and Nick had silently moved away from each other and were working on sorting through their previously removed clothes. Miles was already trying to block it out, all the things he had said. He couldn’t tell if his face was just flushed because of the physical exertion or the fact that he’d said “You don’t know how many times I’ve thought about this” in Nick’s ear at some point. He shuddered at the thought, suddenly moving way quicker to shove his arms through the sleeves of his shirt and fix all the buttons. He glanced over at Nick, who suddenly felt miles apart from him, and swallowed, his dry throat stinging as he did. “I-I don’t…” He wanted to say something, anything, to break the tension, but he didn’t know where to start. “We should get back inside,” he finally blurted without even thinking about it. He immediately felt stupid for saying it, though, because going back in together looking like this would surely raise questions. And besides, Miles couldn’t even look him in the eye.

Nick knew it hadn’t been a mistake to go through with it. He knew it wasn’t a mistake that he’d wanted him. But when it was over, it sure felt like one. The whole thing felt good; better than he thought he’d felt in a long time. And afterward, they’d even had a few short lived moments of peace. But they were just that. Short lived. Soon, they were both pulling on their clothes in complete silence. Nick couldn’t bring himself to even look at him, and judging by the coldness he felt from the others end, he knew Miles was probably having the same issue. “You go.” He cleared his threat and tried to sound natural, even though he wasn’t fooling anybody. “I have to go home. Check on Murphy.” It was a complete excuse, and Nick felt dirty for it. Guilty. But what else was he supposed to do? Go inside and pretend like nothing ever happened? He couldn’t do that, because both of them knew something did happen. And this time, it wouldn’t be as easy to brush off as a kiss was. “I’ll see you later though, yeah?” He said numbly, buttoning up his shirt. He almost wanted to laugh at how pathetic his words sounded to his own ears. Almost. “You can tell me how the reception was.”

Miles’s blush deepened and he looked back down again, fixing his pants and trying to look presentable enough to go back inside. He knew Nick was right that he should go. This had been a bad choice and now they were going to have to face it — but this was the worst time in the world, because Miles still had an entire wedding reception to sit through. He picked up his jacket and slung it over his arm instead of putting it on, then leaned into the front seat to retrieve his phone and Greg’s keys. He didn’t know what else to say. He kept avoiding eye contact while he opened the door and climbed out. The air hit him and was almost dizzying after being stuck in the car for so long. At Nick’s statement about seeing him later, Miles froze. He didn’t even know how to respond to that. When would he actually see him again? “Okay,” was all he said in response, because there was nothing else he could say. All he knew now was that he wanted to be away from Nick, as bad as that sounded, at least for now. He wanted extended family members to buy him drinks until he couldn’t see straight, and he wanted to try and be happy for his mom. He looked at Nick, thinking he should say something else but not quite knowing what, before simply turning on his heel and heading back toward the building to go inside. He had to put on a show now, had to face his mom on her special day, feeling something indescribable the whole time. He didn’t regret it. But he still knew they shouldn’t have done it.

Nick could feel the tension between them grow with every passing moment. While just moments ago, they’d been on the same page, now it’s like they were strangers. Briefly, he felt Miles look at him, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to look back. Nodding, mostly to himself, he finished dressing and stepped out of the car. His own car keys and other items were still stuffed deep in his pockets, and he had to rifle around until he found his keys, but as soon as he did he was off in search of his own car. He had no reason to stay.

[jiminsbyuns-blog]

Day 74

Featuring: Yoongi, You

Warnings: slight language

Written by: Admin V

Those eyes. Those legs. Those lips. Those hands. Only you would fall in love with a boy just by drawing him over and over again. But you really can’t help it--Min Yoongi is just too, too beautiful.  

This isn’t creepy at all.

You sit at the back of the classroom, sketchbook out in front of you. The teacher and the other students are droning on and on, something that is just a faint buzz to you in the back of your mind.

But there was, in particular, one student that you paid attention to.

You bite your bottom lip as your pen scratches across the paper. For some reason, you just can’t capture his beauty the way that you wanted to. You don’t do him justice.

None of your sketches do.

Guilt burns in your chest as you trace out the faint strands of his hair, flawlessly styled naturally without a single thing done to it all.

Everyday, you force yourself to have some common sense.

It’s just an art exercise.

This means nothing.

Don’t you think you’re being more than a little creepy right now?

You gulp, scanning your paper. Check the number at the top of the page.

74/100.

For the millionth time, you curse yourself. Anybody. You could have picked anybody except for him.

But you just love to dig your own grave, don’t you?

Day 1

“Pick a figure to sketch daily throughout the rest of the semester. It can be anything—a person, place, or thing. At the end of the semester, we will review all of the sketches to track your progress throughout the school year. The point of the project is to capture candid moments in everyday life, not staged ones. Remember: if you are a picking a person to sketch, it is imperative that you do so without being found out.”

You let the assignment sheet flutter out of your hands and banged your head on the desk.

It wasn’t that you hated your Drawing III class. In fact, it was great.

The problem was that you had no idea what to choose.

An object seemed boring and it would get repetitive in only a few days. A place wasn’t too bad, but you would have to travel, and you couldn’t guarantee being able to get there every single day without fail.

That left… a person.

But who?

You looked around at your English class. There wasn’t anybody in particular that struck you as interesting, but…

No, you chided yourself.

There was one boy.

Whereas you sat at the back of class on one side, on the other side opposite you was another student. Black sideswept hair. Grey Twenty-One Pilots hoodie. Purple beanie, topped upon his head.

Yoongi.

You didn’t know his last name, but what you did know was that the guy, for some reason, hated you. Every time the two of you so much as made eye contact, he glared at you. And if you so much as entered a conversation that he also happened to be in, he immediately picked himself up and left. Apparently he wanted nothing to do with you.

Why, you had zero idea.

You were just about to cross him off your list when your eyes glanced down at the paper again.

Remember: if you are a picking a person to sketch, it is imperative that you do so without being found out.

Well, if he hated you, he would never find out, would he? He would never come over here, would never so much as glance at you. Then technically, wasn’t he the perfect person for you to draw? You could sketch him to your heart’s content and he wouldn’t even bat a lash.

A slight smirk tugging at the corner of your lips, you flipped open your sketchbook and uncapped your pen.

Yoongi, it was.

Day 20

It was around here that you started to notice something… different.

It was just like any other day, you swore to God it was. You got up, did whatever you had to get ready, and then headed out the door to class. Spring was on it’s way, which made for splendid weather in the mornings when you went on your walks. Sketchbook tucked underneath your arm securely, you hummed a little tune as you made your way to English.

You had spent the past two weeks drawing Yoongi, and it was when you were in the middle of your sketch that you suddenly jolted.

You weren’t even drawing anymore.

You were just staring at him.

He had a slight slouch to his stance, head rested on his hand. His eyes followed whatever the teacher was saying on the screen, not bothering to take notes despite the Macbook propped open in front of him. His legs were crossed, his left foot slightly pointed inwards. Pigeon-toed.

You cleared your throat and sat up straighter. Shook your head. What were you doing? You were supposed to be drawing him, not gawking at him like some sort of weirdo.

You picked your pen up, sketched quickly for the next five minutes, until you decided to call it quits. You could finish another day. Something was feeling off, and you couldn’t for the love of God figure out what.

You shut your sketchbook and forced yourself to stare at the teacher’s Powerpoint instead.

Not Yoongi.

Day 36

By the beginning of the second month, you could feel yourself pivoting.

The more you sketched Yoongi, the more you found yourself thinking about him. English class suddenly became your favorite class of the day. You loved coming into the quiet, empty room—the first person in the morning—and watching him settle into his workspace from the comfort of your desk.

He would take his bag off his shoulder, sling it neatly onto the ground. Pull out his laptop, always open it and turn it on, even when he didn’t take notes. He would seat himself neatly, a tinge of sleep still evident in his slightly swollen eyes, his lips pursed as he gently peeled open the top of his coffee cup, blew on it for a few seconds, and then took a deep sip.

