#back to mac for experimental shit it is

[nephaelia-sims]

When you try to start playing sims again but you're a UNIX based OS user and you forget that downloading a ton of shit onto a Windows PC just willy nilly is a BAD IDEA

So you have to figure out *(more like your windows programming background bf does and you help when he gets frustrated)* how to make a boot key and completely clean reinstall windows... Like, I'm not SURE it was anything from the mods, but I did go from ridiculously good performance on anything I did to... bad. on anything. Right after transferring 100+ gb of CC from my old external drive from my mac and downloading a handful of new things and updates on script mods. So yeah I need help, fml lol

[munsonsreputation]

Hiii🤗 for the 200 celebration, I was wondering if I can request a short fluff blurb with Eddie? Maybe the reader is not feeling well so he decides to try cook reader's favourite meal hoping it makes her feel a bit better? Thank you🥰

Also, congratulations again on the 200 followers🥰🎉

thank you so much, francy!!! i hope you like this little imagine instead of a blurb....i honestly don't know the difference and i can't help but add a lot of details so yeah...hope this is ok and i did your request justice!!! 🤓💘💫💌

You knew today was going to be a long day just by the way you started off your morning. 

First, the battery in your alarm clock died in the middle of the night and didn’t wake you up on time. So you were an hour and a half late to your shift, which your manager wasn’t too happy about. Then said manager proceeded to make backhanded comments about you during the entire shift for your honest mistake, even though you had apologized multiple times. To top it all off, you had to deal with a load of asshole customers, which was your breaking point. 

When you finally clocked out of worked, you sat in your car for a good twenty minutes, crying your eyes out and talking yourself through the breakdown in hopes of calming down, but the more you spoke to yourself the worse it got. How you drove home through your cloudy eyes, you never really knew, but you were thankful you ended up in your favorite boys’ driveway to get the comfort you needed. 

Digging your fingers into your bag, you felt for your keys, instinctively sorting through the pieces of metal until you felt the most familiar one. As you were unlocking the door, the tears seemed to have fallen down faster and your sniffles got louder, finally in a space where you know you didn’t need to hide. 

“Hey baby, how was — oh jesus, c’mere.” 

Eddie was there, sitting on the couch with the television on and a coca-cola in his hands. His eyes swept to your figure at the front door, instantly greeting you with glee before realizing your state. He instantly got up, setting his drink down on the coffee table and engulfing you in his arms as you sobbed relentlessly. 

Your body went limp against his the second he put his arms around you in that reassuring hold that you knew you could always come back to. The tears soaked through his shirt, but he didn’t care, just whispering sweet nothings into your ear and rubbing soothing circles on your back, doing his best to get you to calm down the way he knew he could. 

Soon enough, your cries died down and only the small sniffles and sharp intakes of breath were felt against his chest. He did an experimental pull away just to gauge if you were ok, and you let him, finally meeting his eyes for the first time that afternoon. 

“You want to talk about it?” He whispered gently, wiping his thumbs beneath your sunken in eyes that overflowed with sadness as you shook your head, taking a deep breath. 

“I had a shit day…maybe i’m just being overdramatic—“ 

“Absolutely not, baby…look,” He glanced at his watch, checking for the time before turning his attention back to you. 

“Why don’t you have a bath to get your nerves calmed down and I’ll work on something?” 

You swallowed, nodding your head as you realized you most definitely wanted to get your stupid work clothes off and spend the rest of the day with Eddie in hopes of you feeling a bit better because he always knew how to . So you followed his advice, stepping into the hot shower he had prepared for you while you were grabbing a fresh t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants that were definitely his.

Eddie struggled in the kitchen, working quicker than he should’ve been to make sure the meal was ready by the time you got out. It wasn’t like it was supposed to be hard…it was boxed mac and cheese for god-sake. But it was your favorite comfort meal, the one you ate all the time when you were a little kid that brought upon this nostalgia and comfort you clung to and he wanted to make you feel better today. 

The stove was on high, bubbles coming to the surface as the pasta cooked rapidly. There was another pot on the other burner where Eddie whisked together the powder cheese packet, a bit of milk and butter, and a small helping of fresh cheddar—thank god, Wayne had bought some for his sandwiches. He managed to chop up the slices into little pieces to help melt faster. Some sort of trick you had showed him that made the mac and cheese felt a bit more elevated. 

“Fuck, fuck, shit—ouch! Ok, that’s definitely hot!”  

Curses went flying out of his mouth, hastily grabbing the knob to cut the heat to stop the water from boiling over, while some of the steam came too close to his arm. He could hear the bathroom door from upstairs open, causing him to panic, grabbing the pot of pasta and pouring it into the sink where a strainer laid. 

The residual steam filled up the small cavity of the sink and the space above it, the air hot as Eddie dropped the pan into the empty side of the sink compartment and reached for the second pot he had, pulling it away from the heat as the mixture was almost close to burning. 

“Baby?” You called out, walking down the hall with a towel in hand, drying your hair squeeze by squeeze.

“I—I’m in the kitchen babe!” He hollered, followed by cabinets and drawers slamming against the wood as you got closer. 

The second the kitchen came into view, there he was, with a smile on his face, sweat beaded at his forehead, his hair a little more frizzy than usual, a kitchen towel slung over this shoulder, and a bowl in his hands. 

“Are you ok?” You stiffed your laughter, watching him take deep breaths from his nose rather than his mouth, as he was winded.

His smile got even wider, walking closer to you while you dropped the towel onto one of the dining chairs, “I made your favorite.” 

“Eds…” you awed, a new puddle of tears forming in your eyes by his sweet sweet act of kindness. 

“I heard a favorite meal can always be a nice pick me up after a shit day.” 

You took the bowl from his hands, immediately placing it down on the dining table before pulling him into a tender kiss. He could feel the relaxation radiating off of you now, a clear difference from fifteen minutes ago. You could feel his smile against your lips, moving softly against one another with no rush, before finally pulling away. 

“Do you still have that tape of Ferris Bueller’s Day Off?” 

He furrowed his brows, thinking to himself before nodding, “Yeah, it should be somewhere in the living room…why?” 

You grinned, peppering kissing on his cheeks, “I say we share this fine bowl of mac and cheese and watch a movie.” 

“Anything to make my girl feel better.” He murmured, taking your hand and your favorite meal to sit on the couch where he made you forget all the horrible things of today in a flash.

[swallowedthestars]

thoughts on khiphop as a genre?

khiphop is more defined by the indie-esque music system than the genre itself. a lot of artists who start in khiphop like making music in general rather than being committed to staying within a genre so its super common to see an artist go through the tight rap to pop song pipeline. this stuff performs way better with the public than classic hiphop anyways (re: b'eo counting stars, ash island melody, imjmwdp flex) re: its way easier to make money off of

i think ive ranted about this before but while there are gems within the genre, its always going to be held back in some ways by how derivative it is, which causes (imo) the following common issues:

its easy to pick up which artists an artist is inspired by (common ones include mac miller, xxx, kanye, kendrick, asap, etc), and while thats not inherently evil its not like people are often outdoing their inspirations. for every great khiphop song you can probably pull an american hiphop song doing the same thing but better. american hip hop has just been around longer and had more time to develop which i think contributes to this. artists can evolve though, i think kid milli used to sound like an asap clone but now he has a more distinct color.

i see a number of gang/drug/hood/trapper references in peoples lyrics. it comes off as corny at best, racist at worst (with occasional exceptions. eg. there are some rappers who are very pro weed legalization who rap about weed).

khh artists often have an inability to be normal about black people. its common for a korean person to go to the US, see a black person, comes back with a story about how it changed their life and inspired them to put out shitty music (queen wasabi is the prime example of this). its also common for khiphop artists to way over-romanticize black suffering or think because they're "hiphop" that they can do shit like say the n word (eg. loopy). even justhis has pulled a "yellow skin/black soul" line in his music before

The other factor that makes a lot of artists kind of cringey to me (but is definitely not limited to khh) is artists with rich families flexing their wealth and doing the whole "I made it even tho I had haters because my family is insanely wealthy" type of song and dance. A lot of korean rappers start by taking rap classes, which are even offered at some universities now (superbee started this way, killagramz is now a rap professor. lmao). flex culture is rlly disingenuous seeming when its coming from people who did not start out poor.

ok so aside from that here's what I like:

my #1 favorite thing about khiphop is the producers. producers rarely limit themselves to a single genre or sound and this allows for really experimental and cool beats. code kunst/giriboy/boycold/etc are the true stars of the genre. in general I think korean production favors a lot of transitions rather than repeating motifs like in western production which is also fun. a number of producers like Flip_00 have had a lot of success getting work in and out of korea

korean has its own unique flow to it and allows for wordplay/rhyming that would be harder to do in english

korean music taste inspires a lot of fun songs. koreans love for ballads inspires a lot of really good krnb. you can find khh songs with trot influences. I also think the popularity of fun indie Bolbbalgan4-esque songs inspires a lot of really light and dreamy beats and songs. korean music as a whole tends to do sad/emotional music well and khh isn't an exception

[sagaofstardustmkg]

Summer Knight [CH2 Motive, 2/2]

"1. ??? broke their arm when they was 12 years old after falling from a tall piece of furniture while pretending to be Spider-Man. 2. ??? was the reason why their wedding menu featured chicken tenders and mac and cheese as an option for dinner. 3. ??? killed their own father. 4. ??? views the death of their brother as the best thing to ever happen to them. 5. ??? is incapable of feeling genuine love for anyone. 6. ??? can never forgive their parents for using their magic to make them "perfect". 7. ??? used experimental legally grey magic to save their sibling. 8. ??? is a huge hypocrite, and lies about their background to hide that. 9. ??? is in love with Mizukabe Sansei. 10. ???'s village was nearly drowned out by a torrential rain they started. 11. ??? is not a human. 12. ??? applied to Stardust Academy because they wanted to upstage their cousin.  They didn't expect to actually get in and the resulting acceptance caused their family to start infighting again, believing this was some way of undermining their authority. 13. ??? attempted to run away from the family home. After 3 weeks, they were found and subsequently brought back, following public apology. 14. ??? nearly destroyed a town, and the effects of their actions are still felt to this day. 15. ??? can steal the magic of others. 16. ??? hates being a wizard. 17. ??? has never been kissed. 18. ??? was the cause of their sister's disappearance. 19. ???‘s mother abandoned them in a park as a young child. 20. ??? has multiple alt accounts used to defend themself on Twitter."

And, under that...

"Each secret is 100% true and belongs to a killing game participant. Should a murder not be committed by the time two weeks have passed, the secrets will all be matched with their owner. Have fun!"

...Shit. You scan the list again, and you frown as you realize- yes. One of these secrets is definitely yours. And you're not sure how the hell Sasha knows it, but it's true. Do you care if other people know it? Well, perhaps you do. But do you care enough to kill...? That's the real question here, isn't it.

We are now in CH2 motive!

Our motive this time is Secrets. Exactly what it says on the tin!

Your OC is free to disclose which secret is theirs IC (if you want). However, we ask that you do not discuss your OC's secret OOC unless they have already disclosed it in a public thread.

As always, wrap up your old threads and cash 'em in for cubes. Our body drop will be 10 days from now.

[stardew-mermaid]

starting this blog off strong so here is: bachelor/ettes music tastes!!!

prefacing this by stating the obvious facts that sam sebastian and abigail all like mcr and fall out boy so keep that in mind

also sebastian and maru like a lot of the same stuff cause they absolutely affected each other's tastes and music is one thing they bond over. trad goth, alt rock, and electronic; think siouxie and the banshees, bauhaus, soundgarden, gorillaz, daft punk.

bachelorettes

maru: so aside from aforementioned stuff shared with seb, she rly likes new wave and synth shit. oingo boingo, depeche mode, eurythmics, pink floyd, also loves golden earring. 70s-90s stuff!

emily: she'll listen to anything. like, ANY genre. she loves experimental, avant garde and freaky noise shit tho which like u go babe. she loves ibeyi, frank ocean, austra, and mother mother's quirky sounding older stuff. she and haley have bonded over pop cause siblings really be like!!!! HUGE lady gaga stan

haley: all ur pop queens, divas, and girl groups, also r&b. britney spears, christina aguilera, lizzo, mariah carey, madonna, beyoncé, destiny's child, spice girls, pussycat dolls, marina. lowkey kpoppie. likes chill stuff too tho and soft rock. probably likes lorde

abigail: alt, emo, goth, rock, electronic. diehard aurelio voltaire stan (AS WE SHOULD ALL BE, he's When You're Evil guy and he's struggling to pay his bills please consider supporting him on patreon for 6.66/month). 100 gecs, mindless self indulgence, afi, the pretty reckless, the birthday massacre, paramore, billie eilish, yungblud, left at london, tess stevens. also likes shit that just Sounds weird. probably pretty into the mountain goats

penny: open to most things but gravitates towards softer, indie stuff. first aid kit, of monsters and men, daughter, the hush sound, shel. also loves janelle monae. she’d like musicals and i think she just really likes songs that tell a story

leah: folk, folk metal, symphonic metal, southern gothic, bluegrass. dark mori girl of ur dreams. nightwish, within temptation, evanescence, delta rae, florence + the machine, the devil makes three, the silent comedy, some elle king.

bachelors

sebastian: aside from stuff listed above? hard rock, metal, some industrial. rammstein, in this moment, halestorm, dark stares, royal blood. i think he also likes disclosure too tho. electro make sebastian go brrr

elliott: folk, classical, opera, sea shanties because he IS that kind of person, soul, klezmer, occasional classic rock. hozier, the irish rovers, iron & wine, the decemberists, rag’n’bone man, the shondes, fleetwood mac, some prince, also florence + the machine, probably picked up some of the softer more classical-leaning evanescence stuff from leah (he LOVES to play good enough on the piano). don’t play my heart will go on in front of him or he’ll start ugly sobbing

sam: punk, rock, pop, hip hop, rap, and i think he admires experimental shit!!! green day, muse, arctic monkeys, franz ferdinand, the white stripes + jack white, angel haze, humble the poet. loves spunky shit and shredding guitar, really into garage rock and mixtape type vibes. absolutely in LOVE WITH rihanna and all the different genres and styles she can pull off. also a lady gaga stan

shane: gritty shit and dad rock, some punk. also likes fall out boy. nine inch nails, nirvana, linkin park, the smashing pumpkins, ac/dc, metallica, judas priest, twisted sister, system of a down, some dead kennedys. the chickens like things with a good beat

harvey: jazz, blues, soul, r&b, swing, some soft pop/rock and classic rock! nina simone, aretha franklin, billie holiday, whitney houston, amy winehouse, gin wigmore, leonard cohen, bonnie tyler, queen, the byrds, fleetwood mac + stevie nicks. if he was introduced to electroswing i think he’d be into it

alex: pop and hip hop, stuff that pumps him up and keeps him pumped!!! black eyed peas + fergie, megan thee stallion, pharrell williams, shakira, haley probably got him into lizzo and the pussycat dolls. my neck my back is one of his fave songs to just vibe to and that’s fucking valid

[nosleeppotions]

3 AM and sleep deprived, everything's normal . Malcolm had stopped questioning The Fool's Errand and it's regulars early on in discovering it. Even less so since sleeping and not answering his phone is apparently grounds for a full on panic for his… friends.

He checks his phone for the time. 3 AM. With a sigh he pushes through the wooden door of the little-bit-of-everything-shop/tavern/café, the sound of the bells on the door chiming waking him up a little more.

