#Home Beer Brewing Machine

[bbeerbrand]

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[featherandferns]

hurricanes (fic)

jj maybank x fem!reader | angst central

content warning: mentions of drinking and drug use; mentions of sex; arguments and fights; unhealthy relationship

word count: 7k.

blurb: for so many of your memories, bad and good, it feels as if hurricanes are at the forefront. One night, during the midst of a storm, JJ comes to your house, seemingly to bring you one last memory of him.

You hate hurricanes.

They’re unruly and unpredictable; thrashing and destroying anything in their path. Chaos incarnated.

From inside your house, the windows rattle from a vicious blow of wind. Sighing, you leave the comfort of your bedroom to go to the kitchen. There’s no chance you’re getting to sleep anyway. Better brew a pot of coffee and maybe get some homework done throughout the night. As you stand over the machine, waiting for it to brew, you look out the window. It’s dark. Rain is splattered across the glass, droplets chasing after one another in an undisclosed race. You manage to make out your reflection. Bags under your eyes. Clothes hanging sadly on your body. Only recently had you managed to start eating well again, putting on weight and getting through more than one meal a day. So, knowing the effort that you’ve been making, you manage a smile.

The t-shirt you’re wearing is one of your favourites. It holds memories: the fit of laugher that had you in tears one night at a bonfire; the day you got your first A on an exam; a date with JJ. Your finger comes to tease at the collar, fingering the fabric, your smile growing from the memories. It felt nice to finally reminisce about your ex-boyfriend without wanting to crumble. Without the thought feeling like someone was twisting the knife that had yet to be eased out of your chest.

The coffee machine stops buzzing. You look down, coming back to yourself, and pour yourself a cup of coffee from the glass mug. Moving to sit on the sitting room sofa, reaching for the remote, you decide to try and distract yourself with a show. Your parents aren’t home and brother’s at college, granting an empty, quiet house. As you flick through the options on Netflix, you hesitate on one. Narcos. JJ loved that series. Had you watch some of the episodes with him – explaining the characters’ motives and filling in the plot-points from whatever you’d missed. A part of you deliberates watching it and letting yourself slip into some fantasy that JJ is sat by your side on the sofa, his hand comfortably on your knee, eyes glued to the screen. But you don’t. There’re new shows to watch, so why go back on the old? Settling on some Netflix-own drama, you sigh and have a sip of your coffee.

“No way, John B actually thinks he’s found the Royal Merchant,” you snort.

JJ shrugs. “That’s what he says.”

“Where?”

“At the bottom of the ocean,” JJ replies.

“No doy, idiot. I mean where abouts at the bottom of the ocean?” You chuckle, rolling your eyes.

“Oh! Somewhere off the continental drift,” JJ tells you.

He’s opened a bottle of beer for you and is passing it over. The two of you are lounging on your dad’s fishing boat, taking advantage of the nice weather.

“Bullshit,” you say, taking a swig.

“I’m telling you; he’s found it. The stuff in that motel room safe was fucking insane. The cops just pocketing the cash, too?”

“Cops are dirty: shock horror,” you sarcastically return.

JJ laughs with a nod. Then, smiling at you, he says, "well, all I know is when we find the Merchant-”

“-If-”

“When!” he corrects loudly, making you laugh. Then he’s shuffling up so he’s sat right next to you, hooking an arm comfortably around your waist. “When we find it, I’m using my share of gold to spoil my girl rotten.”

“Oh?” You prompt, raising a brow at him with a grin. He nods down at you.

“Mhm. I’m talking fancy dinners and expensive jewellery and that perfume you always check out whenever we’re at the mall but never buy.”

“It’s overpriced,” you brush off, rolling your eyes.

“It’d smell perfect on you,” JJ affirms. Makes your cheeks go warm.

Nudging him with your elbow, the bone digging softly into the flesh of his abs, you say, “well, I guess I could get on board with that then.”

“Just you wait until we find it,” JJ promises, raising his bottle in a silent toast.

Rolling your eyes lovingly at his ways, you lift yours to clink the neck of your bottle against his. JJ leans down to capture your lips in a kiss, sweet and summer-filled, with the lingering taste of beer. You gladly kiss him back, sinking into the familiar feel of your boyfriend. This is going to be the best summer yet.

About ten minutes into the second episode, you think you hear a knock at the door. No; it’ll be a branch having blown away in the breeze. Sighing, you go back to the show, coffee nearly finished and luke-warm. Then, it comes again. Two short raps. Pausing the show, you turn and frown at the door. You can see it from the sofa. There’s a pause, maybe a minute, and then three knocks. You get up and make your way to the door, deliberating who in the hell could be coming to your house in the middle of a hurricane at (you glance to the clock on the hallway as you go) ten to midnight?

As you undo the latch on the door and twist the key to unlock it, you feel your gut twist. It’s as if it knows something you don’t. Then, pulling the door open, wincing against the cold and the wind and the rain from outside as it fights its way in, you come face to face with JJ. The sight of him makes you colder than the weather ever could.

“JJ?”

“Can I come in?”

“Wh—”

Your voice trials off, throat running dry, and you glance back into the house for some reason, as if the coat-stand might have the answers. Looking back to him, brain muddled, you see how he’s leaning against the wall of the entryway. How he’s holding his flask in his hand, the lid unscrewed, and you close your eyes with a sigh.

The rational part of you screams to close the door on him. Do the right thing, the hard thing, and turn him away as if you have barely acknowledged him being there. But it’s not that simple. Nothing is, the moment any sort of feeling has been involved, and you find yourself looking into his red-rimmed eyes. You’re not sure if he’s high or he’s been crying.

“Please,” he says, voice quiet as if defeated. “I just wanna talk.”

He’s dripping from head to toe, drenched from the rain. Hair sticking to his forehead, leaking water down the back of his neck. Hands shaking from the cold and the booze. Wordlessly, you open the door fully and step to the side, making space for him to walk in. After he catches on and enters, you catch a whiff of his cologne. Musky yet fresh; so wonderfully him. It makes one of the scabbed cuts on your heart crack open. Closing the door, fighting to keep in the warmth, you sigh and face JJ. He’s standing there awkwardly, unsure of where you want him to go. He’s barely able to keep his balance right, fumbling from leaning his weight on one leg to the other.

You gesture to the kitchen. “Go sit down. I’m gonna grab you a towel.”

JJ nods and does as you say, heading into the kitchen. You try not to spiral in your thoughts as you go to the boiler closet, fishing out a fresh bath towel. There’s only one thought that you can’t seem to silence. What is he doing here?

A part of you still feels as though you can hear the wind of the storm beating against the thin walls of the police tent. The sirens and the chatter and the panic. The chaos of trying to help John B and Sarah escape, and the never-ending torture of waiting for any news. That they escaped. That they were caught. That they were even alive.

That was a week ago now.

JJ’s not answering his phone. You haven’t been sleeping well. Your nights are nothing but restless, nightmares plaguing you about all the ‘what ifs’ and the guilt of waving them off in the boat, practically sending them off to their grave. It’s a lot for a seventeen-year-old to burden. Your parents tried their best to help you. They brought you breakfast the first morning that you stayed back at your house (they’d let you crash at the Chateau with the others for a couple of days at first, understanding that all your friends needed one another at that time), and never forced you to come down for dinner. Wallowing felt about the best you could do. You just wished it wasn’t so lonely.

Sighing, ending the call that never stopped ringing, you glance over to your trainers. Since coming back from the Chateau, you haven’t left your house once. Hell, you’d barely left your bed. Then you’re staring at your phone again. At the string of missed calls and ignored texts from JJ. You knew him well and knew how easily he could slip when things changed for the worse. John B was like a brother to JJ. Their bond was so close that it sometimes challenged your own and JJ’s, though never in a malicious way.

Getting up, you put on your trainers and lace them up. You had to check that JJ’s okay.

The air feels fresh on your skin, like a plant gulping down water after days in a drought. You bask in the rays of sun that push through the cloudy overhead. Walking to JJ’s was familiar and quick. Soon enough, you’re trudging up his front lawn and walking around to his window. He’d always told you to come in via there. You never knew where his dad was and what state he might be in, but the odds were low on his being passed out in JJ’s room. The windows always unlocked and you force it up and open with a grunt. Then, you’re climbing on JJ’s desk and glancing around his room. He’s not in there.

What is in there is countless empty beer cans and bottles. The useless ends of joints and cigarettes. It smells musty and sad, like nobody had cracked a window in days. You sigh and kick some stuff out of the way (used clothing and trash) so you can reach his bedroom door. Gently easing it open, you glance into the hallway and through to the sitting room. On the coffee table, you can make out the toes of JJ’s boots. Taking your chances that his dad isn’t home, you walk down the hall to the sitting room.

JJ’s passed out on the sofa. His head is leant back, mouth parted in silent snores, and in his hand is an empty beer bottle. The sitting room is just as bad as his bedroom, maybe even worse. It stinks of weed and alcohol and mould. Everything about all of it terrifies you. You didn’t think he’d sunk this low, so fast. Why hadn’t he reached out to you?

He gets an email and his phone pings, making you glance to it. It’s on the coffee table. There on the home screen are the several missed call notifications and ignored texts from you. If it were any other situation, you’d label yourself as psycho. But you knew something was wrong. Could feel it in your gut.

“JJ,” you say. Clearing your throat, louder, you repeat, “JJ.”

He doesn’t stir.

You reach out a hand to shake his boot.

“JJ, wake up.”

Nothing.

Sighing, you walk around so you’re stood at his side and lean down to shake his shoulders gently, hoping to ease him awake.

“Wake up, JJ.”

He jolts awake with a gasp, eyes flying open. His hands come to your forearms in a tight grip, reflexively, and you try to pull away. The moment he registers it’s you, he let’s go. He mumbles your name, voice still thick with sleep.

“What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to check on you.”

JJ frowns. He rubs at his face and pushes some of his uncombed hair back. His breath smells like stale liquor; it half makes you want to cringe.

“Why?”

“Because I’m worried about you. And, I guess I was right,” you say, looking to the pandemonium of the room.

JJ gets to his feet and shakes his head. He’s walking towards the kitchen and you follow.

“You didn’t need to, alright? I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine, JJ,” you tell him.

He pulls open the fridge. His back is to you. The shirt he wears looks creased and well-worn, as if he hadn’t taken it off for days. It reminds you of everything that happened and just how raw the wounds must be for JJ. How much deeper they are, too. 

“Look, I know this is hard for you,” you tell him gently.

JJ grabs a beer and closes the fridge. Cracking open the can, he turns and rests his back against it, taking a swig. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not ‘fine’, JJ,” you say.

JJ shrugs and has another gulp.

“Why didn’t you talk to me?” you ask. Gesturing to him, you add, “you look like you haven’t slept in days, JJ.”

“What’re you gonna do? Sing me to sleep?” he snorts. He’s drunk.

“That’s not the point, JayJ. My parents would’ve let you stay over. I don’t like the thought of you here by yourself.”

“I’m not something that needs fixing, alright? I can take care of myself,” JJ tells you, his voice becoming tighter.

“I’m not saying you need fixing—”

“Are you sure? Cause it sounds like you’re pitying me pretty bad right now,” JJ cuts in. His eyes are narrowed at you as if accusing you of some conspiracy.

Trying to remind yourself of the abundance of emotions he must be feeling right now, alongside the fact that he’s drunk and possibly high, you do your best to keep your calm.

“Of course I’m pitying you, JJ. In the way that a girlfriend would pity her boyfriend who’s dealing with some fucking awful loss,” you tell him.

“He’s not dead, alright? Don’t talk about him like he is,” JJ bitterly mumbles, looking down at his boots.