Your sketchbook was full of Yoongis.

Yoongi slouched over.

Yoongi sleeping.

Yoongi typing.

Yoongi reading.  

Yoongi daydreaming.

There were Yoongis with his head on his hand, his cheek squished up oh-so slightly. Then there were Yoongis with his lips pursed and pouted, as he was deep in thought.

You were beginning to pinpoint his good days, his bad days.

Bad days consisted of him coming into class with a stare that dripped murder. Bad days had Yoongi not saying a single word the whole one and half hours. Bad days had Yoongi ignoring everybody else around him, wrapped up in his own world of whatever horrid thing had gotten ahold of him that morning.

Good days were your favorite. Though bad days were Yoongi’s good modeling days, there was something so completely different about him if he was in a more pleasant mood.

Because on a good day, you got to see Yoongi smile.

Good days had Yoongi getting up, moving around the classroom. If you were lucky, good days had Yoongi even laughing—a rare occasion, and something to be treasured. Good days had Yoongi jabbering in non-stop conversations and good days had Yoongi seeming positively radiant.

You loved good days. Good days were harder for you to sketch, but good days were easy for you on the heart.

What that meant, you had absolutely no idea.

Day 47

It was around your forty seventh sketch when you started to realize just how truly beautiful Yoongi was.

His slight gestures and his slight lisp made him most endearing, but a pleasant feeling filled your chest when you were sketching his eyes, drawing the point of his nose, detailing around the cupid’s bow of his mouth.

Because Yoongi’s got the most perfect eyes, slightly slanted, but still full and round and absolutely doe-like. And if he turned at the slightest angle, you could see how smooth and fine the bridge of his nose was. His lips have the most unique, the most peculiar shape to them, and something you particularly loved was the slight chub he still had around his mouth, just a little puff puff.

And it wasn’t even just his face.

You smiled to yourself as you sketched lower, focusing on the positioning of his hands. You loved his hands, too—almost like a pale gold, with every knuckle of every finger detailed and defined.

He stood up to speak to the teacher, and you can feel your heart flutter like some sort of idiot. Because Yoongi’s legs. His calves were something to marvel at, you swear. If his hands and face were a pale gold, his legs were definitely something of a cartier white-gold.

Sitting at your desk, you thought all of these things to yourself and you had never wanted to slap yourself in the face any more than you did now.

Because you know you’re being irrational, and you’re being dumb, and you’re almost completely one hundred and twenty percent sure that you’re overreacting to everything.

But it’s not like you can just stop sketching in the middle of your assignment, right?

Day 51

“Look at him, isn’t he just so beautiful?”

“You mean handsome?”

“No, I mean beautiful.”

You didn’t particularly like to share your sketches with other people, but you always did with your best friend. And though you knew that you were low-key being a total creeper as you explained in high definition detail the knicks and knacks of Yoongi’s artistically beautiful body, you just couldn’t stop yourself. It was as if it all of sudden just poured out of you, like you had this need to constantly talk about him, almost like if you stopped keeping his name upon the tip of your tongue he would simply cease to exist.

Your friend raised an eyebrow at you.

“Are you sure this kind of attraction is normal?”

“Oh, come on! It’s not like I want to date him or anything. I’m just saying—”

“Or do you?”

“Excuse me?”

Your friend smirked as she fingered through the various pages in your sketchbook. Yoongis decorated the whole entire book so far, so many pen sketches. Over and over again, almost somewhat obsessively.

“I’m just saying, it sounds like you’re totally whipped for this Yoongi guy.”

“I-I’m not!” you sputtered, slamming the sketchbook shut. “I just wanted to show his beauty with you, is all.”

“Right.”

“I’m sure he already has a girlfriend or boyfriend anyways,” you quickly said, ignoring the way your stomach did a flip-flop. You grabbed the sketchbook and carefully stored it back into your backpack. “I think you’re hallucinating.”

“Me?” Your best friend cackled. “Says the person that’s going, ‘Oh Yoongi, his nose bridge is just so perfect! You should see his legs, they’ve got the most spectacular definition!’ Next thing you know you’re gonna wanna see his dick—”

“Oh my god, do you ever shut up?!”

You swatted her with your bag as you stood up and got ready to leave room.

“Be careful, you don’t want to ruin your beautiful sketches of your beautiful Yoongi—”

You slammed the door shut behind you and sigh exasperatedly.

But you gulped nervously afterwards.

Looks like she’s on to you, after all.

Day 52

It’s by complete coincidence that you saw Yoongi walking into the cafeteria.

You were paying for your lunch, getting ready to head back to the studio to finish up another project in Ceramics. It was just like any other Saturday for you: get up at four, get to the studio at five. Work until lunchtime, grab your lunch at the cafeteria and then head back to the studio and work until you couldn’t work anymore. The like.

You were slipping your sandwich into your backpack when you saw him.

Yoongi, pulling open the door to the lunchroom and strolling in.

Heart thundering, you willed yourself to look away. Don’t stare, don’t be weird. But you couldn’t, you just had to keep your eyes glued onto his figure as he searched around the lunchroom. And finally, he found who he was looking for and you could only watch in complete horror as he approached a girl sitting with a book and a salad, could only hear your heart snap as he leaned down to kiss her with a smile on his lips.

That smile.

Those lips.

You zipped up your backpack and left the cafeteria as fast as you could.

Day 53

When you sat back down in English class the next day, you couldn’t help but feel a wave of guilt sinking over you.

You flipped through your sketches of Yoongi, smiling sadly to yourself. What the hell were you thinking? That just through observation, you knew Yoongi already? That you somehow had some sort of stake to him?

It was all in your head, you knew.

It was all just a manipulation of some stupid science—hormones and some shit.

Yeah, you comforted yourself. It was just biology doing it’s thing.

Your heart soured.

What were you going to do now? You couldn’t still sketch him, could you? Not when you were…

You wrung out your hands, trying to settle your anxious breathing. You couldn’t be like this. You couldn’t have a crush on a taken guy. You couldn’t—You weren’t—

At the end of English, when the bell rang, when all the kids piled out of the classroom—

Your page was still blank.

Day 54

You’ll get rid of your crush.

You’ll just draw him—that’s it.

Nothing more.

It was only an art exercise.

Just an art exercise.  

Day 74

Now, you’re stuck in a horrid cycle of torture.

You love drawing Yoongi. Maybe, even on some sort of alternate artistic level—

You even love Yoongi himself.

But you know that you’re ridiculous, so you just force yourself to make bareback sketches. A quick outline here, a squiggle for his eyebrow and another line for his mouth. Whatever, maybe you’ll just say that you were going for that sort of Picasso look—even though it’s more than obvious you’re completely bullshitting your assignment now.

Because it hurts.

It hurts to draw Yoongi every day and it hurts to be able to trace the features of his face in your mind and it hurts knowing that you’ll never be able to get a good look at them up close, ever.

Love from a distance.

Keep your distance.

That’s what you should be doing.

But when the bell startles you out of your depressed reverie, you’re too much of a frenzy to figure yourself out correctly. You stand up too suddenly, you movements are hasty, and then all of sudden your sketchbook is wide open on the floor and shitshitshit, somebody’s picking it up and—

On the ground, you freeze.

You recognize those shoes.

You recognize those legs.

And slowly, almost on the verge of tears, you stand up, shame forcing red onto your face in the most humiliating, mortifying way possible.

“This is yours—”

He must see the sketches, because his voice falters. Halts completely, and you shut your eyes, feel the tears welling up.

You don’t know what to say. You don’t know what to say to make him not hate you for being a total stalker and a creep and you hate this project, you hate it, whoever made it needs to go die—

His voice is quiet.

“...Are these sketches of...me?”

You still haven’t opened your eyes. You just nod your head, biting down on your lower lip, trembling.

The sound of pages turning slaps you in the face.

Seventy four.

There are seventy four sketches in that book and now the cat’s out of the bag.

