#well I’m going to Milwaukee. fuck you old man

[westerberg]

Bob Dylan tour skipping over Twin Cities AGAIN…. why even have two Midwestern legs if ur gonna do Wisconsin twice but ur beautiful home state never……

[laundrybiscuits]

(Hanahaki AU tag : 1 | 2 | 3 | 4)

Sometimes Eddie thinks stories are alive, somehow. Not in a gateway-to-a-magical-world sense; more like kudzu. Invasive, demanding, immortal. You think you’ve cut them to pieces and salted the earth, but they come back when you’re least expecting them, smothering any bullshit ideas about individuality or making your own way.

Like the story about the Munson boy: bad news, good-for-nothing, stealing and dealing, always in hot water with the law. Eddie’d tried like hell to fight that one, but it just came for him twice as hard. He clings to all the ways he’s not like his old man, but he’s still so shit-scared that when push comes to shove, the ways they’re different don’t matter as much as they ways they’re the same. That story’s got him by the throat.

And now the story about the other Munson boy, the quiet one: born wrong, they said. Wrong enough that they had to cut it out of him. 

Eddie loves Wayne, but he’s never wanted to end up like him. Eddie had foolishly—foolishly!—thought that maybe there could be something different, like maybe his life could grow in bright new ways up and out, stretching sunwards. Instead, there’s the mile-a-minute strangling vines, overtaking him and smothering out any hope of light. 

It’s like those older stories, the ones about prophecies, right? Eddie used to love those when he was a kid. He’d been obsessed with the library’s battered copy of D’Aulaires’ Book of Greek Myths, checking it out again and again just to pore over the colorful illustrations of golden fleeces and golden apples and children born from eggs. Characters like Oedipus who tried to outrun their destiny could never really win. That’s a story to warn you about stories, for sure. It lays everything out: the futility of trying to run, and the way you’re going to try anyway.

So he should’ve known better, that’s all. Nothing ever really changes for the Munsons; those kudzu stories always come to drag them back into their place.

———

They run across an old-fashioned frozen custard place outside of Milwaukee, all neon and aluminum siding and servers in little paper hats. Steve screws his whole face up into a grimace. “Do we have to? I’m getting flashbacks to when me and Robin worked at Scoops Ahoy.”

“You what? Did I know this about you? Wait, did you wear—”

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, Munson. That uniform is the worst thing that ever happened to me.”

It might be the worst thing that’s ever happened to Eddie, jesus. He can’t stop picturing it. Damn his vivid imagination and active fantasy life. 

“Well, Harrington, I have the overwhelming need to put some frozen custard in my face immediately, so you’re just gonna have to deal with the trauma.”

Steve gets a frozen custard too, despite all his complaining, and they sit in the back of the van to eat. It’s a pretty day out, and the place is humming. Lots of families around. 

“So do you still have that uniform?” Eddie’s a fucking masochist for asking, but he can’t help it.

“Kind of? It’s…wait, did anyone tell you about Starcourt and the Russians?”

“Uh.” Eddie blinks at him. “Starting to think I’ve been left out of a few loops, here.”

It’s a good story. Steve’s not a very good storyteller, he keeps going on tangents and repeating himself, but Eddie likes listening to him anyway. It’s nice to see him waving his hands around, clearly forgetting that he’s still holding a mostly-eaten tub of custard, and telling an objectively absolutely buck-wild tale. Eddie only has to hide a coughing fit once, and he manages to drop the gross ball of brown-and-yellow plant matter under the van without Steve seeing. It’s a pretty decent way to spend an afternoon.

When Steve’s done, Eddie whistles long and low. “Steve fuckin’ Harrington. At this point, I don’t think anything you can tell me is gonna be surprising anymore. Like, if you said you’d traveled back in time to kill JFK? I’d be like sure, sounds about right, bet you had a pretty good reason for doing that.”

Steve snorts. “I think you know everything about me now, dude. All the important stuff, anyway.” He slides a look over at Eddie, suddenly weighty and serious in the way he gets sometimes. “I know there’s stuff you’re—stuff you don’t want to tell me. Part of the whole, uh, Eddie Munson thing, right? But I think—I hope I know you too. Who you are. Even if I don’t know all your stories yet.”

Eddie draws his knees up and rests his folded elbows on them, letting his hair fall forward to shield his face a little. It feels like there are so many important things that he’s trying to carry around under his skin, too many for any one person to hold, and one of these days it’s all gonna come spilling out, infinite and messy, raw and inconvenient, damning.

“Yeah,” he says. “I guess maybe you do know me enough.”

[sorryjustafangirl]

seattle worries

a/n: it was about time i wrote for the toothless love of our lives mr erik johnson. im still mad at him for waiving his nmc even though people saw it coming so i wrote this while at work and because im in a slump. enjoy. gender neutral reader

pairing: erik johnson x reader

word count: 1.5k+

warnings: mentions of pandemic, a few swears, expansion draft

disclaimer: this is a work of fiction and real person fiction if you don’t like that, please don’t read! this lovely gif is not mine! credit to the wonderful gif-maker

You and Erik had been dating for about 2 years now and things could not have been better. The two of you had been set up by a mutual friend after the Avalanche were eliminated from playoff contention. EJ was a natural charmer and swept you off your feet, despite any nerves he felt that night.

Then a pandemic hit and Erik decided that you should move in. In case we have to repopulate the Earth, you know, he joked, but he was serious about his proposition. Your friends all gave you skepticism when you accepted; after all, you were moving in with a man, a professional athlete at that, after less than a year of dating. But you knew it was the right decision. Even when Erik went to the Edmonton bubble, you never felt lonely because you were in the space you shared with him, the space you knew he’d come back to.

Now, a year later and your relationship had been through injuries, an infectious disease, and hectic NHL life. You honestly thought nothing could break you.

Until now.

You were seething. How couldn’t he have told you? Sure, he could be a dumbass sometimes but he’d have to be a whole ‘nother kind of stupid to think you wouldn’t find out.

The thud of his hockey bag and the clang of his keys hitting the trinket dish on the hall table shook you from your thoughts. He walked into the kitchen, where you stood with your hands gripping the counter, with a smile on his face that quickly disappeared when he saw the scowl on your face.

“Hey baby…” His voice was hesitant, obviously testing the waters.

“How could you not tell me?” Your eyes were set, your jaw hard, and you could feel the tension in your shoulders. He sighed but didn’t say anything. “How could you not tell me you waived your no movement clause Erik? I found out from fucking SportsNet!”

“Look, I was going to tell you-”

“When?! You couldn’t find a good time to talk about how you might throw away your life here in the past two months?!”

“That’s not fair! No one ever said anything about throwing my life here away.” His voice raised but you didn’t back down, not with the way your cheeks were hot with anger.

“Oh, so you just expect me to drop my life here to go live in Seattle? Because your career is more important than mine?”

“I never said that! God, I hate it when you put words in my mouth!”

“Well, I hate it when my boyfriend doesn’t consult me on something that affects us both!”

“Why are you so angry about this? Nothing’s happened yet, they might not even take me!”

You scoffed at him, but it came out breathy because of the tears welling in your eyes. “I’m upset because it feels like you aren’t even considering us in your career. Like you don’t care how this affects me too. Like you don’t even notice you’re throwing us away.” Your voice cracked at the end, tears falling from your eyes. You turned away from Erik in an attempt to hide your emotions but he knew. He knew from the way you hunched your shoulders and the way you shut your eyes, you were crying.

Slowly, he came towards you, his step gentle. His arms around you were like glass until you clung to his shirt; then they became like a warm blanket- all encompassing and familiar. Sobs racked through your body and he traced his hand up and down your back. He placed a kiss on the top of your head lightly before smoothing your hair, trying to soothe you. When you finally calmed down, with only hiccups left, he took your face in his hands, wiping away the tear stains off your cheeks.

“Who said anything about me throwing us away? Hmm?” He spoke softly as if he was trying not to frighten a calf. When you didn’t answer him or meet his eyes, he bent down to your level, meeting your weary eyes and repeated his question. When you stayed silent, he kissed your forehead before placing his own against yours.

“I’m not throwing us away, okay? I’m not. Even if you think I am, I promise you I’m not. You’re stuck with me, okay? You got it? I’m not leaving you,”

“But what if Seattle-”

“If. If, baby. It’s not set in stone, it’s an if. A possibility. Joe doesn’t even think they’ll take me. Waiving my contract meant they could protect another D. I haven’t played in practically a season, Seattle probably won’t want me.”

“Probably. Meaning there’s a chance they do want you,”

“There’s also a chance I get hit with a car tomorrow, or that it starts snowing in July.” When that didn’t crack a smile from you, he sighed. “I don’t know what’s going to happen and I wish I did and I wish I could guarantee I stay here but I can’t. But I can guarantee that I’m not giving up on us, even if I go somewhere else,” He ended with a soft smile but furrowed his eyebrows when he saw your eyes go hard again.

“So you’d still expect me to go with you then?” You broke away from his embrace. “To pack up everything I’ve ever known just because you waived your contract?” You shook your head and started off towards your bedroom.

“What, no! No! Baby, c’mon,” He grabbed your hand and turned you to face him. “I don’t expect you to change your whole life for me. I know your job and your friends and your life here is important to you. But I do expect you to have a little bit more faith in me, in us, that we’d figure it out.” He sighed again and dropped your hand to run his hands through his hair.

“Look, hypothetically, hypothetically, if Seattle took me, I only have a year left on my contract. After that, I can decide where I want to go. So it’d be one year, not even, just one season where we’d have to do long distance if you don’t want to move. We could do that. I know we could. And… I’m not as young as I used to be. I don’t know how much longer I’m going to be able to play. And so when that day comes, I can be wherever you are. I don’t care if it’s Milwaukee, Hawaii, Seattle, or here. I want to be wherever you are, even if it means we do 8 months apart. I’ll do 8 months apart if it means the rest of our lives together.”

The two of you stood there in the hallway, silent, contemplating what was said. Even though you had lived together for a year now, this was your first major fight. And your first real glimpse into your future. Sure, you’d mentioned in passing getting a dog or a house with an acreage for his horses, but it was all in passing. EJ was a joker and although he makes you laugh like no other, he isn’t the kind of guy to get serious too often.

“You want forever with me?”

“Fuck yeah, baby. You’re it for me. And you have for a while now.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me you were waiving your clause?” You were pleading with him at this point, your eyes searching his for any sort of answer.

“I didn’t want you to freak out, which based on tonight, was fair enough on my end. And seriously, Joe doesn’t think they’ll take me. I’m old and injury prone. But Sammy isn’t. And we need Sammy. It was for the good of the team. And if I told you, you would’ve tried to talk me out of it.” He shrugged. “But I’d already made up my mind.” He reached out to take your hands again, his thumbs rubbing your thumb knuckles. “It wasn’t against you. I didn’t tell anyone I was waiving it until it was done,” You were silent as he continued to caress your hands.

“I want forever with you too, you know?”

His eyes sifted and his signature goofy grin made its way into his face. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You looked up at him and squeezed his hands. “Even when you’re being stupid and leave me in the dark,”

“Well then I’m a very lucky man,” He pressed his lips to your cheek in a sloppy kiss which pulled a smile from you. His smile grew wider in triumph. “There’s the smile I know and love. C’mon, let’s go to bed, yeah?” You nodded and kept your hands intertwined as he led you to the bedroom. The two of you slowly got ready for bed, EJ slipping under the covers first. He opened the blanket for you, and you turned off the light before finding you spot cuddled into his side, your head resting on his chest. His hand ran over your hair, whether to soothe you or him, you weren’t sure.

“I love you. And nothing, not even Seattle, will ever change that.” He whispered into the dark room.

“I know.” You pressed a light kiss to his chest and laid your head back down. “I love you too.”

“Whatever happens, it’s me and you babe. I promise.” He kissed the top of your head and slowly you both fell asleep, his promise of the future lulling you into a peaceful slumber.

let me know what you think! thanks for reading!

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[letswrites]

what about feeling homesickness and Calum comforting her?

thaxxx! i changed a bit, hope you like ❤

Home

He was standing in front of her house, it's was a fresh end of the afternoon in LA, with a cool wind and a pink-shaded sunset. He had a cigarette between his fingers in one hand and the other one was resting at his side after he knocked on the door. She opened and locked it with her key "night" he checked his iPhone '5:57 pm' "almost night. And you are gorgeous. As always" "thanks, you are too" she directed her gaze to the cigarette quickly, but not quickly as he dropped it onto the ground and stubbed his foot in it. She hated when he smoked. "thought you were going to quit" "I will" "yeah and I will fly away from this damn city" "what is wrong with LA?" "It isn't home" he knew she missed her hometown, Milwaukee, and he also knew she had duties in LA and she knew that too "babe..." "It's alright" she breathed deeply before look at her boyfriend and smile "thought we were going, huh?" "Yeah, sure, let's go" "let's go" he took her hand in his empty one and they walked to her car. She had a glowing conversible candy apple red 1966 Ford Mustang that Calum was never allowed to drive "why I cannot drive?" "You know why" "oh, come on. It's old shit, honey" "no! Almost kill me isn't 'old shit'" "was an accident and you just broke an ankle" "A leg" she sat on the driver's seat and he watched how good she looked in the sunset "hey!" She snapped her fingers "aren't you coming in?" "fuck! Sorry. it's your fault!" he jumped into the car and put on the seat belt "I will not apologize for you having a terrible sense of beauty" she had low self-esteem sometimes "my sense of beauty is perfect" he leaned closer and cupped her face "just as you" "you are perfect" she smiled and pulled his neck to a passionate kiss. A calm and warm, but passionate kiss "but, seriously babe, let me drive" "no!" she turned on the engine, adjusted the mirror and backed up the car from the driveway without taking her gaze from the mirrors "that's how you back up the car with safety" he groaned, throwing his head back "It happened once! And it was an accident" "I know, just recalling" she winked and made the way for the downtown.

Last year, before they started dating, she asked Calum to back the car out of the driveway, but he did it without looking in the mirrors, according to himself "who the fuck know the right side of pen drives?" and ran over her. Accidently, of course. For luck, she just broke a leg and he took care of her, and due it, they become closer. "You know, there're some bad things that happen for good reasons" "I thought we were done with this subject" he squeezed her right hand "if I haven't given all my attention to the damn pen drive and ran over you, maybe we'd not become closer as we did" "yeah... fine, I will let you drive" she parked the car left the driver's seat "move on, Cal!" he stood up and gave her a deep and quick kiss before sat down in the driver seat and squeeze the beige leather steering wheel "I love you" "love you too, but now I'm fucking dying to know where we're going" "you were driving and I have to know?!" "yes, Mr. driver" she teased, he giggled "fine. Know a place" "good".

*

They were on a road that she didn't recognize "Calum" "my name" he loved when she said his name "where are we going?" "It's a surprise" "oh no. Please, don't do this to me" "sorry, babe. I didn't make the rules" "which rules?" they laughed together "okay" she turned on the radio and tried to connect with some decent station "fuck" "you know you can use your pen drive, right?" she had taken the pen drive off the car "not with you in the wheel" you know, just for caution. he rolled his eyes and she finally connected with some Latin radio station

'Once de la noche y todavía no contesta'

'Un de la mañana y todavía no hay respuesta'

"Oh, no! No way!" "What?" "I am not bilingual like you" "and...?" "Not listening to something I do not understand" "so are you graduated in Korean now?" "No..."

'Cómo hacerte entender...'

he swallowed dryly a little "don't know what are you talking about" "no? What about that time you got drunk and sang out loud BTS's songs, huh?" "Only the English parts! Now just change it" "but it's Maluma!" he looked at her without blinking and pouted "fine" he smiled like a kid

'... eres muy bonita pa' llorar por el...'

She changed the radio station once more and found a random one

'Day to night to morning, keep with me in the moment

I’d let you had I known it, why don’t you say so?'

"You got to be kidding me" she giggled "I hate this song!" "I know" she kept laughing

'You got to keep me focused, you want it? Say so'

"Just turned it off" "oh, but I like it" Calum turned off the radio "no songs for you" "hey, that's my car! Spent lots of money on it" "But I am driving" "don't make me feel more regret than I already am" he laughed and leaned quickly to kiss her cheek "hey, Cal" "hum?" "I am bored" "you're acting like a fucking kid" "no. I am a fucking kid" "well, it's not a long ride. We'll be there soon" "where is 'there'?" "Nice try, nice try" she pouted and laid her head on the window so she could stargaze and think about how lucky she is to had been run over by the man driving at her side. She was so so in love with him.

*

Flashback:

Some friends had texted her. Bon Jovi was going to be in town and they have two tickets more. They gave it to her of course expecting she'd invite that guy she hanged out a few times, definitely her new crush. Calum. Such a beautiful name 'thanks Roy' he had introduced them. For some miracle, she got the guts to invite him.

[4:28pm]

'Be here at 6pm'

[5:17pm]

'Your place is so far from where I am now'

'You can drive my car'

'will be there in 40 minutes'

She grinned, shook her head lightly and blocked her phone to finish her makeup 'he will never desire me' she thought even knowing she will try to impress him anyways. Was 5:55pm when he arrived "I have exactly 2 minutes in advantage" "you made it, next time I will let you have a rest" "thanks" he pecked her cheek out of breath "are you ok?" "Yes, you are just breathtaking" he laughed "oh, I am not" "yes, you're. Always" she blushed "thanks" "you're welcome. Can I have a glass of water? The bus stop is far from here, you know?" "Yeah, sure come in". She gave him a glass of water and dropped on the sofa "thanks" "how can I refuse water for someone? Especially someone like you" he arched an eyebrown "someone like me?" "Yeah" "how is someone like me?" he dropped next to her "ridiculously healthy" "oh" he giggled "thanks. I really appreciate" "so, where were you?" "someone is interested in where I was" he teased, she rolled er eyes "you love annoy me, don't you?" "And you still have to ask? Anyhow, I was hanging with a friend" "'hanging with a friend' means banging with a girl?" "What?!" He started laughing "are you jealous or something?" "No..." She blushed "just trying to know you better" "so why are you blushing?" "I..." "Relax, I was with Luke. He is planning a trip to our home country with Ash and Mikey too. So we went out to lunch, but he lives far from here..." her body relaxed and she smiled "Australia is very nice" "is the best place in the world" "yeah, except the fact that is not Minnesota" he laughed "keep dreaming, kid" "I am two months older than you" "whatever, ms. jealousy" "'m not jealous!" "you looked so relieved when I said I was with Luke" "I didn't" "it's ok, I already admitted to myself that my love life is a joke anyways" "I bet it's not true" "trust me, it is" "thought you were the kind of guy that spent the night in 3 parties and in this 3 parties, hook up with at least 2 girls. At the same time" he laughed out loud "oh, honey, I used to be that guy, and now I am feeling very proud of myself" she giggled "why you are not that guy anymore?" He cleaned his throat "well, I met this lady, some months ago, and now all I do is think on her. I made out with someone a few days ago and couldn't finish the job, because was thinking on her" 'wow that hurted' "wow... You should be with this girl right now, not with me" he looked at her, 'unfreakingbelievable' "I literally made an hour and a half trajectory in 40 minutes to go in a concert just to be in your company cause' honestly I am not going to this concert because I want to see old Jon Bon Jovi sing 'bed of roses' and take ladies to Heaven..." she giggled "why do you think I did that?" "'Cause you're an idiot" he grinned "you are right, I should be with the my romantic interest" she frowned a little and they just stayed looking inside each other's eyes for a minute "I-I think we should go" it felt like he raped her with his gaze "are you ok?" "I dunno" "alright, tell me if you will need an ambulance" "okay" "so, where is that bad boy keys?" she chuckled "here" she gave to Calum the key "please, be careful" "my middle name is safety" "really? I thought was Tomas" "details, details". They were on the driveway ready to go when she saw Ginger, her cat, with the paw stuck in the water drainage grid "oh! wait a minute" she left the car "what's wrong?" "My cat. you can back the car while I help Ginger?" "no problem. Am I allowed to listen some music, too?" "Sure. The pen drive is in the glove compartment" "'kay". she ran to Ginger to help her little baby "my God, love, I am here" Calum grabbed the pen drive in the glove compartment and started back the car slowly without looking in the mirrors "well, it's done, Ginger. You are free now" she freed her cat that ran back to the roof. Calum was fighting with the pen drive's USB entrance "why I never put that shit on the right side?" and he forgot that he was backing the car. She turned to went back to the car or they would be late and all she could see was the car's trunk colliding with her hip. When he stopped the

car she was already on the floor. She definitely needed that ambulance now.

