#matt brewer

[dustedmagazine]

Steve Lehman Trio + Mark Turner — The Music of Anthony Braxton (PI)

Anthony Braxton’s reputation precedes him. His records can be experimental, bold, weird and sometimes all at once. He’s written scores for orchestras to play on two different planets at the same time, illustrated others with almost inscrutable drawings, and filed his work under a clinical numbering system that uses numbers instead of names: “composition #34."

They run into the 400s now, nearly as high as the number of records he’s released. For anyone new to him, it can be a challenge to find an entry point. Which makes records where other people interpret his music so valuable: they’re something of an easy gateway into a complex labyrinth.

Usually, they don’t veer too far astray: Tzadik released 2012’s Play Braxton in which three Braxton alumni (Marilyn Crispell, Gerry Hemingway, and Mark Dresser) played several of his tunes. In 2020, Cuneiform brought in the Thumbscrew trio, another set of alumni, for The Anthony Braxton Project. Now Pi Recordings has its own: Steve Lehman’s The Music of Anthony Braxton. It’s a different approach to some well-trod music, which is a good thing.

Here altoist Steve Lehman leads a quartet of drummer Damion Reid, bassist Matt Brewer and tenor saxophonist Mark Turner. This group plays through a set of mostly Braxton themes in front of a boisterous crowd in Los Angeles but also slips in two originals and a Thelonious Monk tune. In some ways it’s a very different approach to Braxton: there’s nothing here that plays chords, for one. And in Braxton’s music, a piano or a guitar is almost always at hand. And secondly, they approach the music in a straight-ahead manner, not one that gives it odd little flourishes.

The record opens with “Composition 34a” and the two horns playing a circular motif while the rhythm section swings. It opens into a fast tune where the players work around the theme and play in tandem giving the music a nice, punchy edge. Both horns take nice solos before the tempo slows down for the finish. The band also gets to stretch out on “Composition 40b,” too. Brewer opens the tune with a bass solo before leading the band into the theme. It’s another one that benefits from two horns and allows both Lehman and Turner to play lines that twist around each other before coming together for a few bars. And the tricky, stop-start rhythms of “Composition 23c” show this band opening in sync.

The two Lehman originals slot in nicely next to Braxton’s pieces. “L.A. Genes” lets the horns play complimentary lines before opening up room for solos. “Unspoken and Unbroken” starts with some playing by the horns before Reid moves into a quick, hip-hop rhythm. Both cuts are informed by Braxton’s music, but also hold their own. The set closes with the two horns dueling on opening of Monk’s hard-swinging “Trinkle, Tinkle,” which aside from showing off some nice playing helps put Braxton’s music in a context: suddenly his odd rhythms and phrases don’t feel so out of the tradition. 

Throughout this record, the band’s in good shape but Reid’s playing is one difference that stands out. When compared to Play Braxton, he keeps things simple: his drumming is precise without being esoteric, swinging while staying true to Braxton’s knotty rhythms. Hemingway, by contrast, has a tendency to tap at cymbals with his fingertips and to use a light touch to create gaps in the music, making him more of an acquired taste.

But all over the record this music is played like straight-forward jazz, with a blue chip approach that never feels cold, experimental or sterile. Instead the band swings and makes Braxton’s themes come alive in a way that Halvorson, Crispell, and sometimes even Braxton himself struggle with. Recommended.

Roz Milner

[milliondollarbaby87]

Scrapper (2023) Review

Having to deal with the death of her mother, 12 year old Georgie has been living alone in her London flat and covering it up but when her father Jason arrives everything is about to change. ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ Continue reading Untitled

[kaccvcate]

little comic about my friend's band @mattieandtheyurts (my cousin Dan is their drummer) Check them out on Youtube also

[wiersema1]

Dutch Lion has finally finished his 2025 MLB Baseball Preview. Who will win this year's World Series? Dutch Lion knows. Read this Preview to find out for yourself.

[wausaupilotreview]

Former Mets GM Billy Eppler joining Brewers as special adviser, AP source says

He now joins a Brewers organization that's chasing a third straight NL Central title.

By STEVE MEGARGEE AP Sports Writer Former New York Mets general manager Billy Eppler has joined the Milwaukee Brewers as a special adviser for scouting and baseball operations, according to a person familiar with the situation. The person spoke on the condition of anonymity because the Brewers hadn’t announced the hire. SNY first reported Eppler was coming to Milwaukee. Eppler was suspended…

[brewscoop]

Exciting news for baseball and beer lovers! The Cleveland Guardians announced Monday that Ohio-based Fat Head's brewery is the Official Craft Beer partner of the club starting this season. From a humble sandwich kiosk in 2016 to a signature third-base Beer Garden in 2023, this partnership is all about community pride and enjoying a cold one at the ballpark. Cheers to many more seasons of great games and even better beers!

[voittoinsights]

These TED talks will transform your life !

Have you ever seen TED talks? If yes, then I am sure they would have left you spell bound. These talks are a wonderful collection ideas from the best minds in their respective fields. The best part is that they are available for free to anyone with an internet connection. Below are few curated TED talks that will sure transform your thought framework and life. Table of Contents1. ‘Sleep is…

[franavu]

I think one of the problems with C3 is structural. Matt seems to be wanting to tell a story with themes about Gods, Divinity and Religion, which, great. But if you're going with those themes one of the worldbuilding questions that should at least be thought about is "in a world where the Gods are real, what does that mean for culture, society and community?" and the answer seems to be "it doesn't". It's like the religion parts are worldbuilding-adjacent, like, "I guess they're religious too." And this was fine for the previous campaigns and literally any other story, but for what C3 is doing, it should at least have been minimally addressed.

Part of it was that Matt could have gone in pre-campaign-prep, "For reasons, your character needs to have an opinion on the Gods that is rooted in your background." Something like, "the orphanage that Ashton grew up in was run by Lawbearer people and they came down hard on even minimal rule breaking, which made it a miserable place for a kid like Aston to grow up in, so he's understandably bitter." Or, "of course Chetney prays to the All-Hammer, he's a craftsman, he tries to go to the temple on his holy day, but he hasn't managed it for the last 20 years, and he feels vaguely guilty about it." That would have at least given the PCs some connection to the larger narrative.

It's also that in the whole first arc the Gods weren't relevant unless the BHs specifically needed a priest for something. And themes of religion could have been there from the beginning, which could have connected with the overall Predathos narrative. I think something really interesting could have been done with Jrusar, and worship of the Lawbearer and the Wildmother, and civilization rising from the wilds. It needn't have been particularly invasive, just there in the background, the same way the governmental structure was explained but not particularly relevant for what the BHs were doing there.

And it's such a shame, because Matt is really good with personal faith, and individual interaction with the Gods, but it seems to break down with organized religion. And I don't know if it's a blindspot, or if he was so busy during pre-campaign-prep that he just went with what he had, which, again, would have been perfectly fine for literally any other story, just not this one. It's just that this whole campaign feels like missed opportunities, and the feeling like it could have been so much better. 