You wonder if you’ll just fail this project, after all.

“Hey, look at me.”

I can’t.

But you do.

His voice is slightly rough, a raspy undertone to it. You love hearing his voice. It’s the first time he’s ever talked to you. It’s the first time you’ve ever been so close to him, in the perfect vicinity to ogle at those features that you love so, so much.

“Can I show you something?”

You can only dumbly nod your head.

Yes.

You shut the door quietly behind you.

Jitters electrify you as they crawl up and down your skin, your heart beating too fast, your temples sweating.

You’re in Yoongi’s apartment.

What he wants to show you, you have no idea. Maybe he brought you here to kill you. Maybe he’s secretly some sort of axe murderer and whoa, you’re breathing way too fast and—

“Follow me.”

Yoongi’s place is pretty neat, pretty tidy. But there are pickpockets of things here and there that trigger your curiosity: different lighting setups, camera lenses on the table. There are some polaroids tacked up on the wall in the kitchen, but from where you stand you can’t quite tell what or who they are of.

He leads you into what you can only assume is your bedroom, and he gestures for you to take a seat at his desk.

Yoongi fumbles around with something in his drawers, until he pulls out a huge envelope. It’s packed with lord knows what, and you’re starting to fidget.

Maybe it’s drugs. Maybe he’s gonna drug you or some shit, goddamnit this was a bad idea.

You gulp nervously, trying to swallow the huge lump in your throat. Your eyes scan the wall above his desk. There are photos, all sorts of different electronic media pieces, but strangely…

None with his girlfriend.

Yoongi is quiet, doesn’t say a single word as he pulls up a chair and sits in front of you. He hands you the envelope with not even a peep from his mouth.

Your hands tremble just the tiniest bit as you open the envelope, reach in and pull out…

You’re in shock.

Photos.

But more specifically—

Photos of you.

You in the cafeteria.

You walking on your way to class.

You yawning.

You running.

You stretching your fingers out.

You taking a walk from the art studio.

And they’re all so beautiful. They’re not creepy snapshots, no. They’ve got such an artistic flair to them, something you would never fathom even ever being able to do.

You laugh out loud in relief.

Tears prickle at your eyes and you swipe them away with ease, laughter bubbling up from your throat and out into the room.

“And here I thought I was the stalker!”

Yoongi snorts.

He smiles.

He even laughs.

And your heart flutters so ridiculously much it feels like monarch butterflies are migrating in your chest.

You made him do that.

You made him laugh.

“Trust me,” he says. There’s a glint in his eye that you’ve never seen before. “I’m probably even worse than you are.”

“So, why the photos?”

Yoongi leans back in his seat, rests his arms behind his head.

“Photography major.”

You nod in appreciation. “Gotcha.”

“This project has been going on for some time now—I probably know you better than you know me.”

“Oh, really?” You cross your arms and scoff. “Like what?”

“Like how you only sketch with pens, never pencil.”

You wave your hand. “Doesn’t count. Everybody knows that.”

“You only cross your right leg over your left. Left over right makes you uncomfortable.”

He’s correct.

“Well,” you shoot, “you only drink coffee that has two packets of sugar. Any more or any less, and you won’t drink it.”

Yoongi smirks. “Fair enough.”

“You have to stop yourself from biting on your nails during tests.”

“And you won’t ever stop bobbing your knee up and down,” he responds easily.

“You hate humans in the morning.”

“So do you.”

“You…” Yoongi falters.

And then the game seems to take a different turn.

“You don’t take care of yourself enough. You skip breakfast every day and on Saturday, sometimes the only thing you eat is that sandwich from the caf.”

Your cheeks prickle with heat. How the hell does he know that?

“You… have a girlfriend you need to take care of,” you say, trying to root the conversation back down before it can go somewhere dangerous.

“Not anymore.”

Your eyes snap up to his.

“No?”

He shakes his head, sighs. “She, uh… She found your photos. Thought I was a creep. A cheater.”

“But you’re not. It’s for artistic purposes.”

He shrugs. “She studies mechanical engineering.”

You frown.

“Is that why you’ve been having more bad days recently?”

He quirks an eyebrow at you. “Sure. Yeah.”

“You should find somebody better. Someone else who actually understands.”

There’s a quiet droop in the conversation. Yoongi sits forwards, and his face looks a bit more pink than it was just a few minutes ago. He falters over his words, stuttering slightly.

You can only watch in disbelief, your heartbeat stumbling over itself, as he slowly laces your fingers together with his. His hand is warm.

“I…”

He smiles—his gummy one, the one you love.

“I think I have.”

if anybody ever found my sketches i think i’d go and set myself on fire lmao

xoxo Admin V

[lifeinahole27]

CSJJ Day 31: “Knead Your Loving”

A/N: Here it is, the final day of @csjanuaryjoy! I am so happy to be the endcap on what has been a fantastic month!! Have some lighthearted smut-glitter with inferences of terrible pornos. Thanks to @sambethe for looking this over and finding all my dumb errors and liking the same silly things I like about this one. (FYI: I have been up for 20 hours and worked both jobs today, finished this fic, and had too much caffeine. Please forgive me for such a title.)

Prompt: My friend keeps lecturing me on the importance of self care and I booked a massage to shut them up.. But my masseuse is the anonymous stranger I fucked at Christmas.

Rating: M to be safe?

So far, 2017 has been… less than kind to Emma Swan. That’s the way she’s putting it right now, at least. She won’t claim it’s anywhere as bad as 2016 – she’ll give it a couple more months before she claims that. But January has not been very gentle with her.

The colder-than-average weather means everything hurts just a little more. Running after criminals in bitter chill doesn’t work as well as in the more temperate weather, so she’s bruised and bumped and has spent more nights with her feet in a tub of hot water than she can really count.

There’s a text waiting for her when she gets home from work, Snow’s cheery message of greeting reminding her there’s a reason she got her a gift certificate to the local spa.

“Treat yo’ self,” Emma mutters out loud, her eyes gliding across the letters as they appear in the message. She can’t remember the last time she did something as simple as relax. She’s been perpetually on the move for what feels like her whole life, but at least the pace she keeps now is up to her instead of being shoved from one home to another in the foster process.

She closes out of the messaging app and dials the number on the certificate before she can talk herself out of the decision. There’s still another week before her son comes back from a winter vacation with his adoptive mother, and it might be nice to hit the reset button in celebration of the new year. Get a massage, clean house, refocus herself, and be ready for whatever the next eleven months might throw at her.

They can’t fit her in until the end of the month, but Emma finds out that Snow went all out on her. The certificate entitles her to a full spa day, with a massage and facial and all sorts of services included. She sets up the appointment for the last day in January and writes it on her calendar. It becomes something to work towards, and she bases all her to-do lists around that single day.

It turns out that, since moving to Storybrooke, Emma has been hoarding more than usual. Maybe it’s because she’s looking to put down her roots for once. When Henry barged in on her over a year ago, she was lonely and walled off, living in Boston and unsure what direction her life was going to take from that point on. Henry at least gave her a starting point.

After a couple months of tension, she worked out a deal with Regina, the woman who adopted her son when she gave him up at birth. If Henry wanted Emma in her life, she was sure as hell going to be there, and Regina finally agreed after much tongue clicking and eye rolling. Thankfully, since the worst of the aggression and wariness wore off, they found they actually get along.

Emma has made several other friends in the small town as well, including Snow. She and her husband, David, have begun taking care of her like they’re her parents. She doesn’t fully hate it, and by that she means she loves it, but she’ll never admit it out loud.

The small town is unlike any she’s ever been to. For one, there’s a decent amount of people, so she doesn’t feel like she’s seeing the same faces every single day. She is, but there’s enough variety to not make it feel that way. There’s also a revolving door on the town limits. Despite the fact that so many people claim they live there, she’s not seen people she met during her first week for months at a time. It’s bizarre.