He took her to the hospital and then back to her place. He locked the front door and she dropped onto the sofa, now with a broken leg "that was the last time you drove my car" "you're sure?" he joined her on the sofa "you will need someone to help you during the next two weeks" "I have other friends..." "So we are still friends?" "Yes" "I am sorry for ran over you" "yeah, be mad with you will not change what happened" "it's because of this that I will be the one who will take care of you. Remember? My middle name is carefulness" "Wasn't safety?" "Is a long full name, see? Calum Safety-Careful Tomas Hood" "hum, I don't think so" they laughed "sorry, again" "stop apologizing and start looking for a driver costume" "I will not do that" "why not? Would be so sexy" she bit her bottom lip "you think?" "You are already sexy so..." "I'm" they laughed "okay, you don't need a costume, but I will need help in the shower, instead" "I will love to help you with the shower" "I was thinking in call Roy" "call Roy?!" he looked a little angry "you should see your face. And I am the jealous one here" "well, I just maybe, just very very maybe am into you" she smiled and blushed a little "I am into you too" "you are saying that only because do not get turned on by Jon Bon Jovi tonight" she laughed "And you are saying this only because you ran over my leg" he turned his grin to a line "No. I really mean it" "me too" she bit her bottom lip and he smiled again "but… unfortunately, you are not literally into me" "not for too long" soon the distance between them became minimum and in a blink of eye, they kissed. They kissed like already did that for years, like their lips met each other already before, even being the first time. Calum laid her back on the sofa and things started to get hotter, soon her Bon Jovi's tank top flew across the living room. She broke the kiss "what are you doing?" "I am trying to make up, because of the concert. Do you mind?" she smiled "you really know how to fix up the things" and they kissed again, now his black tee was off and...

*

"Honey, 're you alright?" Calum took her off the flashback "oh, yes. Was thinking in the first time we fucked" he laughed "so delicate" "sorry, the first time we 'made love'" "uh, that was bad" she laughed "thanks for ran over me, by the way" "only you for thanks the idiot that ran over you" "well, you are an idiot, but you are my idiot" "possessive" but he was hers and he loved that "oh, shut up" he laughed "so, was thinking in the week after your leg was better, huh?" "That wasn't the first time we fucked" "It was" "no, we fucked after you took me home in the night it happened" "no, no. I fucked you that night and I thought we had fucked, but three weeks later I discovered that I was wrong" "I am not..." "The way you move, babe, when you were with the broken leg wasn't sex with you, was sex for you" she laughed "It should be a compliment?" "Yes. And a good one" "well, in that case, thank you very much" she directed her gaze back to the sky and he looked at her, he was so in love

*

About 30 minutes later, Calum was taking the exit on the road to Santa Monica, she had read that in a sign. "Santa Monica!" "yup" "the pier?" "Yes" "oh, you know I love a pier, is…" "…so romantic" she laughed at him pretending to be her "but, we are not here specifically because of the pier" "so why?" "You will see" "please, stop. It's killing me" "oh, you're such a drama queen" he parked the car and turned off the engine "let's go". He tugged her to the amusement park "that's so exciting! what are we gonna do?" "fucking kid" she giggled "we'll play hockey" "what?!" he guided her to the Playland Arcade "that's..." she was confused that couldn't even talk "there's a lot..." "air hockey tables? yes" "but..." "Look, I know that do not have ice and is not real hockey, but I thought you'd enjoy" he rubbed the side of his neck "hockey remembers you home, right?" she had some water on her eyes and a true smile "I would like everything since it came from you" he smiled and flipped the disk "so, let's see if the Milwaukee girl still in flames" "you definitely know nothing about Winsconsin"

*

She won, of course "Badgers rocked your ass Aussie boy!" as she said, and they decided to rest on the pier, her head on his shoulder and his arm around her body "that was lovely" "me losing or your very kind comment about it?" she giggled "no. You remembered the air hockey here and tried to diminish my homesickness" "I understand how bad it is" "thank you" "no, thank you" "for what?" "To be with me, to love me, I was taking the wrong way before met you, you know?" "Well, shout out to Roy" "shout out to Roy" he repeated and they laughed "I was thinking in buy a ticket for you. To go home for a few days..." she looked into his eyes "what do you think?" "don't" she said smoothly "you sure? I have been saving money to paying the first tax to a car mortgage, but it can wait..." "No, Cal. Buy your car" "but you miss home" "yes, I miss it, but..." she cupped his face "I have you here and I realized... my home is you" he smiled and dipped to kiss her. She rested her head back on his shoulder and watched the moonlight reflecting in the ocean "and you are mine" he whispered against her hair. she smiled and enjoyed his company, she was so in love with him and he was so in love with her.

suggested playlist:

[hotchley]

i’m not bulletproof

Jesus Christ why am I so dramatic? Okay, my laptop is very close to dying, so I am cross-posting this, hotchner’s hoodie and the waiting game, then I will be gone... until tonight

Umm... yeah. This was my second fic. It’s literally for my pinned because I’m dramatic </3

Trigger Warnings: referenced child abuse, canon-typical violence, violence towards children and references to child deaths, suicide

read on ao3!

It started, not with a case, but with an argument. 

Jack wanted to go to a party. Hotch said no. He said no because it wasn’t safe, and the party was taking place on a school night, which meant Jack had to be in bed by ten at the absolute latest. He had hoped that by calmly and softly explaining his reasons for not letting Jack go, his son would understand why he was being told no and accept it with the same grace and dignity that he accepted most things in life.

Unfortunately, his son was a hormonal teenager muddling their way through puberty. And instead of accepting he couldn’t go, he kept pressing and asking why. On the third day of being asked, Hotch got irritated and raised his voice slightly, it became an argument.

“I just don’t understand why you never let me do anything,” Jack complained.

Hotch looked up from the budget report. He hadn’t wanted to bring work home- a remnant of the life he had once shared with Haley, but it needed to be done and he had wanted to spend time with Jack. With hindsight, it probably would’ve been better to stay at the office and let him stay with Jessica to calm down.

“I let you do plenty of things that aren’t irresponsible or dangerous Jack,” he replied calmly.

“But this party isn’t going to be irresponsible or dangerous, it’s just a bunch of teenagers. And doesn’t it count for something that I told you about it? I could’ve just snuck out the house and let you wonder where I’d gone,” Jack said, wildly gesticulating. 

He closed the file. “I appreciate you telling me, but my answer is no. You may be responsible, but not everyone is. I don’t want you being exposed to drugs and alcohol before you’re old enough to understand the effects it has on you.”

“You let me be exposed to death before I was old enough to understand what it meant,” Jack spat.

Hotch paled, all the blood leaving his body and turning him into a frozen statue, unable to move as the memory of Haley’s dark hair- of course it was dark, she’d gone into witness protection- spread out on the carpet like a halo and her eyes, still open but almost like the glass eyes of those dolls from that one case, haunted his memory.

“What?”  his voice was soft, dangerously calm.

Jack crossed his arms over his chest. “You heard me. You’re telling me I can’t go to a party, but I was just down the hall when mom died because of you. I’m not a little kid anymore, and you can’t protect me from anything anymore.”

“I can still protect you from some things,” he whispered, not making eye contact. The colours of the folder started to blur together as his eyes filled with tears. It was a morbid thought, but Jack’s words felt like the thorns his mother would throw in his side when she was angry at her husband and needed to let go of the pain.

“Well maybe I don’t want you to.”

“Jack, I’m still your father.”

“Are you? You’re never home at a normal time, you don’t know who any of my friends are, you always go on cases and leave me with Aunt Jess. Mom died because of you and your stupid profiling, but you still always answer when Miss Jareau phones, and you still go all around the country like I don’t even matter.”

“Of course you matter to me Jack. I love you more than anything in this world. But a profiler who catches the bad guys is who I am and-”

“I’m not five years old anymore. You’re not a superhero. You’re just the man that got my mom pregnant and sometimes makes me mac and cheese for dinner.”

Jack stormed off to his room before Hotch could say another word. He didn’t go after him, knowing that was the last thing his son would want. Rationale told him Jack didn’t mean a word of what he had said, that he was just angry and hurt, but he couldn’t help but wonder if it was all true. Of course Jack knew how to hurt him, what child didn’t know what would upset their parents, but he was also right.

He wanted to go and hold his son, to let him go to the stupid party and tell him he would stop being a profiler, but he couldn’t. He felt frozen in place, unable to do anything more than bury his head in his hands and wonder where he fucked up. 

Somehow he managed to get up and make them both something to eat- he went for stir fry instead of mac and cheese- before he went up to Jack’s room and knocked on the door.

“I don’t want to talk to you,” came the muffled response.

“I know you don’t. And I won’t make you.” I’m not your paternal grandfather, he thought. I won’t kick the door in and grab you by the back of your neck because you ran away. “I won’t let you starve though. Dinner is outside the door.”

“I’m not hungry.”

Hotch sighed. “Jack, please. I don’t want you to be angry at me.”

“And I want a real parent. We can’t always get what we want- isn’t that what you always say to me?”

Hotch had to step back, press a hand to the wall to stop himself from falling to his knees and crying. He wanted to tell Jack that wasn’t the way to speak to anyone, especially not an adult, but the words got lodged in his throat and he couldn’t speak, too scared of shouting or repeating the words his father had used the one time he had tried to fight back.

“I know,” he said instead, and walked back to the dining room. He pushed the plate he had set down away. 

His work phone lit up with Dave’s name. He answered.

“Hotchner.”

“Is everything okay? JJ tried phoning you but apparently you didn’t answer all three times. She thought you were with me, and when I said you weren’t, everyone got a bit panicked. In fact Morgan is on his way right now.”

Hotch felt bad for making everyone worry, especially given what had happened last time he hadn’t answered his phone and they had gone and looked for him. “I’m sorry. Everything’s fine. Do we have a case?”

He cursed himself for being stupid. Dave wouldn’t call if they didn’t have a case, even if all he wanted was for that to happen. For Dave to call once they had both gone home, just because he wanted to talk about something random.

“Yeah. It’s bad. Three kids have already been buried, fourth was reported missing twenty minutes ago. JJ will brief us on the jet. Morgan said he’s going to pick you up.”

Hotch was not stupid. He knew why Dave had said buried instead of killed. And whilst he hated the coddling, he couldn’t help but appreciate that he never needed to speak when it was Dave.

“Okay. How far away is he? I need to call Jess.”

“Garcia said ten minutes. She’s coming with us by the way.”

“Thank you.”

“Aaron. Are you sure you’re okay?”

Hotch ignored the warm feeling that came whenever Dave said his first name. “I’m fine. I promise.” He hung up before his answer could be profiled.

He had a short, polite conversation with Jess, then went to Jack’s room. He knocked to the theme of Harry Potter- Jack’s new favourite book series, courtesy of Reid. Whenever Jack saw Spencer, he came home with a glint in his eyes and a whole new shelf worth of books. And when Hotch went to chastise Reid for spoiling his son, Reid would give him the happy puppy eyes and he would relent.

“Let me guess. Aunt Jess will be here in twenty minutes, and you’ll call everyday. And you’ll hopefully be back as soon as possible.”

“I’m sorry buddy.”

“Don’t go then.”

“I don’t have a choice.”

“Then don’t apologise.”

He didn’t have a response for that. Instead, he headed to his own room to change. He entered the code to the safe- the day Jack was born, the month he was born, the year Haley was born and holstered his weapons. 

Before he left, he tried to say goodbye to Jack properly. The bedroom door was locked.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he said. The only acknowledgement he received was a grunt.

Morgan texted, saying he was outside. Hotch sighed, schooled his features into a somewhat neutral expression and headed down to meet him. 

“Thanks for picking me up,” he said, once they had started driving.

“No problem. I have to ask, why didn’t you answer?” Morgan responded. “And you know I don’t want to pressure you to talk or anything like that, but everyone was really scared. We thought something had happened. I mean, Rossi was ready to get everyone from the FBI to look for you.”

His stomach twisted. They weren’t meant to worry about him. “I’m sorry. I was with Jack.” It wasn’t a lie. And Morgan was respectful enough to not profile the truth.

They rode the rest of the way in silence. 

“We’re heading to Boston,” JJ said, once they boarded the jet.

Hotch nodded, taking the file from her, ignoring the sick feeling in his stomach. Boston. One of those places he would never not associate with terror, blood and death. Just like Georgia. And Milwaukee.

“Over the past three months, three teen boys have gone missing from three different cities. They’re all pretty similar in appearance, all come from pretty similar backgrounds. All were found in their local parks. No evidence of torture or sexual assault. The only reason anyone made the connection was because of a conference, where two of the detectives spoke and realised something was up,” JJ explained.

Hotch nodded, feeling nauseous. He wished he had tried to force down some of his dinner. Then he opened the file and was suddenly glad he had skipped his meal.

For when he looked at the pictures, both from the crime scenes and of their smiling faces, all he could see was Jack. Dark blonde hair, light green eyes, wide smiles. He closed his eyes, focused on his breathing and looked back at the files. Focused on the victimology. Teenage boys, but no evidence of sexual assault. Mothers weren’t in the picture, either they had passed away or not received custody after the divorce. The fathers were all in high pressure jobs, most of them spending more time at the office than at home.

“Excuse me,” he said to no one in particular, heading to the toilet.

JJ gave him a concerned look but let him go without a word. 

To keep up appearances, he flushed the toilet and let the tap run to make it seem like he had actually gone to the toilet, as opposed to stare at his own reflection- tired, old, broken, absent father- and remind himself to maintain some sort of control.

Rossi was stood on the other side of the door.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

Hotch nodded, ignoring the taste of bile in his mouth. He didn’t want Rossi to worry about him. He didn’t want anyone worrying about him, but especially not his best friend. Because every time he did, it only served as a reminder of everything he wanted but couldn’t have. The day he realised he loved Rossi had been terrifying, for a number of reasons. He had told Haley by accident, and she had laughed and said he was probably the last one to realise. She had told him to go for it, but he had been a coward and refused. It was another broken promise he had made to her. 

“Are you sure? Because you don’t look great. And you sounded distant on the phone.”

“I’m fine. It’s just a thing with Jack,” he confessed.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No. I want to get to Boston and solve the case.”

He walked away, unable to stand the look in Dave’s eyes.

Things went from bad to worse when they landed. Hotch had gone with JJ to set up in the field office, only to find out that all four dads were already there and ready to give whatever information they needed to help the investigation. And with JJ talking to the detectives about how to handle the media, he was tasked with speaking to each of them.

He ignored the looks the officers gave him when he asked to speak to them in a conference room instead of an interrogation room. He knew none of them were responsible. 

After speaking to each of them, and promising to do his best to find the person that had taken their children from them, and bring the last one back home safely, he felt a pit in his stomach and a migraine starting to form. He had no idea when he had last eaten, or drunk anything, but he also knew he couldn’t handle anything.

Talking to the parents had made it almost impossible to remain professional. He saw himself in each of the fathers. They had all been working when their sons were younger, never fully prepared to tackle fatherhood alone. They had all argued with their sons just minutes before they were taken. When Hotch asked them how they felt after they argued, they all responded with some version of the word bad. When he asked why, all parents argue, they told him they felt like their own parents. It had been like staring at a mirror.

“My son died thinking I hated him,” the third parent had whispered. “What kind of person does that make me?”

Hotch softened his gaze and his tone, clearing his throat before he replied. “Your son didn’t die thinking you hated him. You’re nothing like your own father. All children argue with their parents. He knew you loved him and you cannot blame yourself for what happened. We’ll find the man who did this and bring him to justice.”

The man had just nodded before leaving. 

Hotch left the conference room, and was greeted by Rossi.

“Dave. I thought you were still at the M.E’s office.”

“We finished up there. You should listen to your own advice every once in a while.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, already brushing past him to go and talk to Prentiss about what they found at the last crime scene.

“Jack doesn’t hate you. No matter what he may say.”

Hotch turned, ready for an argument, when Rossi raised his hands in surrender.

“I didn’t profile you. But I am your friend. And the only thing that would make you this tense would be something with Jack.”

“Now is not the time to talk about it,” he hissed.

There hadn’t been any DNA found on the scene, which meant they only had a profile to go on. After a quick dinner, that he didn’t really eat, Hotch told everyone there was nothing more to do, and even if there was, they were all exhausted. Rather reluctantly, everyone headed back to the hotel, where it immediately became clear they would be doubling up.

“We can have a girl’s night!” Garcia exclaimed.

JJ and Prentiss laughed, but took the middle room, which for some unknown but helpful reason had three beds.

“Come on pretty boy, you can tell me all about that book you read on the way here,” Morgan said.

Reid’s eyes lit up. “Really?”

Morgan nodded, taking the cards and slinging an arm around Reid’s shoulder. Before they left, Hotch called out for him.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

“We forgot his birthday. Listening to him is the least I could do.”

“Not just for that. Thank you for coming to check up on me as well.”

“Hotch, you may be a drill sergeant, but you’re still my friend. And JJ may have yelled at me after she found out what I said to you about trusting people. We’re cool man.”

He nodded. “Go, Reid’s practically exploding with excitement.”

“You going to stand there watching them all night, or are you going to get some well-deserved sleep?” Rossi teased, suddenly behind him and pressing a card into his hand.

“You seem awfully chipper for someone who hates sharing a room,” he said as they went to the elevator.

“I don’t mind when it’s you,” Rossi said.

Hotch blushed, ignoring the way the words made him feel, ignoring the look in Rossi’s eyes that left no room for doubt, ignoring the way his heart sped up and the lack of space between them as they were crammed into a tiny elevator. 