There aren't a lot of people but the area is still filled with quiet chatter, as usual the people are a colorful bunch of varying backgrounds… literally and figuratively.

The first familiar face he sees is a white haired teenager in black and white clothes. "Phantom." He greets with a smile. "Hows school?" The boy takes a long sip from his glowing green drink before making the "iffy" hand signal. "Ah, yeah understandable. Good luck kid."

The next person is a man after his own heart, drinking his medication with steaming coffee and looking tired. "Hi Tim." Tim nods in acknowledgement.

MO is already standing ready with Mal's coffee, and waits patiently for him to fish out his wallet. "Did that music guy you hired show up again?" "Unfortunately, no luck so far. He just doesn't realize he's not on paid leave apparently." It had been an ongoing problem based on some conversations they've had before. Apparently the guy got carried off by a "Goblin Cult" and is refusing to come back to work… Mal isn't completely sure what that means.

Now usually after getting his coffee he would go back to where he was staying… but today felt like a "stay inside" kind of day, so he slowly wanders over to his usual seat. He passes and greets the weird but lovely couple that comes in every now and then… sometimes they drag along their socially anxious third wheel- er best friend he means.

Then he passes another relatable individual, surrounded by empty cups and passed out over a pile of paperwork. He has a feeling MO put something in one of his drinks to get him to sleep, as he didn't catch MO as the type to be stopped by simple ethics… which reminds him to also be more wary of his own coffee. Mal makes sure to walk a bit more quietly. "Hi Commander." He greets anyway, though much more quietly. Finally he sinks down into a chair by a table away from most of the small crowd, taking a moment to breathe. . It's not long before an even more familiar face sits down across from him, placing her drink on the table while typing on her phone. "Hey Mac." She nods in acknowledgement before pressing send on her phone, once satisfied she actually looks up. "You look like shit." She grins. Mal snorts and rolls his eyes. "So, what's the milkshake of the day?" It's a bit of a game they play, that started with her asking MO to just surprise her. She takes an experimental sip. "Hmm… bubblegum." He checks his own phone. Hm. Nothing new yet. "So, that guy you like talking to you again?" He asks. "Not yet, he's busy." She sighs. "Did your crazy friends do something stupid?" She asks in return. He now sighs. "Always." The two laugh knowingly. . (MO watches the interaction in slight amusement. Well, they do say you understand yourself the best. Which is fair… It probably helps that those two are pretty much stuck in the same boat…)

[deckyshep]

Unholiest - Chapter One

Original story by R.D. Shepard. Genre(s): Historical Fiction, Supernatural, Romance Content Warnings: HIV/AIDS diagnosis, homophobia, homophobic/transphobic slur usage, missing person Author’s Notes: Thanks for reading! This is chapter one of the Unholiest novel I’ve been working on for about a year now. It’s still in progress, but I’m excited to be able to share this first chapter with y’all. This novel was heavily inspired by a TTRPG series that I’ve been a huge fan of for a long time; with the uploading of each chapter, it’ll likely become apparent which TTRPG series it is, haha. Enjoy! Summary: Mac Whelan and Drew Kelly are a young, openly gay couple in the early 1980s, living in NYC and struggling to make ends meet. It’s hard enough being out of the closet in the midst of the AIDS crisis—but when Mac suddenly goes missing, Drew struggles with the grief of losing the first man he ever loved while also dealing with the existential dread of his own mortality. When he discovers what happened to his fiancé, though... heads will roll.

It had been almost an hour, and the doctor hadn’t even walked in yet.  Mac Whelan and his fiancé, Drew Kelly, sat impatiently in the office.  Drew’s hand was holding Mac’s leg down, as he had a tendency to bounce his leg when he was nervous.  They’d ran out of conversation to distract each other with, so they simply leaned against one another, keeping their eyes on the door.

“You know it’ll be fine, right?” Mac whispered, turning his head to kiss just below Drew’s ear, and Drew sighed.

“Please don’t make me have this conversation again.”  Drew rubbed Mac’s knee gently.  “We don’t know that, and you’re not making me feel better by heightening my expectations.”

Mac grinned a little. “No, I know.  I just wanna rub it in your face when the tests come back negative and it turns out I was just dehydrated.”  Drew scoffed, rolling his eyes with a smile.  “You know I’m gonna be right.  I drank so many Sex on the Beaches that night, and exactly one bottle of water.  I’ll admit, that was my fault, but that’s all that—”

They both sat upright when there was a knock at the door.  “Come in,” Drew quickly said, and the doctor walked in.  He was a bald-headed man with thick-rimmed glasses and a long white doctor’s coat that covered a crisp, plaid button-down.

“Mr. Whelan,” the doctor greeted Mac, shaking his hand before sitting down at the desk.  “And… Drew, right?”

“Yes, sir,” Drew answered a little too quickly.  “Dr. Stannard, did you… get anything back?”

Dr. Stannard nodded.  “If you remember correctly, Mac, we tested you for HIV.”

Drew’s hand was tightly held in his fiancé’s as Mac’s leg bounced nervously in his seat.  “Right.”

“Which stands for Human Immunodeficiency Virus.”  The doctor set down a clipboard, removing a couple of papers from the board and looking them over. “It’s a virus that, depending on the patient, can remain dormant for many years, or start attacking the immune system right away.  You were at risk due to your relationship with another man, and after your last spill, we’re all very glad you came in to get tested—”

“Can you just cut to the chase?” Drew interrupted.

Mac squeezed his hand, chastising him with a look.  “Baby, he’s trying to make sure we know the facts.  Even though I don’t have HIV, it’s important that we stay safe.  Right, Stannard?”  The doctor opened his mouth to speak, then closed it with a soft sigh. Mac felt his mouth go dry.  “Doc?”

“Mr. Whelan, I’m sorry. Your tests came back positive.”

Drew’s grip on his hand grew painfully tight, and Mac blinked.  “Excuse me?”

The doctor furrowed his brow, obviously never enjoying this part of the job. “You tested positive for HIV, Mac.  Moreso, we’re afraid the virus is working faster than we’d expected. Mr. Kelly, if you have been his only sexual partner, you’re going to need to get tested as well so we can make a care plan for both of you.”

Mac heard Drew start to cry, but he couldn’t really feel anything.  Not the pain from Drew squeezing his hand, not the tears soaking into his shirt sleeve, not the coldness of the room.  “I… No, there’s gotta be a mistake.”

“These tests are ninety-nine percent accurate, Mr. Whelan.”  The doctor sighed, setting his hands flat against the desk.  “I know this is difficult to hear. And I’m genuinely sorry for having to be the person to bring you this news.  I will answer whatever questions you have for me.”

“Is…” Mac shook his head. “Is there a treatment right now? Like—there has to be something, right? We can do something about this?”

The doctor looked solemn as he spoke.  “We have some experimental trials going on right now, but as of right now, we don’t have anything to actively fight the virus yet.”

“This is bullshit.” Mac said it quietly at first, like he was still comprehending it, but then he stood up suddenly, letting go of his fiancé and beginning to shout. “This is bullshit!  You don’t have anything?  Are you fucking kidding me?”  Drew tried to take his hand to calm him down, but he pushed it away.  His face was beet red.  “Half the gays in Manhattan have HIV and no one’s doing anything about it! This is fucking bullshit!”

Dr. Stannard shook his head, genuinely looking remorseful.  “Mr. Whelan, I’m sorry.  We’re doing what we can.  Finding funding for HIV research has been… difficult.”

“I don’t—” Mac grabbed at his own hair, as though to keep himself from doing anything he’d regret. “You don’t… you don’t have anything?” His voice grew quieter, and he sat down in the chair, staring at his lap in defeat.  Drew wrapped an arm around his shoulders, trying to suppress his own tears.  “How long do we have?”

“It’s hard to say, Mac.” Dr. Stannard clasped his hands together, sighing.  “It might be a couple of years. It could be a few months.”

“Months,” Mac repeated hollowly, reaching up to hold Drew’s hand.  “Fuck.”

-

Love of my life,

It’s worse than they thought.  I might not live to see next year.  I needed to tell you, but I didn’t know if I had the strength to tell you face-to-face. You have to get tested, baby.  Get some treatment before it gets worse.  And before you start blaming yourself, I don’t blame you in the slightest.  This HIV shit is a silent killer.  The doc said people can go years without knowing it’s in their bodies. There’s no way you could’ve known you had it.  Make sure you check up on Willie, let him know he might have it, too.

I found someone who’ll take care of it for me.  It’s not a cure, but it’ll keep me from dying painfully.

Please don’t look for me. You have to live the rest of your life happily without me.  I know you can do it.  Find another man who’ll make you feel like the queen you are, baby.  You deserve so much better than to watch me die.  You have to live.

I know this isn’t easy. I know it’s so fucking hard, and horrible, and painful.  I didn’t want to leave.  But I’ve weighed the options, and letting you watch me die is the worst thing I could do. You’re the most wonderful man in the world, baby. You’re so perfectly imperfect to me.  I’d kill anyone in the world just to be with you one last time.

Feel your feelings. I know you’ll be depressed, pissed, begging for one last chance.  You feel those feelings as deeply as you can.  But you have to move on from them so you can feel happy again with someone who’ll treat you better than I did.

If you have to, forget me.  If it makes it easier to move on, pretend like I never existed.  But know that I love you like the sky loves its stars, framing them like the beauties they are.  I love you like the tides love the moon, moving every night at her command. I love you like a prospector loved gold, traveling thousands of miles just to get a glimpse of the stuff.

And most importantly, I love you more.  I will never forget you, Drew.

Lover-boy

-

“Drew Carey, I know you’re in there.  Come here and open this damn door before I bust it down.”

Drew Kelly sat on the kitchen floor, hugging his knees to his chest.  He wore nothing but a pair of red boxer briefs and that white, red-trimmed shirt Mac had gotten at his first concert, the one that was big enough to be baggy on Drew. His red hair, normally pulled back tightly into a bun, was hanging down messily in his eyes.  The record player sat on the kitchen counter just above him – it was playing Love of my Life by Queen, one of Mac’s favorite singles.

He couldn’t hear himself crying anymore, couldn’t feel the tears burning his red cheeks.  It took a couple of times for him to hear Deloreah’s voice through the front door, and even then, he didn’t think he had the strength to get up.  But once Deloreah made that threat, he sighed, wiping his eyes and stumbling up to his feet.

Deloreah’s face quickly changed from stern to pitying as soon as Drew opened the door – he wouldn’t even look up at her.  “Oh, baby.” She immediately stepped inside, wrapping her arms around the redhead and embracing him snugly.  “Thank you for openin’ the door, baby.  Let’s go sit down, sweet boy – you look like you’re about to pass out.”  She closed the door and locked it before leading him to the beat-up, hideous red couch in his living room.  Drew collapsed in his seat, and Deloreah kissed the top of his head, walking over to the kitchen to turn the record player off.  “You ain’t eaten nothing today, I can tell.”

“Not hungry,” Drew mumbled, bringing his knees up to his chest and hiding his face down between them.

Deloreah sighed, putting her hand on her hip as she turned to look at him. “You gotta get somethin’ in your stomach, Drew.  You’re gonna start gettin’ sick.” Drew didn’t respond, merely started sniffling.  Her face fell, and she came back over to him, sitting next to him and beginning to rub his back soothingly.  “I know, baby.  I know it hurts.  Nothin’ hurts more than losin’ the love of your life.” She took a deep breath, glancing around the filthy apartment. “But... it’s been three months. You haven’t even gone to the doctor yet. I don’t want you starvin’ to death.”

Drew began to cry quietly, keeping his head between his knees.  “What’s the fucking point?” he whispered.  “I love him more than I love breathing, and he’s just... gone.  He’s just fucking gone.”

“He wouldn’t want you slowly killin’ yourself,” Deloreah started.

But Drew suddenly looked up at her, harshly wiping the tears drenching his face.  “I didn’t want him to leave, but here we are!”  He was beginning to ramble angrily – not at Deloreah, but at himself.  “Nobody gets what they want!  I met the love of my life at the wrong time, and now I’m gonna--” Drew’s face suddenly fell, and he let out a soft, trembling gasp, more tears streaming down his cheeks.  “Fuck. I’m gonna die alone.  I killed the love of my life.  I gave him AIDS, and now I’m paying for it,” he sobbed, grabbing tightly onto his hair.  “I was a slut!  I was a fucking whore before I met him, and I thought everything was just gonna be okay, like a goddamn moron!”

“Shut your damn mouth for two seconds,” Deloreah said sternly, raising her voice just a bit. Drew clenched his eyes shut, pressing his face between his knees again.  “You are not a moron,” Deloreah murmured, rubbing his back affectionately again.  “And you weren’t no slut, either.  You were living your life, sweet pea, and things got complicated too quickly.  This doesn’t have nothin’ to do with you or anything you’ve done.”

Drew cried quietly, hugging his knees tightly.  Deloreah sighed, scooting closer and pulling him into her side to hold him tightly. “It’s just bad luck, baby.  It ain’t got nothin’ to do with you.  Just bad luck.”

[emachinescat]

Ghost + Bomb + Mac - Hands

A MacGyver Fan-fiction

By @emachinescat

@febuwhump day 4 - impaling

Summary: The Ghost survives the confrontation in the catacombs and pursues his cruelest revenge. Even the simplest of bombs can be impossible to defuse without the use of one’s hands.

Characters: MacGyver, The Ghost, Jack, Phoenix team as family

Words: 5,333

TW: graphic violence, blood, panic attacks

Keep reading here, or read on AO3!

If you enjoy, please consider liking, commenting, or re-blogging! :)

Previously, on MacGyver…

Mac’s head rushed with the thrill of victory and breathlessness at the close call.  Wrapping Riley and Bozer into a hug, he squeezed tightly, only halfway believing that they’d done it, that the bomb was disarmed - he couldn’t have done it without his friends.

The Ghost was dead - that was even harder to believe.  Everything that had happened since he’d been knocked out and dragged deep into the catacombs was a blur, yet he could somehow see every detail with crystalline clarity.  Wait until he told Jack - the Ghost was dead, was never going to hurt or kill anyone ever again!  

“What do you say we get out of here?” Riley asked, her smile shining all the more brightly against her dirt-smudged face.  It was infectious. 

Mac laughed.  “Please.”  He turned back, one last time, for closure, perhaps, to say goodbye in a sense to this chapter of his life.  He would never forget, and nothing would bring Peña back, but the nightmare was over.  The Ghost that had haunted him for so long was finally laid to rest.

He froze, every muscle in his body tensing, disbelief and rage and indignance hitting him full-force like a tsunami.  This couldn’t be happening.  The Ghost was dead.  He’d watched Eileen kill him.  But then, directly after, he’d had to figure out how to disarm a bomb that was too heavy to lift.  He and his friends had been entirely occupied, for how long he wasn’t sure.

Long enough for an injured man to drag himself back into the labyrinth and make his escape, it seemed.

The Ghost was gone, and just like his moniker suggested, he seemed to have faded into the ether, almost like he was never there.  Even the blood trail didn’t go on very long.  And by the time they had gotten back to the surface and Riley was able to run an exhaustive search of the area, he’d disappeared.

Perhaps he had died from his wounds, Bozer suggested lamely.  But Mac knew better.  Fate, as it were, might be kind to some people, but for some reason he’d been on its shit list for a long, long time.  Mac knew the truth: as surely as he knew that he wouldn’t be getting a moment of sleep tonight, he knew that this wasn’t over.