As far as stress relief goes for Emma, though, she doesn’t really do a lot. She uses the local gym to get a lot of her frustrations out, either by kickboxing or taking spinning classes with Snow. That second option takes a lot of cajoling and bribery in the form of grilled cheese sandwiches for her to get Emma to agree, thus rendering the workout almost useless in the face of the carbs.

The way she most enjoys letting off some steam is by having sex, but in a small town there’s only so many choices, even with the irregularity of the residents. The last thing she needs to do is accidentally one-night-stand one of Henry’s teachers, or a friend of Regina’s. On the list of Emma’s nightmares, those scenarios top it.

Since moving to Storybrooke, Emma’s conquests have been few and far between. But that isn’t to say they’ve been non-existent. There was a romp on Christmas Eve that still leaves her tingling if she thinks about it for too long.

It was good, and that’s the reason she’s still thinking about it a month later. It has nothing to do with the easy conversation he drew her into. It isn’t the fact that a lost girl and a lost boy were able to recognize each other almost instantly, that connection being the starter spark to what was an intense fire of passion as they drove each other over the edge time and time again. Nope, those aren’t why she’s thinking of the stranger with the gorgeous blue eyes that hid sadness and loss. And while the looks and the mattress tango were, admittedly, stellar…

She couldn’t allow herself to fall asleep in his arms. Instead, she chose to flee the moment he fell asleep, without the decency to get his number or leave hers on a note beside the bed. Connections like him only lead to trouble, because it would only be a matter of time before he was either leaving her behind or demanding more than she could give.

Nothing good comes from relationships. Except Henry. He’s the one exception to any rule, she supposes.

When the day of her spa treatment finally arrives, Emma is ready for it. She even leaves her cellphone at home, not willing to accept a single call or text while she’s trying to relax.

She’s immediately bundled into a robe and slippers, compliments of the spa. The robe feels more luxurious than the cotton one she has at home, especially with the thick terry material lining it and the sleeves that dip past her fingertips. She cuffs the extra material and smiles at her reflection, already feeling pampered beyond her norm. With her belongings stored in one of the lockers, she heads back to the waiting area for the next step.

A quiet woman directs her to a little sitting room with a metal basin resting on the floor. This she’s familiar with, even if her own foot bath uses hot tap water from her tub and some of the lavender bubble bath Henry gave her for Christmas. Theirs, however, isn’t lavender bubble bath, and the moment her feet sink into the water, she can feel the tension leak out of her body.

 The woman instructs her to fill out some kind of form about her stress levels and where she carries her tension.

 She ends up circling most of the options, noting all the places she has current bruises from work-related injuries. The woman tuts when she collects the clipboard from Emma, telling her to sit back and relax, and that Killian will be right with her.

Killian. Killian? Oh, shit. Killian.

All at once she can taste peppermint schnapps and rough kisses. She can feel the gear shift in her side as he all but drags her across the console to straddle his lap – no easy feat in an old Volkswagen Bug. Cold hands and cold noses and cold cheeks all brushing and seeking the warmth of the other. An accent and a voice like some manifestation of sexual desire in human form. His lips, and tongue, and eyes, and –

She realizes she’s blushing furiously when the man himself rounds the corner, already starting a routine greeting and introduction as if he isn’t going to find the woman he fucked senseless a month ago waiting for him. Emma can pinpoint the moment he stops glancing at the small bottles in his hand and looks at her because there’s a high-pitched whisper of something that sounds a lot like “bloody fucking hell” tripping out of his mouth before he catches himself.

“Swan,” he says, the oils almost forgotten, as is most of the decorum on both their behalves in a situation such as this. She can feel the flush spreading all the way down her chest, her body remembering every glorious place he touched and how at the simple utterance of that one syllable.

She whimpers, but Killian collects himself faster than she does, launching directly into his spiel about the scents he’s going to use. When he kneels down in front of her to have her smell each one, his voice once again drops to a whisper.

“Relax, love. I promise that no one will know a thing unless you don’t change that terrified yet oddly aroused facial expression you’re currently wearing.” He winks, his smile calm and teasing as he does so.

The words have their intended effect. She huffs out a small laugh while her body relaxes again. She can almost forget all the things they did together by the time he’s declared that her scent for the day is vanilla, until he mentions he’s sure she would’ve been happier with something more like hot chocolate and cinnamon. Thankfully, he doesn’t give her enough time to be flustered about his memory, as he gently pulls her feet out of the water, drying them thoroughly and sliding the spa-issued plastic sandals back on her feet like they’re Cinderella’s glass slippers, instead.

The notion of being naked, save for her most sensible pair of cotton underwear, under a sheet on the table shouldn’t be a big deal. Especially when the man who enters the room again when she’s settled has seen her in much, much less. And is very intimately acquainted with what the sheet and undies are hiding. She hears him pause by the door, and a lone, shaky exhale escape from him.

“Comfortable?” he asks, his voice clear.

Her response is high-pitched, but apparently convincing enough that she sees him pop into view above her. He smiles down at her, explaining the process of the facial and eye zone treatments. She has no idea what half of them are, but he reassures her that it’ll make her look amazing.

“As if it’s possible for you to be more beautiful,” he mutters. He’s moved away, over to the counter by the sink that the small room contains. She hears him readying products and such, but again, has no real idea of what to expect since it’s her first time for any of this, but if she was trusting enough to leave her pleasure in his hands once (or several times, as the memory stands) then she can do her best to relax and give over to a different kind of enjoyment.

Once Killian begins, he is the face of professionalism. He doesn’t speak unless he’s explaining something to do with what he’s applying. He’s gentle, but confident in each swipe of his fingers over her face. His fingers are the exact right amount of pressure on her scalp as he massages. His breath fans over her face once or twice and she hazards a peek at one of those junctures.

While he’s bleary in the dimly lighted room, she can see the intense look of concentration on his face and she takes the quick moment to appreciate his dedication to his job. It’s clear that when he entered this room, their history stayed on the other side of the door.

The hour flies by, and Emma has to admit that she is nearing sleep in her ultra-relaxed state of being.

“Normally, I would recommend coming in once or twice more to complete the process, but your skin is already so well managed that there’s really no need for a follow up facial,” Killian explains as he removes the last of the masque he’d applied. “This completes the first step of your spa package. I do believe you’re signed up for the half-day getaway, correct?”

“Yeah,” Emma says, almost incapable of forming any other response as his fingers smooth over her chin, her cheekbones, along her brows. She has no idea what comes next, though, so she feels she should at least find her words and ask what else is in store for her. “So, do I leave you at this point and go somewhere else?”

He chuckles softly, and she can feel it  ruffle the hair right at her temple, so she waits until he’s done before opening her eyes and turning to look at him.

“You’re stuck with me, I’m afraid.” He says it so seriously, however she can see the smile he’s fighting down and the sparkle in his eyes as he does so. “Would you like a refreshment? Or to use the restroom before we begin the massage?”

“Wait, you’re doing a massage, too?”

“Aye, love. As I said, you’re stuck with me. At least for this half of your treatments. It’s not -” Here he pauses, and she can hear the hesitance in his voice for the first time since she got here. “It’s not a problem, is it? Would you be more comfortable if I found you another specialist?”

She doesn’t have a chance to answer before he’s sliding away on the small rolling stool he’s been using, muttering something about being “bloody stupid” and she almost upsets the sheet that’s covering her when she makes a wild grab for the sleeve of his shirt and instead grasps his arm. “Killian, wait.” He stops immediately, turning only enough to make eye contact with her. “I’m okay. This is okay.”

Still he hesitates, and she thinks he’s going to ignore her reassurance and go find another person to handle the massage, but then there’s one small nod and a hint of his smile, and he declares he’s going to get her a glass of fruit-infused water if she’d like to use the restroom while he’s gone.

It’s a challenge to slip her robe on and wiggle her feet into the sandals again, and even more of an obstacle to get across the hallway to the small public restroom where she locked her clothes earlier. She tries to move quickly, but this is possibly the most relaxed Emma has ever felt in her whole life and she cannot convince her limbs to cooperate with any pace other than glacial.

