#you snuck your way right into my heart is on several playlists its such a beautiful song

[everythingisawayoflife]

the “dude, we’re getting the band back together!” episode of phineas and ferb is one of the greatest half-hour’s of television ever written and in this essay i will—

#phineas and ferb #disney channel #love händel #i just rewatched this ep and the music is so stellar #you snuck your way right into my heart is on several playlists its such a beautiful song

[blueskrugs]

Tim McGraw | Brock Boeser

ahhhh! this is the first fic of the swift series! I can’t believe I am actually going to try and pull this off for the next five months. I hope you guys like it and big shoutout to @broadstbroskis for being my sounding board throughout all this fic planning and then beta-ing this!

length: 1.6k words

But when you think Tim McGraw,  I hope you think my favorite song

Falling in love with Brock was easy. 

It was the summer before your sophomore year of college, on the precipice of both your lives changing, though neither of you knew it at the time. 

Time seemed to move slower that summer, long sunny days blending into bonfire nights out by the lake, September nothing more than a distant day on the calendar. You watched as Brock’s hair turned more blond and his shoulders turned more tan, hours outside in the sun doing their job. 

You remembered the first time Brock kissed you; you weren’t sure it was something you’d ever forget. You’d spent weeks dancing around each other, learning each other, had spent an entire Fourth of July party practically glued to each other’s sides. It seemed more than inevitable by the time it finally happened.

He called you late one night, woke you up and begged you to meet him down at the lakefront. You went, because of course you did, met him down at the dock, where he was waiting with a pile of blankets in the speedboat his family used. He tossed you one of his UND hoodies with a grin before helping you onto the boat. You settled into the nest of blankets in the prow as Brock carefully steered the boat out from the dock and into the middle of the lake. 

It was a clear night, the stars and the full moon shining brightly against the still, dark lake, and a quiet one. The only sounds filling the air were the quiet hum of the boat’s motor and Brock’s country playlist playing quietly from his phone, neither quite loud enough to drown out the constant buzz of the cicadas. 

Brock cut the motor and came to sit behind you. You rested your head on his chest as he wrapped his arms around your waist. He was warm and solid behind you, and you were both quiet for a moment, just listening to the music.

“This is one of my favorite songs,” you murmured, as Tim McGraw’s “Humble and Kind” started filtering through the speakers.

“I know,” Brock said simply. You didn’t remember telling him that. You could hear his heartbeat beneath your ear, steady and calm. 

You were caught up in trying to remember when you’d told Brock your favorite song when he shifted a little behind you. You twisted in his arms to see what was the matter, but then he was kissing you, softly in the moonlight, and you didn’t get the chance.

“Wanted to do that for a while,” he admitted after he pulled away, resting his forehead against yours. His breath fanned across your face when he breathed out a sigh. Tim McGraw was still playing somewhere behind you.

“I would’ve let you,” you said back.

Brock breathed out a laugh and kissed you again, one hand tangled in your hair, the other still wrapped around your waist.

And I was right there beside him all summer long,  And then the time we woke up to find that summer gone

For all that that summer seemed endless while it was happening, it ended abruptly, shattering the peaceful love you and Brock had been building out on the lake. 

You snuck out one last time, both of you dressed in something other than a swimsuit for once, spent the night in each other’s arms with your bare feet dangling in the lake off the dock, the stars and the moon lighting your way once again.

You weren’t sure you’d ever look at the summer stars the same way when you were older.

Brock went back to UND. Your family moved away from Minnesota. Summer romances were never meant to last, you told yourself, as you left yours in the dust.

Brock promised he would keep in touch, pressed a green UND hoodie into your hands and a goodbye kiss to your lips. You smiled at him, because you knew it would never last, and it didn’t. Brock had other things to focus on, hockey and his future. It was only a matter of time until he forgot you. 

You spent a lot of time wearing that hoodie he gave you in the beginning, more time than you cared to admit. You spent more time crying than you cared to admit, too. You kept wearing it long after it stopped smelling like Brock and summer, until it was almost nothing to you and the comfort of it was gone. Almost.

Brock’s texts trickled to a stop before Christmas, but you couldn’t blame him. You’d always had a feeling that this– whatever this had been– had meant more to you than it had to him.

You couldn’t bring yourself to stop following him, though, not even when your friends and family gave you pitying looks, not when UND got booted out of the championship tournament. “He’s just a boy,” they’d say, but they also say you never forget your first love, don’t they? You watched his first NHL game, at home in Minnesota, his first NHL goal, too. And if you cried a little, well, at least there was no else around to see it. 

Years passed, and, slowly, you moved on. Brock’s sweatshirt made its way to the back of your closet. You fell in love again, fell out of love. Stopped loving Brock. You graduated college. You never did go back to the lake, wondered if Brock ever had. If he’d waited for you, or if he’d moved in and found another girl to spend the summer with. For the most part, you forgot about Brock. Forgot about his laugh, about the way he’d roll his eyes when you teased him. How he knew your favorite songs. You did your best to, at least. It was easier said than done for a long time.

But in a box beneath my bed, there’s a letter that you never read from three summers back It’s hard not to find it all a little bittersweet...

You were cleaning out your old bedroom at your parents’ house when you found it. It was a letter you’d written to Brock after that summer, when you were confused and lonely, filled with all the things that you didn’t have the courage to say to his face. It was in an envelope, addressed and stamped, but you’d never planned on sending it. In all the chaos of moving that fall, it had gotten thrown in a box and shoved under your bed to be forgotten. 

You remembered every word you’d written, but you carefully pulled it out anyway. You read that letter again and again over the next few days, always pausing on the last words you wrote before you signed your name: “I love you.”

It was another several days before you pulled out a clean sheet of paper and a pen, wrote a continuation to that letter. You’d loved Brock once, yes, but you didn’t anymore, not in the same way. There were no tears left in this story. He’d always be your first love, and you’d always want the best for him. You just no longer felt your heart break every time you thought of him, and you hadn’t for a long time. 

You hoped that he was happy out there in Vancouver, living his dream.

And there’s a letter left on your doorstep, And the first thing that you’ll read...

“Brock, there’s a letter for you!” his mom called through the house.

“Who sends letters anymore?” he asked, which earned him a smack with the envelope. He took it from his mom anyway. The return address was unfamiliar, out-of-state, and there was no name, but he felt like he’d seen the handwriting somewhere before. He took the envelope out on the back deck with Coolie, carefully slid his thumb under the flap and opened it.

A picture slid out from in-between two folded pieces of paper when he tugged them out. It took only a quick glance at it to tell him exactly who had sent him this letter. It was a picture of the two of you at that Fourth of July party you’d spent together all those summers ago. Brock had spent the entire day trying not to kiss you right there in front of everyone.

Brock smiled at the picture for a moment. His arms were wrapped around your shoulders, your hands reaching up to grasp his. You were both laughing at some joke long forgotten. He didn’t even remember anyone taking the picture. He carefully set it aside to turn his attention to the letter. He read in silence as the afternoon sun slowly dipped lower in the sky. Coolie was off somewhere in the grass, having found a stick to chew on.

Brock read the letter, then again. He stared at your name on the bottom of each page for a minute before carefully refolding them. He whistled once for Coolie, who came running, still carrying the stick. 

“Where are you off to?” his mom asked as he made his way back into the house and grabbed his car keys.

“For a drive.”

When you think Tim McGraw, I hope you think of me

The letter was tossed in his glovebox. Brock plugged in his aux, pulled up Spotify, and scrolled all the way down to his country playlist. There was a song on there he didn’t listen to very often, could never really explain why he always skipped it, but right now he clicked on it and turned the volume up.

“Always stay humble and kind,” sang Tim McGraw as he put his car and drive and allowed himself to remember, just this once.

#cait writes things #the swift series #brock boeser #brock boeser fic #brock boeser imagine #nhl fic #nhl imagine #hockey fic #hockey imagine

[madpanda75]

“Taking Chances Part 10: The Perfect Gift”

Part 10 is here! Not gonna lie, this chapter is short and not my best work but a necessary bridge to get to the climax of our story! Fair warning, it ends on a cliffhanger. Enjoy! ❤️ 

It was the Tuesday after the dramatic Carisi lunch. You typically had Mondays off from the gallery and after fucking Rafael senseless in front of the fireplace, it didn’t take much convincing on your part to get him to play hooky. The majority of your day was spent in bed— making love, browsing through Netflix, and eating Chinese takeout. It was a much needed escape from your chaotic lives and you still had a few more hours before reality set in. 

The brilliant warm rays of the early morning sun peeked through your curtains. You languorously stretched your limbs, reveling in the sensation of your bare legs against the soft cotton sheets. With a long, drawn out yawn, you reached over to the nightstand for your cup of coffee and aimlessly flipped through a copy of the New Yorker. However your attention was otherwise preoccupied with a freshly showered Rafael walking around your bedroom with a towel hanging low around his hips. You nearly spilled your hot drink into your lap while counting the water droplets on Rafael’s bare chest, watching one droplet slide down his stomach towards his happy trail.

He let the towel drop to the floor and began to get dressed for work, arching his brow when he caught you perched on the edge of the bed staring at him with your jaw hanging wide open. 

You blushed and cleared your throat. “Are you sure I can’t make you breakfast?”

“Thanks for the offer but I should try to get to the office early,” he said, holding up two ties for you to choose from.

You picked the silk violet tie. The purple hue brought out your boyfriend’s brilliant green eyes. “Ok, but promise me that you’ll eat something other than the stale pretzels at the precinct.”

