#so sometimes i like to call him and throw him an insane curveball to keep his head in the game | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lihikainanea · 2 years

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a thought: tiger and bill’s anniversary is coming up. except, poor bill has been working himself into the ground. he’s been so busy that he completely forgets that the date is coming up. he’s usually so good about it, making sure to book a weekend getaway or something fun and romantic like that. but this time around, he’s completely forgotten. and tiger knows he did, because his brain is in the gutter. and at first, she waits it out, hoping he’ll remember in time. but she listens to him on the phone with his agent, scheduling things that would happen to fall on their anniversary, and she knows it’s a lost cause. so she takes matters into her own hands. she does the weekend getaway booking, she thinks up all the romantic details they enjoy. and she also calls up his agent and explains that he needs the weekend clear, because of the special day. and let’s say you can’t spring stuff on bill, because he gets all discombobulated. you have to prepare him ahead of time. so tiger tried to keep it secret for as long as possible but knows she eventually has to warn him. and when she does, bill could just kick himself, because for the first time since they’ve been together, he’s actually forgotten their anniversary. and he tries apologizing profusely but tiger isn’t having it. although she was a little hurt in the beginning, she understands that the poor guy has been so overwhelmed, so exhausted lately. he hasn’t had time to plan anything. so, they go away for the weekend. and it’s exactly what both of them need. and bill, well, he definitely makes it up to her in the end 🤓

Oh sweet nani, how I love this.

I'm such a huge, huge fan of the concept of a mulligan, in their relationship. I think 99% of the time, these two get it right. They're there for each other when it matters, and they don't drop the ball. But sometimes--sometimes they mess up. They're human, it happens. And I love this concept that when one of them feels as if the entire world is against them, when just everything is going wrong--I love this concept that they can find the solace, the break that they need, in the other. The one person in the world who will just give them a break.

And I love this ask for so many reasons, but one of the biggest is just this thought of like...tiger being the baddest bitch in town, and just taking care of shit herself. She could be mad as hell at him. She could be furious. She could mope and be sad and let the whole day go to shit.

Or, for once, she can be his hero and just take care of shit and plan something nice. And that's exactly what she does.

He's around for the weeks leading up to it, but he's on a million auditions, a million self-tapes, he has some intense promo starting for one of his movies. He's shooting magazines, doing interviews. He's booked for the next few weeks now, and tiger kind of hangs back to see if maybe it's a ruse or he's planning something that he doesn't want her to know about. Bill is always full of surprises like that, letting her believe one thing and then at the last minute, throwing a curveball. Bill so just rarely forgets things, especially important dates, so for a few days tiger doesn't say anything as his schedule books up and he makes plans. But then is becomes pretty evident, when she overhears him talking to his agent, that this...this isn't a ruse. He's booking things for that day, for the day before, for the day after. His schedule is completely full, and Bill is oblivious.

Tiger feels for her Big Dude. A moment of self-pity washes over her, that small little nagging lack of self-confidence showing its ugly head, but it quickly dissipates when she sees just how exhausted he is. He's gaunt, pale, she knows he's not sleeping well, and his schedule is just insane. She knows he's not all there, she knows that he's just trying to process and take it one fucking day at a time so he can survive. He's a shell, he has been for a month, barely eating and sleeping enough to survive. Anything extra is so far from his mind at the moment, and when tiger realizes that, she goes from a pity party to a protective lioness. Her dude needs her help, he needs to relax, and she certainly isn't going to let an anniversary go by unnoticed. She wants him to know how loved he is, how much she appreciates him, and how much she just....she's got him, you know? It's him and her, always. Come what may.

So tiger starts dealing with shit. Calls his agent when he's off shooting some magazine cover. Tells her that she's going to need him for Saturday and Sunday, and to reschedule his other stuff. To not tell him. And whatever it is that he's telling his agent to fit in on Saturday and Sunday somewhere--well, that's just too damn bad.

And I love this concept that like, you can't spring stuff on Bill. He doesn't like it. Enough of Bill's life is a surprise that he has a lot of anxiety surrounding surprises--hell, going to a fucking grocery store on a Tuesday morning for him has the potential to hold a lot of surprises. Will he get recognized? Will he get stopped by a fan? Will someone take a photo of him without him knowing? When they're out with friends, will somebody try to bring someone new? Is that new person a fan, and did this on purpose to try and get into his inner circle? Enough of Bill's life is full of unpleasant surprises that he just...he doesn't like them. It makes him edgy. He needs to know.

So tiger keeps it secret for as long as she can. She looks up cottages somewhere remote, somewhere quiet. She even rents the cottage for a day before and goes up there while he's working, she does the groceries and gets some champagne, some wine, some dessert.

But a good 48 hours before, she has to tell him. And she has to think real hard about how to go about it, because she doesn't want him to feel bad or guilty--not even for a second. So when he comes home at 11PM that night, looking exhausted and skeletal, tiger greets him with a kiss and shoves a negroni into his hand.

"Thanks kid," he says hoarsely. Dinner is ready, she ate earlier but a plate is in the microwave for him. She waits until he takes a sip of his drink, then pulls him down for a kiss again. She stands on her tip toes and loops her arms around his neck, squeezing him in a tight hug. She smiles when she hears him sniff her hair.

"How was your day?" she asks lowly. He sighs, pulling away and pressing his lips to her again before swigging another sip of his drink.

"It was a day," he murmurs. She smiles sympathetically at him.

"I have something to show you," she says, and then she takes him by the hand and leads him to the bedroom. On the bed are two duffel bags, already packed. Bill looks at her quizzically, but tiger just smiles reassuringly.

"This weekend is our anniversary--no, don't. Don't you dare," she says softly when his eyes widen and his face falls--he just looks defeated. So utterly defeated. She cups a hand on his cheek. "Just listen. I took care of it. We leave Saturday morning, and we're back Sunday night."

"But I...tiger my schedule...." he stammers. He's getting flustered, and he's so pissed off at himself--god, he never forgets things. Especially not things this important.

"I worked with your agent bud," she says, "Your schedule is clear. Whatever was booked on Saturday and Sunday got pushed to a few days next week. If that's okay?"

Bill just looks at her, regret etched all over his face. And tiger genuinely begins to worry--maybe this was a bad idea, and one that would stress him out even more.

"Billy?" she prompts, "If that's okay?"

Bill just downs the rest of his drink, cusses in frustration and then pulls her in for a tight hug.

"Of course it's okay," he tells her, "Fuck, of course it's okay. I'm so, so sorry tiger."

"Don't be," she mumbles into his chest, "Don't be, bud. It's okay. I planned something real nice for us."

"But I should have planned--"

"No. None of that," she reprimands. He just sighs, and she taps his empty glass. "Another one?"

He nods, but when she goes to step away he pulls her back by her elbow.

"You mean the world to me kid," he murmurs, "I hope you know that."

"I do," she smiles at him, "And right back atcha. Are you hungry?"

She sits him down at the table, and tells him about their upcoming weekend. Where the cottage is, what the menu will be. She babbles excitedly about the lobsters she got which he'll have to cook because tiger just cannot throw the little things in the boiling water. She tells him about the fireplace and the pool and the sauna, she tells him about the California king bed and the twinkle lights and the hot tub. Bill feels like total shit, he can't help it, but tiger's enthusiasm and her joy is also pretty infectious.

"You better get that look off your face," she threatens suddenly, and Bill quirks a brow as he swallows.

"What look?"

"That pouty, mopey look," she says as she swigs her wine, "Of all the amazing things you can do with your mouth, pouting isn't one of them."

He smirks at that.

"What is one of them?" he asks.

"I'll let you know via special request Saturday night."

And listen, Bill maybe just looks pitiful enough that tiger eventually manhandles him from the table, throws him on the bed and gives him some of the best head of his life. She wants to make it clear to him that he didn't mess up--not in the slightest--and that he shouldn't feel bad. The two of them, they've got each other's backs. And this time, it's tiger's turn to step in and have his.

And I'll bet after seeing how upset he is with himself, tiger just doubles down on her efforts--and she absolutely gets herself a real nice lingerie piece, to add to her collection. Most of her lingerie is green and gold just out of sheer habit because of Bill's little crush.

Except Bill, likewise, is feeling like he has a whole lot to make up for--and he plans on doing just that. Tiger was all ready to take care of her Big Dude this weekend, make him feel loved and cared for, but instead tiger can't even fucking walk. She spends the entire weekend in that oh so precarious state between pain and pleasure, too drunk off of it to even know her own goddamn name, and Bill starts to finally feel as if his (non-existent) debt is paid.

#bill skarsgard #bill skarsgard fanfic #bill skarsgard fanfiction #bill skarsgard fiction #BFF!Bill

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let-it-raines · 5 years

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Not Your (soul)Mate {1/?}

Killian Jones doesn’t like the idea of soulmates. He sees how happy his friends are with theirs, but he still doesn’t like the idea, not when he’s found love and lost it time and time again only to still not know his sign. He has no markings on his skin, no voices in his head, but then one day he meets Emma Swan and everything changes. Because, well, he may not have ink on his skin to tell him who to love, but the very first time that he hears Emma’s voice he knows that she’s the one for him. Then again, that could simply be his desire talking. After all, for every word she speaks, he becomes aroused.

It’s not the worst thing in the world to be incredibly attracted to a beautiful woman, but things aren’t that simple when she doesn’t have any interest in being his soulmate.

He’s screwed. And not in the good way.

Rating: Mature (mostly for jokes now and for...other things later)

A/N: Hello, friends! It’s me coming at you with more words! This time they’re of the supernatural variety for @cssns with *gasp* a soulmate fic. It’s a fun one guys. Seriously. It’s an absolutely ridiculous concept (soulmates + aroused by each other’s voices), but I’m having fun writing it! I’ve got eight chapters written so far, and I’m itching to share them with you!

A special shoutout to @captainsjedi for her incredible artwork and for being my number one cheerleader as these words were dragged out of me. I feel super honored for her to have made this art for my story! And thank you to the organizers for doing such great work! So, everybody ready? 😁

Found on AO3 | Here |

Tag list (let me know if you want to be added/removed): @dreameronarooftop15 @searchingwardrobes @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @tiganasummertree @wellhellotragic @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @captainsjedi @teamhook @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog @superchocovian @ultraluckycatnd @artistic-writer @cs-forlife @andiirivera @qualitycoffeethings @thejollyroger-writer @jonirobinson64 @mariakov81@thejollyroger-writer @xellewoods @cssns

-/-

One.

Two.

Three.

It’s the pattern he keeps tapping against his thigh as he sits at his desk, the clock on the wall ticking loud enough for him to hear. If he’s busy enough, it’s silent. But when he has time to idle and not focus on something in particular, when he’s anxious to get to go home, he can hear each individual tick as the seconds and minutes pass by. He’s always been sensitive to sounds, the quietest of whispers sometimes equivalent to yelling directly in his ear, but over the years, he’s learned to block the sounds out, to control how voices and taps and screeches affect him.

His clock is driving him insane.

He wants to go home.

And it’s not because he hates his job or anything. Sure, some days it’s like actual torture, nails on a chalkboard multiplied by at least seventeen, especially with the sensitivity of his ears, but most of the time he enjoys designing boats, ships, and the like. He enjoys working with Liam every single day and getting to draw up someone’s dream vessel like he often did as a child when he had nothing more than a pencil and a notebook of battered paper. Really, his job is a way to make his childhood dreams become a reality but in a financially responsible way.

For him. Not for the people who buy custom boats.

He likely wouldn’t enjoy it if he didn’t make any money. Designing boats is a hell of a lot of fun, but he does so enjoy having an apartment (some of the American terms have integrated into his vocabulary by now it seems) to go home to and food to eat. Honestly, he likes tea far too much to not be able to afford it.

How stereotypically British is he?

It doesn’t even matter. He likes tea, and he won’t let anyone try to convince him otherwise. His cabinet in his kitchen keeps him supplied with caffeine, and if it’s all arranged by size of bag and flavor, no one has to know that. He doesn’t live with anyone, so it’s completely fine.

Liam would make fun of him for ages if he knew of all of Killian’s little tendencies and specificities on how to run his life. Liam already has too much fun teasing him about the binders and books on his shelves in his office, but really, of all of the places to be organized, why not in the office? It’s not his fault that Liam lives in a disorganized mess.

Once a Navy man, always a Navy man doesn’t quite hold true when it comes to one half of the team at The Jewel: A Boating Design Company. He was never sold on the name, but it was Liam’s idea so he went along with it. And the odd name hasn’t seemed to keep any clients away, so it’s obviously worked out.

He still wants to go home.

And technically he could. Technically he’s a boss here and could go home whenever he wants, but he doesn’t like to leave before six. It’s bad business, and it’s never a bad thing to keep his mind focused on work. He’s always got a million thoughts whirling around in his head, and focusing on work keeps him grounded.

But today is a different day. Today is difficult for him. It’s an anniversary of sorts, but it’s not the good kind. It’s not roses (or sunflowers because in his opinion, roses are overrated) and wine and beautiful jewelry over a nice dinner with small servings when all people really want is to sit at home and eat pizza on the couch. No, it’s an anniversary of loss.

Of loss that’s not as final as death, and yet it still has its own particular sting that tends to linger. It’s a loss in his life that he’s felt many a time, but this one, this particular woman, well, her loss stung the most.

Her loss stings the most.

And it’s all because of the universe and its twisted sense of fate. He doesn’t mean that in a “weird shit happens” kind of way. He means that in the universe is a piece of shit that has lives decided before the people who live them are even born. It doesn’t matter what you do or how you live. The universe is always standing at the plate ready to throw a curveball and strike you out.

One strike.

Two strikes.

Three strikes.

You’re out.

Soulmate.

Or soul mate with two words. The universe has everything predestined, but apparently, they couldn’t decide on words in dictionaries and whether or not it was one combined word or two separate words. And that’s just scratching the surface of language and grammar, and he only speaks English and a tiny bit of French. Things just get more complicated when you move beyond that.

But that’s not the point. He can worry about grammar on another day. Right now he’s thinking about the unfortunateness of soulmates (soul mates…nope, he’s just going to decide it’s one word for him) and just how completely screwed up it all is.

No one really knows how the human race figured out that there are two people who are perfectly matched up in every single way. It doesn’t mean there aren’t fights and arguments and petty squabbles over who did the dishes or turning the air conditioner up too high. It simply means that somewhere out there, there’s a person who, when it counts, matches up to you so well that the universe has decided to they are your person.

They are the Christina Yang to your Meredith Grey.

(Yes, he’s watched Grey’s Anatomy, and no, he is not ashamed...of seasons one through six. It gets a little murky after that.)

But what happens if your soulmate dies? What happens if you never meet them? What happens if you fall in love with someone only to find out that their sign or their mark or their soul doesn’t at all match up with yours? What happens if you love someone so deeply that you don’t think your heart can take it anymore, and they leave you because the words written across their ankle are not also written across yours?

What happens if you don’t have words written at all?

He doesn’t. He doesn’t have the words. He doesn’t have any kind of indication as to how to find this so-called perfect match of his. He has no idea.

And he doesn’t need to ask the question of what happens when you love someone who is not your soulmate because he knows. He knows that the love can be real and deep and true, and yet the moment that person finds their matching mark, suddenly things start to crumble and fall apart. Questions begin to be asked, and there are no answers. There are no answers that are correct anyhow. It’s as if you’re taking one of those standardized tests where all four answers are correct, but you have to choose the one that’s the most correct.

Bullocks.

That’s the most ridiculous thing in the world, and yet he’s taken the standardized tests. He had to, but that’s really not the point.

(Also, he wonders if soulmate magic is real, are other types of magic real? Is Harry Potter based off of something true? Could he have gone to Hogwarts?)

Milah found her soulmate, and it wasn’t him. She loved him, but she let him go. And he cannot begrudge her for it. No, she’s doing what will truly make her happy, and he wants her to be happy. She deserves it.

He just wishes that it had been him.

The universe apparently had other ideas.

And four years later, he still doesn’t know his mark.

Four years later, he still loves her even if he shouldn’t, even if he knows he should have moved on.

Liam could hear Elsa’s thoughts at night when he was lying down to sleep. It wasn’t in his dreams, though he has heard of those, but simply once the darkness fell outside. They’d known each other in their thoughts since they were children, a love predestined and predetermined that found its way to life despite the countries that were spread out between them. He’s always been jealous of his older brother for a lot of things, but knowing who his love is and getting to know her for his entire life, that may be the thing which fills him with the most envy.

He’s not even sure that he wants to know who his soulmate is, but when he thinks of his brother and the happiness of his life with his wife and his children, he wonders how two people so genetically similar could have such different paths in life.

Robin’s had been a simple tattoo on his forearm. He knew that all he needed was to find his match, and even though it took into his mid-thirties, he did.

Mid-thirties are truly not old – especially since he himself just turned thirty five – but in a society that is obsessed with love and procreation, Robin might as well have been a lonely elderly man with no chance at love…and Robin’s a man. It’s much worse for women, which is fundamentally unfair. But he’s a designer of boats, not a designer of the universe, so he can’t exactly fix that.

Will, well, Will’s soulmate sign is one that Killian is rather fond of if he’s honest. He found Belle because he’d started spending time in a library, and whenever he would touch certain books, fingerprints would start glowing. They were small, dainty things, so he knew that they weren’t his. But the prints glowed, and as he moved throughout the library, he noticed that every book had fingerprints that glowed. And thus he found Belle, the librarian, and even though they don’t seem to match up, they do.

Everyone he knows is living life with someone they’re supposed to be with, happiness and issues all combined, and he’s…not.

He doesn’t think his life will suddenly become perfect if he were to meet this mystery woman. He doesn’t. His life is wonderful. He loves his friends and family. He loves his job and his hobbies. He loves his life.

Today is simply a hard day.