Despite the time it takes her to complete the simple task, she’s still back in the room and under the sheet when Killian returns with her water, and it’s not until she sees the drink that she realizes she’s parched.

“Make sure as you continue your time here, and especially after you’ve returned home, that you hydrate all day. That’s the key mistake most people make when they get massages,” he says as he places the glass on a small table beside her and urges her to sit up and drink. “I’ve got to prepare a couple things here, so my back will be turned to you. Take your time and let me know when you’re comfortable again.”

She takes his advice to take as much time as she wants, sipping the water at his insistence instead of chugging it down.

“So is this where you prepare the giant bowl of baby oil to dump all over my body?”

“I don’t know what porno you think we’re reenacting, Swan, but I assure you there will be no bowls of oil today.”

She laughs, the sound coming out both amused and embarrassed since he was able to so effectively pinpoint where she may have gotten the idea in the first place. Especially since she’s slept with this particular massage specialist and she’s definitely touched herself to the videos in question. She wonders if she just fucked it all up again, but Killian hums along to the quiet, classical music playing in the room and continues on like mentioning porn is just another aspect of his day.

Suddenly, she wonders if it is. She wonders if other women walk into this room and hit on him. She wonders if he’s ever fucked anyone on this table before, or if he would like to, and she has to drink the last of the water a little faster when she very abruptly imagines herself on all fours, Killian behind her naked and glistening and thrusting into her.

She needs to watch less porn.

But it’s that thought that led her into a bar on Christmas Eve, and led her back out of it with Killian in tow as they headed for her car, and then to his place.

“All done?” Killian’s voice effectively pops the little bubble of Emma’s daydream and she nearly slams the glass back on the table before she situates herself.

Her response is almost croaked out, despite the recent hydration, and she prays he doesn’t notice the flush of arousal across her collarbones that’s slowly spreading downward.

“I’ve no idea what you’ve been thinking about in that pretty little head of yours, Emma, but you need to relax again.” He rubs his hands together and holds them a few inches above her face, instructing her to breathe in and out with him as she inhales the calming scent that reminds her of the bowl of peppermints Snow keeps on the table in the entrance of her and David’s home.

Somehow, over the course of the next hour, Emma manages to turn herself over to the rhythmic repetitions of Killian’s attentions as he massages one arm, then the other. His strong fingers gently but firmly apply pressure to hers, all the way to the tips of each individual finger before moving to the other side and doing the same.

He goes from her scalp to her toes before quietly requesting that she turn to her stomach as he holds the sheet for her to move. After he’s propped two towels under her shoulders, he resumes his attentions across her shoulders and along her spine, stopping just short of where he’s rolled the blanket down to her lower back, and she sighs at each knot that dissipates. It takes everything she has not to moan when he drapes a heated towel over the whole of her back.

When Killian rolls the coverings back up to her shoulders, she has to stop herself from being disappointed, especially when she recognizes the weight of her robe being placed across her legs.

“Well, love, you’re all set with me. It’s on to lunch and the second half of your spa day, now. Your robe is here, there’s a brush on the stool over in the corner and an extra hot towel if you want to remove any excess oil before moving on to the salon portion.”

She hears him shuffle around, moving no closer but no farther away from the table as he does so. His hand ends up resting lightly just below her shoulder blade, the pressure of his palm almost non-existent but she can feel it burning through the layers that separate their skin.

“Emma, I gathered you didn’t want any further contact by the way you left things at Christmas, but I wanted you to know how good it was to see you again.” He pauses, his fingers slipping away as he finally moves, and his voice is even softer as he says, “I hope you enjoy the rest of your day here.”

He’s almost to the door when she sits up, flinging off the sheet and temporarily forgetting that she’s in nothing but a pair of underwear as she rushes to get to him before he gets the door open.

“Killian, wait!”

His face is a combination of shock and confusion as he glances down briefly before focusing on her face, but his eyes don’t stay open long as she reaches up to kiss him. It’s when his hands find her bare back that she suddenly realizes what she’s done, and how undressed she is, and a flush of arousal mixes with one of embarrassment. She keeps herself pressed close against him to try and save some shred of dignity.

Don’t get her wrong, if this weren’t his place of employment, she would have no qualms walking about naked as a jaybird, and would probably insist he do the same. But she does like to pretend that she has tact at some points; this moment will just have to go down as an oversight.

“A lost boy can always recognize a lost girl, right?” she says, her arms wrapped tight around him and her hands clutching the back of his shirt.

“That’s right, love.”

“Well, maybe this lost girl can call this lost boy sometime?”

“I’ll leave my card over on the counter. Just as soon as you turn away, so I can be spared an erection as I go to prepare for the widow Lucas.”

Emma snorts at the mental image, and accepts the quick peck to her lips he gives her. She backs away and brings her arms across her chest at the same time, shielding herself from his view and turning her back to him. She glances over her shoulder and smiles at Killian as he keeps his word, sliding one of his cards onto the counter before he gives her one last wink and vanishes from the room.

She flops onto the table, grousing at herself in the muffled freedom of her robe before she straightens again. She’s diligent with herself after that, taking the extra couple minutes to run the hot (more like lukewarm, now) towel across her shoulders and neck. She brushes her hair and twists it up into a bun before she slides the heavy robe back on and slips Killian’s card in her pocket.

The quiet woman from her arrival is waiting outside the door when she exits, and she leads her to another area where they start the process for a pedicure and leg moisturizing treatment and serve her a light lunch. The quiet woman is replaced by a woman named Tink, who enthusiastically asks her life story while working to make her feet resemble feet, instead of rough blocks of sandpaper.

When she asks Emma what color she wants for her polish, Emma smiles wide at the array of colors she presents and chooses a soft pink. She absently notes that it’s a perfect match to the dress she’s never had a chance to wear.

“Nice choice,” Tink says with a grin, grabbing the selection and getting to work. “So, standard small talk question for you. How’s the love life?”

“Complicated,” Emma says, looking up when she hears footsteps going towards the massage rooms and making eye contact with Killian. He presses his lips together in a smile and disappears into the room, and Emma emphasizes when she repeats, “very complicated.”

By the time Tink has moved from feet to hands, Emma almost feels like she has another friend. The conversation is easy, her smiles are relaxed and happy, and she wonders if this is what spa days are meant to do. Besides relaxing her physically, it’s almost as if it’s repaired years of emotional damage as well. It’s like the people in this place are painstakingly putting her pieces back in place, erasing some of the abandonment issues and blurring out bad memories.

She’s shipped off to one last stop when her nails are finished, this time having to discard the robe and sandals and climb back into her own clothing. She’s also shuffled out of the serene spa environment and sent to the salon to have her hair and make-up done.

By the time she’s out of there, it’s almost dinner time and the sun is setting behind the gloom of winter. She resists pulling her beanie back over her hair, instead fluffing the silky curls over her ears to protect them from the cold. She’s headed straight for her car, but she hears a door shut on the side of the building. She leans a little, peering around the corner just in time to see Killian exiting through what must be an employee door.

She considers calling out to him, but instead clambers into her car to text him. It’s only when she reaches for her phone that she remembers it’s at home in preparation of her quiet, stress-free day, and she mentally kicks herself. But it’s not like she knew Killian would be here, or that she would want to call him so soon after seeing him again. She brushes her fingers along the edge of the card she slipped into her coat pocket and weighs her choices. With a smile, she glances in her rearview mirror to see him in his car, rubbing his hands together as he waits for it to warm up.

Snow did give her the spa day so she would treat herself. Maybe this will cross off another item on Snow’s wishlist of “Things She Only Wants for Emma to be Happy” – hope is within reach again for the first time in a long time.

-x-

When the unknown number pops up with a text message less than five minutes after he’s arrived home from work, Killian would use ‘surprised’ as an understatement to his reaction. Sure, she came after him, and sure, she kissed him (with nothing but a delightful pair of knickers with polar bears all over them, his memory rudely supplies), but she also picked him up in a bar and left before he was even fully asleep.