“We don’t know that, JJ—”

“Well, you don’t know that he is dead, alright? So stop talking about it like you want it to be true!” he explodes. He stalks towards you, angry. “Do you want him to be dead, huh? So you have a little project to work on? So you can come visit your scum of a boyfriend and do your charity work, to make yourself feel better. To distract you from your own shitty insecurities?”

“Why are you saying this, JJ?” you whisper, taken aback. He’s never spoken to you like this. Ever. Not even when the two of you argue. In truth, you don’t argue. Merely bicker, with it all resolved within the day. Nothing malicious and intentional, with words sharpened to cut. The way he’s looking at you right now – as he stands over you, shoulders rigid as if preparing for a scrap – is terrifyingly unfamiliar.

“I don’t want you here, okay? I didn’t ask for you to come here.”

“You want me to leave then?”

“Yeah, I do, actually.”

“You do?”

“Yes. That’s what I fucking said,” JJ seethes. You find yourself pushing back, getting in his face just as much.

“Fine. Drink yourself fucking blind for all I care,” you spit back.

It’s only been a week, and already a chip has been chiselled into the sculpture that was your relationship. The first crack in the mausoleum.

JJ’s sat at the round kitchen table, shivering like an orphan, and you have to keep yourself from instinctively wrapping the towel around his shoulders. Instead, you place it in front of him. He’s put the flask away, it seems.

“Thanks,” JJ mumbles, taking it.

As he rubs his hair dry, you head to the coffee machine. He needs to sober up and you’d found that coffee always worked for him. Hell, you could do with another cup too, perhaps just to keep your hands busy.

“It’s crazy out there,” JJ eventually says, hesitant to start a conversation. You close your eyes at the sound of his voice. “Brian’s throwing a tantrum.”

You’re half-tuned in, mostly lost in the droning of the coffee machine as it brews. You look down at your hands to find that you’ve been messing with the skin around your nails. It was a nervous habit you had, and one that hadn’t shone through in a couple of months. Not since you and JJ had ended things.

The coffee is done all too soon. Pouring two mugs worth, you brace yourself as if preparing for a slap as you turn to face JJ at the table. His hair is now damp, no longer dripping down his face. Wet clothes are still stuck to his skin, outlining the perfection of his body, and you have to force your eyes away. It’s hard to think that only two months ago you would be blessed enough to be able to run your hands under his shirt, along the smooth, salt-scrubbed skin of his stomach. What once brought you pleasure in thought now only brought pain.

Taking the seat opposite him, you slide his mug over and take a shaking sip of your own. Your eyes are down, focused on the table-top, tracing the scratch marks in the wood, but you somehow know JJ’s watching you. Can feel his eyes following you.

“Thanks for letting me in.”

“You said you wanted to talk,” you reply.

JJ nods: you catch it in your peripheral. “I do.”

“What’s there to talk about?”

“Us,” JJ says. You close your eyes. You were worried he’d say that.

“There’s nothing for us to talk about, JJ. There isn’t an ‘us’, anymore, okay?” you sigh. JJ’s already shaking his head.

“There is. You know there is,” he returns in a pleading tone. “Things can go back to how they were again.”

“What?” you almost whisper, brows furrowing in confusion.

“John B and Sarah are back now and…And everything can go back to how it was,” JJ tells you, almost hopeful.

You shake your head, lips pressed in a deep frown. Your fingers press against the hot porcelain of the mug.

“JJ. That’s not how this works.”

“I know things got messed up. That it’s my fault that they did, alright? That everything got messed up after John B…”

Died.

Your eyes dart up to meet his. There’re fresh tears gathering in the waterline. It’s weird seeing JJ cry so openly. He only did it once or twice in your relationship, in front of you. He never seemed willing to let you see that side of him, as if it might make him weak. You notice how his hand twitches away from the mug, as if he might reach out for yours, but something in him decides not to. Instead, the two of you keep your distance; a formal width of space, sat on either side of the table, not daring to cross into the others’.

“We can go back to how we were,” JJ privately says.

Your purse your lips, eyes slipping shut a moment to gather your thoughts. Perhaps this is how Eve felt, when the serpent tried to tempt her with the fruit. Here sits the only guy you’ve ever loved, extending an invitation back into the past, of a time when you were happy, and breathing didn’t hurt, and the thought of romance wasn’t something you shunned. But you can’t go back to the past. Time is forever moving forward, continuous and unchanging, and the sooner you make peace with that, the sooner it can start to heal your wounds.

You never spoke about that first fight. Never acknowledged it, really. JJ just showed up at your house, a couple days later, seemingly sober, and you both decided to move forward. You brushed it under the rug as a slip-up. That he needed to reel out of control a little in order to let himself recover, like the way the earth needs a good thunderstorm during summer to replenish the plants. I mean, how were you to know that it was the beginning of the end?

It was the day after you'd made the memorial at the chateau. Yourself and JJ had slept over at the house, after making love on the pull-out. The moment his hands were on your body, it felt like a silent apology for the fight, and you'd let yourself forget all about it. Waking up tangled in his hold, legs a knotted mess and arm tingling with pins-and-needles from his weight, you can't help but smile. It was the nearest thing to normalcy you'd felt in a long time, since Sarah and John B went missing at sea.

"Morning," you mumble sleepily the moment you feel JJ stir. He presses a kiss to your forehead. His skin smells of dry sweat.

"Hey," JJ rasps.

"You want breakfast?"

"What's on the menu?"

You can hear the smirk in his voice, the teasing grin to his words, and it makes you chuckle tiredly. This was the JJ you missed. As one of his hands moves to grope at your ass, you're laughing, gently pushing him off you.

"Perv," you mutter as you get up. Steal his t-shirt from the floor and pull it on.

You trudge to the kitchen, shoving your messed up hair out of your face, and open the cupboards to search for something good. There's no point looking in the fridge; majority of the things in there will be spoiled. This is the first time any of you have been back at the chateau since a couple of days after the incident.

Grabbing a can of soup, you decide it's better than nothing (though far from a classic breakfast). The drawers and counters are a mess. You sigh as you search for a can opener, coming up empty.

"You got your pocket knife with you?" you ask JJ.

He's lounging on the pull-out, scrolling through his phone. The only thing keeping him decent is the blanket that's half-arsedly flung over his waist. You missed seeing him like this, and the sight has you smiling.

"Should be in the left pocket of my shorts," he mumbles in reply, absentmindedly.

You wander over and drop to a squat, digging through his cargo shorts. Nothing, nothing...Your fingers feel something plastic and tactile. Frowning, you pull it out. It's a small plastic baggy containing a white powder. You're not stupid. It's either coke or ketamine. Your frown seems to deepen. Standing up, you hold it up.

"What's this?"

JJ looks up. Spots the bag. Takes in your expression. "Nothing."

"JJ," you say, tone nothing short of serious.

He sighs and rubs at his face, as if finding an excuse to avoid eye contact. "Look, it's fine, alright? I just need a little pick me up, now and then."

"This isn't a pick-me-up, JJ," you say. You know you sound angry, but why shouldn't you be? JJ having an addictive personality was no secret to anyone. His drinking was bad enough. Adding drugs like cocaine to the mix, and your worry trebled.

“What? Are you telling me what I can and can’t do now?” JJ asks. His voice borders on a scoff.

“This is dangerous, JJ.”

“I’m scared straight, hun. Thanks,” he mutters. Leaning forward, he snatches the baggy from you.

“I don’t like the thought of you taking that stuff, JayJ. It’s a slippery slope,” you slowly reply, trying to level your temper.

JJ sighs impatiently, rolling his eyes. It doesn’t help calm the storm brewing inside of you.

“Why’d you always have to ruin everything, huh?”

“Excuse me?”

“Things were finally starting to go back to normal and you have to fucking fixate on another thing. I swear to God, I never do anything right by you. I mean, I’d just gotten over you losing your shit at me the other day—”

“Gotten over it? I’m sorry, let me just check I’m hearing this right?” you interrupt, shifting your weight. “You got over the fact that your girlfriend had to track you down in person to check you were okay, to find you drunk and passed out? Then you yell at me for coming and tell me to leave, several times. And you remember me being the villain in all of that?”

“Don’t flatter yourself. You didn’t do some fucking FBI work to find me; I was in my own Goddamn house.”

“Not the point, JJ,” you loudly counter.

JJ rolls his eyes at you and moves to stand, pulling on a pair of boxers. “You’re such a bitch sometimes, you know that?”

You stare at him. Did you just hear him right? Before you can ask or even respond, JJ’s walking out onto the porch as if you’re not in the midst of an argument.

You watch as he grabs a leftover vape that’s laying on the window ledge. There still seems to be some power left in it. He takes a couple of hits. You simply stare after him. It seems useless to follow. Useless to keep chipping away at this fight that you’re bound to lose. So, instead, you turn back to the kitchen and let the distance between the two of you gape. Another argument unresolved.

Opening your eyes again, meeting his that shimmer blue in the low light of your kitchen, you can’t bring yourself to do anything but frown, your expression the image of sympathy. 'We can go back to how we were.'

“We can’t, JJ,” you whisper.

“Who says we can’t?”

“I say we can’t,” you reply.

“You don’t understand,” JJ tells you, as if ignoring your words entirely. You’re shaking your head, staring down into your coffee, but it doesn’t seem to deter him from continuing. “I can’t picture my life without you in it. These past couple months have felt like there’s a lack there or something. Like something’s missing. And something is missing. You are. You’ve always been there for me, even before we were together. I don’t…I don’t know how I’m supposed to go on with my life without you in it.”

You’re crying now. Silent tears fall down your face. Muffled pain.

The touch of his hand on yours feels electric, but not in a good way. Not in the way it used to. It’s like the shock that it thrills inside of you, which once was excitement, is now merely pain. You half want to jolt your hand back, but that would be too dramatic. Too much.

“Please. Please,” JJ’s begging, crying too. “I just need you in my life.”

“I don’t understand how,” you tell him, voice wet. You meet his gaze again. It feels almost too painful to maintain it for too long. “I can’t be your friend again, JJ. And I definitely can’t be your girlfriend again. So how am I meant to be in your life?”

“You just can! You just have to be there! You have to be there for me!”

Your lip quivers.

He gathers himself, exhaling slowly. “You just…Have to.”

Have to. Like there wasn’t any other way. Like his planet doesn’t spin without you and his universe is empty of planets and stars. Like his world is void of life and you’re the water that can make his plants bloom again. But it doesn’t bring you joy like it would’ve months ago, to hear him say that. It’s too much, too late. Antique coins lose their value.

“I mean…Don’t you miss me?”

Your vision focuses on his tear-streaked face again. Hair still damp. Cheeks pink and nose red.

“Of course I miss you,” you whisper, half-insulted that he’d even ask that. Can’t he see how much this is tearing you apart? “I miss all of it.”

“You don’t have to though,” JJ says. “We can go back to how it was.”

You finally look back down to see his hand still atop of yours. Touch gentle and kind. He used to be kind to you, all the time. Never would raise his voice at you and would never make you cry. But after John B and Sarah vanished, their deaths presumed, it was like something in him snapped. It’s easier to destroy a sandcastle than to build it, and JJ seemed hellbent on destroying whatever bond the two of you had - the love the both of you shared - rather than trying to protect it.

Your relationship with JJ was delipidating. Like a temple built on an eroding cliff, what was once beautiful and serene is now crumbling away, brick by brick. Pope and Kiara and even a stranger in the Goddamn street can see how dysfunctional it is. What was once affection and care is now venom and pain. And yet, underneath all the animosity, there’s still a love that keeps the two of you in place, fighting for things to stay together. After every blowout, one of you ends up in tears and the other is ironically the only person who can comfort them. Then comes the kisses and the apologies and the make-up sex, and the promises to not fight again, and to do better, and to fix what you have. But it’s all a fiction. The next fight comes and it’s uglier still.