“I promise.” Rafael gave you a quick peck on the lips and wrapped his tie around his neck when he realized that he was missing a key element to his wardrobe. “Where’s my shirt? I swore it was right here a min—” His search for the missing shirt came to a screeching halt when he noticed you were wearing it.

“Sorry babe.” A nervous giggle escaped your lips. “Who knew Armani made such comfortable clothes and besides I love how it smells.”

Rafael furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. “How it smells?”

“Uh huh.” Your cheeks turned bright pink and you nervously fidgeted with the hem of his shirt. “It smells like you.”

An warm, fuzzy feeling coursed through Rafael’s veins at your confession. He cupped your face and tenderly kissed you before pulling away. “If you love the shirt so much, then it’s yours.”

“Really?” You glanced down at his undershirt and the tie draped around his neck. “But what are you gonna wear?”

“I have a spare shirt in my office that I keep in case of emergency coffee stains.”

You beamed brightly and wrapped your arms around his neck. “Best boyfriend ever,” you murmured against his lips before kissing him.

He deepened the kiss, parting your lips with his tongue as his hands inched further down your back towards your ass. You moaned in response, feeling him squeeze your cheeks.

“Mi amor,” he said between kisses. “I have to go.”

 “No. Five more minutes. Please,” you whined, pressing your body against his.

Rafael groaned, all the blood from his brain rushing towards his cock. You were playing a dangerous game. “If we keep this up in five more minutes I’m going to be between your legs, fucking you so hard that you’ll forget your own name.”

You nuzzled against his neck as your hand began to palm his growing erection. “Well they do say that testosterone is higher in the morning. Care to put that theory to the test?” 

“Y/N,” he said in a warning tone.

With a sigh of defeat, you stopped. “Alright, can’t blame a girl for trying.” You planted one last chaste kiss on the tip of his nose and gently pushed him towards the door. “Go on. Get outta here.”

 “I’ll see you later tonight.” He grabbed his jacket and left the bedroom only to return 30 seconds later. “I forgot something.”

“What did you—” Rafael cut you off with a passionate kiss causing you both to fall back on the bed.  Your heart fluttered. You were so lost in the moment that you forgot how to breathe. You could taste him on your tongue. All too soon the kiss ended and you were left dazed with thoroughly soaked panties.

“I love you,” he purred and playfully nipped on your lower lip before leaving with a smug smile firmly planted on his face.

“Love you too,” you mumbled and held up the shirt to your nose, inhaling deeply. 

*****

A few hours later you were sitting in the small studio at the back of the gallery, dotting leaves onto a canvas. You skipped to the next song on your playlist and stepped back to analyze your work. The painting was of a large, vibrant tree in the center of a grey, bleak city. The tree was designed to look like Rafael. Its leaves matched the color of his eyes. Of course it wasn’t typical for trees to have seafoam green leaves but that was the beauty of art. You even tried to sketch his face in the trunk, its bark resembling his crooked smile and strong aquiline nose. 

Underneath the tree stood the shadowy figure of a woman meant to be you. The tree’s branches were outstretched, gently caressing you, comforting you. In the palms of your hands, you cradled your heart, offering it to the tree as the only possession you had to give. In your opinion, it was the perfect depiction of your relationship. Rafael was your protector. With him, you felt loved, safe, hopeful for the future. He symbolized a new chapter in your life.

Your “Rafael-inspired” piece was meant to be a surprise, since the elusive search for the perfect art for his home was still ongoing. Lucky for him, inspiration struck one rainy Saturday several weeks ago. Well, lazy for you. Rafael was busy typing away on his laptop. Snuggling against him with the rain pattering against the window, a flood of emotions washed over you. The next day you woke up before dawn, grabbed your brushes and paint and snuck over to the studio.

From above the sound of your music playing through your headphones, you heard the door open and turned your head to see your coworker, Phoebe, walk in.

“Bonjour, ma petite aubergine!” she said in a tone that was way too chipper for 8:30 in the morning. 

You snorted a laugh and turned off your music. “Good morning, my little eggplant?” you repeated the phrase.

“I love eggplant,” she replied with a shrug and went to stand behind you, surveying your work. “Hmmm… I like it.”

You made a face. “You sure? It’s not too cheesy?”

She hemmed and hawed for a moment before answering. “A little, but that’s ok. It's the good kind of cheesy.”

A sigh below past your lips. “You sure?”

“Absolutely,” she tried to reassure you. “And anyways, love makes people cheesy.” You blushed and went back to your painting while she milled around the room looking at your other pieces. “Ya’ know, there’s a new artist night at this gallery my friend works for. You should reach out to them. See if they’ll let you show your art. There are enough pieces here to choose from.” You opened your mouth to speak but she cut you off. “And before you say anything, I don’t wanna hear any excuses.” She gently took you by the shoulders and made you stand to face her. “You are incredibly talented and you should share that talent with the world while making a few bucks in the process.”

“Maybe you’re right,” you conceded, glancing back at your unfinished canvas.

Phoebe’s eyes widened. “I am? I mean, of course I am! Damn, this is the first time I’ve ever heard you consider doing a show. That Rafael guy must be a good influence on you.”

“Yeah, he’s the best.” You smiled, thinking back to earlier that morning. 

“Speaking of which,”—she grabbed a spare chair and sat down, getting comfortable—“how did the whole ‘meet the parents’ scenario play out?”

You threw your head back and groaned. “Ugh, why did you have to remind me?”

“Uh-oh. Sounds like we’re gonna need coffee.” She stood up and grabbed her purse. “I’m gonna get a cappuccino from the cafe around the corner. Can I get you something?”

“An Americano and a cinnamon roll.”

“Be back in a flash. I wanna hear all about it. Family drama sustains me, especially when it’s not mine,” she teased before leaving.

You rolled your eyes and began to tidy up. While you stood at the sink, cleaning your brushes, watching the colors swirl and dissolve down the drain, you wondered if Rafael would like his surprise. You hoped he would. It took you hours to get just the right shade of green. 

This gift was a big deal. Apart from your parents, you had never created a piece for anyone else. Your art was private. It was personal. Giving it away was like giving away a part of you. But you and Rafael were beyond that. This past weekend only confirmed what you had known from the moment he stepped into the gallery— that you were his, completely.

The sound of the door opening snapped you out of reverie. “That was fast, Phoebe,” you said over the running water. “I guess the cute barista wasn’t working today cause normally you spend a solid twenty minutes flirting before actually ordering your drink. I’m almost finished here. Give me a sec and then I can tell you about the worst Sunday lunch in the history of the Carisi family and that includes the time my Aunt Anita stabbed my Uncle Tony with a fork. ”

“Awww c’mon, babe. It wasn’t that bad,” said a voice that you recognized all too well. 

Stunned, your hands froze, the brushes clanging against the sink. “This can’t be happening. Please, God don’t let it be him,” you thought, slowly turning around only to find your ex-fiancé standing right in the middle of your studio. 

“Theo,” you stammered. “What are you doing here?”

He ignored your question and took a step towards you with a sinister smile that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. 

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#rafael barba #rafael barba fanfic #rafael barba fic #rafael barba imagine #rafael barba x reader #rafael barba fan #barba #barba fanfic #barba imagine #barba x reader #law and order svu fanfic #law and order svu imagine #barba fic #taking chances

[its-pronounced-quoassoint]

Power Rangers AU

A Sanders Sides fanfiction.

Relationships: romantic Logicality, Demus, Prinxiety, Remile

Warnings: swearing(mainly Remus and Virgil), poorly written fight scenes/minor violence, stupid pining, kissing/making-out/PDA(no smut cause I can’t write that. . . sorry), sympathetic Deceit and Remus, food mentions, more warnings/warning details will be at the tops of chapters

Credit for this AU goes to @when-day-met-the-knight (specifically this post).

This fic has been under review for a long time and I hope you all like it. More chapters to follow!

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Chapter 1-Red and Green

Roman wasn't the biggest fan of fifth hour. Sure, school would be out soon and he wouldn't have to deal with the disgrace of a teacher his peers had nicknamed 'Ms. Demon', but that simply wasn't good enough. An hour in her class felt like months to Roman and his B- reflected that perfectly. Roman felt the world grind to a halt and begin a sluggish jog the second that fifth hour bell rang and there was no way of getting out of it. The only upsides to the class were his passing grade and the ability to listen to music without his teacher realizing. Most of the time Roman found himself discretely nodding his head to a spotify broadway playlist and doodling aimlessly, wishing to whoever could read his thoughts, that something interesting would happen.

On this particularly sunny day, his prayers would receive an answer. 

'Ms. Demon' was twenty minutes into her monotone explination of another pre-calc unit, when the alarm system went off. Roman along with thirty other sleep-deprived teenagers jumped and looked around panicked. If he remembered correctly, this alarm meant they were under attack yet again.

Fricking Dragon Witch always interrupting me while I’m listening to The Prom, Roman thought, begrudgingly taking out his earbuds.

The P.A. system crackled to life and everyone turned to face the speakers. 