They both dropped their bags down. Hotch immediately sat on the bed, knowing Dave would want to shower before he went to sleep. He smiled as his friend- because that was all he was, all he would ever be- left and opened up the case file. Yes, he had told everyone to go to sleep, but something was bugging him.

“You can at least loosen your tie,” Rossi teased from the doorway after he had showered.

Hotch turned and felt his throat go dry. He was only wearing a towel, hair still dripping. “I- what?”

“Tie. Loosen it. Actually, better yet, take it off. Go for a five minute shower. And then sleep.”

“Rossi, I can’t.”

“You can and you will. Don’t make me phone Jess and put Jack on the line.”

That convinced him to get a move on, but not for the reason Dave was smirking at. 

There was so much blood everywhere, but he couldn’t work out where it was coming from. He couldn’t move. He was completely trapped, the weight of a body on top of his. There was a flash of something silver and then so much pain. He couldn’t show any fear, but the pain, oh the pain, it was so overwhelming that he couldn’t help but scream. All that existed in the broken home of his mind was that pain and the fear and the terror and that sudden, blood-curdling, chilling realisation that this was how things ended; this was how he was going to die. But someone was calling his name, who would be calling his name that urgently, Haley had Jack and-

“Aaron!” Dave yelled.

Hotch’s eyes flew open and he tried to kick the duvet away, only to find himself tangled in amongst the sheets and blanket and why couldn’t he move, why was it so dark, who was touching him, where was Jack- he was working the case, he needed to save him-

“Aaron, it’s Dave. You’re in a hotel room in Boston for a case. Jessica is at your apartment with Jack. Breathe with me.”

“Dave,” he whimpered.

“That’s right. That’s good. Just keep breathing. It was just a nightmare.”

“M’sorry for waking you up,” he murmured, clinging to Dave’s t-shirt like a lifeline.

“Nonsense Aaron. We all have nightmares. Remember what I told you all those years ago?”

He did. It had been the first case he had worked with the BAU that had involved victims of abuse. He and Dave had been sharing a room when Hotch had the first of many nightmares involving cases. Dave had woken him up, given him a glass of water and told him the nightmares reminded him he was human, that he felt, and however scary they were, however the case ended, they had done their best. There was nothing to be ashamed of. 

“Yeah. That if I have a nightmare, I should remind myself of the people that love me and of all the good things I’ve done.”

“Good. So let me start off that list for you, because it’s a very long one. Jack.”

Hotch snorted. “He hates me. I told him he couldn’t go to a party because he’s not old enough and he said I wasn’t really his dad and that it was all my fault Haley was dead. I dreamt about him you know? Foyet. But it’s been two and a half years, I should be over this, shouldn’t I?”

“You’ve always been open with Jack. He knows what will hurt you, and that’s why he said those things. He’s angry. But he loves you. And as for Foyet? He stabbed you nine times. He killed your wife. You don’t ever have to move on, not if you don’t want to. But you have to learn to cope. Let us help you cope. Let me. I’m your friend.”

There was that word again. Friend. He hated it. He didn’t want Rossi to be his friend, not anymore, but how was he ever supposed to look him in the eye and confess that? It would ruin everything. Rossi would probably tell Strauss, who would fire him, and then he would have nothing. 

“Yeah,” he ended up saying.

“Besides, every parent bans their child from doing something. At least you haven’t told him he isn’t allowed to date until he’s thirty or explore his sexuality. And don’t give me that look, you know you would be okay so long as they were a good person and he was sixteen and being safe.”

“I guess.”

Rossi patted his shoulder and Hotch didn’t even try and pretend that the touch hadn’t made him tingle. It had been so long since someone had touched him- it was always him hugging Jack or touching his shoulder. He thought of that time Reid had talked about being touch-starved. Was he touch-starved, or was he just an adult with a schoolboy crush?

He laid awake for the rest of the night, unable to do much more than close his eyes for a few moments.

They found the unsub the next day. And they bought the boy home safely. But Hotch couldn’t find it in him to be happy at another case solved. Because it hadn’t been successfully, not completely. The unsub- a man in his mid-forties- had been abused. And when he saw those children, who argued with their fathers over something trivial, he had snapped. He’d wanted to save them from his own fate. When Hotch tried to explain that the fathers weren’t bad people, that the children didn’t deserve to die, he hadn’t listened. When he tried to relate, the unsub realised what had happened. And seeing no other way out, he’d turned the gun away from Hotch and to himself.

Hotch couldn’t help but shout no as the bullet released.

“Strauss approved us staying for one more night,” Rossi said when they got back to the hotel.

“That was nice of her,” JJ said.

“God, I need a drink,” Prentiss complained.

“We should all go for a night out. It’ll be fun. And I’m here for once, so I can’t even complain about missing out,” Garcia said.

“That’ll be nice. Reid, you’re coming, no excuses,” Morgan said.

Reid shrugged. “Sure, why not. I’ll remember every embarrassing thing you do, so just be warned.”

Everyone turned to Hotch.

“Come on sir,” Garcia pleaded.

“I shouldn’t,” he said.

“Hotch, if they’re making me go, then you have to come,” Reid replied.

“It’s one night Aaron. And you’re not a newbie anymore,” Dave said, placing a hand on his lower back to steer him away from the elevator.

He blushed, both at the incident that was being referenced and the placement of Rossi’s hand. 

“I’ll go if you don’t bring that up,” he reasoned.

Rossi nodded. Everyone else looked curious, but Hotch shot them all his famous glare, with a small smile to soften the blow. And then they left, still in the same clothes they had been wearing as they had packed up at the station.

Hotch had made it a rule that he didn’t get drunk in front of colleagues. He’d drink enough alcohol to keep them off his back, but he wouldn’t allow himself to become even slightly intoxicated when they were present.

Some cases made all the rules go out the window. It was the only defence he had for getting absolutely shit-faced.

At some point he had loosened his tie, so he didn’t really understand why Rossi was complaining so much as he pulled him into their room and started complaining about the way he dressed.

“If Garcia can come on a case wearing a cat-ear hairband, I don’t understand why you need to always need to wear a suit,” he complained after he got the shoes off.

Hotch grinned. “It’s like my superhero costume. It protects me from people finding out who I really am.”

“Wow you really are drunk.”

“Is it bad that I’m drunk? I told Jack he couldn’t go the party because of the alcohol and he said I was being stupid. Maybe he’s right. I am stupid.”

“Why can’t you ever just stick to being a happy drunk? Why must you always go from happy to crying?”

“Are you mad at me too? I don’t want you to be mad at me. I care about you too much. I don’t think I could stand it if you were mad at me. Not when Jack’s mad at me- did I tell you about that? I think I did. He’s mad at me, Haley would be mad at me if she could see me now, so I can’t have you being mad as well.”

“Haley wouldn’t be mad at you.”

“You’re wrong. She would.”

“Oh, really. Why?”

“Cos I told her I liked this person and she told me to go for it but I was too scared of being rejected and ruining the team that I didn’t. At least, that was I told her, which is the other reason she’d be mad. I semi-lied. I was scared of rejection and ruining the team, but I was more scared that they’d be like my father. He caught me with a boy once. Only once. I was too scared after that. It’s stupid though, this person is as far from my father as you could get.”

At the mention of the person, Hotch went back to being happy. Rossi smiled, still wrestling with the suit jacket, unwilling to make his friend move his arms lest he break the spell and made that smile vanish.

“You going to tell me about them or do I have to profile it out of you?”

“Wouldn’t do that,” he slurred. “Too nice to. Unlike Gideon. Gideon never followed the rules. But you- you may be a pain in the ass, but you follow the rules that matter like not profiling us and not pushing and not using our pasts to get to an unsub.”

Rossi snorted. “Thanks Aaron. It’s nice to know I’m not like Gideon.”

“Be weird if you were.”

“Why’s that?” he had got the jacket and the tie off. He untucked the shirt and unbuttoned the top one, knowing Hotch wouldn’t want any more than that done. 

“Cos I love you. I love your stupid notebook and your Italian cooking and your don’t-be-stupid voice and your stupid face and how you’re always nice to me, even when I’m being stupid. I love you Rossi, and I wish you’d love me too, even though I’m a mess who-” the rest of his sentence was cut off by a yawn.

Rossi had no idea what to say. He’d never come out to the team because there had never been a need to. Yes, he had three ex-wives, and only wives, but that was because he hadn’t been able to marry any of the men he dated, and times had been different then. He hadn’t wanted a long-term thing with any of them.

But now, Aaron was drunk and confessing his love, and it occurred to him that he did love the younger man. He had just never realised.

“I’m a mess who can’t get the voice of their father out of their head long enough to ask you out on a date,” he murmured, falling back onto the pillow.

Rossi opened his mouth, but Hotch was already asleep. He sighed, brushed the hair off his forehead and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. “Sleep well.”

The morning came, and with it, a pounding head.

Hotch woke up with a groan, immediately pressing his hand to his temple. 

“There’s aspirin and a glass of water on the night stand,” Rossi said.

Hotch blinked the sleep out of his eyes. “Wha- why do I need it? What happened?”

Rossi stopped, his coffee halfway to his mouth. Hotch looked away. Not the time.

“How much of last night do you remember?”

“We went to the bar. I- oh. I drank far too much. I’m sorry. Had the others gone by then?”

“No, but they all agreed to spare you the shame and not mention it. Do you remember anything else that happened?”

“You were the one to bring me back. And after that it’s all a bit hazy.”

“Do you want to try and remember or do you want me to tell you?”

Hotch paled. “What did I do?”

“You told me you loved me.”

Hotch fell off the bed trying to scramble away. He noticed that Rossi had left him in his clothes, thank goodness for small mercies, but the sheet got tangled in his legs. Rossi stood as he managed to stand up, his head still pounding and the light making his vision hazy.

He felt a hand on his arm and managed to force it off. “Just let me go, Dave, please.”

“No. We need to talk about this.”

“What is there to say? I told you I love you. But you’re this amazing, caring, funny, handsome straight person and I’m me. Please just let me go. I’ll file my transfer when we get back, but I can’t be here and watch as you reject me,” he said, walking towards the door.

“Aaron. Stop.” 

He froze. Rossi had never bossed him around, even when he’d been the newest profiler that was still learning the ropes. But god, there was something about his tone that made him want to fall to his knees and do whatever he wanted. He’d been still for too long, Rossi would have realised too.

“Turn around and look at me.”

Aaron wanted to resist, wanted to run out the door and never come back, but something in him- probably the part of his brain that was self-destructive- made him turn back. And the sight that greeted him made his heart stop all over again. Rossi didn’t look angry or upset. He didn’t look like he was about to hurt him or force him to explain why he was such a coward.

He looked happy.

“I don’t understand, why are you smiling at me?” he whispered.

“Because I love you too. I just never realised until last night when you were drunk out of your mind, terrified that I was going to reject you, that I realised all I wanted was to hold you against me, listen to the steady beat of your heart to remind myself that you were still here and never let you go.”

Before he could even process what was happening, Aaron had crossed the short distance of the room and had buried his head in his shoulder. Hesitantly, Rossi bought his arms around the younger man in an awkward hug.

“I don’t know how to do this,” Aaron confessed, staring at him with dark brown eyes, still full of the fear of rejection. 

“We can work it out together.”

“I don’t know how to get over my fear, or tell Jack and the team- and what are we even supposed to tell Strauss, she’ll fire both of us and what about all the other things, like dates and the romantic things,” he rambled.

Rossi pressed a finger to his lips. “We’ll work it out. But that’s not the concern for right now.”

“Then what is?”

“Can I kiss you?”

Hotch nodded, suddenly feeling shy. “I’ve only ever kissed Haley. I doubt I’ll be any good.”

“I don’t want good. I want you.”

Without another word, Rossi placed his fingers under Aaron’s chin and tilted his head up. It was a chaste kiss, barely more than a brush of lips, but Aaron felt his heart speed up and fireworks explode behind his eyes. This. This is what he had always wanted but never had the courage to ask for, and now he had it and he just felt… good.

“We need to brush our teeth,” he decided once Rossi pulled away.

“Agreed.”

“Dave, what are we now? Because boyfriend seems immature, and I plan on telling Jack and the team as soon as possible so don’t even try and suggest lover. And other half is stupid, we’re both whole people without each other.”

“I’d like to think of you as my partner. That’s what we started out as- don’t give me that look you know I’m right- and it’ll always fit us. You the workaholic drill sergeant and me, the agent turned author turned agent-author with three ex-wives.”

Aaron laughed. “I have no idea how that makes any sense but okay. Partners. I like that.”

“It makes sense because it shows that we’re both adults that can depend on each other no matter what happens.”

“No matter what happens,” Hotch echoed.

It was going to be a long journey to undo all the damage his father had done, but he was willing to work through it. He was willing to do whatever it took to let him spend the rest of his life beside the man he could now call a partner.

The team essentially worked it out the moment they got on the jet. JJ just shook her head fondly, Reid smiled and told them that if they needed any advice he was there, Morgan smiled and patted Rossi, claiming he had his work cut out for him, Prentiss actually hugged Hotch with tears in her eyes and Garcia squealed and told them she was going to knit them matching scarves.

It was nice. Unfamiliar and different and scary, but nice. Rossi sat beside him, close enough so their shoulders brushed every time one of them adjusted the way they were sat. Every time it happened, Aaron smiled and blushed a little.

When they arrived back at Quantico, everyone at lot happier than they had been at the end of the case, there was an unfamiliar car in the lot. 

“I haven’t seen that one before,” Reid commented.

“It’s probably just someone for Strauss. Let’s go, write the reports and go home,” Hotch said.

“Home. Sounds nice,” Rossi said.

Hotch went pink as Garcia cackled.

Since Emily’s return, it had become tradition for Garcia to sit with them in the bullpen as they did their reports, mainly to annoy them, and if she had accompanied them, to do her own report as she only managed to do them on the job when she was on base. They all headed to the sixth floor, everyone looking forward to the few days of down time they would have once they finished their reports.

It was still early- or was it late- enough for them to be the only people in the building. As everybody else set themselves up in the bullpen, Hotch and Rossi went up to their respective offices, Morgan still talking to Reid and Garcia about something. When Hotch walked into his office, putting his bag down with unnecessary force, Rossi winced.

“What’s going on?”

Hotch bit down the urge to say nothing. “Jack still doesn’t want to talk to me.”

“Why don’t you try phoning Jessica then? Maybe he’ll change his mind once he realises just how much you’re willing to sacrifice for him.”

“Maybe.”

“And I know Morgan drove you in, so once you’re paperwork is done, you’re coming home with me. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, but this case must have hit close to home. I’m dating you now, which means I’ve signed up for the good, the bad and the ugly. I’m sure Jess would love to spend more time with Jack anyways.”

He knew trying to fight was a bad idea, and the thought of going home to an angry and hurt Jack was almost too much to bear. Did it make him a bad parent? Maybe. But he was tired and he wanted to give Jack space.

“I’ll give you some privacy to phone him then.” 

Hotch managed a weak smile, then dialled his home number. Jessica answered almost immediately. She sounded like she hadn’t slept and he wondered why he thought phoning her at three in the morning was a good idea.

“Hi Jess. I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking. It was a bad case that’s all. I should let you sleep. I’ll be back in the morning, well later in the morning so you can go once you’ve had breakfast if you need to do anything.”

She laughed, and his chest tightened. Her and Haley had been nothing alike, but when they laughed, it was like they were the same person. “It’s okay. I’ll stay for the whole day and let you get some rest. Jack, what are you doing up? Okay, get your water and then back to- actually do you want to talk to your dad?”

He heard Jack say no. Jessica made a few uncomfortable sounds.

“Jess, it’s okay. He doesn’t have to talk to me if he doesn’t want to. I get it.” He got that he was a useless father, that Jack had every reason to hate him and he didn’t understand why it had taken so long for him to start. He understood that he had failed to protect Jack and Haley, and that nothing he did now was going to ever make up for it.

“Are you sure? He’s gone back to his room but I doubt he’s sleeping. I can talk to him if you want.”

“No, just leave him. He’s allowed to be angry.” Because if you speak to him, you will stop seeing me as the angel Haley loved all through high school. You will stop seeing me as the man who has lost everything and start seeing me as the man who can’t be there when his son needs him, and the man that got your sister killed.

“If you’re sure. But before you go, just listen to me. You’re a good parent. And whatever Jack said, he doesn’t mean. He’s a hormonal teenager going through puberty. He loves you.”

“I know.” But did he really love his father? “I’ll see you in the morning then. Bye Jess.”

“Bye Aaron.”

Aaron. Sometimes he wondered where the lines between Hotchner- god, how he hated his surname, forever tarnished by the memory of his father and everyone in their small town who thought that little Aaron Hotchner was just the quietest little boy, just like his mother yet somehow the spitting image of his father, Hotch: the stoic leader that could be trusted with everything and somehow not collapse and Aaron: absent husband and father, the man that had loved and failed Haley, Kate and even Elle existed. 

Sometimes he just felt like that little boy, curled up in the basement of a house that never felt like home, wishing he could just let go and cry for once. But he couldn’t. Not when he was aware that the team were watching him instead of doing their paperwork.

He finished it in record time, unable to look at the images of smiling teenagers for any longer than was necessary. 

Dave was already waiting for him. Everybody else had gone home.

“Are you ready?” Dave asked.

Hotch nodded, unable to trust his own voice after having to read through everybody’s accounts of the victims, their parents and the unsub.

They drove to Dave’s in silence, Aaron having texted Jessica he was going to a friends but would hopefully back by late afternoon. He wondered again if he had made a mistake by letting Dave in. It would only be a matter of time before he realised Hotch was damaged and nothing in the world would fix it.

“Aaron, we’re here.” The sound of Dave’s voice, suddenly soft and gentle, lured him out of the darkness of his mind.

He got out of the car, still not knowing what to say. He wasn’t like Reid, who would rattle off statistics about any given topic when he was nervous. He wasn’t like Garcia who would keep digging a deeper hole when she was in trouble, or Morgan who managed to charm anyone with a few words.

Dave’s house, despite its size, had always felt homely. When staring at the wall where the bullet hole had been did more harm than good- and who was he kidding, that had been every time he’d sat there, surrounded by files- Dave’s house had always been a safe haven for him.

“I’m going to make some light breakfast and then try and get some sleep. Do you want anything? And don’t say coffee, I’m not letting you do anymore work until you get some rest.”

He shook his head, already sat on the couch.

Dave sighed, but he didn’t push the issue. Before he could leave, Aaron turned to face him.

“Dave?”

“Yes?” he was already in the doorway, minutely turning to see him properly.

“I’m having a bad day,” he whispered.

Rossi froze. Aaron Hotchner did not admit that easily. Only to him. Only when he was moments away from falling apart. He did not know whether to consider it a blessing or a curse that he was the only one trusted enough to piece him back together. He did not know whether or not he could do it this time. Things were different. He had only ever had to do this as a friend, or as a colleague. Never as partners- and wasn’t that ironic, he was the one to suggest the label but now it didn’t seem significant enough.