JJ seems almost unrecognisable to you most days. The drinking and the drugs and the recklessness is hideous. Brings a pain to your heart that can only be rivalled by the one that comes when you fight. Pope and Kiara don’t see it as much as you do. It’s like he tapers it down for them, only giving them a glimpse. But you’ve always had the honour of seeing every part of JJ, including this. When you beg for him to stop drinking, to try and get himself under control, he goes on the defence. JJ’s words shoot to kill when he’s mad. And it’s like the venom in his words brings out an ugly side of you, too. Infects you with his anger until you're lashing out. When you’re in blind fury, you don’t care what you say, so long as it’s painful. Words that you’d never think come flying out of your mouth. Things you’d never mean are said with nothing short of conviction. About him. About his dad. About him being like his dad. About John B too, sometimes. About it being JJ’s fault. But he doesn’t hold back either. About you. About you and your parents. About you and your exes. About you and John B too, sometimes. It’s ugly and painful and evil.

But it was always words. Sticks and stones, right? You can sooth any cut from a slander with an apology said through soft kisses and softer caresses. Overlay the memory of an insult with sweet-nothings and moans of affirmation. Only words. So, when the next inevitable fight comes with the two of you at his house, after JJ does something particularly stupid at a kegger after flirting with a girl right in front of you to make you jealous, all because you’d said something the other night, you prepare for the hurl of abuse.

“I was just fucking talking to her!” JJ shouts.

You scoff and roll your eyes. “You were practically drooling all over her.”

“Drooling!?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re fucking delusional, you know that?” he chuckles darkly.

“I’m delusional?”

“Yeah, you are.”

“Are you seriously calling your own girlfriend crazy, right now? Do you know how Goddamn sexist that is?” you snap.

JJ shakes his head and does that all-too-familiar walk to his kitchen. You follow as per. It’s like the two of you follow a script when you fight. Insult, jab, insult, jab, drink, jab, insult, cry, silence, drink, comfort, kiss, sex, apologies, promises, sleep. It’s tiresome and it’s pathetic but you don’t want to leave it, because if you do, then you have to face the alternative. You have to face having nothing. No arguments and no JJ. Somehow, arguing with JJ is better than not having him to talk to at all.

But with every fight comes the fading hope that this rough patch will pass, and you’ll be out of the woods, stronger than before.

“Don’t walk away from me, JJ!”

“Stop screaming at me like a psycho bitch!” he shouts back, slamming the fridge door shut. Beer bottle now in hand.

“Don’t call me a bitch, you asshole!” you scream. "Don't you dare drink that!"

JJ laughs at you. "God, it is adorable how you think I give a shit about anything you say to me."

"Oh, I'm so sorry that I actually give a shit about your health! Clearly you don't, snorting any fucking thing you can get your hands-on like some deadbeat junkie."

JJ isn't replying. Won't fight back. Drinking from his bottle like he can't even hear you. Makes you angrier. Say something, do something.

"Guess you're just living up to the family-traits though, huh? Like father like Goddamn son. No wonder your mom left you."

It takes you a moment to realise what made you stop shouting. What made your breath get caught halfway in your throat, heart thumping loudly in your ears. Then, your eyes are slowly drifting down to the floor, to the side of your feet.

Shards of the broken bottle are scattered on the floor. Beer drips down the wall, spills onto the floorboards, pools around the pieces of glass. The sound of shattering was so loud when it hit the wall. No wonder; it happened right by your ear. It was practically inches from your face.

The shock subsides enough to let tears come. You let out a shuddering breath as the reality hits that it could’ve hit you in the face. That could’ve been your face.

When your eyes come to focus again, moving to glance up into JJ’s, he looks just as shocked as you. Just as horrified.

“Baby…”

He starts towards you.

You hold up a hand, prompting him to stop, and take a wobbly step backwards.

“Don’t,” you rasp. You sound terrified. Half don't recognise your own voice.

That could’ve been your face.

“Baby, I didn’t mean to,” JJ whispers, his voice breaking. “I didn’t…I don’t know why I did that. I…”

Your eyes lower to the ground as your hand gradually falls limp by your side. You look to the glass and beer on the floor. How ironically poetic.

“What are we doing, JJ?”

“I don’t…I don’t know,” he hopelessly replies.

You shake your head. Eyes still fixated on the broken bottle. “I don’t…I don’t think this is love anymore, JJ.”

“Don’t say that,” JJ says.

“It can’t be,” you continue, ignorant to his pleas. JJ comes towards you once more and you shake your head, turning away from him before he can make a grab for your hands. “I can’t keep doing this.”

“I know,” he says.

His arms wrap around your waist. He hugs you against him, nestles his face in your hair, presses some kisses against your scalp. There’s the inconsistent drip of his tears.

“I’m sorry,” he’s mumbling into your hair. “I’m sorry. I won’t do that again. I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean to, okay? I’m so sorry, baby.”

But it’s too late, isn’t it?

Before it was words and that was torturous enough. It was painful when he’d say things to you that he knew would hurt, sure, but you’ve never been afraid of him before. But this, now…You can’t go back. You can’t ever go back from that. It’s with a terrifying thought and a fresh wave of tears that you come to the realisation that you’re scared of JJ. You’re scared of the only person who you’re supposed to find comfort and love in. How does that even happen to someone?

“I know you are,” you eventually say in reply to all his apologies.

JJ pauses, settling on pressing more kisses to your head, squeezing his arms around you tighter, closer, as if trying to stop you from slipping away. But a vase covered in cracks can’t hold water in. You push his arms off you and break yourself free from his hold.

“But I can’t do this anymore.”

He mumbles your name. When you don’t turn, heading to grab your jacket from the sofa, he says it again, loud and desperate. You know he’s crying. He’s sobbing. So are you.

“Please, please don't leave me.”

It hurts. It all just fucking hurts. You head for the door. Shake off his hand as it clasps around your wrist.

“Please, baby. We can make this right, okay? We can fix it. I can fix this. Just don't leave me.”

It’s the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do, walking out his door. In fact, you think a part of your soul dies a little as you do. Left haunting his house is the ghost of your past self that you’ll spend forever trying to find again.

You carefully inch your hand out of his touch and get up, walking to the sink, mug in hand. JJ’s sighing. You catch in the reflection of the window as he hangs his head, palms covering his face. Pouring the leftover coffee down the drain, you try and gather your thoughts and feelings. They all conclude into one.

“I think you should leave now, JJ,” you weakly announce.

Your eyes glance at the window's reflection in time to catch his head lift. Then, you’re looking back down into the sink. Remnants of coffee sit stagnant in the basin. More tears fall.

“What?”

“I really think you need to leave,” you repeat.

“Baby,” JJ says, getting up. He’s walking over to you and your heart sinks.

“Don’t call me that, JJ,” you tell him. But there’s no conviction in your tone. How can there be, when all you are is a crying, fragile mess.

“Baby, please,” he repeats, ignoring you once more. His arms are wrapping around your waist, hugging you against him. It's painful deja vu. You shake your hand and put down the coffee mug, moving to try and push his arms off you. It feels claustrophobic.

“Stop calling me that,” you whimper.

This all hurts so much. The knife is twisting and turning and driving deeper and deeper.

“I don’t want you to call me that anymore.”

“I don’t understand,” JJ says. “If we both miss each other then why can’t we just go back to how it was? I can make it up to you. I can be better, this time. I can get clean. I'll be sober for you. I'll do anything.”

Finally, you managed to break free from his hold. You turn around, placing an arm on his chest to maintain some distance. His hands are still open, as if waiting to catch you.

“That’s not that point, JJ,” you tell him.

“Then what is the point? Why is this so easy for you? I mean, did you ever love me at all? Why aren’t you as torn up about all of this like I am? Did you ever care?”

His tone is turning sour, just the way it used to during your fights. It all comes screaming back to you. The desperation and the battles and the pure exhaustion of trying to hold onto a handful of sand, that only will inevitably slip through your fingers. But it makes the emotions catch fire. Searing hot pain.

“Of course I did!” you burst, eyes wet and voice fire. JJ takes a small step back, startled. “Of course I loved you and of course I miss you! I miss all of it, okay? I miss the way we were and the way you used to look at me. I miss you when I go to sleep and I miss you when I wake up. But I can’t have you in my life anymore, JJ. All the shit that happened between us leaves a sour taste in my mouth, and I can’t erase the past like it didn’t happen. Even if we did move forward, the past is always going to be there. There’s no way to get rid of that!”

JJ’s sobbing, looking away from you. You realise that you’re crying too. Hard and heavy and can barely catch your breath.

“I mean, God, JJ. Do you know how selfish it is for you to be here right now?”

His head darts back to face you. Emotions a mess, you feel your forlorn expression morph into a demented smile. Through a tearful, self-deprecating laugh, you manage out:

“I was barely just holding it together. Barely just surviving, and then you come here and say all these things to me and have this assumption that what you want is what’s right. But it isn’t, for either of us.”

“But we could just—"

“No! We can’t be together again, JJ!”

Letting out a shuddering breath, you hear your words almost echo around the room. JJ’s staring at you. Both of you are heartbroken. What a pitiful, pathetic mess it has all become.

“We can’t, okay?” you repeat, voice softer. Anger gone.

JJ purses his lips and looks down at the floor. You watch as he nods, closing his eyes as he does, as if he’s admitted something to himself.

“Okay,” he whispers. Sniffs harshly. Wipes at his face. You do the same. “Okay.”

This isn’t how you want it to end. You don’t want him to walk out the door with this as his last memory of you. You can’t keep letting the season end on a bad episode. So, slowly, you reach out a hand to grab for one of his. His arms are hanging by his side, defeated. At the touch of your fingers, his instinctively wrap around yours, and he raises his head to look at you.

“I’m sorry,” you tell him. The tears have now subsided, for the most part.

He gives a quivering smile. Bitter-sweet and painful. “Me too.”

He squeezes your hand in his. Now, there’s almost nothing. No zip of excitement or sooth of comfort, and no jolt of pain. Just…JJ.

“I don’t want you to hate me for—”

“I could never hate you,” you say, cutting him off. Smiling yourself, the expression a mirror-reflection of his, you nod. “There’s gonna be a part of me that’s always gonna love you, JayJ. You were my first everything, and that doesn’t go away. Ever. I’ll always be rooting for you and I’m always gonna care for you. But…I have to do it from a distance now, okay? It’s the only way either of us can move on with our lives.”

JJ swallows your words like one might swallow medicine. Unpleasant at the time but affirms a healthy future.

"I know," he nods. "I'm always gonna love you too."

You find yourself wrapping your arms around his neck. Holding him in a hug, tight and secure. His arms coil around your waist and he squeezes you back. The two of you know this will probably be the last time you ever embrace. Ever get to hold him, and him hold you. Neither of you wants to waste it, but neither of you wants to drag it out, in fear that they may never let go. As you pull away, JJ presses a brief, fleeting kiss to your cheek.

Standing in front of one another, once more, you remember the hurricane. The windows are rattling in their frames, rain battering down on them. It’s intense out there.

“You want me to stay?” JJ wonders softly.

You frown.

“I mean-” He gesture to the hurricane-induced storm outside. “I know how you hate them.”

You smile, eyes flitting down. Shaking your head, you sigh. “I need to face them on my own now, I think.”

JJ chuckles soberly. Nodding in understanding, he takes a step or two back. His hands slip into his pockets.

“Then…I guess I should leave.”

“Are you gonna be okay walking home?” you ask. You meant what you said: you’ll always care for him.

JJ nods, smiling brighter still. There’s still the shadow of pain that haunts the expression though.

“Yeah. You know me, I live on the edge.”