"Students, remain calm, this is not a drill, we are under attack." The voice of the vice-principal stated, clearly shaken. "Your instructions are as follows, leave your belongings where you are and stay in your classrooms. I repeat, stay calm and stay in you-"

The power cut off. People began quietly standing up and searching for their phones. A few students even began a hesitant walk to the door. Roman felt his heart beat and breathing quicken as a girl in his class opened the door and examined the hall, no other students had dared to walk the hallways. It was eerily quiet in the school as the hairs on Roman's arms and neck stood up. Suddenly a scream down the hall echoed to everyone's horror, followed by the collapsing of a wall and thunderous yells of fear and anguish. A wave of students began racing down the hall. Screaming and crying filled Roman's ears. Roman jumped up, he shoved his phone and ear buds in his pocket and hopped over desks to get out of the door. He looked down the hall to see a part of the building completely in rubble and more students running for cover. He began following the crowd, helping fallen students and frantically searching for his brother. 

Remus has world economics this hour I think. Run, run, turn left, run, on your right. Find Remus, find Remus. Roman began chanting instructions to himself. He reached Remus' classroom and looked inside to find it empty. Hoping that his twin had run for cover with the others, Roman ran to leave the school. He continued calling Remus's name and ran himself winded, letting the crowd pull him along. Remus was nowhere to be found. Roman’s twin was strangely tall and wore obnoxious clothing, so he should be easy to spot, but as hard as Roman tried, he couldn’t see him. 

Roman stopped where he was, a mistake as he soon learned after getting run into by several other students. He knew his brother would have grabbed his phone, so Roman pulled up Snapchat and checked the map to see if Remus was there. He found the icon and saw that Remus was quickly leaving the McDonald's across the street. 

"Remus I swear." Roman grumbled and continued his run. 

He made it out of the school and was immediately bombarded by the sound of the fight behind him. Roman wasted no time racing to find Remus. 

"Remus! Remus! Where are you?! For godsake Remus! I will-"

"ROMAN!!!" Remus' screeching was heard above the crowd and Roman ran to him. 

"You were at McDonald's!?!?!" Roman scolded once he had reached Remus. 

"I was skipping alright! You try sitting in that class for an hour everyday!" Remus retaliated. 

"I do sit in that class for an hour everyday Remus!" Roman yelled back. Remus looked like he was going to give a snarky retort, but suddenly he grabbed Roman's shirt and pulled the both of them to the right. Roman stumbled around and looked to where he had previously been standing, to see that Remus had pulled him away from falling debris just in time. He shook off Remus's hand and the two began sprinting for cover behind the nearest building.  

The twins leaned against it, catching their breaths. Roman ran his hands along his face, wiping off sweat and dust. He decided to sneak a look at the battle from where he was and peeked around the brick building. There the Black Ranger was wielding his axe and attacking the Dragon Witches's minions. He sliced through several of them and proceeded to dash through another horde of them, cutting each one down. Roman watched, mesmerized, barely noticing Remus move beside him to watch the battle unfold. The aliens appeared to have stopped arriving and the Black Ranger made quick work of the remaining ones. The battle looked almost won. 

Then Roman saw it. A hurling ball of purple fire rappidly falling from the sky. The Black Ranger didn't seem to have noticed it and Roman began to fear he wouldn't have time as it continued its descent. Suddenly he felt his body get the best of him and Roman jumped out from his hiding place. 

"BLACK RANGER, ABOVE YOU!!!!" Roman shouted. 

"What the hell are you-" Remus tried to pull him back, but looked over to see the Black Ranger narrowly dodge out of the way of the purple fire. 

More fire began raining from the sky directed at the Black Ranger who managed to dodge it the best he could. 

"Can you just stop moving!" A voice suddenly yelled out.  

A humanoid figure dropped from the sky and looked at the Black Ranger, more annoyed than angry, certainly a change from the typical attacker. The villain’s black and purple armor spiked up and circled their body. Six purple eyes glowed bright under the shadow cast by their hair and pointed crown. Considering the other cartoonish monsters the Black Ranger has fought, this one was pretty minimalistic.

"Sorry, but I don't exactly plan on dying any time soon." The Black Ranger stated. "You on the other hand-"

"Yes, yes, justice will be served, peace will be restored, blah blah, trust me buddy, no one wants me dead more than I do m’kay." The villain crossed their arms and shook their head. "But look, my mom is pissed and if I die she's just gonna bring me back and have me fight you all over again. So do us both a favor and let me capture you." 

"Not a chance!" 

"Ugh." The villain threw their head back and whined. "Why can't this ever be easy."

"Being evil will never be easy as long as heroes are around to stop you!" 

"I. Get. It." The villain puncutated each word with a clap. “Look, just turn yourself in and let's get this over with."

"I'll never surrender to you!" 

"Great." The villain groaned again before disappearing and reappearing behind the Black Ranger. 

The Ranger turned around and blocked the purple fire that was blasted at him. He continued dodging each fireball thrown. The fight continued as the villain lobbed purple fire and the Black Ranger battled on the defensive, clearly trying to minimize futher damage. Then, an opening appeared and the Ranger charged, shoving his axe at the villain who dodged and blasted him with fire on the back. The Ranger fell to the ground in pain and accidentally dropped the axe as he rolled. He began crawling to his weapon as the villain approached. 

“Remus! We gotta help!” Roman whisper-yelled at his brother.

“Why?!” Remus exclaimed. 

“C’mon just grab something!” Roman told him. 

Remus and Roman quietly snuck out of their hiding place and each grabbed the closest heavy object. Roman found a street sign that had been uprooted while Remus grabbed the nearest trash can. The two snuck closer to the villain and Ranger as fast as they could. 

"I'm not gonna do any of that 'any last words?' stuff.” They said, looming over the Black Ranger, fire swirling around their hand as it pointed at his chest. “We both know I'm not gonna kill you so-"

That was when Remus full-force chucked the trash can at the back of the Villain. They stumbled and flailed a little before regaining composure and turning to face the brothers.

"Ow, what the-dude!" They rubbed the back of their neck. 

Roman chose that moment to swing the sign at the at the villain who teleported away.

"You have no clue what your doing now, do ya?" The villain asked from behind the two condescendingly. 

"Wha-"

Suddenly, the Black Ranger's axe was thrown into the villain's side. They winced and looked down at the wound. Roman saw as purple blood began seeping out of their newest gash.

"Dammit." The villain said flatly before disappearing, the axe dropping to the ground.

Roman and Remus looked around for them fervently.

"Don't worry, he's not coming back." The Ranger told them, in clear pain. 

"He isn't?" Roman asked. 

"No, but he'll be sending more minions to attack us. You two need to run." The Ranger told them. 

"No way! You're hurt!" Roman protested. 

"How did you get hurt anyway, doesn't that suit make you basically indistrucable?" Remus raised his eyebrows.

"To some weaker attacks yes, but a full strength blast from Prince Virgilius is gonna hurt bad." The Ranger winced. 

"I didn't understand anyting you just told me." Remus stated matter-of-factly.

"That's because you have an I.Q. of negative twenty." Roman sneered.

"Says the one who almost failed seventh grade social studies." Remus retorted.  

"Geography is a hack and you know it!" Roman huffed.

Remus looked ready to say something in return, but was cut-off when hordes of minions began spilling into the Earth through a breach in dimension. 

"Like I said, minions." The Black Ranger sighed. "Run."

Roman raced beside the Ranger and put his left arm over Roman's shoulders. He began helping the Ranger along and the three began trying to get away from the swarms of minions, but were caught up to quickly.

"Roman, you need to leave me so I can fend them off. You and Remus have to run." The Black Ranger told them.

"No, you need help Sir, we can't let you-" Roman started.

"How does he know my name?" Remus asked no one in perticular.

"-protect us when you’re injured and I know you’re the Black Ranger, but you can’t fight all of them off alone!” Roman finished.

“Please listen!” The Ranger interrupted the both of them. “We don’t have much time before we’re completely surrounded, so you two better start running!”

“We are not leaving you!”

“You don’t decide who I can and cannot leave behind Roman!” Remus screeched.

“Will you shut up!” Roman stopped him. “I’m sorry, but like I said, Power Ranger or not, you shouldn’t be fighting alone like this. So, Remus, grab the nearest stabby-thing and let’s help him defend Earth from aliens.”

It was quiet for a bit. The Ranger didn’t seem to want to argue any longer and was more focused on the massive amount of aliens running toward the three. Remus laced his fingers together in front of his face like he was praying and looked at Roman.

“Ro Ro-“

“Please don’t call me that.”

“You had me at ‘stabby-thing’.” Remus sighed before turning away and beginning his search for said 'stabby-thing'.

Roman did the same, quickly scrambling over to pick up the sign he had used earlier. Roman stood next to the Ranger and smiled at him. Preparing himself for the battle before him. Then the minions were on them.

One after another the monsters attacked Roman and the Ranger. Roman slapping one with the sign and forcefully jabbed at the others. He swung the sign around and tried to knock out as many as possible. He wasn’t as effective as the Ranger, who though he was hurt, had an actual weapon that could hurt the minions. 

Roman realized his brother was no longer in his line of sight and accidentally let his guard down. Remus, stop going where I can’t see you- Roman’s thoughts were interrupted as one of the aliens grabbed him and held him down. Roman struggled against the grip and tried to pull himself free, but to no avail. 

Then, something happened. Roman wished he had been able to fully see what was actually going on, but all he really understood was; a red glowing object had come from nowhere and wrapped itself around Roman’s right wrist. 

“Roman!” The Black Ranger called from a ways away. “Listen to me!”

“Okay!” Roman yelled back, trying to get a better look at what had just attached itself to his wrist, but the minion just tightened its grip.

“I need you to say, ‘Red Ranger, activate!’." The Black Ranger told him, trying to keep his voice steady as he fended off the monsters.

"What!?!" Roman squeaked.

"Say it! Trust me!!" The Ranger called.