He’d had to run football stats in his head for two hours straight just to stop his body from reacting to Emma, pliant and softly moaning beneath his hands for both the facial and the massage. He’s pretty sure she didn’t even realize she was making the quiet noises of pleasure and encouragement, and thus he worked on deep breathing techniques and tried to remember as much Latin as he could from his high school classes.

The message is a simple one, inquiring if he’s had dinner yet. When he responds that he hasn’t, she replies almost immediately to ask if he’d like to meet her at the Italian place on Main Street in an hour. He sends an affirmative before he really considers it, but even after the message is sent, he knows he’s made the right choice. Emma’s words about lost girls and boys resonate deep and he remembers how talking to her that night felt like talking to a kindred spirit.

While he’s enjoyed Storybrooke’s small and quiet nature since he moved here, he’s also been impressed that it was possible to get lost in the crowd of a small number of people. But that same nature meant that it just took a few well-placed inquiries to find out who his mystery woman had been on Christmas Eve, all without letting on exactly why he was so interested in Emma Swan.

She’s been on his mind ever since, the couple hours of conversation lingering in the back of his mind during every breakfast, every shift at the spa he’s grown to love, every boy’s night with his mates. Her voice has echoed familiar sentiments as she spoke of being alone for the holidays despite a number of friends, and a son who loved her enough to track her down and bring her here.

Sometimes loneliness is more a mental thing than a physical one, as Killian knows all too well.

He dresses for the location, making sure every hair is in place – which is to say that it’s as artfully disheveled as he can make it. In an act of impeccable timing, he arrives just minutes before Emma’s familiar yellow Bug pulls into the parking lot.

There’s this perfect, slow-motion moment when she climbs from the vehicle and he gets a look at long, lean legs. With one last deep breath, he walks over to her car, ready to escort her in for what he hopes is the first of many dates.

-x-

For the record, they always split the massages, so that Killian isn’t doing all the work. By the following Christmas, the loneliness has seeped from both their expressions, leaving behind the comfort and love that’s grown in its place. And no matter how mind-blowing the sex is, bowls of oil are still never invited into their bedroom.

[bulbsanta06-blog]

Eating BIG in Montreal

Eating like a local: Regional food specialties

- Exploring French-Canada (MTL edition)

We decided to take a trip for our second anniversary. My wife had the time available from work and I'm currently part timing so why not we figured? If it's one rule I try to live by it's the live for now mentality. At least while it's just us anyway. Why Montreal? Well we paired it with Quebec City but in truth it was Montreal that I really wanted to get to. It's a spot I'd been to about a decade ago but that was before I did stuff like this. So we did the typical stuff that 20 somethings do when traveling there. I think I ate poutine at the casino. Ha. So this trip would be much different. As always I had my eyes on Montreal for the food first and foremost. That paired with the facts it's only a two hour flight and early November was off season made it an easy choice. We wanted something similar to Europe.

Sights from Montreal

What's so similar to Europe? Well to start French is still the main language in the Quebec region of Canada. This alone makes you feel like you're somewhere overseas. Maybe not as much so as Quebec City but Montreal has some wonderful historic neighborhoods with cobblestone streets and such. I cant quite pinpoint what it is but I really did love Montreal after this second trip I took. We got lucky in that it was warmer there then it was in Chicago so we had basically 50 degree weather that was mostly sunny. I really want to go back during the summer bc like Chicago I imagine it's electric.

More Sights from Montreal

I always have these large google maps that I make of all the spots I want to try. I was surprised by how many were on my Montreal list. It's a big city and it seemed like my type of spots just kept popping up. Of course it was impossible to get to tall of them which is partially why I think Montreal is the type of city that warrants multiple visits. If you like strolling around town and walking through different neighborhoods than this is a good place to take a vacation. The public transit system was very much reliable and really easy to use. Clean too. Shouts out to the Hotel William Gray which is a very nice place to stay if you like the new school hip and modern hotels that take good care of you.

More Sights from Montreal

________________________________________________________________________

 Beauty's Luncheonette

Montreal is home to a ton of iconic eateries. Some of them have been on my hit list for quite some time. Beauty's Luncheonette was one of them. Opened in 1942 by a son of two Russian-Jewish immigrants it's been a staple of the community ever since. Locals come for both the food and chit chat based on what I saw on our visit. I chose this as our first stop bc we got in early and the most ordered menu item at Beauty's is the Beauty's Special. It's a toasted Montreal bagel with lox, cream cheese, red onion, and tomato. A classic that I can always enjoy. Even if the bagel is toasted. Other popular menu items are the blintzes, challah French toast, and the smoked salmon with eggs. It just started to get packed as the kids of the founder were hosting some sort of get together for what seemed like friends and relatives. Go early or on a weekday if you can bc I noticed a line on the wkd. 

The Beauty Special at Beauty's Luncheonette

________________________________________________________________________

 Pâtisserie Au Kouign Amann

Any time a city's direct comparison is France you better stop and see what's up with the pastries. Pâtisserie Au Kouign Amann is said to be one of the best spots in town. We stopped in for both a croissant and also a bite of the namesake. Not bad at all. Maybe not Paris level or should I say San Francisco which is where I fell in love with the super buttery and flaky Kouign Amann pastry.

Kouign Amann at Pâtisserie Au Kouign Amann

________________________________________________________________________

 Larry's

Larry is short for Lawrence which is a popular Montreal dinner spot. Helmed by a British ex pat who also runs a head to tail butcher it was one of  many spots on my radar. I didn't get into the Restaurant Lawrence on this trip but we did get to enjoy some natural wines at his all day bar Larry's. If it's too early for drinks you can get coffee here and the menu is reflective of all three popular meals in the day. It's the rare chef driven all day spot that every city deserves. We got the chicken liver over toast from the section of toasts on offer and it was wonderful. Some of the best chicken liver pate I've tried.

Chicken Liver Toast at Larry's

________________________________________________________________________

 Wilensky's Light Lunch

Seeing as how we were a short walk from the #1 spot on my hit list I made it happen early. It too is an iconic stop on Montreal's sensational sandwich trail. Wilensky's was opened in 1932 by a Russian Jew who made Montreal his home. There is no grill, or fryers. No plates or silverware either. That’s bc they basically serve one thing which is the famous Wilensky sandwich made with five slices of beef salami, one slice of bologna, mustard, and your choice of cheese (Swiss or cheddar). It’s pressed until the cheese melts and then served on a napkin. Don’t even think about asking for it sliced or served without mustard bc they have never catered to those requests. Don't forget to try a homemade soda and either some sweet or sour pickles. My cherry cola was made right before my eyes.

Sandwich, Pickles, Drink at Wilensky's Light Lunch

Having been visited by the likes of Anthony Bourdain, David Chang, and just about every travel publication out there it's a popular spot for both locals and tourists. I loved sitting at the counter and I loved the sandwich even more. I ended up going back for one on the last day as it was right there. I don't have a Hall of Fame of spots I've visited over years. But if I did Wilensky's is a first ballot entry.

The Wilensky Special

________________________________________________________________________

 Agrikol

Montreal has that French connection which means there's also a Haitian connection. There's plenty of French speaking Haitians around town from what I saw. Agrikol is a hip rum bar where Haitian flavors star in the food. It took us straight to South Beach with it's presentation and vibes. That said I've never quite liked a place in SoBe the way I did Agrikol. Both the food and drink were killer. Specifically the food. I've had my fair share of Haitian down in Palm Beach County and Griot is one of the most popular menu items. The fried pork is one of the cuisines signature dishes and Agrikol gives it a wonderful fresh fry resulting in a piece of pork as juicy as the freshest fried chicken. What takes it over the top is both the wonderful citrus flavors and also the pikliz. The latter of which is a diced up pickled cabbage loaded with sneaky heat. Haitians put this on everything so it's at each table like BBQ sauce is at a smokehouse. Whatever you order make sure you turn it up to 10 with pikliz.