Today is simply a day of loss.

But tomorrow will be better. Tomorrow he’ll go back to normal, and he won’t feel the loss of his love so much.

As much.

“Hey, did you get the Santos order?”

“Shit,” he mumbles, jumping in his seat at Ariel’s voice. He knows that she likely spoke at a normal volume, but he wasn’t focusing and had zoned out. Her voice startled him. It doesn’t help that she takes pleasure in annoying him. “Sorry, love. You surprised me.”

“I knocked three times there, Jones,” she sighs, walking into his office and dropping a note down on his desk. “I know it’s late in the day and all, but you’re really zoning out.”

“That is the pot calling the kettle black, A,” he laughs, rolling forward in his chair to look at the note she has, her chicken scratch written across the notecard. “You zone out at lunch thinking about how someone invented the fork.”

“It’s true. You’ve got to think about things like that. You okay though? You’ve got that pensive, brooding look all over your face.”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes before looking up at her and stretching his hands up behind his head, the small ache pleasant. “I’m going to fire you for someone who doesn’t know me as well.”

“My severance package would be fantastic, so you can go ahead and do that. But I also know you’d be lost without me, so that’s not going to happen. No one else in the world knows which pens of yours not to use.”

“That can be taught.”

“Yeah, but no one else is going to accept your weirdness.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do. Anyways,” she sighs, sitting down in the chair across from his desk and crossing her leg over her knee, “Eric and I are having a dinner at our house on Friday night, and you’re coming.”

He raises an eyebrow while he tries to keep his lips from curling up into a smile because he knows exactly why they’re having a dinner. She’s been his assistant for three years, and somewhere along the way she became one of his closest friends. She also drives him mad with how she doesn’t listen to him at all.

“Are you not even asking? Just demanding?”

She shrugs and flicks a speck off of her pants. “I’m telling you. It’s at seven, lots of our friends are coming, and you will be there if I have to drag you kicking and screaming.”

He hums and taps his fingers against the desk, the sound of his clock no longer in his earshot. “Fine. I think maybe I can be persuaded by some free food that I know is really a dinner party to announce your pregnancy.”

Her lips part, jaw nearly dropping, before she snaps it shut and gets up, walking over to him and knocking him upside the head. “You’re an asshole. That’s supposed to be a secret. How the hell did you know?”

“This note that you just gave me has baby names and a gynecologist appointment on it and not the Santos order.”

“Pregnancy brain is a real thing,” she huffs before slapping his head again and walking out of the room.

“Congratulations,” he shouts, leaning forward in his chair and smiling to himself. It’s a day of loss, but not everything is bad. It’s also a day of life.

He does spend the night drowning himself in a glass of rum, but it’s just the one filled a little too close to the brim. And he doesn’t spend entirely too much time thinking about Milah and all of the women and heartbreak that have come before her. He only spends what he would consider an acceptable amount of time, and if it was most of the night, no one has to know that but him.

Those are the perks of living alone.

Well, that and eating food in nothing but his boxers while watching reruns of whatever the hell he wants.

The Office.

It was The Office. He spends far too much time watching The Office and also…in his office. But that’s something else. That’s work, and it’s not filled with quite the same amount of comedy. Though he is thinking about putting Liam’s stapler in some jello. That’s not as funny in real life, but he’s not exactly sure if he’s desperate enough to wrap up Liam’s entire office in wrapping paper.

It’d have to be some birthday paper or something. It’s April, so Christmas paper likely wouldn’t work. Of course, it’s April, so Christmas paper would likely be on sale. This is sounding better and better, but he’s not going to do it. He’s going to keep on going with his life and make sure that Ariel isn’t setting him up on a date at this dinner party he’s been at for thirty minutes like he’s pretty sure she’s doing with her friend Jane.

Amazingly enough, the existence of soulmates does not keep people from setting him up on blind dates.

You’d think there would be at least one perk.

Besides the whole perfect match thing and all.

That’s supposedly a perk.

“Would you excuse me for just one minute, love?” he asks Jane, flashing her his most sincere smile and squeezing her shoulder before walking toward his brother who is talking to Will and Robin in the corner of the backyard.

“BJ,” Will greets, grinning from ear to ear as Killian shakes his head.

“You cannot call me that, Scarlett,” he groans. His protests don’t matter at all, but he can hope. He can hope that one day one of his friends will listen to him.

It’s a pipe dream.

“Well, baby Jones isn’t quite as funny as BJ.”

“You have the humor of a fifteen-year-old lad.”

“At least I’m not boring like you,” he scoffs before he takes another sip of his beer. “How’s your little date going over there?”

“So you can tell that it’s a set up?”

“Little brother,” Liam sighs, clapping his hand down on his shoulder, “you scratched your ear enough times for us to know you were nervous. Plus Ariel told us. She was practically jumping out of her skin with excitement.”

“Younger. I’m younger, and of course she did. Jane is…she’s a nice woman, but I’m not really in the mood for another date.”

Suddenly his head starts pounding, sounds muting for a moment before he hones in on a laugh, a laugh that has his skin heating and gooseflesh rising over his arms as he only focuses in on it before all of the other sounds come back to him, the laugh fading into the background. He doesn’t know what the hell just happened, but he’s not going to focus on it when he’s got to deal with his brother and his best mates being undeniable assholes.

Tuning things out has always kind of been his thing anyways.

“It doesn’t have to be a date,” Robin helpfully supplies, “but I think the lass likes you, so I’d turn her down easy.”

“There’s nothing to turn down.”

“She might not know that.”

“Anyways,” he sighs, crossing his arms over his chest, “how long do you think A is going to drag this along until we get to eat dinner?”

“I’d say until she finishes talking to her friends over there.” Liam points to a group of women standing on the other side of the deck. He recognizes Ariel and her friend Mary Margaret. He’s been to her house and met her husband. David? He thinks his name is David and that he’s a detective. And obviously he recognizes his sister-in-law, but he doesn’t recognize two of them. One of them is tall, her legs stretching on for miles, and she’s got straight brunette hair that falls down her back with the tips of it covered in red. The other woman is shorter, but not necessarily short, and her blonde hair is pulled up into a ponytail so that he can see the openness of her dress as it dips down her bare back and rests just above the curve of her waist. He doesn’t know her at all, and he wonders how. Ariel may simply work with him, but she’s made him such a part of her personal life that he feels like he knows all of her friends.

Then again, he didn’t know Jane, so obviously she has several friends she wants to announce her pregnancy to that he’s never met. They’re all ships passing in the night.

Of course, it’s not quite night yet and they’re definitely not ships, but his point still stands.

Or sails.

He can design a ship that would work for this purpose.

He has too much time on his hands.

All of the sounds mute again before the same laugh as before comes back, but this time he knows exactly where the sound is coming from. It’s coming from the blonde who’s talking to Ariel, and he can feel his skin heating up again, the flesh pricking and hair rising across his body as a shiver runs through him. He knows this feeling. He knows it well. It’s the start of something that he usually finds pleasant, but it’s not something that he finds pleasant while standing in a public place with all of his friends around.

Will may have the humor of a teenager, but apparently Killian has the uncontrollable sex drive of one.

Shit.

This is not good.

He needs to think of the government or his grandmother or people who think Hawaiian shirts can be worn to the office as casual wear when they live in Maine because his jeans are rather tight and he’s afraid that nothing can be hidden when he’s feeling a little excited.

Or a lot excited.

When he should not be excited at all.

Oh hell. He’s aroused. He’s not excited. He’s aroused, and there is absolutely no reason for it. Does he even need a reason? Probably not. Still though. This is a problem he doesn’t really want to have right now at his assistant’s barbecue to announce that she’s created a spawn of her loins.

Those are the only loins he should be thinking about.

Not Ariel’s loins, though. That is…this is all too much for him.

“Hey, lover boy,” Will whistles, and suddenly the laughter is fading away so that he can focus on the sound of Will’s whistle and the wind that’s causing the leaves on trees to rustle and mix in with all of the conversations that are happening, “you’ve got to stop staring at Emma or she will kick your ass all the way back to England.”

Emma.

“Who is that?” he ponders, reaching to scratch his beard. He should have shaved this morning, but he didn’t have time to clean his scruff up. “Emma? You said her name was Emma?”

“Aye,” Will confirms, his fingers tapping along the glass of his bottle and picking up the condensation. “Emma Swan. She lives with Belle. I’m bloody terrified of her sometimes, but she’s fun.”

“Why are you terrified of her?”

“Because she’s a cop. A detective, I think, and I’ve seen first hand just how good she is at kickboxing.”

“Why? Did you beat your ass for saying something dumb?”

Will rolls his eyes as both Robin and Liam chuckle, even if they try to muffle the sound. “I may have said something a bit unsavory one night, and she may have literally kicked my ass for it. But I’m on the straight and narrow path now.”

“Huh. So she did what we’ve all been wanting to do for years now. I like her.”

“Why don’t you go talk to her?” Liam prods, wrapping his arm around Killian’s shoulder and slapping him harder than he should. “Are you scared to talk to another girl? Is this going to be like teenage Killian who can’t flirt with more than one woman in a day without being terrified of having to do it again?”

“Sod off.”

“I’m telling you,” Liam starts, but Killian moves out from under his arm and walks away from the group of them so that he can go inside and get a glass of water, not really interested in hearing Liam teasing him about his childhood. It doesn’t bother him, but he’s heard it all before and doesn’t really need to hear about it again. It’s still been A Week, and there’s only so much teasing about his relationships that he can take when he’s still mourning the loss of one.

Once he gets into the kitchen, he grabs a cup off the counter and fills it with ice and water from the fridge, the sound of the ice machine drowning everything out so that he doesn’t hear someone come in behind him. He doesn’t hear her, so he’s got no idea that she’s within a foot of him when he turns around and hits her shoulder, the cup of ice cold water in his hand spilling all over the front of her dress.

Of Emma’s dress.

Of Emma’s white dress.

Because it’s the woman who he was just admiring who he spilled a drink on.

“Holy shirt-balls that’s cold.”

He wants to laugh at her words, at her The Good Place reference, but then it’s happening again. His skin is heating, his temperature rising by several noticeable degrees, and he can feel the hair on his body begin to rise while his jeans tighten. How are his jeans still tightening? His erection can’t get any worse.

Holy shirt-balls indeed.

What the hell is happening to him?

“I’m sorry, love,” he stutters, trying to focus his hearing so that everything won’t be so heightened, but then his eyes glance down at the way that the material of her dress is clinging to her skin, the edges molding to her breasts, and everything gets worse. So, so much worse. He loves women. He’s never denied that. But hell, he should not be having this kind of reaction. This is not some kind of bad porn movie.

This is not some kind of raunchy romantic comedy either.

This is his life.

She’s got fantastic breasts.

Nope. Nope. Nope. He can’t be thinking that. He shouldn’t be thinking that. Something is happening to him, and he needs it to stop.

“I mean, I would say it’s not your fault, but you did spill the water on me,” she laughs, grabbing onto her dress and squeezing the water out a bit as she makes her way further into the kitchen to grab a towel and wipe herself down.

“Yeah, sorry about that. Again. You’re Emma, right?”

She’s still dabbing at her dress when she looks up at him and raises an eyebrow. Her cheeks are flushed red, and he’s not sure if it’s from spending the evening outside or from the embarrassment of him spilling water on her. But she’s got these beautifully flushed cheeks and light emerald eyes that can’t seem to focus on him, her gaze constantly changing.

With how uncomfortable his jeans are right now, he’s honestly kind of wishing that he had ice water dumped on him.

Seriously. What the hell is happening to him?

“Um, yeah. How do you know that?”

“Will told me. I’m…we’re old friends. Killian. Killian Jones.”

“Emma Swan,” she sighs, continuing to dab at her dress while he looks away. He has to look away or he’s going to do something inappropriate by anyone’s standards. Something is happening to him, to his mind and his body, and he needs it to stop right now. “You know, if you wanted to talk to me, all you had to do was introduce yourself, no spilled water involved. And if you wanted to see my tits, well, I should warn you that I carry around a gun for a living, and I don’t take too kindly to things like that.”

“I can promise you that wasn’t my intention.”

“Then why aren’t you looking at me right now?”

“Swan, if I’m honest, it’s because I can see both through and down your dress, and it’s not proper to look no matter how much I want to.”

Holy shit. Why did he just say that?

“Is it hot in here?” Emma asks, changing the subject, and he has never been more thankful for anything in his entire life. Though, really, if she could stop talking, he would be thankful for that too. Her voice is focused in his ears, every word reverberating and spinning around so that he can focus on nothing but her. It’s like her laughter earlier. His body instinctively tuned into it, focused on it, and it caused this same feeling of arousal to base itself at his spine.

And every word she says, makes it worse.

Fuck.

He somehow knows what’s happening, his brain instantly making the connections, and if he could walk out the front door and have never come to this party, he probably would.

Emma Swan is mostly likely his soulmate if the way his senses are picking up are any indication, and every word she says gives him the most inappropriate erection.

Her voice arouses him, and it’s not in a normal way.

Of all the soulmate signs, why this?

Couldn’t he have gotten a damn butterfly tattoo right above his ass instead?

#Not Your (soul)Mate #cs fic #cs ff #cssns #captain swan #captain swan fic

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cost-of-chaos · 5 years

Text

All you Need is Love (Chapter Five)

Sorry, this took so long for me to get out! Hope you’re all in the mood for some angst!

Roger Taylor x OC

Words: 2K+

Warnings: Angst, swearing

Previous Chapters: Chapter One / Chapter Two / Chapter Three / Chapter Four

God knows how long I had been sitting on the floor of the marble shower, but I was finally feeling numb. I had run out of tears and found myself zoning out under the running water, I was broken, fragile and exhausted. A loud slam of a door drew me back to the present.

“Ronnie! Get your ass out of my shower and get in here! I have a present for you darling!” I hear Freddie call from his room.

I reached above my head and turn the water off, I shivered as goosebumps appeared all over me as the cold air attacked my scalding skin.

“I’ll be out in a minute Fred.” I said, with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. I wrapped myself up in one of the fancy, fluffy bathrobes provided by the hotel and tied my hair up in a towel turban before walking out of the steamy warm bathroom into the cold, dark hotel room.

“Freddie?” I asked, too tired for confusing little games. I felt a pair of arms wrap around my waist embracing me in a hug and I almost screamed until I smelt the perpetrators' scent. It wasn’t just anyone, it wasn’t Freddie, it was Roger. The last person I felt like seeing. He was hugging me tightly and full of love, just like I had longed for over the past two weeks but now, even the thought of him touching me just made me feel nauseous.

I pulled away from his hug, I wriggled myself out of his arms and sat down on the bed behind me with my arms crossed over my chest. I was feeling uncomfortable and I knew it was coming across as clear as day. His gorgeous blue eyes searched my face, full of confusion at my out of character behaviour. Hell, if this reunion had taken place before my little discovery, I would be in his arms now, straddling him on the bed as I unbuttoned his shirt. Unfortunately, however, life doesn’t always go the way you expect it to, sometimes it throws you a curveball.

“Ronnie. Love, what’s wrong?” He asked as he sat down on the bed next to me.

I looked down at my lap trying to avoid eye contact with him. I felt tears forming in my eyes again, the hurt and anger which had settled in the shower was now bubbling away in my stomach again.

He reached across the distance between us, tucking a strand of wet hair behind my ear, caressing my face with his calloused fingers as he did so.

“Don’t touch me Roger”. I said, hastily, inching away from him on the bed.

“What do you mean don’t touch you? It’s been two weeks I’ve missed you so much Ronnie, I-“

“Mhmm” I cut him off, my words laced with passive aggressiveness. Yeah, you sure missed me when you were in between another woman's thighs.

“What is your problem? Why are you being a buzzkill Ron? I’ve missed you so much and we’re finally together and now you’re acting like such a bitch?” His words slapped me in the face, how dare he act all high and mighty.

“Stop acting so innocent. I know!” I got up from the bed and retrieved a cigarette from the open box of Marlboros on the bedside table. I cradled it between my lips as I looked out at the twinkling lights of the city in the distance. I lit it my cigarette with trembling hands and took a long drag before finally turning back to Roger, leaning against the cold glass window behind me.

He sat on the bed staring at me in what looked like absolute shock with his mouth open and his eyes bouncing around the room as he undoubtedly mentally searched for an explanation to feed me.

“What? Cat got your tongue Mr Rockstar? Four years we’ve been together. I thought we were doing great or was that just in my imagination?”

“Yes, what-“ I held a finger up to cut him off again.

“Four years I’ve stuck by you, ignoring my family, looking after you as you partied into the wee hours of every morning, stuck by you through all of the rumours..” Tears were now fully clouding my vision as I realised that those rumours that he and the guys always rebuffed as nonsense were probably right. Of course he was screwing other girls as soon as we were ever apart, I thought to myself cynically. “We have an amazing relationship. Well had an amazing relationship” I corrected myself, “I just don’t understand how you couldn’t keep it in your pants for two measly weeks. I mean for fucks sake!” I exclaimed, now pacing across the room as the words flowed out of my mouth with anger from the ultimate betrayal from the man I trusted most in this word.

“You think I cheated on you? What are you talking about Ronnie? You’re acting crazy!”

“I’m not an idiot Roger, you know what’s makes it even worse? The fact you cheated on me the day you knew I was getting here”.

“You actually think I cheated on you?” He said, his voice small.

“I know you did Roger, don’t be obtuse”

“You’re barking, you do know that right?” He walked over to the mini bar and pulled out a can of Asahi. I sat back on the bed, my legs crossed, supporting my head with my fist I watched him down the beer in a few gulps. I put out my cigarette butt in the ashtray beside me as I tried to muster up the courage to ask the question which had popped into my head in the first few minutes after I found out.

“How long have you been cheating on me? Just tell me the damn truth!”