"Red Ranger!! Activate!!!" Roman yelled. 

Then his world dissolved. Everything was gone, no monsters, no Ranger, no Remus, nothing. Just a blank area. Roman looked around, it was silent except for his own shuffling as Roman stood up. Roman looked toward his hand, finding a red bracelet that had wrapped around his right wrist, seeping red light. The light spread, covering Roman's body. It began to solidify into armor. Roman closed his eyes to protect himself from the brightness, only to open them and find his head in a helmet. He stared at his body, now covered in a suit similar to that of the Black Ranger. In front of him a red glowing blob began taking form. Roman stared, bewildered, as the red light formed a sword, the blade jagged and intricately designed, the hilt pointed toward Roman, as if imploring him to take hold of it. Roman complied, gripping the sword tight, and closing his eyes once again as he was fully enveloped in red light. 

Roman opened his eyes and found himself standing in a small clearing of monsters. The minions staring at him an awe. Roman felt a grin stretch across his face as he brought the sword back a little and thrust it forward into one of the monsters. It collapsed into dust and Roman continued. The monsters fell out of their daze and Roman made his way to the Black Ranger helping him cut each of the aliens down. 

---

A long ways away, Remus was running like a mad man trying to escape the aliens who had followed him. He cursed them and their bloodline, soon finding his breath shortnening. He cursed his dramatic brother one last time before collapsing on the ground. He took in several deep breaths and tried to get up, only to have his vision turn blurry and his head spin. The boy fell back down again, waiting for the aliens to come and eat him alive. However, before he could meet his demise, Remus felt a sharp pressure apply itself to his left wrist. A cool metal object had encircled around him and Remus could feel it pulse a little. He tried to look at it but was once again met with a dizzy, sickening feeling. 

Then, his world was white. 

---

Roman saw from the other side of the block as a green flash exploded from the ground. Before he could ask the Black Ranger what that was about, he was attacked by another swarm of aliens. Which he made quick work of. The ground became littered in dust and it looked like the aliens were losing their high numbered advantage.

“Roman!” Remus’ voice cut across the courtyard.

“What?!” Roman shouted back snappily.

Roman turned to his brother’s voice and saw a suit much like his own and the Black Ranger’s, but green. Remus barreled toward the two swinging a spiky mace in his hands. He turned several of the minions to nothing and met Roman and the Black Ranger in the middle of it all.

--

Soon, each alien had been destroyed and the three stood among dust. 

“This is amazing.” Remus breathed swiftly. He swung the mace around playfully.

“This is insane.” Roman nodded aggressively. Catching his breath forthe first time in a while. “Are-are we Rangers now?”

“Welcome to the team.” The Black Ranger laughed weakly. He grabbed his side yet again and looked at the twins. “You two need to come with me.” 

#logicality #prinxiety #demus #remile #thatsthat24 #power rangers au #roman sanders #remus sanders

[cold-ugly]

🥀 𝖈𝖔𝖑𝖉 & 𝖚𝖌𝖑𝖞 chapter 1

       Sleepless hours trickled past as I lay huddled under a fortress of blankets, waiting for the alarm to go off. I rubbed my stinging eyes, and sat up in bed, shivering in the freezing AC. I hastened to quiet my alarm before it woke the prison wardens - that's a special word for family. With all my will, I removed myself from the blanket fortress, and flipped on the light, blinking in stark contrast to the pitch darkness I found security in. I glanced at the mirror on my wall, disappointed but not surprised. As I stood up, haze clouded my vision, and static flooded my head.

       I fell back onto the bed in a rush of pins and needles. I sank onto my knees to the floor from my bed, to hastily retrieve my clothes scattered upon the floor. I squeezed into my sports bra, and began the lengthy process of layering tank tops with shirts with sweaters with hoodies, leggings with jeggings with sweatpants, socks with socks with socks - and more socks. I struggled to get my socked feet into my red sneakers. Into my pockets, I stuffed my phone and headphones, and a little box with my pipe, bud, and a lighter. I sipped on water as I peeked out the window, noticing that the sun had yet to rise, before I began the descent into madness. I turned off the light, closed my door without a sound, and tiptoed down the tiled hall to silently slip out the front door. I stashed my little pot box beneath an evergreen, then trudged up the hill towards the sidewalk.

       I gave a few shakes of each leg to loosen my muscles, as I plugged in the headphones and chose my playlist of songs with intense climaxes and heavy breakdowns. At the first note, my heart rate preemptively elevated. I sprang into a light jog, the piercingly cold November air practically slicing my cheeks. The sun was only a tease of dim light hidden behind the horizon. Being atop a tall hill, I gazed below onto the misty winter countryside, the barren trees floating by as I sprinted. The burning in my fingers and toes subsided into numbness, and each dry breath hitched in my sore chest. With each footstep I felt the reverberation of my jiggling thighs. As my stomach cramped, and I wanted to lay down in the frosted grass, I rested my hand onto my absent ribs, snuffed under layers of clothes and flesh. I ran harder. I didn't count laps, there was no end goal, no ribbon, no finish line, no winning this race. I'm finished when my knees buckle, until the next moonlit morning.

       Panting, nearly heaving, I trudged downhill, the melting frost soaking through my worn-down sneakers. Once safe behind the evergreen, sheltered from any prying eyes, I unpacked my little box. I squatted to use my thighs as a table (they're surely huge enough) to set down the pipe as I packed in the fluffy weed. After several failed attempts, I finally managed to light the bowl with my numb fingers. The first breath of warm smoke after I'd been gasping such freezing air burned my hoarse throat, and as it filled my lungs I relaxed. With my exhale, I released a gorgeous cloud that dissolved into the gradually lightening sky.

       I snuck back into the living room, the AC nearly as cold as outside. As my door clicked shut, the first stirrings of morning life emerged. Through our shared wall, my sister's alarm blared incessantly. I shed my layers, tossing them back to the floor where I found them, slipped on my black fuzzy robe, and tied my unwashed hair into a greasy bun. I stuffed my headphones and tiny bud box into the front pocket of my leather backpack, then headed toward the bathroom. On my way, I heard my mom's door creak open, and I hurriedly slipped away behind the safety of a locked door. I ran the water hot, tossed the robe onto the counter, and stepped into the delightful ecstacy of warmth. As I looked to the water spiralling down the drain, I noticed the strawberry-red color of my fingertips and toes thawing. I shivered under the water for who knows how long, until rapid knocks interrupted my peace. I shut off the water and bundled myself in a towel, grabbed my robe, and opened the door.

       "You took a shower, but you didn't wash your hair? That's disgusting." My sister remarked. "Save it, I never see you brush your teeth. Your teeth are gonna end up like your brain: full of holes." I shoved past her and hustled back to my room, sighing in annoyance. I dried off and quickly dressed in a huge grey sweater over a t-shirt, and black fleece-lined leggings. After taking down my hair, I tried to brush it but gave up, and tied it back in a high ponytail. I checked my phone to see no texts, set an alarm for fifteen minutes, and placed it on my desk. I opened my laptop, turned on some music, and went to Minecraft. After the fifteen minutes was up, I zipped up my boots and threw my backpack over my shoulder. I headed to the kitchen to retrieve my half-gallon of lemon water from the fridge. My mom was standing at the counter adding splenda to her black coffee. "Good morning," she croaked. "Good morning," I echoed politely as possible, grabbing my water and setting it on the counter next to my sister's sequined lunchbox. On cue, she appeared, and grabbed a bowl from the cabinet next to me. As she poured her lucky charms, mom commented, "Why don't you eat the cheerios? You know that shit is loaded with sugar. Y'know it can cause cancer-"

"Mom, c'mon," my sister interjected, "it's already in the bowl." I rolled my eyes and headed toward the door. My mom called after me, "So what, no breakfast?"

"I eat at school, you keep forgetting."

"They serve you crap there. You're letting them kill you."

"Them and everyone else," I grabbed my coat from its hook on the wall, and left.

       Secure again behind the evergreen, I squatted to pack my second bowl, and puffed it as I scrolled mindlessly on my phone. My instagram and school email each had several notifications that I continued to diligently neglect. To my right, someone's footsteps crunched in the grass. I peeked through the leaves, relieved to see my sister's pink coat. She ducked behind the tree with me, and pulled a pack of cigarettes out of her pocket.

       "Now that is disgusting," I commented as she lit one of her cancer-sticks. She dismissively shrugged her shoulders. After all of mom's lectures that everything is a carcinogen, it's no wonder my sister is so desensitized. We smoked in silence until we heard the distant screech of the bus braking at the top of the hill. I stashed my box underneath the tree in a shallow hole, and covered it with leaves. We sprinted to the bus stop, joining the rest of the high schoolers in the neighborhood as they filed into the musty vehicle. I took an empty seat near the middle and put my backpack next to me, while my sister went to sit with her friend group at the very back. I plugged in my headphones, adjusted my coat, and took my notebook from my backpack to finish the homework I should’ve done a week ago.

       I dropped off my backpack in front of my first class on my way to the breakfast line. As I queued with the other students, I scrolled through the fashion inspiration pictures saved in my phone, in a special folder. My heart shattered at each flawless photo of people my age flaunting the clothes I wished I could wear. While moving slowly through the line, I grabbed a gatorade zero and an apple juice. Walking back to my first class, I passed several people I’d grown up with since elementary school, and as they talked amongst themselves like any happy normal teen, I seemed to phase right through them. I took my assigned seat near the front, and placed my notebook on the desk to hurriedly finish the homework.

