#they low key screwing with my boy Tim as well

[elementalwriter67]

The Vagabond and his Buddy Part Two

Pairings: (past) Jeremwood, (present?) Raywood(?)

Word Count: 6848

Part One

Summary: Jeremy finds out something he never thought was possible.

“Hey guys, do any of you know where Golden Boy is?” Rimmy Tim asked as he walked into the living room of the penthouse to find Mogar, Vagabond, and Brownman sitting there. Mogar was sitting in Geoff’s arm chair, slouched down with his feet up on the coffee table while the Vagabond and Brownman occupied the ‘L’ shaped couch. Vagabond was sitting with one leg up on the coffee table and one of his arms up on the back of the couch giving Brownman with the space to lean against his side. While Brownman was leaning against the Vagabond’s side he was playing Pokemon with his DS resting on his knees.

“Sup Rimjob.” Brownman commented not bothering to look away from his DS as he continued the battle that he was currently in. Rimmy Tim rolled his eyes in response, crossing his arms over his chest, frowning at Brownman from behind his mouth mask. 

“Ha ha, very funny Brownman, it’s not like I haven’t heard that one a thousand times before.” Rimmy Tim grumbled and Brownman smirked as he glanced up at Rimmy Tim. 

“Thank you, I thought it was pretty funny too.” Brownman commented before turning back to his game and Rimmy Tim gave him a dead-pan expression holding back his urge to fire back with another sarcastic comment. He had a job to do and it did not involve standing here arguing with Brownman over a stupid nickname especially when Brownman didn’t even care in the first place about his argument.

“What do I look like his fucking keeper? No I don’t know where fucking Golden Boy is.” Mogar grumbled not bothering to look up from whatever he was doing on his phone. Rimmy Tim narrowed his eyes at Mogar, it was a well known fact that Golden Boy and Mogar were practically attached at the hip so may God help Mogar if he was texting Golden Boy right now telling him that Rimmy Tim as looking for him. Rimmy Tim was going to fucking kill him.

“Gee thanks guys, you’ve all been a big fuckin help.” Rimmy Tim grumbled when Vagabond didn’t answer after he gave him a couple of seconds. Turning away from them all he went to walk away from them all and go search the rest of the penthouse when his arm was suddenly grabbed freezing him in his tracks. Looking down at his arm he followed the arm of the gloved hand to find that it had been Vagabond who had grabbed him and Rimmy Tim felt his heart literally stop for a solid millisecond as brown eyes met shadowed icy blue. Upon meeting those eyes Rimmy Tim’s life flashed before his eyes as the icy cold feeling of dread settled over him. This was it. This was the end. The Vagabond had grabbed him, he was marked for death now, Vagabond never touched anyone outside of main crew unless he was going to kill them. So this was it, this was the end, Rimmy Tim would be lucky if he made it tomorrow, hell if he lasted the whole week.

“Try his bedroom.” Vagabond rumbled his voice low and emotionless as he continued to watch Rimmy Tim. 

“W-What?” Rimmy Tim muttered out blinking dumbly at him a couple of times, that had not been the death threat he had been expecting. 

“Geez V, I think you just broke Rimmy Tim.” Brownman commented as he looked up at Rimmy Tim an amused looking smirk on his face. 

“Forget breaking him, I think V just made him shit his pants.” Mogar stated his tone amused as he watched the exchanged chuckling quietly to himself. Vagabond rolled his eyes glancing briefly at the other two, shooting them both an annoyed look that only caused them to chuckle. 

“Quiet both of you. Check Golden Boy’s room, if he’s not where he’s supposed to be he’s probably hiding in his room.” Vagabond explained to him as he let go. Rimmy Tim blinked a couple of more times at him before his brain caught up with what was going on. 

“R-Right… right yeah, thanks. Thank you Vagabond.” Rimmy Tim said as he nodded his head. Vagabond watched him for a couple more seconds before turning back to the TV and going back to pretending that Rimmy Tim wasn’t even there. As soon as the Vagabond’s attention was no longer on him Rimmy Tim all but ran out of the living room desperate to get away from the humiliation of what had just happened. 

Mogar and Brownman’s laughter and teasing echoed down the hallway but Rimmy Tim ignored them as he stood in front of Golden Boy’s room shaking off the remaining feelings of fear and dread. Taking a couple of deep calming breaths he steeled himself and raised his hand knocking on Golden Boy’s door. 

“Golden Boy, you in there?” Rimmy Tim asked as he knocked on the door. He waited for a couple of seconds for a response but when nothing came he knocked again.

“Hello?” He called out pressing his ear to the door straining to hear some sort of noise coming from the room to signal that Golden Boy was in there. The manic clicking of keys signalling that he was at his computer, or the sound of a video game being played, something, anything, to signal that the Golden Boy was in there and awake but there was nothing. And if there was nothing on in the room then that meant one of two things; Golden Boy was either not in his room or he was sleeping and Rimmy Tim was willing to bet it was the later because Golden Boy was the second most notorious night owl of the whole crew. 

“Damn it Golden Boy! Open the fucking door! You were supposed to be at the meeting with Kingpin forty fucking minutes ago!” Rimmy Tim shouted as he banged on Golden Boy’s door this time, hoping to wake him up from whatever exhausted sleep he had fallen into. Once again there was no response to his knocking. 

Sighing in frustration Rimmy Tim looked around the hallway making sure that no one else was around before turning back to Golden Boy’s door. ‘Fine you want to pretend to not hear me you annoying Brit, then I’ll just drag you to the fucking meeting myself’ Rimmy Tim thought to himself as he tried the door handle finding the door to be unlocked. Throwing open the door Jeremy stepped into Golden Boy’s bedroom his eyes doing a quick scan of the room to find that Golden Boy hadn’t fallen asleep at his desk, and that there was a suspiciously human shaped lump on his bed. Glaring at the mound on Golden Boy’s bed Rimmy Tim walked over to it and grabbed a hold of the blankets. 

“Alright Golden, enough screwing around it’s time to wake the fuck up and get the fuck out.” Rimmy Tim grumbled as he yanked the blankets off the bed only to find that Golden Boy wasn’t actually underneath the blankets. Rimmy Tim stared at the empty bed for a solid several seconds before throwing the blankets down with an annoyed huff. 

“Where the fuck is he?” Rimmy Tim grumbled as he walked away from the bed, scanning the room for any sign of where Golden Boy might be hiding. As he scanned the room his eyes caught on a manila folder that was perched precariously on the edge of Golden Boy’s desk with the initials RH written on the tab. If Rimmy Tim was a better man maybe he would have left the folder well enough alone, would have just written it off as Golden doing some main crew work for Kingpin, but because Rimmy Tim wasn’t a better man he was going to do the opposite of that. He checked to make sure that no one was there and upon seeing no one he made his way over to the desk, careful to pull it out so that nothing else on the desk was disturbed. Turning his back to the door Rimmy Tim flipped open the folder, his heart stopping and his whole body tensing when he saw what was in the folder. 

There sitting in the folder like it belonged there, like it belonged here in Golden Boy’s room was the profile of the man that he had long since lost, that had long since died.

“Why the fuck does he have this?” Rimmy Tim muttered as he started reading the pages. He had to make sure that this was actually Ryan’s profile, that this was his Battle Buddies profile, the steadily growing ball of anxiety in his stomach forcing him to relive the past he wanted to forget. 

‘Name: James Ryan Haywood’ underneath Ryan’s name someone had crossed out what his age had been at the time of making the profile and instead had written down ‘39.’  But other than that all of the information was correct, the date of birth, the place he was born, what he looked like, how tall he was. Hell the picture stapled to the file, while old, was Ryan there was no doubt about it. But still why on earth would Golden Boy have this in the first place? Rimmy Tim had made damn sure that there were no traces of his past left for someone to find, he had gone through and wiped everything and anything that could have been about him or Ryan. So how did Golden Boy even find this?

Shaking his head Rimmy Tim pushed the questions aside, those were things he could ask Golden Boy once he had found him and the two of them were alone. For now he settled for flipping through the pages of the file his hands shaking slightly as emotion after emotion crashed into him. 

‘Notes: 12/12/2001- Haywood will make an excellent field agent the man has excelled in all of his training both physically and virtually. There is no doubt in my mind that this man will become one of the agency’s most elite soldiers. We’ll be field testing him soon to see how well he will operate.’

‘07/13/2002- Haywood has proven once again that he is an excellent agent. Within the past seven months that man has successfully completed all missions and assignments given to him. General Smith is thinking of putting him in for a promotion.’

‘10/31/2003- While Haywood has made great strides as a solo operative command can’t help but think that the man might benefit from having a partner, and while Haywood would like to disagree with them on that I can’t help but believe that they’re right. Haywood while good in the field has become closed off to the rest of the agents and has begun to isolate himself, behavior like that from a senior officer has started to worry those in command and those around him. People fear that if he continues down this path he might become damaged without having someone to share the burden of this line of work with.’

‘11/01/2003- Haywood will be getting a partner.’

‘12/01/2003- We informed Haywood today that he would be receiving our newest recruit needless to say he was not pleased about learning that a newbie would be his partner. We however believe that Dooley will make an excellent partner for Haywood, seeing as the kid has already started to excel in his training and become top of his class.’

‘5/10/2004- Despite his early disapproval of having Dooley as his partner the two of them seem to be getting along like a house on fire. In the six months that they’ve known each other they’ve become practically inseparable and absolutely impossible to deal with. It seems that we may have underestimated Dooley’s ability to get Haywood to come out of his isolation because now not only is he out of his isolation but Haywood and Dooley have started causing a fair amount of mischief around the building. This week alone I have filed three separate incident reports involving those two and their inabilities to keep their mouths shut. Despite their ability to cause mischief however the two of them make a fine pair and have become the agency’s go to team for any team related mission.’

‘5/20/2004- Dooley and Haywood would like me to make it known in their records that they’re team name is now team Battle Buddies, and that they would like to be referred to as such from now on. May the Lord help us all they’ve named themselves.’

‘5/22/2005- Agent Dooley and Agent Haywood were caught once again making out in a corridor by Agent Lie Ren that marks the tenth incident this week in which they have been caught and tried to play it off like that wasn’t what they were doing. Sometimes me and the higher ups wonder if we should tell them that we know they’ve been in a relationship for almost the past year or so, but then we think that it’s much more fun to watch them scramble about trying to hide their relationship. As if the whole agency doesn’t know they’re dating, though I will admit they are much more subtle than Agent Ren and Agent Valkyrie.’

‘06/10/2007- Agent York won the bet much to Agent North, Agent Carolina, and Agent Washington’s displeasure. Two years, six months, and ten days, Haywood and Dooley finally came clean to us that they were in fact dating and have been for a while. Agent Washington is currently pouting in his room because he’s now down fifty bucks.’

A small smile tugged at Jeremy’s lips as he read over more of the notes made by their commanding officer. It had been forever since he had thought about some of these memories, not wanting to remember them all because they hurt too much. As he flipped to the last page his eyes widened slightly both in shock and confusion as the neatly typed writing turned to the choppy scrawl of the Brit that he had come searching for. Reading what Golden Boy had written on an extra page Jeremy felt his heart clenched painfully as his hands started shaking. His stomach filled with a hot burning sensation as he stared at the page processing the information in front of him. 

“Rimmy.” Golden Boy said as he froze in his doorway staring at the purple back of his crew mate. Jeremy didn’t move as he continued to stare at the piece of paper in front of him. Gavin took a cautious step into his room, peering around Jeremy to see what he was looking at and upon seeing the manila folder in his hand Gavin paled. 

“I’m sorry. I tried to keep the two of them apart, I really did.” Gavin said as he gently closed the door behind him trying not to provoke the tense killer in front of him. 

“How long?” Jeremy asked his voice barely above a whisper. Gavin’s brow furrowed in confusion as he took another step towards Jeremy.

“What was that Tim?” Gavin asked trying to keep his tone light and emotionless. 

“How long?” Jeremy’s voice was slightly louder this time but still Gavin wasn’t sure what he had said as he took another step forward. 

“I’m sorry, but can you repeat that one more time?” Gavin asked.

“I said HOW LONG?!” Jeremy shouted as he suddenly whipped around the closed file clenched tightly in his fists as he glared at Gavin. Gavin squawked in fear as he jumped back from Jeremy, never before had he been so glad that he had had his bedroom soundproof than he was right now. 

“I… I ah… well you see-”, “Damn it Golden how fucking long?!” Jeremy interrupted him raising the hand holding the file like he was going to hit Gavin. Gavin flinched away from the hand, holding up both of his in a surrender fashion. 