“You seriously think I would cheat on you? He said, walking back to the bed, sitting across from me on the bed, mirroring my position. “I love you, Veronica. I can’t imagine life without you, why would I risk all that for a shag?” I stared at his face, trying to study it, trying to read if he was lying to me but it was no point, all I saw was his big blue eyes full of tears, he looked just as upset as I was.

“Roger, I… I don’t think you know what love is. I know you have this whole ‘rock and roll image’ but that doesn’t mean you can defy my trust and humiliate me”. I was so frustrated that he was lying to my face. Tears were now rolling down his cheeks, his mouth opened and closed as if he was going to say something but remained quiet.

“I can’t believe any of this! You’re insane, you know that right? You’re being a right bitch actually. You know I’m not like that.” His voice was slowly changing from hurt to angry, but honestly, I didn’t care what he was feeling.

“Don’t you dare call me a bitch. Don’t you dare turn this back on me. Next, you’ll say that the reason for all of this is because I was in America and not with you”. I said with a hollow laugh.

“Well, I doubt we’d be fucking fighting. This always happens when you’re with your family, you become more like them. Uptight and insane.”

That was it. That was the final straw. “I...I think you should leave”. I said slowly, looking away from him. I knew I wouldn’t be able to say these words if we were actually making eye contact. “By the time you get back to the flat, it will be cleared of all my things.” My cheeks were now warm with tears as they poured down my face and my throat was becoming raw from all the crying.

I got up swiftly, and walked to the entryway of the room, suppressing the need to sob as I held open the door. I knew that when he walked out of it, he wasn’t just going to be walking out of the room, but our relationship as well. Roger met me in the doorway and stood soo close I thought for a split second he was going to hug me, but he just stared at me for a few moments, looked me in the eyes and strode out of the room.

I collapsed on the bed, in shock of the events that had taken place this evening. He was the one in the wrong, how could he make me the bad guy here? I needed to get back home, I needed to get away from Roger and anyone that will remind me of him.

I reached for my handbag and found the number of the airline on the crinkled ticket. I gingerly took the phone off the receiver and dialled the numbers for a representative of the company. After a forty-five-minute phone call to British Airways, I was finally bumped up to a flight leaving tomorrow night. It only took me bursting into tears and ranting to the lady on the other end about being stuck in Japan after finding out about my boyfriend cheating on me for her to take pity on me. That meant I only had one more day here, thank god.

Now at a loss for what to do next in the quiet room, I walked back to the bathroom to get out of the wet towels and robe so I could finally dry off and be ready to fall into the bed and sleep until I had to leave for the airport. I unwrapped the towel on my head and ran my hand through my damp curls. I looked into the mirror and felt disgusted with what was looking back at me, I looked like broken, fragile, weak version of myself.

Of course I looked like shit, the last three years of my life have ended up being a waste, a blip in my life, not to the lifelong adventure I thought it would be. I had been made an absolute fool of, and nobody makes Ronnie a fool. At least I had gotten out once I finally figured it out, at least I showed a slither of integrity and strength. However, that strength was fading slightly as voices in my head screamed at me to run after him. I needed sleep, once I had a good nights sleep I would have more clarity.

I opened up my suitcase on the floor in front of me and found one of Rogers old t-shirts that I always wore as pyjamas squashed on top. I slipped it on, with a pang of sadness hitting my stomach like a knife. Our lives were so intertwined that even my pyjamas were a reminder of him. I was upset and lonely and all I wanted was a hug. A hug from the person who caused those feelings, a hug from the person who wasn’t even going to be in my life anymore.

*CRASH* I jumped in my bed as I hear a loud commotion above my room. I look to my window just as a tv falls through the air before crashing and flattening the bush in front of my window.

“What on earth?” I exclaimed, running towards to window to try to get a look at what happened.

“Roger! What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?” I heard faintly being screamed from the now open window.

I rolled my eyes at the commotion, typical. Something doesn’t go his way and he has to lash out like a toddler having a temper tantrum. At least I no longer had to deal with that I suppose...

Tags: @xgoingdownx @perriwiinkle @hiyadarlingirl

#roger taylor #roger taylor fanfic #roger taylor fanfiction #roger taylor x oc #roger taylor x reader #ben hardy! roger taylor #ben hardy!roger x reader #ben hardy as roger taylor #ben hardy as roger taylor fanfic #bohemian rhapsody #angst #cheating #breakup #queen #queen imagine #queen fanfic #queen fanfiction #all you need is love

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aenigmaticdays · 6 years

Text

Coda: Chapter 4

A/N: What was originally meant to be a drabble grew into this unrecognisable monster all because I needed to write out my own headcanon before I went quite insane over a fictional couple. Here’s the second (and last) part of it, which was more fun and more difficult to write just as the angst gets left behind bit by bit.

There have been parallels that I’ve tried to draw, dialogues given new spins and all in the name of (fan) fiction, some outrageous liberties taken with behind-the-scenes-moments and medical science. The ending is deliberately left open-ended so it’s up to your imagination how it goes on from there—the story’s focus is the Fitzsimmons relationship, which, as I found as I wrote on, to be independent of context. They’ll always be there for each other (that much is immutable), though it’s nice to indulge in a happy ending, as always.

Thank you for your comments and support.

Also on AO3 and FF.net

The shadows and the days lengthen as the relentless summer slowly mellows into the first week of autumn, creeping up to London like a thief in the night.

The sudden gust of wind that rattles the window shocks Fitz enough to put down the soldering iron and throw his safety glasses aside. In retrospect, picking another miniature drone prototype as a personal project to work on might not have been the brightest idea, the constant alterations and modifications of the base design too gratingly reminiscent of Fitzsimmons’s early crowning glory—more so as he considers his newly-acquired lab partner.

With the parts of the new prototype scattered around him, he ponders the fragility of trust, the immutability and breakability of relationships. The hard discipline of engineering is metaphor-rich for the more intangible things in life as he’d found out long ago, found especially in the way things are taken apart and put back together again, for the efforts that are made in strengthening a component while weakening another so the device runs at optimal levels.

Predictably, sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t. Most of the time, it gets him infuriated enough that he’ll hurl those bits against the wall and start the process all over again in a worse mood than when he began. That right there, the similarities to real life rear their ugly head.

Fitz sneaks a glance at Simmons, who’s currently bent over a pipette and meticulously recording the results of the experiment. For the relatively content and peaceful life that he thought he’d built since leaving S.H.I.E.L.D., this curveball she’d thrown him since her arrival two months ago has left even that in disarray.

Had her presence alone undone all the progress he’d made on his own without her?

Even the answer for that has his mind chasing circles around itself, and in the process, he wears himself vexingly threadbare. Never had he imagined that this new stage of his life would be interrupted by the very person he is trying to move away from—it simply hadn’t been a factor that he’d considered as he marked time away from Jemma Simmons.

Yet outrage and resentment had gradually faded into bewilderment as Simmons determinedly set up space in his lab after announcing her intention of staying—he supposes it is now their lab once again—and gets down to work on upgrading Citadel’s biometric scanners in between patching up the injuries of the teams that now cycle regularly through the lab to ask for her tender ministrations.

She obliges quite nicely of course, with a practiced, professional smile for everyone who comes through. For the past thirty days, the lab has quite literally, doubled up as a second med bay with the increased flow of people who come through.

Apart from the random visits (and the salacious winks thrown his way each time the team members come in to hound Simmons about minor scrapes and bruises) annoying the hell out of him—the small lab isn’t his private, quiet space anymore so that makes him grumpy—, Fitz can’t really figure out what she’s up to.

He doesn’t quite permit himself to think too much about the fervent declarations she made during the huge argument any more than he has to. Their fight on the day of her arrival had after all, been loud enough to draw the attention of the nosy buggers, who’d been sneaky enough to eavesdrop, then drop bits and pieces of that in casual conversation just to see him cringe as they try to reconstruct the story based on their own outlandish assumptions about what he and Simmons used to be.

(They’re wrong in every way, which Fitz doesn’t bother to correct.)

Because hope, as Fitz knows, is just that: a bloody witch that could just turn on him as it did with Simmons on more than a single occasion, so it’s infinitely more beneficial if he keeps his mind stayed on work, gadgetry and missions.

Yet against all odds, here she is, so intent on weaving back together the severed threads of their prior relationship, reconnecting them with the slightest of touches on his hands, his arms, his shoulder, with words that are friendly but professional. Resurrecting all she can of Fitzsimmons, it seems, using the safe anchor of colleagues-first, then friends, though he knows that it still takes two to clap to mend this rift, leaving only the stiff reluctance on his side downing her stalwart efforts.

The times when they eat meals together are unpredictable as a result of this back-and-forth dance between two people who don’t know how to live with each other anymore. There are mostly periods of awkward silence that neither he nor Simmons can quite bridge, punctuated only with short discussions on their own projects when the silence becomes too stifling to ignore.

It would be so easy to fall back into their old routines and conversations where they finish each other’s sentences. Too easy, in fact, that Fitz consciously holds himself back from doing just that, reducing his time in the lab with more sessions with the punching bag and locking himself in his bunk early in the evenings with his tablet to do his work in peace.

He’ll show up the next day as though nothing’s out of the ordinary.

To her credit, Simmons doesn’t say a word about it.

But today, the coiled tension Fitz has been feeling all morning finds itself suppressed in his clenched fists. Grabbing his mug from the foldable side table he’d built into a far cabinet (he’ll make his own rules in his lab), he strides into the pantry intent on another cup of tea and possibly, a dozen of those peanut bars that he’ll remember to stash in the bottom drawer of the—

A fresh steaming mug of chai inches into his peripheral vision, coming to rest next to him on the table top. Glancing up, Fitz is surprised to see the very person his thoughts had been consumed with of late nodding at the newly-made drink in front of him.

“You look tired, Fitz. Thought a shot of caffeine might help perk you up.” With that, Simmons seats herself at the table, a cheerful quirk forming on her lips as she pats the empty seat next to her in invitation. “Sit with me for a while?”

The darkening sky is startling proof that he’d worked throughout the day without any sense of time passing, yet cloistered here, in this quiet, intimate space with its dimmed lights…alone with Simmons…this makes him waver. Everything here defies his natural conditioning to stay away, first, painfully self-constructed in the days where he wouldn’t allow himself to think of her as anything more than his best friend, then later, reinforced by seeing her devotion to Will Daniels and the time spent trying to forget about her.

The memory of it is cause enough to decline the invitation.

His indecision shows for longer than what would constitute a polite response, until he finally throws caution to the wind and averts his eyes before he does as she asks.

Her brightening smile feels frustratingly like a reward for a good deed he hasn’t done.

oOo

Uncertainty still grounds their relationship, mixing with the nervous anticipation Jemma feels every time they have a lab session together.

Fitz stays less in the lab than she does, called from time to time to short assignments both in and out of the country or to training with the rest of the guys. He isn’t exactly avoiding her now, but he doesn’t seek her out actively as he used to do, choosing instead to mutter his own hypotheses and findings into the thin air. She still remembers the bitter sting when he’d taken every opportunity to leave the space as much as he could in the early days, but what had she been expecting, really? A song-and -dance routine with his arms open wide in welcome?

If leaving for Hydra so long ago when he’d needed her was devastatingly difficult, developing the mettle to stay for him when he doesn’t seem to need her now, is infinitely harder to do.

It isn’t the first time that such contrasting scenarios of their stilted one-step-forward-two-steps-back dance swirl in and out her head, but they come especially during one of those quieter moments when she’s in the lab and Fitz is out with his team.

To her relieved surprise however, tea time gradually becomes a more regular break that is inserted into long days when their schedules coincide. Silence reigns more than the unfiltered, easy conversations they used to have, but well, she’ll take all she can, though it prompts her frequently to question and second-guess her own actions.

They aren’t Fitzsimmons by any stretch but the imbalance isn’t something she’s complaining about however; knowing every part of his mission brief, occupying the same spaces as he is with the uneasy truce between them are all she needs right now.

The mends in the frayed cords of their rocky partnership…are they just woven from illusion, or are they as real as she thinks?

Simply put, is Fitz warming to her, or is he itching to be rid of her? She thinks the uncomfortable truth lies somewhere in between.

Seeing how well-loved and how well-adjusted he is here, within this team, is nonetheless, sometimes a bit of a kick in the face. Having once always assumed that his place was beside her the whole damn time in S.H.I.E.L.D., it now takes mental recalibration and repeated reminders to herself of her decision to go out on a limb, to offer that olive branch, to throw everything on the line for him as he’d once done for her, too many times to count.

Staying the course becomes a mantra she repeats often to herself, even if he’s the one standing problem she’s never been able to solve.

For Fitz, it’s worth it. Isn’t it?

“They’re lucky to have you,” she blurts out one afternoon as she pushes aside the stack of medical reports she’s going through and looks at him sitting across from her.

Fading ribbons of sunlight cast a blondish tint on his shorn hair (the curls barely show now), framing him so perfectly that Jemma can’t help feel the sharp regret once again for the man whom she’d lost and found—or rather, is trying to find—again.

Fitz shakes his head slowly and takes his time to answer. His gaze turns inwards and she knows, momentarily, that she has lost him to his memories of a period of time that he’s carved without her.

“It’s more the other way around, I think,” he muses absently, “I’m lucky to have them. So bloody lucky.”

The subtext is so heavy in those words that it nearly causes her to retreat, both physically and metaphorically. His team, this new direction he’d taken, the fit he’d found here against all odds…they’d all played a part in reconfiguring, or rather, reconstructing this Fitz who’s standing in front of her right now.

Not for the first time, she’s thankful for Hunter. He’d taken care of Fitz in more ways than one when she’d thoughtlessly bailed on her best friend in ways that he didn’t deserve.

“Who’s Amélie?”

Jemma cringes as soon as the words cut through the relative peace between them, not wanting to sound like she has any right to ask him anything personal anymore—she plainly doesn’t. But she’s put her own foot in her mouth and it’s too late to take it back in her quest to satisfy her own morbid curiosity about Fitz’s dating life.

That question that’s been on the tip of her tongue for weeks is never meant to be asked aloud, but it falls out anyway, a consequence of having it playing in the forefront of her mind for longer than she cares to admit.

And now she’s done it. Turned a rather pleasant afternoon into an awkward one.

“I mean, I overheard Hatch mention her the other day in passing and it’s not the first time that…god, this is…I was eavesdropping when I really shouldn’t have. It’s too soon to—no, no Fitz, don’t answer that. I’m just—this is clearly none of my concern and you really don’t have to answer that. Forget I said anything.”

It’s the most fumbling she has ever been with a retraction and the sharp, startled look that Fitz throws her morphs into thin-lipped inscrutability as their eyes inadvertently lock in a hold that he breaks first.

“The former team medic.” He toys with the handle of his mug and taps an erratic cadence on the porcelain. “She’s also someone I was seeing.”

The uncomfortable knot grows in her stomach as does the searing loneliness that drills hard into her chest. Jemma doesn’t quite dare to ask more, without feeling as though she’ll be overstepping her bounds again.

Quietly sliding out of his seat, Fitz pads out of the pantry without looking back at her.

She sags in her chair for the next minute in silence, torn between allowing herself some leeway for that weakness and berating herself for even starting down that path.

After all, Fitz’s use of the past tense, the team’s gaping absence of a medic before she’d slotted herself into Citadel courtesy of Hunter, the way the team still speaks about Amélie from time to time…there’s a riddle right there that she isn’t a part of, which she knows she can’t be a part of.

And if this is a memory that Fitz needs to have apart from her, he’s more than entitled to it without her pathetic attempts at putting a story together if there’s none to tell.

oOo

Apart from that her silly hiccup in the pantry, Jemma comes to measure the passing of time in cups of tea spent with Fitz, the periods of solitary lab sessions she has and the hours that he’s gone when deployed with the team.

But apparently, her persistence pays off. Or rather, their weakness for tea paves the way.

Their conversations, past that awful, embarrassing moment, rumble to life a little more smoothly, oiled by time and well, Fitz’s incredibly giving and loyal nature that he doesn’t seem to realise he has even for those who don’t deserve it. His short, terse answers gradually grow longer, and though they don’t always match her over-eager babble; conversely, it makes her hang onto every word that he says and doesn’t say.

She can’t help but grow to be possessive of the little moments they have during tea time; it’s an allotted time that feels like a privilege these days when it’d once used to be effortless and unthinking.

Yet it’s also easier to understand now, why Fitz fits in so well.

The lads treat her the same way, essentially, carving out a space for her when there hasn’t been one and the short-lived boys club mentality she’d been expecting lasts only as long as after she’d stitched up the first casualty after a hairy mission in Russia. She attends every pre-mission briefing with them and even when she’s not physically at every mission, they come by often enough now to tell her stupid little stories that make her laugh and get themselves some medical supplies when it’s plainly unnecessary for them to do so.

It’s a quiet afternoon in the lab a few weeks after that foot-in-mouth-blunder when Fitz trudges through the doorway, with slightly heavier scruff—four days he’s been gone—and a bad gash in his arm, the fabric torn right through in odd places.

Jemma takes one look at him and drags the fully-stocked first aid kit from its now permanent place under the lab bench. When there’s a constant stream of people needing medical attention, it doesn’t hurt to have everything ready.

He shakes his head slightly, walks past her and takes his own kit out before heading to the sink to scrub his hands.

“I’ve got it, Simmons.”

She protests immediately, needing something—anything—to do when it’s him who needs medical attention. “Fitz, let me have a look at least.”

The ease of his practiced movements tells the stark truth. “It isn’t the first time I’ve done this. I’m fine. Nothing to worry about.”

What she absolutely doesn’t anticipate however, him pulling off the vest and his shirt right there and then to scrub the grime and blood off his torso and the gash on his arm.

To see him bare to the waist, with pants hanging off his hips…it’s a sight that causes her breath to catch.