With his wink to accompany his sardonic words, you give a soggy laugh. JJ grants you a small wave and another smile. Your favourite smile. Your favourite person. Then, he’s turning around and walking himself to the front door. You hear the gust of wind battle into the house as he opens it, and the hearty slam as he forces it closed.

Standing stoic in the kitchen as if stupefied, you stare after him.

It’s done.

No more new memories. Only the old, to have and to hold, to care for and to cherish. Right now, they’re painful and visceral, but give it time, and they’ll be digestible. You can comb through them and smile and reminisce. Beneath almost every emotion is a tinge of happiness, be it grief or anger. Heartbreak will simply be the same.

Walking back to the living room, you cuddle up under a blanket on the sofa and snuggle against the cushions. Flicking the television back on, you sigh, sit, and continue watching your new show.

From inside the chateau, the windows rattle from a vicious blow of wind.

“What are you doing?” JJ snorts. His voice sounds like it’s come from the doorway.

You look up from the spot you’ve claimed on the floor, cocooned in a blanket. Your cheeks are wet from tears and JJ’s face becomes void of humour, instead morphing into concern.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” he worries, quickly coming over to you.

“It’s dumb,” you sniffle.

JJ shakes his head as he lowers to his knees, wrapping you into his arms. “It's not dumb.”

“You don’t know what it is yet.”

“Well, even if it is dumb, I won’t love you any less. Just might judge you a little, is all.”

You gently batt at his stomach at his stupid joke, making him chuckle.

“What is it?” he asks again, shifting so he can look you in the eyes.

Your rolling your eyes at your ways when you answer. “I hate hurricanes. I guess I have a fear of them or whatever you wanna call it.”

“A fear?”

“Yeah,” you sigh, wiping your wet face.

JJ nods, humming in understanding. He glances around the room a moment and you find yourself inching closer to him for shelter. A flash of lightning shoots a dart of light in the room and you can’t withhold your pathetic, childlike whimper, closing your eyes. Then comes the doomsday thunder. It’s a short pause between the two; means it’s getting closer.

“Here,” JJ says, getting to his feet. He holds out a hand for you and helps you up. “I got an idea.”

“You do?” You say.

You tug the blanket around your shoulders like a shawl. JJ starts moving the sofas and furniture into a weird arrangement. You simply stand back and watch.

“My mamma used to do this for me,” JJ says through a grunt. “Whenever I was scared.”

“JJ Maybank? Scared?” You jest.

He rolls his eyes as he perfects the formation of the armchair, smiling. “Yeah, yeah. Hard to believe, I know.”

“What were you scared of?”

“The dark. And the monsters in my dad’s closet,” JJ replies. He’s now grabbing any blanket he can find.

“The monsters?” you repeat, humour clear in your voice.

“Hey, I didn’t make fun of your current fear of hurricanes, did I?” JJ warns, pointing at you.

You nod and hold your hands up in surrender. That’s fair. “So, what did your mamma used to do then?”

“She’d make me blanket forts,” he says. “To hide from the monsters and the dark.”

“A blanket fort?” you check, smiling.

He’s dragging a blanket over the sofas to make a shelter. You catch on and start to gather some of the throw pillows and couch cushions to make it cosy on the floor, whilst JJ finishes on the structure.

“Yeah. It’s like one of my favourite memories I have of her. She’d make them real cosy and then we’d watch a movie, and I’d be safe.”

When it’s all finished, JJ turns to you and grins. Gesturing proudly to his creation – bumpy as it is – you grin, giggling a little. “Ta da!”

“A Maybank tradition,” you say.

He climbs into the fort and settles on the cushions. The light from the lamp casts through the blanket to give the faintest glow. Holding out his hand, you take it with a laugh and move to sit beside him. He shifts you so you can lay with your head resting on his chest. His arm loops around your waist and you place a hand on his side. It’s quiet in here. The rainfall is barely audible and the thunder is muffled. It feels like its own world, safe from anything else. Safe with JJ.

He presses a kiss to your forehead.

“So, what’d ya think?”

“I think this might be the most romantic thing you’ve ever done, Maybank,” you reply, looking up at him.

JJ grins. “Just wait ‘til we get that gold. The blanket forts are gonna be insane.”

You laugh and shake your head. JJ falls into an extravagant daydream of the forts he’ll build for you: with drawbridges and dragons and all sorts of ridiculous crap, that you know he’s only spewing because it’ll get a laugh out of you. Settling against his chest, feeling the rumble of his voice and shaking of his laughs through his t-shirt, you smile. What a sweetly clandestine memory to share.   

#jj #jj maybank #jj x reader #jj maybank x reader #obx #obx fic #outer banks #outerbanks #outer banks fic #outerbanks fic #jj angst #jj maybank angst #jj maybank x reader angst #jj x reader angst #obx angst #obx preferences

[spacecowboyhotch]

A Winter Vacancy

summary: Santiago sees you for the first time after you’ve left him.

pairing: afab!reader x santi garcia

contents: santi being a sadboi, angst - no happy ending, gun mention, alcohol consumption

wc: 2.1k

gif credits: @keanurevees

AN: nobody yell at me there will be a part two that ends happyish! it’ll come out closer to Christmas for…reasons <3, thank you @doctorstethoscope for betaing this ily forever 🥰

oscar characters masterlist | requests open

His memory is what he considers his best quality. He’s always had an inclination to know things, before and after his service, though his training bolstered his ability.

It’s a blessing and a curse. While this makes him skilled at remembering the big picture, it’s helped him retain every detail of one particular memory. One he can’t decide if he’d rather hold on to or forget —not that he has a choice.

It’s the night you left him.

There was always the spoken promise of more that faded into daydreams and empty words. In the beginning that was enough for you. Holding on to the possibility of a different life with Santiago was enough to make you giddy, the affection for him swimming through every vein in your body like a sugar rush.

But with each mission away the bed got colder. Cooking for one got depressing, and endless days of seemingly wanting more alone weighed heavy on you. The thought of living life like this, waiting for him to be ready to let the hustle of his world go made you hopeless.

Santi remembers the deafening silence that filled his apartment when he got home from the op that night. Usually you’d be propped on the couch, curled in piles of blankets with some cheesy rom-com on. He’d kiss you breathless, until you’d push him away and demand he take a shower, and he’d happily comply joining you on the couch not 10 minutes later. But that time, no rom-com. No kisses. No smile that spread across your face, making his heart beat quick in his chest. There was no you.

He remembers the way your smell lingered, a combination of mint and vanilla. How if when he closed his eyes and took a deep breath it almost felt like you were still here. The way he could almost picture your face as you made the decision to leave. It’s faded— replaced by something stale and sterile. There’s no more of your warmth.

He remembers the last meal you cooked him, how you’d left it in the fridge along with his favorite beer. The coffee machine was loaded, preset to brew in the morning, a stack of mail sitting in front of it. You’d even gone so far to start a load of laundry, the dryer was the only sound inside the apartment once he could stop focusing on how quiet it was without you.

And most importantly he remembers the note that sat in the middle of the kitchen island. It felt like the moon's rays shone right through the windows and created a spotlight, his full name sprawled in your delicate script on the stark white envelope. He sat down on a stool, ran his hands over his face before he slowly unfolded the stationary. As he read, tears dripped onto the page before he even registered that they were in his eyes. Where water usually puts out fires, his tears might as well have been gasoline, the sight of them stoking the angry fire burning inside of him.

He’d been so angry; at himself, at you, at all of the circumstances.

He still is.

This life has never been fair to him, no matter how much he tries to rationalize and invalidate his own experiences, and this is just another slight to drive his racing mind mad.

What he does know is that you’re gone and nothing will ever be the same— just when he was accepting that life was starting to feel right.

Just when he was thinking he might be worthy of something.

He can remember all of those details because it keeps him from feeling. He stacks all the details of that night nice and neat together, filing every negative emotion they could illicit away. They are just facts, things that just happened because if he looks any further he’ll crumble.

He keeps the letter tucked in his wallet, but never pulls it out.

It’s been 6 months and sometimes it feels like time as flown by. When he's behind the barrel of a gun, deep in hot humid jungles shouting orders, he can almost forget. He can get so zeroed in on the mission that the permanent scar on his heart seems to fade. But when he makes it back to his bunk, staring up at some cracking white ceiling in the soft light of a lantern time feels syrupy slow. In the still moments the words you etched about his shortcomings rain like lava on his skin.

He gets home and there’s snow on the ground, crunching under his heavy boots as he walks the parking lot of his apartment complex. He thinks of you when he steps in the foyer, remembering yet again why he’s hardly been home since you left him.

It always hits in the spanse of these four walls, and today it’s too much. Santi showers, starts a load of laundry before he’s back out in the snowy streets, bundled up in a puffy coat and beanie. The drive to a bar you two used to frequent is short.

It’s more crowded than he expects until he realizes it’s a Saturday night. He’ll get a drink and get out, maybe go for a drive until he’s sleepy enough to turn off his brain. He’s halfway through his first drink when he hears your laugh— it cuts straight to his heart.

His head turns to find you immediately, and he wishes he’d minded his business. You’re on what looks like a double date and you look happy, genuinely happy. He’s throwing a wad of cash at the bartender, not bothering to finish his drink, when your gazes connect. You stand up from your seat and he starts towards the door, gliding through the crowded bar with grace and ease.

“Santiago,” You call after him once you’re both outside, and you shiver, realizing you didn’t bring your coat.

He stops in his tracks, running a hand over his face with a loud sigh but he doesn’t say a word, doesn’t turn around, hoping that this is just another sick joke that the universe is playing on him.

“Were you just gonna leave without saying anything?” You ask from behind him, wounded by the way it seemed so easy for him to walk away from you. Especially when it took a ridiculous amount of effort for you to walk away from him.

He hates you. Not really, but he hates that after all this time you know exactly what to say to get him to talk to you.

He turns around with haste, his voice is accusing and cold as tonight’s air, “What, like you did?”

“I explained why I left and I did it thoroughly,” You say firmly, anger beginning to creep into your sadness.

“Yeah, in a fucking letter, like a fucking coward. You couldn’t wait for me to get home? For us to talk?”

You take a deep breath, looking down at your feet as you speak, “No, Santi, I couldn’t.”

“Please, enlighten me on why not? I bet it’s good,” He drawls sarcastically.

Your anger that usually simmers low starts to boil. After all he’s put you through it seems he’s blaming you for everything. “Because I would’ve stayed!”

Those words make his heart flutter with hope but he knows better. He points a finger at you angrily, scowling, “Fuck off. Your mind was made up.”

“If I would’ve waited for you to get home, you would’ve told me everything I wanted to hear just like you always do, and I would’ve stayed. I loved you Santiago, I still do, but I couldn’t wait for you to come home to spew more lies. For you to come home in one of those fucking boxes. Or worse, for you to not come home at all because you’re doing something stupid and off-grid. I know what I signed up for, but I just…I thought that maybe you were telling the truth when you said you wanted to let it all go. To start a real life with me,” You rest your hand on your chest as if to emphasize your point, and you could almost cringe at how desperate your voice sounds.

But you need him to understand. To get that making this decision has hurt you as much as it hurt him.

He stands there, mouth agape, mind void of any response. He’s never seen you so angry, you’re his sweet baby— were his sweet baby — and to see your eyes consumed with dark rage makes him speechless. You look like a storm, a beautiful one, your eyebrows furrowed, stance wide and standoffish with your arms crossed against your chest. It dawns on him that you look like him, he’s rubbed off on you in all your time spent together and he’s not sure whether to feel proud or sick to his stomach.

“I couldn’t wait for you anymore and I won’t let you villainize me for it. It would’ve killed me,” Your voice breaks and he reaches for you, pulls you close.

“I was telling the truth,” He whispers, his lips brushing against your skin.

“I don’t need more empty words,” You bite out even as you lean into his warmth.

His face twists and pulls back to look at you, “Empty? Is that how it felt? We felt empty to you?”