He walked back over, sat beside Aaron. Close enough so their feet- Hotch hadn’t even taken his shoes off- brushed, but far enough to let him move away if he wanted. He didn’t. He shifted closer, resting his head on Dave’s shoulder. Dave raised one hand to gently stroke his messy hair. 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I’m meant too, aren’t I? Haley always used to say there was no point in being together if I was just going to hide from her every time I had a bad day. I know she was right, but I just don’t know how to talk about it. It’s stupid anyways.”

“Don’t do this. Don’t act like your problems aren’t as important because you’re supposed to be an alpha male. That’s only at work. Here, we’re just Aaron and Dave, two old men who never learned how to communicate properly, so they’re muddling their way through life.”

“I just don’t understand why you’re here. And I’m scared you’re going to leave, just like everyone else. I’m scared that the ghosts of my past are going to be too much for you to handle and that you’ll get tired of waiting for me to be comfortable around you. I’m scared of ruining what we have with my nightmares and scars. I mean, I have a son who’s a teenager now. You never even wanted kids. And I know it’s stupid, but I’m scared I’m never going to be able to repair my relationship with Jack. We’ve never argued before. I don’t know what to do. My father would hit me if I dared speak out of turn. I never learned how to be normal. What if I hurt him?”

He had curled into a ball, his legs pressed against Dave’s stomach. His voice had started shaking, and Dave felt a wet patch forming on his shirt.

“I won’t leave you, ever. We’re going to have problems, but I won’t leave, and I will spend the rest of my life waiting for you to be comfortable around me if I need to. I have nightmares as well, we can keep each other up. I love Jack and he loves you too. I have no idea how to be a parent, but you do. You would never hurt him. And I’m sure Jessica has already told you this, but he’s a teenager. You’ll know what to do when you see him. If you don’t, just ask him. He wants to be there for you.”

“Thanks Dave.”

“I love you Aaron. You never need to thank me. Now move off of me so I can take you to bed. You need a good night’s rest.”

He obeyed. Neither of them were about to believe Dave was strong enough to carry a fully-grown man to bed, so Hotch forced himself to stand and let Dave lead him to the master bedroom.

“You’re practically asleep already. I’m glad. Would you let me undress you?”

Hotch hesitated, but nodded almost imperceptibly. “Yes,” he whispered.

“I’m so proud of you. If you want me to stop, just say the word and I will.”

He started shaking as Rossi pushed his shirt off his shoulders, the final layer of armour stripped away from him. He closed his eyes, the tremors only stopping when Rossi pressed their foreheads together.

“You survived. You survived them both. And there will be more, there always is, but I will be here to catch you. Believe that.”

Aaron nodded, tears falling onto the duvet. He couldn’t express how glad he was that Dave wasn’t spouting some bullshit about how the scars on his torso and the lines on his back made him even more beautiful. He didn’t know how to say that though, which he was coming to realise the beauty of their relationship: they just knew.

Rossi was tucking him, having successfully changed him into pyjamas without any incidents when he realised he needed to address something from earlier.

“You’re wrong, you know that right?”

Rossi laughed. “About what?”

“Earlier. You said you don’t know how to be a parent. You do. I see it in the way you tease Morgan, curse at Prentiss in Italian, protect Garcia and JJ, listen to Reid and the way you treat Jack and Henry.”

“Get some sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.” He pressed a kiss to the other man’s cheek, then left. There was one more thing he needed to do.

Aaron awoke when he heard voices. It took a moment for him to realise where he was, but when he did, he smiled. Dave hadn’t left. He left the room, trying to find the source of the voices. The search led him to the same couch where he had started crying only a few hours ago.

“Jack!” he exclaimed. 

Jack launched himself into his father’s arms. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so, sorry. I shouldn’t have said any of that stuff, it isn’t true and I love you. I won’t go to the stupid party I swear but please don’t be sad. Uncle Dave told me the censored version of your case. He also told me that you two are partners and I’m really happy about that because he’s cool and I have a vague memory of mom saying you were silly for thinking he didn’t like you-”

“Buddy, it’s okay. Sometimes people argue. I still love you too. And yes, Dave and I are together now but you’re still my first priority. You always will be. So if you need me to take less cases or spend more time at home, then just tell me. We don’t need to let it explode like that.”

Jack looked sheepish. “I didn’t want to be a burden.”

“You’re my son. You’ll never be a burden to me.”

“Do you promise?” He looked so much like that little boy who believed his father was a real superhero that Hotch could only nod his affirmation.

“Will you stay for breakfast? Jessica dropped Jack here, but she said she’d go to give us some time alone and apparently he only ate a single piece of toast,” Rossi asked, almost nervously.

“Please can we do that?” Jack added.

Hotch nodded, letting go of his son. “Did you want any help?”

“No. Just go sit at the dining table and look pretty whilst you talk to your son,” Dave said.

Hotch flushed but obeyed.

Dave watched as Jack launched into a conversation about the pretty girl in his class and the tension Aaron had been carrying for far too long finally bled off his shoulders and saw as he went from FBI agent to loving father, eyes crinkling as he finally, genuinely, laughed.

There would be bad days. There would be arguments and reckless endangerment. There would be ghosts that would never leave them and fears that couldn’t be destroyed. But Aaron was smiling. And for one David Rossi, that was enough.

[burnedbyshoto]

You people are a waste of fucking air. Sexualizing minors is NEVER okay. Fiction or not it's still sick to write fucking PORN about 16 year old boys you are getting off to child porn. That callout on all of y'all was deserved just another group of freaks to add to my block list. This has been a reality check brought to you by every person with common fucking sense! :)

anyways I thought long and hard about if I should even give this the time of day because you said you blocked me & the thing about people like you, anon, is that you’re probably waiting on me to respond before you block me so I hope that this reaches you well :)

first of all, the accusation of me writing porn about minors... well, if you cared to learn the difference between reality and fiction you would know that’s not the case. these characters while true, are underage within this moment of canon (and I won’t even get into the fact that this series is an entire flashback memory so no worries), they are pixels on a screen and ink on a page. there is no way that todoroki shouto is going to roll over in bed and come across my writing - just wont happen. why? because he’s not real. furthermore I always make sure to age up all my characters, why? because why would I want to write something about reader fucking a high schooler??? I agree with you, child porn & pedophilia are totally and definitely not okay!!! it’s disgusting to sexualize children, but if you think that what i’m doing is that... idk what to tell you except that you gotta grow up dude.

second of all, what call out post? i’ve been trying to find it - as well as all my friends you’ve been waving this pedo claim at - and we can’t seem to find it so :/ please link it to me if you can!

third of all, I would like to see this “literal fact” about how sexualizing minors in fiction translates to enacting on the very real thing. of course i’m sexualizing a pro hero shouto who is 20 years old is a hunk of a man, so I guess it doesn’t really fit me... but still, this is a very serious thing you’re claiming anon, and id like to see this evidence.

& yes i’m 20 years old, duh, not a secret. i’m not making content for pedophiles, and if I do happen to have pedophile followers well... I do hope they fuck off because that’s not something i’ll ever agree with. and putting me in front of a firing squad, that’s a bit nasty of you, isn’t it? did it make you feel powerful and smug to send that? did you smirk like some villainous evil mastermind when you did? because I can assure you that you’re not the hero here sweetie, you’re just not.

if you are a child, I do believe that you are, why aren’t you blacklisting every smut tag???? tumblr used to be a 17+ site and I understand that it’s not anymore, which is sorta disappointing but whatever. we writers use tags for reasons, learn how to block so you don’t have to see the shit that you claim is child pornography - smut tags. it’s not that hard to do.

of course I know that in me writing all this you won’t have changed your opinion, which is all good, it’s to be expected when stubborn meets stubborn, but let me ask you one question: were you this enthusiastic to respond to that sex trafficking ring that the police are a part of in milwaukee??? ya know, the one where the police helped sneak bodies into a van when the community as a whole came to investigate??? or this entire discourse following shane dawson pretending to be jacking off over then 11 year old willow smith???

if you weren’t out there demanding answers, results, finding and signing petitions and more get the fuck out of my damn ask box and actually go fight the real fucking pedophiles in the world. stop making us anime writers lose our goddamn breathes over idiots like you.

[whatyouandihave-makesmefree]

How to say “I love you” without actually saying it - or 137 Milkovichy ways to say “I fuckin’ love Ian Clayton Gallagher”.

1. Kiss me, and I’ll cut your fucking tongue out.

2. I’ll meet you there in 20.

3. You say that again, I’ll rip your tongue out of your head.

4. Take your hand off the glass.

5. You wanna chit chat more or you wanna get on me?

6. Fuckin’ tough guy, huh?

7. Jesus Christ, you want us to spread a blanket out and look for shooting stars next?

8. Sorry, I gotta go kill your dad, but I’m doing a lot of people a favor, including you.

9. -I missed you-  You did?  -Yeah, man.-

10. So, uh, what you going down for, then, huh?

11. Don’t know what you see in that geriatric viagroid.

12. -You fuck anyone in there yet?-  God, no.  -Wise choice.-

13. Hey, my dad took my brothers on a run out of town for a couple days, so you wanna ditch that dump and crash at my place, you can.

14. Fuck you, is what you were invited to.

15. What are you hoping, I tell you not to go? I’m gonna chase after you like some bitch?

16. -Don’t.-  Don’t what?  -Just…-

17. -You seen him?-  Why do you care?  -Don’t.-

18. You heard from Gallagher?

19. Not fucking Frank. The other one, the redhead.

20. I like fucking carrot-tops, like, with the freckles and the pale skin and fucking alien-looking.

21. He in trouble? What kind of trouble?

22. You wearing cologne?  -No. It’s Kenyatta’s perfume soap shit.-

23. I gotta take care of something important.

24. No, I’m not having fun. I spent the whole day looking for your coked-out ass.

25. You coming back?

26. I’ll do it.

27. Those fingers go anywhere near that cock, I’m gonna break every knuckle in your hand, all 15 of them.

28. Together.

29. That all you think he is? Some twink?

30. Probably best if you don’t, tough guy.

31. Of course we are.

32. You want me to go?  -No, I don’t want you to go.-

33. I’m not lying to you.

34. Ian, what you and I have makes me free, not what these assholes know.

35. Well, good. Leave. What the hell do I care, bitch? Fuck.

36. Hey! Excuse me! Can I get everybody’s attention, please? I just want everybody here to know I’m fucking gay. A big old ‘mo. I just thought everybody should know that. You happy now?

37. Fuck you! Don’t worry about it! I’ve been staying at Ian’s since you’ve been in the can, bitch! Guess what we’ve been doing, daddy! We’ve been fucking! And I take it! He gives it to me good and hard, and I fucking like it.

38. You’re a fucking dick. Yeah, there. That’s what you get.

39. You love him?  -Maybe. I don’t know.-  Because he has a real penis?  -Yeah, I guess.-

40. Rise and fucking shine, Cinderella.

41. Yo, sleepy-face.

42. Hey, you okay? Feeling sick or something?

43. All right, you want me to bring you back something to eat?

44. Ian, are you high? You take something?

45. Fuck’s wrong with him?

46. Before, he was fine. He was happy. He’s staying up all hours of the night, dancing, telling fucking jokes. He kicks my ass every day. I can’t keep up with him.

47. No, no, look. He– he’s low… We cheer him up.

48. What do you mean, hos– Like a psych ward? No fucking way! No fucking way! He’s staying here.

49. I can– I can take care of him. Okay? Let me take care of him until he’s better.

50. Don’t fucking tell me what’s impossible! We’re taking care of him here. You, me, us. His fucking family.

51. He’s not going to some fucking nut house. You hear me? He stays here. He’s staying with me.

52. I’ll be there.  -Better be.-

53. All right. I guess I’m going with you.

54. She’ll send him to a fucking shrink. No. We fix this ourselves.

55. I came out for you, you piece of shit.

56. What’s your type?  -Redhead.-  I am downstairs.  -Batshit crazy.-  Check.  -Packing 9 inches.-

57. I got to take you to a hospital, Ian.

58. I’m worried about you.

59. His partner. Lover? Family? You know?

60. At least he’ll be getting some kind of fucking help.

61. Relationship to the patient?  -Sister.-   -You?-  -Uh, boyfriend.-

62. Hey. Sorry I’m late.

63. We gotta get you to a fucking clinic. Get some meds. Today.

64. Hey, it’s okay. It’s all right.

65. He’s not a fucking lab rat.

66. He’s got me.

67. Hey, Ian’s sleeping in there.

68. All right, breakfast of champs. We got your mood stabilizer, anti-psychotic, anti-depressant. Gatorade.

69. Shut the fuck up. Take the pills, bitch.

70. Hey, no caffeine on your meds.

71. Eat it. Take all those pills on an empty stomach and you’re going to have diarrhea real bad.

72. I didn’t know which Bs to get, so I just got all the fucking Bs. I got B-complex, super B-complex, B-12, B-6.

73. The hell happened to your hand?

74. Did a doctor take care of that?

75. You can’t go anywhere unless you get that looked at, man.

76. Your hand, man.

77. No, no. Look, you’re not supposed to drink on lithium. It makes your blood fucking toxic, and it gets you hammered in like two seconds flat. You can’t-

78. You look like a fucking wet rat.

79. We’re going on a date.  -Fuck, yes, we are.-

80. Where the fuck are you?

81. Where the fuck you been? 

82. You okay?

83. It means we take care of each other.

84. It means thick and thin, good times, bad, sickness, health, all that shit.

85. You look good.

86. Got a new tattoo. Did it myself. Hurt like a son of a bitch.

87. Been thinking about you. You ever think of me? Gonna wait for me?

88. Will you? Wait?

89. You like the high school bleachers? Our spot, man.

90. Look, I’m, um I’m getting some new IDs, some cash, and heading to Mexico.-  Wow.  -You should come.-

91. Thought a lot about you inside. You’re under my skin, man. The fuck can I do? Hmm? Can I do?

92. Knew you’d come. 

93. Come here.

94. I’m gonna see you again?

95. The fuck you looking at?

96. It’s what kept me going in the joint. The beach. Us.

97. Oh, check it out. Ian Gallagher putting his big boy pants on!

98. You never fucking visited me.

99. What am I leaving behind? My family? Who cares I never see those shitheads again. You had my back more than they ever did.

100. You ever think about me? When I was in the joint?

101. Fuck, I missed you.

102. What the fuck is that? I don’t want your fucking money! I want you to come with– me.

103. Don’t do this.

104. Fuck you, Gallagher.

105. I rolled on the cartel I was working for, and in exchange, guess who gets to pick where he gets locked up?

106. No, I just did it ‘cause it was the right thing.

107. Would you be fucking happy?  -Yes, fuck, yes!-

108. I guess I need some advice. It’s about my partner, Ian.

109. You’re not throwing your fuckin’ parole for me. We need to get you the hell outta this shit-hole.

110. You don’t belong in here, Gallagher.

111. I shouldn’t have asked you to stay.

112. FaceTime your brother. See the baby.

113. You seen Ian?

114. About time, man. Your Panda Express is getting cold.

115. Eat your Szechuan beans.

116. Chill your fucking tits and eat your noodles, man.

117. Let’s get out of here, get some Pinkberry.

118. No. No. I’m not running. I need to protect him.

119. Jesus Christ. You proposing to me over fucking patty melts?

120. Fuck it. I do.

121. When you know, you know. You know?

122. No, just saying you don’t love me enough now. And that’s fine. It’s cool.

123. Jesus Christ, save the fucking speech, you pussy. I’ll marry you. Of course I’ll fucking marry you.

124. You must really love cock.  -I definitely love one.-

125. You ever try to get me to move to Milwaukee, I’ll fuckin’ murder you.

126. Hey, I like the blue ones.  -Yeah?- 

127. You sure you still wanna go through with this?  -Yes. Why?-

128. You’re a sneaky bastard.

129. -Take your meds?-  Yes.  -Good.-

130. The son of a bitch is never gonna let me be happy. He needs to die today.

131. Well, there’s plenty of strays wandering around the neighborhood. I’m sure we can pick one up for cheap.

132. Yeah, well, at least I don’t have to hide in a coffin till the sun goes down.

133. Damn straight, Gallagher.

134. I, Mikhailo, take you, Ian, to be my husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health,  to love and to cherish you till death do us part.

135. Good morning, Mr - Millagher?

136. You hungry?

137. You wanna go again?  -Absolutely.-

[cowb0ygenius]

Interview with Julien Baker | From the Music Desk

Julien Baker is set to release a new album, "Little Oblivions" on Feb. 26. Baker is coming off the heels of her collaboration with Phoebe Bridgers and Lucy Dacus in their group Boygenius, and she played at Eaux Claires one year, playing background as Hanif Abdurraqib read poetry. Abdurraqib also wrote Baker's bio for the "Little Oblivions" release and once we started on our shared love for his work, there was no stopping our conversation. -88Nine Radio Milwaukee

[transcript under the cut]

Hi Julien!

Hello Justin!

Hey, how ya doing?

Uh, doing pretty well! Yeah, how are you?

I’m good. Uh, even before going into- even before reading your bio I was going to ask you about Hanif Abdurraqib, and then-

Yeah!

And then I was so fortunate to read the bio [laughs]

I, when he agreed to do that, I was like- [gestures] I was like, emotional? I was like, “I love Hanif!” I actually met- it’s so weird, I like, met/heard, became familiar with his writing, his poetry at, like, a christian writing conference in Grand Rapids?

When?

Um… Oh my gosh, was it 2017? Had to be 2017. Because 2018… yeah. I think it was like a couple of years ago. Um, and then like-

Why were you both there? … Speaking on Christian writing?

Okay so here- the, um, the person who ran it, um, was so sweet, and had like- so we had played there… “we.” This was before I toured with a band. But uh, played with violin. We had played there at this Christian college, um, in Grand Rapids, like just on tour, because whoever ran the events was like- I don’t wanna say “really cool” as if that’s an anomaly for people who- for people of faith, but like-

Sure!

I played there, they had asked Torres to play there, you know-

Hanif was there…

Hanif was there. Yeah, it seemed like the people programming wanted to have a dialogue that wasn’t so- like- the- I don’t- man. It’s funny, ‘cause now I don’t really like using words like “secular.” Um.. [laughs] There’s just this weird otherness, when you call something “secular.” You’re like, “oh…. Secular.”

[laughs]

But uh.. yeah! Just wanted to incorporate, like, non-faith based art as an exploration of like, more abstract ways of how, how we see God?

Mhm.

Umm… like, what that even is? Which I- I like, of course, I was like 20 years old and I was like “THIS IS MY LANEE” Um, I gave at- at that- I’m s- I’m a little embarrassed, but also…. God bless young Julien. I gave like a fucking powerpoint presentation at that conference-

Wow!

AT THAT CONFERENCE, about how [laughs] about how hardcore music, um, was an analog to the tenets of the Gospel.

How so?

Oh my gosh. I don’t know. I-

Hit me with the thesis!

Man, I don’t wanna- I just- It’s funny because I- back then I was trying to have a thesis. And I thought I ha- I had a lot of philosophies to deploy. And now I don’t. [long pause] Uh… Now I don’t. I’m not so- It’s not like I’m not so sure of them but I just have… you know, even back then where it was like this weird disclaimer I would put at the beginning of everything, like, “well I don’t know anything, but what I’ve found and how I understand faith,” and it’s just kind of like… I… I now feel responsible for, kind of, representing an ideology, or trying to pitch people an ideology that was not realistic. [chuckles] Or like-

What was your ideology?