The Ghost was still out there, and with a shudder Mac remembered what he’d said down in the catacombs.  A bomb, especially for Mac, hidden somewhere out there in the world, waiting for him to find it.  He had a nasty feeling that it was now going to find him first.

***

Eight Months Later

Mac woke up slowly to a killer headache, what felt like a mouth full of cotton, and the very urgent realization that he couldn’t move.  He knew almost instantly that he had been drugged.

Opening his eyes was a challenge, as his eyelids had glued themselves shut - perhaps because they knew that the moment light hit them, the headache would only get worse.  There were more pressing matters, though, namely that Mac had no idea where he was, how he got there, or who had done this to him - the last thing he remembered was falling asleep on his couch well after midnight. And in order to get an answer to these questions, he would have to open his eyes.

He was right about the headache.  It intensified the second the dimly room swam into focus, his stomach roiled, and he almost lost his lunch as the world warbled around him like it was underwater.  Thankfully, he managed to gain control over the nausea and was able to get a better look at the predicament he found himself in.  What he saw was not encouraging.

He was sitting in a rigid dining chair, slightly slumped but held up by something - was that his own belt? - wrapped around his chest and securing him to the high chair back.  His wrists were enclosed in a set of cuff-like clamps that had been attached to the small wooden table his forearms rested on.  His shoulders ached a little from his arms being in the same position for who knew how long, but overall he wasn’t injured and the measures his captor had taken to restrain him were unimpressive to say the least.  He figured he would be able to free himself within fifteen minutes, tops - ideas were already beginning to form in his head as he peered around at the rest of the room and what it had to offer.

He was in what looked like a gray, dirty basement.  The lighting was terrible, that eerie haze of illumination that hovered just above your head, not quite making it to the floor. A sat phone lay on the edge of his table, just out of reach.  

The only other thing in the room was a large cart, the kind that waiters or caterers often used at big events.  Something rested on the surface, but whatever it was had been covered up by a small tarp.  It could have been anything - a toolbox, a typewriter, a record player - but he knew it was something far more sinister.

Before he could finish formulating a plan, let alone set that plan into motion, a voice spoke up from the back corner of the room, and Mac realized with horror that he’d not been alone this entire time.  The horror was tenfold when he recognized the lilting Irish accent tasting his name as if it were something distinctly unpleasant.

“Hello, Mr. MacGyver.”

Mac swallowed heavily, forcing himself to remain calm outwardly while inside his heart tumbled over itself like a shoe thrown in a dryer.  He’d been dreading this moment for a long time now, his reunion with the Ghost, but he’d always hoped he’d have the upper hand.  Tugging experimentally once more at the cuffs clamping his wrists to the table’s surface, he realized that at the moment he didn’t actually have any hands at all.

The Ghost moved forward, closer to Mac, but Mac didn’t give him the satisfaction of trying to crane around and see the oncoming threat.  The man was playing with his fear, his footsteps slow, each one purposefully placed, building up the anticipation.  He stopped right behind Mac - his breath was warm and muggy as he whispered in Mac’s ear, “I’ve been looking forward to this for a very long time.”

He came around the front of the table, and he looked much the same as he had the last time they’d met, except maybe thinner with more pronounced bags under his eyes.  Mac gleaned that his recovery had been long and hard.  He didn’t respond, just channeled every ounce of rage and revulsion into the glare he sent the Ghost’s way.

The Ghost laughed, a strange, haunting sound.  “I suppose you feel rather different about this meeting, though?”  

Mac quirked an eyebrow and shrugged the best that he could with the restraints.  “I mean, can you blame me?”  He prayed that his bravado held strong; it felt like it was all that stood between him and his own personal hell.  It wasn’t fair, he thought bitterly - why did the people who tried to take everything from him keep coming back?  Hadn’t they stolen enough already?

Mac nodded toward the phone resting before him.  “So what’s that for?” he asked.  “Catching up with the fam?  Does Eileen know you’re still alive?  If not, you should call her up, give her a chance to fix her mistake.”  Though he didn’t really want to know what the Ghost had planned for it - or for him - he hoped that if he nudged the man to start talking, he might be distracted enough for Mac to attempt some kind of escape.

The Ghost didn’t rise to the bait at Mac’s taunt.  Instead, he grinned a grin that set Mac’s nerves on edge and offered up a frankly surprising piece of information.  “Do you know that your team is on its way here to fetch you at this very moment, MacGyver?”

Mac narrowed his eyes suspiciously.  If this were the case, why would the Ghost be so calm?  Why would he still be here at all, and why was Mac still breathing?  

Seeing Mac’s confusion, he nodded sagely.  “Oh, yes - they tracked me the moment I initiated contact with them.”

Mac growled, “If you’re leading them into a trap…”

“No trap,” the Ghost assured, and Mac was anything but.  The man was acting unpredictably, and for a man who thrived off of routine and had a very strict M.O., it was enough to set Mac ill at ease.  “But we are a bit off the beaten path, you and I. It's going to take them a while to get to you. But they will arrive, unharmed.”

Mac scoffed, understanding immediately where this was going.  “Right, when the place is reduced to rubble and I’m beyond help.”

“No, no, no, Mr. MacGyver - see, this is it.  This is the one.”

Mac knew instantly what he was referring to.  “The bomb you left out there for me, the one you expected me to find.”  He’d had his suspicions about what lay on the cart for a while, and now they were confirmed.  “What happened - you got so impatient you had to arrange the meeting?”

The Ghost smiled wryly.  “Something like that.”  Mac had nothing against the Irish language, nor the accents it produced, but the harsh consonants of the Ghost’s words hit his ears like the crack of a pistol.  Or maybe it was just the person who spoke them that made his skin crawl.  “But never mind that - you may not believe this, MacGyver, but I respect you.  I do!” he insisted at Mac’s snort.  “You’ve proven yourself a worthy opponent, so I’m going to give you a chance for survival.  If you succeed, your friends will be here to bust you out and you’ll never see or hear from me again.”  Mac’s stomach twisted.  The only way the Ghost would ever make such a generous offer was if he truly believed that there was no way that Mac could succeed.

Good thing Mac had a habit of proving murderous psychopaths wrong.

“What’s the catch?” Mac asked.

“There’s no catch,” said the Ghost.  He walked over to the cart, removed the covering with a flourish, and whatever Mac had expected to see - this wasn’t it.

It looked to be one of the simplest devices that he had ever seen.  Even a child could disarm it if they had the tools.  And, to Mac’s growing discomfort - something was so wrong here - he saw the tools that he would need, laid out neatly on the cart, right next to the bomb.  

“It’s rigged,” Mac said.  “There’s no way it can be that simple.”

“But it is,” said the Ghost, his face unreadable, his tone giving nothing away.  “I want you to have a fair chance, after all.”

“Given what you know I can do, that’s a little insulting.”

“My, you are ungrateful,” the bomb-maker growled.  “I blow up your commanding officer, and it’s too much, I give you an easy out, it’s too little.  Maybe we should meet somewhere in the middle?  Who’s someone I can blow up that will hit that sweet spot between too much and not enough?  What about Desi Nguyen, hmmm?  She took the place of your precious Dalton, didn't she?”

Mac didn’t give the man the dignity of a response.  The fire in his eyes said it all.  The Ghost sighed.  “You know what, just to prove my good faith to you, I’ll leave you alone in just a moment.  And beyond that, I’ll free your wrists!  Then it’s just a matter of unbuckling the belt around your chest, making your way across the room, picking up those very precise tools, and using them to disarm a very delicate device.  Easy peasy, as you Americans say.”

Something in the way he spoke of the tasks ahead made Mac’s skin itch with discomfort.  He couldn’t put his finger on what the Ghost had planned, but whatever it was, it was the opposite of good.  Mac tugged his wrists again, feeling cool metal rub painfully against the already raw skin, but there was no give.

“Oh, you know what?” the Ghost spoke up, a quasi-contrite expression on his conniving face.  “I almost forgot - there is a wee, little catch to this whole affair.  Just a bit of added challenge, for old time’s sake.”

Mac’s pulse beat wildly, and a bead of sweat ran down his forehead despite the chilly air.  What the hell was this lunatic planning?

And then everything kicked into fast-forward - what happened next was so quick, so unexpected, that Mac didn’t even realize that it had happened until it was over, and twin daggers were driven into the tops of his hands, through flesh and muscles and tendons, and thudded firmly into the wood below.

At first he didn’t feel anything.  And then he felt everything.

Mac couldn’t help it.  He screamed.

Over the raw, shrieking pain of split skin and parted muscle and the rushing in his ears and the pain and the panic clawing at the inside of his chest, he saw the Ghost lean over him, sensed the click of the lock as the clamps around his wrists were released, and vaguely heard the Ghost repeat his own words, this time with a mocking, sadistic twist: “It’s only a matter of unbuckling the belt around your chest, making your way across the room, picking up those very precise tools, and using them to disarm a very delicate device.  Easy. Peasy.”  He added, voice positively gleeful, “Starting now, you have ten minutes.  Good night - ah, I mean, good luck.”

And then he was gone.  Mac didn’t see where he went and didn’t know where the door was and didn’t care and was going to be sick - 

Wrenching to the side, Mac vomited, the motion pulling at his impaled hands and causing him to gag anew.  When he’d finished, the sour smell curdled his stomach further and he realized with some concern that only one of his hands was hurting now - the right one.  A large portion of the left one had gone completely, terrifyingly numb.

Composing himself the best he could, pain radiating from his mutilated hand and racking through his entire body, he examined the damage through tear-blurred eyes.  It wasn’t a pretty sight, and it almost sent his stomach over the edge again.

The good news was that while some blood had pooled around the entrance - and exit, he presumed - wounds, blood loss was not a big concern at the present.  The knives were stemming a large portion of blood flow.  The bad news was that the bomb - one he could normally disarm in less than a minute, easily - was set to go off in less than ten minutes - it had to be closer to nine now - and he had been effectively stapled to the table by his hands.  Despair flooded him, nearly choking out the agony.  Almost.

He knew what he would have to do in order to even have a chance to escape and disarm the bomb, and it terrified him.  Leaning forward as far as his belt would allow, he peered at the macabre visage of his own hands - his hands, his job, his life, what if the damage was permanent, he needed his hands (his breaths came in short, desperate pants), and it hurt more than anything, more than pulling a coffin out of a lit incinerator, more than a gunshot wound in the leg, more than anything (breathe, calm down, you can do this, you have to do this).

It was as he’d thought - the knives were long and thin, so the hilts were not flush with his flesh.  About two inches of each blade remained, and they, along with the hilt themselves, were how he was going to get his hands free.  Essentially, he was going to have to lift one of his hands up so that the top of the hand was pushing up against the bottom of the hilt.  It hadn’t sounded like the knives had been driven too deeply into the wood of the table below, so he most likely wouldn't have to put too much upwards pressure on the hilt.

The real issue came with how the knives widened closer to the hilt, which meant he would not only be shoving the knife through already raw and shredded muscle, but he would actually be enlarging the wound - the pain of which he didn’t even want to consider - and risking further damage.  Already he feared what the Ghost had done to him, even if he survived - what if he could never use his hands again?  

No, focus.  The future beyond the next eight minutes doesn’t matter right now, because if you don’t get it together and do what has to be done, there will be no future.  A small, ugly part of his mind snapped back, Maybe it would be better that way, because if he couldn’t use his hands, then what was he?  He shoved that terrible thought away and forced himself to work past the agony he was already drowning in and that which was surely to come.  One thing at a time.

He found himself very tempted to enact his plan with the hand that was already mostly numb - after all, he wouldn’t feel the knife slicing deeper.  But there was a big problem with that - a rough sob choked out of him at the building crescendo of anguish that wracked from his hands, up his arms, and throughout his whole body when he attempted to move the fingers on each hand.  And that was the first problem: Although he could move all fingers except for the index with great pain and difficulty on his right hand - thank God, somehow the blade must have managed to avoid all extensor tendons except the one - the middle and right portions of his left hand were numb and the only finger on that hand that he could move was the pinky.  He tried very hard not to consider the extent of nerve and tendon damage done and whether or not they could be repaired.  That meant that even if he did use his left hand to push the knife up and out of the table, he wouldn’t be able to use that hand at all, and he’d be back to square one.

He wasn’t entirely sure how much time had passed - the Ghost must have taken his watch when he captured him - but he knew that the minutes were racing ahead faster than he could catch them.  If he wanted any chance of disarming that bomb, he would have to move now.

In the end, he had to approach it like he did jumping out of a plane or scaling a tall structure.  Without wasting any further time contemplating what was going to happen, without trying to prepare himself or psych himself up for the pain that was to come, he wrenched his right arm up as fast as he could, and it seemed that he could feel every fiber of muscle tearing as his impaled hand traveled up the length of the blade until it rested against the hilt.  A horrible sound erupted from deep within him, something foreign and unexpected and wrong, but still he wrenched the hand up and for a terrifying moment he thought that it was too firmly stuck in the wood as he was rapidly losing strength and black spots flickered across his vision and he couldn’t pass out, not now, he was so close - 

And then the tip of the dagger parted from its wooden sheath and somehow he managed to hang onto consciousness by the thinnest of threads.  Knowing that he truly could not afford to lose any momentum now that he’d started - how many minutes left?  Three?  Two? - he brought his hand to his face and awkwardly but efficiently used his teeth to pry it free.  He was left with a gaping wound but thankfully he still had four working fingers, and the blood was flowing freely now, unfettered by the blade, he had to move fast. 

In less than a minute, he’d managed to find enough strength in his mangled right hand to pull out the remaining knife and clumsily unbuckle the belt around his chest, the metal now slick with blood - there was blood on the table, running down his palms and soaking into his shirt sleeves and plinking on the floor as he forced himself to his feet and then promptly lost a short but ferocious battle with his stomach.  

Never had he ever wanted to give up so badly.  After all, how could anyone expect him to do what had to be done now?  He could feel the shock setting in, he was continuing to lose blood rapidly, one hand was almost completely useless, and the other was like a medical pump, except instead of morphine it dispensed only unbearable pain.  He thought about the floor, how it was probably a lot less uncomfortable than it looked, and how even now the darkness was eating away at the corners of his vision so that he would probably pass out before the bomb exploded…

But then he thought of his friends, his team - Riley, Matty, Boze, Desi, maybe even his dad, and Jack, who was so far away but who was counting on Mac to still be alive and thinking when he returned - and he knew that he couldn't just give in.  He had to try, for them.  Even if he failed - which was a very real possibility - at least he would be fighting to see them again, and that was, at least, something.

So he tucked his hands into his armpits as tightly as possible in a futile attempt to stem the blood flow and forged forward, focusing on one foot in front of the other, staving off the dark with everything he had left, feeling the warm blood from his hands running down his sides and fighting nausea at the stench of tang and iron.  He fell a few feet from the cart but dragged himself forward on his knees, then used his right hand, pain exploding, to pull himself up to roughly eye level with the device.

It was so simple, and the time read 00:01:05.  Normally, it would be no problem.  But his hands were almost completely out of commission.  He couldn’t do it, there was no way he could disarm this bomb in that amount of time when he could barely use his hands, let alone wire cutters or pliers.

Well, at least he had tried.  He swayed where he knelt, ready to give in to the darkness and the end.  And then --

A pounding from somewhere behind him, on the other side of the door, wherever that was.  A voice, frantic, muffled, screaming his name, “Mac!  Are you in there?”