First, because of the smaller, faded scars over his back that Fitz had somehow acquired in the past year and at another one that’s still angry and red—all the field experience that’s been worn into his skin. For the teenager who’d once proclaimed the lab work and inventing were what he was born to do, the amount of time he now spends in the field makes a mockery out of that innocent statement.

And simply that in all the years she’d known him, he’d never done anything remotely close to this accidental version of a striptease (what he’s doing now is so far from an attempt at seduction that it’s laughable to even use that word in association with Fitz) yet the casual, unthinking way he does it probably indicates he’s become accustomed to this habit of taking care of himself somewhere along the way.

Mesmerised, she draws closer and without thinking at all about the ramifications of what she’s about to do, reaches out to gently touch the few marks on his upper back before moving her fingers down the unmarred skin, down the length of his spine. She feels the even rhythm of his breaths turn erratic, every nerve in her hand tingling in response and that makes her itch to move past what he’s taken off and—

The tap runs forgotten as Fitz’s fluid movements stutter stiffly to a halt, the sheer feral intensity of his stare when he turns questioning eyes on her nearly making her step away. “Simmons?”

Heat spears through her at the realisation of what she’d just done.

“I—these—these marks…where did these come from, Fitz? I didn’t know you had so many…”

Flustered, Jemma squeezes her eyes shut and cuts herself off mid-sentence, embarrassment and an entirely new feeling she doesn’t quite dare name speeding headily through her veins. Since when did searching for something sensible to say take a disconcerting amount of effort?

Foot…in mouth…once more.

Fitz swipes a small towel from the bottom drawer of the cabinet built under the sink and dries off more quickly than she can offer to help, clumsily shrugging on the torn shirt as he hurriedly takes a step back from her.

“From previous assignments.”

“Oh.” She gestures vaguely in the direction of the pantry and inches towards the door of the lab, grabbing a random clipboard with haphazardly scribbled notes on it from her side of the lab to press to her chest. “I, well, I’m going for a cup of tea. I—I forgot, it’s tea break.”

A wince pulls her face taut as she practically sprints to the pantry which is thankfully, always quiet at this time of the day.

Only then does she drop the clipboard carelessly onto the table and stares at her shaking hands and sweaty palms. Feels the rapid clip of her heartrate that has yet to decelerate and the burning flush in her cheeks that refuses to subside.

Something stronger than a cup of tea would be perfect right now.

oOo

If dream-Fitz walked in that liminal space between her waking and sleeping hours prior joining Citadel as a reminder of the penance Jemma thinks she has to pay, this same fantasy springs back to life too vividly to ignore, now reshaped along with her altered circumstances.

It’s this dream-Fitz with heat in his impossibly blue eyes, who leads her down an empty, darkened hallway as the sexy groove of music pulses around them. She follows willingly, not wanting any space between them even with their clasped hands pulling each other along. He’s in a smart suit and looks the most handsome she’d ever seen him, she’s in a tiny sparkly dress that matches his eyes, hair piled high, giggling, maybe even tipsy and more than a little debauched.

She’s happy. So, so happy. Swaying to the beat while he tries to still her hips with wandering hands, a flirtation that notches her arousal, up and up, until she gets what she wants.

All patience gone, he turns wickedly on her with his body hard and grinding against hers as he shifts their entwined hands high on the wall above her, their lips meeting over and over.

Then she’s busy undoing his belt, pulling the opening of his pants apart just as he’s ripping the delicate buttons on the front of her dress with the same lack of finesse, unheeding of who sees them in this state of undress.

She tells him that she misses him, to hurry, that she is a firestorm ready to combust and he breaks their sultry embrace to kneel before her, yanking both dress and knickers past her hips with a breathless chuckle before standing again and hiking her bare legs around his waist, urgency colouring every bit of their movements as he—.

This is where she wakes up.

With nails digging tightly into her mattress and legs tangled around a flattened pillow that’s no substitute for Fitz. Feeling hot and bothered, panting and frustratingly unfulfilled because of a dream that crumbled too quickly into dust.

Objectively, Jemma knows it’s a part of her brain catching up with the idea of Fitz as a romantic partner—it’s how her mental faculties getting on par with what her heart has long decided. Ironically, the hints that have crept up to her over the years hadn’t been sufficient in helping her envision this side of him that she’d never been privy to when they were best friends, even during the times when he’d gone out with other people. Quite absurdly, all it’d literally taken were a few inflamed touches and heated dreams to do the trick.

It’s enough to get her up at 4 a.m. and instead of returning to bed, she scours for online psychology journals about the scientific interpretation of her nightly meanderings, wish-fulfilment and external stimuli and—unless it’s just desperation to justify her feelings and find scientific backing for answers to what she already knows?

The shrill cry of her alarm three hours later closes that frenzied period of research that leaves her unable to meet Fitz’s eyes for a day or two.

oOo

“The next assignment,” Edwin says without preamble in the pre-mission briefing, “is going to be quite different from what we normally do, headed by a joint taskforce comprising a group of law enforcement agencies and private security companies banding together. Citadel’s been called in for back up. The information was given out this morning and the missions brief’s just been uploaded to the central server.”

That alone makes Fitz sit up in his chair. Haven’t they had a bit too much of a different mission of late?

But what Edwin seems to be coming up these days with keeps life interesting at the very least. (Or if he were to be quite honest, it keeps his mind off the conundrum that’s Simmons.)

Whittled down to the basics, the rather public discovery of an ancient artefact renders its transportation to a classified location problematic, particularly with the ever-hungry press on their heels, potential hostile interceptions in the air and treasure hunters with billions at their disposal following its progress.

Immediately, Fitz swipes right on his tablet and a detailed map of the object’s long and convoluted journey from Venezuela to North America flicks on. Next to him, Simmons does the same, her brow furrowed in concentration. She’s been called on this assignment as well—that much of a risk it poses to the team when too many cooks are itching to spoil the broth—on Edwin’s orders.

Fitz wonders if Hunter once again, has had a part to play in this, blurring the lines within which S.H.I.E.L.D. operate and the parts where Citadel actually does. As soon as that thought comes, he shakes it off with a small smirk. To give credit where it’s due, Hunter has clout, but not that much clout.

In the meantime, Langston takes over from Edwin.

“The first leg will be done by air, the second by ship. Operatives have inserted themselves specifically into specialised logistics positions to oversee its progress from south to north.”

“Citadel will not play middlemen to be pushed around,” Edwin puts in firmly. “Neither are we babysitters for agents who don’t play nice.” He’s quick to reassure everyone, seeing as they’re justbackup security for the transportation of some highly volatile cargo from one place to another. “But the general consensus is, toes will be stepped on, guns will be drawn, and hopefully no one gets terribly hurt. That’s just how it works no matter how much we play nice.”

Fitz grimaces and watches as Simmons sneaks a similar look at him. That much they agree on without even the need for words: someone always gets hurt.

Smithy’s the only one who finds it hilarious, but his infectious laughter lightens the edgy atmosphere and even coaxes a reluctant chuckle from Langston.

Edwin wraps up the briefing with a warning. “Know where your boundaries are, and we’ll be fine. Wheels up, one hour.”

Before Fitz knows it, he’s all packed up and decked out in heavy gear with Simmons at his side, the Gulf of Mexico stretching as far as his eye can see from his vantage point on the powered vessel anchored to another bigger one, tensely watching the complicated proceedings of transferring the bands take place in international waters.

Two minutes, in and out. Clean, uncomplicated and as quickly as possible.

Hatch starts the stopwatch.

The changeover is the riskiest part of the operation, multiplied over by the number of times that it’ll have to be done in that long, long journey as the artefact makes its way to its permanent home.

The sudden appearance of few blips on the radar and a warning chirp are all Fitz gets before a series of gunshots pepper the air, as the carefully planned operation falls apart in seconds when a couple of military interceptors splice the waves and break the careful formation of boats.

Ducking automatically, he reaches for his own weapon as more shots ping the side of the vessel. From the corner of his eye, he sees Langston and Smithy inch towards the bow, their assault rifles spitting out shots as black-booted feet storm the deck.

In a volley of gunfire, he realises Simmons has disappeared from view.

Where the fuck is she?

The whiz of a bullet slicing past his ear makes him duck again and roll into a corner where he finally sees Simmons, prone and struggling with a balaclava-clad figure who’s wrestled her to the floor.

He raises his own rifle without hesitation, flipping the switch from stun to kill without thinking and takes aim. In a spray of red mist, the assailant drops in a heap as Simmons wrests herself free of the dead man and clambers to her feet.

With a quick sweep of the situation around them, he tries to get on his two feet on a surface continually rocking with the continued bombardment of gunshots—just in time to see several rocket launchers emerge from the interceptors.

It takes him a second to realise what’s really going to happen next.

Shite.

“Simmons, move!”

In the second after he shoves her towards the stern and away from the trajectory of the projectile, it hits. The bow splinters into pieces, causing the boat to lurch wildly to a side and toss Langston and Smithy into the choppy waters.

No, no….!

Fitz finds himself sliding across the blood-drenched floor, scrabbling for purchase before the second one follows. The entire boat bucks upwards before slamming back down, hurling him in a wide arc into the turquoise water.

The world overturns at a dizzying speed.

Down, then up, then down again as the waves crash in and slap his face and head. Salt water rushes up his nose and into his throat, the agonising burn sending a fresh round of panic with it.

Fitz! Fitz!

He thinks he hears his name. High-pitched, terrified. Where’s Simmons?

Pain and panic flare, as he struggles to the surface and gulps a lungful of air, but already, the weight of his equipment and clothes is dragging him down, past that first lucky attempt to stay afloat.

His legs scissor upwards, in a furtive but futile push for oxygen—

Past and present coalesce as the edges of his vision fuzz grey.

Ward! Ward!

He’s sinking, fear freezing every limb stiff.

It’s blue, all around. Just like the last time.

Air…he needs air.

The unforgiving water closes around his head as the weight of his tac-vest and weapons tug him down, a recurring nightmare in automatic rewind.

He’s talking, the implications of their position on the ocean floor injecting a calmness that he never knew he was capable of feeling in this dire moment. (Maybe that’s because she’s still by his side…they’re in this together, even to the very end and there’s comfort to take in that.)

These pods are built to be compatible with all S.H.I.E.L.D. aircraft, submarines, spacecraft…we slowly sank as it increased the density of the outer walls.

His arm is in a sling, blood has crusted on his face, but he’s been working frantically to get any distress signal transmitted and that somehow had overridden the pain.

There’s blood on her head too. An absurd thought crosses his mind to kiss it better.

The pulse beats hard and fast in her neck. His probably mirrors hers, but not for the same reason. He needs to say something that he thought he’d keep a secret to his grave.

Fitz forces his eyes open, trying to ignore the sting of the brine. It’s still blue, all around, with the glint of dappled sunlight barely penetrating the surface of the water.

There’s a little air left in his lungs. Oddly, the terror slowly abates as rational thought forces its way in again.

I thought we were dead, for sure.

He’s obviously not dead. Yet. And he’s still functioning, until his air runs out in seconds. His hands move automatically to disengage the vest. His boots are too tightly-tied to bother with.

Meanwhile, he sinks into deeper blue.

We’ll find a way out of here, right? Are you scared? What do you think it’s like? Death?

This is where all life began anyway…

The vest finally breaks free, tumbling slowly into the deep, past where the water runs from clear to murky. He barely spares it a glance as the cold, cold current drifts upwards, marking his descent past the thermocline.

He begins a morbid countdown. Ten seconds—an eternity to wait.

Nine. Eight. Seven.

Everything is too cold.

Wrestling with the weapons strapped to his thigh next, he suddenly thinks of Simmons.

I couldn’t find the courage to tell you, so please—

His lungs expel the last vestiges of air.

This is it. No, no…nonono—

Two dark shapes materialise abruptly beside him and he’s suddenly enclosed in a warm grip before as they tug him upwards, their hold steady and unwavering as they reverse his downward course. Immediately, a determined hand forcibly inserts a regulator to his mouth as he bites down and frantically gulps in huge pockets of air.

The gleam of sunlight now pierces his half-closed eyes, the sting of the brine gradually lessening. But fire and ice prick his joints, and blinding pain pounds beneath his eyelids and nose, getting worse with each second—

They break the surface with a thunderous splash and it’s Simmons whom he finally sees, whose arms are braced firmly around his shoulder and neck, eyes wide in relief, her hand still stubbornly pressing her second-stage regulator hard against his mouth.

Hatch’s his other flotation of support on the other side, yelling at something in the distance.

Simmons is also shouting amidst the bedlam, paddling hard for the both of them to stay afloat in the midst of the carnage, a scuba tank hastily affixed to her side.

Stay with me! Please, please…breathe, Fitz, breathe!

Broken pieces of boats float around them, some already charred black beyond recognition.

A stealth helicopter circles overhead, so low that its rotor blades whip the sea foam into his eyes until a rescue net lowers from its side. He’s hoisted onto it, the pain in his head causing him to black out momentarily, rousing groggily only when his back roughly hits solid ground.

Just like that they’re in the air; the sudden upward and forward glide of the helicopter makes him want to throw up but a pair of firm hands hold him resolutely horizontal.

Emergency oxygen is placed over his nose this time, clean and sweet.

The dull hum in his ears increases, amplifying everything that he feels tangibly: the sharp, rapid rise and fall of his chest, the weight of his heavy clothing that he can’t seem to shed, the water trickling over him—he raises a hand weakly to swipe it off, only to realises it’s Simmons smiling and dripping tears and salt water over him, holding his head steady and kissing his face over and over.

Her words slip in and out of range of his hearing, but he thinks he sees love and lost and don’t leave me please cross her lips again and again. His eyelids droop heavily just as the realisation dawns on him that her babbling admission had just shifted what he’d for so long, deemed conjecture, to hopeful belief.

Fitz wakes again to bright, white light and uncomfortably loud noise as the screeching of wheels and rapid-fire talking bring the A&E department into sharp focus. Simmons is running next the gurney they’ve put him on, his hand tightly held in hers, a connection that’s only reluctantly broken when they slot him into the hyperbaric chamber.

I love you, she mouths, ashen-faced as she presses her hands on the glass, devastation etched deep in the lines around her eyes. Always.

His eyes burn hot and wet, like hers.

Always.

oOo

The appearance of sophisticated pirates linked with a terrorist group, along with the multiple casualties that the team comes out of the botched operation with are enough for Edwin to put his foot down and stick to tame risk assessment projects while everyone recovers from the ordeal.

Walking past his private office in the first week after Fitz gets back from hospital, Jemma finally hears him lose his cool as he gets on phone call after phone call to sort out the mess that happened in the Gulf of Mexico.

Edwin isn’t the only one shaken.

The entire team is in fact, out of commission for a while, their injuries ranging from mild to rather severe, though it’s Fitz getting lost in the deep (again) that makes her stop and struggle for composure each time she thinks about it.

It’s akin to having a nightmare coming back to life just as you thought it’s long dead and buried for good. This near-replication of their time on the ocean floor, merely reminds her that she’d nearly lost him for good (again) and as what?

As senseless collateral damage in the chaos of battle. Apparently that one catastrophe after Ward’s betrayal hadn’t been enough of a break.

The relief, so excruciating in its entirety, had torn through her with jagged teeth despite his quiet reassurances after he woke up in the hospital bed that he was alright (his speech isn’t slurred and his bad hand shakes no worse than before) and that nothing bad had happened to that big brain of his.

The absurdity of the past year gnaws on Jemma as she sits at the lab bench and stares blankly at the stack of reports yet unwritten. Touch—the solid feel of him—is what she craves, the physical reassurance that tells her he’s here, he’s alive.

Instead, she thumbs the edges of the papers and ponders the heart-breaking game of she-left, he-left that they’d subjected each other to, the macabre parallel of the way Fitz nearly gets swallowed by water twice, the people who’d come between them and the grief it’d all caused.

But the reality is that he’s healthy and kicking and thankfully unscathed. And blissfully tinkering with a spare part or two in his little corner of the lab, oblivious to the churning turmoil that she cycles through repeatedly.

Incredibly, Fitz manages brush it off as if he hadn’t been put through the wringer when it technically should have triggered another round of PTSD. At any rate, it’s the uncharacteristic calm, unbothered front that she sees despite carefully watching for ripples in the pond.

Frustration knotting into a skein, Jemma stands abruptly, accidentally sending her chair so violently into the side of the bench that it topples the bottle of phenol from the shelf above.

She yelps in horror, stepping instinctively away from the shattered glass and the spill—

“What the bloody hell—?!”

Before she knows that’s happening, Fitz is running her straight into the safety shower Edwin had specifically commissioned for them when she’d joined Citadel.

“Clothes off, Simmons!”

Her blouse and bra are already off, her pants halfway undone even as he barks the order at her. Lab safety protocol is practically engraved in the palm of her hand and he knows it.

“Fitz, I’ve got this—” Her protests die a weak death as he flicks every knob upward and shoves her inside.

“Where’s the spill?” He interrupts harshly above the sound of the roaring water, shoving himself inside with her, panic written on his face, unheeding of the streams hitting his clothes.

“What are you…?” Too numb to process what he’s doing, she can only gape as he takes over.

She shivers involuntarily at the first touch of his hands on her body as the water sluices over them.

Intent on scrubbing away the minutest remnants of phenol that could have inadvertently touched her skin, he goes down on one knee, strokes roughly over her thighs before moving up her lower back, to her waist, chest, neck and down again, rubbing the skin hard while she recovers sufficiently to do the same from the opposite direction.

Memories of her own fevered dreams insert themselves bright and vividly without warning. Of what they were about to do before she awoke. Of his devouring hands and mouth that she’d so badly wanted on her.