I don’t know! I thought that, that…. [scoffs] It was a lot of stuff. Um, I thought, you know, I thought living out my faith, and- God, this is probably- I don’t wanna do this to another artist, uh, and be like, “Well I really liked what they said, so I did just like them!” Uh, but I- my favorite band was mewithoutYou? And,

Mhm.

It still is! mewithoutYou rocks. Um, but, I like…. Took everything about their ethos and how... Aaron like, characterized God and like the things that they did and tried to apply it to my own life in this way that when I look back on it now was really like- it was like, not that extreme but I wanted to be? You know? I wanted to have like, one shirt.

Oh, yeah.

And to not have- and like, take all the rider food and walk around outside and give it to homeless people.

Yeah.

That’s not- like, okay.

I get that, I get that.

That’s not inherently bad! That is not inherently bad. But, like… I think that I like, hung all of those actions on this belief that like, there was a true- like if I could only just find out what being right is.

Mm.

What God wants. What, uh- how to best love other people. What the right thing to do is.

Mm.

Then I could- and I was like- but you know, it’s because I held all these crazy standards for myself, of being like… ultimately kind? Then when I was like human and I did something shitty, I would have a panic attack about it. You know?

Yeah. Yes.

Like… and, I was just like- but it’s basically so I’m standing up here in a frickin’ tweed blazer, at this Christian conference, trying to be like, “Here’s how I learned love.” Right? Like, “I learned love because people at a church that was a little bit more progressive than the churches I had been to in high school, um, invited me over for dinner, no strings attached, and I was happy that someone was taking interest in me and being kind to me and loving me with no caveat?”

Mhm.

And the other place I found that was.. punk shows. The other place I found that, was, you know, and it was all wrapped up to in like… me being attached to like, straight-edge ideology. Which ha- like, can be useful as like an offshoot of like an understanding of sobriety but also has a lot to do with purity culture? And like… [gestures]

Yeah.

You know? It’s- it’s just- difficult! And so now, I’m like- I just have less to say. You wouldn’t know it ‘cause I just talked, like-

[laughs]

I just had like a 10 minute run-on sentence, obviously. But like, I have- I have less. 

You think that’s ‘cause you have a larger audience?

Woah!

You think it’s harder to say something if you have a larger audience?

…. Oh god. You know what? I was gonna say no, but actually that might be a part of it. Like, I’d never thought of it like that before, but- man. I used to, like, if I were gonna tweet something, something that I f- that I shouldn’t feel so anxious about like, like- tweeting.

Yeah.

Like, first of all, it’s Twi- it’s like an imaginary digital realm. Like, i- it’s powerful! It’s powerful to educate, to organize, to um- you know, especially like...  whatever, I’m not even gonna get off on that, ‘cause that’ll be like the whole interview. But, I would st- I would have to- I would be like visibly sweating and have to turn my phone off if I was just like, “Hey! please like donate to this organization that’s trying to not put children in cages at the border.” But it’s like, why? I have- with my- with the whole fabric of my being believe that’s the right thing to do, and I have this like, “well what if, what if you’re wrong? What if you hurt someone’s feelings?” And I’m just like, dude- I- I- it’s just like, the more people- I didn’t even… When I was a kid, I just wanted to play music, and I pretty much thought that I was going to be a teacher, and then I was going to use summer break to tour with my band. And just kinda be… a thirty-year-old, like, rock chick.

Cool. Mhm.

Who was just… touring bars.

Cool teacher.

And like, I don’t- I don’t know! I didn’t want- but the same thing is, like, I had somebody say to me really early on, I was like- I said to them—it was my friend Ryan Rado, who made the painting for the Turn Out the Lights album cover—I was like, “Man, the most- I feel like the only thing I wanna do with a microphone when I get it is turn it away because I always learned about shows being about… gang vocals! And like-

[laughs]

And that’s kind of- that’s like- that’s literal, but also, it has implications on how you understand… your platform as a musician. It’s like yeah, I’m just, like… you know? All the people watching my band are just the other bands that just played. So we’re all kinda on the same…

[laughs]

…plane?

Uhuh? [laughs]

Um, and it’s like- now- and i- he said to me- he was like, “But you can’t change the fact that you have the microphone.”

Mhmm.

“So you’re going to have to say something into it anyway.”

Yeah.

And then I was like, “Well what do I say?” [chuckles] What do I say if I wanna- if I truly want the world to be a better place. What can I say, to make whoever follows the Julien Baker music account on Twitter-

[laughs]

-think about being a better person! And I’m not- like, it sounds like I’m be- I’m being so mean to myself, because like… that’s true. Like I want to put ideas and links to articles and history podcasts about like- I want to put that in front of the people that trust me enough to smash that follow button. You know? Like-

Yeah.

I- I wanna try. But I… I can’t, like, I think I- I really just wanted to be good. And-

Yeah.

But it’s so… I don’t wanna be like, “it’s hard to be good,” because that’s like a cop out of like, “Well, I should just be average.” [laughs] But like.. yeah man. It’s difficult, to all of the sudden have-

The-

Yeah-

There’s a low threshold for forgiveness on twitter, you know?

Good God, yeah. Yeah.

I mean it’s like that, you know, it’s hard!

Yeah!

I mean I- I- I read a tweet that Hanif liked today, you know it was like in my feed of, like, “Hanif liked this.” And it was like something about Ocean Vuong—who I love—um, but I guess like, Ocean like, said something today or something like that? And then it was like a… there was like a poet that was like, “This should also be a place for learning.” This- like, if someone said something, this should also be a place for forgiveness. And sometimes, we’re- sometimes we’re still figuring it out! And that’s okay-

Yeah!

-And that’s a really tough thing to do.

No, um, Ha- uh, I was just reading like, I think it was Hayley Williams was tweeting this whole long thing about like saying “womxn” with an x? And then like, like all- like, I didn’t even understand it. Like, what was the- I was just like, “okay!” I guess there was somebody that had a problem with this, and then she was just like, “Thanks. Thanks for letting me know that was problematic, I won’t do that anymore.” And I wish- I wish that I… ha- like- maybe I will get to a point where I’m like- It’s like, “I know I’m problematic! I’m- everybody’s problematic!”

[laughs]

But not least of all, me! You know?

[laughs]

Um, but I’m so afraid it’s like I will sit there and concoct what I want to say in an interview, or like- like when I have to do email interviews my manager will send me like four- like, “Hey, you- you really need to get this done”

[laughs]

Because I will sit here for seven hours, in this spot in my apartment, and be like, “That’s not the best way to say that! I could say it better!” You know, I’m just like- and then inevitably I’ll read it the next week and I’ll be like, “still sounds dumb.” Like, I just-

[laughs] You can’t win, Julien!

Can’t win! Yeah but it’s- it’s freeing. Its freeing to know that you can’t win.

For sure. Um- I’m going to have to wrap this up. We’re-

I’m so sorry!

Um- er- I think we have like two more minutes- I know, it’s been a quick 15. Yeah, um, you had said that mewithoutYou is, um, is your favorite band? And I would- I wanna come out of this with a song to play- could you tell me a mewithoutYou song that we can play? And why you like it?

Wowwww… okay. I’m sorry. I’m like a stan of them so I’m like mulling through their entire discography in my head right now.

Sure.

Um- oh my God. You know what? It’s a weird one, and I feel like.. mewithoutYou fans don’t hate me for not saying, like, 19- 1979 or whatever? But… um… play King Beetle and the Coconut Estate. That one’s really cool. It’s about beetles who think that God is like a light and then they all fight it- it’s like a really cool microcosmic little fable that is a really merciful way to look at humans trying to figure out what heaven or god or rightness is. But it’s just little bugs. [laughs]

[laughs]

Talking to each other! It’s really cute. King Beetle and the Coconut Estate.

Perfect

Yeah. Yeah!

Um, and thank you. I mean, that’s- that was the fastest 15 minutes I’ve uh ever spent!

Oh my gosh! We didn’t even- We just talked about a Christian music conference!

[laughs] We didn’t even really like get to Hanif, or-

I’m so- I’m so sorry!

Oh no, oh my God! The best is when you, uh, make a plan and then you throw the, you know, road map out the window.

Yeah!

This is my dream conversation!

Okay! [laughs] Well good! Thank you! It’s been- I’ve enjoyed this conversation quite thoroughly.

Me too! Thank you! Uh- and thank you for the, thank you for the music! Consistently throughout your career, and-

Oh! Yeah, I try!

And thanks for the, for the new record.

[those-garsh-darn-homos]

The gays ruined aviators for me.

I was once a man that loved his aviator glasses. Didn’t matter if they were fake reading glasses, sunglasses, old geriatric glasses, homoerotic Top Gun glasses, I loved me some aviators. That was all until I discovered the inner working of gay sex.

It all began one night back in ’87, in the local gay Milwaukee bar that I had been perusing due to grief. It hadn’t been the best year, 3 of my favourite gay icons died, first Liberace, then Andy Warhol, and just as I thought it couldn’t get any worse, Rudolf Hess, gay idol extraordinaire, kicked the fuckin bucket. I was beyond grief stricken from this tragic series of misfortunate events. For these three men to be struck down in their youth for the only crime, of being gay, was a travesty of the highest order. So I found myself at the bottom of a bottle to forget the pain, and also desperate to be stuffed like a thanksgiving turkey, to really get in the mindset of my idols. You see I never got the chance to fornicate with a male, but all these dead guys seemed so happy during their life and I figured it might be the best anti-depressant, so I put on my most effeminate outfit and as Rudolf Hess once said “I’m looking to get some man bussy tonight”. My attempts at getting ploughed were mostly unsuccessful, even after I took a play out of Liberace’s book, and dressed myself like a flamboyant gay lizard that was on the verge of overdosing on poppers. I didn’t put all my eggs in one basket though, some nights I would dress up like a rambunctious oyster, using my curtains as a cape, a clown’s neck ruffle, and more rings than a closeted Italian mob boss. None of these fashion choices worked out in my favour, since Prince hadn’t popularized looking like a bitch yet.

So there I was one night, sitting at the bar wearing a pink feathered coat three sizes too big for me, that I had to poach three dozen flamingo’s to make, when all of a sudden, across the bar, I spot a man in aviators, and my knees began to buckle. His eyes met mine momentarily, and I could feel us using our gay telepathy abilities to communicate with one another, he said to me “I want to eat you in my bathtub” which I just thought was so romantic, I always wanted to be eaten out in a bubble bath, perhaps with some nice rose petals sprinkled on the floor, a magnolia scented candle filling the air with fumes of homosexuality, some Marvin Gaye being played on Vinyl. I picked my glass up and took a seat next to this aviator clad bear. Not only had he aviators covering his eyes, he had a second pair poking out of his shirt’s breast pocket, then I noticed every time he shifted in his seat, that he was sitting on a pair broken aviators in his back pocket, which explained why he was bleeding from the ass. His t-shirt, under his flannel shirt (gay uniform around those parts) had a aviators printed on it. Every detail of this man was perfection, from the aviators on his eyes, to the secret backup aviators in his ankle holster. We introduced ourselves and I discovered his name was Jeffery. It didn’t take long after that, for him to woo me with his charm, saying all kinds of sexy things like, “I’m gonna eat your heart with some gravy” and “I just wanna chop you into itty bitty pieces and gobble you up” I mean I knew I was a snack but, wow. He could see a red blush covering my cheeks every time he waved that smooth tongue of his, and it wasn’t long until he offered to take me back to his place.

When we reached his humble abode, I was met with the stench of death in the air, which I could dig, since he was obviously going for the grizzled Canadian lumberjack look. I took off my flamingo coat and sat on his couch as he fixed us a drink. When he returned with the drink I could smell the familiar scent of rohypnol, and had to request another drink, since rohypnol just didn’t react well with my tummy, or my ass, since every time I had over the years, I would wake up unable to sit down for a week. Jeffery looked confused for a moment, then went to fix me another non-rohypnol flavoured cocktail. After that hiccup we enjoyed our time together, chit chatting about our favourite gay icons, but I didn’t know many of his, Dean Carroll, Jürgen Bartsch, Paul Bateson, Wayne Williams, John Wayne Gacy, but I did have to say, True Grit was a great movie so I understood why he would choose John Wayne to be one of his gay idols.

Somewhere in the middle of our conversation, Jeffery decided to pop the question, of whether we should fornicate, mano a mano. I admitted that I was unfamiliar in the territory of how men might partake in coitus together without a hole to place one’s meat for marinating. Jeffery was very understanding and agreed to show me how gay men achieve sexual gratification, without the presence of a twinkle cave to copulate. It turned out, when you don’t have a punani to poke, intercourse becomes considerably more surgical. Jeffery assured me he was a professional and explained that all he would need along with his wing-wang, was a power drill and some hydrochloric acid. The drill would be used to make a small hole to act as a makeshift snatch in my skull. I was a little apprehensive, but Jeffery asked if I could think of any other hole for him to go all rumpy pumpy on, and I could not for the life of me think of any other way. Just as the drill began to get closer and closer to my forehead, I began to sweat profusely and shake uncontrollably. I didn’t care if Rudolf the Red Nosed Nazi found joy in doing this, it just wasn’t for me, I knew it. Maybe I was a top, all I knew was I just wasn’t cut out for being a submissive bitch, like Prince. I stopped Jeffery and explained that I wasn’t feeling too well and that I should leave, only he handcuffed me and continued the procedure. “what have I got myself into now” is all I could think to myself, of all the guys I could have had my first time with, it had to be an undercover cop. Here I was, in police issue pink fluffy handcuffs, as I was about to have completely normal gay sex for the first time, and then I asked myself why he might be doing this to me, and it was then I made the decision to come clean. “okay it’s true, I whacked off to my Grandma’s bedsheets, I’m guilty” I confessed. Jeffery stopped in his tracks and now he was the one giving me confused looks. I took my opportunity and ran for the door screaming “I’LL NEVER STOP JERKING MY GHERKIN TO GRANNY’S SKID MARKED BRITCHES”. I made my escape with my flamingo coat, but like a woman running away from a psycho killer in a slasher, I had to ditch the heels (Giant flamingo coat in this case) if I had any hopes of escaping with my skull’s hymen intact. Do you know how many families of flamingo’s I had to slaughter to get that fucking coat? It’s gonna take forever to make another one now.

A few weeks passed after that and I started getting a paranoid about whether the police were onto me. I couldn’t take the heat, every time a squad car drove slowly past my house. I could feel my days of freedom slipping away by the minute, and if I was gonna go out, it was going to be on my own terms. I took myself down to the local station and turned myself in. They brought me to an interrogation room to ask me about what crime I committed, and I explained to them that one of their officers had attempted to arrest me a few weeks ago and perform sexual acts on me. When they asked what he did I gave them every detail of the homosexual intercourse procedure and they explained that it wasn’t one of their officers, but instead just an ordinary gay man trying to partake in something called “skull fucking”. They said it was pretty common around these parts and not to worry about it too much and sent me on my way. The weight of the world had been lifted off my shoulders as I walked out of that station.

I never did get around to partaking in gay sex after that day, but ever since then, I can’t look at a man in aviators without being reminded of my close call. I instinctively tell anyone I meet wearing aviators “I DON’T WANT TO BE SKULL FUCKED, PLEASE DO NOT GIVE ME ROHYPNOL” before I can move on with interacting with them any further, and it has drove away many of my friends. I really can’t help it, it’s a kneejerk reaction. I never heard much of that Jeffery after that, but if I did meet him, I’d probably bludgeon his head with a rusty pipe, don’t know why, just really want to do exactly that.

[dustedmagazine]

Listed: Jeffrey Alexander

Jeffrey Alexander is a fixture in a free-wheeling, Grateful Dead-loving, guitar jam underground, a founder of the Iditarod and Black Forest/Black Sea and a sometime member of Jackie O Motherfucker. His Direwolves splice acid folk with a buzzing, humming motoric-ness that edges near Stereolab, but his latest band, the Heavy Lidders, is pure transcendental pleasure. In her review, Jennifer Kelly noted that, “These songs take their time to loosen and relax, pursuing repetitive vamps until the edges melt away and the hard colors swirl into pastels.” Alexander is also a DJ and here he lists some of the music he spins for listeners.

For this Listed, I decided to run down some of the bootlegs and quirky things that I often play on my radio show — hope you dig it. I started doing radio back in college in the 1980s, where I was also the record librarian. The archives at the station opened me up to a myriad of sounds and new zones. Radio for me is like a new mixtape — not knowing what is going to come next… or waiting for the next mic break to try and find out the name of that killer song they played 15 minutes ago. The mystery of it all is still exciting, like remnants of pre-internet music fandom when we searched through record stores, made lists from music magazines and traded tapes. I had a spell as a commercial FM DJ on WRNR in Maryland in the 1990s, but it wasn’t until moving to San Francisco that I started my own program called Pome Pome Tones. PPT currently broadcasts Wednesdays 7-9pm Central fortnightly on www.dunebuggyradio.com. Podcasts are up at www.mixcloud.com/dwlvs.

Fairport Convention — Reno Nevada — April 27, 1968

Recorded live on the French TV program Bouton Rouge. Brooke Sietinsons of The Espers turned me on this this when we were VHS tape trading in 2000 and I’ve been retreating to it every so often for 20 years. This is Fairport at their most delightfully blinding San Francisco ballroom jamming free flight. It’s just so fucking good. I love the crisp dual vocals of Judy Dyble and Ian Matthews, I especially love that they both sit down and look so bored during the guitar jam out. Especially Judy, just like a Donna Jean icy stare. But the jam out is super nice too — modal jazzy freak-outs, some of Richard Thompson’s best ever captured on video. This takes the most boring song from my favorite Richard and Mimi Farina album to incredible new zones. I also tend to play a lot of Ian Matthews’ early 1970s records on my radio show, as well. Such a pure voice and perfect ringwear rock vibes.

The Smiths — How Soon Is Now? (Chopped + Screwed)

The chopped + screwed style coming out of Houston, TX in the late 1990s/early 2000s is so fascinating. Full-on Robitussin-fueled shamanism, it’s like the modern-day version of dub. There are so many examples of this across the spectrum, but this 10-minute chopped version of The Smiths takes the cake — probably because 16-year-old me in 1984 sat on the floor listening to the original version of this over and over again, studying the gatefold. But this version is so much better. Thank you Scobed + Robed.

I’m Still In Love With You (Alton Ellis, Sean Paul)

Althea + Donna’s Uptown Top Ranking is one of my all-time favorite songs, and one of John Peel’s as well. A well-worn Jamaican riddim starting with Alton Ellis in 1967 and made famous again by Marcia Aitken in 1977. DJ Algoriddim has expertly mixed together a boat load of these variations here and it’s a killer 30-minute jam.