“Riles?” he mumbled, barely able to form the words.  His mind was sluggish, and he was cold, and glancing down blearily at the timer, it had gone down to 00:00:50.  It took every effort to raise his voice enough to be heard, “Get out of here!  It’s about to go off!”

“Not without you!” Desi’s voice called, and he’d never heard her sound so desperate.  

“Mac!  Either get the hell up out of there, or disarm the damn bomb!” Bozer shouted.

“Don’t you dare give up on me now, Blondie.”  Matty had the steel in her voice that brooked no argument.

“Working on hacking the electronic lock now,” came Riley’s voice, and the timer read 00:00:38.

“You don’t understand,” Mac protested.  “I can’t - you’ll die.”

But he knew the awful truth - even if they turned and ran now, it would be too late.  They would never clear the blast in time.  Because he wasn’t strong enough, because he gave in to the pain and the shock and the lull of nothingness, they would die.

No.

Painfully, Mac reached out and grasped the pliers between his three working fingers and thumb in his right hand.  He had no idea how he managed it, but by the time the clock had reached 00:00:20, he had separated the wire he needed to cut.  His head swam and he shivered and blood coated the surface of the bomb and the pliers were sticky with it.  The wire cutters were a bit easier to use.  Once he got them situated in his hand, which still hurt like hell but didn’t really feel like it was a part of his own body anymore, it was just a simple snip.  He almost cut the wrong one.  All the wires were red now.

The moment before he cut the wire, he realized that the Ghost might have lied and set up a secondary device.  He wasn’t one to stray from his M.O.  Come to think of it, though, he hadn’t seen a camera, either, and that was also one of the bomb-maker’s signatures.  Well, he thought as he cut the wire, I suppose it doesn’t matter now.  

In fact, nothing did.

The second it was cut, the tool clattered from his hand and he slumped forward, passing out right on top of the defused bomb.

Seconds later, the door burst open and his team, along with a dozen agents in full tactical gear, barged in to see something that would never, ever leave them - and that they would have nightmares about for the rest of their lives.

Mac half stood, half slumped over a bomb on a cart, face translucent, lips tinged blue, blood everywhere - there was a trail of it leading from a table upon which had been discarded two bloody knives - and when they moved Mac’s too-still, barely breathing body off the bomb and laid him out on the floor, elevating his legs and applying pressure bandages to his horrifically maimed hands, the timer read in great red letters 00:00:02.

***

Six Weeks Later

“How’re ya hangin’ in there, hoss?” the always-welcome voice of Jack Dalton drawled.  He sounded chipper enough, but there was a heaviness in his words, and Mac wished not for the first time that video calling was an option wherever Jack was at.  He supposed he should be grateful that he was getting to talk to him at all, though.

They hadn’t been able to contact Jack until two weeks after Mac had nearly lost his life - and then possibly the use of his left hand - to the Ghost.  To say that Jack was enraged was a vast understatement, and he almost abandoned his entire mission, almost went AWOL, just to get back to his partner.  He knew how devastated and traumatized Mac would be, and it killed him.  He’d been persuaded to stay where he was, because if he didn’t, he’d be crossing all kinds of lines and could get into serious trouble that could significantly delay when he’d be able to actually come home to his boy for good.

Mac sighed.  “Better, I think.  You’re not on speaker phone, you know.”

The excitement in Jack’s voice infected even Mac, who’d been unusually subdued and distant from the moment he’d woken up in Phoenix’s hospital.  “You’re holding the phone?  Atta boy, this physical therapy stuff’s no joke!”

Mac couldn’t help but grin, a bit of pride in his voice.  “And I’m holding it with my left hand!”

Jack whooped a whole-ass yippee-ki-yay and Mac actually laughed.  This was more than Jack could have hoped for, as the last time he’d been able to talk with Mac his kid had been miserable and drugged up, fresh out of his third reconstructive surgery, this one to remove dead nerves and graft in new ones.  Of course, Jack had kept up with Channel Mac News (as he lamely called it) via other means of communication - texts and radio messages and even the odd telegraph - but it was so good to hear the kid’s voice, to hear him speak of his progress.

“Yeah,” Mac chuckled, his voice lighter than it had been in a while.  “I’ve got most of the feeling back now, thanks to the incredible specialists Phoenix flew in.”  He sobered.  “But even they are not optimistic that I’ll regain full range of motion or finger articulation in that hand, though.”

“Well, you’ve proved plenty of doctors wrong before, dude.  But even if you don’t get your elocution back--”

“Articulation.”

“Whatever.  Even if you don’t get that back completely, that doesn’t make you any less you.  You hear me, hoss?”  And now Jack was using his serious voice as he went into a speech he’d been practicing for nearly a month.  “Even if you got the news that you could never use your hands again, you’d still be Mac.  It don’t matter if you’ve got one working hand, or two, or none - it ain’t your hands that give you value.  It’s what’s in here.”

Mac couldn’t help but smile.  “You know I can’t see where you’re pointing, right, Jack?”

“You know full well where your worth is, brother,” Jack responded, not even rising to the bait.  “It ain't in your hands or even your brains - no one would love you less without them, and you’d still be the most important person in the world to me.  You gotta learn to love yourself no matter what.”

Mac blinked at the sudden rush of moisture to his eyes and cleared his throat.  “Thanks, man,” he said, his voice gruff.  Then, to lighten the mood - “Being on this mission sure has made you sappy,” he joked.  “Remind me why I’m going to therapy when I’ve got you to unlock the secrets of the soul?”  He’d been forced by his entire team to talk to a Phoenix-sanctioned psychologist two times a week.  Though he fought it at first, he had to admit that Dr. Frasier had given him some helpful techniques to work past the worst of the panic attacks, and that he’d gradually felt more like himself after each session.

He could hear the grin in Jack’s voice, could see it perfectly in his mind’s eye.  “What are you talking about, man?  Ol’ Jack’s always been in touch with his emotions.  Ain’t nothing wrong with that - I learned that from my pop.”  

Muffled voices from the other end of the call signaled that their talk was coming to an end.  Jack had to be heading out soon, back on the trail of the killer that had torn their team apart.  

“Hey, bud--”

“I know,” Mac interrupted, and even though his hand was shaking with the effort of holding it to his ear for so long, he didn’t change hands or put the phone on speaker.  A brief pause.  He asked the question he always did every time he talked to Jack, but this time even he could tell that his voice was more wistful than usual: 

“When are you coming home?”

And Jack responded the way he always did, and even though Jack hadn’t come home yet, Mac believed him, because he knew that Jack was doing everything to return safely to his family as soon as possible.

“Real soon, brother.”

“Hey, Jack?”

“Geez, kid, I’m on a schedule,” Jack complained, but Mac heard the smirk in his voice.

“When you get home,” Mac promised, determination to keep healing, to beat the odds, welling up inside of him, “I’m going to beat you in an arm-wrestling contest.”

Jack laughed.  “There’s not one part of me that doubts it, kiddo.”

Though Mac couldn’t see it, Jack wiped a tear from his eye as he hung up and went back to join his team with the biggest smile on his face he’d had in a very, very long time.

[mithranqueersmusings]

5 Star Man III

Chapter: 3/3

Rating: E (Smut Warning)

Summary: Dennis has been gone for a long time, Mac misses him dearly and finds himself rooting through his old sex tapes.

Tags: Smut

Pairing: Mac/Dennis

AO3 link here / Fic masterlist here

The two of them rolled around on the bed for a while, it wasn't long before Mac's neck was covered in hickies and Dennis' hair was entirely ruined. Mac wasn't entirely sure how to proceed with the whole thing, exactly how Dennis wanted to be treated was a mystery he very quickly had to solve. With women there was no question about it, Dennis was the dominant one but now with Mac - who was considerably stronger - it was difficult to figure out. Dennis wasn't submitting to him, at least not fully, somehow he was able to control the situation even while being on the bottom. Did this make Dennis a power bottom? Mac felt like he was finally understanding what had been confusing them for all these years, but now was hardly the time to be thinking about all that.

What mattered right now was pleasing Dennis, any wrong move could be catastrophic and Mac was determined not to mess this up. Judging from how he was acting so far: biting at Dennis' skin and playing with his nipples, all while grinding down rhythmically, seemed to be to Dennis' approval.

"Shit. Ah-" Dennis moaned as Mac thrust down onto him again "Let's switch this up."

Mac didn't try to sound like an excited puppy, emphasis on the try "Switch it up how?"

Dennis met his eye determinedly, Mac had never seen him look so aroused "I wanna suck you off."

Mac moaned just at the thought and allowed Dennis to slide out from under him and position himself comfortably on his knees in front of the bed. The sight of Dennis like this was something Mac would never forget, he swore to burn the image into his memory. His lips were red and plump from kissing, his eyes hooded and dark yet still looking absolutely beautiful. Mac scooted to get closer to Dennis, opening his legs up wider as Dennis ran his hands over the thighs.

"You, er- Have you ever done this before?" Mac asked, he was clearly still nervous by the way his voice shook but he managed to get control of the pitch at least.

Dennis chuckled, offering no words in response but letting his actions do all the talking. He leant in closer to Mac's crotch, there was a wet patch at the head where his cock had leaked a little, and rather than doing anything with his mouth, first he inhaled deeply. Mac let out a soft moan at this, watching Dennis breathing in his scent so passionately made his legs twitch. Dennis stuck out his tongue and starting licking at the damp spot, moaning into it like it was the most delicious thing he'd ever tasted. Mac ran his fingers through Dennis' messy hair - under any other circumstances Mac knew he wouldn't be able to get away with this - as he watched in awe at Dennis work his mouth around his cock. The fabric grew damp very quickly, beginning to stick in places with Dennis' saliva mixing with the pre-cum, it would've been disgusting if it wasn't so hot.

"Fuck, Den..." Mac hissed as Dennis slowly pulled his boxers down, letting his erection spring free almost violently.

Dennis eyed Mac's cock for a few moments, gently pressing his fingers along the length and kissing around the head, as though he'd never seen it before. Mac had never seen Dennis this vulnerable before, yet he still knew that it would be a mistake to view him as weak in this moment; whatever Dennis would've asked for, Mac would've done it. Mac bunched his other hand in the bedsheets, an awful reminder that it hadn't been that long since he'd had his last orgasm and that didn't bode very well for his stamina at the moment. It took every ounce of restraint in his body not to thrust up into the heat of Dennis' mouth, he tried not to show the struggle on his face but every time Dennis looked up at him he felt his face contorting. Whether Dennis had actually done this before, with who or when or how often, Mac didn't want to think about, he just wanted to feel it.

Mac's fingers began to twitch where they played with Dennis' hair, the desire to push Dennis down onto his cock would've felt amazing but he wasn't sure that was the right move. Dennis had set a steady rhythm of bobbing his head up and down his length, opening his throat masterfully as he sucked down every inch without an issue.

"You look so good." Mac moaned "I wanna fuck that pretty face."

Dennis' eyes seemed to light up with these words, he looked up to Mac sinfully with his mouth filled with cock. He began to make gagging noises, Mac was almost certainly he was forcing them but that didn't make it any less hot. Mac squinted his eyes, trying to look for confirmation of any kind and when Dennis pulled all the way off and began slapping his cock onto his tongue, he decided to go for it. No girl - or guy - he'd ever been with allowed Mac to be this rough before, but he was glad he could experience this for the first time with Dennis; he moved his hands to interlock slightly at the back of Dennis' head and experimentally started to thrust forward into his mouth. Dennis let out a long moan that was muffled by Mac's movements, not showing any sign of stress or pain as Mac began to quicken his pace. The sound was absolutely obscene, the sight was even worse with the spit beginning to drip down from Dennis' open mouth as Mac ruthlessly thrust in and out. Tears began to form in the corners of Dennis' eyes and Mac faltered for a moment, but Dennis scratched down the inside of Mac's thigh and he carried on just as before. The more intense it got, the more pain Dennis was potentially experiencing, the more it seemed to turn him on. Mac wasn't entirely surprised but he never thought he'd be able to experience it first-hand.

"I can't- I can't keep going like this." Mac huffed "I won't make it."

Dennis let out a pleased hum, vibrating through Mac's ready to burst cock, then gently guided Mac's hips down back onto the bed and lifted his mouth off with a satisfying popping noise. He looked completely satisfied, even with his face completely red and tears making the thin lines of make-up run down his face. Mac bit down onto his lip again, if he wasn't careful he was gonna finish all over Dennis' face just by looking at him.

"I'm not even gonna ask how that was for you." Dennis almost croaked, his voice completely shot, and it was the most delicious thing Mac had ever heard.

Dennis climbed into Mac's lap and straddled his hips, allowing the firm erection to rest against his cheeks. Mac instinctively held Dennis' hips, which felt surprisingly slim in his hands, and looked up at him hoping for a kiss. Dennis didn't disappoint. Mac found it strangely sexy to be tasting his own dick on someone else's tongue, especially since it was Dennis', and he found himself desperately kissing Dennis as though he'd die without the taste. Dennis guided them further up the bed, making sure to rub his arse against Mac's aching cock as they moved.

"You wanna fuck me?" Dennis asked in a gravelled voice, licking around Mac's ear "Stick your cock in my ass, is that what you want?"

Mac moaned desperately "Yes, yes, fuck!"

"Then you're gonna have to open me up, you think you can do that buddy?" Dennis starting nibbling at Mac's scruffy jawline, the use of the affectionate word released another moan from Mac's lips "Not too much, though. I still want to feel that stretch."

Mac cautiously rubbed a hand over Dennis' cheeks, when he felt him move into the touch, he dug his fingers into the flesh and thrust his hips upwards. Dennis let out a low moan, biting a little too hard on Mac's skin before moving himself off onto the other side of the bed.

"You know what you're doing?" Dennis asked, sounding somewhat concerned, before laying down on his back "It's not the same as some chick."

Mac unintentionally rolled his eyes "I know, Dennis. I'm gay, remember?" He hoped this would instil enough confidence, enough to hide the fact that he didn't really know what he was doing at all.

Dennis let out a content sigh and pulled his legs up so that he was completely exposed to Mac "Two fingers should do it, alright?"

"Alright." Mac gave a warm smile, a small moment of sweetness before he set about getting to work.

Dennis was completely clean shaven down there, he'd had a lot of his hair lasered off as a part of his 'grooming routine', Mac had to admit it looked a little strange but it certainly made his job a fair bit easier. Mac rolled onto his stomach and moved close enough to run his tongue along the inside of Dennis' thigh, he gently brushed his finger alongside the other. Dennis shivered, something Mac was determined to make happen again. As much as he wanted to dive right in, he had a certain amount of calming down he had to do before they got to the main event, and he wasn't sure if he'd ever had the opportunity to tease Dennis again. Slowly he moved his tongue to circle around the outside of Dennis' hole, never actually making contact but making sure to breathe his hot breath down onto it.

"Shit..." Dennis sighed, trying to refrain from twitching or shivering again "You've done this before, haven't you?" There was a hint of jealousy to his voice, which Mac savoured completely.

Mac let out a quiet chuckle "What makes you say that?" He punctuated the sentence with a quick flick of his tongue across the hole which made Dennis hiss.

"Put a fucking finger in, dude." Dennis groaned "I can still change my mind, you know."

Mac paused "But, Dennis, you've always said once the sex has started-"

Dennis threw his head back against the headboard, probably hurting more than he'd intended it to "I know what I said, Mac, but this is different. Now are you gonna get on with it or not?"