       Students rushed through the door as the bell rang. Whoever sits in front of me appeared to be absent, so I propped my feet up in the seat. I was still scribbling the last few answers onto my paper as the national anthem blasted over the intercom. My peers shot nasty looks at me as I remained seated while they stood. After all the sheep had finished baa-ing the pledge of allegiance, the teacher called for homework to be passed to the front. Amidst a symphony of zipping backpacks and rustling papers, two girls in the row next to me obnoxiously squabbled over a phone. “Let me see it!” one wailed. I sipped my apple juice while I observed the girls grappling to rip the phone out of the other’s hand. As they wrestled for the phone, it flew, like a projectile, and knocked the bottle out of my hand. I gasped in shock as the juice splashed all over me.

“What’s going on?” the teacher demanded. I sped over to her and presented my drenched clothes. “Can I please go change? I spilled my drink. I’m sorry,” I replied. “Oh, okay, go ahead. I’ll call the janitor.” I grabbed my backpack, and rushed out of the room.

       I took a detour to my locker and grabbed my gym bag on the way to the bathroom. Once locked in the very back stall, I dropped my coat to the floor and pulled my sweater over my head. Relieved that my undershirt was surprisingly dry, I dug in my gym bag for a new long-sleeve. I pulled out the sneakers, shorts, and socks, emptied the bag, and my heart sank. The long-sleeve wasn’t there. Why the fuck isn’t my shirt in here? I sighed and held my head in my hands. What the fuck am I going to do? I shoved the wet clothes into my gym bag, put my sneakers on them, and stuffed in the clean clothes on top. Sitting on the bathroom floor, I pulled my knees to my chest and rested my arm on them. Damn it. Now I remember that I took my gym shirt home yesterday because I wanted to switch it with the red one, but I forgot to bring the red one today. Typical.

        On my way down the hall, I noticed the custodian leaving my classroom. “Sir,” I called after him, “I’m so sorry you had to clean up my mess. Must have been a sticky situation." He chuckled, “It’s no issue, I’ve seen worse.” I smiled, and told him to have a good day. As I returned to my seat, the teacher called my name. “This is the assignment, hon, it’s just questions one through twenty on page 103 of your textbook. If you do twenty through thirty, you'll get bonus points,” she handed me the paper. As I outstretched my hand to take it, I followed her gaze to my lacerated forearm. I snatched the paper and hustled back to my seat, where I took out the textbook from my backpack and flipped through the pages. God, she saw my arm. She's going to tell on me, fuck, they're gonna call my mom again. How can I get out of this? What page did she say? 130? 113? I consulted the board, and saw it was blank. With no shoulder in front of me to peek over, I strained to glance at the neighboring row, and frantically combed through my book to find a page that looked similar to theirs. Someone got up and turned in their assignment before I even found the correct page.

       Sitting in my second class, I skimmed over my notes for the test while I waited for the bell to ring. My left palm remained flat on the cold desk, sheltering my forearm. Throughout the class, I tried to be so invisible as to draw no attention to myself. I labored on each answer of the test, in an effort to bring up my grade, and consequently quiet my mom’s bickering. As I glanced around the room, I noticed other students finishing up while I lagged behind.

Knock knock.

My heart skipped a beat.

“Is Ren here?” asked a student assistant from the guidance counsellor’s office.

My teacher replied, “We’re in the middle of a test, can this wait?”

“Sorry, it’s urgent.”

“Ren, could you come here please?”

     I brought my test with me, and gave it to the teacher, who notified me that I’ll need to finish it during lunch. I nearly held my breath as I approached the door. The assistant told me to go with him. I trailed him silently down the halls, and took a seat in the office. “Your counsellor will call you back in a minute,” he reported. With my arm in my lap, I glimpsed around the walls at all the motivational posters with meaningless quotes, heart pounding in my chest. I can’t fucking believe I let this happen. As I looked around, I noticed a girl sitting in the chair in front of me, who was entranced by the pastel blue, stickered, and bedazzled DSI in her hands. Her hair was half black and half lavender, divided into two long braids, and a pink sweater draped elegantly over her freckled shoulders. In her lap perched a white purse shaped like a cat. “I like your purse,” I blurted, “I love cats.”

Her chestnut-brown eyes drifted up to meet mine. “Thank you,” her voice was silky and small. “They’re my favorite. I have three, how many do you have?”

“I actually can’t have cats right now, my mom is allergic,” I admitted.

“That’s awful,” she pouted, “you should see mine.”  She took out her yellow phone and showed me her lockscreen, a calico cat. “This is Muffin! She’s so old! And so chunky.”

“She’s adorable,” I smiled, and noticed I’d been biting my nails.

“So are you here for the group?” she inquired. I gave her a puzzled look.

“Uh, which group?” I asked, confused. Like, a high school version of narcotics anonymous?

“Y’know, the counsellors made a girls group,” she replied, “for our mental health.”

Oh.

       “That sounds cool,” I sighed. It’s already uncomfortable enough that I have to use the women’s restroom. “So you should join!” she squealed. I looked to the floor, and noticed her sparkly sneaker was untied.  “Your shoe is untied.” She raised her leg to inspect the shoe, and frowned. “I don’t know how to tie them,” she whined. I raised an eyebrow, and almost held my tongue, but offered, “I could do it for you.” She smiled and extended her foot to me. I knelt, and tied the laces in a double knot, then double-knotted the other shoe. “Thank you! You’re so nice. So if you aren’t here for the group, then what are ya here for?”

        Silent, I looked at her, reaching for a possible explanation that wouldn’t freak her out. Her face softened, and she gestured to my arm. She saw. She hates me now. “Is it because of the cuts?” I nodded, my face burning red in shame. “It’s okay,” she reached out and patted my knee. “It’s just an inconvenience, right? Just an uncomfortable conversation, and then it’s over.”

       “They’re gonna call my mom,” I confessed, “I don’t wanna get into it with her. I just got my door back a couple weeks ago. I seriously don’t want to do this again.” She stared at me silently, then her eyes suddenly lit up. She bent down to rummage in her cherry-print backpack, then tossed into my lap a light yellow jacket. “Maybe they won’t make you roll up the sleeves,” she chirped hopefully. “Thank you,” I slipped on the soft jacket and cringed at how tight the sleeves felt around my arms, realizing I probably can’t even zip it up over my stomach. She beamed, and a door clicked open. “We’re ready for you,” a counsellor informed the girl. She cheerfully stood up, waved bye to me, and disappeared into the room. Her jacket smelled clean and sweet, the way fresh snow looks like it should taste.

#chapter1 #chapters

[searchingwardrobes]

Separate Ways

Happy birthday, @sherlockianwhovian! I’m sorry that I don’t write whump, but I did scribble in a notebook for several days writing this without technology in a foreign country, and it somehow ending up a monstrosity of over 7,000 words. Hopefully words that you’ll like. I was inspired by my trip, obviously, especially one night when a street performer came up and started serenading me and my husband during dinner. Being an introvert, I wanted to crawl under the table, but then my writer brain got a fic idea, so I guess it all worked out. And since I knew your birthday was coming up . . .

Summary: Killian Jones somehow becomes a constant companion on Emma and Henry's spring break vacation, helping them navigate their first time in a foreign country. But Emma can't let herself feel too much since she knows how this has to end: the two of them going their separate ways. If only her heart would get the memo.

Rating: T

Also on Ao3 and part of my Fandom Birthday Playlist which I can’t believe has 12 fics in it now!

Tagging: @snowbellewells @whimsicallyenchantedrose @kmomof4 @jennjenn615 @bethacaciakay @thislassishooked @teamhook @kday426 @snidgetsafan @delirious-latenight-laughs @winterbaby89 @killian-whump @let-it-raines @hollyethecurious

True love won’t desert you. You know I still love you, though we touched and went our separate ways.

Emma’s toes dug into the warm brown sand and she couldn’t quite believe she had done it – she was in a foreign country, and best of all, she was sharing it with Henry.

Mary Margaret and David had almost hit the roof when they found out she was going to Colombia of all places on vacation.

“What about the drug cartels?”

Emma rolled her eyes at David. “First of all, there’s crime everywhere, even in Boston. Besides, its 2019, not 1992.”

Mary Margaret blinked, still in shock. “But it’s a third world country!”

“Which is exactly why a 4-star hotel costs forty US dollars a night!”

Granted, the rooms ended up being small with few amenities, but so were hotels in New York City and Boston. It was clean, that was the important thing.

“Can you believe we’re this close to the beach?” Henry exclaimed as he plopped down in the sand beneath their cabana. A cabana that only cost seven US dollars for the whole day. Ok, so the cabana was really just a plastic tarp held up by sticks, but still . . . seven dollars!

“Right kid?” Emma grinned as she settled into a white plastic chair. “Can you believe the view?”

“I hardly can,” Ruby grinned wolfishly as she eyed some handsome Colombian men over the rim of her sunglasses. The men were shirtless and were kicking a soccer ball around.

Ruby had been roped into coming by David and Mary Margaret. Not that the brunette minded, especially when the married couple footed the bill.

“You need someone to look after you,” David had said.

“By Ruby?” Emma had screeched. “This is a family vacation for me and Henry, not an opportunity for Ruby to hit the clubs for a solid week.”

“Hey,” Ruby had protested sarcastically,”I resemble that remark!”

“I’m serious, Rubes!”

“On my honor,” she swore, with her hand to her heart, “I will behave like Mary Margaret at Disney World.”