“Three months. I’ve known for three months.” Gavin squawked and Jeremy froze where he stood his entire body going rigid as he stared at Gavin. Jeremy’s eyes were wide in shock and disbelief as he stared at Gavin his brain slowly processing what the Brit had just said. Gavin didn’t dare say a word as he watched Jeremy.

“Three months… You’ve known my real name and Ryan’s real name for three months… you’ve known what we meant to each other for three whole fucking months… you’ve known for THREE MONTHS?! THREE FUCKING MONTHS AND YOU DIDN’T BOTHER TO TELL EITHER OF US THAT THE OTHER WAS ALIVE?!” Jeremy shouted violently throwing the file down and Gavin took another step back, his back hitting the wall. This was a side of Jeremy that he had never seen before and if he was being quite honest with himself he did not like this side of Jeremy at all. 

“I swear I was going to… at first.” Gavin said not meeting Jeremy’s eyes. Jeremy’s entire body was tense as his eyes narrowed at Gavin.

“What do you mean, at first?” Jeremy asked his voice startlingly calm and a terrified shiver raced down Gavin’s spine as he felt the heat from Jeremy’s death glare on him. 

“At first I was going to corner the two of you and say I knew what the two of you were but then I saw the way that the two of you acted around each other on the few heists that you’ve helped us on, how in sync the two of you were when you’d be teamed up together. How easily V just talks when you’re around, he doesn’t talk around the other B-Team members, won’t even acknowledge them but with you he acknowledge your presence and is willing to work with you, he’s not like that with the other B-Team members. So I just sort of thought that the two of you already knew that the other one was alive, that you were both in the same crew but then I saw how V and Brownman started getting closer, and closer, and well by the time I realized that neither of you knew it was too late.” Gavin explained and Jeremy stood there silently staring at him for so long that Gavin couldn’t help but look up at him to see a confused, and slightly shocked look on Jeremy’s face. 

“Getting...closer?” Jeremy muttered to himself looking away from Gavin for a second as the image of Vaga-Ryan sitting on the couch with Brownman leaning against his side. A position that the two of them had sat in countless times when they were watching TV in the agency common room. 

Another image of a time Jeremy had walked into the planning room in search of Geoff only to find the Brownman flirting shamelessly with the Vagabond who was leaning against the wall. Then one of when he’d just arrived at the Penthouse’s garage to see the Vagabond pinning the Brownman against one of Vagabond’s own cars his masked face suspiciously close to Brownman’s. Then all the times that Jeremy had even seen the two of them interact, the ease and flow that Brownman interacted with the usually silent Vagabond how Brownman would easily drape himself over Vagabond in either joking or flirtatious. All the jokes the others would make about the two of them getting together, the betting pool that B-Team had running for the same thing. The looks, the stares, the concern about the other and the stupid team name for the two of them all things that Jeremy and Ryan used to do.Jeremy’s chest tightened almost painfully as his hands balled into fists and he stared at the ground. He felt like he was going to throw up, scream, and cry all at the same time. It felt just like when he learned that Ryan had died, that he was gone and wasn’t coming back. 

Jeremy groaned as he turned his head to the side everything felt fuzzy and warm, like his body had just been wrapped up in a blanket fresh from the dryer. It was so warm and soft that he almost didn’t want to wake up all he wanted to do was let the warmth lull him back to sleep, and he planned on doing just that but just as he was about to fall back asleep the memories of the past 24 hours slammed into him and his eyes snapped open. Instantly he groaned again the harsh fluorescent lights nearly blinding him, blinking a couple of times he allowed his eyes enough time to recover from the sudden brightness. Scanning the room he search for any hidden danger, his ears straining to hear any beeping that might be coming from a bomb, but all he heard was that of his heart monitor. When he was certain that there was no danger in the room his eyes traveled away from the door and too his bedside expecting to see Ryan sitting next to him sound asleep in the chair only to find that it was empty. 

Jeremy’s brow furrowed in confusion upon not seeing Ryan sitting next to him. The two of them always made sure to be there whenever the other one was in the hospital, even if it meant defying orders the other would remain by their side. So it was strange that Ryan was sitting next to him, unless he got up to go to the bathroom or to grab something to eat, yeah that was probably it, he would be back any moment. Just as Jeremy thought that he heard movement going on outside the door and instantly he perked up sitting up a little straighter, wincing as he pulled the stitches he hadn’t felt until now. His mood however fell when the only person who walked through the door was a nurse.

“Oh! Good you’re awake.” The nurse commented as she walked into the room a pleasant smile on her face as she walked over to him, grabbing the clipboard off the edge of the bed. 

“How are you feeling Mr. Dooley?” The nurse asked and Jeremy opened his mouth to respond only for a wheezing rasp to be let out instead as he winced, his hand flying up to grab at his throat as pain shot through it. The nurse seemed to notice this immediately as she rushed over to his bed side, he tried to turn his head to look at what she was doing but the action only served to make him dizzy. 

“Here drink this.” The nurse said as she handed him a cup of water, the bed rising up so that he was in a sitting position. Jeremy gave her a thankful expression as he took the cup from her hand and drank as much of the cool liquid as his body would allow. 

“Better?” The nurse asked when Jeremy handed her back the empty cup. 

“Much… thank you.” Jeremy’s voice came out as nothing more than a hoarse whisper and the nurse gave him a sympathetic look before she went back to looking over his chart and writing things down as she looked at the machinery. Jeremy watched her for a moment, trying to gather the strength to ask her if she had seen Ryan when she turned away from him and started walking towards the door. 

“I’ll let Dr. Smith and the young man who had brought you in, know that you are awake.” The nurse said right before she left the room. Jeremy perked up at the mention of a young man, ‘that had to be Ry, there was no way it could have been anyone else, it couldn’t be.’ A large smile spread across his face at the idea of seeing Ryan, of knowing that the two of them had survived the attack on the agency, that the two of them were alive and well. Plus he was sure that Ryan was worried sick about him… actually now that he thought about it, it was weird that Ryan wasn’t right besides him to begin with, usually he was whenever Jeremy ended up in the hospital. 

The sound of the door opening pulled Jeremy out of his thoughts and he looked up from his lap to the door as the person he assumed was Dr. Smith walked into the room, the nurse trailing behind him. His face fell silently when he saw no sign of Ryan trying to push his way into the room and Dr. Smith smiled kindly at him as he walked up to him setting the clip board with Jeremy’s paperwork down on the table next to his bed. 

“So, Mr. Dooley tell me how are you feeling?” Dr. Smith asked as he put on his stethoscope and pressed it against Jeremy’s chest. Jeremy was silent for a moment before looking up at Dr. Smith. 

“Like I got… hit by a truck.” Jeremy rasped out. His voice still sounded like shit and the nurse reached behind Dr. Smith poured him another glass and handing it over to Jeremy when Smith was done listening to his heart beat. Jeremy gave the nurse another grateful look before gulping the water down, his throat already feeling a little better. 

“I’m sure you do, that’s to be expected when a man survives a propane explosion.” Dr. Smith stated as he moved on to checking Jeremy’s lungs. 

“Other than feeling like you were just hit by a truck, how are you feeling?” Dr. Smith asked and Jeremy was silent for another moment before answering. 

“My throat is a little sore, and my legs feel stiff, like really stiff, and I can’t feel bits of my body.” Jeremy said, his voice still sounded a little rough but it was better than it had been. Though his throat still hurt like a mother fucker. 

“You inhaled a lot of smoke it’s only natural that your throat would be so raw, the more water you drink the better your throat should get. As for the stiffness and the numbness those would be because of what happened to you during the explosion. During the explosion a wooden beam fell on you and knocked you out, it’s a miracle that you made it out of there alive, so needless to say when you came in you were covered in third degree burns. The burns were worse where the beam had pinned you down, we injected the area with a higher does of pain meds and human growth hormones to help stimulate the cell growth there.” Dr. Smith explained and Jeremy nodded his head as Smith wrote something down on his chart.

“If you don’t mind, I would actually like to check on your wounds make sure they’re healing properly.” Dr. Smith stated. 

“Knock yourself out doc.” Jeremy said and they all lapsed into silence as Dr. Smith looked him over muttering things to himself that Jeremy couldn’t make out but the nurse seemed to understand cause she had taken to writing whatever the Dr said down.

“Alright everything seems to be working properly, I’ll let your friend know that you can take a visitor now that I’ve looked you over.” Dr. Smith said and an eager look crossed his face as Dr. Smith and the nurse left the room. Jeremy’s face fell however when he saw who walked through the door. 

“Wash? What are you doing here?” Jeremy asked, and Washington gave him a small unsure smile as he stopped at the foot of his bed looking down at him. 

“Hey Dooley, how are you feeling?” Washington asked instead and Jeremy’s brow furrowed in confusion, he was starting to get concerned about what was going on. 

“I feel like I just got run over by a fuckin semi truck, but that’s not important. Where’s Ryan?” Jeremy asked noticing the way that Washington tensed up at the mention of Ryan’s name and his concern turned to worry as his brow furrowed even more. Washington was silent for a moment, his eyes looking everywhere but at Jeremy as he struggled to find something else to talk about. 

“Washington, where is Ryan?” Jeremy pressed and Washington sighed heavily, his shoulders dropping and his gaze meeting Jeremy’s. The solemn look on Washington’s face caused Jeremy’s stomach to drop as Washington pulled his hands out of his pockets and tossed something on to Jeremy’s lap. Jeremy’s face furrowed in confusion as he lifted his hands and picked up the shard of metal that Wash had thrown onto his lap and his heart stopped as his eyes widened. 

“No. No. No. This isn’t possible, how did you get this?” Jeremy asked looking up at Wash who gave Jeremy a sympathetic look. 

“Maine found it when he went back in looking for survivors.” Wash said and Jeremy looked back down at the broken dog tag cupped in his hands, Ryan’s name was split right down the middle. Jeremy shook his head as his hands wrapped around the dog tag hot tears starting to prick at his eyes. 

“No, no, that’s not possible. I saw him get out. I pushed him out the window, he was outside before the building exploded, there’s no way he’s gone, he can’t be. He got out. I made sure that he got out.” Jeremy said as he shook his head, his hands trembling slightly as he struggled to make sense of what was happening. 

“Griff said he saw him running back into the building after the second explosion, he must have gone back in looking for you.” Washington said and Jeremy shook his head his hand tightening around Ryan’s broken dog tag. 

“No. No. No, this has to be a mistake, he isn’t dead. He isn’t. He can’t be. You’re lying.” Jeremy said as he screwed his eyes closed against the tears. Washington balled his hands into fists as he looked down at the ground his whole body tense.

“There’s more than just that.” Wash said his voice solemn as he continued to look down at the ground. 

“More?” Jeremy asked his voice strained from holding back the emotions threatening to over take him. 

“We found a body… it’s charred and nearly unrecognizable but it matches Ryan’s DNA and description. It’s Ryan Jeremy.” Washington said and Jeremy felt his heart stop and he was silent for several seconds processing Wash’s words before he spoke again. 

“No.” Jeremy said, his voice firm like through sheer force of will alone he could change everything that’s happened in the past couple of hours. 

“Jeremy-” “NO! YOU’RE LYING!! YOU HAVE TO BE! I SAW HIM GET AWAY! I SAW HIM GET OUT BEFORE THE SECOND EXPLOSION WENT OFF!! HE’S NOT DEAD! HE CAN’T BE!” Jeremy shouted interrupting whatever Wash was about to say and Wash cringed away from him.

“Jeremy you need to calm down.” Wash said raising his hands in a calming manner as he took a step towards Jeremy who glared at him.

“Calm down? Calm down?! I don’t need to calm down! What I need to do is get out of this fucking hospital bed and go find him because there’s no fucking way that he’s dead!” Jeremy shouted as he moved to stand up and Wash took another step forward. 

“Jeremy stand down now! That is an order!” Wash stated doing his best to sound serious and Jeremy actually snarled at him as he threw the blankets off of him revealing his heavily bandaged body. 

“Screw you and your orders!” Jeremy shouted as he tried to sit up and Wash rushed over to push him back down. 

“You need to stay in bed!” Wash shouted as he held him down and Jeremy struggled against him trying to shove him off. 

“NO! What I need to do is find him! I have to find him Wash! He’s not dead! He’s not dead! I have to find him!” Jeremy shouted shoving at Wash’s hands. His meditated state and the fact that he wouldn’t let go of Ryan’s dog tag making the action far more difficult than it needed to be. 

“He’s dead Jeremy you need to accept that!” Wash shouted back holding down a struggling Jeremy. Jeremy’s head whipped side to side as the tears he had been holding back finally started streaming down his face. 