Jon Rose – Paganini’s Last Testimony

When things get autumnal each year, I gear up for a spooky edition of my radio show. One of my favorites featured this Jon Rose piece which he originally broadcast on ABC, Australia in 1988. It’s an amazing sinister collage of bible-belt radio bits, demonic violin, and Rose reciting devilish text from Paganini’s own letters. The CD is long out of print but you can hear the entire 57 minutes of this glorious creation on an old episode of Pome Pome Tones here.

10cc — I’m Not In Love 1975 Disco Purrfection Version

12-minute remix version of a favorite song from my early childhood — unbelievably smooth mix by DJ Disco Cat. Read the comments on the YouTube post for the full mix backstory. Purrfect.

Sun Ra Arkestra — at Victoria Theater, San Francisco California — Aug 3, 2013

I’ve been super fortunate to experience the live Arkestra a handful of times, and this set from 2013 simply floored me. They completely consumed that old ratty theater space with their magical floating power.

Dire Wolves — at Festival of Endless Gratitude, Copenhagen Denmark — Sep 13, 2019

Live DWLVS ! Yeah, I play my own music on my radio show all the time, somebody has to. This is a short rough audience clip — the proper audio of the whole set was released on LP by Feeding Tube / Cardinal Fuzz with a fabulous poster.

Flow & Heady by Dire Wolves Just Exactly Perfect Sisters Band

Copenhagen 2019 was the last time I saw these DWLVS bandmates in person, but we have plans to meet up again at the Milwaukee Psych Fest November 19-20, 2021, unless ya all spreadnecks shut it down.

Chuck Brown and The Junkyard Band — at Wilmer’s Park, Brandywine Maryland — Sep 19, 1989

I grew up in Baltimore and spent a lot of time going to punk and hippie shows in DC (old 9:30, DC space) in the 1980s, but Wilmer’s Park in southern MD was totally the place. All-day and night go-go shows, mini festivals with overnight camping, shows from Hot Tuna, Zero, Allmans, Root Boy Slim (!!!) and some of the best BBQ I’ve eaten, oh man. There was a lot of crossover of punk/funk/crunchy scenes back then, I loved it all. I went to a lot of Trouble Funk gigs, but this was the only time I witnessed the legendary Chuck Brown.

Alice Coltrane — at Palace of Culture, Warsaw Poland — Oct 23, 1987

Harp solo during her appearance at the Jazz Jamboree festival in 1987. Perfect, transportive.

Bardo Pond — What Are Their Names?

Probably the greatest band of the last 30 years covering one of my absolute favorite David Crosby songs, what could be better? I curated this Terrastock festival in Providence RI in 2006 and assembled a CD compilation of some of the performers for a micro release on the label I used operate called Secret Eye. The original features Jerry Garcia, Neil Young, Phil Lesh (what an amazing LP!) and this Bardo version somehow channels that essence in a slow fried perfect hash jar tempo.

[getalittleclosey]

100k+ larry fic rec

hi! i’m becca and i read...so much fic. these rec lists are an accumulation of fic that i’ve read or reread and extra loved from 2016-now. there’s a wide range of stuff here and i think there’s definitely something for everyone!! i divided them up by length so you can check out all those categories below!

please make sure to read tags and warnings on all these fics!! the only things i think i can guarantee is that these are all larry, there’s no non-con, no age play, no eating disorders, no mentions of bg, they end happy, and they’re mostly aus. oh and they’re all on ao3 and some are locked so you’ll need an account! anyway i hope y’all enjoy!!!

under 5k

under 10k

under 25k

under 50k

under 100k

☆ with a whimper by kitundercover 133k

Dystopian AU. Louis has been alone for too long to remember how not to be, and Harry has too much to worry about to deal with a scrawny, wild, stranger. ---

The man grips his arm tightly. “You’re not going to say anything.” It’s not a question.

Louis shakes his head, his body twitching.

“Fine.” Large green eyes survey him before letting go. “It’s cold. Take this. Wear it.”

Louis can’t help another flinch as the man’s long scarf is wrapped around his tender neck, it’s still warm. He touches the soft material. “Thank you.”

The man bears his teeth. “Don’t thank me. Don’t ever thank me.”

☆ never be by cherrystreet 118k

Monica: You've got to see her again. Ross: And why do you care so much? Monica: Because! You could get to live out my fantasy! Ross: You had fantasies about Emily? Monica: No! Y’know, the fantasy! Meet someone from a strange land, fall madly in love, and spend the rest of your lives together.

The one where Harry Styles moves to Connecticut from England for nine months as a part of a study abroad program, and he just so happens to move in with Louis Tomlinson and family.

☆ that sounds fake but okay by dancingontheceiling 113k

Harry Styles is a rookie journalist forced to work the gossip desk at a major New York magazine. Louis Tomlinson is the A-list actor who doesn't appreciate Harry or his articles.

☆ if it kills me by you_explode 111k

Harry and Louis have worked together in a difficult office environment for six years. They're best friends; Louis is the bright spot of all of Harry's days. But Louis is in love with Harry, and Harry's engaged to someone else. And that's only the beginning.

The Office AU. More or less follows the first five seasons. A lot of pining and misunderstanding the depth of feelings and rejection and angst, until there isn’t.

☆ shake me down by agreatperhaps12 209k

Harry's new to college, fresh out of Catholic school and conversion therapy camp, and Louis runs the campus LGBTQIA organization.

☆ love is a rebellious bird by 100percentsassy, gloria_andrews 135k

AU in which the boys still make music. Louis is the concertmaster of the London Symphony Orchestra, Harry is the New! and Exciting! interim conductor/ex-cello prodigy who "has made Mozart cool again" according to Esquire Magazine (Louis hates him immediately, which is definitely why he internet stalked him in his dark bedroom late at night that one time), and Niall is the best. Zayn and Liam are around too.

Don't hum Bolero.

note: i fucking love this one. my current car is named thunder because of it (all the cars i’ve leased over the last 9 years have been named after vague larry fic references)

☆ one more time again by orphan_account 232k

Harry looks down to where Louis is cradling his hand between his own. Louis' hands are slender, the bones delicate, the nails bitten short. The 2-8 on the backs of his fingers is gone, but the faded scar from a skateboarding mishap in Year 7 is still there.

Harry's hand is awkward, knobby-boned and naked, no rings, no tattoos. It's too big for his wrist and his wrist too big for his arm. Yet it still somehow fits in Louis' in the painfully perfect way it always did.

He blinks back the sting in his eyes.

On the morning of his second sold-out performance at Madison Square Garden, Harry wakes up to find that he's sixteen years old, on The X Factor, and that he has a chance to make things right.

A canon-compliant fix-it fic (sort of).

note: there’s a 15k second part

☆ soft hands, fast feet, can’t lose by dolce_piccante 113k

American Uni AU. Harry Styles is a frat boy football star from the wealthy Styles Family athletic dynasty. A celebrity among football fans, he knows how to play, he knows how to party, and he knows how to fuck (all of which is well known among his legion of admirers).

Louis Tomlinson is a student and an athlete, but his similarities to Harry end there. Intelligent, focused, independent, and completely uninterested in Harry’s charms, Louis is an anomaly in a world ruled by football.

A bet about the pair, who might be more similar than they originally thought, brings them together. Shakespeare, ballet, Disney, football, library chats, running, accidental spooning, Daredevil and Domino’s Pizza all blend into one big friendship Frappucino, but who will win in the end?

note: there’s a 5k second part to this

extra note: idk if this is an unpopular opinion but i’ve always preferred this over escapade or rntm

☆ paint me in a million dreams by green_feelings 113k

Harry's one of Hollywood's biggest actors, has made a name for himself in prestigious films and lives the life of a superstar. There's just one thing missing to make it picture-perfect, but the one Harry's in love with is completely out of reach for him. Enter Louis, one of Hollywood's biggest actors himself, who just came out of the closet and taps new genres in the industry. When Louis sacks the role Harry auditioned for in Scorsese's next big film, their irrational feud starts. Who could have guessed it would get even worse when for promo season, their teams decide to present them as a couple for publicity?

In short, Harry's in love with someone and doesn't care about dating anyone else, Louis never felt home in L.A., Liam writes love songs for someone he shouldn't write love songs to, and Niall makes everything better with good food.

☆ walk that mile by purpledaisy 150k

Harry stares at him, the line of his jaw standing out scarily. “I wanted to get the most out of this trip so I planned it carefully.” His voice is low and steady and somehow that’s worse than when he was yelling. “So far, you’ve put your sticky fingers on everything I’ve tried to do.”

“Sticky fingers?” Louis repeats, offended. “Are you saying it’s my fault you got stung by a bee? Had you been alone you would have gotten halfway to the Dotty Diner and ran the car off the road because of an allergic reaction, so don’t go blaming me.”

“Polk-A-Dot Drive In,” Harry spits before getting out of the car. He slams the door shut with a deafening reverb and Louis rolls his eyes. - A Route 66 AU where falling in love was never part of the plan.

☆ landslide by aimmyarrowshigh, spibsy (lucy_and_ramona) 143k

The year is 1976. In November, Jimmy Carter will take control of the White House. Americans are meeting Laverne & Shirley at their apartment in Milwaukee. Hotel California diverges from the reign of Kool & the Gang. And the FBI is still reeling from the repercussions of Watergate, the tragedy at Wounded Knee, Operation Family Secrets, and the strategic terrors of the anti-cult movement.

That's what Special Agent Harry Styles has been told is the basis of his mission to an abandoned farmhouse in rural New Hampshire.

With his hair grown out long and his shirt untucked, he's going undercover to do reconnaissance on suspected cult leader Louis Tomlinson, who has led a group of people out into the middle of nowhere, leaving no record of the life he'd had before. All Harry knows is what the agency gave him: Tomlinson's name, and instructions to figure out what he's doing with the eleven people he brought with him.

In the year that Harry spends undercover and under Louis Tomlinson's wing, he learns more than he ever expected.

note: i will rep this fic until the day i die. even my mom knows how much i love landslide

[firesign23]

I saw you mention in discord a 10 things I hate bout u idea! 🙏

Okay, so first of all, you have to understand that that film is over 20 years old and I still quote it several times a week. It is that deeply embedded into my psyche. Second of all, you have to understand that I long ago swore I would never write a high school AU for anything, but after a year of occasionally tinkering and prodding the idea I would definitely write this one. And might, if I ever have the time. 😂

Right, so, the fic as I explain it to people (now under a cut for length):

Brienne and Selwyn move in her second year of high school, hoping to flee the memories of Brienne’s mother. Brienne is immediately befriended by Catelyn Stark, who at the start of their senior year declares loudly that she will not date until Brienne does. She means to draw Brienne out, is certain that she craves romance, and approaches it with the logic of a teenager. She refuses to back down. (I’m sorry if there are any teenagers reading this, but y’all are emotionally dumb. So were we.)

Enter Cersei. Cersei, who wants to date Cat. Cat who wants romance for her friend, and possibly to hate fuck the eldest Lannister in the girls bathroom after homeroom. Cersei, who hatches a plan--they’ll pay someone to date Brienne, and Cat is free and clear. But Cersei sure as shit isn’t spending her own money on this, and targets Joey Donner Petyr Baelish to bankroll the endeavour. They go through several potential suitors, but none of them are quite right.

Luckily for Cersei and Cat, Jaime is back after a year-long absence and Jaime would do anything for his sister. The real problem though, is that all of his money is going towards his university fund since Tywin won’t pay for it. He doesn’t have hundreds of dragons to drop on dates. Petyr is back in the game.

Combatant dynamic, blahblah, eventually Jaime gets past some of Brienne’s barriers and finds he likes her. They date for a couple of months--slow things at first, but as time goes on they bond over shared interests and griefs, slowly lowering the masks they hide behind. The first time they kiss is when Jaime brings Brienne to a fundraiser the charity set up in his mother’s name. There is something so contradictory between the sharp-edged Jaime she knows and the way he donates an odd amount of money, because that is what he had. (It is the excess from the date money from Baelish, though she doesn’t know it) She thinks she might be falling in love with him. 

And then... 

The “I’m not a virgin” moment comes when Brienne tells Catelyn about the Bet equivalent--she wasn’t unpopular at her previous school, not really, but she discovered that the flirtations and dates were about accessing her father’s money rather than a fondness for her, and she promptly decided that she would never let another man close like that, never let people have expectations about her--Catelyn realises that she has, whatever her intentions, fucked up severely and tells Brienne that she needs to talk to Jaime.

Whatever Brienne expected, it is not Jaime’s outpouring of regret as he explains that he had done this to help his sister, and yes the money helped, Tywin is refusing to fund his post-secondary choices (I’m pretty sure he wants to be a hospice nurse, remembering the ones who made his mother’s last days as comfortable as possible, and Tywin hates this on several levels), but it was mostly for Cersei but-- She never knows what it was he meant to say, because she walks away. She never should have let him close.  

Cue a longer break/emotional arc about getting back together where Brienne is mourning her relationship with Cat and Jaime, and questioning whether this defensive thing had made her happy, and Cat and Jaime both apologising in ways that respect Brienne’s boundaries, culminating in first a Cat and Brienne reconciliation and then an end of year photography project that is a quiet declaration of love:  All these pictures that are Jaime-adjacent, possibly juxtaposed by something of her mother's--either pictures her mother took fo Selwyn, or pictures they took together before she died, or a quote she would say about photography and love, and it is a very quiet declaration that Jaime understands

Brienne/Jaime and Cat/Cersei both attend prom, where Petyr Baelish tries to start shit. Catelyn punches him. Readers rejoice. 

Extra headcanons:

The Discord conversation the other day was because I’d written a snippet of Ms Tyrell’s bad romance novel. It is… well, see for yourself. Amor laid his maidenly wench upon the bed, removing her red crimson and gold cloak that marked her as his, and growled like the tiger of his family crest. "Oh, Amor! Your bratwurst is so tumescent, however will it fit?" she whimpered, and his member quivered hotly. "Open the lube, you wicked creature, and I will show you."

The sonnet scene was never going to be directly translatable given Brienne’s reticent nature, so when the photography idea came to me I was like “Of course!”

Aerys is Jaime’s Milwaukee--All these rumours he killed a man, joined the Secret Service, etc and really he was in rehab for a hand injury

As much as I love 10 Things, what drew me to it is that there are some really interesting Kat/Patrick and Brienne/Jaime parallels in regards to loneliness and the loss of their mothers and learning to let another person see you. It’s what made me keep coming back again and again.

He buys her a camera. Out of his own funds. 

[rustbeltjessie]

Diary of an Emotional Masochist, Chapter One: Dignity and Shame

I am an emotional masochist. I’m the kind of person, who, when I’m already going through a bout of nostalgic melancholy, will decide to read old journal entries or look through old photographs. The kind of person who, when it’s three a.m. and I can’t sleep because I’m thinking about what loves have come and gone (to borrow a phrase from Edna St. Vincent Millay), will get up and Google search those loves. I am the kind of woman who, when I’m already sad, will listen to an album that devastates me. I have a long list of albums that it’s almost too painful to listen to, albums that remind me of such specific times in my life that listening to them takes me right back to where I was then. A different person would purge their record collection and iTunes library of such albums, but, like I said – I am an emotional masochist. On lonesome evenings, after a couple glasses of whiskey, nothing sounds better to me than spinning one of those records (or queueing up one of those playlists). This is one of those lonesome-whiskey evenings, so won’t you join me in indulging? We’re listening to Crooked Fingers’ Dignity and Shame.

From the first sparse, haunting notes of “Islero,” I am transported back in time to the summer of 2005. God, that summer. That terrible, wonderful summer. I’d fucked up my life the year before, and I thought that would be the summer I’d fix it, except all I did was fuck it up even more. God, that summer. That March, I moved away from Chicago after living there for five years. I planned on moving to Milwaukee come autumn, to start fresh in a fresh town. In the meantime, I moved back in with my parents. I wasn’t home, much. Nights, after work, I went to one of the two bars in Kenosha where all my sad drunk hoodlum friends hung out. On days off, I walked in the woods – the heat was relentless, and the canopy of trees offered cool green comfort. Or I drove to Chicago to see shows and drink with my friends and try to remember why I’d left; drove to Milwaukee to scope out neighborhoods, sit for hours at the Hi-Fi Cafe, go record and dress shopping. On one of my record shopping expeditions, I bought Dignity and Shame. It was on the Staff Recommendations shelf, and I liked the cover art, so I took it home with me – and it was serendipity, it was exactly the album I needed at the time.

As soon as I got home, I set it spinning on my turntable, and the first track – “Islero” – gave me goosebumps. The second track – “Weary Arms” – made me cry. It had sad cellos and a lonesome cowboy guitar, and Eric Bachmann’s voice was a raspy baritone: Beware of strangers knocking at your door. Old lovers, too. Don’t think for one second they’ve forgotten you. Oh, oh, oh. By the time the final, hidden track played, I’d melted into a puddle of tears and goosebumps on my bedroom floor. The album destroyed me, and it spooked me because so many of the stories sounded like things right out of my life, both from that year and six or so years before it. It was like Eric Bachmann had read my diary and set it to music. I wanted to write him a letter and say: “Get out of my head, god damn it! Get out of my aching heart.” It’s impossible for me to write about Dignity and Shame, or about the summer of 2005, without descending into hyperbole, sentimental poetry, and melodrama. My God, that summer was hyperbole, sentimental poetry, and melodrama. I was still young enough that it was acceptable to feel things that intensely, acceptable to talk about a sunrise over Lake Michigan by saying things like: “When the light shot through the horizon in streaks of peach and gold, it was the most god damn beautiful thing I’d ever seen.” Dear diary, listen to me.

My “Weary Arms” wrapped tight around so many lovers, that summer – four of them, plus a handful of brief flings. Later that year, I lamented that I hadn’t had as many wild love affairs as I’d had in years past, which, yes, says something unflattering about me. And Eric Bachmann sang: You have many enemies, for reasons no one’s certain of.

One night, while I sat at one of the bars and waited for my friends to arrive, a girl approached me. I didn’t know her, but she knew me. She sat down across from me and lambasted me for sleeping with a guy she’d been dating at the time…two years before. She called me a slut, and some worse things. I wanted to buy her a drink, to appease her. I couldn’t understand why she hated me so much. When I slept with that guy, I had no idea he had a girlfriend. So many enemies, so many lovers, but could a jaded girl like me heed an uptempo “Call To Love?” In that song, Eric took the role of a particular one of my lovers, and said: Won’t you hear my heart? I’m transmitting a call to love. On a night when the moon was orange-red and luminous, that lover said: “The moon is the color of your hair.” Another night: “You were born in the wrong era, Jess.” And, though I was a sucker for sentimental poetry, my guard was up. Lara Meyerratken answered for me: Don’t need my heart kicked ‘round the block no more. You may be smooth-talking, daddy, but I’ve heard it all before. I traded gossip with the “Twilight Creeps.” In this sweet-sad song with the bright piano and the shimmering backup vocals, I was both the singer and the sung about. I could have sung it to one of my lovers, should have said to her: Flower, don’t dig so deep so you don’t go anywhere. But the words were also about me: You say someday you’re gonna float away. Take yourself some kind of holiday. I often told my sad drunk hoodlum friends, the twilight creeps, that I needed to get the hell out of town. “If I could just get gone for more than a few days, go somewhere more than a few hours away…there ain’t no use in trying to make me stay.”