Mac couldn't deny that he liked it when Dennis got a little bossy, like a spoiled brat it bordered on at times, letting out another chuckle he spread his tongue flat against the entire ring of muscle. The tension in Dennis seemed to melt away instantly, his eyes shut softly as Mac began wetting the hole generously. Every so often he'd stick his tongue inside or give Dennis' hard cock a few jerks, all while running the other hand gently across the sensitive areas of his skin. It didn't take Mac too long before Dennis was beginning to writhe beneath him, as much as he tried to hide it, his breathing was ragged and his hands desperately clung to the sheets.

"Mac." Dennis tried to sound authoritative, but the whininess in his voice overpowered it "Put a finger inside... Please."

That was all Mac had been waiting to hear; he wet his finger in his mouth quickly then began to circle it around the wet hole.

"I'll kill you, man, seriously." Dennis couldn't even pick his head up to look down at Mac "If you don't fu-"

Mac cut off whatever complaint Dennis was about to spill, shoving the finger inside without hesitation, feeling the muscles give way to the new intrusion. The noise that spilled from Dennis' lips almost didn't sound human, his cock throbbed and his eyes seemed to roll back into his head. Mac waited a few moments before beginning to slowly pull it out, then he'd ruthlessly thrust it back in as rough as before. These were some noises he could definitely get used to, as he felt Dennis starting to relax he pushed a second finger inside; Dennis practically squeaked with pleasure.

"Mac, you piece of shit." Dennis panted and moaned, desperately trying to keep still as Mac began scissoring his fingers inside.

"Want me to stop?" Mac asked with an obnoxious grin, managing to get his tongue to run alongside the outside of the hole while he continued to fuck with his fingers.

"You wouldn't dare." Dennis groaned, he made vain attempts to try and push Mac's fingers in further from his end "I'm-I'm ready. Fuck me, Mac, and I mean really fuck me."

Mac didn't need to be told twice. He was gentle removing the fingers, the last thing he needed was to fuck it all up now. He hastily spat onto his hand to lube himself up then lined himself up, looking quickly - and excitedly - to Dennis for approval. Dennis gave a slight nod and gripped tightly onto Mac's bicep, digging his fingers in deep as Mac thrust his entire length in one rough motion. Dennis practically screamed, and for a moment Mac was scared he'd been far too rough but the look on Dennis' face was of pure bliss.

"Holy fuck, dude." Mac breathed heavily "You're tight as shit."

Dennis smirked proudly "I know."

Mac had to pause before carrying on, he'd almost spent himself already with one thrust and that was definitely not the way to go. Cautiously he pulled back out, one hand on Dennis' hip and the other holding himself up with ease. Thrusting back in, still fast and sloppy but nowhere near as rough as the first time, he felt his hips stutter slightly so he bit down on his lip to gain some control. Dennis continued to look pleased with himself, gladly watching how easily he was able to torture Mac without doing a thing. But the entire expression was wiped away when Mac thrust up against Dennis' prostrate, he hadn't even been aiming for it but he was certainly glad he found it.

"Fuck, fuck!" Dennis cried out "If I had known you fucked like this, Mac, I would've done it sooner."

"Oh yeah?" Mac asked with a grin, thrusting deep inside Dennis and brushing against the spot once more "You like my cock, Dennis? You like my fat cock in your ass?"

Dennis looked at him half-surprised half-concerned "Don't get carried away, now." He paused, letting out another sweet moan "I love your cock, Mac."

Mac was coming apart at the seams, each thrust tightening that feeling that was threatening to explode "I don't think I can go much longer..." He didn't want to admit it, but if he came unannounced it wouldn't been a real sour ending.

Dennis hummed and licked his lips "You wanna cum inside me, Mac?" He tightened his grip on his bicep "You think I should let you? I don't know if you deserve it."

Mac had to slow his thrusts down or he'd be making the decision for the both of them "Fuck, I- Please, let me." Mac didn't want to beg, but if that's what it took then he'd do it.

Another satisfied smirk from Dennis, he pulled Mac down lower so that he could kiss him deeply then pulled away to whisper "Tell me that you've been a good boy."

"Shiiit." Mac groaned, he could taste blood on his lips again "D-Dennis, I-I've..." He wasn't sure that he could do it "I've been a good boy."

"I don't believe you." Dennis tutted, wrapping his legs around Mac's hips and pulling him down further "Tell me like you mean it."

Mac practically whimpered "Fuck, I'm a good boy, Dennis. Such a good fucking boy for you. Now please, let me cum!"

Dennis bit down hard on Mac's neck and forced their bodies together even closer. Mac felt himself loosing it completely, his body suddenly too heavy to hold up as he fell against Dennis' chest gracelessly, letting out a rugged cry as he spent himself entirely. He felt Dennis clenching around him, almost hungrily, until the two of them finally both relaxed. It was a while before they both caught their breath, and even then neither of them really wanted to move. Mac knew Dennis wasn't exactly the cuddling type, but he hoped that if he stayed still with his arm around his chest he'd somehow be able to stay that way for a while. Unfortunately the plan didn't seem to work, as Dennis began to fidget slightly.

"You gonna stay inside me all night, dude?" Dennis asked casually, prompting Mac to finally pull out.

Mac rolled to lie alongside Dennis, he was desperate to lay his hands on him in any way possible but he knew that wasn't the best move. After a few moments Dennis shuddered and let out a desperate moan, for a moment Mac thought he was making some cruel joke but then he saw the cum start to drip out of Dennis' hole.

"Ew, man, that's gross." Mac laughed, but Dennis apparently didn't feel like laughing.

"Gross?" Dennis sounded offended "It's your cum, you moron, if it's gross, you're gross."

Mac paused for a moment "You didn't get to finish." He wasn't exactly sure what he hoped to achieve with this statement, he was beyond too tired to get Dennis off at this stage.

Dennis chuckled, surprising Mac as all the previous potential anger was gone in an instant "Don't worry, bro. I got off. Don't worry about me."

Mac found himself smiling, when Dennis looked over he wished he'd stopped through fear of embarrassing himself but Dennis just smiled back at him.

"Beats a tape, doesn't it?" Dennis asked in a soft voice, turning over onto his side to face Mac directly, for a moment Mac thought he was going to lean in for a kiss, but he didn't.

There was a silence between them for a while, but it was nothing like the awkward, hostile silences from before. They just looked at one another, small smiles spread across their lips.

"What are you gonna tell the gang?" Mac practically mumbled, playing with the fabric of the bedsheet.

"Do I have to tell them anything?" Dennis scoffed "I don't think they'd exactly understand what we've got going on here."

Mac furrowed his brows "No, no. I meant about coming back."

Dennis mirrored Mac's expression then laughed "Oh. Well I'm sure I'll think of something."

Another pause.

"So we've got something going on?" Mac asked, trying to hide the hopefulness of his voice.

Dennis cocked an eyebrow "Shut up, bro. Don't ruin it."

[thejudgingtrash]

I’ve amassed so many followers in such a short time? Legit why :D but thank you for sticking around and feeding into my pjo hyperfixation! Ahhh I’m screaming.

To celebrate this let me give something back to the community! Let’s have a little cookout! 

Since writing is the only thing I can do and Percabeth is my shit, let me write a oneshot for you! And instead of doing just the cute stuff I’ve also gathered some pretty cursed scenarios (with a little help, thanks Nate ^^)!

Cute and/or cursed Percabeth prompts:

Music Producer Percy and background singer Annabeth

I didn’t jog in five years Percy and run motherfucker Annabeth

Cult leader Percy and newbie Annabeth

Criminal genius Percy and Detective Annabeth

Alien conspiracy theorist Percy and Area 51 guard Annabeth

Circus Animal Trainer Percy and peta Animal Rights Activist Annabeth

Movie theater employee Percy and bringing her entire film equipment so that you can pirate that shit and absolute goddess taking one for the team we love her Annabeth

CNN Reporter Percy and White House Representative Annabeth

Virgin Percy and Chad Annabeth

Soundcloud Rapper Percy and sorority girl Annabeth

Bartender Percy and non-tipper Annabeth

XBOX/Android/PC Percy and PlayStation/iOS/Mac Annabeth

Paparazzi Percy and starlet Annabeth

Baker Percy and tattoo artist Annabeth

YouTuber Percy and hating on YouTuber Percy Annabeth

Liberal Percy and I take my gun to sleep Annabeth

Blessing the Rains Percy and Down in Africa Annabeth

Model Percy and makeup artist Annabeth

Sneakerhead Percy and why are you spending so much money on some fucking shoes Annabeth

Let’s have some time alone Percy and there’s an entire fucking zombie apocalypse outside Annabeth

EXO-L Percy and Army (BTS) Annabeth

Fucking it up at an Arab/African/Latin/Greek wedding Percy and I’m too white and can’t fucking dance Annabeth

Plumber Percy and I forgot the appointment Annabeth

Weird experimental artist Percy and what the fuck is this Annabeth

Cook Percy and camp counselor Annabeth

Walmart employee Percy and I want to speak to the manager Annabeth

Ranting about that newbie Percy and accidentally receiving that message Annabeth

Wearing Bathrobe, collecting some tissues for a good night Percy and making herself unpopular as the new neighbor Annabeth

Being a shit disturber in class Percy and I actually have paid for this shit and want to study Annabeth

Writes his problem on r/relationships Percy and answering reddit user Annabeth

Send me an ask with 'Mel’s Little Cookout’ (or slide into the DMs) with your preferred (cute or cursed) prompt and a sentence you pull out of your sleeve till May 18 and let’s see what short story I can come up with!

Are you a mutual (have I had at least one interaction with you lol my love is cheap) or even a friend? 🥺 let me write a letter in which I declare my appreciation for you on top of that if you want that! Add a simple ❤️

[amandagaelic]

Fanfic Tag (bc, Sunday)

I was tagged by @waitingforthestarstofall and @disappearinginq who are two of my favorite enablers over here. And according to at least one of them, there are no rules in this game, which means my replying many moons later is all good (right?). 

Questions:

Ao3 Name: gaelicspirit (same on FF.net)

Fandoms: Supernatural, The Young Riders, White Collar, Hawaii Five-0, Sons of Anarchy (all only on FF.net), The Musketeers, Daredevil, Teen Wolf, Timeless, MacGyver, Magnum, P.I. (on both Ao3 and FF.net)

Number of fics: 75 (+ 1 WIP)

1. Fic you spent the most time on: From Yesterday

2. Fic you spent the least time on: Raincheck

3. Longest Fic:  From Yesterday   (286,050 words)

4. Shortest Fic: Sacrifice (2,315 words)

5. Most hits: Devil to Pay (on Ao3...no clue on FF.net)

6. Most kudos: Devil’s Own (huh, I’ve never compared these stats before...maybe I should write more Daredevil)

7. Most comment threads:  Devil’s Own (on Ao3), Ramble On (on FF.net)

8. Fave Fic you wrote: This is a toughie. I love them all when I’m writing them...I think maybe it’s a 3-way tie between War Scars, From Yesterday, and Conairt. The first two were as AU as I generally get (I’ve a tendency to be a bit canon-bound) and that was fun to explore possibilities with those characters, and the 3rd was basically the story I wanted to read but couldn’t find anywhere...so I wrote it myself. 

9. Fic you want to rewrite/expand on: Hmmm. I don’t know that I’d actually rewrite any of them. They exist in my mind the moment they’re being created and then once out there in the world for all to see, that’s who they are, scars and all. I have occasionally thought about expanding on my White Collar story, Fortunate Son to explore what happened next. Though, now that the show has ended, it would be 100% AU. I guess anything I would really want to take further would be a new story in and of itself, so it wouldn’t really count as “expanding” on it. 

10. Share a bit of your WIP or share a story idea that you’re planning:

I started another MacGyver fic last weekend called “Hello to the Night.” I’m about 25K-ish words into it and still playing it out. It’s a bit of pandemic therapy for me, to be honest. It’s really hard to get out of my own head these days, it seems.  Premise: Set  around S4 episodes 9 and 10. Turns out emotional trauma + concussions + experimental drugs don’t mix quite as easily as one might think. Mac’s dark side does more than toss him a creepy grin from the other side of a window when getting “lost in his head” is taken up a notch.

Excerpt:

Another streak of light cut like a white-hot tracer bullet across the darkest part of the sky.

“You out here making wishes on shooting stars?” Bozer asked, tapping the back of his fingers into the palm of his opposite hand.

It caught his attention then that Mac was clad only in a T-shirt and shorts; it almost looked like they were the clothes he’d gone to sleep in, not grabbed for a planned midnight run.

“These aren’t stars,” Mac corrected him, his voice sounding strangely detached from the moment. “That light is caused by dust and rock falling through the atmosphere and burning up—happens when the Earth passes through a trail of debris left by a comet as it orbits the Sun.”

Bozer felt his mouth tug up in a reflexive grin. “Is that right?”

“My dad gave me my first telescope when I was eight,” Mac continued in the same, oddly modulated tone, as if he were speaking in a dream. “Showed me how to find the constellations, track comets. I took it apart one day and he wouldn’t help me put it back together again. Said I obviously needed to know how it worked, so I should figure it out.”

Bozer remembered that telescope. He remembered James MacGyver’s stern face as Mac worked to rebuild it from the collection of parts scattered around them in piles organized by size and use. He remembered fearing that face.

“I did, too. Figure it out.”

“Yeah, I know, man,” Bozer smiled, watching Mac watch the starts. He frowned a little when he saw a hard shiver chase its way through Mac’s slim frame, though the blond man didn’t seem to notice.

“It’s like they were mine, y’know?”

Bozer’s frown deepened. “What—”

“And for a little bit there, it felt like he gave them to me,” Mac continued as though Bozer hadn’t spoken. “Like the whole universe was mine because he let me see it. But…,” Mac shook his head, his eyes distant as they tracked down from the sky and skimmed the horizon in front of them. “Then he took them away. He took them with him when he left. And I can’t figure out how to get them back. I keep trying, but…they’re just…,” he looked back up at the night sky, “they’re so far away.”

Bozer reached out and rested his fingertips on Mac’s bare arm, flinching back a little when he felt how chilled his friend’s skin was. He couldn’t see it before, but with that touch he realized Mac was shivering consistently now.

“Hey, Mac, you okay, man?”

Mac blinked, looking down at Bozer’s fingers on his arm, then frowned. He glanced around him slowly, tracking over to his left until their eyes met.

“Bozer?”

“Yeah?”

“What…what are you doing here?”

Bozer blinked, his eyebrows climbing his forehead. He tightened his grip on Mac, wrapping his fingers around his friend’s forearm until he felt the other man’s shivers through the bones of his hand.

“I was looking for you,” Bozer said truthfully, trying to keep the worry from his voice as he watched Mac look around him, over his shoulder to where the Griffith’s domed building loomed in the shadows, then back across the dark horizon to the lights of Los Angeles. “You decide to go for a midnight run or something?”

Mac swallowed hard, reaching up with a trembling hand to rub at his forehead. Bozer recalled his tired voice claiming his headache had a headache earlier that day—no, last night—in the lab. He dropped his hand and looked around again and Bozer realized what he was seeing was a growing awareness and recognition—and it frightened him.

“What the hell are we doing out here?” Mac asked, his voice sounding thin, baffled.

“Mac,” Bozer gripped his arm tighter. “I found you out here.”

Mac looked at him, blue eyes cloudy with confusion. “What?”

“I found you, man.”

Mac darted his tongue out, wetting dry lips, his shivering increasing until Bozer saw his teeth start to chatter.

“I don’t…I don’t remember…,” he shook his head. “I don’t remember leaving the house.”