MM rolled her eyes at Ruby then grasped Emma’s hand. “Please take Ruby. I can’t travel in my third trimester, or I would go myself.”

Emma sighed, relenting. “Ok. If you promise not to have that baby while we’re gone!”

Mary Margaret smiled as she squeezed Emma’s hand. “Deal.”

“I’m getting in the water!” Henry declared as he stood and tossed his t-shirt down on the sand.

Emma eyed the water, then looked up and down the beach. “Uhh . . . sweetie, maybe that’s not such a good idea.”

Henry gaped at her. “Why not? This is a beach vacation!”

Emma gnawed on her lower lip. How should she put this? “I just don’t see any . . . tourists in the water.”

Henry eyed the water, crowded with people. “How do you know none of them are tourists?”

Ruby threw her head back and laughed. “Oh my God, Emma, seriously? It’s the ocean!”

“Well, we’re not supposed to drink the water, even to brush our teeth. How am I supposed to know?”

And honestly? Everything about this trip – getting their passports, following TSA guidelines to pack their carry-ons (because she sure as hell wasn’t paying fifty bucks to check bags), going through customs, exchanging their dollars for pesos – had been full of things Emma didn’t know. Even Spanish. You kind of miss that part in the states when you run away from your foster home at fifteen. High school Spanish I and II would have at least made it easier to ask where the bathrooms were.

Henry put his hands on his hips. “You’re telling me I can’t swim?”

She glanced over at an older couple down the beach. The man’s pale pot belly would likely be red as a lobster by noon while the white-haired woman wore a visor with the Atlanta Braves logo.

“They’re not swimming.”

Henry rolled his eyes, looking startlingly like Emma. “Probably because they are physically unable to.”

Emma heard a masculine laugh from the next cabana over but ignored it.

“Or maybe they know something we don’t know. The water is murky. Maybe its polluted.”

“It’s perfectly safe despite its color.”

Emma tilted her head and shielded her eyes to see the owner of the British accent. She had to force her jaw not to fall open because he was a fine specimen. Slight of build, yet muscular, with a gorgeously masculine chest of dark hair. The smile he gave her was swoon-worthy as were his bright blue eyes and tousled black hair.

“Killian Jones,” he introduced himself, extending his hand.

“Emma Swan,” she said as she took it.

“Ruby Lucas,” her friend purred, leaning forward to show off her ample cleavage.

“Henry Swan,” her son finished the introductions with a wide grin, “and see Mom, I can swim!”

“Not too far, though,” Killian warned. “The seas are rough in Caragena.” He pointed at a wall of rocks farther down the beach. “Did you notice these rock walls?”

“Yeah,” Henry said.

“Well, they put those up to create these u-shaped swimming areas, so stay inside the U. Understand what I mean?���

Henry nodded, and Killian turned his gaze to Emma. “I can keep an eye on him if you like. I’m a strong swimmer.”

Emma narrowed her eyes. “I don’t let men I just met hang out with my ten-year-old.”

Killian dipped his head in what Emma imagined was some regal British thing. “Of course, how foolish of me. Well, good day to you all.”

Then he turned and jogged towards the water. Emma watched him dive into the surf, then stand up and shake out his wonderful hair, the water glistening off his skin.

“My. God.” Ruby muttered.

Emma shook her head, realizing she was ogling the man. “Ok, Henry, let’s go swimming.”

She hesitated, however, as her feet touched the surf. Henry plunged ahead of her, already jumping the waves. Emma looked down, disconcerted by the fact that she couldn’t see through the muddy water.

“It’s just because the sand is brown.”

Emma startled as she looked up into the wet face of Killian Jones. Droplets of water clung to the scruff on his face, an attractive feature she had failed to notice earlier.

“Oh . . . yes, well,” she was never tongue-tied in front of men, damn him! “Why is it brown?” She winced as she went on babbling. “If I hadn’t felt it between my toes, I would have thought it was dirt.”

Killian gestured out towards the waves. “There are no coral reefs nearby. That’s what makes sand white.”

“Oh.” Ugh. Still tongue-tied.

He smiled at her, and she felt the urge to push him. Her immediate attraction to him was messing with her cool demeanor, and it irritated the hell out of her. If he were to crash awkwardly onto his ass in the surf, it would level the playing field. Or something.

“Mom! Come one!” Henry yelled to her.

Emma ignored the annoyingly handsome Brit and her urge to shove him. She eased herself further into the water. She also refused to watch his muscular back as he cut through the waves again. Ok, maybe she snuck a peek. A tiny one.

Killian Jones popped up out of the water halfway between her and Henry. “Afraid of the water, love?”

“Not your love,” Emma snapped, “and I’m a fan of the beach, I’ll have you know. And boats too.”

“Just not the water?” he teased.

Emma scowled at him. “Just a little nervous about what lives in it, that’s all.”

He laughed again, then had the audacity to wink. Infuriating man.

**************************************************

Emma ended up letting Henry swim with Killian Jones after all. He wasn’t kidding about the rough water, and Emma herself had never been a strong swimmer. Besides, she was right there watching the two of them from their cabana. Eventually, Henry made new friends with some other kids in the water. Killian swam nearby to keep an eye on him, and Emma’s irritation towards him started to fade. Now Henry was building sand castles with his new friends while Killian sat beside Emma. The more they chatted, the more she realized that disliking him was impossible. He was handsome, and he liked to flirt, but she couldn’t deny there was depth to him.

Ruby was laughing and flirting while getting a soccer “lesson” from the Colombian hotties she had been drooling over earlier. Emma sighed as she watched her.

“How do they do it?”

“Do what?” Killian asked.

“How do Henry and Ruby get past the language barrier? They don’t know Spanish either, yet they don’t let it get in their way. While I just feel . . . lost and stupid.”

“Maybe it isn’t just the language.”

Emma’s eyes widened in surprise as he gazed thoughtfully at her. She had the strangest feeling he could read her thoughts.

“What I mean is,” he clarified, “Henry has always had you instilling confidence in him, so when he faces a new situation, he dives right in. Especially with you nearby.”

“How could you possibly know that?”

Killian shrugged. “It’s rather obvious. You’re an open book, love.”

What he didn’t say, of course, was that Emma’s lost feeling was about more than the language too. She squirmed in her chair, cleared her throat, and quickly changed the subject.

“Is it just me, or are there not many tourists here?”

“Not many foreign tourists you mean. Colombians do vacation, love. Like you Americans going to Florida?”

Emma’s face reddened as she covered her face with her hands. “Oh God, I sound like a shallow American.”

Killian chuckled. “Don’t be embarrassed. And a shallow American wouldn’t be staying in this part of Cartagena. Most Americans – and Europeans – stay in the fancy resorts on the other side of the city and take boats to the islands with white sandy beaches.”

“Oh,” Emma said, her heart sinking. She was such an idiot! “No wonder this hotel was so cheap.”

“Hey,” Killian said, leaning closer, “none of that. Why should you be embarrassed? I mean, why did you come here?”

His earnest expression put her more at ease. “I always wanted to see the world. But growing up in foster care, any vacation is practically impossible, much less to a foreign country. So it was my dream to see some place far away, then to share it with Henry. I started saving when he was a baby, and . . .” Emma shrugged, “this is what I could afford.”

She wasn’t surprised when Killian took the “foster kid” bomb in stride. Somehow, she got the feeling he already knew. He nodded at Henry.

“Look at him, Swan. He’s building sand castles with Colombian children. He’s staying in a part of the city that most Americans never see. You’re really showing him a bit of the country, not just the tourist traps.”

Emma watched as Henry and another boy dug a canal around their castle. A little girl ran up with a cup of ocean water to fill it. She smiled as the truth of Killian’s words washed over her.

“So,” she asked, settling back in her chair, “what brings a Brit to this part of Cartagena?”

A shadow seemed to cross over Killian’s face. “A promise,” he answered cryptically, then abruptly headed back to the water.

*****************************************************

Emma had always prided herself on being adaptable, but being in a foreign country for the first time in her life was challenging that assumption. After visiting the beach, she, Ruby, and Henry had walked a mile away from their hotel searching for a restaurant. Trip Advisor on her phone said a taco place was only half a mile, yet all they saw were dive bars. It felt like everyone was staring at them, and she was pretty sure she heard several chuckles along with the word gringo. Her blonde hair and pale skin stood out like a sore thumb. They finally gave up and trudged back to the hotel restaurant. The taco stand would have been cheaper, but in American dollars, even the “fancy” hotel food wasn’t astronomical. Trouble was, they didn’t know where else to go or how to ask where restaurants were. They were eating their third meal in a row there when they saw Killian Jones again.

“Look!” Henry cried out, waving the man over. “Hey, Killian!”

“Hello, Henry.”

Ruby flashed the man a toothy grin and pushed out a chair. “Join us.”

Killian glanced at Emma. “Are you sure?”

“Of course,” Henry insisted.

Apparently, Emma didn’t have a vote. Yet Killian didn’t sit until he got a nod from Emma.

“How are all of you today?” Killian asked, and Emma had to admit it was nice to hear someone besides Ruby and Henry speaking English.

What did you expect, Emma? That people would speak a foreign language in their own damn country? God, she was a shallow American.

The waitress arrived then and Killian ordered in perfect Spanish. The woman beamed at him with pleasure. Not that she hadn’t been polite to them earlier even though they ordered in slowly spoken English while pointing at the menu (which, thank God, was written in both Spanish and English). Still, Emma imagined it felt good for her to have a customer she could easily converse with.

“This is an awesome hamburger,” Henry told Killian before taking a bite, “the best I’ve ever eaten.”