My lovers all wanted to make me stay. The flower-girl, I’ll call her Valerie. The one who spoke poetic words to me, I’ll call him Jack. And there was Lon, and Carmine. In different ways, for different reasons, they each wanted me to choose them over all the rest. Even a few of the week-long flings and one-night stands, older punk guys or younger hippie girls, said things to me like: “How did I get so lucky as to meet a girl like you?” Or: “So, are you my girlfriend now?” And when I said no, they called me a heartbreaker. A “Destroyer.” It’s a woebegone cowboy of a tune. Doleful drums, piano that tinkles like ice cubes in a bar glass, and a lap steel guitar – which, as far as I’m concerned, is the aural equivalent of an anti-hero walking off into the sunset. The song is all about how the singer is going to make someone his, and then he’s going to leave them behind. When they called me heartbreaker, I wanted to sing it: Lay down, just let it come, and resign your heart, today, to get blown away. “Valerie,” well, that’s why I’m referring to that lover as Valerie. Much like me, she was a punk rock girl turned heroine of a Tom Waits song (heroine of a Crooked Fingers song). She had thriftstore dresses and jailhouse tattoos and self-inflicted scars. “Valerie,” the song, has a sanguine strut, is a besotted love song, and I thought of Valerie, the girl: Red roses, silk, you in your sleek summer dress. You were light, revelation, oh, I love you the best. But she and I kept our love unspoken. We both had other romantic complications, and only touched each other on long hot nights after too many bottles of wine and too many pills. “Sleep All Summer” was my song for Jack, the young ex-goth whose mouth was pink and pouty like he’d been sucking on a strawberry popsicle. Our love was either all the good songs and kissing ’til our lips were raw, or it was screaming matches and hangover headaches. What bliss is this, and then he’d get attention-starved and whiny, and I’d burn hot and cold and say nasty things, and we’d say: “This is it, we’re through.” But – There ain’t no way we’re gonna find another, the way we sleep all summer. Why won’t you fall back in love with me? And we’d run into each other at the bar, and faster than our friends could say I told you so we’d be tangled up in the backseat of his car or rolling around by the lake, and the whole thing would start all over again. He’d play the martyr, and I’d say: I would change for you, but babe, that doesn’t mean I’m gonna be a better man.

And “Coldways” kill cool lovers. Lon was a folk singer from the north woods. He’d been one of my best friends for years already, and when we started dating I was so tired of complicated, fiery relationships that I mistook comfort for True Love. My heart still hurts when I think of how I hurt him. He wanted me to marry him and I just wanted to be drunk and in love, to listen to “Coldways”’s thrumming, swelling sound. To sing along: Come out, come on, tonight the city’s alive. “Wrecking Ball” has a jaunty, punchdrunk piano, and the piano had been drinking, but so had I. God, I drank so much that summer. On the rare night I spent at home, I holed up in my room, wrote long, sad, tales of people in the legend of my life, and drank blackberry brandy mixed with Sprite. Something like that would taste over-sweet to me now, make me shudder, but maybe the same part of me that craved sentimental poetry also thirsted for sugary drinks. And most nights, I wasn’t at home. Most nights, I changed clothes in my car after work. I swapped my reeking-of-pizza button down shirt and black slacks for one of my vintage dresses. A mint green confection, or a pink and white sundress. Something from the ‘50s, blue with red and white polka dots, or a slinky black number that a ‘30s jazz singer would have worn. And I sat at one of two bars, drank whiskey and Coke, or brandy old-fashioneds, or gin and tonics all night long. I waited for my friends to arrive, and I drank and smoked and entertained myself with one of the items I always had in my bag – a book of poetry by Dorothy Parker or Edna St. Vincent Millay, a deck of Alice In Wonderland tarot cards. And sometimes, someone would find me intriguing. I swear, I wasn’t a Manic Pixie Dream Girl, but… I was a redhead in a retro dress (usually with a strand of fake pearls, too) sitting in a dive bar, smoking pastel-colored cigarettes, reading sonnets and tarot cards. Christ. Often, someone found me intriguing, chatted me up, and I wound up with yet another lover. I was a destroyer, destroying myself with booze and love. I was a wrecking ball. Eric Bachmann, accompanied by that barroom piano, sang: And you laughed and you danced, and it let you feel fine for a while. Hanging out with the kids who you knew soon would fall out of style.

I’ve left two songs out, dear diary. I did it on purpose, because they are the two that hurt the most. They are also the two that heal the most. The kind of songs that make me weep, then tell me to dry my tears. “You Must Build A Fire,” oh, it is one of the saddest songs. It begins with only two guitars (a finger-picked lead and that god damn lap steel again), and Eric’s voice is so plaintive, sounds like it’s about to crack, and he sings: Oh, gracious love, you were so kind to me. You only broke my heart, let my arms and legs stay strong. So I could swim upon the open sea, searching for another love. Floating along aimlessly. I haven’t told you about Carmine, yet. Carmine was a musician who looked like a magician from an old-time carnival. The year before, he’d ruined me in a worse way than any other lover ever had. (As a friend put it, he was one of the ones who fucked me up so bad I was pretty much ruined for anyone else.) He ruined me, but I let him back into my life. That summer, we got together. It was supposed to be closure, but of course it just opened everything up again. He said: “I want to be with you. I want to try again.” I said: “Okay, yes, let’s start over. I want to be with you.” He said: “Only if you break things off with all your other lovers. I want to be your only.” The nerve, giving me an ultimatum like that when he was even more of a notorious libertine than I was. And the song sang: I had someone, a love I thought was true. But sometimes you just get tired, and you must try not to die. And give your love, though no one may receive. You must build a giant fire, for the whole wide world to see. It sounded like that whole heartbroken, hot summer. Oh, where are you, love?

The title track, “Dignity and Shame,” is a piano ballad that told me: To be sure, there ain’t no cure. There could be no one to save you. It is the track I return to over and over, more than any other track on the album. Though my life has calmed down a lot in the decade since that summer, sometimes – that feeling comes, you’ve been here once before. That wicked feeling you don’t want to feel no more. And then, Eric Bachmann (get out my head, god damn it!) sings: You’re not the same as the day that you came. You can choose dignity, or shame.

I choose dignity. I carry my broken heart like a torch in the night. Little keeper of light, burning deep, burning bright in the dark.

[originally appeared in Witchsong in October 2015]

[beatriceeagle]

no pressure if you're busy but i was wondering - is titans good? or is it more a show where you're like it's not /good/ but i like it? i thought it looked interesting but then everyone was so negative about it i kind of got put off. And then your (really excellent btw) video resparked why i thought it'd be interesting to watch in the first place. thanks!

I haven’t paid a ton of attention to what fans have said about Titans, although I’m aware that there’s a general negative vibe around it. I suspect that whether Titans is worth watching for you depends a whole lot on what you want out of Titans.

I went into the show having never read a DC comic in my life. I was coming off of a week-long Wikipedia binge on Batman and his associated characters—the Robins, the Batgirls, some dude named Signal—and was talking to @thirdblindmouse about how it had become overwhelmingly clear to me that we’ve been doing Batman all wrong for decades, and the way to tell the story is as an ensemble family drama about intergenerational trauma. And she was like, “Uh, have you seen Titans?” So all of my pre-existing understanding of the characters comes from Google and selected comics scans.

I suspect that the show’s interpretation of Dick Grayson, in particular, is... skewed? I’m almost certain, based on scans of comics I’ve seen/the half a season of Teen Titans I watched a lifetime ago, that its interpretation of Starfire is highly nontraditional. There are certain storylines that I know they’re adapting, but like, they are playing very loose with the adaptation of even some of the characters’ basic personalities. (I’m pretty sure—again, not really a DC comics fan!)

So if you’re very committed to a generally cheerful Dick Grayson, Titans will not give you that. If you have a vision of Batman as a generally decent man, Titans will really not give you that. In general, I think that the show would be better if it erred more towards a lighter tone for Dick—there are moments where he has shades of Quentin in season three of The Magicians, when Q was kind of endearingly hapless, and the show is better for it. But I think it earns its ambivalent stance on Batman, and uses it well. Batman in Titans looks and acts like your dad whose office you’re not allowed into. And Titans!Starfire is really amazing. Like, Anna-Diop-is-a-revelation, fuck-now-you’ve-got-me-shipping-against-my-will amazing.

The bigger issue that Titans has—and this is not unrelated to Dick’s characterization, I guess—is its relationship with violence. Titans is a really violent show, especially in its first season, and it’s off-putting. Pretty much every superhero show involves the heroes beating up bad guys; not every superhero show involves the protagonist mutilating someone in the course of a fight.

This is not unthinking hyperviolence. Titans (which is actually annoyingly pretty good about tracking character through action sequences) is trying to make a point: The compounding traumas of Dick’s childhood resulted in an explosion of rage. Batman funneled his anger into Dick; Dick funnels his anger into whatever bad guy he’s fighting. The show isn’t subtle about this idea. Dick says it out loud several times. Nor (after the first fight) does the show endorse Dick’s over-the-top violence. Everyone from Donna Troy to Dick himself remarks on it with, at minimum, concern. And over time, Dick’s fighting style changes; he consciously leaves the hyperviolence behind, until his final fight of season two is primarily evasive.

But Dick is not the only Titans character who is working out his rage on the criminals he apprehends, and the show is considerably less coherent in its tonal approach to other characters’ violence. Hank and Dawn—the masked hero team Hawk and Dove—have an origin story that plays out like the the backstory of a serial killer couple, their interlocking trauma and rage and grief finding expression and acceptance in each other. The show is aware of the dynamic, but it’s not clear that it’s aware of how disturbing it is. Hank and Dawn are, primarily, people who need to cause violence in order to be at peace in their own heads—and only secondarily, people who want to protect others from danger. Season two does do some work exploring this idea, but the exploration is confused by the fact that, in the end, the show wants both of them on the cast.

Which is kind of the problem with any superhero show that sets out to explore the ethics of superheroism—at the end of the day, the characters aren’t gonna retire to Wisconsin, you know? So Titans presents hyperviolence, presents it as problematic (sometimes), presents it as almost an inevitable consequence of traumatized teenagers deciding to pursue vigilante justice... and then builds a superhero team of traumatized teenagers and young adults. As is its basic conceit.

And on a more fundamental level, the hyperviolence just sort of makes the show feel very grim. It’s already an aesthetically dark show, a lot of the time, and then you’ve got people getting mutilated, and Batman’s an asshole and Dick Grayson’s got anger management issues, and it feels like the show’s grimdark. 

I don’t think it is, though. First of all, despite everything, Titans actually has a sense of humor, both in general and occasionally about itself—I mean, it’s not Legends of Tomorrow, but it understands how to crack a smile every now and then. (They have a superdog. He shoots lasers out of his eyes!) But more importantly, at the end of the day, Titans is hopeful. Yeah, it’s a show about anger and violence and intergenerational trauma—but it’s more specifically about moving beyond those things. At its heart, it’s about being a better parent to your children than your parents were to you.

That central relationship between Dick and Rachel—Dick trying, and sometimes failing, but always caring and trying to be better for Rachel, and Rachel’s absolute fury with him when he fails, but her unshakeable devotion to him for being there, the unbelievable amount of sway he holds in her world—that’s what makes the show work for me. There are other vital relationships, too—Rachel and Kory, especially, but also all of the pseudo-familial relationships built up between all of the characters—but it all comes back to Dick and Rachel.

I mean, it’s a found family show. So much so that in season two, there are like, three separate speeches about how this is a family, not one of those stupid biological families, but a family we found, and isn’t that the important kind? And how grimdark can a found family show really be?

The other thing that might throw some people off—but which is actually one of my favorite things about the show—is the structure. If you take a look at the Titans episode list, you’ll see that roughly 75 percent of the episodes are named after a character or characters. Season one of Titans is basically about Dick, Starfire, Gar, and Rachel (Raven from the comics) traveling the midwest, picking up the people who will eventually form the main Titans team. When they encounter those people, they get a spotlight episode. So in episode two, “Hawk and Dove,” when Dick and Rachel lay low at Hank and Dawn’s, the episode starts out with an extended cold open, entirely disconnected from the main characters, just introducing us to Hank and Dawn as characters. Episode eight, “Donna Troy,” sees Dick go to visit his old friend Donna in Milwaukee, and... basically just hang out with her for half the episode, while the rest of the cast does plot stuff. Occasionally, these spotlight episodes stop the plot completely: Towards the end of season one, an episode ends on a cliffhanger. the next episode, rather than showing the outcome of the cliffhanger, is “Hank and Dawn,” an episode that flashes back to show the story of how Hank and Dawn met and became masked heroes. (There’s an in-episode device that eventually makes it clear why this story is related to the cliffhanger.) Season two uses the cliffhanger-into-a-flashback-spotlight-episode structure two more times, once with a character we’ve never met before.

I can see this being deeply frustrating to a viewer watching week-by-week (and I would not recommend watching Titans in that manner). And it’s certainly an unconventional way to structure a season of television. But honestly? I think it’s half of what I like about the show. The spotlight and flashback episodes are good—often some of the best the show’s produced. They don’t stop the plot for no reason; in season two, in particular, they provide context and backstory and characterization in a way that would be almost impossible to do, or to do so well, without the space of a full episode. They make the show more episodic than it would otherwise be—always a joy, in a television landscape full of 10-hour movies—and give it space to experiment with tone and genre. They make the characters richer, and the relationships more complex.

Does it slow down the plot? Absolutely. But Titans is not overflowing with complex plot, and I don’t really think it should try to. The plot of Titans hangs together juuuuuuuust enough to make the themes and characters and relationships work. It’s coherent—we’re not talking Teen Wolf, here—but it’s not brilliant, and honestly, that’s fine by me. But I suppose if you want your plot to be really good, this may not be the show for you.

Finally, I’ll say that Titans, though not what I would call a feminist show (it has a primarily male writing staff and I think it shows) does have a kind of surprisingly large female cast? I wanna say it’s five men, five women, by the end of season two? (Yeah, it’s a fucking enormous cast.) And the women have actual relationships with each other, ones that the show puts some effort into maintaining and remembering. I realize this is damning with faint praise, but honestly I’d just expected a show like Titans to not do that, and was prepared to ignore it, and was kind of pleasantly surprised when I didn’t have to.

In summary: I told my sister that Titans is 10% men in spandex standing on cars, 30% team as family, 30% intergenerational trauma, 20% an uncomfortable relationship with is own hyperviolence, and 10% Krypto the Superdog. I think that tracks. That show, despite having Anna Diop’s glowing presence, has a lot of flaws, but it also really worked for me on some soul-deep level. I am exactly on its wavelength.

I do not think that Titans is a fantastic television show, but I also don’t think it’s a very bad one. I think it’s generally competent show that is very interesting in some aspects, is weak in some areas, falls prey to some inherent trappings of its genre, is thoughtful about familial trauma, is not thoughtful enough about violence and criminal justice, has a lot of very compelling performances, is really poorly lit a lot of the time, pays a lot of attention to its visual language, kind of thinks Batman’s an asshole, and has Krypto the Superdog. It really worked for me; I can see why others might not be into it; it might work for you!

[razorsadness]

My allergies have turned into a cold. I’m actually not panicking thinking it’s The CoViD* (well, no more so than usual; I panic about CoViD weekly even when I’m feeling fine), because this happens to me literally every fucking year around this time. Seriously, as I was rereading/reblogging all my old journal entries, pretty much every fucking year in late September I write an entry that’s like well, my allergies have turned into a cold. So, yeah, this happens every year but it still sucks.

Tuesday we took a long, meandering, backroads day-trip to Kettle Moraine State Forest. Now that I’ve gotten back on the road, I’m eager to soak it up, even if that’s just on a day trip here and there. We drove through sweet small towns. Passed a farm stand with a ton of squash and greens, and I wanted to stop, but the kids were whining because they wanted to get to the park and eat our picnic lunch, so we pressed on. We passed a house that I thought immediately: I could live there. It was an old farmhouse with a screened-in porch and a fresh coat of white paint, and sunflowers in front growing up almost taller than the house, and a big veggie garden and a chicken coop in the side-yard. And it was for sale, and I genuinely had a momentary impulse to try and see if there is any way we could get a loan and scrape up a down payment. Then I looked across the street, and saw that the house there had an enormous Tr*mp/P*nce sign in their yard, and the impulse disappeared.

There’s so much I love about rural and small-town America, but then I’m always reminded that I’m only safe in many of those rural areas and small towns insofar as I’m perceived as cisgendered and heterosexual. And of course people’s perceptions of me as cishet is an ever-shifting thing, depending on what I look like on any given day, who I’m with, and the viewer’s personal biases. But even if I was perceived as cishet 24/7/365, by everyone, the fact of the matter is I’m not. Even if I was always safe in those environments, I’d never be comfortable. 

The park was nice. The wild woods, the golden early autumn light spangling through the trees; the Ice Age Trail; steep paths up to overlooks of the kettles. It gave me an opportunity to teach D. a little bit about the geology of the area. I wanted to stay longer, but C. was getting ready for a nap and starting to get cranky, so we left.

I didn’t even realize until after we got home that it was almost exactly fifteen years ago that “Maggie” & I camped there, at the start of our Wisconsin-to-Minnesota adventure. Then the memories came flooding back: cooking beans over a campfire, drinking whiskey, casting spells; hearing howls in the woods & spooking ourselves with werewolf stories; waking early in the morning and walking to the water, the steam rising off into the chill air, watching a river otter swim in the early light. I remembered, also, that I’d called “Levi,” my then-boyfriend, the night we camped there. It was his birthday, and I called him to say Happy Birthday, and also to tell him that Maggie and I were camping and embarking on a few-day road trip. I could barely get a signal that deep in the woods, but I managed to find enough of one to talk for a few minutes. And he got pissed at me that I’d gone camping/gone on a road trip without him, starting on his birthday no less. But we hadn’t even moved in together yet. I’d already moved to Milwaukee, into the house which Maggie later christened Chateau de la Fuck-You-Up, but Levi was still living up in Door County until later in October. So at that point he lived three+ hours away from me, and had already planned to spend his birthday with his D.C. friends. What was I supposed to do, sit around at home and pine? (Queue: Now man was born to go a-lovin’ / was woman born to weep and fret? / To stay at home / and tend her oven / and drown her past regrets / in coffee and cigarettes.) Sigh. That was such a pattern in my life; dating guys who were incredibly threatened when I did anything without them. Levi wasn’t even the worst of the bunch in that regard.

Other things:

No justice for Breonna Taylor. I’m not surprised, but I’m pissed. 200,000 CoViD deaths, of which they say approximately 145,000 of them wouldn’t have happened had we had even a mediocre national response instead of the complete lack of one we did have. When I think about current events, I just vacillate between rage, sorrow, and utter exhaustion.