“STOP LYING TO ME!!! RYAN’S NOT DEAD!! HE’S NOT!!! YOU’RE WRONG!! HE CAN’T BE DEAD!! HE CAN’T BE!!! HE WOULDN’T LEAVE ME LIKE THAT!!! YOU’RE LYING!!” Jeremy screamed thrashing and clawing at Wash who took it all like it was no more than a child throwing a tantrum. Jeremy felt his heart break as he looked into the eyes of his commanding officer who stared back a solemn look on his face.

“He’s dead Jeremy. Ryan’s gone. The sooner you accept that the sooner you can move on.” Washington said doing his best to keep his voice emotionless, he never did like seeing one of his friends in pain. 

“NO, no, no, no, no, NO! NO! HE’S NOT DEAD! HE’S NOT DEAD!” Jeremy shouted and in a sudden burst of strength he surged up, heading butting Wash right in the nose and causing him to stumble away from Jeremy as his hand flew up to hold his bleeding nose. Jeremy used that time to rip the IV out of his arm before he pushed himself up and off of the bed, standing on unsteady and numb legs he slowly started making his way to the door using the bed as support. 

“NURSE! NURSE! WE HAVE A PATIENT ESCAPING!” Washington shouted as he let go of his bleeding nose and rushed forward to grab Jeremy his arms wrapping around his chest, careful of the bandages. 

“No! Let go of me! Let go! I have to go find him! I have to make sure he’s ok! He’s not dead! He can’t be dead! Let go of me! Let go!” Jeremy shouted as he struggled to get away from Wash as the nurse burst into the room looking startled at the sight in front of her.

“Sir, sir please, you need to calm down or else I’m going to have to sedate you.” The nurse warned him once she had recovered from the shock of seeing him up and about in the first place. Jeremy shook his head. 

“No, stay away from me! Stay away!” Jeremy shouted as he continued to struggle, trying to get away from both the nurse and agent Washington who shifted his grip just enough so that he could get one of Jeremy’s arms locked in an easy access position for the nurse. 

“I said stay away!” Jeremy shouted as the nurse came closer, pulling out a syringe. Washington looked at the nurse and nodded his head as she grabbed Jeremy’s arm. 

“No! No! Please! Please don’t! Please! Stop! I just want to find him! Please!” Jeremy begged, his voice cracking slightly at the end as he sobbed and the nurse jabbed him with the needle. Jeremy continued to struggle for a couple more moments as together Wash and the nurse managed to get Jeremy backup on to his bed. 

“No… no… he’s not dead… he’s not… dead… he wouldn’t… he wouldn’t leave me… like this… he promised… he promised we’d go out together.” Jeremy muttered as he fell limp against the bed, his eyes drooping closed as the medication finally took full effect and his world went dark. 

“Rimmy are you-” Gavin was cut off when Jeremy’s fist slammed into his jaw snapping his head to the side and effectively stopping the hand that had been reaching out to touch him. 

“Find your own fucking way to the meeting you piece of fucking shit.” Jeremy growled as he shoved past Gavin, making sure to slam him into the wall as he passed by him. Jeremy slammed Golden Boy’s door shut behind him as he stalked out of the penthouse, ignoring the questions that were thrown at him by Mogar and Brownman. His stomach twisted painfully at the thought of Brownman and he hurried even more to get to the door, he needed to get out of there before he did something he was going to regret.

Skipping the elevator Jeremy all but ran down the stairs, and by the time he reached the Fakes personal garage his breath was coming in short jagged puffs as he struggled to get air in. Jeremy fell back against the wall of the garage and slowly slid down it as he struggled to breath past the sobs threatening to escape and the tears burning his eyes. After all this time he was alive. Ryan was actually alive and he was here in Los Santos, in the same crew as him, he was right here all this time. Jeremy could have been with him this whole time, the two of them could have been together this whole time if Golden Boy had just opened his big stupid fucking mouth! But no instead Golden Boy kept his mouth shut and now Ryan had moved on, had forgotten all about his battle buddy, had gone and fallen in love with someone else. Someone that wasn’t him, someone that was probably better than Jeremy in every way imaginable and it was all Golden Boy’s fault! It was all… his fault. If he had just looked harder, if he had just searched a little more early on, if he hadn’t so readily believed Wash’s words, if he had been quicker during the fire, if he had just been better then none of this would have happened, then the two of them would still be together but that wasn’t the case, that would never be the case not now anyways.

“Rimmy Tim?” Jeremy froze at the sound of Ryan’s voice. It was gruffer than before but it was so unmistakably Ryan, how had he never noticed before? How had he been so stupid before as to not notice that it was Ryan under that mask?

“What do you want V?” Jeremy asked and he cringed at the crack in his voice as he reached up and hurriedly whipped away tears, forcing himself to calm down as much as he could. The last thing he needed was for Ryan to see him like this, especially since Ryan didn’t even know who he was in the first place. 

“To know why you came here looking for Golden Boy and then proceeded to leave without him to come hide in the basement.” Ryan stated as he walked up to stand on the other side of the car, not coming around yet respecting Jeremy’s privacy. 

Jeremy was silent for a moment fighting against the urge to get up and seek comfort in his arms like he used too while mentally debating on what to do. On whether or not he should tell Ryan or keep it secret because if Ryan had moved on from him then who was he to bring back a ghost from the past that he so clearly wanted to forget? Who was he to take away the man’s happiness in some selfish search of love and desperation to return to a life that he honestly should have moved on from a long time ago, but found himself unable to. He was unable to move past the man that had stolen his heart so absolutely that he couldn’t even imagine loving another person let alone another man unless they were him. Ryan clearly didn’t feel the same though and that only served to make his heart break more as he clenched his hands into fists and forced himself to stand up acting as casual as he could. 

“Yeah well, the stupid Brit said something that pissed me off so he can get his own ass to the meeting for all I care.” Jeremy said, keeping his tone light and as emotionless as possible. He had never been more grateful for the fact that he was wearing sunglasses and a face mask than he was in this moment. 

“Now if you don’t mind I have other things to do, so I’ll just be going.” Jeremy stated as he went to walk around Ryan, heading towards his orange and purple car. As he moved to get around Ryan though his hand shot out, his grip bruising tight on his elbow as he pulled Jeremy close to him his ice blue eyes hard as he looked down at Jeremy. 

“If you ever hit one of my crew members again, I don’t care who you are or what Geoff says I will kill you.” Ryan all but growled and a small sad smile crossed Jeremy’s lips as he looked up at him, funny before he was saying that warning to people trying to hurt Jeremy now he was saying it to Jeremy. 

“Warning received Sargent.” Jeremy saluted as he ripped his arm out of Ryan’s grip and stalked over to his bike fighting back the returning wave of guilt and grief.

#Jeremwood #past battle buddies #little bit of ramwood #this isn't the update that #anyone wanted but it's the #one you're all getting #so enjoy #angst #hurt #death #swearing #golden boy #mogar #brownman

[frenchtoastpanda]

The Leverage finale

Gonna rant in public because @rainaramsay expressed interest. I have no theme this is just my thoughts as I rewatch this episode. Idk why I’m doing this. (Also I don’t know how to format, so sorry about that)

Oh right I forgot that this is a fucking sad episode why am I doing this to myself

Ooh the return of the Steranko! I am very glad they brought that back

I just love when they bring things back in general, like in the white rabbit job all of the companies looking to buy dogson are previous marks and how they have like three brand names for safes that they reuse a lot. It just makes it feel like a real world that people live in.

The theater! Perfect for Sophie! And the mentioned the tunnels, which I believe we encountered in the gold job

Sophie says “I have just the thing” and my immediate response is always “the play’s the thing” even though I know it’s from a different play than the one they are doing

And can we talk about how they are doing the same play as the pilot? Actually I will probably yell about that closer to the end

Parker being all emotionally cognizant and Nate just reciting physics formulas in response

God I love this bit (and I love that they are still including references to Nate’s alcoholism)

Just, Parker, the new mastermind, who doesn’t “let feelings get in the way” (like Hardison - this is the reason he can’t be the mastermind, much to his chagrin. He’s too much of a cinnamon roll)

Nate says she spins problems like puzzle pieces until they click, but I think it’s more like juggling all the fiddly bits inside a lock until it clicks open

HE TRUSTS HER HE TRUSTS HER HE TRUSTS HER!!!!!!!

Zachary is the lead! Love him!

Sophie saying she doesn’t miss acting at all 😏

She is a good director, though

"I'm exactly where I belong" I'm gonna die I am so happy for all of them

Oh no here we go

Cut right to Nate covered in cuts being interrogated about the mistakes he made

"Mr. Ford, how did your friends die?" CUT TO COMMERCIAL

This must have killed me the first time around

I do love this investigator though. I think I remember from the commentary that it wasn't originally supposed to be her, but it worked out really well

Nate looking around like he's confused (and trapped) while not being able to put together a full sentence (I'm not sure if I ever developed a solid headcannon for how much of this scene was him faking and how much was actual injuries from the actual crash) (I'm open to ideas!)

Ellen giving a vicious predatory little smile when she says that she's here to help him

I wish I could do gifs or screencaps or something. This is one of my absolute favorite callbacks! Parker in that little black bonnet thing jumping off a building having the time of her life and the boys do their "twenty pounds of crazy in a five pound bag" thing (whuch my autocorrect recognized as a phrase for some reason? Do I really yell about that but enough for it to suggest those words in that order? Fantastic)

But this time their faces and voices are full of affection. She may be an insane thief/mastermind, but she's OUR insane thief/mastermind

And coming after the white rabbit job where we had that line about how she's not and never has been crazy, the fact that you can tell they are saying this as a callback without meaning the crazy part is just perfect

It makes me wonder how many other times they have repeated this, because you can't convince me they haven't

Aah Sophie's horrible rendition of Lady Macbeth! Same speech, different ways of doing it just as badly (props to Gina Bellman)

Is this the same outfit? Hold on I need to check.

Y'know, I didn't think they changed that much physically over the years, given that they are adults, but going back to the pilot, I keep going awww look how tiny they were! (Especially Aldis. Like I know they had problems because he was getting too hot and ripped, but Damn)

Anyway, the dress is very very similar, same color and pattern, but it very slightly different. I will maybe post my very very horrible pictures after I finish this

Parker is so good at computers now that she has this adorably bored face when hacking! I love that they taught each other their stuff!

Using chaos as a distraction and co-opting the expected response as a cover! One of my favorite tricks!

Parker changing in the elevator! And the boys turning to give her privacy! And this isn't even the first time they did a callback to this! I love my respectful boys! Remember when Hardison turned the David around? So pure!

Ah, we are setting up for competency porn and then it all goes bad! Aah!

I love Eliot's little "wassup?" Before fighting the guy. Points for intimidation, Spencer

My stronk babies opening an elevator with their fingertips

And Hardison's recurrent fear of heights combined with Parker's love of them

She says "I got you" (twice)

Oh god Beth's acting in the elevator shafts

Oh I'm gonna cry

Oh and a "dammit Hardison"

Oh Gina's face

Even in a situation as tense as this, Eliot still takes the time to empty the gus and toss it away

I don't think I've ever seen him check for an ankle piece, actually. How has that not come up before now?

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

"Age of the geek, brother" I'm sobbing

I mean, so is everybody

Look at this acting!

I love that they didn't go for the clichéd established couple dying in each other's arms, but instead put Eliot in the middle, giving us our yummy hurt ot3 goodness

And Parker sitting up so she sees the other two go

Ugh. Where's that poetic cinéma image when you need it?

Anyone remember the perfectly timed bridge from the pilot?

What number Lucille are they on?

I love that they actually stop in from of the barrier at the bridge, then take a moment to decide before just going for the crazy impossible stunt because why the hell not at this point

Ah Nate and Sophie are holding hands on the way to death too!!

And cut the scene before they reach the top of the bridge. Time to see Tim show us why he's an academy award winner

Ooh and here's where we find out she was lying! (Should this be the part where I started wondering if Nate knew? Probably. Did I? Not even a little)

There was a big twist where the person Nate was facing off against was playing him in the pilot too

But John fucking Rogers didn't play ME in the pilot. I take that personally.

Ooh hints at the true story are being dropped

Ellen is almost adequately suspicious

JUST WALK TWO FEET FORWARD ELLEN! LOOK AT THE STAGE! COME ON!

"You loved them very much" Yeah he did. They all did! Aaaaaaahhhhhhhh!