Bozer folded his lower lip against his teeth, biting it to keep whatever noise that wanted to escape a prisoner. “Well, how ‘bout we head back there now?”

Mac nodded shakily and moved to slide off the fence. Bozer saw in a split second the ground was too far below him for Mac to land safely. He thrust out his arm and braced his friend, swinging his leg back over the fence to the paved walkway and pulling Mac backwards with him. Mac scrambled to find his footing, standing on trembling legs as he gripped Bozer’s shoulders.

“Holy shit,” Mac took a stuttering breath as if he’d forgotten that was what his lungs were supposed to do, straightening slowly. “How the hell did I…?”

Bozer shook his head. “How about we don’t worry about that right now, huh?”

Mac nodded, his eyes still on the drop-off on the other side of the fence.

“C’mon, man,” Bozer turned Mac toward the parking lot, keeping one hand on his friend’s arm, the other on his lower back. “It’s late and I’m cold.” He wasn’t, but it was always easier to get Mac to act if he was doing so on behalf of someone else.

“Yeah,” Mac nodded. “Yeah, sure, of course. Boze, I’m—”

“Don’t,” Bozer pushed him gently forward. “Don’t worry about it, man. Yesterday was weird for everybody.”

“Yesterday?” Mac asked, the word tripping out on a faltering breath as his shivers increased.

Bozer pressed his fingertips harder into Mac’s lower back, feeling the corded muscles there tighten against the pressure. “Yeah, y’know…crazy DARPA drug, Tesla weapon….”

“That was yesterday?” Mac asked, blinking owlishly at him.

“Time flies when you’re trippin’, man.”

Mac didn’t reply and didn’t resist as Bozer continued to guide him toward the parking lot. He stumbled over his own feet—any coltish grace that once guided him having vacated in the wake of whatever this was. Bozer steadied him, noting that while Mac didn’t quite lean into him, he needed the support.

“Easy, man,” Bozer wrapped an arm around Mac’s slim waist, pulling him flush against his side. “You’re moving like me after a night of whiskey.”

“That…doesn’t sound good,” Mac returned in the same spacey, confused tone. “You make some pretty bad choices ‘cause of whiskey.”

As they reached the car, Bozer shifted his hip to keep Mac propped up, pulling the passenger door open and maneuvering his friend into the seat.

“Yeah, well,” he reached across Mac’s shivering form to fasten his seat belt, “in whiskey’s defense, I’ve also made some pretty questionable choices completely sober.”

Mac huffed a semi-amused chuckle, his head dropping back against the seat. Bozer jogged around the back of the car to climb behind the wheel.

“Let’s crank that heat up, how ‘bout—” Bozer stopped as he glanced over and saw Mac had quite literally passed out, head tilted against the window.

His hands lay lax in his lap, fingers curled toward his palms, the left one twitching in what looked like an attempt to reach out, but not quite getting there.

“Jesus, Mac,” Bozer breathed, turning up the heat anyway as his friend shivered even in his sleep. He shrugged out of his hoodie, draping it over Mac’s bare arms and t-shirt covered torso.

Tagging: Okay, if you’ve already been tagged--or literally have no interest in this--feel free to ignore. This is a bit of a free-for-all here. @thethistlegirl @impossiblepluto @flowing-river24 @panchostokes @nativestarwrites @beamirang @21forestglades @blazeofobscurity @angus-mac-intosh @purplecolouredglasses @writtenbyblair @dashboardonfire @bands-space-and-monsters-oh-my @macgyverfever @thekristen999

[adsfdgsd]

For $1 more you got your own bathroom

For $1 more you got your own bathroom.. “But yes, my lord, him as well. Certainly, they gave us all we could handle and we're just disappointed right now.". There are two storm systems that will affect us this week and I will go bottines cloutees femme into more detail on these set ups soon.. Helping set up the Eagles passing game is the effective rushing attack from running backs Shawn Brashers (729 yards, 4 TDs) and Shon Lumpkin (601 yards, 4 TDs). The Mac Pro, which will be assembled in the United States, will only have flash storage, eschewing Mens JORDAN Hoodie hard drives for up to 1TB of flash storage, and will sell for $2,999 and up.. “Leave me. The bones were gone, though, so he said, “You have better men than me in your service. Corroborating this, the ASSOCHAM reports states that about 60 per cent of male shoppers and 72 per cent of female shoppers prefer shopping for designer wear in departmental stores. I BUILD HOTELS. Yes, it is a good idea. But Davos felt that he had heard enough. Till Sam returns. But adidas mariposas oneil mellény the move to traveler based travel management means airlines can now consolidate all of this data into a single profile. If bdsm puma you’re a genuine lover of humanity, wish all sensible men the same taste as mine, even with a little filth, or sensible men will soon have nothing to do in the world and there’ll be none but the fools left.. “The dead should not eat better than the living,” he complained, more than once. About half of the 2011 12 team is gone, but graduating their players to higher levels of junior hockey or college hockey is the main mission of the Jr. (There is no running water in the warehouse right now.) The walls cleaned up pretty good. However, it accommodates earthlings in an innovative package with "car like" handling, performance and safety, says it maker. His desire for rational harmonic order meshed with McCartney's similar tendencies, and tethered Lennon's penchant for raw experimentalism, which is why songs like "Tomorrow Never Knows," "A Day in the Life" and "Strawberry Fields Forever" are masterworks, and the Rolling Stones' contemporaneous "Their Satanic Majesties Request" sounds like the work of a bunch of acid heads run amok in the recording studio.. Heavy gold jewelry also became part of the new scene, which continues even kimono long femme grande taille today. She has held many key positions such as the Assistant District Commander in "E" Division's North District, Officer hanorace panda barbati in Charge of Prince George Detachment, and Director General of National Aboriginal Policing and Crime Prevention Services, National Criminal Operations. That is why that if I don't box, if I don't eat, my kids will never do any stealing, killing, any of that shit. This study was designed to analyse larger, visible particles and is a measure of the visual impact of residue. Enthusiast level hardware is exciting, especially if you can make use of its full potential. Aunt Grace is still living, and must be between seventy and eighty years of age; she has, for the last forty years, been an exemplary Christian. Anyway, it was evident that they were not meeting for the first time.. However the story moves with many interesting folds and audiences will bound to taste the delicious food of love and expression in movie. A river choked with corpses. The same principle prevails in every country; on shipboard and in the army a large discretion is always left to the superior. So the countess, who used to be against the engagement, was highly delighted at my success with the princess; but that’s beside kimono long femme grande taille the point. The Bridgewater midfielder controlled the ball and served a pass toward the far post. Any person who shall maliciously dismember or deprive a slave of life shall suffer such punishment as would be inflicted in case the like offence had been committed on a free white person, and on the like proof, except in case of insurrection by such slave, and unless such death should happen by accident in giving such slave moderate correction.—Cobb’s Dig. Cobblestones gave way to devilgrass beneath their horse’s hooves, then to soft wet mud the color of a baby’s nightsoil. I believed in the past all that was said against you, and when you left your parents I was terror-stricken for Alyosha. Lastly, he offered some advice that all mothers should take to heart. Dung was college educated and he felt we should be there and that we were really helping the South Vietnamese, but that there was a downside. Now do a slow rise, and make sure that as you do so, the angle of the foot and the ankle do not change. Free non alcoholic ginger beer and Jamaican patties, dance art performances, jazz piano by Dominik Heins, Pasi and African Marimba, hip hop by Blue Team Blue, performances by Embers Moore. So you can open his eyes towards the world. I was too young—only seven years of age—to understand what was going on. 1, a romantic and heart melting masterpiece. I always admired the way O'Reilly challenged his guests while maintaining a certain level of respect for them as well. And me the mother duck. The drops in October will be much more vivid in appearance than the previous colorways. I was prepared to take the leadership for the team and oakley m frame ice iridium help us get through it.". She thought of all the names that she had worn: Arry, Weasel, Squab, Cat of the Canals. Her serjeant had lost an arm to a giant’s club. I made her laugh too. Views were incredible. Why we chose her: Repeat performances are rare, but we honor Henson for a second straight season because she has continued to be the county's most dominant player. The optional three mode Dynamic Body Control suspension is also lower, while Air Body Control air suspension is also available. Hope this helps u make ur decision. And their biggest friend is the price of gasoline at the pump. After the birth of Princess Rhaenys, her mother had been bedridden for half a year, and Prince Aegon’s birth had almost been the death of her. And Joanie Yeomans believe much of their success can be traced back to the Comfort Keepers philosophy of treating each client like family.. It was scarcely necessary to tell them that, if evidence fixed guilt on this prisoner, they should not hesitate to record a verdict of guilty, although they should write that verdict in tears of blood.. In Volantis he fekete táska női had seen the galleys taking on provisions. Fundeberg. So, whether it's the soles, the hiking boot footbeds, the scree collar, the uppers or anything else, make sure your waterproof hiking boots are still in good shape when you get ready to use them. He stumbled upon a critical moment in visible air history when he rotated the bag, placing the seams on the top and bottom instead of on the perimeter.. I realized that she wanted something quite different, that it was simply that she loved me, loved me immensely, could not live without me and without being interested in everything that concerned me; and I believed that no sister ever loved a brother as Natasha loved me. The princess was in a perfect ecstasy, she almost cried with joy...

[thefandomcassandra]

for writing promt: Alanis and Mavrus, two chaotic teachers of their respective classes in the Gladehome university having a quality time together post-canon

Oh? Oh this is a fun one. Hold your horses, non, gonna fucking write Some Shit haha

---

He's on the roof of Gladeholm Univeristy, totally not shirking his professorial duties, shotgunning a can of beer and wondering if taking a post-apocalyptic vacation is allowed or if he has to be tenured first. Fucking...okay, but like, aside from like, biting off more than he could chew at first, being a teacher isn't the worst job he's ever had. He worked minimum wage at a knickknack shop off the beach and no amount of cold sweats over building paper tests for what basically amounts to an inherent talent will ever beat the terror of seeing some angry tourist barrelling his way with intent to murder in their eyes. But, man, he's really regretting his choice in lesson plan.

He keys open another can and starts chugging, trying to kill every brain cell that's complaining at him to go back down and actually do your job, just because you helped the Titans deal with Akarot doesn't mean you can slack off! Fucking shit brain doing shit stuff. Should maybe get his hands on Tred's new EP, some headphones, and pine after easier days. Dumb tattoo with the boys, looking for Carl in the mist, fucking chilling. Drown out the idiot brain noises fucking harshing his mood.

The shitty IPA drips down his chin — man, he never figured he'd miss Mac's garbage experimental beer but it'd taste better than the cheap swill he can buy on campus — and he wipes some away with the back of his hand, grimacing. "Ah, fuck," he mutters. "Fucking...got shit on my fucking shirt."

"Could clean that for you." Mavrus starts and whips his head back to see who the fuck is intruding on him skipping but...the post-war panic seeps out of him, the magic already on his fingers fading to arcane sparks. Alanis — pipe between her fingers, eyes locked on the horizon, already zonked to fuck and back, on the same wavelength as he is — waves a hand in his general direction and the beer that was all over his clothes evaporates, the smell going with it.

"Thanks," Mavrus grunts. He offers her a can and makes and inquisitive noise. You want some? He says without words. Sit and have a beer. I'm bored and lonely.

(Of course he won't say that out loud. That'd not be chill at all. Mavrus's whole shit is being chill. He has a rep to uphold. Can't have that slipping now.)

"I'll pass," she says, nose wrinkling slightly.

"You got standards or something?"

"Nah," Alanis takes a drag and holds. It's kinda fucking amazing how long she can hold in her breath. When she does exhale, the wisps of smoke that escapes her mouth become wyverns that flit through the sky. He keeps expecting her to finish the thought but she never does.

Instead, she sits down next to him and takes another drag.

(Sure, fine, don't share. Not like he can Message her to sidebar or shit, discretely ask for a hit. And she's more of a big deal than he is. You gotta respect the clout.)

"Fucking school, right?" As soon as the words leave his mouth he feels stupid. Fucking school, his brain mocks, nice job, asshole. Wanna ask her how the weather is too? He pops open an IPA and knocks some back, drowning more brain cells in piss beer.

"I thought attending was a drag," Alanis responds. The tension in Mavrus's shoulders lets loose. She continues, "I mean, at least the university heads pulled the stick out their asses. You could make puppets of elves for how stiff they were."

"When the Crick got here, you should have heard the fuss," Mavrus says, dogging that conversational thread. "I mean, they hated having tiefs here — me n' Carl being exceptions coz something something diversity something wizards something sorcery is more common in non-elves something — but oh fuck, they near had an embolism."

"Oh yeah, I'm sure." She nods, exhaling butterflies. Mavrus takes another gulp. "I mean, Luke was probably busy trying to mediate, poor fuck, and he was the only one without an issue. But now?"

"Less racist, still elitist?"

"Like, open up some fucking warlock classes! Bardic colleges! Fucking rangers or artificers! There's other types of magic!" She gesticulates wildly, her pipe knocking an empty off his crooked beeramid. "Ah, fuck."

They watch it plummet to the ground, nearly missing some Conjuration student on the quad, then burst into laughter. "Fuck though," Mavrus gasps around laughter, "can you imagine how their day'd go if they got concussed by an empty on their way to class?"

"Sorry, professor, but some asshole hit me on the head with a beer can at terminal velocity, I promise I'll have the assignment in on time tomorrow." Alanis giggles.

"I'd milk it for everything," Mavrus takes a sip and continues, belching slightly. "I'm sorry my cantrip was off, I suffered head trauma this morning. Don't you see the bruise?"

"What do you mean I could've seen the healer? My brain is important for casting, I can't just let magic in there willy-nilly!"

"I know that leaving myself possibly concussed is bad, but I would rather that than miss your very important lecture on the technical aspect of will on abjurative wards."

"No, no, professor. I meant for that firebolt to hit Suzanne. Oh, that was you? Hm. My bad. I'm slightly concussed, you see."

"It's a sign from Arathis! She wants me to get mad turnt. I've decided to become a brewer and use my necromancy to speedrun the aging process."

This piques Alanis's interest and she shoots upright from her lounging position, "Actually, that's fucking rad. You wanna try that shit?"

"I'm more an evocation than a necromancy guy myself but, yeah, fuck it. I know a guy who'd lose his shit if we made a breakthrough like that!" Mavrus waves his hand and the empties catch and burn to ash, blowing away in the wind. Speaking of, it staggers him a bit and he thinks, idly, maybe he shouldn't magic while drunk.

But Alanis catches him by the elbow and they're inside her Mansion, no muss no fuss, and all his resolve leaves him.

There's no way he's gonna say no. And besides, now at least Lucanus can't get up his ass about not doing his job. He's fucking learning. The purest form of his job.

(He Sends Mac the results of their experiments later and the twenty five word swear he gets in response is well worth the hangover.)

[georgecostanzaatemysoup]

“So.” Damian sat a mug of ale down in front of The OwlBear, dropping into the chair next to his and leaning back casually, one arm resting against the back, legs spread. “You got a name?”

“The OwlBear,” he replied, staring suspiciously at the ale.

“Yeah, but like, a real name,” she pressed, drinking from her own mug. “You know, like I’m Damian. Her over there,” she gestured to the bard, “is like Hannah or Hazel or some shit. That’s Buddy and Mac. She’s that Breeze chick. Tary, Lionel. Ya know, a name.”

“The OwlBear is my name,” The OwlBear insisted, pulling the mug towards him and sniffing it. He took an experimental sip, mulled over the taste, deemed it safe, and chugged half the mug.