(Like, for example, a personal frustration is that the Vasselheim parts could have shown diversity in forms of worship for different parts of Exandria, and diversity in ritual from priests of different Prime Deities, and show that despite their differences they are all working together towards a common goal. Instead in communal situations, we get fantasy-Protestantism, with a sprinkle of fantasy-Catholicism ritual on top. (And don't get me started on the alcohol ban, don't the fruits come from the Wildmother's bounty, grown and harvested under the Dawnfather's aegis? Isn't the All-Hammer the God of all craftsmen, including the vintner and the brewer?) It could have still been a bleak and hard place, just rooted specifically in the religions and Gods of Exandria.)

[devilw-rites]

Behind Closed Doors and Paper-Thin Walls

Tags: switch!Matt Murdock x switch!Reader, Reader is being horny and fantasizing a lot (bondage & pegging), Matt is a voyeur, Foggy is an innocent bystander. (2,767 words).

Being a paralegal under your husband's and his best friend's law firm seems like a dream come true, but sometimes the close proximity gets to you and Matt. (Read on ao3!)

The only thing that separated you and your husband, Matt Murdock, was a papery-thin wall and a cracked window.

You sat at a desk in the main room in the office, prepping Wednesday’s case file for Matt and Foggy. With every trial the law firm only got bigger and bigger, and they desperately needed help planning cases. In the other room, Foggy’s office, the duo were on the phone with some-such or another. It apparently wasn’t going well because you could hear Foggy slam close his desk drawer. You huffed yourself, not exactly in the mood to deal with two very grumpy men, no matter how professional they maintained.

Matt walked out of the office, hands running through his hair. He made a beeline to the coffee pot, hoping to drown his woes into a cheap brew. Of course, it had been emptied by the three of you in the morning, so he went to work looking for the ground beans.

“Sounds like you guys are dealing with a nightmare,” you said. You stood from the desk to help him find the coffee, fetching the bag from one of the top shelves. “Let me make your coffee so you can breathe for a minute.” You knew you didn’t have to do this, Matt was capable of making his own drink no matter his mood, but you wanted to alleviate his stress in any way you could.

“You don’t have to do that, honey, I got it,” Matt objected, going to take the bag from you only for you to snatch it from his reach.

“I know, now go sit down. I love you,” you said, throwing out the old filter and putting a new one in the brewer.

Matt obeyed, quickly accepting a chance to be doted on. He sagged into one of the chairs by the entrance door, loosening his tie and leaning back with a sigh. You glanced over for just a second to check on him, but stopped all movement when you saw him. Disheveled hair from running his hands through it, loose tie, head leaned back… it was a position all too familiar to you. You coughed to keep yourself from whining, a blush rushing to your face and running down your neck.

You tried to keep your thoughts from trailing off the task, telling yourself that you were at work, Matt was in a bad mood, and Foggy is literally right there. Like playing tug-of-war with a team of oxen, you quickly fell down the horny rabbit hole. Your mind flashed with images of all the times the two of you had fucked at work–when you were still the newbie, after a date night that turned into a work night, the week before your wedding–there were definitely a dozen more examples, but those stood out to you the most. Your thighs squeezed together, suddenly so desperate to touch yourself. You hoped Matt would be too distracted to notice your sudden change in mood.

Matt didn’t notice at first, too caught up in his own whirlwind of thoughts, only none of them were anything like yours. It was only when the coffee pot beeped, alerting that it was finished, that the two of you were ripped from your trances. With shaky hands you filled a mug. Still oblivious, not paying attention to anything beyond how the hell he was gonna get his client to cooperate, he took the cup from your hands. It was when he felt the small tremors in your fingers that he perked up.

At first he thought you were upset, considering that he’d let his bad mood rub off on you, but that possibility was almost instantly eliminated when he took in the rest of you. Your hands had been abnormally warm, your heartbeat stuttering and speeding up, and that smell he knew all too well. You were needy, for whatever reason, and he knew you were already wet.

You gulped, fiddling with your skirt. “Anything else I can do to make it easier?” You asked, trying your hardest to keep your tone appropriately concerned and not desperate. Matt’s eyebrows were furrowed together–god fucking damn it, he was so hot–like he was still frustrated from what happened earlier. No, little did you know, he was trying to figure out how you got so aroused in between the time he left Foggy’s office and now, unless he’d somehow missed it even earlier.

Matt hummed an indication of no, taking a drink of the coffee to ground himself for totally different reasons. “Thank you, I really appreciate this,” he said.

You bit your lip, deciding to lean down and give him a chaste kiss to his lips. Just a taste, that’s all you wanted, all you needed, you told yourself. He eagerly returned it, reaching up to rest his hand on the side of your neck to let you know he didn’t want you to pull away. He was trying his hardest to control himself, but you were so tempting, and you always knew all the right ways to destress him.

An awkward cough echoed in the room and you jumped, pulling away from Matt despite a quiet huff from him. There Foggy stood, clearly still annoyed, but definitely not at you two. “Sorry to interrupt, lovebirds, but I heard the coffee. Matt, hands to yourself, buddy,” he said lightheartedly. He’d walked in on much worse in his three years of knowing you.

With a blush, you licked your lips, trying to savor the lingering taste of your husband. You glanced one last time at Matt before you walked back to your desk and pretended to get back to your work. He definitely knew.

“How you holding up, Fog?” You asked, flipping between the same two pages in the case file like that would exorcize your brain.

“You do not want to know, this guy is probably as big of a nightmare to work with as Castle. He’s not telling the truth about something, I just know it, and it’s making this a whole lot harder than it has to be!” Foggy freely ranted, pouring his coffee much closer to the top than was safe for your floors.

You tried to be sympathetic, you really did, but your will was not that strong and your cunt was soaking your panties. You thought back to last night, when Matt’s cock hitting the back of your throat satisfied every part of you. He was so thick, stretching your lips more than you ever thought you could handle before you met him, and the feeling of him throbbing against your tongue had you whining around his cock. When you finally had him cumming down your throat, it was your turn, Matt throwing you back on the bed so he could worship you between your legs until you couldn’t stand to cum anymore and then some.

“Okay, I know the first two pages aren’t that interesting,” Foggy teased. “If you’re bored you can do something else, you’re not bound to this case forever.”

God, he really should’ve said anything else, because now you were picturing tying Matt’s wrists together, riding him and taking care of him after a long day of bullshit. Leaving scratches down his chest, feeling his hand wrapping around your neck, and forcing his cock as deep as it can go inside of you... The warmth in between your legs exploded into tingles and your face got hotter with each passing fantasy.

Matt tried his hardest to keep himself together, focused entirely on tuning in to your body. He sensed every little reaction, could hear your thighs rubbing and squeezing together behind your desk. He wished Foggy was anywhere but here right now so he could touch you in all the ways you so desperately craved.