She knows he's lying, I love that (just like Dubenich knew Sophie was manipulating him)

"The only thing I ever had"? That's intense, Nate

God Tim is a good actor

(Like I low-key don't like Nate at all, but Damn he is well acted)

And he just turns it off, just like that

Wow

I am really into her little impressed face when he goes all Sherlock and explains how he knows they are at interpol

The glass! Of course Sterling brings him the glass! Not a pilot callback, but a good callback nontheless. The commentary says it's literally the same exact glass every time. I will have to go back and verify that at some point. I swear it didn't have those ridges around the bottom in at least one episode, but I also trust John Rogers, so idk

I love how sterling knows everything from the moment he appears, and Ellen doesn't even know what the black book is

"That's why you joined Interpol? Screw justice. You're the order guy?" What a good line for Nate and Sterling's relationship

Nate's not even interested in hearing Sterling's evil speech of evil about the bailouts

I actually really love the little exposition flashbacks

Her look of horror and dawning comphrension when he explains why he is there is fantastic. If we bring this show back, can we have more of this lady?

Yeah, Ellen, why IS he still lying to you??

Sterling remembered to be cautious about the coroner's van, but not cautious enough!

That's some timing. How did Nate arrange that ? Oh right, this was triggered by the arrival of the van, which he probably set the timing of

Nate's face after "Parker's still in the server room." Yes, sell that fear to Sterling! Make him believe he's right! I wouldn't have thought to fake a reaction to that. But that's why I'm not a griffer

And he trusted sterling to have a snark remark so that he could have an attention-stealing reaction to distract him

I try every time to see the kids going in, and I never manage to catch all of them

Why does Nate turn away here?

God, that really is a terrifyingly lifelike Hardison face

I gotta say, the first time I saw sterling shoot the Hardison corpse, I was really convinced that he was right and he was really killing Hardison for the first time

"Second question... No, Nate, why don't you tell her what my second question is?"

Honestly, the first time around, I had forgotten about that secret meeting between Nate and Hardison

"The plan's the thing" A callback to earlier in this episode. I'm dying. I love this show so much

And they can do that without being annoying because every leverage episode is like three or four episodes rolled into one. Sometimes more!

That's one of my favorite parts, but also one of the very few downsides

I get so excited watching the flashbacks that show how it all happened

Omg I love the thing where they stack! Parker crouching, Eliot just above her head, Hardison looming tall! It reminds me of the princess bride for some reason

Sterling is the Trojan horse, the way out is the way in...wait, didn't they do that with at least one other episode, where the floor was a horrible way in, but last minute they used it as a way out?

Are these callbacks or parallels at this point?

Sophie taught Nate how to act! "She found her calling." Yeah she did! So proud of her!

"Your ride to a life sentence in a secret prison has arrived" So dramatic for someone who knows Sophie is behind the wheel

Ooooooohhh he called him James!

"You and I are not the same" okay sterling

"Justice is always easy" YES GO STERLING wait that's a callback to the justice vs order thing earlier in this episode. I just got that

I have seen this so many times and I still notice something new every time I watch it

Does John Rogers have a tumblr? I want to tag him but I don't think he does

What is Parker wearing? Why is one sleeve randomly yellow?

I can't believe Nate is proposing in a hoodie

I love how the kids pop in with insults and Nate just agrees. He knows it's true

That's a huge fucking rock

"Did you steal it?" "No." "Oh, cause that would have been more romantic"

"I'll steal the first anniversary ring" lol I love these guys

Parker insists he follow the proper procedure

Oh wait, the ot3 are gonna branch out with other crews?

Y'know, in an alternate universe I could have shipped Eliot and Sophie

GOD

I'M CRYING AGAIN

"You're the smartest man I know" where have we heard that before?

Parker recognizing her feelings! (And they've been preparing her for this the longest)

Aah, the circle shot from above and the breakaway, but this time not everyone breaks away!!!!!!!!!!

"You do know that Laura is not my real name, don't you?" Sophie I'm gonna kill you

And then the big obvious callback to the pilot, where Beth meticulously studied Tim's acting to recreate it

Loving the look of this scene. The costumes, the blocking, all of it

And they made sure to switch which parent was crying

Very excited for leverage international. Gimme!

#leverage #the long goodbye job #meta #leverage meta #it's less a meta and more me screaming #but whatever #hopefully my autocorrect didn't renter this unreadable

[aspiratinganxiety]

If you're still taking requests could u do the lounging around on a lazy day w the batboys hc thank u ilysm:)

I love you so much too and oh my GOD. This prompt has been waiting here forever. Like, literally forever. I am so sorry. Please forgive my overlooking this gem for so long. 

I hope that it’s worth the wait…

Tag List: @nxttime​, @possiblyelven​​, @thepuckishrogue​, @jinkies-its-a-writer, @queeniepearls​ (If you want to be tagged, let me know! For more fics, check out my masterlist.)

Dick:

-Dick Grayson isn’t really one for being lazy all day long. He can do a lazy morning filled with cuddling or a lazy afternoon comprised of catching up on a few episodes of that series you’ve been trying to get him to watch for the last 6 months. He’s even happy to tuck in for an evening of cheesy movies and junk food too, on an occasional basis. 

-Largely though, he’s got too much energy to just stay cooped up for the entirety of a day.

-This means that lazy time spent basking in Dick’s company is a rarity. When you both have the day off, he likes to go and do things! He plans dates and day trips. He looks up expos and events, conventions and kitschy get-togethers where he can finally meet all of your friends and show off his incredible people skills. 

-There are a million places he’d love to show you, and a whole 24 hours of uninterrupted quality time should be used bonding over shared activities; not… inactivities. 

-In his opinion. 

-You disagree.

-When the Richard is sufficiently socialized and gallivanted, he makes for an excellent domestic partner. He can chill with the best of them, amiable to most endeavors of cuddling, television watching, or video gaming. 

-Ultimately, your requests for lounging around the home take place either before or after his scheduled outings. Therefore, because you’re so willing to spend your time doing what he thinks will be fun, he’s 100% happy to return the favor and weigh in on any dramatic reality TV series or sappy romantic films.

-If it makes you happy and doesn’t make him jittery or cross, he’s down to give you your way.

Jason:

-Listen. I argue that Jason, in spite of being so bold and charismatic, is largely introverted. After a hard mission or a bad fight with family, all he wants is to come home and curl up in his bed with a good book and some quality solitude.

-When the opportunity to spend the day doing nothing but hanging out with you and a well worn pair or sweatpants presents itself, he jumps for it. 

-Like. 

-This is his favorite.

-After the first few trial runs, all the kinks get worked out and the two of you find a good rhythm of relaxed inactivity. 

-You don’t even talk to one another all that much! You just get it. He just gets it. You throw on something mindless like an instrumental playlist or a series you’ve both seen a million times and read. Sometimes you watch something he’s seen before while he catches up on mild casework. Other times you nap on the couch with your head on his shoulder, and he wonders how he got so lucky and frets about not screwing things up. 

-Whatever it is that the two of you end up doing on your quiet days together, Jason decompresses. He breaths, and sleeps, and eats all of the ways he’s supposed to. He holds you close, and he’s grateful for your patience and willingness to have such calm and unobtrusive expectations.

Tim:

-At first, you were pretty sure that Tim never went a single day without working.

-Like, to the tune of Taylor Swift, Never-Ever-Ever

-It was only after you’d discovered his alter ego and been initiated into more mild outskirts data mining operations of vigilantism that he actually allowed himself to be completely open about his schedule and confirm your suspicions about his utter lack of self-care. 

-Boy howdy, did you ever-ever-ever put a stop to that.

-Your boyfriend is a logical man. It was simple enough to rope him into a verbal agreement about post-case recuperation that you then brandished against him as though it were a legally binding contract.

-After a big case gets cleared out, no matter what else is on the board, you text the team to let them know they’re on their own for tech support and snuggle in for a good day of nerdy self-indulgence that sets your heartstrings thrumming in time with the narrative fascinations you share along with Tim.

-Hours of Star Trek, Hannibal, Game of Thrones, or any other delectable series that happens to be buzzing at the time of your 24 hour vacation gets binged with content abandon.

-You snuggle on the couch, limbs flopped listlessly over one another under mountains of plush throw blankets and pillows that have been pillaged from your bedroom and commandeered for the betterment of the couch.

-Lazy days with Tim are full on. No cooking. No cleaning. 

-Just binge-watching good shows, making dorky jokes, and loving up on your overworked boyfriend. 

Damian:

-The concept of lazing about was also just… not really a thing here.

-Meditation? Yeah. Low activity reconnaissance? Sure thing. Enjoying a few moments of peace to gather oneself before or after engaging in taxing mental/social/emotional activities? Granted.

-Spending an entire day loafing around the house without even bothering to get dressed properly? 

-Are you fucking serious?

-This boi straight up rejected your pleas for a low-key day of blissful nothingness until his femur was shattered. No joke. 100%. 

-It took serious damage to his structural integrity to get your boyfriend to spend 5+ hours on the couch with you. 

-It was then that Damian realized the true joy of being lazy with a partner. There’s no stress. No obligation. No pressure to perform or characterize his behavior beyond noncommittal commentary when so inspired or pressed. He could just be there, with you, collecting himself and enjoying his home and pets as he so chooses with little to no judgement. 

-The deep relaxation and trust that he fostered for you during the time you spent caring for him during his recovery changed his opinion of allowing you to stay overnight without a measured schedule. 

-Without meaning to, he sort of fell into preferring for you to be in his space, if not his direct proximity, during all of his time off. 

-He’ll be in the study brushing up on a Slavic dialect that’s gotten rusty in the back of his mind, and you’ll be tucked into a fleece robe on the couch with Titus flipping through a magazine or watching a movie. And it’s nice.

-Sometimes he’ll be doing maintenance on his vast collection of weapons and antiques, and you’ll be right beside him watching with rapt attention, veritably simmering with questions about each and every unique piece. He is especially fond of these instances.

-When you and Damian share a quiet day together, he likes to cultivate something. Whether it’s in your knowledge of antiquities or his vocabulary of slang and pop-culture references, keeping you near while he gets some much needed relaxation always leaves him feeling more accomplished than lazy.       

#Batboys #DC #DC headcanon #Batfam #Batfamily #Batboys Headcanon #Batcanon by Beth #Dick Grayson #Jason Todd #Damian Wayne #Tim Drake #Reader insert #Request #prompt #Dick Grayson x Reader #Jason Todd x Reader #Tim Drake x Reader #Damian Wayne x Reader #Anonymous

[notthatitmattersbutyes]

Jason Todd x Reader - Jealous lemon 😏

Jason's POV

.................................................

There's nothing I love more than watching (y/n) sleep. She's so peaceful. So cute when she dreams. Wait.. what is she saying..

"Dick.." Did she just say Dick? Maybe I heard her wrong. "Dick.. don't.. stop.." NOPE I heard right. She's moaning now. She's dreaming about fucking Grayson! What the fuck! That's it. I'm going in the living room. I'll sleep on the couch before I sleep next to her. Fuck this.

......................................................................

Your POV

You wake up and Jason is not in bed, which is odd considering you usually wake up entangled in his arms and legs. What a sap he is, all cuddly in the morning. You get up to find him and he's there, on the couch. Must have had a nightmare. You walk over thinking he's asleep but he's on his phone, scrolling. "Hello, love." You say, kissing the top of his head. "'Sup" He says, not even looking up. "Did you have a nightmare last night? Why were you sleeping on the couch?" He flicks his eyes over you with a look you can't place, then returns to his phone. "Nope." He says, popping the 'P' for extra effect. You roll your eyes and go make breakfast. You had a pretty bad nightmare yourself last night but he was obviously bothered by something and didn't feel like talking, so you went about your morning routine. Jason stayed in the living room the whole time. "Hey, Jay?" You call, eating your toast at the kitchen counter. "Hm?" He says. "Can we stop by the manor today? I really miss everyone." You can't be sure but you think you hear him mutter , "Oh, I'm sure you do." But before you can ask what he really said, he yells back, "Fine-but I don't want to stay long." You take what you can get and get dressed. You decide to wear something special to get Jason out of his funk. A black lace bralette under a gray deep v-neck. You can see your cleavage and lace out of the top of the shirt and you pair it with black lace panties under skinny jeans, tightest you have, and sandals. You wear a deep red lipstick and a dramatic winged eye and appreciate your look. Your hair is undone and wild like he likes it and you feel pretty confident. You walk out to meet Jason, who was standing by the door way impatiently twirling his keys. "Are you ready now?" He says. "Um.. yes, I am." He looks at your outfit, rolls his eyes and leaves the apartment, walking down to the car. You are beyond confused and to be honest, a little annoyed with him. What was his deal!?

It was a quiet ride to the Manor. He put on music but it was so low you couldn't make out the words. When you finally roll up, he turns off the car, gets out, and walks into the house, not bothering to wait for you. Okay, now you're pissed. He was being such a.. such a.. well ass but he was always kind of an ass. This was different. Usually when he was upset about something, you were the one he would talk to about it. Now it seemed like you were the one he was mad at. Fine. Two can play at that game. You devised a plan to get back at him and you walked up to the door and charged in.