There is nothing even vaguely erotic in what he’s doing here, yet the look on his face as he works his hands over her skin—

Jemma slams the knobs of the shower down, the sudden silence deafening as she slowly turns to face him, as stark naked as the day she was born, and him, with his sodden clothes still stuck water tight to him.

Barely an inch separates them.

He’s frozen wide-eyed like her, mouth agape, breathing hard and flushed with the exertion of hauling her into the shower and literally giving her a vigorous bath without second thought.

The redness that’s creeping over his ears and cheekbones however, probably has more to do with the dawning realisation of what they’d—no, what he’d just done.

“Shit,” he mutters and turns away. “I—I didn’t really mean to…”

It’s probably more gentlemanly instinct and socially-conditioned embarrassment than anything else, considering all that he’s already seen and touched, albeit incidentally.

Her whisper comes unbidden as she reaches for his hands on a whim. “Don’t, please… don’t apologise.”

A pause. “I’m not.”

She watches, entranced, as he shakes a hand loose of her grip. Reaches up to trace the path of a rivulet of water streaking down the side of her face, from temple to cheek, the unmistakable shift from nervousness to a connection so electric that it has her shuddering in anticipation as his thumb brushes the side of her lips—

The loud buzz of her mobile dispels the sensual haze, and just like that, the awkward skittishness returns.

“Damn it!” He snatches his hand away like he’s just been burned.

“Fitz, um…I need a towel.” She’s pretty sure she feels the same kind of mortification, but for a different reason—because this is precisely the guilty pleasure she can’t bring herself to regret. But not before briefly entertaining the thought of running out, sans clothing, to hurl the damn thing against the wall. “Also, a new set of clothes—”

“Uh, right.” He’s already ducking out and grabbing the nearest thing he finds that’s closest to a towel, handing it to her with only a hand stuck in the shower cubicle. “I’m goin’…I’ll get something for you.”

It’s only after hearing the wet squeaks of his shoes on concrete as he hurries off that she slumps against the wall, towel still clutched in a limp hand and panting like she’s just completed a sprint up the whole length of the Thames and back again.

oOo

The path of avoidance that Fitz is taking most likely screams cowardice, but there’s no way he’ll be able to return to the lab and look Simmons in the eye for the time being.

Instead, he’d taken the long way back to his room, taken a cold shower (a deliberate one this time) and emerged from it no less aggravated than when he’d run out of the lab like a rabbit with a fox on its tail.

Fitz paces the small free space in his room, running hands over his face then putting them behind his neck as he relives the whole bloody fiasco with a groan.

What the fuck did he just do?

Having fallen into that nebulous, muddled state of wanting Simmons again, he knows that it’d be so, so easy to give in. That initial resolve, to stay clear of her, now miserably failing when she’d drawn lines of clarity about her feelings, leaving no room for doubt what she meant. To allow hope to move them past this tentative friendship that they’d re-formed.

That the indecision and the apprehension he felt which had coloured the first few months of her return had in fact, transformed into something new when he wasn’t really looking. That it now leaves possibilities to explore—which is a staggering thought in itself—, if he would allow himself to think about them together not as a forbidden entity any longer.

A knock on his bedroom door interrupts his pacing and he hesitates before pulling the door open, already knowing who it’ll be.

She sweeps in dressed in his old shirt and sweats, pushing the door shut behind her with an emphatic click, then locking it.

His adrenaline spikes for an entirely different reason.

“I waited. You didn’t go back.”

What?

“To the lab,” Simmons clarifies when the confusion shows briefly on his face, and walks further into the room to stand in front of him.

It isn’t lost on him that their positions are an exact mirror of the way they’d stood in the shower not an hour earlier.

He looks at her, the determination on her face as heart-breaking as it is thrilling. “Wanted some time to think.

“About us?”

Little by little, she’s pushing the boundaries, testing his barriers. His slight resistance is automatic, helping to stay the torrent of emotion that would otherwise overwhelm. But that charged, magnetic pull, altogether new, flares to life again.

“Does it matter?”

“It matters, Fitz.” Her sigh echoes loud in the small space. He hears the hitch in her voice, part-exasperated, part-tense. “It always matters when it comes to you. To us.”

He watches as she lifts a hand towards him and at the last moment, he grips her wrist before she closes the distance between them. Instead, she curls her other hand around his neck, the pads of her fingers already searing hot on his skin, shifting their balance until her back’s against his door with him pressing into her, so close that their breaths mingle.

There’s no mistaking the small gasp that escapes her lips, or the fluttering of her pulse in her neck or the slight turn of her hips that curls distractingly into his. But he needs to know beyond any shadow of doubt, that this, this compromising position they find themselves in, first, out of accident, now, deliberately engineered—and what happens beyond—is really what she’s after.

That it’s him she’s looking at and not anyone else. Not as her second option, not her consolation prize.

“No going back from this, Jemma.” His warning is stark, all the little things left unsaid coded in that issued challenge. But he’s also depending on the only unchangeable fact that he knows right now: that Simmons will not back down. “So you’d bloody be sure—”

Fitz has time to blink only once before she presses her lips onto his, her hand already in his hair, threading and pulling.

The tinder of buried attraction neither had been able to give voice to sparks into flames, the culmination of not-so-innocent touches and circumstantial foils.

He lifts her leg around his hip, deepening a kiss ignited by weeks of carnal frustration, their duelling tongues breaking their frenzied dance only when they finally stumble with hot purpose, limbs still tightly entwined, onto his bed.

Hurry, Fitz, she whispers, as lost as he is in the ebb and flow of sensation.

With a dark chuckle, he complies.

oOo

It’s only later, finally washed up the shore of consciousness, tucked under his sheets and skin still slicked with sweat when Jemma tells him, quite earnestly that she could never think of life without him, there aren’t any spaces in her that aren’t already filled by him. If this isn’t love, then she doesn’t know what love is.

It takes him a while to reply, though that affectionate openness in his eyes, the loving smile that curves his lips—the emotions that she’d been craving to see that he doesn’t need to say aloud—are answers enough.

“I feel the same way.”

Home.

This is home, she thinks, with the frayed rope of their one-broken relationship in her hands, and this entirely new and precious thing that’s them now.

- Fin

#Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D #AOS #Marvel #Marvel: AOS #Fitzsimmons #Fitz x Simmons #Leo Fitz #Jemma Simmons #Fanfic #fanfic au #My writing

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ohmypreciousgirl · 6 years

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Drarry Rec List

cause my beautiful @mycatismyreligion asked for one and whatever my lady wants, she gets. Especially one as pretty as she is ♥ And also cause she’s one of my best friends.

Bold are the ones you should read ASAP

The Fandom Classics(tm)

Calling Classic(tm) the ones that appeared on gossymer compilation fic list. One day, I’m gonna read every single one of them. I’ve been saying this since 2007 tho.

The Marriage Arc by RurouniHime 19,475 words

What's to be done when Harry wants more from his relationship?

A Slytherin in Gryffindor Clothing by mahaliem 38,228 words

Draco hits his head and wakes up in a world where he's a Gyffindor and Harry is a Slytherin.

Left My Heart by emmagrant01 85,031 words

Auror Draco Malfoy has disappeared, and Harry Potter has been sent to San Francisco to find him.

The Depths of Winter by Cosmic 104,000 words

Four years after getting out of Hogwarts, Harry lives alone in the Muggle world. He has turned his back on the magical world - until one day, when Draco Malfoy gets into a car crash before Harry's eyes and ends up paralysed in a wheelchair.

Bond by AnnaFugazzi 173,499 words

Yet another one of those Harry And Draco Are Forced To Be Together By Something Beyond Their Control And Then Stuff Happens Leading To Twoo Wuv stories. Because every HD writer has to write at least one.

The Veela Enigma by jennavere 187,794 words

What if some of Draco's ancestors, pretending to be purebloods, concealed the truth about their veela heritage? You'd end up with one very confused Draco Malfoy, who's fallen head over heels in love with Harry Potter and has no idea why.

Hogwarts Era

Denude by Faith Wood (faithwood) 4,172 words

It's set a few days after the Sectumsempra scene and takes the story in another direction, asking the question: "What if the Sectumsempra scene had a greater impact on Harry and Draco?" Harry and Draco are sixteen. In medias res beginning.

hello goodbye ('twas nice to know you) by tamerofdarkstars 4,807 words

Draco Malfoy thinks he might know whose thoughts are scrawling themselves on his skin, but that's crazy. Impossible, even. It has to be a mistake.

Storm in a Teacup by Faith Wood (faithwood) 7,954 words

For reasons he'd rather not think about, Draco is obsessed with Potter's hair. This cannot end well.

Eight Days in November by emmagrant01 8,292 words

Harry hides Draco form Death Eaters during the war. A lot can happen in eight days.

Marginal Notes by blamebrampton 9,398 words

When you’re 18, and nothing is as it was meant to be, sometimes it can be hard to let the right people know what you are thinking.

In the Interest of Interhouse Cooperation byfirethesound 11,817 words

Organizing a Dueling Club was supposed to be a fun extracurricular activity for Harry’s 8th year. But add in Draco Malfoy and a malfunctioning Room of Requirement, and things can’t help but get complicated.

An Act of Simple Devotion by blamebrampton 13,373 words

It's a age-old story. You fancy a boy and you think he fancies you. Sure there are problems – attacks on former Death Eaters, crazed tabloid journalists, evangelical references, and your girlfriend – but you have a cunning plan…

such a softer sin by thoughtswhilstdrinkingtea 15,784 words

After Draco meets Harry Potter, he's left with two tattoos, one on each wrist. One for a soul mate, one for his enemy.

He's never known any one else who has the same name on both wrists.

Hey, Potter by SunseticMonster 16,024 words

Harry returns to Hogwarts for his 8th year, determined not to let Malfoy get to him. But when the snarky teasing starts up again, Harry finds that returning the jibes with compliments has a far more interesting outcome.

Something I Don't Want to Stop by lq_traintracks (lumosed_quill), traintracks 16,228 words

It's Harry and Draco's eighth year, the Houses have been all but demolished in favor of unity, and they're being forced to room together. How ever will they cope?

Valentine's Day Repeated by Cosmic 16,700 words

It’s not a happy Valentine’s Day for Draco. Then again, he might get a chance to do it over…

Twice as Much as an Earthquake by firethesound 18,609 words

Accidental bonding. Breaking and entering. Conspiring, however unwillingly, in the strange one-man war Malfoy's waging against detention. This isn't the normal school year Harry anticipated having, but at least it's not boring.

An Issue of Consequence by Faith Wood (faithwood) 20,798 words

Draco has woken up in an alternate universe. Or he has woken up utterly insane. Nothing else can possibly explain why Harry Potter suddenly seems to think he's Draco's boyfriend.

Then Comes a Mist and a Weeping Rain by Faith Wood (faithwood) 21,139 words

It always rains for Draco Malfoy. Metaphorically. And literally. Ever since he had accidentally Conjured a cloud. A cloud that's ever so cross.

Love Comes Tumbling by taradiane 22,221 words

'Harry's thoughts were of how much he would have done differently with Malfoy over the years, and of Dumbledore's final words to the other boy . . . "It is my mercy, and not yours, that matters now." Maybe, Harry wondered, he could find some mercy, too, and give Malfoy the second chance that Dumbledore had believed him worthy of.'

'Twixt the Sun and Sward by November Snowflake 30,370 words

A potions mishap has Harry and Draco meeting on entirely new—or is it old?—ground.

Unexpected Consequences by lauren3210 39,192 words

Harry was going back to school. He was going to play Quidditch, sleep in lessons, hang out with his friends, and generally just enjoy being a kid for a change. And he was also going to do it while being bonded with Malfoy, because apparently life was just going to continue throwing curveballs at him. Harry didn't know why he expected anything different.

Boom Clap (The Sound of My Heart) by Femme (femmequixotic), noeon (noe) 39,547 words

Post-war Hogwarts has been energized by its new teaching fellows program. Where once bitter enmity divided the wizarding community, Malfoy and Potter chummily patrol hallways together whilst Granger and Zabini seek lost parts of the castle at McGonagall’s behest and Chang supervises Quidditch when not lecturing in Charms. It’s a veritable wizarding utopia and life is predictable for the first time in years. Which is, of course, when everything blows apart as the result of a drunken dare and Malfoy’s life is ruined beyond his capacity to repair it. Ever. In a million years.

Earthbound Spook by cest_what 57,550 words

Two months after Draco Malfoy was reported dead, Harry and Ron found him tangled in Strangler Ivy on the grounds of Hogwarts.

Right Hand Red by lq_traintracks (lumosed_quill) 73,173 words

Harry felt Malfoy's breath on his lips as they came together over the bottle, hands firmly planted on the floor as though they each needed their familiar soil, refusing to cross into enemy territory.

Except that Malfoy no longer felt like his enemy.

Malfoy felt inevitable.

Starts With a Spin by Maxine 119,851 words

It started with the spin of a bottle, and now Harry and Draco have gotten themselves so far into their own game there's almost no way out again. Except to keep playing.

Master Work by mahaliem

Harry's eighth-year at Hogwarts is going about as well as all the others. Someone is out to get him, Aurors keep questioning him about the final battle and, worst of all, Draco is determined to repay his life debt to Harry.

The Face of His Enemy by mahaliem

On the train to Hogwarts, Draco is hit with a curse that results in him reassessing who he is and who his true enemies are.

Post-Hogwarts

Just Go With It by keeprunning 1,004 words

"No one before me, then? I thought, with Ginevera at least-"

"I'm in bed with you and you're asking if I've slept with a woman?" Harry thunders, unable filter himself, as usual.

Malfoy makes a hushing noise and rubs soothingly at Harry's biceps in a way he has learned means peace. "I am merely mature enough to consider that you might be interested in both - or any - of the genders, even though you are presently interested in me.”

A Fountain of Unspoken Words by Astardanced77 2,132 words

Draco has a plan. He just needs one perfect moment.

Would You? by emmagrant01 4,521 words

MLE officer Draco Malfoy just spent a month working with Auror Harry Potter to catch a criminal. Now that the case is closed, Potter keeps following him about, for some reason.

Watch time fall apart by Ischa 5,182 words

It's like this: Harry is waiting, because a few years ago Draco travelled back in time and messed up Harry's life by sleeping with him. So Harry is waiting.

Special Magic by lauren3210 7,914 words

Harry was seriously considering the fact that his partner might be completely insane.

A Few Brief Moments by disapparater 8,248 words

Draco remembers his life with Harry, until he forgets.

Little Talks by Femme (femmequixotic), noeon (noe) 11,351 words

Draco's been shagging the Head Auror for months now, and he's sure it's just a fling. Until Harry asks him to a Quidditch match, that is, and things go horribly wrong.

Rumor Has It by emmagrant01 12,446 words

Auror trainee Harry Potter does not have a crush on Draco Malfoy. He's just curious about why a former Death Eater is working for the Wizengamot, and that's all. Really.

Ward My Heart (And Pull Me to You) by alpha_exodus 12,876 words

It's an inexplicable pull that starts bringing Malfoy to Harry, but it's the endless rounds of tea and a quickly blooming friendship that bring him back.

Where your heart is set by hazel_wand 13,370 words

Draco comes home from school to find that his mother has decided to rebuild their family to include Andromeda, Teddy … and Harry Potter.

The Rewards of Bravery by lauren3210 13,797 words

During an Auror mission gone wrong, Harry finds himself with an unexpected new power: he can tell when people are lying. It’s incredibly annoying, except for when Draco’s around...

Newts by astolat 13,926 words

“I’m twenty-eight!” Harry said. “I’ve been an Auror for ten years! You want me to go back to Hogwarts now?"

Timeshare by astolat 14,156 words

“It’s not for long,” Hermione said. “By the time we get back to Hogwarts, the Unfettering Brew will be ready.”

“Listen to you!” Ron said. “He’s got to get through a month with the Dursleys and a month at Malfoy Manor. With Draco Malfoy.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Harry said, because he hadn’t just spent the last week contemplating just how much more horrible his summer holidays were about to be than they’d ever been before.

Fifty-Two Weeks by sonata_de_morte 14,163 words

The sentence, for all it was not the outcome Draco would have preferred, was hardly something he could complain about.

All Roads Lead Home by dracogotgame 14,991 words

Draco is strong-armed into spending the first Christmas after the War with the Weasleys. And Harry Potter.

And Back Again (Where You Belong) by eidheann 15,956 words

He thought back on their previous handshakes, and smiled faintly at the fact they always seemed to mean so much more to him than they did to Potter.

Reparatio by astolat 17,363 words

Draco snorted. “I’m not reduced to penury. I want something considerably beyond money, and I rather think you’re the only one can give it to me.”

“You want the Invisibility Cloak,” Harry said, flatly. He’d half expected as much; it was the only thing he had that Draco could want—

“Don’t be stupid, Potter,” Draco said. “I want my reputation back.”

Five Times Draco Malfoy Got Sacked (And One Time He Didn't) by emmagrant01 18,389 words

After the Dark Lord was destroyed, Draco Malfoy had to start all over. He had no idea it would be quite so difficult.

Side-Along by lq_traintracks (lumosed_quill) 22,058 words

If this wasn't a curse then it was Hell. Because surely, in Hell, all roads would lead to Harry Potter's living room.

Life is a Twice Written Scroll by lauren3210 22,517 words

The new world order hasn't been kind to Draco and his family, and he wishes it could all be different. So does Harry, although not for the same reasons. But as Draco works to fix the mistakes he made in the past, he finds his reasons for doing so changing in a way he never expected.

House Proud by astolat 23,112 words

His house liked Draco Malfoy more than him.

Slithering by astolat 27,355 words

Draco found the nest down in the Manor’s cellars, while he was clearing them out.