“Uh, yeah, sorry, guess I’m not all the way here right now,” you said, brushing off Foggy’s comment, “maybe I need some of that coffee for myself.”

“I got it!” Matt rushed, all too eager to serve you. Foggy rolled his eyes at how lovestruck Matt always seemed to be for you, but deep down he found the pair of you adorable. You were like the power duo, a classic Romeo and Juliet–minus the family feud, the weird age gap, and the suicide.

You slyly stared as Matt poured you a cup. Your eyes trailed up and down his body, taking your time when they landed on his ass. A shiver ran up your spine as you pictured him bent over for you, maybe over your very desk, presented and waiting for you to fill him up. It was a fantasy you’d discussed before, even planned to try out soon, because recently he’d been obsessed with the idea of you fucking him. Using one of your dildos, stretching him out, and filling him up in ways no one else ever had, touching him in ways he’d never let anyone else even think about.

“Thanks, hon,” you said when Matt brought you your coffee. “I’m gonna go finish these up in my office, okay? Let me know if you guys need anything.” You were hoping with a little more privacy you could ease the ache a little bit. You pecked Matt on the cheek and entered your little sanctuary, adorned with a cat calendar and a couple dying succulents.

You closed the door and plopped the small stack of files on your desk. You sat in your rolly chair and leaned back with a sigh that was somewhere between relief and frustration. You pushed your lap all the way under the desk to ensure a little more modesty. You ran your fingers over the front of your skirt at first, letting the small tingles run their way through your body. There was no way Matt couldn’t hear you right now, but part of you was hoping that he was getting as riled up as you were.

Meanwhile, Matt was trying his best to split his attention between you and Foggy, with you clearly dominating. Even with Foggy’s loud ranting and raving about the woes of their client, all he could hear was your shuddering breaths and the rustling of your skirt. The picture was almost crystal clear: you leaned back against your chair, skirt hiked up to your waist, and hand shoved down your panties. He could feel a warm flush of his own traveling lower and lower.

“You know what I mean?” Foggy finished, almost out of breath after his long winded soapbox. Matt quickly snapped out of his trance.

“Hm? Yeah, this guy’s a nightmare, Fog. Hey, why don’t you go on a walk to clear your head?” Matt suggested. He was hoping and praying to every Saint above that he would just leave the office already so he could get his hands on you.

“Maybe later. Let’s just get this done today, I’m sick of this case,” Foggy said.

Deep down, Matt was crying on the inside.

You were too, but for a totally different reason.

Your skirt was well up past your hips and your panties pulled down to stretch across your thighs. Your fingers are slowly stroking the length of your clit to really tease yourself. A shiver reverberates across your body and you let out a small moan. It doesn’t feel nearly as good as Matt’s fingers, but you’re still left melted against your chair.

Matt’s legs are crossed in a desperate attempt to hide his erection from his best friend. He gulps when he can hear a shaky whine slip past your lips. He has to grip the arm of his chair to keep himself grounded.

You’re not oblivious to the effect you’re having on Matt, though you can’t actually see or hear him. Instead you use your imagination. He’s probably fiddling with his tie, one of his nervous habits. His breathing is probably getting heavier, sweat dripping down the back of his neck, and hard cock straining against his dress pants–you throw a hand over your mouth the stifle a moan. Your fingers start rubbing tight circles against your clit, sometimes dipping down to tease your hole every once and a while.

Matt felt like his skin was on fire at this point. How Foggy hadn’t noticed him dying in his chair was beyond him. He was barely able to grit out brief answers to whatever bullshit was being discussed. He could practically taste you from across the office.

You were using both hands at this point, one hand fingering your cunt and the other stroking your clit. You could feel the orgasm building up as your clit pulsed and throbbed from your touches. Flashes of Matt danced across your closed eyelids. Memories of him fucking you up against these very walls, his cock impossibly deep inside of you while you scratched at his back. Him dropping to his knees to tongue fuck your pussy from under your desk while you completed work. You teasing your poor husband as he begged you to finally let you cum after denying him for the third time.

Your heart was pounding against your ribs and you could hardly catch your breath. Your fingers pounded against your spot relentlessly. You were surprised you could stay as quiet as you had been, yet Matt could still hear everything. Your labored breathing, your racing heart, the wet noises of your cunt. He was gripping his knee, so desperate for you, he could hardly stand it. He could tell you were close and that made it all the more painful. He should be the one driving you to the edge, not your hands.

It hit you suddenly, the first wave of your orgasm. The hand rubbing your clit flew up to cover your mouth once more while you fingerfucked yourself through each and every wave of euphoria. You whimpered Matt’s name under your breath as quietly as you could, knowing that it would rile him up even more. It worked, Matt’s cock leaked precum into his boxers.

Once the final wave passed, your muscles collapsed and you sagged against your chair. You pulled out your fingers and limply laid your hand against your thigh. You took deep breaths to ground yourself. You wished Matt was here to help you clean up.

Matt could hear that your breathing had slowed and the wet sounds of your fingers slipping in and out of you had ceased. He matched your slow, deep breaths to bring himself down as much as possible. His cock still painfully throbbed and the flush on his neck refused to go away.

The sound of your clothes rustling, then your office door opening, alerted Matt that you were going to the bathroom to clean up. He lamely excused himself from Foggy and rushed to meet you on your way there. When he stepped out into the main room, you stopped just at the bathroom door and waited for him. He made his way over to you and stood close, nearly right up against you.

“You know I heard that,” Matt breathed into your ear. You couldn’t resist shivering.

“I know, baby. I’m surprised you were able to keep yourself together,” you teased back.

“You know you’re paying for that when we get home, right?”

Your heart jumped at the implication. What did Matt have in store for you? Would you fuck you the minute the two of you passed the threshold, shoving you against a wall and taking what was his? Or would he take you to bed and tease you, going tortuously slow. Would he deny you, making you wait to cum the way you made him wait? Would he refuse to stop, making you cum over and over again until you were shaking and couldn’t cum anymore? Your cheeks burned bright red from all the possibilities.

While you were stuck in thought, Matt gently took the hand that had been inside of you. He raised it up to his lips and slowly took them in his mouth. His tongue swirled around each finger to catch any of your cum that he could. You whined without thinking, definitely too loud to be discreet. Matt slowly pulled your fingers out with a quiet ‘pop’ and dropped your hand back down.

“Just needed a taste, sweetheart,” Matt teased through his grin. “Go clean up and I’ll let Foggy know we’re going home early.”

“Fuck, okay Matt,” you replied. You rushed into the bathroom and all but slammed the door behind you, nervous and excited for whatever your consequences might be.

[strawwritesfic]

Matt Murdock x Reader: Introspection

Summary: A long day of soul-searching leads you right to the offices of Nelson & Murdock.