Alfred greeted you at the door. "Good evening, Miss (Y/L/N). Is Master Todd alright?" You hugged the man and rolled your eyes as you pulled back. "I couldn't tell ya, Al. He's been acting weird. But I have a plan." You said with a wink. Alfred leaned in and whispered, "Respectfully; Give him hell, love." You giggled and made your way to the living room. Jason sat sulking with his arms crossed in the single chair, not allowing you to sit anywhere near him. Damian was reading a book by the fireplace and Dick was sitting on the couch, watching tv. Tim was the main part of your plan but since he and Bruce were in the cave, Dick will have to do. You were a little annoyed with him from your nightmare last night but told yourself it was just a dream and to get over it.

You sauntered over to Dick, passing Jason without so much as a glance, and sat down next to him giving him a hug. "Hey, Dickie-bird! How's my favorite BatBoy?" He chuckled and hugged you back, tightly, which ended up squeezing your breasts together and showing off the top you had on. Perfect. "I'm good, sweetness. What's the deal with sour-puss over there?" He said, pointing to Jason. You looked over to your boyfriend who was trying to look calm but you saw how angry he was. Oh well, served him right. "Oh don't mind him. I'm more concerned with you guys. What's new? How's your week been? I haven't seen you guys in so long I was beginning to forget what you looked like!" Jason let out a curt laugh and stalked out of the room. Once he was out of earshot, you let out a sigh and put your head in your hands. "Whoa, (Y/n) what's wrong? Are you two fighting?" Dick asked, rubbing your back. You let a tear fall. "I don't even know! He was fine last night then I woke up and he was on the couch and has been outright ignoring me or been really rude all day and I don't know what I did besides wake up!" You started to cry a bit more and Dick got visibly upset. "Let me guess, you were using me to make him jealous? Hurt him like he's hurting you, in a sense?" You looked up. "Yes, Dick, I'm so sorry I didn't mean to use you that way I just-"

He stopped you by putting his hand up. "I'm in. He's being an asshole, he deserves it"

"Todd's been annoying since I've known him but this is different. You two are usually disgustingly clingy and I can't believe I miss that. Make him pay." Damian said and walked away. You and Dick looked at each other and laughed heartily just as Jason walked in drinking a soda. He looked at the two of you and asked, "What are you two laughing at?"

"Oh (y/n) just said something so funny! She said.. well then.. oh you had to be there I guess." Dick said. Jason huffed and went to sit down again, this time grabbing the remote on his way and turning the tv way up. You knew he was trying to drown you out. Dick had an idea though. "(Y/n), you know what game I haven't played since I was younger?" You were genuinely curious. "What's that, Dick?" He looked you dead in the eyes and said "Twister." You immediately knew what he was doing and played along. "Oh, I love Twister! No one ever wants to play with me. It's like you grow up and no one has fun anymore. Do you happen to have the game?" Dick grinned. "Why yes I do, sweetness. Yes I do. Jason, you wanna play?" Jason mumbled a "No thanks." Before he finished the soda and smashed the can in one hand. Drama queen. Dick grabbed the game and set it up right behind the couch and right in Jason's line of sight. "Okay I'll go first," Dick said. "Okay... right hand red." You then took turns spinning and moving around the board. Unfortunately for you, you barely touched each other until the 15th turn. Finally your bodies were entwined and you two were in a fit of giggles, genuinely enjoying yourselves and forgetting Jason all together. That is until you two fell, Dicks arm accidentally pulling your shirt and exposing the lacy bralette with his face inches away from yours. A sudden, "AHEM!" Brought you back to the reality of the situation. "What the hell is this!?" Jason screamed. Oh boy. This was more than you had anticipated, you never meant to get that close to Dick physically, just play the game and make Jason squirm then go home and screw it out. But Jason was pissed. This was bad. "Jason, I-" you start but he goes and grabs you by the arm, pulling you up and away from Dick. Dick, knowing it was all a joke in the first place, let Jason go off on him. "Keep your fucking hands off my girl, fucker. Next time you won't walk away looking so pretty." Dick got up with his hands up and walked away, leaving you and Jason alone in the living room. He looked at you adjust your shirt and fumed. Breathing heavily. You knew Jason would never hurt you but you had to admit, he looked scary. He reaches his hand out and touched your cheek with restraint. His eyes were clouded with unshed tears. "Go up to my old room." You were about to cry yourself. You just wanted to teach him a lesson, not really hurt him. "Jason, I'm sorry I know it looked bad but-" you start but he cuts you off. "Now!" He growled. Not wanting to start an argument in the living room, you go up and sit on the bed that's been left there. Jason walked in and slammed the door shut, stalking over to you. You take in a deep breath. "You're fucking Grayson, aren't you?" He whispered. You started back wide eyed. "What!?"

"I heard you in your sleep last night! 'Oh Dick, don't stop, oh!' I thought I was just being stupid but then you wanted to come here and you dress like a fucking whore for your side piece? Now I know I'm right. So why huh? What did I do? I don't fuck you like he does? Is it because he's just 'sooo sweet?'" By now he had you pinned to the bed between his arms, you were laying on your back and he was right on top of you. You took a deep breath. "I'm not fucking Dick. And how DARE you accuse me of something and then rather than ask me about it and let me explain, you just sulk!" He was getting restless and didn't know what to do. You could tell he was losing control. You expected him to punch the wall. You expected him to get up and look for Dick and beat him to a pulp. What you didn't expect was for him to kiss you passionately like his life depended on it; but that's exactly what he did. He broke away with tears leaking down his face. "I can't lose you, (y/n). I can't. I don't deserve you in the first place so it wouldn't surprise me if you left me but seeing you dressed like this, his body rubbing up against yours.. why did you do that!?" He started out sweet and sincere but ended up getting angry all over again. You knew nothing you would say now would help so you let him go off. "Take off your clothes, now. I'll show you who you belong to." You listen to him and take everything off, leaving on your bra and panties and he undressed to absolutely nothing. He grabs your hips, tears your underwear in half, and waists no time pounding into you. It stung at first but became pleasurable as he continued his assault.

He had never fucked you like this. "You feel that dick, baby? You feel it? That's all you're going to feel. Forever. You're MINE. Dick could never touch you like this. Never make you feel like I do." He reaches between your legs to rub your clit. You moaned out his name. "God, Jason.." "oh, so you can say my name? Say it again, doll. Say it loud. I want Grayson to hear." He quickened his pace and you moaned, unable to formulate the words. Because you didn't speak up, he stopped all together. You got frustrated and screamed "MY GOD JASON, FUCK ME!" He laughed and said "Whatever you want, princess." And began driving into you. Faster than bed before. He grabbed your hair and said, "Say it. Come on, baby, say you're mine." You moaned at his husky tone. "I'm all yours, baby.. oh GOD JASON!" You were about to cum and he was close to, you could feel his cock get harder inside of you. You looked up at him straight into his eyes, and held his face with both hands. "I.. love ...you... only you..." you said between thrusts. With those words, he came undone and came inside you, setting off your own mind blowing orgasm. As you both came down from your high, you looked up at him, still inside you. "I love you, Jason." He pulled out and lay next to you. "I know you do, I love you too, I just.. why were you acting like that today? You had a dream about Grayson so.. do you want him on some level?" You sat up and made sure you made eye contact. "I had a nightmare last night. Dick was the Joker and he.. he was doing those terrible things to you. I didn't say "Oh Dick, don't stop" I said Dick! Don't! STOP!" As in, stop killing the man I love. And I dressed like this today for you because I figured you had a nightmare and wanted to bring you out of your funk. But you were mean to me so I was going to flirt with one of the boys a bit, nothing too bad, just enough to make you jealous so you'd talk to me about why you were upset. Then during Twister Dick actually fell, that was an accident, I swear. I have 0 feelings for him." Jason was watching you the whole time you spoke and when you stopped he placed his hand on your hair, bringing you in for a kiss. Then he reached in the drawer and pulled out a box. "(Y/n) I have kept this ring here since I first met you. I didn't want it at the apartment in case you found it and I thought it was silly of me to get it in the first place after knowing you for a short time but we have been together for a while now and you know I love you and-"

"Jason, spit I out." He laughed and opened the box to reveal the most beautiful ring you've ever seen. "(Y/n) will you marry me?" You put the ring on and cried. "Yes! Of course.. as long as you start telling me when you're upset" he smiled the biggest smile he's ever smiled and agreed.

The end

#jason todd x reader smut #jasontodd #batman #lemon #fanfiction

[chronicbatfictioner]

Fast Car - Chapter 17

"You've got the meds?"

"Yeah, one patch is on. Scheduling is on." Tim replied. "Synced with your cellphone so you can nag me if I forget to replace it."

It had sounded scary at first, for both Tim and Jason. Jason suspected that it would've been scarier, still, for Tim. He was the one who'd need to wear it at all times, after all. The patch looked like a simple, clear-colored band-aid, but it was actually filled with a plethora of electronics underneath, "the nutshell version is having electroshock therapy device attached to you at all times, but it'll release hormones instead of electricity," Tim had explained. It would be placed just under his hairline, on the nape of his neck. Tim assured him many, many times that it does not deliver actual electric shocks and/or will be shorting when the wearer is showering/swimming. "That's the first thing I made sure of, duh. The second was the invisibility." Because Tim understood the stigma of a mental health diagnosis quite well, and a light-colored patch on a dark skin would look like a beacon advertising the wearer's affliction. 

The last of the cuts on his arms had faded to nearly invisible scars on Tim's pale skin, crisscrossing the old ones. Random passers-by wouldn't have noticed them. Jason could feel them, still, when he run his hand over them. And Tim's face--

There would always be a faint hint of peach on his cheeks these days, and not so much of the purple raccoon eyes that had shocked Jason four months ago. Jason had trimmed Tim's hair, there are still enough for Jason to grab and play on, but not too long to cover his eyes.

Within a mere month after Jason moved back with him, the sunken-ness of Tim's cheeks had filled up some, earning him comments of "you look younger!' from his colleagues. Jason could always tell when some of Tim's colleagues teased him about his age and looks - Tim would commandeer the electric shaver the next day and let it run across his smooth chin and jawline, hoping that he would grow beard or some sort of facial hair. So far, still no luck. But Jason still counted a win when a pout and sulk and an attempt to shave would be as far as Tim would do. And in the lab, Conner was good enough to steer Tim clear off Tim's intention of researching ways to grow facial hair.

There are no blades in the loft, Jason made sure of it. All of their kitchen appliances are locked, with only Jason allowed access to them. A little extreme, sure, but they have reached an agreement that it was better for both of them if all kinds of temptations were out of sight and access from Tim.

But then again, Tim's needs for... the 'distractions' have abated a lot, a whole lot with Jason being there. He was still busy with the lab below, but with Bruce granting Jason special access key to the lab, Tim really couldn't run away - or lock himself in, which he'd done a few times before Bruce gave Jason a key - when Jason went into the lab and demand him to go home and get some sleep. Now, Timmers, or I'll haul you up. The excited and expectant gawks from Tim's lab-mates would usually be enough for Tim to stop whatever it is he was working on and followed Jason home with a massive pout and several choice-words of curses and grumbles.

Hopefully he would still miss the low-fives or fist bumps Jason got from Bart or Conner whenever he'd make Tim leave the lab. Or the fact that Conner would promptly close the lab some five minutes after Tim left.

Conner had brought his girlfriend, Cassandra Sandsmark, and Bart brought his girlfriend, Kiran Singh; on just about every weekends to have triple dates. Or in lazy and/or blizzard times, they would stay in and stream some movies while Conner and Jason practiced their culinary skills. So far, Bart noted, he hasn't needed to call in for emergency pizza to the rescue. Or booked a trip to the ER for food poisoning.

Jason had fully moved out from the Wayne's barn, and temporarily moved in to Tim's loft as their house was being renovated to accommodate Tim's work space and his garage. Jason had also managed to argue Tim out of making him the sole owner of the house, after a whole lot of arguments and getting Barbara's help to make him a slideshow presentation.

Seriously. There was a presentation describing the benefits of co-owning the house vs having just his name there. Credit scores and all. Jason never even know what his credit score was.  Or that he even had a credit score. He'd always thought those things were just for people who has a lot of money or born with money and/or inheritance.

There will be their individual work spaces in the opposing wings of the house, and there would be no locks on the doors of the work spaces. They have both agreed to have alarms to limit their home-working hours and remind the other to take care of themselves. And this, Jason knew, this would be something Tim would adhere to. His organized mind just simply not able to not follow a schedule. That point was prominent in Jason's mind when he wrote his part of the vow.