“Okay,” Damian relented, raising her hand. “But you’re human, right? Like under all that get up? You’re just a man?”

“I’m not just a man,” The OwlBear said. “I have the keen owl eyesight of a bear. I can blend into the night like a shadow. My daggers cause pain beyond anything most cannot comprehend.” He took a breath, letting it out in a gust of air, and added, “Plus, I can glide.”

“Yeah, but like Tary did that last part.”

He hesitated for a moment before shaking his head. “No, I could always do that.”

Damian shook her head, but let it go. “Okay, fine, but you’re a guy, right? Take the cowl off...”

“Why would I ever take this off?” he demanded.

“I never said...”

“This is who I am.”

“Okay.”

“I haven’t taken this off since I earned it.”

Damian sighed, intrigued against her better judgement. “And how did you earn it?”

He didn’t respond, standing and taking his mug with him, and said, “Thank you for the drink.” He walked away, heading towards Buddy and Mac, and Damian shook her head.

This was what she got for trying to be cordial. She was never doing it again.

[wormmomma]

tyler, the creator: the very queer discography review!!!

Im bored of writing overly long threads on twitter so i wrote a look at tyler the creators discography and why hes gay and im gay and deserved to have his dick immortalized in gold when he dies. So tyler gregory okanma is a black man born in ladera heights california. He’s also my third favorite rapper and since he discovered my favorite rapper earl sweatshirt I guess he deserves goat status for that shit too. Tyler started his career around 17 years old as the ace the creator. He did features at the time with casey veggies and the inspirations in his flow to mf doom where already apparent even back then. From ace the creator mixtape you can already hear the very digital and jazz inspired pharrell production. Funny story if you look up any of his ace stuff now you'll mostly find some really old production that in the age of tyler the creator type beats doesn't really hold u all that great. From there Tyler went on to create odd futures and his first album bastard. He quite quickly followed up bastard with godlin. Goblin, bastard, and the OF tape vol.1 all feel pretty interconnected so im gonna speed round from worst to best. So odd future tape volume one is fun and punk and really crass, it's also completely eclipsed by odd futures other releases. I love odd future and the collective's ability too be both edgy teen skate rap garbage, and a risky artistic rap collective all at the same time. In odd future's first tape it seems pretty clear that tylers description of the groups early work as a bunch of niggas joking around in a studio is very apparent for better or worse. If you wanna get high with some friends can listen to some funny edgy and downright grimey tracks over left brains booking production skip this and listen to odd future's next mixtape but come back here to listen to some funny skits and a few proto mellowhype track with domo genesis. Goblin is Tyler's attempt to do a bigger darker more sprawling version of bastard but misses the mark. I like the album and I love singles on the album. Goblin the opening track is amazing and is a great look at tylers mental state attempting to live up to his newfound fame and anxiety about his infamy. I love yonkers and tron cat. Tyler says alot at this time that he doesn't make horrorcore and he's correct but the lack of emotional honesty and his immature deflections is really going off on all cylinders. If you dont wanna hear skits like “my bitch suck dick” and lines like “im not homophobic faggot” i would probably call it his worst album. Before i talk about bastard id like to go over his use of slurs and rape in his work. Tylers consistent lyrics about violence towards women and use of the lgbtq community really don't insult me. I feel like his lyrical content is filled with a clear look of how angry and insecure tyler was about not having a father or any way of processing his angst. Did he have to sound like a incel threatening to stalk and murder women who refuse to love him for over 3 albums? No, but i really enjoy looking at his early music. He doesn't shy away from how angry, sad and desperate he was at the time. That synthesis of need for fatherly love, anger from a lack of it and deteriorating mental state honestly makes the content more palatable. Also as a black trans women id rather hear tranny an faggot bars from a male rapper making intreeating music. Tyler at the time was being honest, angry and vulnerable not like eminem and action bronson who spit these bars with all the same rap bravado and violent anger toward women with zero pathos. Bastard is amazing, it's an intimate dark album. At the time it felt like it was tapping right into where I was at the time. The amount of mental anguish on bastards opening track really hit me. I was an angry kid with a lot of angst and bipolar disease so hearing a rapper yell about that same dysfunction really meant alot to me. The flows are amazing and it was a really good look at tylers ability to build a narrative. Wolf was tyler's next album. For a while wolf was my favorite album by tyler. His look at relationships and breakups on bimmer and ifhy are amazing and are expanded on his future releases. Find your wings and treehome are also a good look at his more melodic influence. It was such a good album I actually bought the mrech for and went to see Tyler at afropunk. Also hearing an entire song about the death of his grandma really hit me, my grandfather died around the same time. Cherry bomb was bad, now moving one. Ok im  joking i've listened to it two or three times but its really not worth going back to even though tyler put his all into it. The soul features and amazing production is worth listening to but even Tyler admits he rushed the album a little and that he needed to blow people away next time. Flower boy, is one of the most important albums in hip hop. That's it. Bar none. It was my favorite release of 2018. Flower boy is about tylers newfound isolation with his fame, and how he drives cars by himself in beautiful la vistas. Its also about how he’s gay (or bisexual). There are ALOT of stupid takes on this album. There is a contingency of tyler stans that think tyler has been “playing a character” since bastard. Now I'll admit that wolf haley and dr.teecee are clearly characters; they are also artists' representations of tyler's mental state. If wolf haley has adhd and no father that means tyler also has those issues. So whether or not Tyler is playing a character he has in fact “been kissing white boys since 2004”. I also have seen an insipid article that asks if “tyler the creator should be accepted into the lgbtq community” due to his homophobia? Much more controversial and actually homophobic and transphobic people are in this community hes tyler the creator, not milo yinnaoplous. I also dont think that it occurs to the reviewer that alot of gay men are very hmophobic before they come out and that self hate is very common. Lyrics like “im not gay i just wanna dance to some marvin” also has a much deeper context now. Listening to older releases you can see how in your face tyler was about his queerness. He even said he filmed himself kissing his friend Lucas to prove he wasn't a homophobe. I'm happy Tyler grew enough to make an album not only about being attracted to men but how lonely he felt in and out of the closet. As someone who came out as bisexual at the time it came at a perfect time. Being  gay is isolating and confusing and when you do you lose alot of friends and family. Garden shed, who dat boy, and 911 are real standouts. His collaboration with kali uchis was also so fucking smooth and she a born r&b star. Tyler gained a grammy nomination off the album and said he loved the feeling of finally making popular catchy music people wanna sing the lyrics too, so he followed it with igor. Igor opens with this addendum on the back of the physical album: 

This might be fiction, this might be about igor but it is fully about tyler okanga. The album is very hard to parse and barely has any rapping. It's more of a pop experimental album with a lot of lofi synth production. Tylers production chops are full force here. Igor is melodic, sad and full of the same anger and obsession from his previous albums. Its just more mature and really gay, and i fucking love it. Tyler was dealing with a tumultuous relationship with a guy and his refusal to be with tyler exclusively. Its about a breakup. A love tragedy that only becomes more depressing after the argument on a boy is a gun, the breakup in my love is gone, and the sad slump back into needing closure in can we be friends. The album is fun to sing to, and fucking devestating. I've dealt with a lot of similar issues with love and obsession so to hear it so clearly illustrated on igor really hit me. I think the album becomes even more depressing with the unreleased track best interest, about tyler being a side nigga. This is the kind of music that's sometimes made in r&b and pop but never in rap. There was an interview where Tyler says he hated his voice which is why he edits it so evident on igor. Tyler also said he wanted to send these songs to rihanna and Justin Beiber but they didn't want them, as cool as it sounds. I'm happy tyler was able to tell his own story. I would also recommend magic wand since it's my favorite track on the album and kicks you in the face with how angry and heartbroken Tyler was at the time. 

Tyler is an artist that talks and speaks about how he feels all the time, he's also a person who feels enigmatic and mysterious somehow. I think it has to do with how constantly he's put to the side of his other hip hop contemporaries. He always seems to be making music Tom weird, controversial and experimental to be treated like asap rocky, vince staples, or the late mac miller. A fact that feels ironic since he worked with all of those artists, lil wayne, and even kanye west. I'm as big a stan for tyler as he is for Pharrell, if it wherent forever I'd never take rap seriously and would never have chosen to make my own music. As a black trans woman I find a lot of tylers work really relatable. I've been in alot of the angry hopeless situations Tyler talks about in his music. I think he's the artist who hits me the most on a personal level and yeah when i was depressed i sat in my bedroom and listened to bastard in my low moments. I like riding in the car and listening to all of flowerboy. Igor is amazing as well for almost half a decade it's been amazing growing up and hitting the same emotional beats Tyler went through5 in his work. Hearing about him coming out as gay ajd dealing with very similar backlash mad me feel less alone if im being honest. Tyler has said he wants to take a more production heavy role in the industry moving forward but he says that a lot, i think as long as he has a story to tell he's always going to make music. His music feels like a diary and I'm happy to read it and sonnet to it in all its beauty and ugliness. 

Hi my name is lua o'reilly i make music on soundcloud.com/wormmother

If you liked this review let me know and I'll do a look into earl sweatshirt.

[honeyopinion]

20/20 Albums of the Year

Circles by Mac Miller  |  Hip-Hop, Soul, Funk Released: January 17, 2020

Best Album For... Pouring One Out for Mac

I wrote a few different drafts of this album summary, and none of them felt like they really fit the impossibly large bill of accurately describing the posthumous importance or brilliance of this album. If you are a fan of hip-hop or soul music of any kind, try to give this piece of work a chance. I for one, used to judge Mac based on his early frat rap days in the late 2000s. But a decade later he came to leave the world with one of the most surprising and frankly impressive artistic evolutions that I’ve been able to witness in real time. RIP Mac. 

Spotify      Apple Music      YouTube      Pandora 

Start With: “Circles” or “Everybody”

Marigold by Pinegrove  |  Alternative Country and Folk Rock Released: January 17, 2020

Best Album For… Passing Through a Small Town on a Cloudy Winter Day 

Pinegrove was one of the last great concerts I got to experience before the pandemic. And it was my favorite performance of theirs from the last 6 years of seeing them play live. Is this my favorite album of theirs? Honestly, it’s not. But I still find it extremely enjoyable, and the memory of seeing these songs performed live, along with some of their classics, was enough for me to include it on this list. This is an album that marks Pinegrove’s exit from their pop punk roots. It’s still sentimental, but much more country and folk rock focused vs. anything trying to be associated with emo or punk. 

Spotify      Apple Music      YouTube      Pandora   Start With: “The Alarmist” or “No Drugs”

Watch This Liquid Pour Itself by Okay Kaya  |  Synth Pop, Art Rock, Folk Released: January 24, 2020

Best Album For… Crywanking at 3am, Bathed in The Dull Light of Your Overheating Laptop

What if Feist and Father John Misty had a secret love child? They might sound something like Okay Kaya. Self proclaimed “Singer ~ Crywanker,” Okay Kaya brings serious BDE to weirdo art pop that she seems like she could be a plant  from the mind of Nathan Fielder. Kaya delivers with such deadpan precision as she rolls out line after line of sarcastic joy, staring blankly at our dystopian reality. “Here I am, the whole world is my daddy,” “Netflix and yeast infection,” “Sex with me is mediocre,” “I just want us to do well like Jon Bon Jovi’s Rosê,” and, “My parasite and I are blushing / In the zero interaction ramen bar,” are just a few examples of some of her memorable and biting lyrics. The entire album is both a critique and nihilistic fondness for the absurdity of our lonely technological society, not quite sure how to deal with taboos like repressed female sexuality, depression, and codependency. 

Spotify      Apple Music      YouTube      Pandora  

Start With: “Baby Little Tween” or “Asexual Wellbeing”

UNLOCKED by Denzel Curry and Kenny Beats  |  Hip-Hop Released: February 7, 2020

Best Album For... Nodding Your Damn Head To, Feeling Cooler Than You Actually Are

I had to double check that this was an album. Clocking in under 20 minutes, this collection of songs feels more like an EP, especially with the track titles that purposefully look like file names and placeholders. But for a short album, Denzel wastes no time, furiously zigging and zagging effortlessly over Kenny Beats’ 90s New York-indebted production (ad libs and all). Kenny pulls out samples of an array of pop culture references made by Denzel (like quotes from movies and weapon sound effects like a lightsaber) — as he rotates his flow between admirable impressions of DMX, Nas, and Joey Bada$$.

Spotify      Apple Music      YouTube      Pandora  

Start With: “So.Incredible.pkg” or “DIET_”

Cardboard City by Zack Villere  |  Pop, Electronic, R&B Released: February 14, 2020

Best Album For… Pal-ing Around With Your Friends From High School, Maybe Quoting Superbad At The Same Time

The first time I watched a music video from Zack Villere, I noticed the top comment said: “how did frank ocean get trapped in mark zuckerberg.” And while that definitely gets at the heart of how Zack Villere presents himself, he is not a phenomenal singer like Frank Ocean is, nor does he come off as an asshole like Mark Zuckerberg does. I would say that he is just a slightly awkward nerdy white guy who loves hip-hop production and R&B melodies. So the better question is really, “how did drake get trapped in michael cera?” This premise should not work at all, but somehow it does. This is only Villere’s second album, but he shows some serious production and songwriting chops, plus a commitment to his delivery that comes across as genuine, charming, and unique. 

Spotify      Apple Music      YouTube      Pandora  

Start With: “Grateful” or “Superhero Strength”

The Slow Rush by Tame Impala  |  Psych Rock, Synth Pop, Disco Released: February 14, 2020

Best Album For... Throwing a Silent Disco For One 

Tame Impala continues on their now 10 year streak of psych rock dominance. Along the way we’ve seen Kevin Parker master and stretch the boundaries of psychedelic production. This has resulted in his music coming as close to sounding like the best aspects of The Beatles, while also expanding into hip hop drums, R&B hooks, plus more and more electronic elements. This is an album that I was not super impressed with when it initially came out, but as we entered the pandemic and were tasked with finding small joys in staying at home all the time, I found myself going back to this album and appreciating the themes of solitude and self reflection that Parker has drawn from throughout his career.

Spotify      Apple Music      YouTube      Pandora  

Start With: “Posthumous Forgiveness” or “One More Hour”

1988 by Knxwledge  |  Hip-Hop Released: March 27, 2020

Best Album For... Pumping Your Brakes and Driving Slow, Uh *Homie* Although this album is named after a year in the 80s, the sound here is a perfect portal back to 90s golden era hip-hop, with all the gospel, soul samples, and the kind of deep bass you want to feel in your chest. This is the rare, largely instrumental hip-hop album that I find myself going back to, other than works from the legendary J Dilla and MF Doom. Knxwledge is good friends and a frequent collaborator with Anderson .Paak (in the form of NxWorries). Here we get Anderson to grace us with his presence on the track “itkanbe[sonice]”, and of course it sounds just like an authentic vintage soul sample. When I hear this collection of songs it makes me wish I still had a car, so I could inevitably damage my speakers listening to this.

Spotify      Apple Music      YouTube      Pandora  

Start With: “dont be afraid” or “thats allwekando.”

Future Nostalgia by Dua Lipa  |  Pop, R&B, Funk, Disco Released: March 27, 2020 Best Album For... Alarming Your Pet With Your Enthusiastic Lip Syncing

This album is a pure sugar rush. Like Bruno Mars with the help of Mark Ronson, or Calvin Harris a few years ago, Dua has harnessed a nostalgia (it’s even in the title, wink) for disco, funk and R&B, and is instantly a sexy, catchy, not-so-guilty pleasure. It’s sad that the majority of these songs are all bonafide club hits that didn’t have a proper home this year … except for my living room. And hopefully yours.