Rating/Tags: G (Gender of Reader Is Not Specified; Second Person POV; Lawyer!Reader; Secret Identity; Beginning of Romance; Not Canon Compliant)

Word Count: 2,110

Challenge: 160 Collective Drabbles

Prompt: Seductive

Tag List: @imaginesfire

Notes: And now I have quadrupled my output from last year. Wow!

I actually work in a courtroom (I'm not an attorney), but I'm nowhere near New York. I did look up a few things to double-check legal stuff for the county this should be set in and whatnot. Still, if you happen to know I got a detail wrong, please let me know! I am always eager to learn and correct. Also, I've never seen anything beyond Daredevil season one, and it's been so long that the voice I had for Matt was based more on Samuel Brewer's performance in Terminal Degree.

Titling this one was a real pain. It's still not great. They've all been pretty bad lately, haven't they?

Ao3 Version Here

Introspection

Most of Hell's Kitchen was shrouded in darkness when you stepped out of your taxi in the wee hours of the morning. The businesses lining the streets loomed empty around you. Surely those living in the apartments nearby slept as best they could—though how, with the bass pounding from the still-hopping clubs a block or two over, you didn't know. Your driver must have heard those siren calls himself, because you barely had time to pay his fare before he sped away. You stood stranded in the island of light coming from the streetlamp above your head.

Well, what was the point in catching a ride all the way out here in the middle of the night only to chicken out when you got there? This would not be the first time you ate crow, nor did you suspect it would be last. You tried not to anticipate the taste too much as you took a deep breath and forced yourself to face the shadowed entrance to the offices of Nelson & Murdock.

You wavered for a moment with your arm outstretched, hand nearly grasping the bar across the door. Yes, it was dark inside. Not a single light on in the entire building as far as you could tell. And why should you think anyone would be here at 2:00 in the morning? Just because you'd been stuck at your office this late didn't mean the same for everyone else working the case.

No. No excuses. You'd just steeled your resolved to press forward when you heard a commotion above your head: the clang of something hitting metal, followed by rapid footsteps. You grabbed at once for the canister of pepper spray in your purse, but when you looked in the direction of the sound, you saw nothing that might have caused it.

Probably just a stray cat.

This time, you really did force yourself to push on the door. It opened easily. Damn. Now you had to go through with this, or at least check for signs of a break-in—not that you were likely to see any in the pitch-black you now stood in.

Your call of "Hello?" broke in two after its first syllable, interrupted by a series of thumps issuing from the ceiling.

What it was was absolutely too big to be a cat.

You should have called the police. Obviously! What could you do to stop someone with the balls to rob a defense attorney's office? Your pepper spray wouldn't do a thing to stop someone like that. But your feet took you up the stairs before you could reach for your cell phone instead. Somehow, someway, you managed to bound all the way up the incline without tripping on something in the unfamiliar territory.

There. The nearest door. You could hear beyond it. With as much force as you could muster, you slammed the door open. At least if you could startle the intruder, that would give you the chance to —

"Counselor. What an unexpected surprise."

—the chance to look like a complete buffoon. Matt Murdock sat at Matt Murdock's desk in Matt Murdock's office, looking entirely unruffled in the light coming from the window behind him. Well, maybe not entirely unruffled. It looked as though he had hat hair, although your jobs being what they were, you'd never actually seen him wear a hat.

You must have waited too long to speak, because Matt cocked his head slightly to one side and asked, "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Uh," you said, in a desperate bid for time. But the second it took you to say that didn't give you any grand ideas for answers. "I was in the neighborhood."

"This neighborhood? Really?"

How did this man always manage to sound so polite and so condescending at the same damn time? You stalked up to his desk and slammed your palms into its surface. Matt didn't even flinch. "Listen, Murdock. I was nearby, I heard something up here, and I rushed in to help at risk of my life. And this is the thanks I get?"

"I take it by your attitude that you were not 'nearby' to offer apologies for your earlier conduct," he observed in that same infuriatingly mild tone.

"What I was nearby for isn't the point!"

"On the contrary, Counselor. I think what you're doing breaking into my office when you didn't believe anyone would be here is the point."

"I—" You bristled, cutting yourself off as you realized Matt had you dead to rights. After your performance that morning, people weren't likely to believe you had good intentions being where you were when you were. You wouldn't believe it, had the roles been reversed. So you forced yourself to inhale slowly and step away from his desk.

"I only lied about why I was here. I did come to see you. But I didn't break in. The door was unlocked."

"And you decided to keep going even though all the lights were turned off."

"I told you I heard something up here!"

There was just something about Matt's demeanor that pushed all your buttons, and you weren't known for your even temper to begin with. Then it dawned on you:

"And you are here. Why are you here sitting in the dark?"

One corner of Matt's lips twitched up. "Well, it isn't as though I need a lamp. It keeps the bills down, which in turn keeps Foggy's blood pressure down."

"Do you often say here in a completely dark building so late after closing?"

"No. Our discussion today raised some questions for me. After all this time, I'd hate to see my client in chains over a technicality." He tapped on the thick, hard cover of a tome sitting closed in front of him. "And you're lucky I did tonight and that I have no plans to press charges."

"And if you did, I'd never try to prevent someone from stealing from you again."

"I'll be more careful to lock the door when I'm here alone late. At any rate, I'm afraid all you heard was my fumbling through my case files. I'm sorry for causing you concern."

"Are you sure? I swear I heard someone on the fire escape before I came in."

"Must have been a stray cat," he said as he moved to switch on his desk lamp. Doing so could only be for your benefit. You took the hint and collapsed into the chair across from him. God, even just talking to this man made you tired. "Not that I don't appreciate a purely social call from a person of your caliber, but I do have a lot of reading to do before I file in the morning. Why don't you just tell me what brought you here to begin with," he said.

Your hackles raised automatically. It took some willpower to lower them—willpower and a reminder that you'd already admitted to wanting to see him. The fight left you as you sighed.

"I came to say...I'm sorry," you said.

A long paused followed your statement. Matt appeared frozen in place. "Excuse me?"

A spark of frustration seared inside your chest, but you stifled it before it could grow. You'd spent most of the day consumed by that fire. Time to let it go.

"I'm sorry for my behavior in court this morning. The judge should have held me in contempt. I was out of line."

There was more, and Matt must have known that. He said nothing while you mentally prepared to continue.

"We've both been on this case for a long time. It's been my life for months now. And the suggestion we might be on the wrong track..."

"Stung?" Matt offered pleasantly.

"It's ludicrous! My investigator couldn't be that wrong. All my witnesses can't be lying. The evidence leads us directly to your client. But..."

Matt's eyebrows folded into one long line above the frames of his glasses. "But?"

"You were right," you said softly. "Maybe I've been living this too long. Maybe I want this to be over more than I want the truth."