The Vow that he and Tim would recite in a few weeks, Jason mused as he felt the cold metal around his ring finger, and caught the glint of the ruby on the ring around Tim's finger as Tim's arm hooked around Jason's. His own arms were full of tupperware boxes - Alfred was not joking when he said he'd pack leftovers after their Sunday Dinner at the Wayne Manor. They would be eating well for the next week. Maybe. Or at least the next three to four days, if neither of them would end up with overtimes and eating less than two meals per day at home.

Or two days, if Bart managed to sneak his way in to their home.

"Home," Tim suddenly said.

"Hm?"

"I was just thinking... for a pair of orphans, we've managed to have not one, but two homes for ourselves." Tim said. "Not too shabby."

"Not too shabby at all." Jason agreed, pressing his lips on Tim's temple. "Thank you."

"Jason," Tim smiled ruefully. "Thank you, for not leaving me behind. In BrisTown."

"I couldn't. You've got the fast car." Jason grinned impishly.

"Well now you've got the literal fast car." Tim grinned at him. "How does it feel?" he asked as he helped Jason putting the boxes into Jason's car, a 2013 Mustang that used to belong to Dick and Jason had acquired in exchange of making five of Dick's other cars - including, of all things, a 1974 VW Beetle ("this is the last that was built in Germany, Jason! Before they moved the factory to Mexico!") - working and running again. Damn thing was older than Bruce and by all means should have been buried with its dignity intact, long ago. But Dick refused to let her die, and Jason had wondered if he'd have to make ritual sacrifices for parts, until Tim gave him the number of his contact in Germany who provided a number of cobbled-together parts.

"It feels..." he caressed the car's roof gently. "Well, you really can't go wrong with Mustang." he grinned. "But you really can't go wrong driving it with the one you love."

Tim snorted mirthfully, taking a seat on the passenger's side. "God, you cheesy." he said, scrunching his nose.

"You've known me for a long time now, and you just found it out now?" Jason quipped as he entered the driver's side.

"No, just didn't think I'd like it so much." Tim replied, a hesitant smile on his face as his lower lip started to tremble.

Jason reached over and tugged Tim's chin gently. "Hey, come on now. What is it?"

"I'm screwed, aren't I?" Tim said, a line of tears starting down his cheek.

"Welp, technically, you're legal and consenting. So I don't see the needs for the waterworks." Jason grinned at him, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Tim laughed and swatted his hand. "You jerk. I was trying to be sappy and all." he made a face. "But we'll need some stuff. I think we're out of lube."

"Whaaat? Again??"

"Hey, I'm not the one who use that thing like you're deep-frying!"

They drove away from the Wayne Manor in relative silence, Jason's non-driving hand on the nape of Tim's neck.

"I love you." Tim suddenly said.

Jason didn't take his eyes off the road, but squeezed Tim's neck lightly and replied. "I love you, too."

Maybe, Jason silently prayed, maybe they can fix themselves well. Together. They have a good number of people who could support them, anyway. Bruce, Dick, Barbara, and Alfred to help Jason through his doubting days; Conner, Bart, Cassandra, and Kiran, to support Tim if/when Jason was being a jerk. Surprisingly, when Damian was informed of Tim's clinical condition, he was incredibly interested to help keep an eye on Tim, "to see if the device works or not, Todd!"

Jason suspected it's just another thing Damian is keeping records of, to use against Tim when he couldn't win in a normal argument. Dick assured him that Damian's scathing ways were simply his way to show he cares. The jury is still out in that, though.

"You know what else we've got?" he said as something struck him.

"What?"

"Family." Jason smiled and scratched Tim's head a little. "Lookit that, orphan boy, we've got a family."

"We do, don't we?" Tim smiled brightly. "Whaddya know..."

They were silent for a few heartbeats until Tim spoke again, "so we gonna stick our vows on my mom's grave, too?"

Jason grinned mischievously. "You betcha, Timmers. Let her know that we've made it."

Note: End of this segment! I hope y'all like, and as always, comments, likes & reblogs are very, very appreciated! This here be the first multi-chaptered fanfic I've ever posted. And it feels kind of poignant for me that the last chapter is posted on NYE. Bye, 2017! Hello, 2018! Here's to hoping that our respective lives will be better in 2018 and brighter. And our muses remain as active if not more active as ever and allow us to tell their stories - preferably not at the same time. Maybe I should devise a queue number for them muses, like at banks... Anyway! Again, thank you everybody who'd left comments, likes, and/or reblogs, the lifeblood of all artworkers. Have a happy New Year, all!

#Jason Todd #Tim Drake #JayTim #fastcarAU #Conner Kent #Bart Allen #no-capeAU #Dick Grayson #Bruce Wayne #Damian Wayne #Batfam #yaaay it's done!

[wineanddinosaur]

We Asked 20 Brewers: What Are the Worst Trends in Beer Right Now?

Not all beer trends are created equal. Some have staying power and become national or global phenomena, while others fizzle quickly. There are several movements coursing through American breweries that are worth celebrating, but, for now, let’s focus on the absolute worst. We’re examining the garbage gimmicks that deserve a good riddance. That leave a bad taste in your mouth. That make you want to White Claw your eyes out.

Below, beer makers confess the recent developments they wish would disappear.

“Lactose in IPAs. Not a fan.” — Brandon Tolbert, Owner and Brewer, Short Throw Brewing

“Big Beer creating new breweries in popular beer-centric destinations while posing them as independent startups. The average consumer is unaware that their money is not supporting the local craft-beer community, but rather the international beer conglomerates.” — Ignacio Montenegro, Co-Founder, Tripping Animals Brewing Company

“I’m tired of breweries ignoring sexual harassment and sexism and treating it as ‘boys being boys.’ In over half of the breweries I’ve worked at, I‘ve experienced examples as blatant as a head brewer telling everyone he would screw me straight. Or less obvious instances where a man asks why I’m the one carrying something heavy. It’s 2019 and I demand equality and respect.” — Megan Stone, Brewer

“I think ratings on apps and websites have taken some of the human element out of craft beer. While it’s great to have craft-beer fans excited about beer X, Y, or Z, I often see consumers relying too heavily on ratings to drive what they purchase as opposed to having a conversation with their bartenders and brewers. Most all of my beer ‘Aha!’ moments have come through connecting with someone and trying something completely new and unfamiliar. I think it’s our jobs as brewers and bartenders to help guide more of those experiences for craft-beer fans.” — Corey Gargiulo, General Manager, Evil Twin Brewing NYC

“The packaging and selling of unfinished beer. Many small breweries don’t have the necessary pasteurization capabilities in order to make a product stable after blending in various fruits and juices, so they package it in cans and warn the consumer to ‘keep it cold’ to avoid the cans exploding. For me, this is a trend I’d like to see fade away. Either buy a pasteurizer for your cans, or simply keep it on tap in your taproom where it can be controlled.” — Paul Wasmund, Head Brewer and Blender, Barrel Culture Brewing and Blending

“The ‘slow pour’ pilsner. I appreciate and cherish the craft of beer and can see why this is desirable. However, there are other ways to achieve optimal flavors and aromas without bartenders having to wait five to seven minutes to serve the beer.” — Mark Johnson, Brewer, DuClaw Brewing Company

“Seltzers in breweries. I think the trend will leave a negative impact on the integrity of the industry. I understand the desire to diversify, especially given stagnant sales across the industry of late, but hard seltzer is not the answer. I can get down with hazy IPAs, pastry stouts, and even beer cocktails. Seltzer is a quick copout for a lot of fledgling places. I’d like to see low-calorie beer or even nonalcoholic craft options fill the void. At least it’s still beer.” — Chris Gilmore, Brewer, Lone Tree Brewing Company

“A trend making me sad, but I don’t see it ever going away, unfortunately, is the ouroboros of hype. People want to get a beer everyone’s talking about, stand in line for its release or pay scandalous money, sometimes more than eightfold the initial price, and of course they will rate it marvelous even if it’s just O.K. Nobody wants to admit putting a lot of effort, be it time or money or both, into just a good beer. So they call it exceptional and more people want it. And here we go again. This leaves out of the spectrum of attention thousands of really good breweries. Plus, there is enjoyment-versus-price ratio. Do you feel that beer was worth every penny you paid? Sometimes you pay a lot but feel cheated because the beer wasn’t as great as you expected it to be. And if someone pays way more than the brewery price and is not happy, all the discontent unfairly goes to the brewer, not to the secondary market trader in part driving the hype.” — Lana Svitankova, Speaker, Varvar Brew

“Was glitter beer ever a trend?” — Mike Shatzel, Co-Owner, Thin Man Brewery

“Not enough minorities, blacks, and Hispanics drinking craft beer. I’ve been in the brewing industry since 2015 and have experienced nothing but greatness from the beer to the people who enter our establishment. What I do not see, though, is a lot of color. … Overall, I’ve experienced great beers and breweries but I would love to see more diversity in the industry.” — James Higgs, Intern, Forager Brewery

“Distributor consolidation and the buying up of craft breweries and brands by large multinational companies is creating a super-challenging retail environment for all the independent craft brewers.” — Ron Jeffries, Founder and Brewer, Jolly Pumpkin Artisan Ales

“Whole pastries, instead of constituent ingredients, going into stouts. You’re not even thinking about flavors anymore, you’re just trying to do something for Instagram.” — Ethan Buckman, Co-Owner and Head Brewer, Stickman Brews

“The liberal interpretation of double dry hopping, or DDH, is a pet peeve of mine. DDH is an actual process where the first dry hop is added during active fermentation and the second in secondary. But most people simply just dry hop multiple days. And also, double of what? Since most brewers don’t disclose their original dry hop rate, they’ve started a dry hopping arms race. I’ve seen as high as 15 pounds per barrel, and that’s just a waste! Only so much hop oil can dissolve in beer. At a certain point it’s literally throwing money down the drain.” — Morgan Clark Snyder Jr., Owner and Brewer, Buttonwoods Brewery

“I’m over the meatheads who still think it’s O.K. to put out sexist beer labels and social media posts. It’s not edgy or tongue in cheek. It’s gross, it’s harmful, and it should be beneath us as an industry. I also think it appeals to the type of crowd who have no problem commenting on a female bartender’s appearance, but would only take a beer recommendation from a dude. No one needs more of that.” — Jonathan Moxey, Head Brewer, Rockwell Beer Company

”It’s exciting that the popularity of high quality and well-made lagers is on the rise. It’s a huge bummer, however, when brewers chase trends and make lagers with cheap ingredients, poor brewing techniques, and fast tank times. It has taken a long time and a great deal of hard work to get well-made, vibrant, and incredible lagers out to the U.S. beer drinker. I believe that innovation and tradition can go hand in hand with this realm of beers, but the key is for the brewer to respect the scope and the challenge of brewing lager beer.” — Josh Pfreim, Co-Founder and Brewmaster, pFreim Family Brewers

“The beer community is a vocal one, and we love how people freely review, discuss, and share their opinions about beers they try. However, a trend I see that isn’t constructive is a tendency of people to default their reviews to a comparison of any given beer to an archetype of that beer style. As opposed to evaluating a beer as an independent expression of a style — and most importantly whether they liked it! — it becomes more a question of does it taste like X beer or is it better than Y beer. We as a brewery place primary importance on innovation and are never trying to duplicate an expression of any given style. So, we believe it would be a positive move for craft beer if the community would keep an open mind and evaluate beers as unique steps along an evolution of a style, not a catalog of archetype imitations.” — Harris Stewart, Founder and CEO, TrimTab Brewing

“I honestly hate the unfermented, super-fruited beers, the ones where you can literally chew on the fruit particles like a smoothie. The first time someone let me taste one I thought it was some sort of beer slushie. These aren’t safe unless you have a way to pasteurize. Then more power to you. But at that point just go down to Jamba Juice and get yourself a smoothie.” — Alyssa Thorpe, Head Brewer, Jagged Mountain Craft Brewery

“As a Belgian brewer who believes in the artistry of beer, I am afraid brewers are complacent with the ‘Chardonnization’ of their beers. We are bound by styles and rules but we’re not able to differentiate ourselves. You sell a kettle sour, a porter, and an IPA. Oh, great. So does Starbucks — sorry, I mean the brewery on the other side of the street. How do you make your taproom stand out? Is it the liquid? Is it your ties to the community? I challenge brewers to think out of the box. If you have an IPA that’s fruity, can you describe it differently than an IPA? Can you educate the consumer who hates IPAs on how they can appreciate this emerging style that now has so many subcategories? Unfortunately, we have seen winemakers go down the road and sell their wine by grape variety in the new world or by region in the old world. Creatively, I think we can push ourselves even more!” — Peter Bouckaert, Co-Owner and Brewer, Purpose Brewing & Cellars

“Overloaded sweetness. Great for sipping, but ruins the session and really messes up your gut.” — Tim Matthews, Head of Brewing Operations, Oskar Blues Brewery

“The eternally unsatisfied drinker.” — Antonio Lopes, Owner and Brewer, Lupum

The article We Asked 20 Brewers: What Are the Worst Trends in Beer Right Now? appeared first on VinePair.

source https://vinepair.com/articles/20-worst-beer-trends-craft/

[ratherhavetheblues]

THE COENS’ THE BALLAD OF BUSTER SCRUGGS “All day I’ve faced a barren waste/Without the taste of water, cool water…”

© 2019 by James Clark

     In many ways, The Ballad of Buster Scruggs (2018), looks to a past leaving it nearly an anachronism. The helmsmen here, Joel and Ethan Coen, have, in their business affairs, been forced to locate their complex communications in the swill of the multi-cocktail Happy Hour known as Netflix. (Years before, David Lynch, apropos of the vein now virulent, was heard to declare, “I didn’t make this picture for your damn phone.”)