“No, no, that’s not what I’m saying. But your promises? Our hopes and dreams and plans? They were nothing to you.”

He squeezes the flesh of your arms gently, some despondent look in his eye, “That’s bullshit and you know it. I love you.”

“I know,” The words come out of you with a frustrated sigh.

“Then come home.”

It’s all too much. You shouldn’t be here grasping at the frayed edges of your failed relationship. He shouldn’t be here, ready to get on his knees for it. None of this should be happening— it’s time to go.

“Santi, stop, please. I can’t do this again,” You beg, looking down at the ground again but he dips down to catch your glance, ignoring the protest from his already aching knees.

“I’ll change, baby, I’ll give you whatever you want, just come home to me.”

“That’s the thing, I want you to do what you want. What you want is to be out in the world, making calls and being in charge. And maybe you want me to, but I come second.”

“(Y/N), everything okay?” Your friend calls from behind you, her boyfriend and his friend hovering behind her.

You take a step away from Santi and give her a forced reassuring smile, “Everything’s fine, I’ll meet you at the car.”

She hovers for a moment but you nod towards the car, signaling that everything’s fine. When they start to walk away you turn back to Santi, barely able to meet his eye.

“It was good to see you alive, I was worried, didn’t know if you had…” You clear your throat, leaving the sobering thought unfinished. “I need to go, I have to.”

Santi makes a disagreeable sound in the back of his throat, circling his arm around you waist to pull your body flush against his, “Baby, don’t do this, come on-“

“Hush, Santiago, it’s okay. You’re okay,” Your hand strokes at his cheek soothingly. He melts into the touch, humming softly and the sight breaks your heart all over again.

You can’t help it, you lean in and rest your nose against his, “Take care of yourself please. For me?”

He nods, and you can hear the defeat in his whispered reply, “Yeah. Got it, I will.”

Neither of you can tell if the shared wetness on your cheeks is from the falling snow or tears. Neither of you wants to clarify.

Santi watches you walk away, agreeing with your earlier sentiment— he feels empty.

No amount of thoughts or emotions about the conversation you’ve just had can fill him up. For once in his life he’s so emotional that he can’t be anxious, he can’t plan or reroute or strategize. He just stands in the parking lot, watching the car drive off with you in it. He stands there until he’s chilled to the bone even though he’s dressed warmly.

He’s cold, vacant, alone once more.

santi taglist: @hotchaways, @honeybrowne, @jitterbugs927, @theconsultingdoctor10, @awesomemikaus, @tanzthompson, @siezethenights, @clairevoyanceee, @moonmalice, @tiffanypooh, @dearvirtualdiary, @marc-spectorr, @xbellaxcarolinax, @toracainz, @roseqzpd, @rosecentaur1916, @mccn-bcys, @hotchs-bitch, @missdictatorme

#santi garcia x reader #santi garcia x afab!reader #santi garcia fanfiction #triple frontier fanfiction #arson writes randos

[freeced]

Hailing Frequencies (Part 1)

[art by @pockamune]

Lylack fiddled with the controls. There wasn't really anything to do with them right then, so the fiddling was redundant. Like playing an electric fiddle that wasn't plugged in. Electric fiddle, Lylack thought. Electric griddle. Mm...

The lanky springhare stretched both legs out onto the control panel and looked to their left, where a monument of empty Zapfood boxes regarded them balefully. It had been too long since the last stop, Lylack decided. Stocking up on packaged food didn't mean stocking up on proper meals, and the sooner they got to where they were going, the better. Back home, they would have simply stopped off at whatever highway diner happened along, confident that, wherever you are in the world, a pancake is more or less flat and edible.

Only, they weren't in the world anymore. They were in space, and whatever its charms, the vastness of the interstellar universe meant it wasn't just lacking in diners, it was lacking in everything. Between the little life-preserving systems ringed around their favorite life-sustaining stars, you weren't looking for friendly rest stop billboards so much as for two full atoms to rub together. There was nothing. And...

No one.

Lylack wouldn't have told you they were an introvert. You never would have had the chance to ask. For as long as they could remember, they had been burrowed away working on their little pet projects and flights of fancy, taking in society as a snorkel takes in air: a regrettable necessity that prevents its wearer from diving even further out of sight. It wasn't a question of how often they felt the need to be around other people, but how often their presence was required. In fact, it was one of the main reasons they had taken this job as an intergalactic bar delivery driver—the solitude, they assumed, would be comforting. And as it turned out, it was.

Yet, thought Lylack, as they checked the scanners for the millionth pointless time. Yet.

There was a difference between solitude and being all alone. It didn't set in right away, and it had a habit of fading from your mind when you were back on solid ground again. But these times, these long hauls, halfway between somewhere and somewhere else, just as far from anything as anything could be—this wasn't just a quiet place to think, it was a silence so intense it laid a blanket on your brain. Dimensions lost their shape, time became confused and seemed to go on only when you looked the other way. The clear sense of identity that tended to emerge from contemplation lost its balance way out here, unsure of the borders between the fathomless recesses of your mind and the beckoning infinity of space. At least, it did without a couple decent meals to spice things up.

Lylack glanced back over at the stack of Zapfood boxes over there on the floor. The portside cabin deck, they tried to glue into their brain. Not for the first time this trip, they considered going back into the cargo area to liberate a case of what this whole workaday voyage was supposed to be about.

Any decently advanced outpost had a food substantiator capable of synthesizing anything a bar or club might need—everything, that is, except the alcohol it made its money on. It was true that some quaint little places here and there still brewed their drinks the old fashioned way, but by and large, an operation of that kind relied on too many moving parts when you considered that most planets didn't even have an atmosphere thick enough to support traditional agriculture, never mind a business-minded person who might be carrying such antiquated expertise. To synthesize alcoholic drinks, then, as was standard practice, you needed a Wine, Beer, and Spirits Substantiator (WBSS) and a license to operate it, both items prohibitively expensive for any average establishment to bear up on its own. (There were also similar machines and licenses for other controlled substances—Lylack didn't concern themselves with these because it was enough headache remembering their own employer's ones.)

In fact, there was no actual difference in hardware between a regular food substantiator and one labeled as a WBSS, but manufacturers were required to lock unauthorized features safely away from consumer use. Tampering with a food substantiator with the intent to create illegal goods was punishable by severe fines, or, if done with intent to sell, imprisonment. The law, as is typical, ended up as a matter of cost, and it was far easier for most bar owners to turn a profit ordering their stock from light years away than to invest in legal manufacture locally or risk getting caught up in the aftermath of a smuggling operation gone bad.

It was a long way of convincing themselves that this delivery job was necessary, Lylack decided. They didn't decide whether their job actually was necessary, though. Not now. That was too much to think about out here where a vague sense of purpose could be the only line towing you along. Here where navigating scattered asteroids would feel like walking happily among a crowded room. Here where you'd give anything to see the screen light up with anything you hadn't entered in yourself. Here where—

It was lighting up.

Lylack scrambled to pull their legs back off the panel, and in so doing, lost their balance completely, tumbling backwards over the captain's chair and accidentally mashing keys as their long feet bounced off the controls. A comm link opened.

Lylack bounded back up behind the chair, their black-tipped ears making the first appearance, followed by a mess of purple hair and deep brown eyes that looked inquisitively up at the viewing screen. "Hello?" they said, squinting at the fuzzy image wavering in front of them until it resolved into a fuzzy face that squinted back before opening its own eyes wide.

The face opened its mouth as the comm speaker chattered to life. "Lylack?" it asked hesitantly, in a voice that cracked like sweet milk tea poured over lots of ice.

"Lylack, is that you?"

#freeced #freecedwrites #springworld #lylack

[rabbiteclair]

i've got an entirely unused corner of my living room now, and while trying to decide what to put there, I am constantly aware that my answer will not be as cool as the guy who owned the place before me, who used that corner for a pinball machine and an entire fridge stocked with his home-brewed beer

[psychocharlie]

Electric Dream Machine 2.0

Disclamer: the song I used here is NOT mine. The song is called Kill you by Dethklok. All rights to the song belong to Dethklok and Brendon Small. Please don't throw me in Mordhouse's secret prison for this, I used it just for fun. The post with song lyrics is here and the previous AU post is here.

The day after that conversation about Uncle Jack, Charlie doesn't show up at Paddy’s. Dennis thought he had managed to calm him down and put the matter to rest, but apparently it didn't go as smoothly as he'd hoped.  

When Dee asks about Charlie's absence, Frank shrugs and talks about trying to get him out of bed, but he didn't want to go and said he'd stay home in bed. And in fact, the oldest member of the gang assures him, he's been kind of weird and moody lately, and even stopped playing Nightcrawlers. A heavy sigh completes the last words, and Frank's frustration is visible to the naked eye.

– Anyway, – he continues, – I figured I'd better leave him alone, the guy deserves a day off. 

Mac rushes to go check on his best friend, but Dee stops him: 

– Where the fuck you going, asshole? Frank said our guy's in a bad mood today and you got the empathy of a toothpick.

– YOU THINK YOU BETTER, BITCH?! – Mac is outraged, he immediately turns to yelling, and the usual Gang’s bickering begins. Dee retorts that, unlike Mac, she has no plans to go bothering Charlie, who just needs to be left alone for today.

Dennis watches this silently with his arms crossed over his chest. Yes, he wants to see Charlie. Yes, he needs to find out how he's doing and try to calm him down somehow. But he's already too wary of spending too much time with Charlie, especially for Mac. Mac is possessive and jealous of everyone. He’s jealous of Charlie because he's his best friend; he's jealous of Dennis as his roommate and, almost obviously to Reynolds, as the object of his unrequited crush. And because of his jealousy, he becomes increasingly unstable. So Dennis didn't want to provoke him any further and kept quiet.

– Will you two just shut the hell up for a second?! – Frank didn't often raise his voice, but he was really tired of Dee and Mac's pointless arguments, and his concern for Charlie seemed to get the better of him. – You two are just going to piss him off, so unless you want something thrown at you on the way in, stay out of it. – Frank stops talking for a moment, opens a beer can and turns to Dennis. He takes a big sip and looking at him a little too intently. – If you want to go and check him out, let Dennis go. You have a strange way of calming him down, – the man says that words directly to him, – maybe he'll even want to join us at the bar afterwards.

And that's it. This is exactly what Dennis was waiting for, without interfering in the Gang's arguments. That things would somehow work out so that he would be sent to Charlie's and he wouldn't look suspicious in his concern for the janitor. 

– Yeah, you're right, I'll go see him. 

Only Mac explodes with resentment again, like a kid who's been robbed of his candy.

– But Charlie's my best friend! 

– Nobody takes your best friend away, you prick. - Dennis snorts and heads for the exit, thinking that he should do something to distract Mac before he gets even more irritated.

***

When Charlie hears a knock at the door, he hesitates to open it, and Dennis stands under the door for another five minutes, knocking and begging Charlie to open it. He finally gives up and lets the visitor in, but immediately returns to his couch without even looking at him, muttering «don't bother me» instead of saying hello. 

A very peculiar picture appears before Dennis's eyes: Charlie, wrapped in a blanket, sits on the edge of a couch that looks like a battlefield, with a synthesizer and a coffee table piled high with some junk. On the table are two half-empty cups of what looks like very strong brewed tea, empty beer bottles, an open can of glue, a can of spray paint with a sock on it, and most importantly, a notebook covered with incomprehensible scribbles and crooked drawings. Charlie was writing something down, but no one could make out his notes but himself. Well, maybe Artemis, if she's lucky.

Dennis looked from the messy table to Charlie himself, disheveled, unwashed, with red, watery eyes and a face stained with colored markers. Charlie Kelly had always been known for his disregard for personal hygiene, but now he looked as if he hadn't washed his face since he was born. And he was clearly wasted from the chemicals and alcohol. 