Griot at Agrikol

________________________________________________________________________

 Au Pied De Cochon

You know the drill. When most people look into where they should dine while in Montreal there's two spots that always pop up. Au Pied De Cochon is one of them. Run by the famous Martin Picard it's one of Montreal's OG new age fine dining restaurants. New age meaning all the rules from the fine dining of your youth are kicked to the curb in favor of rustic French-Canadian cooking with lot's of fireworks involved. As in an entire section of the menu dedicated to different preps of foie gras.

 Foie Gras Nigiri

I forget where I saw the Nigiri but it was on one of the shows as these guys are a popular visit from food and travel people. I believe they were on Bourdain's show a couple times. The foie gras nigiri was as good as advertised. I could eat that stuff all day. No surprise to find foie gras and rice going so well together as it's not the first time I've tried the two paired together. After what was an almost unbearable wait we received our entree. Honestly every single restaurant had anywhere from good to great service with this spot being the exception. Our waiter was hardly friendly which is fine as long as I don't have to wait close to an hour for my food. I think it might've been sitting at the station for a good 15 minutes while the waiter chatted wines with another table. Oh well I rarely care about service. I would still go back but after all the great hospitality before this it was a letdown here. The Tajine Pork was extra fragrant and quite delicious but also rather one dimensional with cumin being the dominant spice. I liked it but I didn't want to eat it all night. Good thing we got a single portion.

Curry Pork Tajine at Au Pied De Cochon

________________________________________________________________________

Cosmos Snack

If you couldn't tell by now Montreal has a ton of locals favorite type spots. Places that have been around as long as many of Montreal's people. Located in a pretty residential area is this iconic diner. So beloved that there was a documentary made on Cosmos and it's founder. Tony Koulakis opened his diminutive diner in 1967 after emigrating to Canada from Crete. It quickly became a local landmark known for it's greasy spoon breakfasts and the friendly owner who served them. The documentary titled 'Man of Grease' lives on but unfortunately Tony does not. He was tragically killed by his son back in 2013. His picture still sits overlooking the small counter that seats maybe six.

a peek inside

In spite of his tragic death Tony left behind a legacy in both his diner and it's food. One of the most popular menu items is the famous creation sandwich. It's made with bacon, salami, fried egg, lettuce, tomato, and mayo on toasted challah. I watched from the counter as the lady whipped up three of these as everyone in there was eating them. Upon my first bite it was easy to understand why it was such a popular way for Habs to start their day. It's a damn fine sandwich. Shit I should've got two.

The Creation Sandwich at Cosmos Snack

________________________________________________________________________

 Momesso Restaurant

Continuing along on my little self guided sandwich crawl was another must stop spot on my hit list. I was feeling the Italian sausage subs served at this extremely popular sandwich shop in a pretty Italian heavy area. I visited right around Noon and it got hopping real quick. I think I read that they've been in the area since the 70's. A bunch of Canadiens memorabilia on the walls as well as TV's and drafts of cheap beer gave Momesso the feel of a sports bar. The menu has hot sandwich offerings with the Italian being the first one listed. For good reason. It's their most popular. They take a seasoned Italian sausage patty and fry it up on a flattop before putting it in a bun and topping it with tomatoes, onion, cabbage, oil. Cups of homemade pepper relish come served on side at each table. Delicioso!

Italian Sausage Sandwich at Momesso Restaurant

________________________________________________________________________

 Gibeau Orange Julep

So I had a lot of must stops on my lists and this next one was another. I've wanted to check this place out for a long, long time. Partly do to the food but also bc of the building itself. As you can see in the pic above the Gibeau Orange Julep is housed in a big orange orbit. It's impossible to miss if you're driving past. It opened in 1932 and over time has become a roadside attraction for both the building and the famous orange julep drink. For those familiar with an Orange Julius drink this is pretty much the same thing. They also serve burgers and hot dogs. I was tempted to try a hot dog or maybe a burger but those were coming soon so I held off. But I really liked the creamy orange drink.

Gibeau Orange Julep

________________________________________________________________________

 Snowdon Deli

For those that may have been wondering there was no trip to Schwartz's. What gives? Well first is the fact I went there on my trip a decade or so ago. The other is the long lines and locals talk of it being overrated. They're not the only smoked meat sandwich game in town. The smoked meat sandwich being the most crucial of Montreal's regional foods. The bagels may be the most celebrated but those in the know understand how special the smoked meat sandwich is. Like the bagels the smoked meat sandwich is a product of the city's Jewish community. It's made using a Kosher brisket that's been salted and cured with different spices before being smoked and sliced for sandwich meat. Snowdon Deli is said to serve one of the best in the city and I'll be damned if it isn't bc it was f'ing spectacular. The meats tenderness reminded me of the best brisket I've ate in Texas. Notice they don't slice it too thin? That's bc it's hand sliced. Pictured is a "medium" in terms of fattiness. IT. WAS. PERFECT.

Smoked Meat Sandwich at Snowdon Deli

________________________________________________________________________

Bar Henrietta

As always my wife was on the cocktails and Bar Henrietta was near the top of her list. It was on mine too but more so for the food. As you can read in the neon pictured above this is a trendy Portuguese style tavern. Montreal has a really nice sized Portuguese community and Bar Henrietta is an ode to some of the older taverns found around town. Aside from the drinks they also do a small bar menu of Portuguese inspired bites. We loved all three of the plates we tried to the point where I really thought about coming back. The chicken liver pate was decadent. The roasted octopus with fried sliced potatoes was perfect. We also tried the Bifana sandwich which is one of a handful of popular Portuguese sandwiches. Made with thinly sliced marinated pork and cheese that's pressed in a Portuguese roll and served with sides of mustard and cornichons. So good. Pretty similar to a Cuban.

Portuguese Bar Snacks at Bar Henrietta

________________________________________________________________________

Joe Beef

Many of you already know about Joe Beef. Perhaps the most famous restaurant in Canada. The Kings of restaurant gluttony have built themselves quite an empire. Aside from their original project they have another spot next door as well as a natural wine bar and an upscale luncheonette. Joe Beef being the spot that gave them the ability to do all the others. So as you can imagine people book reservations here well in advance. There were no spots left by the time we knew we were going to Montreal however there is a way to enhance your chances of getting to go. So long as you're willing to find out if so on the day of the meal. There's a Canadian dining app called DINR that you can download for free. Once on your phone you can open it and select your city where you'll be brought to a page with a bunch of popular restaurants around town that have last minute reservations available. From what I could tell Joe Beef has spots on the app every day. We got in easily. After taking a seat at the bar (I prefer sitting there) we were greeted by some enthusiastic locals. Five star hospitality. 

 Quail Stuffed with Sausage in a dill infused broth

The bartenders / waiters were full of life and obviously enjoyed their job. As was the case with just about every place we ate, they were all about the fact we were from Chicago. I swear every bartender and or waiter we had in both Montreal and Quebec City has either been to Chicago or was going and they were all visiting for the food and drink. So them knowing we were from Chicago I think made them bring their A game as they all had nothing but wonderful things to say about our city. All of which I could shoot back at the Quebec region and it's people as the service was stellar just about everywhere. Food wise we weren't let down either. Pictured above was a sausage stuffed quail in a sip it dry dill infused broth. The menu changes daily but you'll never have trouble finding something good.

 Lobster Spaghetti at Joe Beef

One thing you will most always find on the menu is the lobster spaghetti. It's pretty much their signature dish. Not much selling needed by our waiter for this one. The picture doesn't do justice the fact that there's an entire lobster on that plate. It's a dish that pretty much anyone who likes shellfish would love. I like shellfish and so does she. Thus we loved it. At first I couldn't decide between a steak and a beef cheek but in the end it was actually pretty easy. When you see slow braised meats on the menu at Joe Beef you'd be well off to make them your dinner. French-Canadian cooking is all about comforting yourself up on a cold winter night. But it doesn't need to be cold for it to be good.