Make My Demons Run by lauren3210 28,072 words

After giving evidence in defence of Draco at his trial, suddenly Potter is everywhere he turns as he completes his community service. Draco hadn't expected any of it, nor had he expected those long buried feelings he'd once had to come rising back to the surface. He definitely didn't expect what happened next. Sequel: New Dawn's Light

Seizing Second Chances by momatu 28,146 words

Five years after Draco lost his infant son to complications following his premature birth, he sees a happy, healthy dark-haired child the same age his own little boy would have been playing on the swings in a Muggle play park. One year after the sudden loss of his wife, Harry sees Draco quietly watching children play in a Muggle play park. If they can put the past behind them, can they be each other's second chance at happiness?

Somebody to Love by khasael 31,274 words

Draco's life after the war is quite different than it used to be. When he finds himself cursed, with little hope for lifting the spell, he sets out to make the most of the time he has left. Getting to know his Aunt Andromeda and his young cousin Teddy feels like a good thing to do, even if it can't help him in the long run...or can it?

Fast Forward, Two Steps Back by emmagrant01 36,065 words

Everyone knows that Draco Malfoy died in the Room of Requirement ten years ago. So when he suddenly reappears at Hogwarts ten years later, still seventeen years old, Professor Harry Potter's life gets very complicated.

Fidelius by coffeejunkii

The person sitting in front of Harry looks like someone he hated for years, but the memories don't fit anymore. Perhaps he knew Malfoy at one point, but he has no idea who this man is, aside from a familiar name and a familiar face.

Post-Deathly Hallows

First and Last by abusing_sarcasm 2,080 words [feat. Albus Severus/Scorpius]

First times and where they lead.

Psychometry by Lomonaaeren 3,749 words

Objects tell a story.

Surviving Summer by dracogotgame 15,343 words

It wasn't going to be easy managing four teenagers over the summer hols. But it was definitely going to be worth it.

Written in the Stars by November Snowflake 16,335 words

Draco watches as his son grows up--and maybe does a little growing up of his own.

In the Same Boat by tomatoe18 21,406 words

Officially, Draco just wants Hogsmeade to have a bookstore. Unofficially, his son is giving him heart palpitations, so he has to resort to a drastic measure. Unfortunately, Draco's drastic measure is also Harry Potter's.

Take A Sad Song (And Make It Better) by Femme (femmequixotic) 46,356 words

The last thing Harry wants is to lose his kids.

How Do You Mend a Broken Heart? by mahaliem 26,532 words

In order to keep custody of his children, Draco needs to find a spouse that will shore up the Malfoy family's tattered reputation. But what starts off as a means to an end gets more complicated when Draco's target reawakens feelings in him that he hasn't had in a long while, and Draco starts to feel alive for the first time since his wife's death.

Fathers Who Could Do With A Spot of Sinning by blamebrampton 65,117 [feat. Albus Severus/Scorpius]

After their sons fall in large amounts of teenaged love at school, Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter decide it's finally time to talk like adults about their own ties to each other. If only they could. Meanwhile, events of national importance conspire to distract them. Prequel: Sins of the Fathers

The Slytherin Gryffindor by Cheryl Dyson [feat. Albus Severus/Scorpius]

Draco flipped through the book idly and then returned it to the shelf. He perused the nearby titles and scowled in annoyance. Why did he even bother looking here? He would most likely have to put in a special order.

#drarry #draco malfoy #harry potter #drarry fic #rec time

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pleiadesounds · 4 years

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Where To Start With, Pt 1

This week, Harry Fanshawe from UK noiseniks Modern Rituals acquaints Kai with the inimitable Silver Jews, while Kai in turn shows him the finer points of British post-punk stalwarts Wire.

Kai Woolen-Lewis Wire are, for me, one of the great bands in the history of punk music. Whereas a lot of other bands you’d describe as such would subsist largely on folklore and be a calamity if judged on their incarnation in the present moment, Wire however seem to be one of the rare bands who have managed to be both very influential (if you need punk credentials, they were covered by Minor Threat and if you need trendy floppy haircut credentials, they were covered by My Bloody Valentine) and forever forward-thinking - bridging the gap between the pompousness of progressive music and the snarl and brevity of punk, a bridge between what were two ultra-partisan camps. Though they’re contemporaries of elder statesmen of British punk like the Sex Pistols and The Buzzcocks, there’s far more of an art-school vibe to Wire - one gets the impression that they must’ve stood in stark contrast to the image and the attitude of their peers, with cerebral and challenging songs that refused to succumb to the immediate hedonism of the punk music of the time. One gets the impression that they have far more in common with genre outliers like Patti Smith, Pere Ubu and Kraftwerk than with any of their counterparts in the British punk scene.

When I first saw them, at the Lexington in London 4 or 5 years ago, they played almost entirely new songs, with only a few songs from their “seminal” LP’s included in the set. Now that the horror of not knowing many of the songs has worn off, it’s a clear sign of their continuously forward-looking approach. With seventeen studio albums and god knows what else in the way of releases, here’s where to start with Wire - despite their huge legacy, absolutely not a legacy act…

Playing Harp For The Fishes

KWL Even after decades of churning out consistently stark, highly original songs, Wire still absolutely excel - although lots of their current and recent material is a lot more digestible than in their early years - this, from 2017’s Silver/ Lead is big slow-grooving song which gives an excellent idea of the kind of discomforting experimental noise Wire have always dealt in. A steady rhythm section struggles against all matter of ethereal out of key guitar, weird oscillating noises and throbbing synth lines. Musically and lyrically challenging and abstract without ever feeling overwrought. Sardonic without any hint of bitterness. Dense without even a smidgen of unpalatability. Is it always so? Aye.

Harry Fanshawe Wire for me have always been a band on the periphery of punk history. Not to say that is rightly so, but they're a band that I've seen has being earmarked as integral by the nerdier music fans (I mean that with fondness). Take Joy Division, they formed because they saw the Sex Pistols, but they made something much deeper and more meaningful. My mental placement for Wire has had them alongside the likes of Killing Joke in that history (weirder and less easy to associate with the common idea of 'punk'), and I feel like their evolution has been similar. Like you say this track favours simplicity with the steady beat, allowing a nicely sized canvas to throw as many different colours at, which they do with the layers they chuck on top. That is an approach that I see as being more contemporary of today than the 70s (favouring simplicity and excelling in it has really come back in the last few years). It shows how adaptable this band has been over the decades.

Lowdown

KWL Wire’s first album Pink Flag has gone down in music history as one of the seminal British records of the early punk movement, largely down to it’s combination of abrasiveness, melody and brevity. 21 songs in 36 minutes, often fleetingly abrupt, played at breakneck pace and infused with an abstract sense of humour and an art-school sensibility that set them miles apart from their contemporaries. This one, Lowdown, sounds like a soul single on 33rpm; a fascinating disco dirge and highlight of a pretty highlight-heavy first LP.

HF Right back to the 70s and for me that Crazy Horse vibe is straight in there. This is the THE Wire album. Fight me. Musically, it's a whole different sound to the last song, it's got vibe and groove and all the amazing characteristics of the best 70s bands. Vocally I find it more alike the stuff of the 2010s, though I reckon that's probably debatable! It's obviously got that old school, British punk oi! to it and today they're much calmer. But you can hear it. For anyone who knows Kai and his musical projects of the last few years, this riff is SO Kai.

Marooned

KWL Here’s an older one - from 1978’s Chairs Missing. The jump between Pink Flag and this in the space of a couple of years is absolutely insane, and the jump from this to the next year’s 154 is also pretty nuts. A highlight on a rich, chilling and unique record of challenging post-punk, Marooned is slow, meandering and awash with oceanic wetness, big synths and sheet glass guitars, with Newman singing about hanging out on a sinking iceberg - both sonically and in terms of sheer epic-ness of scope, it’s closer to Pink Floyd than to any of their genre contemporaries. I put this on at a house party once and the atmosphere nose dived and the whole room just totally explicably got really fucking awkward. Take what you want from that, I guess.

HF Forward a couple of years and the Pink Floyd sounds are in there, the experimentation is kicking off and yeah we're sat on a soft synth cloud here. It is a massive jump and I love that, I fully dig that 'fuck it who cares what anyone thinks I wanna try that'. I reckon that idea is nicely reflected in your house party play of it. I know that feeling, I did it with Primitive Man myself around a bunch of posh hipsters listening to surf rock in Cornwall. Lasted like less than 2 seconds. Proper wankers. Anyway, point is Kai, it's their loss. The tune slaps.

Map Ref

KWL By 1980’s 154 - so called because at the point they recorded it, they had played live 154 times - Wire had cemented their place as both stalwarts and genre outliers by following up the seminal Pink Flag with the enormous impenetrable curveball-shaped Chairs Missing. 154 is full of big bangers and awkward, atmospheric synthesiser-led songs - this by the way is one of the big bangers. Lyrically it seems to be a geography nerd gushing about the enormous epic expanses of landscape that make up the American midwest. Before you go look it up, the Map reference is somewhere called Centerville in Iowa or Ohio or something. Map Ref has a chorus I frequently cite alongside “That’s When I Reach for my Revolver” or “The Girl Who Lives on Heaven Hill” as a contender among underground punk rock’s biggest fist-in-the-air choruses.

HF Again, 70s vibes are rife, the energy of the rhythm section just holds it all up so strong. Weirdly, I find his voice sounds loads like Blake Schwarzenbach [Jawbreaker, Jets to Brazil]? Any influence on him there? Who knows. Way more in the way of vocal melody here and the vibe is moving more along the way bands like Talking Heads were at the time. Definitely a banger. Love the lil satirical 'chorus' drop in there. As for landscapes inspiring songs, fuck yeah why should it always be about people? I mean animal rights punk is usually dreadful and dull, let's talk about something inanimate for once.

Blogging

KWL Brazen, streamlined and groovy, with a chugging downtuned riff and a glorious uplighting chorus - Blogging showcases Wire’s admirable ability to follow their own pretty standard formula and keep churning out highly original and interesting songs. The lyrics deserve a mention - it’s a hard enough endeavour sometimes for those of us born in the 90s, but if you were in a band that existed in 1976, the current musical landscape must be a pretty soul-destroying place to exist. Actually scrap that. If you were alive at a time when art seemingly meant something or was worth anything, now must be a horrible place to live. “I’m blogging like Jesus/ I tweet like a pope/site traffic heavy/ I’m YouTubing hope”

HF Totally agree Kai. Today is a fucking terrible time to be alive if you're interested in anything related to the notion of 'art'. It's all been rehashed and overdone. It's everywhere to be seen and no longer has a sacred place. It's been abused and overused for petulant causes. Everyone's a fucking artist and that's killed the concept. Can't believe how much this reminds me of Jets to Brazil, why!? I suppose we can forget about the present if we stick to Wire's back catalogue.

Circumspect

KWL A product of extensive periods of down-time on their part, which saw the members working on other projects - Colin Newman’s Githead in particular is worth a mention - 2008’s Object 47, so called because it’s the 47th Object in their back catalogue - is a really great record and a hidden gem in Wire’s back catalogue for me. Dispensing with the distortion and the abrasion, Wire made a record of sparse, infectious guitar-based songs that you can really lose yourself in, and this is one of the songs in which I have most frequently lost myself. A slow circular guitar arpeggio, laid-back drums and lush vocals result in an almost Manchester-esque slow disco pills-thrills-and-bellyache vibe - this is Wire at their most hypnotic and enjoyable.

HF Slowcore Wire! Yeah this is one of my favourites from this list. Having time away from something can let you come back to it without as much creative control or care, and refreshing your image of what the thing is in the first place. Step away, come back more naturally. This is softer, but it's still as weird as anything else they made in the last 20 years. Pretty banging video too, mind. It feels like you're in one of those dreams where you try and run but you got sandbags on your feet. But in this one, it's Drew Barrymore from Donny Darko and she's apathetic as fuck.

Bad Worn Thing

KWL Their first album properly “back” after a period of sporadic activity through the 2000s, Red Barked Tree is the sound of a band of fifty-somethings consistently at peace with the idea of re-defining what their band IS, without at any point ever stepping on the toes of their older selves. Another album highlight (with acoustic guitars) Adapt, sums it up pretty nicely. "Go east / Go north / Go south / Go west / Leave mouths open / With your best / Adapt to change / Stay unimpressed”. Bad Worn Thing finds the band both tapping into 2000s alternative music and subjecting it totally to their musical and lyrical interpretations. An upbeat, undeniably British-feeling slice of sauntering pop, one that makes me feel like I’m taking an afternoon walk through a British urban landscape to the shop on the first sunny day in weeks - all while giving a pretty caustic account of Britain’s ongoing relationship with its past and by implication, it’s future. “Follow me, no explanation/ the future sold the chancellor paces/ the growing pains associated with a past that no-one faces.”

HF This feels so much more British than much of what we've had from them on this list so far. This is Britpop Wire. Dam right they sound like they're back, they have something new to say, they're older and more jaded, but they still have something to say. I love the 'overcrowded nature of things' repetition. Like they've come back to this messy DIY music thing and it's a fucking full house. So you gotta build your own. Mind you, I'd say Wire have always lived in the garage.

Used To

KWL Another huge cut from Chairs Missing - and a perfect example of what critic Simon Reynolds called Wire’s “strange clockwork geometry” - a blissful piece of post-punk psychedelia and definitely one of the climaxes of a record that enjoys an embarrassment of rich, blissed out moments. I would definitely cite Wire’s work in this period as proof of the utter compatibility of the experimental, expansive, forward thinking music of the 60s and 70s and the abrasiveness and brevity of punk. Indeed, it sounds like bullshit now, but the same A+R man who signed Pink Floyd and the Sex Pistols was responsible for EMI’s acquisition of the band while they were still in their infancy. For me, basically everything that made the years 1976-1979 so exciting and vital in the history of unpopular music is represented in this album, whether it be this, the Beatles-on-glue vibes of ‘I am the Fly’ or the aggressive minimalism of ‘Being Sucked in Again’, the album just gives and gives and gives. An absolute classic.

HF Very pleased we went back to this to close. Absolutely loving the post-punk psychedelia tag on this baby. Again, everything you say above that I hear in this record is their observant nature as a band to look back at the twenty years before them and incorporate what's important, what's wrong, what's right and the relationship of all that against their own stronghold. It reinforces their importance and their place in all of this. Not everyone, hardly anyone, has the ability to be the originator of something whilst being so observant (the latter being one of the most troubling things for humankind) at the same time. A perfect place to end with Wire: it repeats, it talks, it stays with you for a moment and then it's gone. Thanks Kai.

Silver Jews

Harry Fanshawe Like many of us, my summer last year was consumed by the release of David Berman's new album under the 'Purple Mountains' moniker and then his sudden death. I'm sure many of us also went back through his entire catalogue once we'd exhausted our ears of his latest and last offering. Silver Jews have always been a standout band for me, usually sitting with things like Leonard Cohen or the Velvet Underground in my poor attempts at genre categorising.

What's always stood out to me in this way, making it something I've struggled to place with more contemporary artists, is the looseness in the music and the corresponding looseness in its lines between music and prose. Like Leonard or Lou, SJ have a truly unique way of delivering and intertwining music and meaning. Where the new Purple Mountains record is much more polished in its production, my fondness for the old Silver Jews records has always been like that of an old, familiar room; their rusty structures and broken floorboards bring with them more character and heart than any solid new build could and, given last summer’s events, it now holds a very special place in my heart.

KWL I remembered having heard about David Berman’s suicide because many of my most misanthropic and refined friends had been especially despondent about it - it seems I missed the boat on that particular opportunity to be saddened by the loss of a great artist, so having this opportunity to go back and be able posthumously introduced to him has been a strange experience - cool that Harry and I have these different perspectives on his work and death…like reading a sentence with a full stop at the end, or something.

Albermarle Station

HF A tender country offering inhabited by old ghosts, broken bridges and ivy covered screens. This song always reminded me of travel, of the lingering memories from recent events in recent places bouncing around the mind after an experience somewhere with people. All whilst anticipating the next destination. There's a train station near my parents’ house and as a teenager I used to travel from it a lot to see friends. That place hasn't changed at all in the 15 years since, and the rare occasions I go there now just bring back all of it; all the old ghosts while I sit and wait near the ivy covered screens and the rickety old bridge.Travel is a time that allows for rumination and retreat, and that can be savoured in all of its broken glory.

KWL A surprising first listen - I’m not sure exactly what I expected, maybe something a bit glossier and more upbeat, but this is great - ramshackle, melodic and with lyrics that will take a million listens. It sort of reminds me of Red House Painters but with wit, self-deprecation and genuine insight in place of abrasiveness and machismo. Berman is a prepossessing and fascinating figure in light of his suicide, I should imagine before just as much and also considering the esteem in which a lot of people held and hold him. Maybe you led me there but this song definitely feels like they have a foot in the past, in those old, deserted spaces you pass through on the way somewhere.

New Orleans

HF From that slightly out of tune guitar at the start to the doubled up lazy groans about the trouble in the stairs; to me this song is the dusty corner of an old house, the gold in the cellar, and it's not the house you think it is. Keeping up with a nostalgic line of thinking, this track captures the 'otherness' of the past, the distance it eventually takes, even when it can be so well set in stone by old artefacts and rooms. It beholds the length of reflective nights and the depth of their texture. Trapped inside the song where the night's are so long, we count sheep to find soothing sleep. An early banger from Berman.

KWL This is also great - there’s something hugely admirable about a song being able to be this rickety and cobbled-together-sounding while still being so evocative. It’s like, they could probably have recorded it without the out of key guitar lines or the drums losing the beat, but they didn’t - and there’s beauty in the imperfection. The song has that ‘On The Beach’ feeling of the end of a long, drunken night, when the ash-tray is full and the kitchen needs tidying before bed. But you’ll do it in the morning.