– Hey, buddy, what are you doin–

– Shh! Shut up, and let me work, I told you! – Charlie shushes him and starts tapping his fingers on the table. Not paying any attention to Dennis anymore, he mumbles something to himself, barely audible. – I don't want to...have to...kill you.

Reynolds can barely hear anything, and he moves closer, listening to his friend's faint murmurings. – They'll fnd out... I... feel blue, – Charlie slurring some words and quickly sketches something incomprehensible and schematic in his notebook, lest he forget. 

– Are you writing a song? – Dennis connects the dots, sits down on the couch next to his friend, and gently touches his shoulder. But Charlie, lost in the creative process, seems to have forgotten that he's not alone, because the touch startles him so much that he jumps up, screaming. 

- I'm sorry, man, it's okay, it's me. It’s just me. – Dennis frowns, a little startled by this sudden and intense reaction, and moves away from Charlie so as not to stress him further. The disheveled man still doesn't answer the question, instead he brings the jar of glue to his nose and inhales a few times. He hands the jar to Dennis, grumbling to himself that he can't think of a follow-up. 

Dennis resignedly accepts the glue, closes his eyes and breathes deeply over the jar, trying to ignore the swarm of restless thoughts in his head, mixing with Charlie’s quiet mumbling.

– Like to take all the skin off your face.

Dennis opens his eyes and places the glue on the table. His hands are shaking. He seems to got out of huffing glue, which is why his head starts spinning so quickly after just a few minutes of deep breaths he makes over the glue jar.  And the dizzy head makes the whole thing even more surreal. 

He looks at Charlie: his movements are jerky, sometimes he taps his drunken fingers on the synth keys, playing something, but he's displeased – «no, no, no, not like that, it sounds like shit!» – and he looks like a big sad moth under his old brown blanket. – Like to take all the skin off your face.– He repeats it again, picks up the melody, and finally seems to find the right sound, because a triumphant smile lights up his face. He plays the melody again, repeating the same line a third time, tasting it.

Mesmerized, Dennis watched the process, no longer interfering. There's something beautiful about this spectacular sight. 

– Like to smash all your... brains, – Kelly continues to mumble, scribbling crooked letters in his notebook, but this time he has some difficulty. – Like to smash all your brains... all your brains... Shit! – man slams his fist on the table, unable to find the right words, and the beer bottle falls and breaks. But the sound of breaking glass suddenly evokes some interesting associations in Dennis.

– Like to smash all your brains with a... vase? – Dennis asks quietly, touching Charlie's hand with his fingers to get his attention. His touch is as gently as possible. The janitor's eyes widen, and he stares at Dennis for a few seconds, his pupils so damn dilated that his eyes seem almost black.

– Like to smash all your brains with a vase. – He repeats Dennis' sentence twice, tastes it on his tongue and nods contentedly. – Yeah, yeah, that's good!

After that, Charlie stopped seeing Dennis as a stranger and even perked up a bit, allowing him to join in the creative process. Lines are written, fanciful pictures are drawn in Charlie's imagination, a simple but appropriate melody follows the words, and Dennis feels like he's stuck in one of his strange dreams. The pictures Charlie's imagination paints are both strange and bloody. It's unlikely, Dennis thinks, that he himself could come up with an epithet about a fly laying eggs in a dead body, but Charlie, with his abstract imagination and strange ideas, does, and Dennis really likes these macabre line. 

He gives in to the urge, and during the simple playback between these lines and the next, he jumps off the couch and dances around singing «Ah ah ah ah ah ah ah!» like those old glam rock songs he used to listen to in college. Well, not just in college. He still likes to listen to good old Guns n' Roses, Kiss, Mötley Crüe, Queen and of course his main idol since he was a teenager – David Bowie.

And Charlie, unexpectedly, appreciates the impulse, nods enthusiastically and smiles at Dennis, letting him know that he'll leave it in the song. Later, Dennis adds a few more «danceable» moments to Charlie's lyrics in the same way, enlivening them and giving the otherwise somber lyrics some drive. But the author himself doesn't mind, he starts to have fun either, even though he continues to pour his anger into the lyrics. And Dennis belatedly, but still realizes for whom and what about this song is written. 

He does, but he keeps distracting wasted Charlie with more cheerful melodies. Kind of therapeutic, huh? There's a reason Dennis studied psychology. It works.

Charlie's song is creepy and bloody, but not in a realistic body horror way, but in a cartoonish way: absurd in its cruelty and non-obvious methods and instruments of murder. The mere desire to break his face with ice cream cone is worth a lot. Weird, cartoonish, but undeniably violent. For some unknown reason, Reynolds finds Charlie's out-of-the-box thinking very inspiring. And the whole situation - writing a song together, Charlie, gloomy and now cheerful, glue, spray paint, beer, disheveled hair, dancing together – it all seems so vaguely familiar to Dennis, as if it had all happened once before... a very long time ago. But it all feels so pretty familiar. He's sure he's seen it before.

– Oh, that was a great song, man, –Charlie says, almost falling on Dennis due to the amount of inhaled chemicals and beer in his bloodstream. But at least he's quite happy now. – Thanks for helping me out. I like the way it turned out. 

And then Dennis remembers why this moment seemed so familiar. Years ago they had written and even performed Dayman in a similar way. Oh shit. – Yeah, that song is real rock 'n' roll, man, you're a talent! Too bad Electric Dream Machine doesn't exist anymore, we could even play it on stage.

– Noooo, – mooed his friend, already half on his shoulder, shaking his head languidly from side to side. – No one can hear this song. Only you. You know why. You know. – Charlie's voice becomes more and more slurred as he slowly falls into a sleep of exhaustion and glue. 

The smile fades from Dennis's face, erasing any trace of his former mirth. The song, though it was catchy and fun despite its somber lyrics, still reflected real emotion, serious emotion, and was a heartfelt wish from Charlie for Uncle Jack, who totally deserved it. 

When Dennis looks at Charlie again, he is already asleep on the couch, hugging the blanket with a silly smile on his face. At least that makes Dennis happy, at least he's not dreaming about something creepy and bloody. He finds another blanket on the floor, covers Charlie and moves the junk-filled table and the synthesizer away from the bed so that his friend won't knock it all over when he gets up to take a leak. Then he leaves quietly.

***

– Hey, Dennis, did you go see him? How's he doing? Still won’t leave the house?

Of course, Reynolds is greeted with questions when he comes back. He calms everyone down by saying that Charlie is better now, but he fell asleep, which is why he didn't join him at Paddy's. The gang is somehow satisfied with this answer and he's left alone. 

But Dennis still has some lines from Charlie's new song running through his head. And he can still see his friend's sleepy but momentarily serious face repeating «You know why. You know». And then Uncle Jack's face appears. Deep in his thoughts, the man doesn't notice that he's humming.

– I don't want to have to eat you 

   I won't fit into my swimsuit.

– What are you singing there? – he's called out by Dee, who's already slowly getting ready to go home. 

– Mm? – Dennis flinches in surprise and shakes his head. – Nothing, just a song, Dee. Just a song.

Dee shrugs and just walks away while Dennis stares at her leaving for a long time. Then he turns around and goes into Paddy's office, locking the door behind him. There he goes through the drawers for a long time, goes through old newspaper, takes some, also takes scissors, a sheet of printer paper and starts to cut something out. 

After a few minutes, he has a crooked inscription made of different-sized letters  cut from newspaper headlines, which says: «I know what you did».

#iasip #charlie kelly #dennis reynolds #serial killers au #charlie and dennis are murder buddies #charden #headcanon #Dethklok – kill you #songfic

[fxdltc88]

Strohs Brewery 991 Gratiot Ave

Stroh Brewing Company started with Johann Peter Stroh in 1775 in Kirn, Germany. Johann and his family lived in a house with an adjoining brew house attached, and ran a local inn that served meals and their family’s recipe for Bohemian-style Pilsner Ale. Johann had three sons and one daughter. His second son, Georg Freidrich Stroh, inherited the brew house. Georg’s youngest son was

Johann Bernhard Stroh (known to the world as Bernhard), who was born in 1821. On February 22, 1848, revolutions erupted across Europe. With all the turbulent violence surrounding Europe in the mid-19th century, and with his father Johann’s death and his elder brother Georg inheriting the family business, a 27 year old Bernhard Stroh, who had learned the brewing trade, immigrated to the United States.

Bernhard Stroh arrived in the United States in 1850. He immediately started his own business. Stroh opened a brewery at 57 Catherine Street…He developed a market for a new light lager beer among the larger German immigrant population, and names his new company Lion’s Head Brewery, adopting the Lion’s Crest logo from Kyrburg Castle in Kirn, Germany.

The company uses this same crest as their logo to this day. With only an investment of $150 (in 2016 dollars, this would amount to $4,409.53) that he provided himself through working for the family inn back in Germany, Stroh had to be very frugal in his spending. By 1860, Stroh’s customers had a desire for Stroh to start bottling his famous beer so they could enjoy the Bohemian-style Pilsner Ale at their homes.

Bernhard Stroh would have his sons personally cart small kegs of beer to his customer’s homes and business by wheelbarrow.

Stroh’s would not only become Detroit’s largest brewer, but the third largest in the country.

This massive, million-square-foot factory at Gratiot near I-75 grew as the company did, with buildings dating from the 1860s to 1914. In late 1890, the firm Spier & Rohns was hired to make extensive additions and improvements to the Stroh campus, including building a 25-foot-by-70-foot fireproof stockhouse, a 60-foot-by-100-foot bottling works, and a new ice-machine plant. These additions made the brewery the largest in Michigan and formed some of the most visible parts of the plant.

By 1956, the Detroit brewery was pumping out 2.7 million barrels of beer — 83.7 million gallons.

he 1970s and 1980s were very productive years for the Stroh’s; sales continued to increase with the acquisition of Goebel’s, new leadership came in 1967 with John Stroh becoming CEO and Peter Stroh, Gari Stroh’s son, became President. The duo expanded the company to its greatest height throughout the two decades with new marketing and aggressive advertising strategies. With increased sales, the Stroh brewing company was able to match the big three car companies in terms of salaries and benefits. Early in the 1980’s, Peter Stroh started looking to take Stroh’s to the national stage, and made a bid on the Schaeffer Brewing Company and Schlitz Brewing Company. Schaeffer started to go into debt in the late 1970s and early ’80s, making the buyout from Stroh’s all too easy in 1981. Schlitz accepted a buyout offer of $17 a share. Schlitz became a wholly owned subsidiary of the Stroh Brewing Company, making Stroh the third-largest brewery in the United States. With all this expansion, Peter Stroh, now CEO at this time, realized his company was overextended. By 1985, Peter Stroh recognized his company was operating with excess capacity, On Feb. 8, 1985, Stroh’s announced it was closing its Detroit facility, calling it too costly to run and too inefficient compared with newer facilities it had acquired. The plant was shuttered that May, bringing an end to 135 years of tradition and costing 1,159 Detroiters their jobs.

The factory was imploded in two phases -- on April 13, 1986, and July 13, 1986 -- with the land soon redeveloped as Brewery Park.

In 1999, the struggling company was imploded, too, split up and sold to Miller Brewing and Pabst.

#detroit #michigan #detroit michigan #beer #lager #michigan history

[selfish-alice]

Exploring the Cool and Unusual Side of Minneapolis: From Urban Exploration to Unique Museums and Outdoor Adventures

Minneapolis is a vibrant city that offers a wide range of activities for visitors to enjoy. From outdoor adventures to cultural experiences, there's something for everyone in this Midwestern gem. If you're looking for something a bit off the beaten path, here are a few cool and unusual things to do in Minneapolis.