It was a difficult thing to admit. The implications of doing so would have far-reaching consequences. But as long as you said it out loud, one of those consequences wouldn't have to be losing your soul in the slow-grinding wheels of justice.

"Thank you for saying that," Matt said, and oh no. You recognized that note in his voice. If you let him go on in it, you'd regret it. "I—"

"Which is why tomorrow I'm going to request to be withdrawn from the case."

"What?"

"It'll be better for everyone involved. We can get some fresh eyes on it, let someone new take a look."

"You getting taken off the case is the last thing I wanted."

"Why? It's not as though you've invoked your right to a speedy trial."

"You know the case. You know my client is innocent!"

"I don't know that, Matt!"

"But you admit it's a possibility."

Your hesitation to disagree answered for you. Matt half-rose from behind his desk, leaning across it to whisper, "Don't you want to know? Don't you want to find out why they've all been lying to you?"

You shook your head. "I think all I really want is to be done."

The unasked question of done with what? rang in the air. An unexpected lump in your throat made it impossible for you to speak. Then Matt opened a drawer, and the sudden noise of it made you jump in your seat.

"You know what we both need?" That strangely impish smile of his had returned.

"A straitjacket and a white room?"

"A break." He stood with his briefcase in his hand. "You said it yourself. We've been working this case a long time. A few hours of time to ourselves won't ruin it."

You nodded again as you dragged yourself up out of his chair. That was all you had the energy for. "I'll get out of your hair. I should probably try to get some sleep before I talk to my boss anyway."

A faint touch on your elbow kept you from moving very far. When you glanced back, you found Matt's hand grasping you there. "Come with me," he said.

Great. Now you'd been mulling things over so much you were hallucinating. You jab about the straitjackets sharpened into a nearing reality. In an effort to save the miniscule amount of dignity remaining to you, you laughed a little hysterically during your attempt to shake him off.

"I'm not going to your house with you, Murdock."

"You wound me, Counselor. What sort of cad do you take me for?"

"Then what are you suggesting?"

"The bars are still open for another or so. Let me buy you a drink. We can talk."

You recoiled far enough to get his arm to drop. "And what will people think of us out colluding in public?"

Matt shrugged. "We won't talk about the case, so we won't be colluding."

"We can claim that all we want. The judge will be concerned with what the witness thinks they saw."

"If someone accuses us of colluding, what's the big deal?" Here, he looked over his red lenses directly into your eyes; you felt goosebumps prickle up your arms at the feeling Matt could actually see you. "You're already talking about stepping back. I happen to know a defense firm that might be interested in someone of your talents if you get forced out."

He shifted his cane and his case to offer you his arm in silence, the obvious ghost of a smile pulling at his lips. You paused. His offer sounded good—better than it should have, considering all your bombastic meetings in court up until then. Then, before you could change your mind, you bent over to switch off Matt's lamp. Your arms hooked together, and his smile widened before he tugged you gently in the direction of the exit.

Matt Murdock was an infuriating man. Equal parts charm and sarcasm, you always found yourself thinking about him long after any hearing where you tried to tear each other apart. At the same time, you couldn't deny that he was honest and good, and, you thought, while you locked the door to the office behind you both with the key he passed to you, more than a little seductive when you got him alone. If things didn't work out with your boss later that morning, taking Matt up on his offer didn't seem like an awful idea after all.

[all-peristeronic]

Short stories that live rent-free in my head that never show up on my dash

Chac Mool by Carlos Fuentes - A man buys a chacmool (a pre-Columbian Mesoamerican sculpture associated with the Aztec god of rain) for his art collection, and it gradually comes to life, tormenting him.

Mountain Ways by Ursula K. LeGuin - In a world in which bisexual polyamorous marriage is the norm, a woman pretends to be a man to marry the woman she loves and deals with complicated relationships.

The Water That Falls on You from Nowhere by John Chu - In the near future, water falls from the sky whenever someone lies. This makes life difficult for Matt as he maneuvers the marriage question with his boyfriend and how best to come out to his Chinese immigrant parents.

The V*mpire by P H Lee - A horror story (with a hopeful ending) about transphobia, abuse, emotional manipulation, and being on tumblr in the 2010s.

The Feast by K.C. Mead-Brewer - A town struck by insatiable hunger tries to break the curse by sacrificing a young woman.

Fantasy for Eleven Fingers by Ben Fountain - A young piano prodigy with eleven fingers strains under the weight of parental expectations and the rising tide of antisemitism in early 1900s Europe.

Midnight Hour by Mary Robinette Kowal - A fairy tale in which a king and queen want to stop the curse on them from being broken.

[dustedmagazine]

Tyshawn Sorey Trio — Continuing (Pi)

Tyshawn Sorey has done so many things over the past couple decades — classical art song, hovering free improvisation, Bill Dixon-derived walls of texture and action, funky synth jams with King Britt — that it was only a matter of time before he dealt with jazz standards.  But when he finally did, the results were perplexingly hard to embrace. The trio date Mesmerism felt more strategic than involving, a box ticked. The Off-Off Broadway Guide To Synergism, a triple CD encounter with a quartet that included saxophonist Greg Osby, was as exhausting as it accomplished. But the third time’s the charm, and Continuing, which features the same trio as Mesmerism, is simultaneously deeply idiomatic, artistically necessary, and appealingly personal.

It comprises just four performances, played by Sorey on drums, Aaron Diehl on piano and Matt Brewer on bass. The tunes are not equally known, but each is in some way archetypal. “Angel Eyes” has been performed by Frank Sinatra, Stan Kenton, Ella Fitzgerald and Willie Nelson; it’s one of those hills that every jazz musician of a certain age had to climb. Wayne Shorter’s “Reincarnation Blues,” Ahmad Jamal’s “Seleritus” and Harold Mabern’s “In What Direction Are You Headed?” each tap into a particular essence, and each happens to be the work of a recently departed jazz composer who meant a lot to Sorey, which may explain why this album feels so emotionally direct, even when the trio takes a tune somewhere it wasn’t built to go.

Art Blakey and the Jazz Messengers gave Shorter’s “Reincarnation Blues” a typically hard-swinging treatment. The trio slows it way down, playing it first as a slow, sauntering blues, and then handing it to Diehl, whose solo around the eight-minute mark is a gravity-defying marvel of sound-mass management. “Seleritus” runs over four times as long as Jamal was wont to play the tune, during which time the group respectfully recreates Jamal’s suave voicings and lightly percolating grooves, and then patiently refashions them into a quietly singing exposition of masterful resource husbandry. “Angel Eyes” is nearly as long and nearly stationary, hovering with delicate suspense. Perhaps the most remarkable thing is how little Sorey plays, doling out the sounds of his hi-hat like they’re the sole bag of rations that must keep you alive until spring. The Mabern tune breaks that spell with a soulful roil so visceral that you might miss the ingenious rearrangements taking place every second.