As you probably know, the boys are nothing if not resilient, and with this unwelcome matter in the air they prove to be even more feisty and irreverent than usual. Their strategy to be large as life is a wild and wonderful tour de force. Inasmuch as this film with a vengeance is multi-faceted, let’s ease into it by way of its amusingly wicked parody of Millennials, those softies utterly disinclined to show up at a theatre to see a Coens’ film.

You might think the lads are staging some kind of revival of Cowboys and Indians entertainment, inasmuch as the setting is the “Wild West,” and its six vignettes comprise the product seen to be slices (in various tones) of the fateful drama of what used to be a big money-maker. Actor, Tim Blake Nelson—directly addressing the audience as if it were packed with fast friends—leads off with a singing cowboy, Buster Scruggs, so hilarious in enjoying his domain that we barely register that the song he so confidently sings is about dying of thirst (“Cool Water”) and that he takes low-key umbrage that one of his wanted posters accuses him of being a misanthrope (his horse whinnying in support when prompted to consider that the charge is patently unfair). That he brightens up with the thought that “Song never fails to sooth my restless heart,” constitutes the first of many displays of assurance that heavy baggage can be exorcised on the order of a good cleaning lady. (The writer/ performer of the song, “Cool Water,” Marty Robbins, was not only a country/Western musical profit-centre in the Nixon-era, but also a NASCAR driver, always in the hunt. On one racing occasion, he was seriously injured swerving into a wall to avert smashing into a stalled vehicle. Hold that thought in fathoming the protagonists stalled here, in other ways.)

Buster visits two bars along that musical afternoon, and although his tenderfoot appearance elicits disdain from the regulars, he manages to maintain some of the tenets of a civilization which emphasizes sweetness and light, and also systematic/ mechanistic advantage. On the first visit, asking for whisky, he’s told that, “This is a dry county…” Noticing that everyone is drinking, he points out the discrepancy and his temerity tweaks someone to recognize him as, “The Texas Twit.” Buster corrects that whisky-driven rudeness to, “The Texas Kid” and, being a virtuoso technician has to shoot the uncontrolled mental-health victim with a bullet symmetrically placed in his forehead. That is followed by Buster’s vigorous massacre of the bad-mouth’s friends, including one wounded at the doorway to be needles, “I’ll leave you to the wolves and the gila monsters.” Confidently moving along to the bar in the next town, the straight-shooter complies with the establishment’s gun-check policy. He soon (ever the games-player, presaging cyber-mayhem) is at a poker table being coerced to take up the hand of somebody, perhaps feigning, needing to leave quickly. Buster takes exception to the irregularity, eliciting from the pushy, burly and surly contestant the problem of a six-shooter in his face. Always expecting from others sweet reason, the Texas Kid points out the violation of the authority’s rules of passivity. Of course the unreasonable one prepares to do away with an obstacle, but he meets acrobatic Buster’s resort to stomping on the several planks consisting of the gaming table, each time breaking parts of the gunman’s face. Our protagonist goes into a victory lap, singing about the loser in terms of “Surly Joe,” a bit of professionalism and wit which enthralls the room and also us, somewhat. We are especially touched—beyond the volatile emotional outpouring—by Buster’s being located in a social media heaven, going viral. (Part of the deadly improv consisted of the plaint, “He never really took to empathy…” followed by the smug axiom, “When you’re unarmed, your tactics might gonna be downright Archimedean ” [the latter being remembered for an effective screw].) Interrupting the fun, the victim’s brother cries out, “You killed my brother!” and he demands a shoot-out on the dusty street. The muddled and aged aggrieved is far from a gun-geek and the people’s choice toys with him, shooting off four of his fingers. (He had swaggered out to the site, remarking, “I should go into the undertaking business.”) Supposedly charming us with his bonhomie, he grants the “geezer’s” not knowing give-up; and, with only one bullet left (having geared up with the six-shooter but not the pair of effete collectible micro-shooters which he calls “princesses”) he decides on a “trick shot” with a mirror and shooting backwards (his supposed constituents holding firm). With that show done, another begins. A man in black, the sartorial opposite to Buster’s creamy white (would you call the former, “Death?”), playing a doleful harmonica, rides slowly to the trick-shot zone. And, being another simplistic country/ Western singer, he declares he’ll reap the bounty on Buster’s head. Buster, unarmed now without his gadgetry, has a moment of less insulation (“I should have seen this coming, Can’t be top dog forever…”). Shot symmetrically in his forehead, our majoritarian has taken the easy way to sustain joy. To the song the hunter in black sings, “When a Cowboy Trades his Spurs for Wings,” Buster is shown with angel wings coursing high above problematical life. His parting words here have to do with certainty of life after death, because—conformist-style—so many have written to that effect. Likes!

A scintillating Buster like that comes down the pike rather seldom. In the second chapter, the young hacker can’t even gain the affection of his horse. Thinking a solitary bank, manned by another geezer, would be something to keep him in 5-star dinners for a while, he discovers that the old are not always the weak and the ridiculous. The contretemps involves him having a shot-up leg in being suckered that the big denominations are near the floor, under the counter. While the sprightly banker repairs for some protective coating, our protagonist clears out the till and limps to the stone well in the yard. There he’s snubbed by his less than wonder-horse, who could have effected an escape. (Settling for a clunker seeming OK, if you imagine a life of ease has to involve an angel replacing every wreck.) The banker returns wearing pots and pans, and the marauder’s efforts to kill him bounce off. An uncool local posse strings him up, the horse now on hand to lurch forward and let the rope on the tree branch work the nose. The officiating judge tells him he now has his opportunity to say his piece, before dying. First, he decries, as a primordial crisis, the unfairness of the banker’s armor. An argument erupts about who gets the horse, and the voice of the new declares no one should get it. At this juncture of smallness an Indian war party appears, sending arrows into necks and putting an end to reveries for those whose reveries go nowhere. The nemesis here is as shallow as the one in the first episode, the Coens’ irreverence being truly wild. The dude with the noose is spared by a chieftain on the (false) basis of thoroughgoing challenge of authority. With everyone in sight dead, except the tied-up complainer and his recalcitrant horse, there ensues the clown-show, slow-motion acrobatics of his attempting to dismount without strangulation—he leaning back, and the inattentive mount meandering as he nibbles on some weeds. He sees a horseman and a few cattle, calls out, is rescued, and soon they regard each other as “sidekicks.” Within the same hour the newcomer bolts away from an oncoming posse after cattle rustlers; and the bank robber goes to the gallows on an erroneous charge. His having recently escaped one execution seems to have allowed him to strike a brazen tone in the vicinity of the hangman. (But perhaps he and many of his sidekicks, from years before, had been beneficiaries of a stunning leniency.) Tied up on a four-noose extravaganza in a town turned out for the morbid event, the failed bank-robber looks for something good turning up. An elderly felon cries and the insouciant youngster asks, “Your first time?” He spots a pretty woman in the crowd. Their eyes meet, and she smiles. The black hood covers his head. From the perspective of inside the hood there is a crunch and a cheering clientele. What wouldn’t miss, missed.

Another presumptuous figure, follows. But unlike the first two, he generates far more cogent passion. In the wintry Northwest mountain ranges, where mortals find nothing easy, a young man with no arms and no legs sings for his supper on a cold roadway as enclosed by a proscenium arch and stage, doubling as a caravan. His “song” involves declaiming stirring instances of a fate of finitude few mortals take to heart. The eeriness of his presence is enough to whet curiosity. But, far from a freak-show, as we discern this outreach, his skill in dramatic expression is of a caliber to haunt and maybe elicit reflection. A keynote of his performance is the sonnet, “Ozymandias,” engaged by the poet Shelley. as drawn to lyricism by the “recent,” 19th century discovery of a Pharaoh’s tomb—far more mineral than personal. Not only does he convey the emotive pathos of the impermanence of all creatures; but in reciting the Gettysburg Address he brings to bear the paradox of powerful love for human kind. Moreover, in an onstage scene called, “The Sash my Father Wore,” his commitment iterates the exigency of going to war—perhaps military, perhaps the wider and deeper factors of struggle every day of one’s life. This first performance we see is well appreciated and rewarded. The impresario feeds him some morsels of meat; but such a viable constellation does not last long—the fickle clientele far more amenable regarding the catchy enough oddity than the rare spoken and facially powerful gifts. The burden of “Ozymandias” and the fading of fame bites rapidly to the point of the businessman, seeing how popular a “mathematical chicken” could be, changing the show and dumping the orator into a rushing cataract. That the food had become indigestible and then no more was one more (and monstrously problematic) ingredient of the dubious calculus counting upon the world to gratify one’s thriving. Also, the performer’s insufficient food and mounting desperation resulted in a fine heart becoming a mediocrity. Perhaps his campaign was based upon suddenly needing to find kindred spirits to help him survive. As such he would be a barometer of his era’s sensitivities, and ours. There is a scene where the “Professor,” still caring to a point, visits a bordello, with his carrying his associate; and he turns the little man facing away from the bed. The hooker wonders if all of his appendages are gone. That excruciating, shared strangeness, flows to the measure of remorse after the murdering. Zaniness arrested, this singular expediency widens, deepens and tempers the jolly hatchet job.

Chapter Four features a protagonist even older than the impresario, who becomes an unlikely inspiration to those not finnicky about the full measure of facticity, in their film experience. Whereas the foregoing three dramas had been situated in badlands or austere, cold darkness, here we have a near paradisal valley, replete with many monarch butterflies and ravishing woodlands creatures. An elderly prospector and his cute donkey enter this range through a narrow opening in a thick, green forest, and the jaunty protagonist, a veritable Santa Claus, proceeds to pan for gold in a lovely stream. Before finding his mother lode, he had climbed a tree to loot four owl eggs, with a beautiful mother owl watching untroubled nearby, giving you just one of many moments that only a Mexican strategist and his far-flung fans could like. Perhaps Disney sanguinity infuses the sequel, where those owl eyes have an effect, and he replaces three of the four eggs. The rationale, “She won’t have remembered how many she had,” smacks of a constituency of shoplifters. As if this were not alone Academy Award enticement, the old elf comes to us in song—“Oh, God keep you, Mother McCree…” After back-breaking toil and impressive savvy, he finds the Bonanza, only to be attacked by a gunman. Shot in the back, his jersey becoming a blood-red blotter, he waits his turn to turn the tables. He kills his adversary and walks out of the pit where his gut was blown away, revealing his intestines pouring out on the ground. He’s heard to insist, “It didn’t hurt nothin’ important.” Next day, he’s in a clean shirt and looking pretty good, looking like The Revenant. His tag-line, “There’s a pocket up there. Where, I don’t know,” is a limp cliché. But it conceals everything the virals won’t touch. Similarly, the declamation, “I’m old but you’re [the gold] older,” mocks the primordial, with self-satisfaction.

Demonstrating that there are vast options to skin a cat, we now come to a composition called, “The Girl Who Got Rattled.” Our protagonist may be a young nineteenth-century woman taking orders from a brother about a spiel of very lucrative matrimony which would greatly help his floundering business career; but it is her own reckoning which tells us something about life today. At a boarding house in a “civilized” State of the Union, she’s made much of by the presiding host, in sharp distinction from how the latter regards an elderly woman who has fallen asleep at the dining table. That the girl’s imminent trip by covered wagon train to Oregon has been speculative with no firm commitment of marriage in sight (not unlike Buster’s being drawn to heaven); and only the feckless urging of an underperforming and exaggerating sibling to count upon, introduces to us, notwithstanding the era, to a figure sanguine to a fault. (Another boarder, a middle-aged man, who would, over the months, have seen through their effete wishfulness, strikes a tone of down-to-earth being disregarded in not only unpleasant ways but also in very dangerous ways.)