Tennessee

HF Clearly a trend is setting in here: the slowest country SJ numbers titled by places. Aside from the obviously amazing play on the title word in the chorus, this love song has some of the best one-liners as far as I'm concerned. Here's one: 'Punk rock died when the first kid said "Punk's not dead, punk's not dead”'. Here's my favourite: 'We're off to the land of hot middle-aged women'. Is this an optimistic look to a future with a spouse? As far as I care to know, the whole song is. Punk may be dead but love isn’t.

KWL I always knew you had a type, Harry. Another piece of rickety out of tune folk-country storytelling that somehow plays with superficiality and reaches into the darkest depths at the same time. A bit of cutesy word-play and a really lovely key change in the middle of the song - this is actually going really well, isn’t it. I’m guessing the lady singing is Berman’s wife, just because the whole atmosphere just feels very close and personable - listening to these songs of Berman being in love and happy and stuff is startling in this current context. A great song.

Sleeping is the Only Love

HF What's that? Another love song? Maybe! As blurred as it seems deliberately to be about loving someone and how incredible a good night's sleep is. As someone who troubles with sleep, I can agree that there are times when I would crawl over broken glass and hot coals to make it to sleep. I also love the reflection from that onto the peace had with a good functioning relationship with someone you love. Sleep and love intertwined.

KWL All these love songs have taken on a very strange overtone, now. This one has somewhere in it a snapshot of Berman and his wife settling down to the quiet life in Nashville - it’s all pretty beautiful, and it’s very impressive to go about making so intricate a love song about something as banal as sleep. I think there’s a snapshot here of the kind of intimacy that goes beyond the sexual - where somehow sleeping next to someone is the most intimate thing of all - the rolling over, the arms going to sleep, the waking up, the bad breath. The real deal.

Punks in the Beerlight

HF A song for the addicts! After a hot summers day, what better than the transcendence found in the cooling of a beautiful summers night? How could you make that even better? I guess you could smoke the gel off a fentanyl patch? This song is for a long summer night where you can go and run away into the night with a friend, find the nicest, deadest park around and watch that sun go down. And what comes after we exhaust our routes for escape? Let's not kid ourselves. It gets really really bad. Gotta love that 80s glam section after the first chorus too.

KWL Ok, so I feel I need to state here that Harry’s article has sent me down a deep rabbit hole of SJ/David Berman appreciation. It’s strange to find him here, at this point and I just wonder what it would have been like to have been like “I hope David Berman’s doing okay” at random intervals in life. This is easily the most conventionally beautiful song on the list so far and somehow it examines some of the darkest corners of the human experience. It reminds me of the beauty of being in love - all other markers fade into unimportance, rendering the rich paupers and the poor rich beyond dreams, together; a beautiful juxtaposition, part love song, part junkie memoir.

Advice to the Graduate

HF 'Your third drink will lead you astray.' Let's follow on from the last theme. 'So you've got no friends and you wander through the night. And now you watch the sunrise through a rifle-sight'. This song speaks for itself.

KWL This song seems to be quite strongly advocating the “school of life” diploma - that when you finish all the arbitrary self-building, that there’s a big wide world to step out into that’s all misery and addiction and what’s your deep critical analysis of Edgar Rice Burroughs going to do for you then? It sounds so slack, a borderline The Shaggs influence - Berman said that all of his favourite singers couldn’t sing, and it doesn’t sound like he or his backing band was much better. A genuine advert for keeping the musicians out of music…

K-Hole

HF I've never understood the appeal of a K-Hole, I suppose that DB doesn't either, since he compares it to the feeling of being left alone. Though he does still reserve his fondness for booze as a trustworthy fallback during tough times. Perhaps that's it; it can go too far. I love the string arrangements in this song, it feels outback and rural, the lyrics appeal to that sense of dusty distance too.

KWL I have a real soft spot in my heart for when the music of a song seems to run in tandem with its lyrical content, and I must say lots of the instrumental here feels like an out of body hallucination of a country song - large swathes of the song feel like Alice in Wonderland or that first Pink Floyd record that sounds like a Kaleidoscopic Circus.

Dallas

HF You know the way a city can change completely in character when night hits. When all the blazing sunlight lifts and leaves you with the purity of a place. It's like a deep breath of fresh air after a heavy day, you can feel your spirits lift as the weight peels away. This is a great, simple example of DB, highlighted best in the last lines: 'Poor as a mouse every morning, rich as a cat every night, Some kind of strange magic happens, when the city turns on her lights’.

KWL The lyrics to this really grabbed me too - but not so much in respect of the city at night, but the string of non-sequiturs that pepper the song, something that DB is obviously really great at - painting those little pictures. There’s the bit about his shrink’s former NFL career, the eroticism of CPR, “our record just went aluminium” - all absolutely amazing. I’ve heard hundreds of songs about hundreds of places, but they never came as unique or as vivid as this.

I Remember Me

HF Another example of being a sucker for the whimsical. 'I remember you and I remember me': through the years you can lose the old parts of yourself. When you're in a relationship these losses double, and when you look back in your 'now' state to the person you were right back at the beginning, and the person they were, it makes you appreciate the whimsical and the romantic because they are so short-lived and random. Even though you change through those years, that change enables each quirk and trait that you might look back on and miss. So soak it up while it's there lest you regret its disappearance. In this story, the characters end up apart, but whether or not you do, know that even if you are still together, parts of you can always remain apart.

KWL This is the best song on the list, for me - absolutely gorgeous and very very moving indeed. Somehow, Berman manages to sum up in his songs and in his writing that life is a huge collection of these tiny tiny moments, and maybe if we looked more closely at the tiny moments, the enormousness of life might not seem so terrifying. A sort of temporal looking after the pennies, so to speak. This one screams “don’t wait for the perfect moment, it’s now”.

How to Rent a Room

HF A great ender for this list. 'I want to wander through the night as a figure in the distance even to my own eye'. 'No I don't really want to die. I only want to die in your eyes'. If only…

KWL Further research into the life of DB has directed me towards the fact that his father represents the worst of the worst of the American Republican corporate lobbying parasite - against environmental protections, the minimum wage, health warnings on tobacco, labour rights and trade regulations, to name just a few, and whose son Berman seemed ashamed to be. I just looked through the lyrics to this and they genuinely seem to be a letter to his dad, who he called “a despicable man … [a] human molestor … an exploiter … a scoundrel” saying “I’d rather be dead than your son.”

Thanks for this Harry, it’s been a real pleasure and a great introduction to a fascinating man and his band. May he rest in peace.

For the full playlist, click here

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truemedian · 4 years

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Bachelor Nation Thinks Victoria F. Is Making Jed Wyatt Look Good

Victoria Fuller has been a controversial contestant on Peter Weber’s season of The Bachelor since the beginning. But during the hometowns episode, a whole new layer of drama was presented. One of Weber’s ex’s, Merissa Pence, approached the bachelor during the date portion of Victoria F.’s hometown to tell him she knows the contestant and doesn’t trust her. Pence told him Victoria F.’s broken up relationships and she thinks Weber deserves more than who “ on a date with.”

Victoria F. | Eric McCandless/ABC via Getty Images Based on the previews heading into fantasy suites, it doesn’t look like the drama’s letting up in the slightest. Though it seems more of the focus is on contestant Madison Prewett (she doesn’t want to have sex until she’s married and she doesn’t want Weber to have sex with any of the other contestants), Victoria F. makes her fair share of drama-fueling comments. Going into fantasy suites, some fane are asking is “Victoria F. the Jed of Peter’s season?” Fans will remember that Jed Wyatt was exposed during Brown’s season for coming on the show with a girlfriend waiting for him back home. Unfortunately, Brown had gotten engaged to him before she learned what Wyatt had done.

Fans are comparing Victoria F. to Jed Wyatt

That’s why some fans are saying Victoria F. is giving Wyatt a run for his money. Especially if these accusations–the accusations stating she’s broken up four of her friends’ marriages–are true. “Okay Victoria F is giving me Jed Wyatt vibes,” tweeted one Bachelor fan after the most recent episode. View this post on Instagram JEREMIAH 29:11 I’d like to start off by saying thank you to all of my family & friends for the overwhelming support. Even to the strangers who have reached out to show me kindness. THANK YOU. The RUMORS you are hearing are FALSE. There will be a time & place where I can defend myself, but for now I choose to wait. HOWEVER, bullying is NOT ok. Nor is it fair. Especially when casting judgement and basing opinions upon pure speculation, assumptions, & LIES. With that being said— On my best days & especially on my worst days I look to a friend. The best friend I’ve ever had in my life. He does not judge me for what I look like. He does not throw stones when I am down. He makes me smile when I am mad. Licks my tears when I am sad. Lays on my chest when my anxiety is through the roof. And paws my face when I can’t get out of bed some days to tell me, ‘Hey! I’m here. You’re enough. Remember that.’ That friend is my Black Lab, Buxton. I’m so proud to say that my boy is in training to become a #therapydog. Buxton has served as my personal service dog for over a year now, but his new role will be a little different. As a therapy dog Buxton will be providing comfort to children in hospitals, affection to elderly in retirement homes, love to those who may be having a hard time at school, & others who maybe just need a hug! Life will throw you curveballs, but sometimes all you need is some love & loyalty from a 4 legged friend willing to catch those curveballs for you. We may not always know the WHY, but we can rely on the fact that there is a reason. A reason to keep pushing forward wherever we may be in life. A reason that is a lot bigger than us. I trust that God & the Universe are showing me the way. . . . . & just remember.. we all have a story. A post shared by Victoria Fuller (@vlfuller) on Nov 22, 2019 at 1:46pm PST “Who’s a worse pick? Jed or Victoria F?” asked one fan on Twitter. “Jed: “I’ll be the most hated person in the franchise.” Victoria F: “hold my beer”” tweeted one fan. “victoria f is literally jed in a wig. don’t @ me,” tweeted one fan. Some fans are pointing out Weber’s hypocrisy. “I just don’t UNDERSTAND how peter can get annoyed with Luke P and Jed and STILL continue to hold on to Victoria F…. drives me absolutely insane,” tweeted one fan. Some fans are worried that because Victoria F. and Wyatt have some similarities, Weber might choose the controversial contestant at the end of his season. “Victoria F wins it. I’m calling it. Her and Peter fight on every date, you know who else did? Hannah and Jed. You know who got engaged? Hannah and Jed. You know who is trash? Jed and Victoria F,” one fan tweeted.

‘Victoria F and Jed would be a match made in heaven’

And some fans think Victoria F. and Wyatt should get together. “Victoria F and Jed would be a match made in heaven,” tweeted one fan. “Victoria F and Jed would make a GREAT couple,” wrote another. We’ll have to wait and see what happens in fantasy suites, how far Victoria F. makes it. We’ll also have to wait and see just how similar Victoria F. and Jed Wyatt really are (here’s hoping the whole story comes out). Read more: ‘The Bachelor’: Peter Weber Didn’t Ask For Permission Or Approval From Any Parents To Marry Their Daughters Read More Read the full article

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othersportsnews-blog · 7 years

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Ranking the best thing about every 2017 MLB All-Star - SweetSpot

New Post has been published on https://othersportsnews.com/ranking-the-best-thing-about-every-2017-mlb-all-star-sweetspot/

Ranking the best thing about every 2017 MLB All-Star - SweetSpot

Last year, I ranked all the All-Stars by how fun they are to watch and was immediately and deservedly destroyed by Phillies fans for the low ranking of Odubel Herrera. Hey, would you watch Phillies games if you didn’t have to?

This year, I was going to rank the players by ability, but that’s too similar to the MLBRank Top 100 we just did.

Instead, I’ve ranked them based on something akin to the “it” factor, based on my own complicated proprietary formula that I’m not going divulge. Suffice it to say, in some regards this is the “Star” part of “All-Star.” Each player description includes something that they’re the best at or what makes them so good.

All-Star ranks: 1-10 | 11-20 | 21-30 | 31-40 | 41-50 | 51-60 | 61-70

1. Bryce Harper, RF, Washington Nationals: He has to be No. 1, right? After all, he led all players in All-Star votes, he’s putting MVP-caliber numbers on a first-place team and he even praised his wife a few days ago for waiting out what he called a “lame rain delay” –- when it didn’t rain for two hours. But what’s he the best at? He doesn’t hit the most home runs. He doesn’t hit the ball the longest or the hardest. He isn’t the best defensive right fielder or the fastest guy. You know what he’s the best at? Hair. He has wonderful, charismatic hair — the kind of hair to dream about. It’s almost a shame he can’t play without a hat, just to see that hair.

2. Aaron Judge, RF, New York Yankees: The second-leading vote-getter and the best player in the American League in the first half, the rookie is a large human with the strength of a dozen men. You know what he’s best at? Hitting the ball hard. He has the highest average exit velocity in the majors, the four hardest-hit balls of the season and the longest home run.

3. Max Scherzer, RHP, Washington Nationals: He’s the best bad boy in the league. Clayton Kershaw seems like a nice guy out there, a laid-back dude from Texas who will crush your spirit with fastballs on the corner and unhittable breaking stuff. Indeed, Kershaw is like a businessman doing his job. But Scherzer, he’ll glare at opponents or the umpire and stomp around the mound and sometimes just challenge batters with a fastball down the middle, because, you know, he just wants to see if they can hit it or not. Ultimately, he’s the best at not allowing hits: His .163 average allowed is easily the lowest among starting pitchers.

4. Clayton Kershaw, LHP, Los Angeles Dodgers: I mean, he’s pretty good at doing his job. He has given up more home runs this season, but his ERA remains low because he has the highest strand rate among starting pitchers.

5. Cody Bellinger, OF/1B, Los Angeles Dodgers: The other rookie sensation has been one of the best at pulling the ball in the air, which explains all the home runs. He has hit 18 of his home runs to right field; only Mike Moustakas has hit more to the pull field.

6. Mike Trout, CF, Los Angeles Angels: He is injured, and he won’t play in the game, but Trout is simply the best at being the best. If Judge falters in the second half of the season and Trout comes back after the break and hits like he did before hurting his thumb (1.203 OPS), don’t be surprised if Trout ends up as part of the MVP conversation.

7. George Springer, RF, Houston Astros: Springer makes his first All-Star appearance after entering the final two days before the break on pace for 50 home runs, 112 RBIs and 138 runs. Considering he has done all that from the leadoff spot, he can become the best ever at producing power from the top of the lineup. The record for most home runs from the leadoff spot is 39 by Alfonso Soriano in 2006. The most RBIs: 100 by Darin Erstad in 2000.

8. Jose Altuve, 2B, Houston Astros: He’s the best at getting hits and is on his way to leading the American League for the fourth straight season, all while aiming for his third batting title.

9. Carlos Correa, SS, Houston Astros: You might have noticed the Astros are having a good season. After hitting .233 without much power in April, Correa has had an OPS well over 1.000 ever since. Don’t fall behind to him: In hitters’ counts, he’s absolutely deadly, ranking third in the majors with a 1.686 OPS.

10. Chris Sale, LHP, Boston Red Sox: Well, he’s the best at harnessing passive-aggressive attitudes toward throwback jerseys. And thanks to that deadly fastball/slider combo and the ability to command both pitches within the strike zone, he has the highest strikeout rate in the majors. He also leads the league with 12 double-digit strikeout games and has a chance at the record of 23 in one season, a total shared by Nolan Ryan and Randy Johnson (twice).

Mookie Betts adds one of the slickest gloves in baseball to a powerful bat. Winslow Townson/USA Today Sports

All-Star Ranks: 1-10 | 11-20 | 21-30 | 31-40 | 41-50 | 51-60 | 61-70

11. Mookie Betts, RF, Boston Red Sox: By the defensive metrics, he has been the most valuable defensive player in the majors, leading all players in both defensive runs saved and ultimate zone rating. Oh, he can hit a little too, and he is younger than Judge.

12. Nolan Arenado, 3B, Colorado Rockies: He hasn’t had an explosive season at the plate but also hasn’t had one of his patented hot streaks. Is anyone better at charging bunts or fielding those little tricklers? I mentioned this in a recent post: Arenado has a chance to become the best defender of all time. He’s that good. Old-timers will say nobody will ever be better at third base than Brooks Robinson; but a couple of years ago, Orioles announcer Jim Palmer, who would know of such things, said Manny Machado makes plays Robinson couldn’t. And Arenado is better than Machado, so …

13. Buster Posey, C, San Francisco Giants: Don’t blame him for the season the Giants are having. I know this: Posey might be sick of baseball players doing baseball-related things in commercials, but he’s good at doing baseball-related things on the field. Most notably, he has more walks than strikeouts, which makes me happy.

14. Kenley Jansen, RHP, Los Angeles Dodgers: He’s the best at this mind-boggling statistic: 56 strikeouts and two walks. Insane.

15. Paul Goldschmidt, 1B, Arizona Diamondbacks: I would say he’s getting so much attention for not getting attention that he’s no longer underrated, except he didn’t win the All-Star vote at first base. So he’s still the best at being underrated.

16. Giancarlo Stanton, RF, Miami Marlins: He still exudes the scent of superstar, even if he’s not quite at that level. He remains much-watch TV, because you never know when he might crack the longest home run ever hit. Also, Google “Giancarlo Stanton shirtless” and you’ll realize he’s the best at resembling a Greek god.

17. Joey Votto, 1B, Cincinnati Reds: He’s the best at the most important thing a hitter can do: getting on base. He leads all hitters in on-base percentage over the past three seasons. Of course, we know what makes him so good: He has the second-lowest chase rate in the majors. He also is taking advantage of the lively ball, leading the National League in slugging percentage while on pace for 47 home runs. And keep this in mind: He has had monster second halves over the past two seasons.

18. Francisco Lindor, SS, Cleveland Indians: He has had a weird season. He jumped out of the gate with a .309 average and seven home runs in April. But the bat has tailed off since, perhaps as he got too homer-happy. Still, nobody exceeds his joy and enthusiasm or his flair in the field. And he became one of the faces of the game in October.