Bill Meyer

[dearstvckyx]

its off season - excludes Gavi and Pulsiic (nhl x f1)

Matt Rempe

Location Calgary

liked by alleyrempe jmsscott nyrangers and others

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user83 I KNEW I SEEN HER IN THE BACK OF ALLEYS TIKTOK

Luke Hughes

Location Michigan

liked by edwards.73 jackhughes yourbrother and others

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tagged jackhughes _quinnhughes hughes_06

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Jack Hughes

Location Michigan

liked by elblue nicohischier jamie.drysdale and others

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tagged jackhughes

trevorzegras “not naming name” is crazy when we all know it was jack

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trevorzegras IM 23!

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trevorzegras oh the middle name 👀🍿

Quinn Hughes

Location Las Vegas

liked by canucks eblue lhughes_06 and others

yourusername proud of my quinn 💙 🖤

tagged _quinnhughes lhughes_06 canucks

jackhughes YOUR QUINN?

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fanpage7 OH SHE USED THE ITALICS ON JACKS NAME

canucks you mean OUR QUINN, right…. RIGHT!?

yourusername suree admin <3

_quinnhughes first i’d like to say i am no ones QUINN, and second how am i now noticing lukes tie color

lhughes_06 why are you so worried about it QUINTIN

trevorzegras Quinn i am about to propose to her for you

Nico Hischier

Location Switzerland

liked by njdevils ninahischier jesperbratt and others

yourusername ‘Meine Liebe gehört mir, ganz mir’ ❤️🎶

tagged nicohischier

jackhughes why is it so… blue

yourusername is Michigan not this blue?

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yourusername i did :)

jesperbratt and you two didn’t invite me

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nicohischier ❤️

Mitch Marner

Location Canada

liked by austonmatthews smi77y bertuzzi7 and others

yourusername when 2 aussies and 2 canadians link up

tagged marner_93

austonmatthews cross over of the year

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williamnylander ME IM THE CHILD

morganrielly more dog photos > more mitch and his gf photos

yourusername youre my least favorite now

Cole Caufield

Location Milwaukee

liked by jackhughes kellycaufield 10_cd and others

yourusername great at hockey but sucks at baseball 😬 literally embarrassed me in front of jackson 😐

tagged colecaufield kellycaufield paulcaufield jacksonbryaan brewers

colecaufield IM SORRY I DID NO SUCH THING

trevorzegras dude it’s in the photos, plus we’ve seen you throw

brewers 💛

yourusername 💙

jackhughes you guys have been going to all these places, what about YOUR FRIENDS

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_quinnhughes he’s being bitter

colecaufield when is he never

jackhughes WHY AM I CATCHING STRAYS WHEN IM HURT

Jamie Drysdale

Location Italy

liked by trevorzegras noahcates11 _alexturcotte and others

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tagged jamie.drysdale masonmctavish23

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Trevor Zegras

Location Hamptons

liked by jamie.drysdale patrickmoynihan_ griffinzegras and others

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tagged trevorzegras

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jackhughes HE WAS OUR DUCK FIRST

colecaufield ^^

patrickmoynihan_ ^^

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Charles Leclerc

Location Monte-Carlo Beach

liked by maxverstappen1 scuderiaferarri landonorris and others

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tagged charles_leclerc leo_leclercc

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yourusername if you even THINK about touch my child i will make sure you come p19-p20 in every single race

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George Russell

Location Mallorca

liked by oscarpiastri alexandrasaintmleux zhouguanyu24 and others

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tagged georgerussell63 alexandrasaintmleux lilymhe

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Lando Norris

Location None of your Business

liked by ciscanorris1 angryginge13 danielricciardo and others

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tagged landonorris maxfewtrell battersea

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yourusername lan more than me

landonorris ME

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user18 ooo arthur brought out the adopted argument

Max Verstappen

Location Belgium

liked by schecoperez lewishamilton lilyzneimer and others

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tagged maxverstappen1

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Piastri

Location Melbourne

liked by logansargeant iamrebeccad mclaren and others

yourusername just a london girl in a australian world

tagged oscarpiastri

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oscarpiastri technically she’s from Ireland just grew up there

yourusername OSCAR JACK PIASTRI DO NOT BE TELLING NORRIS ANYTHING ABOUT MY LIFE

alex_albon how was your claustrophobia

yourusername no comment

[pentrologram]

advent calendar - day sixteen

Your kid is awesome.

parent!matt murdock/parent!reader

a/n; does this twist even make sense. i feel like my writing is ass 😭part one (heavily recommended)

The potion brewer has to be dragged away from the wooden bench she uses as her lab kicking.

It's normal, you suppose, she's only four and still prone to temper tantrums despite how mature she can be sometimes.

Matt is always so good with her, though.

After you adopted her when she wasn't anything but a newborn, Matt took caring of her like a fish to water. He was a natural at it, easily reasoning with her and acting as your voice of reason when her terrible twos turned out to be more than terrible.

Now, he took her for her bath, easing her away from her play-time mentality and helping her settle down for bed. You cleaned up the playroom that you and Matt had built for her in your flat, because before her toys had bled throughout the living room. The lipgloss tubes bought for her from friends that had been used as potions were packed away, floppy rubber snakes tucked back in a closet, and play brooms set aside once more.

You're unsure when her obsession with potions began. Maybe she heard it on the morning cartoons, or maybe Matt had read a story to her that talked about potions, or something else entirely. All you knew was that one day your girl insisted you and Matt play pretend with her, denying any and all games of House or Work, instead demanding to be a "magical potion maker person". With a little figuring out, you realized that all she wanted to do was mix a lot of liquids together and force Matt to drink them. Maybe she thought it would help him, since you had explained to her long ago that Matt couldn't see the way you or her could.

None of that mattered, though. You still have a four-year-old yelling for you to hurry up and kiss her goodnight so she can go to bed.

"We don't yell inside, remember?" You ask her while brushing her hair from her face, sitting on the edge of her racecar bed. She huffs at you.

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight, bug. Love you."

"I love you, too." You kiss her forehead, still damp from her bath, and get up, letting Matt kiss her forehead too and click her nightlight on.

"Sleep well, bug." He says.

"We have an awesome kid." You say absentmindedly as you're about to go to bed.

"She has an awesome parent."

"Two awesome parents."

"Mhm."

"No, I'm serious, Matt. She adores you."

"I know."

"I adore you."

"I know."