Once on the go, the weak brother soon dies of a cholera phenomenon which, to put the matter in full relief, could be called a plague. (The optics of the ox-wagon train must put into critical relief a very different protagonist, namely, Emily, in Kelley Reichardt’s film, Meek’s Cutoff [2010], a figure evincing a progress of courage and circumspection truly of another world from the placid and vaguely safety-net-assured, Alice Longabaugh [pronounced, Longbow].) The Coens’ film’s momentum of upending, has, by this stage, spotlighted not a single trace of strong coherence. Here, though, there is a partial equilibrium, requiring the rather reckless depiction of Indians being very inept, whereby to place Alice in a fool’s paradise, or Wonderland. This circuitous range of parody may best be disclosed with regard to the recently-deceased brother, and his spunky terrier, “President Pierce.” She remarks, after the burial on the range that Gilbert, her brother, “did very little,” but radiated intense political views, which she abhorred (in her once-over-lightly way). President Pierce, the politician, was a one-term American President just before the Civil War, whose lack of consideration for blacks sowed much turmoil. As with the rough trade about “wild Indians,” Alice, being remarkably confrontational, in her pat, namby-pamby way, channels to the present time, where political correctness has become a gigantic and cirrhosis creed, particularly amongst young, diet-puritan women. Hearing about her plight and her brother’s politics, the handsome young straw-boss of the junket, namely, Billy. is quick and pleased to pronounce, “He was a failure.” That ruthless assessment, by one being a member of her generation, clearly coincides with the protagonist’s needs. In the same vein, she’s in a quandary about many of her fellow travelers’ annoyance caused by President Pierce refusing to stop barking. He offers to put down the dog, and she doesn’t bat an eye finding it the way to go. She plugs her ears  The Good Samaritan, however, flubs the shooting.  He tells her, “We’ve seen the last of the President.” A few days later he’s back She finds she has had Gilbert buried many miles back, having left all of her funds in one of his pockets. The youngster tending to the oxen—having been promised a wildly inflated salary—begins to want some down payment. Billy promises to deal with the matter; but he soon admits he doesn’t have a clue. More of the same, the young outdoorsman finds that Alice, the low-wattage misadventurist, is his kind of girl. He proposes, and she quickly accepts. Though neither has any skills for life in a frontier town, they plan to settle down there. Their ace-in the hole is a one-off  premium for married couples.

Apparently inured to the neighbors taking umbrage, she’s seen, with the canine survivor on her lap, straying away on her pony from the train and having a Saturday Night Live giggle about a prairie dog colony. Her Wonderland quickly sours when an Indian war party comes to play. The senior guide, Mr. Arthur, had noticed her disappearance and was able to single-handedly rout the dubious warriors. But, with the battle in doubt, Alice, crouching in a sort of pot hole, uses the suicide revolver, a sort of magic cake, provided for the possibility that the expert warrior might be killed. A lack of fight, extending beyond unruly mobs.

In the final vignette, middle-aged stage-coach riders hope to convince their fellow-travelers that they have everything figured out. (Here, in contrast to Alice and Billy, in having a flood of facile clichés, most of the premises in the coach have been subjected to long-term perception.) A trapper displays his gift for clever gab, as disarming the assumption that he is of no account. He had for years lived with an Indian woman who knew no English, just as he knew nothing of her language. His kernel of discovery involves that range of communication whereby it is possible to share a remarkable level of understanding by body language. His own pell-mell fluency, however, lands him in a bemusing embarrassment. Shifting from elevated one-to-one to amateur anthropology, the laborer hastily insists, “People are like ferrets.” A lady coming to reunite with her husband (a minister of the cloth and a theologian), after being with her daughter and the latter’s children for three years, begs to differ. She posits the more complicated situation of the upright and the sinning. That brings into the fray an elegantly dressed French bounty hunter, who, with Cartesian confidence, concludes that “one can’t know another’s soul.” The lady counters with, “Any decent person knows of eternal love, the love of the Creator.” A Polish gambler ridicules her position, and gets hit over the head with her umbrella. He then goes forward with a probability that her daughter had been eager to get her out of the household; and that her husband could not have sustained love during her long absence. His Slavic accent and poker deceptiveness adds to the aura of certainty about the traditional bonds rotting away, to the advantage of cynics and fatalists. (More important than the ideas floating around, is the gulf between this series of taking a stand by going to some trouble, and the smoothie addiction in the foregoing stories.) The French killer, with a lucrative corpse on the roof, has a partner. The latter is the one pulling the trigger while the diminutive Parisian chats up the prey to lull the victim to an easy death. This more middle-of-the-road figure has a fine singing voice and he proceeds to shower the company with a heartfelt rendition of, “The Streets of Laredo.” “I saw a young cowboy wrapped up in white linen…” Within the calm in effect from the song, the Gallic spellbinder treats the assembly to the land he really inhabits, and its conveyance. He evokes an aura derived from the moment the wanted man realizes his death has commenced. “The passage to death.” (Conjuring such intensity accomplishes [or hopes to accomplish] more than a disclosure of matter of fact. The French connection has opened a door to the surreal, the more real. Such mood enacts energies surpassing normal communication, but including its generally underestimated sensual presence. Soldiers of fortune. What could that mean, about change going forward?) Though that pristine moment fades, and on reaching the hotel the pair joke about possibly displaying the corpse along a corridor for the night, the mystery of that passage to death holds forth in another way. With the travelers in their hotel late at night, the coach makes a turn-around and races at full speed passed the place of arguers and swayers of truth. The tight linkage of the team of horses recalls the engagement of another group of flounderers being dragged along a nondescript countryside by the spectacle of Death, in Bergman’s The Seventh Seal.

Aspects of that latter film saturate The Ballad of Buster Scruggs, and their presence here add to the questioning about happy (even goofy, even lethal) trails in the 21st century. With happy-go-lucky Buster on horseback and singing, we have an amalgam of, first of all, the vigorous, bawdy, Squire Jons, far more viable than his precious master, the knight, Block. But in the gathering of that harp and those angel wings, we have a Buster buying into Block’s obsession for immortality. Jons excels in cleaning up nasty bars and other places where inferior entities should not be, though they pose extreme difficulty; but, in the end, he joins with Block in that linkage driven by the phenomenon of Death. (The veer to pointlessness for those once on top of the world, being a cinematic volatile, endowment of the other kind of energy our energy-mad planet won’t touch.) The song Scruggs (a name first of all seeming too rude for his wit and couth) sings for us at the fanfare carries a quirky version of Bergman’s duo of persistent ease, and a down-to-earth warrior/ wag. First, we have Jons: “All day I’ve faced the barren waste/ Without the taste of water, cool water/ Old Dan and I with throats burned dry for water/ Cool, clear water.” [Now Block] “The nights are cool and I’m a fool/ Each star’s a pool of water/ Cool, clear water. And with the dawn I’ll wake and yawn/ And carry on to water/ Cool, clear water.” And now, a sorely put-upon employee denounces that unhinged leader. (Here the factor of misanthrope comes forward with its paradoxical juggling.) “Keep a-movin’, Dan, dontcha listen to him, Dan/ He’s a devil, not a man/ And he spreads the burning sand with water…” Back to the deus ex machina (a millennial instinct as old as the hills). “Dan, can ya see that big, green tree?/ Where the water’s runnin’ free/ And it’s waiting there for you and me?/ Water/ Cool, clear water” [always metaphorically there for the right acrobat]. “The shadows sway and seem to say/ Tonight we pray for water/ Cool, clear water/ And way up there He’ll hear our prayer/ And show us where there’s water.”

The most notable feature of the ho-hum robber, in the second episode—over and above his being an inveterate predator upon wealth he doesn’t own, and, therefore a version of the clergyman who became a thief upon victims of the plague, in The Seventh Seal—is his being a witness to the noisy and blood-letting flagellants peeking out from that Indian war party, temporarily saving his skin. Here the boys touch upon—here, and later—the matter of a Happy Hunting Ground, supposedly reached by such observances. Irreverence, reminding us that other passions (far less showy and presumptuous) occupy the field and spread a frisson for those who have taken the trouble.

The lucky “sweetheart” in the gold business brings aboard The Seventh Seal’s reflective performer, Jof, the inventor of acrobatics and impossible juggling. The childish prospector serves as a contrast to real uncanniness and delight.

The tale of the damaged thespian evokes the mad woman prisoner, caged and headed for burning at the stake (in our Bergman shoot-out), on the pretext that it was she and her impiety who caused the plague—when, in fact, you could say the plague has always been here, and always will, millennials bringing on, with their overexposure to cheap thrills, their special poison.

Alice and her tepid Wonderland traces to the caravan of Jof’s wife (the “practical one”).

And the coach in the last hurrah—pegged as a death march along the sightlines of The Seventh Seal—now shows, in the unstinting power and flair of the horses, a fresh dynamic. A bit stressed though our helmsmen might be, they’re still alive and kicking.      

#coen brothers

[joementa]

Here is a list of some of the music I’ve been listening to the past week.  Format: musician – album title, or musician – “song title” (album title).

Alex Cameron – Forced Witness

Sheer Mag – Need To Feel Your Love

Sharon Jones & The Dap-Kings – Soul Of A Woman

Morrissey – Low In High School

Ryan Adams – Prisoner

The Horrors – V

Sam Smith – The Thrill Of It All

The Pretenders – Loose Screw

Ellie Goulding – Delirium

Alicia Keys – The Element Of Freedom

Gordi – Clever Disguise EP

The Cure – The Head On The Door

Lou Reed – Street Hassle

Neil Young – Fork In The Road

Warren Zevon – Excitable Boy

AC/DC – AC/DC Live

I spent a lot of my music-time this past week listening to some of my favorite fall albums.  In particular, I love listening to Alicia Keys this time of year.  There’s something about her voice, and music, that goes well with colder weather.  Her voice just warms up the room, and you definitely need some warmth when it gets cold.  The Element Of Freedom is a very underrated Alicia Keys album, and I do think that you need to hear it.  It has an old school R&B vibe to it.  A lot of it reminds me of Prince.  There are some GREAT songs on the album, including “Try Sleeping With A Broken Heart” (also known has ‘try writing a song better than this…HA!’), “Wait Til You See My Smile”, “That’s How Strong My Love Is”, and “Empire State Of Mind (Part II) Broken Down”.  Do yourself a favor and check out The Element Of Freedom.  You won’t regret it.

There were some really solid albums released this past week.  While we certainly miss Sharon Jones, we should also feel lucky that not only did she exist on this planet and make great music, but she left us with an unreleased album….until now.  Soul Of A Woman is a GREAT album that I can’t recommend highly enough.  It’s just a great soul album.  And it has such an appropriate ending, with “Call On God”.  Good luck not crying after that one!  I’m also really enjoying Morrissey’s new album Low In High School.  I was expecting something a little more melodic, so it did take some getting used to for me.  But I think the lyrics are really strong and I like the music on a lot of the songs. There are some nice piano ballads on the album.  And at least two songs with a tango vibe.  Hey, when was the last time you listened to tango music!

Two more albums that I need to mention.  I’ve talked a lot about Forced Witness by Alex Cameron (and have listened to it even more than I’ve talked about it), and I will continue to mention it here.  It’s my favorite album of the year, and you need to hear it.  It’s almost not believable how catchy some of the melodies are. But yes, they ARE that catchy. It’s truly an incredible album that I could not speak highly enough about.  And not only is it catchy and melodic, but the lyrics are very interesting.

The second album I must mention is Need To Feel Your Love by Sheer Mag.  You NEED to listen to this album.  RIGHT NOW. Run, do not walk, to your local record store and pick this one up.  It is a fantastic rock ‘n roll album.  When I listen to Need To Feel Your Love, I hear the sound of a Saturday night, a leather jacket, and white t-shirt and jeans. You know that sound.  That’s what this album sounds like.  There’s so much energy to it.  You need to hear Need To Feel Your Love, and you need to hear it right now.  And turn it up.  LOUD.

Don’t forget that this Friday is Record Store Day Black Friday.  So go to your local record store and buy at least one record, but preferably more than that.  I think there are a bunch of good RSD Black Friday releases this year.  Especially Live At Luther College by Dave Matthews & Tim Reynolds.  In my opinion, it’s one of the best winter albums that I’ve ever heard.  It’s very intimate and the recording is beautiful.  It sounds like Dave and Tim are right next to you.  Make sure you pick up Live At Luther College.  You won’t be disappointed.

#music #live music #vinyl #alex cameron #sheer mag #sharon jones #morrissey #ryan adams #the horrors #sam smith #the pretenders #ellie goulding #alicia keys #gordi #the cure #lou reed #neil young #warren zevon #ac/dc #record store day #rsd #black friday