In my own personal life, other than being sick, things are pretty good. P.’s still on-and-off depressed and anxious (of course he is, he just lost his mom), but we’re managing. Our relationship is still doing well. Last night we danced to Lou Reed in the kitchen while I preheated the oven for dinner. The kids are doing pretty well; they’ve been happier now that we’ve started having little adventures. I’m teaching D. about poetry; today’s unit is on the villanelle. It’s autumn, officially. My favorite season. And it’s the fantastic part of early autumn when the days are still warm and sunny, but in the evenings you need to don a hoodie to go outside. It’s warm enough to keep the windows open; cool enough to drink tea. And all the autumnal foods. Last night I made turkey-cranberry-gouda-horseradish mustard-arugula paninis; today for lunch I made a cold version of the same sandwich with a side of butternut squash soup. Tomorrow  night I’m making apple cider chicken with a sweet potato-red onion-brussels sprout hash on the side. Writing-wise, I’ve started working on some surreal prose poems inspired by that list of deleted Wikipedia articles with freaky titles. And I’m working on some ekphrastic poems, and I’m resurrecting (pun intended) the project I started working on last fall, the poems about classic horror movie monsters/the actors that portrayed them. And I’m hoping to get a short lil’ issue of my zine done before Midwest Perzine Fest.

And of course I’m gearing up for Halloween season. I’ve already put some Halloween things on my altar, I’m listening to a lot of spooky tunes, and I frequently wear either my Release the Bats shirt or my Boris & Bela & Peter & Vincent shirt. We’ve got big plans for Halloween this year, as a family. Since Halloween events are pretty much canceled, we’re going all out at home. I’m going to do lots of Halloween crafts and baking with the kids, and we’re going to totally deck out the house with decorations. On Halloween night, we’re going to all dress up in costumes, and give the kids a trick or treat scavenger hunt indoors. P. and I are going to be Gomez and Morticia, after talking about doing that for pretty much the whole time we’ve been together. (We might even do a fun thing where we take some photos with him as Morticia and me as Gomez, and then switch for Halloween itself. It’s lucky that we’re close enough to the same size and height, we can do things like that. Plus he’s cool with it; he might technically be a straight cis dude but he is a cool straight cis dude, gets my gender stuff, and used to wear makeup and skirts etc. a lot when he was in a band.)

I feel like crap, physically, but I already feel better than I did yesterday. I’ve taken really good care of myself today. I rested as much as possible, had a warm bath, had soup and tea and whiskey. And I treated myself to a small present: a new scent from Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab; their Harvest Moon 2020 scent. In related news: boy, am I excited that the Harvest Moon is on October 1, and that we have another full moon in October, a blue moon, on fucking Halloween.

[ficsandcatsandficsandcats]

Road Trip : Punk!AU

Fandom: The Witcher Pairing: Punk!Aevryn x Punk!Valdo, Punk!Jaskier x Reader, Punk!Geralt x Punk!Yennefer Word Count: 3,329 Rating: T (swearing and violence) Taglist: @heroics-and-heartbreak​ @whatevermonkey​ @mynamesoundslikesherlock​ @magic-multicolored-miracle​ @ultracolorfulnerdcollection​ @coffee-and-stories​ @nevadawolfe​ a/n: This one is pure, distilled angst with just a whisper of muddled yearning. Ball’s in your court, Joz. Enjoy.

Part VI - Your shockwave whisper has sealed your fate

{Part I}{Part II}{Part III}{Part IV}{Part V}

When Valdo Marx pictured the renaissance of his great love story it had never happened in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. Still he sat at a little table in the corner, awaiting Aevryn’s return. He clutched his phone in his hands, oversized vintage headphones tamping down his unruly brunette curls as he tried to calm himself by listening to his favorite album. His thinly veiled hipster sensibilities appreciated it because he knew no one else had ever listened to it outside of perhaps five people at most. His aching heart loved it because it was hers; a recording they’d made in his father’s studio when they were kids. The sonorous notes of the violin echoed in his mind, a secret unrequited anthem that kept her close at all times.

He saw the door open from the corner of his eye and sat up expectantly, hope plain on his face that faded to high-pitched anxiety when he saw who had entered the café.

“Valdo,” she said, sitting across from him without invitation, ever the queen of the space she inhabited no matter how briefly.

“Yennefer,” he replied, “What the hell are you doing here?”

She raised an eyebrow at him and the violet eyes fixed him with a cool, unimpressed look. But there was more there, curiosity, and maybe a little bit of uncertainty.

“Hardly a good first move, Valdo. Don’t you know the best way to win a woman back is to get her friends on your side?” she asked. Valdo scoffed and the bottle green eyes looked askance. His slender fingers slid the headphones off of his hair, curls springing back in place without so much as a dent. He crossed his arms in front of him, creasing the lines of his blazer.

“I’ve long given up any hope that you lot will ever be on my side,” he replied, his tone a blend of warm anger and icy disdain.

“It’s not like you to give up,” Yennefer remarked. Valdo considered her words carefully. She was a woman of few words but she was sharing them with him which had to mean something. Aevryn wouldn’t send her friend to speak for her, she was braver than that. And, he hoped, she cared for him enough to face him if she was going to end things forever. But hope was a dangerous thing and he’d been made a fool for it before.

“As charmed as I am to see a one-time rival and eternal thorn in my side, tell me what you’re doing here or tell Aevryn she can deliver her messages herself,” Valdo said, the words bolder than he felt, his heart beating rapidly at the thought of Yennefer walking out and taking all hope of a future with Aevryn with her.

“I’m not here for Aevryn,” Yennefer said and then reconsidered and said, “Actually, I am a bit. I wanted to meet with you first. She didn’t want me to, for what it’s worth, but I insisted.”

“It’s rare to meet someone more stubborn than Aev,” Valdo smirked.

“And yet, here I sit,” Yennefer replied, matching him smirk for smirk. He nodded in acknowledgment and gestured for her to continue, eyes slipping to the window every few moments, looking for a glimpse of mussed, rich brown hair.

“What makes you think that things will be different this time?” Yen asked, through with pleasantries.

“Because I’ve decided they will be,” Valdo answered simply.

“Oh well in that case, cheers,” Yennefer said sarcastically, her face unimpressed. Valdo swallowed a litany of crass, passive aggressive responses and leaned forward, emerald eyes meeting violet.

“I was a fucking idiot. I made a mistake. No, not a mistake, a choice. A really shitty choice that I have spent years processing. I went to therapy,” he said this last point with emphasis and Yennefer had to admit (well, not aloud) that it was a good sign. “I have been dealing with the consequences of my actions and I’m making new ones. I’m not going to pretend I’m some fuckin’ saint or that I’m a new man because frankly, darlin’, Aev liked the old one just fine. But I’m a better man in a lot of ways.”

“So you talked to a shrink and had to deal with some consequences and now you think you’re worthy of her,” Yennefer said.

“Of course I’m not bloody worthy of her, who could be?” Valdo exclaimed.

“Well on that we’re agreed,” Yennefer replied, though she couldn’t deny that it was what she’d been hoping he’d say. She knew it was time to uphold her end of the agreement with Aevryn and go get her from the little café across the street she’d posted up at, but she had more questions and she wasn’t going to get a chance like this again.

“You’re a pretty fucked up individual, all things considered. How do you do it?” Yennefer asked.

“What? Be fucked up? Like most things in my life, it’s mostly inherited I s’pose.”

“No, loving. How do you still love her and trust yourself with loving her? How are you not scared all the time?”

Yennefer wasn’t usually this open but Valdo was also probably the only person in the world where she could say this without it getting back to Geralt or Jaskier. And, despite his many, many flaws, he knew how to keep his mouth shut. Valdo thought about her question, eyeing her carefully but holding back the many questions of his own.

“Honestly?” he said, “I am scared. But I also know that I can either be honest with myself about what I want or I can keep trying to drown myself in distractions while the yawning pit of self-hatred that’s been eating me from the inside out grows larger.”

“Well when you put it that way it sounds easy,” Yennefer said.

“Isn’t it?” Valdo asked with a shrug. Yennefer looked back up into his eyes and held his gaze for a silent moment, considering what he’d said and what could happen next. She rose suddenly and nodded briskly.

“Thank you, Valdo,” she said, and walked out without another word.

-----

“I’m just saying it doesn’t make sense,” Jaskier argued, gesturing wildly as he had been for the last hour since Yennefer and Aevryn had gone for some alone time, “You think it’s odd too, right? You must!”

The question as directed at Geralt who grunted noncommittally, avoiding Jaskier’s eyes. You recaptured one of Jaskier’s hands in your own and gave it a comforting squeeze.

“Babe it’s been a weird few days, maybe they’re just getting their nails done,” you said. You looked to Win for support and she looked between you and Jaskier with an uncomfortable, blank expression.

“I mean it’s definitely possible,” she muttered, slipping an earbud in to try and drown out the welling conflict around her.

“Maybe Yennefer is the one who needed the time alone,” you offered.

“No, Aev was crying the other day. Crying, Y/N! She always tells me when something’s wrong and that means it can only be because of that rat bastard Valdo Marx,” Jaskier’s mouth curled into a disgusted grimace as he spat out the name. “But why would Yen be helping? She hates him as much as I do!”

“Maybe we should get something to eat,” you suggested, “Milwaukee has some good places, right Win?”

You sent the question your friend’s way but she was lost in her own world and didn’t hear you, leaving you floundering on your own. You looked to Geralt for help and he nodded before putting a hand on Jaskier’s shoulder.

“Jaskier, you need to eat. You get paranoid when you haven’t eaten.”

You shot Geralt a baleful look as Jaskier began to sputter and pulled his hand away from yours again to punctuate his angry rant with his arms but he still followed as Geralt led them off to find food.

-----

All at once, there she was.

Aevryn. Maybe, if he was lucky, his Aevryn.

She found him immediately, Yennefer having told her where to look though he was a hard man to miss. Even in a crowd she could find him. The caramel colored hair had been swept to the side and the sea green eyes sparkled with excitement. He rose from the table and crossed over to her. She held out a hand as he threw open his arms and they laughed awkwardly.

“Oh this is stupid,” she said, and moved into the hug. He embraced her so tightly she struggled to breathe but the pain was lost in the warm, familiar scent of his cologne. He screwed his eyes shut tight and took his first, full breathe in months. When they pulled back, reluctantly, she wiped a tear out of her eye.

“Stupid,” she laughed nervously again, moving to take a seat which Valdo quickly moved out for her. Once she’d been seated he took his place again and they just looked at each other, hearts beating a staccato duet. She placed her hands on the table and she tapped on it with her fidgety fingers. Valdo placed a hand over hers and it fit perfectly, as it always had.

“So I listened to it,” she began. She noted the way he sat up in his seat and tried to force his face calm but the forest hued eyes were pleading as he nodded, waiting for her to continue.

“It was a fucking mean thing to do,” she said. His face fell and he shook his head.

“Aev what do you… No, I wasn’t trying to…”

“You knew exactly what you were doing,” she insisted. Her words were severe but she didn’t look angry, her eyes holding none of the heartbreak or malice he was unfortunately familiar with.

“Did you, uh, did you listen to all of it? Did you hear Tom-”

“I’ve listened to it 12 times since it released. Half of them crying,” she said. Valdo’s eyes scanned her face helplessly, the whole plan falling apart in his grasp as he held her hand tighter.

“Aevryn I swear to Christ I-”

She pressed a finger to his lips, stilling his words. She felt his tongue lick gently against her finger between the slightly parted lips and she shivered. Her eyes sought his and held the gaze intently.

“It was beautiful,” she whispered. His face lit up beautifully and Aevryn felt herself slip just a little bit more in love with, awed that there was more room to fall for someone who had held her heart since she was a child.

“Aevryn I meant every single word, I l-”

“Oh I think the fuck not.”

-----

Geralt had headed to the best reviewed place in the area, determined to get something in Jaskier’s mouth so he would stop talking for a moment. He didn’t see Yennefer hurry out of the café across the street calling to them. He didn’t think anything of the way Jaskier tensed and then ran for the door. Only when he heard Jaskier yell did he realize what must be happening.

“Fuck,” he bit out, hurrying after his friend.

Jaskier stood before Aevryn and Valdo, chest hurting with all of the emotions it held. Aevryn looked guilty, the picture of someone caught in the act while Valdo sneered at Jaskier, clutching Aevryn’s hand possessively which only fueled Jaskier’s rage.

“Jaskier… please let me explain,” Aevryn began. To other patrons in the shop it looked like a salacious lover’s quarrel, a woman caught two-timing her lover. You reaching for Jaskier’s hands trying to pull his attention away and calm him down only made it look more exciting and more than a few people took out their phones to start snapping photos. A server hurried over.

“Hi, sir? Sorry, you’re going to need to please keep it down,” they asked. Jaskier’s body was taut like a snake ready to strike but he forced himself to be polite to the lady. He glowered at Aevryn who stood.

“Aevryn!” Valdo cried, losing the calm exterior he’d tried so desperately to cling to as she slipped from his hands.

“I’ve got to talk to Jaskier, I’ll be right back, you stay here,” she said, giving him a small smile before turning back to Jaskier who made a disgusted sound and charged back out the door, nearly knocking over Yennefer in the process. You’d heard of people being beside themselves but you’d never seen it depicted so clearly or painfully as Jaskier who paced and seemed so overwhelmed by anger and hurt that he struggled to breathe.

“Jaskier please,” Aevryn began, tears already coming to her eyes as she tried to approach her friend.

“Don’t,” he bit out, “Just don’t… fucking stand there and try and tell me to be calm or to listen or hear that he’s better. Jesus fucking Christ, Aevryn, what does it take?”

“Jaskier,” Yennefer tried cutting in but he wheeled on her, blue eyes flashing with white hot rage.

“Don’t,” he snarled at her and for once Yennefer backed down, stepping aside where Geralt wrapped an arm around her waist and she let it stay there, reassured by his presence.

“How could you do this?” Jaskier asked, “You know what, no, don’t answer because frankly there is nothing you could say to make it ok.”

“I’m not an idiot, Jaskier, and I don’t need you to try and make me feel like one,” Aevryn argued.

“I don’t think you’re an idiot but, fuck, I must be!” Jaskier argued, “I mean, what, how long has this been going on? And I didn’t know! I knew something was wrong but I had no fucking clue. What other secrets are you hiding from me? Were you ever not keeping secrets or have you been lying to me our whole friendship?”

“Jask…” Aev couldn’t form the words, overwhelmed by the pain in her friend’s eyes. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, I didn’t mean any of this… I just…”

“Aevryn?”

Jaskier’s eyes darkened to pure anger again as Valdo walked out to the little alleyway you’d all congregated in behind the café. He was looking at her anxiously, worried by the tears in her eyes, so worried he made a beeline for her and didn’t think to glance at Jaskier whose body coiled and launched, striking so hard he knocked them both over. Amid the scuffle he could hear you screaming and feel Geralt’s hands try and seize him but Valdo managed to grapple him and shove him up against a wall, getting in two good punches, one directly into Jaskier’s mouth and the other in his ribs. Jaskier roared and seized Valdo around the throat, constricting his breathing long enough that the man stopped punching and then released him, forcing him onto the ground as he began to strike, punch after punch, heedless of anything but the need to vent all of the anger and pain that had welled in him over the years. Years spent staring at Valdo Marx’s smirking, taunting, heartbreaking face that had the sheer nerve to do it again. And again. And again. All without any way to stop him.

“Jaskier stop!” Aevryn cried, fighting against Yennefer who held her back from joining the fray, “Jaskier please I love him!”

Jaskier’s fist, bruised and bloodied, stilled in the air. Geralt pulled Jaskier off of Valdo who groaned and tried to sit up. Aevryn ran to his side, gently touching his bleeding temple and taking in his eye that was already purpling. There was blood staining his clothes but when she looked back at Jaskier she saw it was his. Valdo’s eyes were trained on Aevryn alone, unaware of anything but the words she’d said, echoing in his mind.

“Jesus, Jaskier,” you gasped as you eyed the blood running from his mouth, one hand holding his ribs. Jaskier stared at Aevryn and she saw the broken look in his eyes.

“You love him,” he repeated, voice raspy from his screaming, sounding tired and defeated. Aevryn nodded, tears filled with regrets and, she hated herself the most for this, some relief. It was out. Not as she’d planned or hoped, but it was all out there. Jaskier nodded, wordlessly, eyes falling to the ground. Yennefer walked to stand by Aevryn and Jaskier looked up to meet her eyes as well. They were unapologetic, but not without regret. He nodded again and scoffed, wincing immediately after and clutching his side.

“We need to get you to the hospital,” Geralt said, eyeing Jaskier’s ribs nervously.

Jaskier wordlessly walked away, not giving a second look back as you and Geralt helped him out to the curb to find a taxi, Roach parked too far away to walk with him. Win stared at you, stunned, and you exchanged confused, hopeless looks. She looked back over at Aevryn who was trying to help Valdo stand.

“Win, go find Roach and drive her to the hospital,” Yennefer said, helpfully offering your friend something concrete to do that didn’t force her to pick a side. She nodded gratefully and set off.

“Did you mean it?” Valdo asked, standing now as Aevryn winced at the black eye.

“Of course I fucking meant it,” she cried. He smiled and pulled her into an embrace that was meant to be celebratory but she only sobbed harder and even he wrapped her up tight, rocking her slightly and humming a comforting song the way he had years before.

“I’m going to make this alright,” he promised, “I love you and you love them, and I’m going to make it right for you. You’ll see, Aev. I can’t do everything but I’d do anything for you.”

-----

Sun had long since set but Jaskier stood in the same position he had since he’d been discharged, one bruised rib and a suspected concussion later. They’d parked Roach back in the same spot they’d arrived to town and he stood outside of the van, arms crossed, staring into the distance. Geralt drummed a restless beat against the steering wheel with his fingers and you sat cross-legged on your seat, feeling helpless. You’d tried to get Jaskier to sit in the van with you but he’d insisted that he wait right where he was. Win was in the far back of the van, headphones in, trying hard to stay above the waves of anxiety and pain that swarmed her from all sides. S

“Jaskier,” Geralt said.

“No.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt repeated, sighing deeply, “She isn’t coming.”

“You don’t know that,” Jaskier replied stubbornly, pale blue eyes fixed on the horizon.

“Babe…,” you began.

“Y/N, don’t, I know my friends. They’re going to be here. Yennefer promised… she said… they’re going to be here,” Jaskier insisted, but you heard his voice crack.

“Aev texted me,” Win said, her voice small but carrying in the terse silence. Jaskier stiffened and you looked hopefully at your friend who bit her lip as she took a shaky breath to continue. “Um, her and Yennefer are getting a ride with Valdo. She said they’ll meet up with us when the van is fixed.”

You reached out an arm to rest on Jaskier’s shoulder but he stayed stock still.

“No,” he said, “No, they’re coming. I know they are.”

You and Geralt exchanged sorrowful looks and didn’t say anything more. Jaskier stood for another three hours as night bled into the early hours of the morning. When the first stretch of dawn began to reach across the sky, he climbed into the car wordlessly and leaned against the side of the van, curling into himself as well as tightly as he could. You closed the door behind him and Geralt stirred Roach to life, briefly waking Win who had fallen asleep. She looked up hopefully and when she saw your tear-filled eyes she reached out a hand and took yours, holding it tight the whole rest of the way as Jaskier stared out the windows, seeing nothing.