Spotify      Apple Music      YouTube      Pandora 

Start With: “Pretty Please” or “Future Nostalgia”

Hold Space For Me by Orion Sun  |  Alternative R&B and Hip-Hop Released: March 27, 2020

Best Album For... Wishing Frank Ocean Was Your Dad

“Alternative R&B” is a contentious term, but what else would you call one of a few R&B singers cool enough to make it onto (NYC indie darlings) Mom+Pop Records?? On one hand, she brings the vulnerable and introverted lyrics of an indie singer songwriter like Tracey Chapman, crossed with the raw presence and sweet melodic delivery of a true R&B star like Aaliyah. I’d even go far enough to refer to her as the musical stepchild of Frank Ocean and SZA.

Spotify      Apple Music      YouTube      Pandora

Start With: “Ne Me Quitte Pass (Don’t Leave Me)” or “Lightning”

You and Your Friends by Peach Pit  |  Indie Rock and Dream Pop Released: April 3, 2020

Best Album For... Going Back To Your College Town To Crash A Party

Peach Pit seem like they would be cool dudes to hang out with. You have no problem picturing them as the band playing a house show in an indie movie about college kids. And that’s because there’s a familiarity to the scenes that their songs portray, of stumbling through your 20s, either being too dumb or having too much fun to notice. It’s funny to refer to this as “Indie” rock since this is Peach Pit’s major label debut with Columbia Records. But It has all the trappings of Indie; sticky melodies, gentle reverb, an “I’m not trying that hard” vibe, and lyrics that are oddly specific enough to be interesting, but still vague enough to be relatable.

Spotify      Apple Music      YouTube      Pandora  

Start With: “Feelin’ Low (Fuckboy Blues)” or “Shampoo Bottles”

Heaven To a Tortured Mind by Yves Tumor  |  Psych Rock, Indie Pop, Post-Punk, Alternative R&B, Experimental Electronic Released: April 3, 2020

Best Album For... Tearing Up The Fucking Dance Floor With Your Hot Robot Girlfriend

If Tyler the Creator, Alex G, King Krule, and Blood Orange all got into the studio together and dropped a shit ton of acid on Halloween, their recording session might sound something like Heaven To a Tortured Mind… And even then, you still might have trouble putting your finger on exactly what you’re hearing. “Dream Palette” is a good reference track for Tumor’s most wild and mesmerizing qualities. The biggest styles of the past half century of music have been loaded into this gleefully effective genre blender, with blades of dissonance slicing everything up, creating a surrealist sonic smoothie.

Spotify      Apple Music      YouTube      Pandora  

Start With: “Super Stars” or “Dream Palette”

The New Abnormal by The Strokes  |  Indie Rock, Dirtbag Disco, Synth Pop Released: April 10, 2020

Best Album For... Mixing Yourself Another Drink This Saturday Night

Back from the dead, The Strokes return with their first album in 7 years to turn some heads and settle back into some old habits. The charming messy haired garage rock of the early 2000s still pops up here and there, but this is really a record where the group is mature enough to show you that they actually are trying, and are unafraid to take joyous swings for the fences. Julian Casablancas pushes his scratchy alley cat yelp of a voice into something more vulnerable, sunny, and sweet, like he asked for a piña colada (you know, with one of those little umbrellas) instead of a double shot of scotch before hopping up on stage… Or maybe he did both. But these days, everyone is looking for some sort of break from our groundhog day lives any way that we can. Sometimes that sounds like selling out, or depending on how you look at it, stepping up. This album is the result of a group of old friends who got together to make music they simply want to make for themselves. Now far removed from the 2000s New York scene where their younger selves were acting too cool and disaffected to care about having fun.

Spotify      Apple Music      YouTube      Pandora  

Start With: “Eternal Summer” or “The Adults Are Talking”

The Loves of Your Life by Hamilton Leithauser  |  Indie Rock and Alternative Country Released: April 10, 2020

Best Album For... Drinking Down At The Docks, Watching The Sun Set

While I am a fan of The Walkmen, I have no idea what their frontman Hamilton Leithauser looks like or how he dresses. But hearing these songs off of his latest solo, I imagine the following: a member of Mumford and Sons if they were edgy and cooler, giving off a “cowboy rocker meets depression-era dock worker” aesthetic. That’s exactly how his music comes off to me. It’s a convincing blend of blues rock, Americana, and old timey country music. All expertly narrated by dusty country guitars and standup bass, tarnished horns and flutes, and what I imagine to be a restored saloon piano. The Loves of Your Life originally started as a collection of short stories, each about characters based on both people he knew and strangers. Leithauser then wrote the music separately, and finally came to mix and match their parts together in a surprisingly convincing fashion to create the album.

Spotify      Apple Music      YouTube      Pandora  

Start With: “Wack Jack” or “Cross-Sound Ferry (Walk-On Ticket)”

What Kinda Music by Tom Misch and Yussef Dayes  |  Neo-Soul, Electronic, Hip-Hop

Released: April 24, 2020

Best Album For... Cooking For Someone You’re In Love With

Exactly what kind of music do Tom Misch and Yussef Dayes make? It’s orchestral, it’s jazz-infused, it’s hip-hop beats joined with gentle soul. It’s a little sexy, it’s a little mysterious, and you’re going to want to listen to it a whole lot. That’s it. That’s what kind of music it is! Send tweet. 

Spotify      Apple Music      YouTube      Pandora  

Start With: “What Kinda Music” or “Storm Before The Calm”

Petals For Armor by Hayley Williams  |  Electronic Pop and Art Rock Released: May 8, 2020

Best Album For... Browsing Depop for Your Next 80s Normcore ‘Fit

Hayley, Hayley, Hayley. You are too good for this wretched world!! After exploring more adventurous sounds and genre hopping over the last few Paramore records, Hayley decided to go out on her own. This really frees herself from the expectations that come along with being the face and heart of a wildly popular band for the last 15+ years. Thom Yorke fans rejoice, because Hayley Williams has a clear admiration for Radiohead’s haunting indie electronic vibe, while emoting some pain and darkness atop her love for 80s pop and art rock (think Genesis, Devo, The Talking Heads). This is a promising new avenue for Hayley to explore herself and process her pain and desire completely on her own. I see this new project of hers only blooming further from here.

Spotify      Apple Music      YouTube      Pandora 

Start With: “Simmer” or “Sudden Desire” 

Set My Heart On Fire Immediately by Perfume Genius  |  Indie Pop and Art Rock Released: May 15, 2020

Best Album For... Daydreaming That You Were Somewhere Else

For his 5th studio album, Perfume Genius enlists production wizard and guitar god Blake Mills, along with Grammy Award-winning arranger and multi-instrumentalist Rob Moose to create a beautiful swirling mosaic of 80s pastel pop that also packs serious classic rock grandeur. Bass guitar dances between satin smooth lines on one song to churning distorted currents on the next. Sparkling string arrangements and organs bleed together to expose a fading sunset that you’ll want to try and hold in your hands to keep it in sight. Perfume Genius is unafraid to challenge traditional masculinity, packing a 21st century queer machismo into both the quiet moments and jubilant explosions.

Spotify      Apple Music      YouTube      Pandora 

Start With: “Without You” or “Describe”

græ by Moses Sumney  |  Indie Pop, Art Rock, Neo-Soul, Psychic Folk Released: May 15, 2020

Best Album For... Astral Projection 101 

I mean this in the best way possible, but I think that Moses Sumney is a witch. Or maybe a wizard? There’s no other reasonable explanation for the level of creativity and wonder that he summons. This album feels like a private concert by a waterfall (similar to one on the cover), with ethereal pleas, and heavy ideas—like meditating on what lies beyond the constraints of the physical self and reconsidering how well we can actually trust memory and the mind. Sumney layers his voice to create the effect of a ghostly choir, accented by a stark intimidating falsetto that reverberates through the ruins of an abandoned temple where Sumney is the only one in attendance.

Spotify      Apple Music      YouTube      Pandora  

Start With: “Cut Me” or “Polly”

WILL THIS MAKE ME GOOD by Nick Hakim  |  Psychedelic Neo-Soul Released: May 15, 2020

Best Album For... Playing Pool in a Hazy Dive Bar

Nick Hakim is a silky smooth smokey crooner who paints with warbly piano loops, dreamy reverb-heavy guitar, boom bap beats—not to mention a falsetto that would make Smokey Robinson jealous. Clearly a fan of Motown and 60s jazz, Hakim could be considered a peer of Thunder Cat and Anderson .Paak’s to a degree. I remember seeing him perform at Music Hall of Williamsburg a few years ago. The performance ended with him falling down on stage (presumably from being under the influence of multiple substances). But while the song continued he popped back up and belted an impressive high note like it was nothing, drink in hand. And it’s that kind of messy beauty that also makes this album so engrossing. Like watching the eye of the storm get closer and closer, but unable to look away from the sheer magnetism that nature can wield.

Spotify      Apple Music      YouTube      Pandora  Start With: “All THESE CHANGES” or “ALL THESE INSTRUMENTS”

RTJ4 by Run The Jewels  |  Hip-Hop Released: June 3, 2020

Best Album For... Making Your Next Protest Sign

Run The Jewels’ fourth outing might be the most unapologetically angry rap album in the “fuck this” year of 2020. And it reminded me that I should absolutely still be furious about everything that happened during this groundbreaking yet terrifyingly familiar year: country wide protests over the continued murder of innocent black people at the hands of the police, government drone strikes and detaining kids in cages, the state of our environment worsening—and that’s not even addressing the pandemic or election. Killer Mike and El-P are here to scream from the rooftops that our current system of cutthroat capitalism and white supremacy is killing the planet and its inhabitants, and I’m glad that they’re using their platform to continue to sound the alarm.

Spotify      Apple Music      YouTube      Pandora  

Start With: “out of sight” or “ooh la la”

Your Hero Is Not Dead by Westerman  |  New Wave Revival and Indie Pop Released: June 5, 2020 Best Album For... Wanting Your Old School MTV

The cover of Westerman’s first proper album is mostly black and white, except for the title, which is scrawled out in lettering which spans the Crayola color spectrum. It’s an album that on the surface is cold and buttoned up, but when these choruses open up, the maximalist 80s power pop bursts like the bulbs of a neon sign. There’s a level of even-keeled cool and confidence in small moments on display here that makes this relatively new artist seem well beyond his years. Having seen him play at Rough Trade a few years ago (opening up for the stellar Puma Blue), the songwriting growth on display on this record is impressive. I’m only sad that there wasn’t an opportunity to have seen him play these new songs live.

Spotify      Apple Music      YouTube      Pandora 

Start With: “Easy Money” or “Confirmation (SSBD)” 

Punisher by Phoebe Bridgers  |  Indie Rock and Alternative Country Released: June 18, 2020

Best Album For... Burning Incense and Breaking Out a Ouija Board to Talk to The Ghost of Your Former Self

This is without a doubt, a career defining release for Phoebe. Taking everything she’s learned from writing, performing, and touring with the likes of Lucy Dacus and Julien Baker (in boygenius), and Conor Oberst (in Better Oblivion Community Center), Bridgers levels up to become the truly prolific singer-songwriter she’s been telling us she would always be. Bridgers has explained her personal definition of “a punisher” as a well meaning person who’s, “just talking to you and they don’t realize that your eyes are glazed over and you’re trying to escape.” Vital to understanding this album and its central message is that Phoebe finds herself caught between the contradiction of falling victim to this phenomenon while also doing it herself, especially if she ever met her musical idol, Elliott Smith. Punisher serves as a warning to her audience that if you focus too much on trying to find yourself through other people (via escaping through fandom, drugs, toxic relationships), you’ll always feel lost and dissatisfied, without the proper self awareness to ever quite know why. 

Spotify      Apple Music      YouTube      Pandora  

Start With: “Garden Song” or “ICU”

Women In Music Pt. III by HAIM  |  Rock, Pop, Folk, R&B Released: June 26, 2020

Best Album For... Preparing For A Better 2021, lol 

With this album, HAIM skyrocketed to the #1 position of family bands that start with an “H.” Sorry, Hanson! But seriously, HAIM has outdone themselves on this one. If there was one album from this list that I would dub my personal AOTY, this would be it. You might wince at any tracklist longer than 10-12 songs these days (I know I usually do), but almost every song proves itself worthy, pulling at a different thread of my heart until there’s nothing left. Sunshine State Beach Pop? Check. Blues Tinged Dad Rock? Yup! Dive Bar Country? Mmhmm! No, wait, what’s that you say, Glitched-Out R&B? Yes, yes, and yes. You can have it all, sister! ‘Cause when you’re Haim, you’re family! ;) And these three “women in music” continue to prove that they are just about the best Assorted Pop Rocks(™) act in the world right now.

Spotify      Apple Music      YouTube      Pandora  

Start With: “I’ve Been Down” or “Don’t Wanna”

Lianne La Havas by Lianne La Havas  |  Neo-Soul and Indie Pop Released: July 17, 2020

Best Album For... Sipping Coffee and Journaling on a Weekend Morning

This album exudes a warm vulnerability, like a comforting hug we all needed this year. On her third album, Lianne La Havas makes the risky decision to self title it, a move that artists make when they believe that it is the piece of work that they most want most directly associated with their name. It’s one thing to name your first album after yourself if you can’t think of anything else at the time, but to make a self titled album in the middle of your career, it means that you are sure about having captured who you really are and who you want people to remember you as. “If I love myself, I know I can't be no one else,” La Havas admits on the standout track, “Paper Thin.” She knows that she will meet her destiny and reach self actualization, but only through self love. And finally, I cannot overstate how breathtaking La Havas’s voice comes across on this album. The strength and control on display in her vocal tone and vibrato is quite a spectacle. 

Spotify      Apple Music     YouTube      Pandora  

Start With: “Paper Thin” or “Sour Flower”

Limbo by Aminé  |  Hip-Hop and R&B Released: August 7, 2020

Best Album For... Trying and Get Over Kanye With

On Limbo, Aminé establishes himself as one of the torchbearers of soul-sampling, lyrics-driven hip-hop that still cares about storytelling, skits, and presenting vocals clearly. Kanye West, Drake, and J. Cole all paved the way for someone from the next generation like Aminé to keep the dream alive and avoid succumbing to the “feel good, don’t think” form of passive listening that mumble rap has made the standard for mainstream hip-hop.

Spotify      Apple Music     YouTube      Pandora  

Start With: “Pressure In My Palms” or “My Reality”

Shore by Fleet Foxes  |  Folk and Indie Rock Released: September 22, 2020

Best Album For... Running Along The Beach With Your Arms Stretched Out

It was really kind of Robin Pecknold and co. to have released an album this triumphant, calming, and awe-inspiring during the year of our Lorde 2020. On behalf of myself and anyone else who suffers from Seasonal Affective Disorder, the SAD people of the world really needed this, man. And to anyone who is quick to judge these beard-o’s of being boring, you’re simply not using your ears properly. Yeah, you know those two things on either side of your head? Get the gunk out of them! That way you’ll hear the choir of angels with acoustic guitars who are here to guide us through quarantine and beyond. 

Spotify      Apple Music      YouTube      Pandora 

Start With: “Can I Believe You” or “A Long Way Past The Past” 

Listen to all of these albums together in our playlist.