For a unique perspective on the city, take a tour with Urban Explorer Twin Cities. This company offers guided tours that focus on the history and architecture of Minneapolis' most interesting and lesser-known buildings. From abandoned factories to hidden underground tunnels, these tours will give you a glimpse into the city's past and present.

If you're a foodie, check out the Midtown Global Market. This multicultural marketplace is home to a variety of vendors selling international food, crafts, and clothing. From Mexican street tacos to Somali samosas, the market is a great place to sample a variety of flavors and cultures.

For a dose of culture, head to the Walker Art Center. This modern art museum is home to an impressive collection of contemporary art, including works by famous artists such as Warhol and Lichtenstein. The museum also features outdoor sculptures and an award-winning design for the building.

If you're in the mood for some outdoor adventure, take a kayak tour of the Mississippi River with Above the Falls Sports. The tour will give you a unique perspective on the city and its famous river, as well as an opportunity to see local wildlife such as eagles and herons.

For a more unusual experience, check out the Museum of Questionable Medical Devices. This museum is dedicated to showcasing the odd and often bizarre medical devices of the past. From electric shock therapy machines to cancer-curing magnets, the museum offers a glimpse into the history of medicine and the human quest for health.

Minneapolis is also known for its beer scene, and if you are a beer lover you should check out the Surly Brewing Co. The brewery is an industrial-chic space that offers a variety of unique beers and a great atmosphere.

In conclusion, Minneapolis is a city full of surprises. From urban exploration to international cuisine, there are plenty of cool and unusual things to do in this Midwestern metropolis. Whether you're a culture buff, an outdoor enthusiast, or just looking for a unique experience, Minneapolis has something to offer.

#MinneapolisArts #MinneapolisOutdoors #MinneapolisEvents #MinneapolisCulture #MinneapolisBoutiques #MinneapolisFarmersMarket #MinneapolisFoodScene #MinneapolisNeighborhoods

[traipseartist]

May 12 - I Was a Falls, I am Become Rapids

For the sake of our sanity, Lewis and I planned this trip with only one day of "rest" from the road--and since he had visited the town of Minneapolis, Minnesota last fall on his way out to school, he had strong and fuzzy feelings around returning.

This was the first stop where I was on ground I had traipsed before--I had come to Minneapolis in February of 2016 for a work trip to visit a glamorous financial institution in a very tall building in a very cold season and was... unimpressed... with the experience. Lewis was set on changing my disposition.

With Henrietta's suggestions in hand, we walked down to Black Walnut Bakery, which frankly ran like an absolute machine on the brunchiest day of the year: Mother's Day. Lewis and I had a small agony over what pastries to choose and gawked at the most beautiful cakes in the pastry case.

We munched on banana walnut bread and kougin amann while we went to purchase sunblock for my origami paper skin and navigated back to Henri's to get ourselves situated for a bike-a-ganza.

Lewis had brought his bike, Zolpa (don't kill me Lewis, I don't know how this could possibly be spelled otherwise) on Stacey's back from Boise and with a pretty comprehensive system of Lime rental bikes scattered around down town, I was set to tag along on my own set of wheels. We took to the streets! We scooted down to a sculpture garden on the grounds of the Walker Art Center which was hosting a massive art fair with 100+ tents and kiosks. Local artists were selling paintings, photos, sculptures, furniture, ceramics, air plant holders, tiny sweaters for tiny stuffed animals, jewelry, beer, jewelry for you beer, and much art in between. We chatted up some very friendly Midwestern artists (we bought several prints from a woman who told us that she couldn't hear the long "ay" in her pronunciation when she asked us if we wanted a bayeg for our purchased goods.) and people-watched over good beer in the still shade. The tents nestled among and around sculptures brought its own touch of other-worldliness to the vibe, and we walked the grounds unencumbered with art peddlers when satisfied with our survey of the fair.

Now, time to go explore! We pedaled through downtown and down to the river to take a look at the Mighty Mississip'. Old industry buildings towering along the edge and the roar of the dammed water spraying us on a bridge-crossing between the twins added to the flavor. Maybe I was starting to like Minneapolis after all.

From there we beelined for another brewery in hopes of finding food but instead found... even more good beer. A cryptic later, a liiiittle drunk and a prevailing hour in a separate space (I really, really needed a pedicure) meant our afternoon trickled away easily. When I met Lewis at a rooftop bar down in Lynnwood, I could tell spontaneity was already afoot.

The bartender, a sweet, sympathetic person named Johnny, was filling Lewis in on the details of the evening--it's a Saturday in Minnie, we have to do something!--and mentioned that the Violent Femmes were in town and playing across the water in St. Paul this very eve. Lewis, who had been listening to a Violent Femmes greatest hits CD in his car since people listened to CDs in their car clicked his heels at the news. Snapping up two floor tickets with a little strategy, we finished eating a shared veggie burger and headed home to shower and put on our aging-punk clothing.

The Palace in St. Paul is an old-school spot that had likely been repurposed many times as a formal theater before it became a venue where people spilled locally brewed beer on the floor and squeezed up the (probably, once) red-carpeted stairs to the gauchely painted mezzanine. Bless Marcello for his gift of ear plugs back in Salt Lake City (Marcello's plot is gloriously one jersey barrier attempt at sound dampening away from the freeway behind his chicken coop in his backyard) because I did love this crusty punk music but I wanted my eardrums for tomorrow. They played things I knew, things I didn't, and Lewis happily but cautiously headbanged from the back of the tightly packed crowd

Tired and high on the energy of a room full of people singing till their voices wouldn't. The band played two solid hours with xylophones, conch shells, bassoons, and bath robes to the crowd's delight. As they rolled gently off stage, we all filed into the night, aiming for the hangover cures that would meet us on the other side of the sunrise.

#minneapolis #travel #road trip #sculpture

[rootcreative]

Craft Coffee Trends: Innovations Shaping the Future of Artisanal Coffee

The craft coffee scene is ever-evolving, driven by innovation and a relentless pursuit of quality. Today's coffee enthusiasts are not just satisfied with the traditional cup; they are on the lookout for new experiences and flavors that push the boundaries of what coffee can be. From the introduction of nitro-infused beverages to the merging of coffee with unexpected partners like beer, and the advent of high-tech coffee gadgets, the artisanal coffee landscape is buzzing with exciting developments. Here, we delve into some of the most compelling trends that are shaping the future of craft coffee.

Nitro Coffee: Smooth, Creamy, and Revolutionary

One of the most noticeable trends in the craft coffee world is the rise of nitro coffee. This unique beverage involves infusing cold brew coffee with nitrogen gas, creating a silky, smooth texture that enhances the coffee's natural flavors. The result is a creamy, frothy coffee that pours much like a stout beer, complete with a rich head. The introduction of nitrogen not only changes the mouthfeel and visual appeal but also reduces the acidity, making it a gentler option on the stomach.

Nitro coffee first gained popularity in specialty coffee shops and has now found its way into mainstream cafes and even retail stores. For those interested in the science and process behind nitro coffee, Cafe Degen provides a deep dive into how nitrogen transformation elevates the humble cup of coffee to something extraordinary.

Coffee Beer: Where Brew Meets Brew

The fusion of coffee and beer is not entirely new, but craft brewers and coffee roasters are taking this combination to new heights. Coffee beer typically involves brewing beer with coffee beans, imbuing the beer with rich coffee flavors that complement the malty sweetness of the beer. This trend is particularly popular among craft breweries that are experimenting with different bean varieties and brewing techniques to create complex flavor profiles.

For enthusiasts eager to explore the intricacies of coffee beers and their brewing methods, informative resources like Brewing Coffee Manually offer detailed insights and reviews on the latest coffee-infused beers in the market.

Coffee Tech Gadgets: Brewing at the Cutting Edge

Technology has not left the coffee industry behind. Today, a myriad of gadgets promise to enhance the brewing process, improve precision, and ensure consistency. From smart coffee makers that can be controlled via smartphone apps to advanced espresso machines that fine-tune temperature and pressure, the options are vast. One notable innovation is the use of scales integrated with timers and apps, which guide users through the brewing process to achieve the perfect extraction.

For those who love combining technology with traditional coffee brewing, Coffee Geek offers comprehensive reviews and tutorials on the latest gadgets that every home barista should consider.

Sustainability and Transparency: More Than Just Buzzwords

As the craft coffee industry grows, so does the focus on sustainability and transparency. Consumers are increasingly interested in where their coffee comes from, how it is produced, and its impact on the environment. Craft roasters and cafes are responding by sourcing beans ethically, adopting more sustainable practices, and providing consumers with detailed information about the origin and journey of their coffee.

Websites like Perfect Daily Grind provide a wealth of information on sustainable practices within the coffee industry, helping consumers and businesses alike make more informed choices.

Looking Forward: The Future of Craft Coffee

As we look to the future, the craft coffee industry is set to continue its trajectory of innovation and excellence. With new brewing techniques, unexpected flavor pairings, and an increasing emphasis on sustainability, the world of artisanal coffee is more exciting than ever. Whether you're a seasoned coffee aficionado or a curious newcomer, these trends offer fresh ways to enjoy and appreciate the complexities of coffee.

In embracing these innovations, coffee lovers not only enhance their own experience but also support a vibrant community of roasters, brewers, and innovators who are passionate about bringing the best out of every bean. So, the next time you sip your morning brew, remember that it's not just a cup of coffee—it's a part of a larger, ever-evolving craft.

#Craft Coffee Innovations #Nitro Coffee Trends #Coffee Technology Gadgets #Sustainable Coffee Practices #Coffee and Beer Fusion

[globalinsightblog]

[tbrc34]

"Brew Your Own Adventure: The Rise of Home Beer Brewing Machines!"

Hey beer enthusiasts! 🍻 Did you know that the Home Beer Brewing Machine Market is buzzing with excitement?

🌟 Whether you're a seasoned brewer or just getting started, home brewing machines are making it easier than ever to craft your own delicious beers right from your kitchen or backyard. Companies like PicoBrew and BrewArt are leading the way with innovative systems that simplify the brewing process and allow you to experiment with endless flavor combinations. 🍻✨ It's the ultimate DIY experience for beer lovers! Plus, brewing at home means you can customize your brews to your exact taste preferences and impress your friends with unique creations. 🌈🍺 #HomeBrewing #CraftBeer #BrewYourOwn #DIYBeer #BeerLovers #HomeBrewery #PicoBrew #BrewArt #BeerGeek #HomebrewingCommunity #CraftBeerRevolution #Homebrewers #BrewingAtHome #CheersToCraft #BeerNerd

[brookstonalmanac]

Beer Events 3.7

Events

Adolphus Busch married Lily Anheuser (1861)

Samuel Percy and Walter Wells patented an Improvement in Process of Preparing a Combined Extract of Hops and Malt (1882)

Johann Kjeldahl presented his Kjeldahl Method, to determine the protein content of grain and its transformation during fermentation (1883)

Charles Zies patented an Automatic Keg-Soaking Apparatus (1899)

Frederick Metz died (1901)

Upper Peninsula Brewers Association founded (Affiliated with Wisconsin State Brewers Association; 1902)

Christian Heurich died (1945)

The Beer Belongs: Home Life in America ad campaign series debuted (1946)

Peter Howlett and Keith Stowell patented Malting Grain (1972)

Brown-Forman patented a Method for Production of a Flavorless Malt Base (2006)

The Bruery brewed their 1st batch of beer (California; 2008)

Brad Brous, et al. patented an Automated Home Beer Brewing Machine and Method (2009)

Chr. Hansen patented the Enhancement of Beer Flavor by a Combination of Pichia Yeast and Different Hop Varieties (2013)

Geoffrey Larson, et al. patented a Spent Grain Fuel Product and Process (2013)

Breweries Opened

Cedar Brewing (Iowa; 1996)

Philadelphia Brewing (Pennsylvania; 2008)

#Events

[businessresearchreportss]

Key Players and Brands in the Swedish Beverages Market

In the Swedish beverages market, several key players and brands dominate various segments, including soft drinks, alcoholic beverages, coffee, and fruit juices.