19. Corey Seager, SS, Los Angeles Dodgers: He has been compared to Cal Ripken for his size and ability to play shortstop and, like Ripken, he’s not flashy. Bellinger’s hot start also has stolen some of his thunder, even though Seager is producing a .900 OPS. What makes Seager so good: Even though he rarely pulls the ball, he has the strength to power the ball out to center and left-center; nine of his 13 home runs have gone to center and two to left field.

20. Corey Kluber, RHP, Cleveland Indians: Since he started on Sunday, he won’t pitch in the All-Star Game, which means we won’t get to see the most unhittable curveball in the game. Batters are hitting .099 against it, with a 58.7 percent strikeout rate. As Mark Simon recently detailed, Kluber’s curveball is the best put-away pitch in the majors for starting pitchers.

You never know which of Yu Darvish’s many pitches is coming next. Stephen Brashear/Getty Images

All-Star ranks: 1-10 | 11-20 | 21-30 | 31-40 | 41-50 | 51-60 | 61-70

21. Yu Darvish, RHP, Texas Rangers: Like Kluber, he pitched on Sunday and is ineligible for the game. His best weapon these days is his slider, which he’s throwing a lot more than last season. He might have the deepest repertoire of pitches in the game (although I don’t know why he doesn’t ditch the cutter, which has never been his best pitch and off which batters are slugging .589 this season).

22. Daniel Murphy, 2B, Washington Nationals: He’s the best at showing us the importance of launch angle. A slightly-below-average starter for the Mets, he transformed his swing mid-career to become one of the best hitters in the game.

23. Justin Turner, 3B, Los Angeles Dodgers: Like Murphy, a mid-career swing change has turned him into an All-Star. He’s crushing left-handers this season to the tune of a .418/.505/.734 line with a home run every 13.2 at-bats, compared to one every 71 at-bats vs. righties.

24. Robinson Cano, 2B, Seattle Mariners: The future Hall of Famer toils in obscurity these days, but still puts up big numbers. You appreciate his greatness watching him on a regular basis. He can look terrible on one pitch, with a weak, half-hearted swing, and then crush the next pitch for a home run. It has long been said about him, but he’s the best at making the game look easy. It’s not easy.

25. Zack Greinke, RHP, Arizona Diamondbacks: He’s maybe the smartest pitcher in the game, not just with his ability to manipulate velocity –- taking a little off here, adding a little bit here -– but he’s also the master of getting batters to swing at pitches off the plate. Greinke has the third-best chase rate in the majors even though he doesn’t have a splitter or high-powered slider like Scherzer or Kluber that typically get batters to chase.

26. Yadier Molina, C, St. Louis Cardinals: He’s not much of a threat with the bat these days and even failed last season to win a Gold Glove for the first time since 2007, but his reputation for defensive excellence is cemented in history and will eventually be rewarded with a call from Cooperstown.

27. Gary Sanchez, C, New York Yankees: He was all the rage down the stretch last year after being called up in August. Although Judge has stolen all the attention in 2017, Sanchez quietly earned an All-Star berth. When he connects, the ball goes: He actually has the second-longest average home run distance behind only Kendrys Morales.

28. Dallas Keuchel, LHP, Houston Astros: He was having another Cy Young-caliber season before getting injured. Nobody pounds the bottom of the strike zone and gets ground balls like this guy, a refreshing change of pace in this era of pitchers trying to strike out everybody.

29. (Tie) Andrew Miller, LHP, Cleveland Indians; Craig Kimbrel, RHP, Boston Red Sox: Fastball, breaking ball, swing, miss, sit down.

30. Stephen Strasburg, RHP, Washington Nationals: He still throws hard and still has the great curveball, but his changeup has now become his dominant pitch. Batters hit .109 against it last year and are .101 against it this season, and it’s the reason he has been a little better against left-handed batters the past two seasons.

Charlie Blackmon’s facial hair is unmatched in the majors. Christian Petersen/Getty Images

All-Star Ranks: 1-10 | 11-20 | 21-30 | 31-40 | 41-50 | 51-60 | 61-70

31. Charlie Blackmon, CF, Colorado Rockies: I mean, it’s a stiff field, but nobody beats him for bushiest beard, in part because he also complements it with an impressive mullet — which he pronounces “mu-lay.” I am not making that up. As teammate Carlos Gonzalez said, “He’s weird.”

32. Jose Ramirez, 3B, Cleveland Indians: He’ll be moving up on this list if he keeps ripping the cover off the ball. Ramirez’s contact skills make him one of the best two-strike hitters in the league; only Harper and Judge have a better slugging percentage.

33. Nelson Cruz, DH, Seattle Mariners: Nobody has more home runs since 2014, and only Arenado and Edwin Encarnacion have more RBIs. Few are better at hunting out fastballs than Cruz, who is hitting .341 and slugging .627 against them in 2017.

34. Miguel Sano, 3B, Minnesota Twins: Few players have all-field power like Sano. He has pulled eight home runs, hit seven to center and five to the opposite field.

35. Robbie Ray, LHP, Arizona Diamondbacks: Too high? Hey, watch him pitch. He’s good. He’s also on my fantasy team, and it’s my list. Only James Paxton and Sale have a higher fastball velocity among left-handed starters.

36. Chris Archer, RHP, Tampa Bay Rays: Great personality, big-time fastball and that wipeout slider. And, please, stop with the trade rumors on this guy.

37. Ryan Zimmerman, 1B, Washington Nationals: Once a star, Zimmerman battled injuries and looked washed-up last season. Then again, maybe he just had a hot April. His OPS by month: 1.345, .905, .791, .583. He’s aggressive at the plate but has been one of the best in production on pitches out of the strike zone, hitting .311/.411/.547.

38. Salvador Perez, C, Kansas City Royals: He’s making his fifth consecutive All-Star appearance and having his best season at the plate, which is pretty amazing because the notoriously aggressive hitter is swinging at more pitchers than ever. In fact, at 47.4 percent, he has the highest chase rate on pitches outside the strike zone. That makes him the best at having a terrible approach and yet still being on pace to hit 34 home runs.

39. Carlos Martinez, RHP, St. Louis Cardinals: At times, he seems ready to make the leap and become a Cy Young contender, but his inconsistent changeup means left-handers can still do some serious damage against him. When he’s on, his mid-to-upper 90s fastball (he has third-best average fastball velocity among starters) and devastating slider are enough to dominate.

40. Marcell Ozuna, LF, Miami Marlins: The fans recognized his .316/.374/.566 first half by voting him in as a starter, which means he’ll start for the second straight All-Star Game (he started as an injury replacement last year). He’s at best feasting on fastballs, so don’t fall behind in the count. After a 1-0 count, he has the second-highest wOBA in the majors after Judge.

Dellin Betances’ size and stuff makes him extremely intimidating. Rich Schultz/Getty Images

All-Star ranks: 1-10 | 11-20 | 21-30 | 31-40 | 41-50 | 51-60 | 61-70

41. Dellin Betances, RHP, New York Yankees: He has to be the most intimidating pitcher in baseball, especially this season when he doesn’t always know where his upper-90s heater is headed. He’s averaging 16.8 K’s per nine innings (and 8.3 walks!), but his fastball/slider combo is almost unhittable: When batters do swing, they miss 45 percent of the time.

42. Lance McCullers Jr., RHP, Houston Astros: The son of the former big leaguer is a rising star thanks to one of the best curveballs in the business: a hard, sharp-breaking pitch that averages 86 mph and thus resembles a slider. He throws it 46 percent of the time, and with good reason: batters are hitting .204 against it, which is part of why he’s so effective against left-handed batters. It also has helped him to the highest ground ball rate among qualified starters.

43. Luis Severino, RHP, New York Yankees: Remember when everyone wanted to move him to the bullpen? This is why you give a pitcher every opportunity to prove himself as a starter. Severino pitches off his fastball — at 97.2 mph average velocity, it’s the fastest of any starting pitcher –- which sets up a wipeout slider that has held batters to a .205 average with 38.5 percent strikeout rate.

44. Michael Brantley, LF, Cleveland Indians: One of the best All-Star stories after missing almost all of 2016 with shoulder problems, including a second surgery in August that involved re-anchoring the muscle to the bone. The power numbers are a little thin, but he’s hitting .300 again because he’s one of the best contact guys around, ranking in the top 10 in lowest swing-and-miss rate.

45. Mike Moustakas, 3B, Kansas City Royals: So this is interesting. The year the Royals won the World Series, a big deal was made about Moustakas salvaging his career by finally learning to hit to the opposite field. Well, he’s back to pulling everything and has already hit a career-high 25 home runs, including 22 to right field, the most pulled home runs in the majors.

46. Michael Fulmer, RHP, Detroit Tigers: Isn’t it something that of all those Mets pitching prospects, the one they traded away ends up being the best? Fulmer is a bit of an oxymoron in today’s game, succeeding despite ranking 56th of 74 qualified starters in strikeout rate. He’s not a finesse guy, however, as his bread-and-butter pitch is a sinking fastball that averages 95.8 mph, making him one of the hardest-throwing starting pitchers.

47. Wade Davis, RHP, Chicago Cubs: Over the past four seasons, he’s 21-4 with a 1.27 ERA. What makes it so hard to score runs off him? He has allowed just four home runs in 212 innings in that span. Unlike most closers, he has three pitches: fastball, cutter and curveball, all with a strikeout rate of 30 percent or higher, so he’ll throw any of them at any time.

48. Justin Upton, LF, Detroit Tigers: He’s making his fourth All-Star appearance. Is that surprising? He still has that elite bat speed that allows him to go on some notorious hot streaks. Need an example? He had a good April and good June, sandwiched around a 40-strikeout May.

49. Jake Lamb, 3B, Arizona Diamondbacks: The players voted him in as the backup at third base over Kris Bryant, Anthony Rendon and Turner. What he does best is murder right-handed pitching, with a .317/.413/.601 slash line to go with 16 of his 20 home runs.

50. Michael Conforto, OF, New York Mets: For a young hitter, Conforto has a smart, advanced approach, with a high rate of pitches per plate appearance that allows him to get into hitters’ counts. And that’s when he rakes, with the seventh-highest OPS, including a .438 batting average and .969 slugging mark.

DJ LeMahieu’s willingness to spray the ball to all fields is why he is the defending National League batting champion. AP Photo/Darron Cummings

All-Star ranks: 1-10 | 11-20 | 21-30 | 31-40 | 41-50 | 51-60 | 61-70

51. DJ LeMahieu, 2B, Colorado Rockies: The 2016 NL batting champ is a throwback, a guy who sprays line drives around the field and doesn’t try to jack home runs every swing. Only Joe Mauer hits the ball to the opposite field more often.

52. Ervin Santana, RHP, Minnesota Twins: The 13-year veteran made his first All-Star team since 2008 thanks to three first-half shutouts and a 2.99 ERA. He leads all starting pitchers with seven scoreless starts thanks to a slider that he has kept down in the zone this season and that has limited batters to a .160 average.

53. Greg Holland, RHP, Colorado Rockies: He’s a big name from his days with the Royals, and he has bounced back from Tommy John surgery to post a 1.62 ERA and record 28 saves in 29 opportunities. Guess what? He’s a reliever with a fastball/slider combo. His velocity is down a couple ticks from his Royals days, but he always has been hard to hit as he pounds the bottom of the strike zone with his slider.

54. Ender Inciarte, CF, Atlanta Braves: One of the hidden gems in the game, stolen from the Diamondbacks in the Shelby Miller deal. He’s hitting .300, but his game is defense. He won a Gold Glove last season, and his metrics are once again excellent with plus-9 defensive runs saved. He has plus range and a plus throwing arm.

55. Starlin Castro, 2B, New York Yankees: Now this one surprises me. This is Castro’s fourth All-Star selection, a pretty remarkable achievement for a guy with 13.1 career WAR in eight seasons. He’s injured and won’t be able to play, but he’s hitting .300 for the first time since he was a 21-year-old with the Cubs in 2011. Castro has remained largely unchanged as a hitter, still expanding the zone too often, and his fly ball rate is right at his career average. As you might guess for a free swinger, he hits fastballs (.361) and struggles against wriggly stuff.

56. Zack Cozart, SS, Cincinnati Reds: While he made the All-Star team based on a strong first half at the plate and has shown the best plate discipline of his career, Cozart has always been a plus defensive shortstop. He lacks the flash of some others but has always been reliable with good hands, making him quick on the double play. He’s plus-58 defensive runs saved in his career and above average every season, including plus-4 in 2017.

57. Josh Harrison, 2B, Pittsburgh Pirates: Harrison makes his second All-Star appearance, and versatility has always been his biggest strength. This season he has started 46 games at second, 29 at third and six in left field. He also has added a new twist to boost his OBP: He leads the majors with 20 hit by pitches. He’s having one of the greatest hit-by-pitches seasons of all time!

58. Alex Wood, LHP, Los Angeles Dodgers: He’s 10-0 with a 1.67 ERA, with just two home runs allowed in 80&frac23; innings, and as you might guess from those numbers, he pounds the bottom of the zone. The one thing he has done this season, at the urging of the Dodgers analytics department, is throw his fastball less often. He threw it 66 percent of the time with the Braves in 2015, but that’s down to 52 percent. He’s throwing his changeup more often — 30 percent of the time against right-handed batters — and batters are hitting .127 against it.

59. Jason Vargas, LHP, Kansas City Royals: Baseball is weird. How does a guy with the slowest fastball velocity among non-knuckleballers lead the AL in ERA? A great changeup, of course. But this guy has been around forever, so what’s the deal in 2017? When Vargas returned from Tommy John surgery, his release point had dropped a couple inches, which added movement to his fastball and made his changeup one of the best in game, maybe the best. According to FanGraphs, his changeup has created the most run value of any in the game at plus-16.6 runs saved.

60. Jonathan Schoop, 2B, Baltimore Orioles: Schoop’s calling card has always been good power for a middle infielder, but he has been better able to tap into it — 18 home runs — because he’s showing more discipline. His chase rate has decreased from 42 percent the past two seasons to 31 percent. That’s still high, but it’s a huge improvement.

Corey Dickerson is the first Rays player to start an All-Star Game since 2010. Cliff Welch/Icon Sportswire

All-Star ranks: 1-10 | 11-20 | 21-30 | 31-40 | 41-50 | 51-60 | 61-70

61. Corey Dickerson, DH, Tampa Bay Rays: Trivia! Dickerson becomes just the fourth Rays player to start an All-Star Game, joining David Price, Evan Longoria and Carl Crawford, who all did it in 2010. Dickerson loves to hack. I mean, this guy is like some explorer trying to find his way through the Amazon with a machete. He swings at everything, so it’s not a surprise that he’s hitting .420 with a .942 slugging percentage with no strikes.

62. Justin Smoak, 1B, Toronto Blue Jays: Is he the worst player ever to make an All-Star team? Not this year. He has been amazing and deserves it based on 2017 numbers. What I mean is a player who has had the worst career and then became an All-Star. He entered the season with 1.5 career WAR in seven years. Now he’s up to 3.9 career WAR. What’s he doing? I have no idea. One thing is he’s hitting well from the right side. He always has been better from the left side, but is hitting .389/.444/.653 against lefties. Like I said, baseball is weird.

63. Yonder Alonso, 1B, Oakland Athletics: Like Smoak, another longtime vet having a career season. Alonso changed his swing to add more lift, but he has been effective when attacking first pitches. In 33 plate appearances when putting the first pitch in play, he’s hitting .697 and slugging 1.212, the highest OPS in the majors.

64. Chris Devenski, RHP, Houston Astros: How good is his changeup? They call it the “circle of death.”

65. Roberto Osuna, RHP, Toronto Blue Jays: The 22-year-old’s amazing season has been lost in the dust of Jansen and Kimbrel, but he has posted 47 strikeouts with just three walks. He throws a 95 mph fastball as well as a cutter and slider and pounds the outside corner to righties and inside corner to lefties with all three pitches. Reminds me of a certain famous closer …

66. Avisail Garcia, RF, Chicago White Sox: Another surprising All-Star given his track record, Garcia is riding a career-best .371 BABIP to hit .310 at the break. There aren’t any big changes in his hitting profile other than he’s pulling the ball slightly more often and hitting a few more fly balls, but not enough to turn his production around this time. So, really, the thing he’s doing well so far is finding a lot of holes. For example, he has 14 infield hits compared to eight all last season.

67. Corey Knebel, RHP, Milwaukee Brewers: Hey, it’s a closer with an upper-90s fastball and slider! Or slider/cutter. Or curveball. Whatever you want to call his breaking ball, it’s one nasty pitch; batters are hitting .135 against it with a 53.8 percent strikeout rate. Hitters mostly try not to swing at it, which they do only 21 percent of the time. When they do swing, they miss 43 percent of the time. Good luck.

68. Brandon Kintzler, RHP, Minnesota Twins: Kintzler is an oddity for a closer with only 24 strikeouts in 39&frac13; innings, but it’s because of one pitch: a 93 mph sinker with movement that he throws 80 percent of the time. Because of that, he gets a lot of ground balls — 62 compared to 29 fly balls.

69. Pat Neshek, RHP, Philadelphia Phillies: That’s two-time All-Star Pat Neshek, coming soon to a contender near you! The sidearmer with the funky delivery has always been tough on righties — allowing just a .188 average in his career -– but this season he also is holding lefties to a .188 average.

70. Brad Hand, LHP, San Diego Padres: This isn’t an insult, because like Neshek, Hand will probably be traded and maybe help a team win a World Series. But he plays for the Padres, is not a closer and was dumped on waivers by the Marlins, so he’s not exactly a household name. He has, however, turned into a dominant reliever by going to that old reliever standard: fastball/slider, as he has junked the changeup and curveball he also used as a starter.

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