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

[ncisfranchise-source]

HONORABLE MENTION: Mariel Molino

Photo : Paramount+ screenshot

As the titular song goes, NCIS: Origins‘ finale, “Cecilia,” broke our damn heart, due in great part to Mariel Molino‘s powerhouse performance in at least four incredibly rewatchable scenes. When Lala got in Franks’ face, begging him to accuse her of being MP Macy’s source? And then once he did, exploding about how her boss has never seen the loyal, tireless agent standing in front of him? Molino was electric. With Mary Jo afterwards, Lala was conversely wounded, vulnerable. In the swimming pool scene with Gibbs, Molino conveyed Lala’s nervous excitement about the intimacy that was finally about to transpire… and when Gibbs instead ruined the moment, Molino’s clipped, barely audible “What?,” followed by the way she drifted away, almost repulsed, was perfect. Capping Molino’s best-ever work was Lala’s appeal to Macy to drop the investigation into Gibbs, infused with both passion and desperation to save someone she loves. — Matt Webb Mitovich

[ecoustsaintmein]

ghosts (part iI of ????)

part i here

part iii here

part iv here

part v here

pairing: paddy x eoin; rating: M. slow burn.

this was the first time they'd had this conversation as eric and killian. but it was as if they'd had this conversation, many years ago, many times before.

(or, paddy mayne and eoin mcgonigal, reincarnated as eric love from 'starred up' and killian from 'angel'. they meet again, during the heights of the pandemic -- but they don't remember - until much, much, much later).

--

killian's been setting up shop, selling videos of himself to viewers who would pay ridiculous amounts of money just to see him strip and touch himself without sacrificing his anonymity.

that interlude in his life - spending time with his pals at that farm, it was fine playing at being lord of the flies once in a while, but it had to end.

eric reminds him of matt, in some ways. it's his colouring, killian thinks, the way his hair shines golden in the sun, but that's where the similarity ends. eric is closed off when matt is so open, eric is a professed agnostic when matt speaks about heaven and angels and god without any fear of judgment.

no, killian decides, categorical. eric isn't like matt at all, but more like katrin, whose fierce eyes and determination can turn cruel without warning.

instead of colliding head on like he did with katrin and jess and sammy, killian tiptoes around the edges of the cliff that is eric, because he never knows what will happen if he plunges head first into the abyss. will eric consume him whole, will eric spit him back out?

killian thinks that him and eric could not be any more different from each other, but maybe they're only pretending to be the people they aren't, with the masks that they're wearing. it's easier to hide when everyone seems interchangeable with the green scrubs and the ppe gear, breathing the same chlorine detergent and stale piss scent. maybe deep down they're just the same, with the violence and savagery that they're both capable of.

it's just that killian hides it better.

the only time that he really can be himself, he thinks, is when he's in front of a camera, anonymous, faceless.

--

as cu chulainn, killian has the freedom to act out his fantasies. he's a man still, but he sees nothing wrong in being in touch with his feminine side, while retaining his masculinity. there was a time when he was ashamed for even considering this as a possibility, it having beaten into him growing up catholic in rural cork. it's something that he keeps close to his chest, though, and it's not as if he could casually discuss this part of his life with anyone.

so yes. there is still shame there, maybe.

he'd come up to london and experienced soho and experimented with other boys who were much more confident than himself, but perhaps it's the inner irish farm boy in him that makes him want to isolate himself; safely cocooned by his insularity.

he's traded wide spaces with rolling green hills and the sunshine for packed clubs between brewer street to old compton street, bathed in fairy dust and neon lights. the bassline still beats in killian's ears, in his toes, sometimes, and he thinks he wasn't born for this kind of life. so he retreated back into the peaceful eden that is his flat, with his potted chilli and herbs and anything that will stay alive if killian takes good care of them. the wild side of him still yearns, the part of him that wants and craves.

he started off small, with the videos. he didn't want to give anything away, hence the false name and the fake accent, after years of living on the farm in west sussex and sharing good craic with those english lads who'd spent their gap year to live life off-grid. they came and they went, but killian had stayed. until matt came along and told them that he needed to leave the farm altogether.

and killian's response, instead of anger, or resentment, was to kiss matt.

and then ran away like a fucking coward.

(it was a choice).

but the wild side of him still yearns, the part of him that wants and craves.

it really took off when pandemic hit, when the clubs closed and every transaction is conducted through grainy pixels and splodgy screens, the black mirrors to their souls. the numbers of his subscribers rose.

names and handles indeterminable from one another, some direct and downright rude, some a bit more hesitant and quiet, happy to just enjoy the show.

sometimes he would talk about himself -- his likes, his dislikes, without giving too much away. he rambles a lot, sometimes, about sweet nothings and on vague enough topics that no one can pinpoint who he is. his monologues tends to get the chat going, even when he's not stripping down or touching himself, and there'd been a flurry of questions about whether he's got a boyfriend or a girlfriend or maybe both. killian's laughed a hearty laugh, then, because he feels that he's some kind of a mini-celebrity and his subscribers are so nosey about his personal life.

one of the quieter, but eagle-eyed subscribers, user @/blair_e once asked about his handle, and his supposed englishness. 'if ur english why cu chulainn', the question went, and killian had switched effortlessly to his native accent, playing coy, asking, challenging: who says i'm english?

killian's begun to calling him blair, now, in his head, though they've never had a direct interaction. blair never replied after the 'who says i'm english?' comment -- like he's been chided by a teacher and has learnt his lesson and doesn't want to cause any more trouble. he's interesting, this feller, because before that he did occasionally send comments like 'you're gorgeous' and 'i want your cock in me' and 'fuck me hard', plus every other iteration of such phrases known to man, since the time of catullus who had written so eloquently:

'pedicabo ego vos et irrumabo,' killian thinks. 'i will sodomize you and face-fuck you.'

but sometimes, blair would also type things like:

'i would undress you in the summer heat, and laugh and dry your damp flesh if you came,' or --

'give me a thousand kisses, then a hundred', or,

'i love you. i love you, but i'm turning to my verses and my heart is closing like a fist,'

-- but doesn't follow up on any of them, as if he's scared that killian would notice, would know where the lines had come from.

oh, but killian did notice.

two can play at this game.

--

blair, he thinks. it's a lovely name.

but he's not a real person, just a name on the screen. it's only as real as cu chulainn's only a fragment of himself, that he hasn't got the guts to show the world in real life.

tonight the show is over.

tomorrow morning, he's killian again. the same killian who waits up for eric, who's always scatty and late (the alarm clock doesn't go off, he says, or his toast burnt, or he's lost his ear buds). eric's flat is a miasma of three bottles of different lynx fragrances, and killian's nose always twitches when he opens the door, the way one's nose twitches when walking past a lush store.

then they'll walk up to st george's, together. 'saves up the bus fare, innit?' grins eric.

this, killian thinks, is more real to him.

killian grins back and puts an arm around eric, because they're pals.

eric lets him.