“Henry, don’t talk with your mouth full, especially to a British guy!”

Killian laughed. “It’s okay, contrary to popular belief, we don’t all dine with the queen off china plates.”

“Still,” Emma mumbled as she handed her son a napkin on autopilot. As usual, he was getting ketchup all over his shirt. “And yes, the hamburger is good, but where’s the Colombian food? I didn’t travel to a foreign country to eat burgers and fries.”

Killian leaned back. “Have you been to the Old City yet?”

“The Old City?” Henry asked, licking ketchup off his fingers.

“The Old City is the best part of Cartagena, in my opinion. It’s surrounded by a fort that was built in 1536,” Killian told Henry. He turned to Emma. “I know a great restaurant there. I’d be happy to take the three of you.”

“That sounds great,” Ruby piped up, nudging Emam with her foot under the table.

“Umm . . .” Emma hesitated.

“Please, Mom?” Henry asked. “It sounds cool with the fort and everything. Like Pirates of the Caribbean!”

“Why don’t you just give us directions, Killian?”

“Mo-om, you couldn’t even find the taco stand.”

To Killian’s credit, he didn’t laugh.

****************************************************

“So explain the aversion to bananas, Swan.”

Emma, Henry, and Killian were walking along the top of the fort in Cartagena’s old city. Ruby had bowed out, and Emma suspected it had something to do with the soccer hunks who had been hovering around her friend since they arrived. The view was gorgeous, but the wind was brutal. Emma had to hold down her skirt with one hand her beach hat with the other.

They had just eaten dinner at a Colombian restaurant, which had been surprisingly hard to find in Old City. There were burger places, pizza places, and Italian places by the dozen. Killian had led them past all of them and into a tiny place tucked down a side street. Emma had an arepa – a thick, fluffy fried corn cake topped with strips of beef, peppers, onions, and rice, then literally drowned in cheese. Which was fine by Emma – cheese, in her opinion, made everything better. Arepas could be topped with a variety of things, so Henry had ordered one with chicken. The presentation may have been a bit messy, but it had been the best thing Emma had ever put into her mouth.

However, she had refused to even taste the side dish: fried cakes of mashed bananas.

Emma tilted her head back so she could see Killian from under the brim of her hat. “It has to do with a snotty two-year-old who got sick all over me in one of my group homes. I will never forget the smell of banana vomit.”

Killian made a face. “No wonder you won’t eat banana.”

They both laughed. Henry exclaimed over some old canons and ran ahead of them. She had to admit that strolling here with Killian was nice.

“Thanks for helping us order. I didn’t realize how overwhelming it would be to look at a menu and not be able to read any of it.”

“It was my pleasure.”

“Hey, Killian!” Henry shouted. “Did they shoot pirate ships with these canons?”

He ruffled Henry’s hair, and Emma’s breath caught at the sight.

“Perhaps, lad, but I have a feeling they were shooting more at the navies of warring countries. Pirates preferred to attack single ships at sea.”

Henry frowned in obvious disappointment. “That’s not what it shows in the movies.”

“You like pirates?”

“Yeah!”

“Me too. That’s why I’m here in Colombia, actually. It’s part of a bucket list so to speak that my brother Liam and I came up with. We wanted to travel to as many famous pirate ports as we could.”

Emma blinked in surprise, wondering how her son so easily extracted that information from the man when Killian had brushed her off completely the day before.

Henry tilted his head. “So where’s your brother?”

“Unfortunately, he passed before we could finish our trip.”

Emma’s heart softened at the pain in Killian’s face. Now she understood that promise he had mentioned.

*****************************************************

After that, Killian became a constant presence on their vacation. When they arrived at breakfast each morning in the hotel restaurant, he was already there saving them seats. When they headed out to the beach, Killian had already rented their cabanas for the day. He swam with them, helped them build massive sand castles, and translated flirtatious banter for Ruby and her soccer players. In the evenings when it was cooler, he took them to Old City, which was much larger than Emma had realized that first night.

With Killian as their guide and interpreter, they explored each and every corner of its charming cobblestone streets. Henry was right, it felt like a movie set straight from Pirates of the Caribbean.

Killian was also a huge help to Emma when paying for things. She never seemed to understand how many pesos they were asking her for, and even if she did, the denominations of the bills and coins made no sense to her. On top of that, she never could get the knack of converting the amount to US dollars in her head, so how would she know if she was being ripped off? She felt stupid and vulnerable, which was frightening.

“You’re not stupid, Swan,” Killian told her half a dozen times a day, “it’s just all foreign.”

She was definitely going to have a new understanding for non-English speakers when she got back to the states.

The Old City was also full of street performers. One night, Emma was entranced by a group of dancers. The women wore colorful ruffled blouses and white skirts and danced barefoot to the rhythm of bongo and djembe drums. The men were shirtless and wore white pants. The men and women both shook their hips faster than Emma would have thought possible.

“I bet I can shake my hips like that,” Killian teased, leaning close to whisper in her ear. He was still an impossible flirt. “How about you and I go out there and show them what we’ve got?”

His breath was hot on her neck and sent a shiver down her spine. “Please,” she scoffed, “a stiff Brit like you?”

He chuckled, “And what about your hips, Swan?”

Emma turned to look at him, her gaze lingering for a beat on his lips before locking onto his ocean blue eyes. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

They were so close, their breaths mingled. Killian’s gaze drifted to her lips as he quipped back in a husky voice, “Maybe I would.”

Was Emma swaying towards him or was it the other way around?

“Mom!”

Henry’s voice sent them jumping apart. Emma’s face burned as if she’d been caught at something, but Henry seemed oblivious.

“Can I have some change for the dancers?”

“Um, sure kid,” Emma said. She handed him some, and Henry dashed off to drop them into the hat one of the dancers was holding out.

Killian gave her an awkward smile and scratched behind his ear. “Um, this side of the fort is right by the harbor.”

He gestured with his hand behind her, and Emma turned to see fishing boats and pleasure yachts bobbing nearby.

“My ship is docked there,” Killian continued, “and I thought you and Henry might like to see it?”

“You have a boat?”

“Pirates sail ships, love, not boats.”

Emma tilted her head, giving him a teasing smile. This was the first time he had seemed nervous, and she was reveling in it. “Okay, Captain, lead the way.”

Henry was beside himself with excitement as he raced around Killian’s yacht (because regardless of what Captain Jones said, that’s what it was). Emma leaned over the railing on the top deck, then turned and regarded Killian.

“What are you, Captain Jones? A spy? A con artist? A thief? Because here you are with a yacht, sailing around to tropical ports.” She cocked her head teasingly. “Or are you just a trust fund boy?”

She was relieved when Killian laughed, worried her tone was too bite. He sauntered into her personal space like he so often did, his tongue dragging across his bottom lip (he did that a lot too, she had noticed).

“You can clearly see I am not a boy,” he told her, laughter fading, and voice going husky.

She gripped the railing behind her a bit tighter, her heart pounding in her chest. Just when she thought he might lower his head and kiss her, his posture relaxed, and he leaned against the railing next to her.

“No, Swan,” he explained, tone turning serious, “like you, my brother and I spent most of our youth in foster care. When I was twelve and Liam sixteen, we finally got a foster father who broke through our armor of anger and cynicism. His name was Nemo, or that’s what he went by anyway. He was a retired Naval Admiral. And yes, he was wealthy, but it was his patience and his belief in us that made a difference.” Killian ran a hand along the railing, his gaze introspective. “He took us out on the water all the time.” He shook his head and chuckled. “I supposed it was the only way to force a conversation out of us. There was nowhere to escape.”

A smile broke out on Emma’s face as well. She’d never been that lucky in a foster home, but she could still relate. Mary Margaret had done the same thing to her on that road trip to Vermont.

“The things he taught us through sailing,” Killian continued, “were actually life lessons. With him out on the water, we found purpose and confidence and above all, family.”

“Where is Nemo now?”

“Gone. Just like my brother. He left Liam and I this yacht when he passed. He knew about our dream trip.”

Emma watched him gaze out over the water, his jaw clenching. She reached a hand out tentatively and rested it on his forearm. He smiled at her – and slowed as an invisible cord seemed to draw them nearer to one another.

“Killian!” Henry called out, and once again, they jumped apart, this time both of them chuckling.

They followed the sound of Henry’s voice below deck and into Killian’s quarters. They found Henry standing before a map.

“Have you really sailed to all of these places?”

Killian slapped Henry on the shoulder. “Aye, my boy. Our first stop was here, in Bermuda.”

“Wow,” Henry replied, leaning closer to the map. “I didn’t know it was so much farther north than all these other islands. Did you see the Bermuda triangle?”

“Of course. Liam and I snorkeled right by the Devil’s Head, the rock that some people claim is the tip of the triangle.”

“Awesome!”

Killian winked at Emma over Henry’s head. “Did you know that there are no true natives of Bermuda? The island was settled by the survivors of a shipwreck.”

“Mom, we’ve got to go to Bermuda next!”

“Thanks a lot, Captain,” Emma groaned, “you put ideas in his head. Next thing you know, he’ll want a yacht, too.”

“Come on Emma, take him.” He winked at her. “They’ve got the best rum you’ve ever tasted.”

“You take this pirate thing seriously, don’t you?”

Henry traced marks on the map. “St. Augustine, Florida; New Providence, Bahamas; Tortuga, Haiti; Port Royal, Jamaica . . . how cool! Why are you at the hotel? Why don’t you just sleep on your ship?”