Buy the Full Report for More Category Insights into the Sweden Beverages Market, Download A Free Report Sample

Here are some of the notable players and brands:

The Coca-Cola Company: Coca-Cola is a major player in the Swedish soft drinks market, offering a wide range of carbonated beverages, including Coca-Cola, Fanta, Sprite, and Schweppes. The company's iconic brands enjoy strong brand recognition and market presence across Sweden.

PepsiCo: PepsiCo is another leading player in the Swedish soft drinks market, with brands such as Pepsi, Mirinda, 7Up, and Mountain Dew. The company competes directly with Coca-Cola in various beverage categories and maintains a significant market share.

Carlsberg Group: Carlsberg Group is one of the largest brewers in Sweden, producing a variety of beer brands, including Carlsberg, Tuborg, and Kronenbourg 1664. The company's portfolio also includes craft and specialty beer brands, catering to diverse consumer preferences.

Spendrups Bryggeri AB: Spendrups is a prominent Swedish brewery known for its locally produced beers, including Spendrups, Mariestads, and Norrlands Guld. The company emphasizes quality, sustainability, and innovation in its brewing practices, appealing to Swedish consumers' preferences for craft and premium beers.

Lavazza: Lavazza is a leading coffee brand in Sweden, offering a wide range of coffee products, including ground coffee, whole beans, and capsules. The company's Italian heritage and commitment to quality have contributed to its popularity among Swedish coffee enthusiasts.

Nespresso: Nespresso, a subsidiary of Nestlé, is known for its high-quality coffee machines and coffee capsules. The brand has a strong presence in the Swedish market, appealing to consumers seeking convenience and premium coffee experiences at home or in the office.

Oatly: Oatly is a Swedish company known for its plant-based milk alternatives, including oat milk, oat-based beverages, and dairy-free products. The brand has gained popularity among health-conscious consumers seeking sustainable and environmentally friendly alternatives to traditional dairy products.

Arla Foods: Arla Foods is a major dairy company in Sweden, offering a variety of milk-based beverages, including flavored milk, yogurt drinks, and dairy-based smoothies. The company's focus on quality, innovation, and sustainability aligns with consumer preferences for wholesome and nutritious dairy products.

Brämhults Juice AB: Brämhults Juice AB is a Swedish producer of premium fruit juices and smoothies, made from locally sourced fruits and berries. The company's products are known for their natural flavors, high quality, and commitment to sustainability, appealing to health-conscious consumers seeking pure and wholesome beverages.

Absolut Vodka: Absolut Vodka, produced by Pernod Ricard, is a globally recognized Swedish vodka brand known for its distinctive bottle design and smooth taste. The brand has a strong presence in both domestic and international markets, catering to consumers' preferences for premium and innovative spirits.

These key players and brands play a significant role in shaping the Swedish beverages market, offering a diverse range of products to meet consumer preferences and drive industry growth.

#Swedish beverages market

[nwbeerguide]

Schlafly Beer announce news location for the annual Stout & Oyster Festival to Schlafly Bottleworks, March 8th and 9th, 2024.

Press Release

ST. LOUIS, MO ... Schlafly Beer, the original, independent craft brewery in St. Louis, announces the highly anticipated return of its annual Stout & Oyster Festival on Friday, March 8, from 5 p.m. to 9 p.m. and Saturday, March 9, from 11 a.m. to 9 p.m. with a new location at Schlafly Bottleworks (7260 Southwest Ave, St. Louis, MO 63143). Schlafly’s Stout & Oyster Festival is the largest of its kind in the Midwest. Schlafly flies in over 50,000 oysters overnight from both coasts, hosts 20 seasoned oyster shuckers to shuck oysters live all weekend, and brews more than 12 stouts exclusively for the popular festival. The move to Maplewood offers a more conducive event layout for a festival of this size and also frees up the Schlafly Tap Room to prepare to host CITY SC fans before every match.

CEO David Schlafly states, “We look forward to the Stout & Oyster Festival every year, and Schlafly Bottleworks provides the perfect setting for attendees to be able to move about freely, enjoy the music with their families, and catch up with the shuckers. With the St. Louis CITY SC games starting up again at the end of February, our team is busy at work preparing the Tap Room to once again serve as a pregame destination for fans as the Saint Louligans support group.”  

The draw of the festival will be the same as years prior: specialty stouts, stories from the star shuckers, live music, and more. Click here to view a short video to get a taste of the festival fun. Schlafly works directly with oyster farmers, chefs, and more from across North America who attend the festival as the “star shuckers,” shucking oysters on-site all weekend. The event is free to attend, and guests pay for their preferred food and beer. To see complete details about Schlafly’s Stout & Oyster Festival, click here. 

The festival will have an exclusive draft pavilion where guests can grab any of the incredible stouts from the brewers themselves and chat about all things beer-related! The stout options will include: Mexican Chocolate, Irish Cream, Raspberry Coffee, Coffee Stout, and Oatmeal Stout. The tent will be the only location where guests can purchase their beer on draft.

The Schlafly brewing team will offer multiple new stouts, as well as rotating specialty stouts throughout the festival such as Horseradish Stout, Export Stout, Tropical Stout, BA Imperial Vanilla Pumpkin Stout, and BA Imperial Coconut Stout. A Kilderkin of Tabasco Oyster Stout will be available. The exclusive Tropical Stout will be a specialty event in the Draft Tent where guests get to watch their fresh tropical fruit be infused into their beer in real-time with a Randall Machine, a sophisticated filter system that allows the user to run draft beer through a chamber of whole-leaf hops, spices, herbs, fruit, etc. 

Other Schlafly favorite beers will also be available in 16oz. cans, including White Lager, Just a Bit Hazy IPA, Pale Ale, and more in the Schuckerdome and inside the brewpub. 

East Coast and West Coast shuckers will each offer an array of raw oyster varieties from their home coast at raw bars including Blue Points (East Coast), Malpeque (East Coast), Delaware Bay (East Coast), Totten Inlet (West Coast). Samish Bay (West Coast), and Chef Creek Oysters (West Coast) both inside the brewpub and outside in the “Shuckerdome” which will be located this year on the Bottleworks parking lot. Additionally, Fried Oysters, Oysters Rockefeller, and Oyster Chowder will be available. There will be a limited menu available inside the restaurant along with an inside bar serving all of Schlafly’s 16 draft styles and will accept cash.

In addition to the cast of “star shuckers,” Schlafly’s Stout & Oyster Festival offers a unique atmosphere with live music for the weekend. The full band schedule is as follows:

Friday, March 8:    

5:30 p.m. - 7:30 p.m.  - Funky Butt Brass Band

7:30 p.m. - 9:30 p.m. - Aaron Kamm And The One Drops

Saturday, March 9: 

12 p.m. - 1:00 p.m. - Sophisticated Babies

1:30 p.m. - 3:00  p.m. - Andy Coco's NOLA Funk & R&B Revue

3:00 p.m. - 5:00 p.m. - St. Boogie Brass Band

6:00 p.m. - 7:15 p.m. & 7:30 p.m. - 8:45 p.m. - Sean Canan's Voodoo Soul featuring Hilary Fitz & Tish Period 

DJ Red I Hi Fi will be performing inside the brewpub throughout the entire festival as well.

Schlafly’s Stout & Oyster Festival will be a credit card-only event with the exception of the bar inside of the brewpub. The event will continue rain-or-shine with tents prepared if a turn of the weather comes about. Seating of 450+ will be available for guests to enjoy their beer and food. Leashed dogs are welcome in the parking lot only. Dogs will not be allowed in any tents or inside the brewpub. Schlafly’s parking lot will have limited parking for the festival. There will be public parking available on the west side of the parking lot and several public lots nearby. Please be respectful of Schlafly’s neighbors. Police will be onsite for security throughout the entire festival and surrounding parking lots. The use of public transportation, cabs, Uber, and biking is highly encouraged. For lodging accommodations, Schlafly recommends their festival sponsor, The Cheshire Hotel (6300 Clayton Rd, Richmond Heights, MO 63117). For more information on Schlafly Beer, visit their website here. 

About Schlafly Beer: Schlafly Beer, St. Louis’ original independent craft brewery, proudly brews a diverse collection of beers throughout the year. Our brewers use numerous hop varietals, malts, grains, fruits, natural ingredients and yeast strains from around the world to make every Schlafly beer unique. As part of our commitment to sustainability and our communities, we collaborate with local suppliers and neighborhood partners. Schlafly is a go-to across the Midwest and East Coast, and is a staple at countless fine establishments, backyards and basement bars. Join us at The Schlafly Tap Room, Schlafly Bottleworks, Schlafly Bankside and Schlafly Highland Square, as well as on Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter. For a full listing of Schlafly beers and the beer finder, visit Schlafly.com.

#Schlafly Beer #Beer #Craft Beer #St. Louis #Missouri #MO #Press Release

[krsnaencore]

Enticing and Fresh Ideas: Wedding Anniversary Gifts for Your Husband

A wedding anniversary is a celebration of love, togetherness, companionship, understanding, and sharing. It's an excellent opportunity to express your endless love for your husband by presenting him with a thoughtful gift. Keeping things fresh, unique, and the celebration in rhythm, here are some innovative ideas for wedding anniversary gifts for your husband.

1. Personalized Handwriting Bracelet

A personalized handwriting bracelet can be an incredibly meaningful gift, acting as a wearable love letter. Engrave a special message in your handwriting, reminding him of your love every time it adorns his wrist.

2. Custom Leather Wallet

Gift your husband a sleek, compact leather wallet embossed with his initials. Practical yet sophisticated, this wedding anniversary gift will truly earn you a heartfelt smile.

3. Virtual Reality Set

Does your husband love tech gadgets? Gift him an immersive experience with a top-of-the-line Virtual Reality Set. He would love this escape to virtual realms, exploring, gaming, and adventuring.

4. Beer Subscription Box

If your better half is a beer enthusiast, a monthly beer subscription is a gift that keeps giving. It allows him to discover unique brews from all over the world, right from the comfort of home.

5. Sophisticated Espresso Machine

For the husband who can't start his day without a shot of caffeine, surprise him with a high-quality espresso machine. Every time he brews a cup, he'll remember this thoughtful gift.

6. Tactical Grilling Aprons

Combine your husband's love for grilling and practicality with a tactical grilling apron. It's a fun, unique yet practical gift, especially if he's a grilling enthusiast.

7. Wisely-Chosen Watch

A watch is a timeless piece of accessory. Choose a unique timepiece that matches his style. Consider getting it engraved with a personal message to make it exceptionally special.

8. Star Map Print

Gift him a customized star map print that shows the alignment of the stars on your wedding day. This is sure to touch his heart and ignite memories of the day you both bonded for life.

9. Engraved BBQ Tools Set

If he rules over the grill during family barbecues, an engraved BBQ toolset will make a fantastic gift. It is not just useful but also personal.

10. Travel Tech Organizer

Keep his travel essentials organized with a stylish, multi-compartment tech organizer. A perfect pick for your gadget-loving husband who's always ready for his next adventure.

11. Bespoke Wine Tasting Class

Enroll him in a personalized wine tasting class if he enjoys discovering new wines. It's a great gift for someone who appreciates fine wine and is keen on learning about different varieties.

When shopping for wedding anniversary gifts for your husband, the best approach is to consider his interests and lifestyle and find a gift that not only celebrates your love but also speaks to his soul. From classic accessories with a modern twist to innovative gadgets and personalized items, these fresh gift ideas are sure to make your husband feel loved and adored on this special day.