--

the experience they'd had, eric and him -- as volunteers, in this hospital, has humbled them. there are things bigger than themselves. they're just specks of dust, and yet, the things that they do still matter.

eric, especially -- he'd spoken openly about his time in prison, what a twat he'd been. killian would be lying if he'd said he couldn't see it, because he could. eric is intimidating, sure, but killian doesn't fear him. he's like a lost stray dog who wants affection but doesn't know how to ask for it, because all he's known is danger and hunger and learning how to become the bigger, vicious dog in order to survive.

there is no room for vulnerability, because in that world you'd get eaten. you fight for scrapes. you fight for honour. but you fight dirty. you walk around with red-tinted glasses and everything's a red flag, but you don't realize that you're a fucking red flag yourself.

he'd seen the people coming through into a+e for knife crimes, and eric says to killian, there'd been a time when i'd been the prick who'd done that.

and then he'd worked in the wards and saw the realities of life and death and between the prison and the hospital and the halfway-house that is their council flat, something in eric seems to have shifted.

--

killian's seen the way eric balls up his fists and grits his teeth when he's trying not to talk back at a demanding relative, an entitled patient, a sneering charge nurse, a snobby junior reg who graduated from oxbridge.

they're all burnt out.

killian's seen, in a span of an eight hour shift:

a respiratory consultant screaming in the men's urinals after another death on his take. a med reg having a panic attack in the chaplaincy after a resus gone wrong. a medical student dissociating from the reality of their future; what their career paths will lead them down to--

-- this feckin' shite.

--

people dying.

politicians roared in laughter behind closed doors, like the pigs and the humans at the end of animal farm.

killian's seen the injustices. the failing systems, the trolleys in a+e corridors, paramedics rushing in and out helplessly as ambulances whizz past. nurses joking that their piss look like fucking irn bru because they didn't even get the chance to drink a gulp of nothing for a whole twelve hours. doctors skipping lunch because they just had no time to even breathe so they stacked up on those sweeties from them bright red celebration tubs that relatives brought in as a thank you gesture. stuffed them in their scrubs' pockets and gobbled them up between running from one end of the ward to the other. the bounty sweeties were always the last ones left.

killian doesn't mind them, but eric swears that it's the filthiest thing on earth.

--

eric still speaks about religion distastefully, and seems to shudder every time a chaplain comes around. killian's grown fond of one of the chaplains, a wise lady of caribbean descent who grew up in clapham (her parents were on the windrush, she'd said), but retained her trinidadian accent. he got her to hijack their lunch table one day, and eric had grunted then -- but by the end of fifteen minutes he could tell that even eric was charmed, and by half-an-hour he was openly laughing at a joke that she'd made.

killian had seen her at work, how she put people at ease - even if they're religious -- or not. killian watches how she helps people grieve, and through this it also helped killian work through his own unspoken, unprocessed grief. his da. losing his friends.

katrin. sammy. jess.

matt.

what could have been if they hadn't been kicked off that farm. what could have been if killian hadn't broken off all contact. what could have been if killian had stayed in dromena, with his mam, instead of fucking off to west sussex. what could have been if his real da hadn't left them.

what could have been, killian wonders, if he hadn't been a coward; hadn't run away after he'd kissed matt under the grey skies crying mourning tears over the choices killian had made in his life.

and then, he thinks, he wouldn't have taken the first train up to london. he wouldn't have been lost. he wouldn't have been found.

he wouldn't have found himself.

he wouldn't have found eric.

--

eric doesn't talk about his dad a lot, but he'd shared enough for killian to know that they were in the same prison. he talked about the therapy group and the posh fucker who fucked off to canada, and he spoke about dr wilson and made a joke about how the prison psychiatrist and the hospital chaplain could probably be best pals.

he talked about ashley.

killian could tell that eric's grieving about ashley, too.

--

one night, on the bus home, because it was raining again and it was dark as sin and neither could be arsed to walk, eric fell asleep on his shoulder. head lolled back, a sudden snore.

the bus jolted, and the moment passed.

eric woke.

stared at killian, bleary eyed like he had no idea where he'd been or who he was.

when things were.

'eoin,' he'd said, and something in killian snapped. eric looked like he'd caught himself, as if to say, 'i didn't mean to say that'.

when they got home killian paused at eric's door. it was a split-second decision; a choice to make -- maybe he could lean by the doorframe and stand over eric and kiss the stubble off his cheek.

or maybe he could just say 'good night, paddy,' with a curt nod, and take the extra ten paces to walk to his own door.

killian chose the second option.

eric didn't correct him.

he'd said, 'good night, eoin,' back.

killian didn't correct him neither.

--

eric turns on the computer, as he often does. finds out if cu chulainn's posted anything new.

finds out if killian's posted anything new. he wishes he could stay away, he wishes he could stop. but now that he knows, he needs more. and it's not like he's a predator -- it's not like he's doing this without killian's consent. he's posted the videos for all the world to see. it just so happens that killian's his pal, the same killian who makes amazing sausage rolls from scratch but is so bad at fifa. and he's helping out a friend, innit? even if it means that eric would be running out of pocket money before the end of the month?

there isn't a new video, but there is a dm.

it's a voice note, from cu chulainn.

from killian.

eric presses play.

--

killian-as-cu-chulainn recites:

'my heart’s aflutter! I am standing in the bath tub crying. mother, mother who am I? if he will just come back once and kiss me on the face his coarse hair brush my temple, it’s throbbing!

then I can put on my clothes I guess, and walk the streets.';

then --

'give me a thousand kisses, then a hundred, then another thousand, then a second hundred, then yet another thousand, then a hundred; then, when we have performed many thousands, we shall shake them into confusion, in order that we might not know, and in order not to let any evil person envy us, when he knows that there are so many of our kisses;'

and --

'the fist clenched round my heart loosens a little, and i gasp brightness; but it tightens again. when have i ever not loved the pain of love? but this has moved

past love to mania. this has the strong clench of the madman, this is gripping the ledge of unreason, before plunging howling into the abyss.

hold hard then, heart. this way at least you live.'

--

that night, eric dreams:

eric-as-paddy, and killian-as-eoin, reciting poetry,

sitting at the piano,

singing percy french songs, together.

playing chess instead of gta v on the ps,

drinking rum instead of cans of monster.

'i will join the sas too,' eoin says, the grip on paddy's arm burning like a furnace.

'let's fuck off to burma,' paddy says, and --

'he reminds me that underneath i am a poet.'

and then they jump.

--

eric wakes and rushes out and knocks on killian's door, breathless.

he's wanted to say, 'i want to see that notebook again. that notebook with those names on it -- paddy and eoin.'

but when killian opens the door, with a confused look on his face, all eric could think about is,

'i am stretched on your grave and will lie there forever if your hands were in mine I'd be sure we'd not sever',

and -- 'eoin eoin eoin eoin eoin,' and 'i don't want to lose you again.'

so he kisses killian-who-is-eoin-but-not-eoin, and killian responds back, his body singing,

'do not stand at my grave and cry, i am not there. i did not die,'

and -- 'i'm still alive, paddy. i'm still here. the sand of the desert couldn't keep my soul buried, just like you said,'

before they break away from each other, panting, wondering what the fuck's just happened.

--

this time, killian doesn't run.

but eric does.

--

tbc.

part iii here