Slow Braised Beef Cheek at Joe Beef

________________________________________________________________________

Montreal's Bar Scene 

As always we popped around to a handful of the hot local drinking spots. I'd give Montreal's cocktail scene a B+ as it was better than many spots I've been to but not quite on the level of some of the worlds best. We enjoyed drinks at a Vietnamese inspired bar called Nhau. The food is also supposed to be good but we stopped there before reservations elsewhere. Perhaps the best cocktail I've had in some time came from a backdoor spot called Cold Room. It was called the Ube-Macapuno and it was made with rum, purple yam ananas, suze liquor, dry curacao, Bols yogurt, pineapple, and mint. It had an amazing taste that I've never quite experienced. I imagine this is what the cocktails are like in Tokyo. That said the service was SLOOOOOW so be prepared to wait and maybe even order two.

Cocktail at Cold Room

________________________________________________________________________

The Greenspot

One of my favorite things about Montreal's food scene is all of the local fast food spots. They call them Casse Croutes but they can also be diners. The latter of which is what Greenspot is. The diner has been around for more than 70 years. Just like in the States these spots tend to be owned by Greek and or Albanian immigrants. Greenspot felt alot like many of the old school diners in Rust Belt cities such as Cleveland and Detroit. They became popular for their hot dogs which are huge in Montreal. Equally big if not bigger is poutine. Greenspot was said to have a good one so I made it breakfast one day. Though they have something like 27 different poutine options you can't beat the classic. Thick fresh cut fries are topped with a deeply beef flavored brown gravy and fresh squeaky cheese curds. I've always liked poutine even though it's something I don't eat often. Greenspot's was the best I've ever had. This place was a perfect ex. of a greasy spoon diner. I wish I could be a regular.

Poutine at Greenspot

________________________________________________________________________

 Ma Poule Mouille

When it comes to regional treats Montreal has more than their fair share. Portuguese grilled chicken is another one of them. Peri Peri Chicken shops such as Ma Poule Mouille are beloved for their charcoal grilled chicken dripping in spicy peri peri sauce. It's just one of many dishes the Portuguese adapted into their own as peri-peri is originally an African snack. Mozambique to be exact.

Charcoal Grilled Chicken

Ma Poule Mouille isn't the oldest of the bunch but it gets mentioned often as the best in the city. Same goes for their poutine which they add slices of Spanish chorizo into. I wanted to try the poutine but had plans for another stop so we got a half grilled chicken which comes with salad and fresh cut fries. Everyone loves a good plate of charcoal kissed chicken so it's no surprise this place stays packed. In a city where you can easily spend $20+ on lunch this is a great option for the locals.

Peri Peri Chicken at Ma Poule Mouille

________________________________________________________________________

 Pataterie Chez Philippe

Next stop up was on my list for a Michigan. What's that you ask? It's basically what they call a chili dog in Montreal. What's the reason? I cant promise you it's 100% accurate but I do know that they also call them "Michigan's" in upstate New York which isn't far from Montreal. So that's the most likely reason but why do they call them that in NY? My guess would be bc the people in New York named them after the Coney Dogs of Michigan. Detroit to be exact. Pataterie Chez Phillipe is a longtime Montreal casse croute that the locals love for both hot dogs and burgers. I hear the fries are great and the poutine is too by extension but I couldn't do all three. So I rolled with one Michigan and a cheeseburger with everything. The burger had some unexpected fantastic crispy laced edges and was really well made for something like $4. They grind the beef in house. The hot dog was a standard skinless frank from the popular local supplier but the sauce was pretty popping. Great little stop.

"Michigan" Hot Dog and Cheeseburger at Pataterie Chez Phillipe

________________________________________________________________________

Cadet

After five straight days of hearty meat-centric French-Canadian fare we wanted some seafood. This newish small plate and natural wine spot popped up the night of this need. In a true testament to Montreal's dining depth it was one of the best meals of the trip, and it wasn't even on my radar. For starters we had a fantastic plate of octopus with fried chickpeas and eggplant. We got our seafood in the form of a whole fried sea bass with baby bok choy sitting over ginger noodles. I loved this dish and it's light Asian flavors. Also so as to not suffer meat withdrawal we got a plate of pork belly with chicharron, apricot, and barley. Normally I prefer the belly crisped up but this was insanely tender. The natural wine recs by our waiter were really good as well. Cadet is a spot I'd return to for more.

Dinner at Cadet

________________________________________________________________________

 Montreal Pool Room

As I mentioned earlier Montreal'ers love their hot dogs. Or Steamés as they call them. Montreal Pool Room is one of 100's of hot dogs stands in the city but it's also one of the oldest. They've been in business since 1912 and thus have pretty much always been there for locals in need of a late night hot dog fix. Maybe they used to have pool tables, I don't know, but these days I know they don't. Now they may not compare to a perfectly made hot dog in Chicago but I still found a spot in my heart for steamés. Everything on these is diced cabbage, onions, and mustard. Most folks get at least two. 

Steamés at Montreal Pool Hall

________________________________________________________________________

Fameux Gyros Elatos

One of the things I noticed in my research was Montreal's love for souvkali. The Greek grilled pork skewers are found all over town. Many spots specializing in them. Every Habs fan has a souvlaki spot. I scouted this old school looking spot in a Greek dominant neighborhood and made my way over on the last day. Elatos is a compact family run Greek counter. It had the feel of a diner. I think it was father, daughter, and son running the place. I originally came here for the souvlaki but when I arrived I was greeted by a huge cone of fresh layered gyro meat. Thus my decision to get a combo plate was an easy one. Both the souvlaki and the gyro rocked. Would've liked a bit less sauce on the gyro so I could really taste the meat straight up but it was still super satisfying. Another good one.

Gyro Sandwich at Souvlaki at Fameux Gyros Elatos

________________________________________________________________________

Lester's Deli 

The other smoked meat sandwich that I wanted to check out comes from Lester's Deli. This old school spot has been a part of the heavy Jewish neighborhood since 1951. You can feel the nostalgia upon walking inside. I was tempted by the smoked meat breakfast plate but a sandwich is hard to beat. The typical way to eat a smoked meat is just mustard though some folks get cheese. This was yet another killer sandwich to be found in Montreal. Just fantastic. They have a spot at the airport too.

Smoked Meat Sandwich at Lester's Deli 

________________________________________________________________________

St. Viateur Bagel Shop

You knew this one was coming. Reason I waited until the last day to stop here was I wanted to bring the bagels home. I arrived to a pretty tame shop but within three minutes the place was packed. St. Viateur has been making their wood fired Montreal bagels since 1957. There's an argument to be made that it's the number one attraction in the city. Just realize that they only sell bagels. I think they have a fridge with cream cheese and such but you'll have to make your bagel sandwiches on your own. Montreal bagels are a bit sweeter than their NY counterparts. I'm not a hardcore bagel guy so I cant comment on which style is better. I can just share my thought on these which is pretty good! Like so many other famous food stops St. Viateur has a dueling competitor in the nearby Fairmont Bagel. I stopped there after going into St. Viateur but there was a huge line and I had to go pack. 

Bagels at St. Viateur Bagel Shop

________________________________________________________________________

Montreal's Chinatown 

After packing up we had an hour or so to chill. So I walked over to the Chinatown area which we had only Ubered through earlier. With it being the weekend there were quite a few people out and about eating noodles, dumplings, and such. I ended up stopping at a spot called Qinghua which specialized in dumplings. Actually I was surprised by how many specialty dumpling shops Montreal has. This one wasn't at the top of my list as reviews were mixed. But the spots I wanted to try weren't in Chinatown so this was my fallback. Not bad but I felt what others were saying in that there's better.

Dumplings at Qinghua Dumplings

________________________________________________________________________

Note: To find the locations of all the spots featured in this post, as well as places I didn't make it to, please click HERE for my google maps guide to Montreal. Stay tuned for Quebec City.

Source: http://chibbqking.blogspot.com/2018/12/eating-big-in-montreal.html