“I did the first week I was here and sailed around the islands, Playa Blanca, San Bernardo . . . but I felt like I was around too many tourists. That’s why I booked a room where you and your mom are. I fell in love with The Old City, and the beach is much less crowded, thank God.”

Henry asked if Killian could show him more about how to sail the yacht, and the two of them headed above deck. Emma approached the map and ran her finger along the dots of all the ports Killian had visited, and she wondered: How many had Liam Jones seen before he died? And what exactly had happened to him?

*****************************************************

The next day, Killian took Emma, Killian, Ruby, and one of the soccer players she had been partying with named Mateo, out on his yacht. Thankfully, Ruby and her boy toy had behaved themselves. Killian took them to one of the islands with the famous white sandy beaches, and Emma found she agreed with Killian. It was too crowded and too touristy. They ended up only staying an hour, then spent the rest of the day sailing along the coast. When they got back to the hotel, they were all deliciously drowsy from the combination of sunshine and ocean air.

Killian walked them to their room, and as soon as Henry disappeared inside, he took Emma’s elbow gently.

“You leave the day after tomorrow, don’t you?”

Emma nodded wordlessly. He was leaning close again, his hand resting on the door frame behind her. Encroaching on her personal space seemed like his favorite past time. The most disturbing part of it was that Emma didn’t mind.

“I’d like to take you out before you go. Do you think Ruby might watch Henry tomorrow night?”

Emma’s pulse quickened. “I . . . I’m not sure. Ruby might want to spend her last night with Mateo or Alejo, or . . . what was the other guy’s name?”

Killian laughed as he ducked his head and scratched behind his ear. “Let me know at breakfast in the morning?”

Emma nodded, still unable to form words as he walked to the elevator.

“What do you mean, you’re not sure?” Ruby screeched in the elevator on their way to breakfast the next morning.

“Well, I wasn’t sure if you’d want to babysit your last night here.”

“I don’t need a babysitter!” Henry protested.

“Yes, you do, especially in a foreign country, kid.”

“I will gladly give up my last night with my soccer hunks to get you la -” Ruby cut off just in time, glancing at Henry, “looove, I mean, romance.”

“Yeah Mom, Killian really likes you,” Henry added, to Emma’s complete surprise. He wasn’t usually all that thrilled about the few men she’d been out with.

“But what’s the point? We’re leaving tomorrow.”

“The point is we are on a tropical Colombian vacation and you only live once, Emma,” Ruby answered with a firm nod of her head.

The elevator doors opened and Emma knew that Ruby and Henry were never going to let her get out of this date with Killian.

***************************************************

Emma had no idea why she had bothered spending all that time fixing her hair. She and Killian were strolling along the top of the fort in Old City, and her long blonde hair was whipping around her head. Why hadn’t she thought about the wind?

Killian didn’t seem to notice, however, as they chatted easily. He laughed when Emma spat a strand of hair out of her mouth.

“Ugh,” she grumbled, “I should have just worn it up.”

Killian reached out to tuck it behind her ear, sending a tingle straight down her earlobe and all the way down to her toes.

“We could get you a hat.”

Emma waved him off. If she had learned anything the past seven days, it was that Killian was much too generous with both her and Henry. “It’s fine.”

They settled down in one of the crenels of the fort wall. They seemed to be popular make out spots Emma had noticed, and she tried to tamp down the blush that threatened to rise to her cheeks as she thought about it. She pulled up her knees and looked out at the water.

“Can I ask you a personal question?”

Killian tilted his head, “I suppose so.”

“What happened to your brother?”

Killian was silent for a long moment. So long, she worried that he wouldn’t answer. Finally, he began to speak in a voice thick with emotion.

“When we got the yacht, we started planning this trip, but it was still sort of an abstract idea. Then Liam got the diagnosis.”

He stopped and rubbed at his eyes. Emma laid a hand reassuringly on his knee.

“Liam had been having joint pain for a while. One of his knees, an elbow, his neck. He thought they were from working out at the gym until the pain got so bad it kept him up all night. It was bone cancer and by the time it was diagnosed, it had spread through his whole body.”

“I’m so sorry, Killian.” She knew what it was to be alone, but to have family – such a small one – and then lose it all? She couldn’t imagine.

“They told us they could try chemo or radiation, but all it would do was buy him a few more months. Liam decided he would rather spend his last days on the water, on our dream trip, then suffering in the hospital.”

“How many of the ports did he make it to?” Emma asked gently.

“Only three. We started small, stopping at Clew Bay in Ireland before heading out into the Atlantic. He died in an emergency room in St. Augustine, Florida.”

Killian sniffed and ducked his head as he wiped at his tears. “He made me promise to finish the trip.”

“How many more ports do you have to go?”

Killian ran a hand down his face wearily. “None that we had planned. We talked about sailing along the Barbary Coast before heading home, but . . . “ he caught Emma’s gaze, “honestly? Until I met you and Henry, my travels have felt mostly empty.”

*********************************************************

They headed down to the streets of Old City, and Emma was still battling the wind. Killian pulled her to a street vendor who had floppy straw hats piled up for sale.

“Come on, Emma, let me buy you one.”

She was about to refuse when she spotted a beautiful, wide straw hat with a satiny rose-colored ribbon around the brim. She picked it up.

“You like that one?” Killian asked with a grin.

Emma plopped it on her head. “I don’t know. Is it too big?”

Killian’s blue eyes sparkled. “No. You look beautiful.”

Emma blushed. Killian already had his wallet out, bartering with the merchant in rapid Spanish. He handed over some pesos as he winked at Emma. A gust of wind blew past, and the hat went flying off her head. She snatched it right before it hit the ground.

“You need to use the strap, love, in this wind,” he admonished lightly, pulling the elastic under her chin. His fingers traced along her jaw as he did so, and the air felt thicker than it had before.

“See? Beautiful,” he whispered.

*******************************************************

Killian took Emma to a fancy Italian restaurant that had seating outside in one of the large courtyards of Old City. Emma’s shrimp pasta was delicious, and she continued to be amazed at how comfortable she felt talking and laughing with Killian over their meal.

Street performers circulated the courtyard; guitar players, percussionists, even a man blowing enormous bubbles to entertain the children. An older man with a guitar and a black curled mustache approached their table. He rattled off a question in Spanish. The only word Emma caught and understood was “amor.” Killian blushed – an adorable look on him actually – and said, “No, gracias.”

The man wouldn’t take no for an answer, however, and started serenading them. That alone had Emma blushing in mortification as everyone in the courtyard turned to look, but her embarrassment increased tenfold as the man began to sing – in English.

“Kiss me, my darling. Kiss me, my love. Our love overwhelms me. Kiss me with passion, my beautiful one.”

Killian caught her eye, and they both started laughing nervously. The tips of Killian’s ears were bright red, and Emma thought he had never seemed more irresistible.

Emma wasn’t sure if those were the only words to the song, or if they were the only words the man knew in English. At any rate, he sang the same words through three times. By then, Emma and Killian were both ducking their heads with their hands to their foreheads. Everyone else in the courtyard, on the other hand, had begun to pick up a chant: “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”

Emma looked up and held Killian’s gaze, her face burning like it never had before. His lips quirked up in a half smile as he shrugged. Emma bit her lip and shrugged back. Killian’s half smile turned to a full-on grin. As the chanting grew louder, he leaned forward, and Emma leaned in to meet him. His lips met hers as cheers and hoots filled the courtyard. He kept it chaste, yet Emma head still spun at the feel of his lips soft against hers, his scruff rough against her chin. When he pulled away, the crowd clapped. He gave the guitarist a few coins, and the man said, “gracias,” before moving away.

All Emma could think was that if a simple kiss from Killian was that good, she couldn’t wait to get him alone.

*****************************************************

On the walk home, Killian took Emma’s hand, lacing their fingers together. Such a simple gesture, but it warmed her all over. They entered the hotel, and Emma slipped off her new hat, holding it by the strap. She swung it by her side as they waited for the elevator. She and Killian had gone quiet, and they kept cutting glances at each other. The elevator dinged, and Emma was thrilled to find it empty. They stood quietly side by side, but as soon as the doors shut, Emma turned and grabbed Killian by the lapels of his shirt. Her hat fell soundlessly to the elevator floor. When she crashed her lips into his, he responded immediately, burying one hand in her hair. She let go of his shirt as she tilted her head so she could finally run her fingers through his hair, something she had longed to do since that first day on the beach. Both their mouths were open and hungry, their tongues tangling, and Emma was on fire.

Killian tightened his arm around her waist to pull her flush against him, and his hand slid from her hair to caress her jaw, then her neck. As his hand explored her collar bone, she broke their kiss with a gasp and tilted her head back. Killian’s teeth dragged across her neck, his hand cupping one of her breasts.

“Emma,” he breathed against her skin, “are you wearing a bra?”

“No,” she gasped.

“You minx,” he growled.

Actually, she wasn’t wearing a bra for practical reasons. Her dress was a halter and she despised strapless bras with every fiber of her being. But if Killian wanted to believe she did it to tease him, then she wasn’t about to correct him.

The elevator opened with a ding to a blessedly empty hallway. Emma saw that they weren’t on the 22nd floor where her room was, but the 24th where Killian was staying. She hadn’t even noticed him hitting the button.

They didn’t stop their explorations of one another as they stumbled off the elevator. Killian pressed her against the nearest wall, but then he pulled back, resting his palms on the wall behind her.

“I didn’t mean to presume,” he told her, lust darkening his eyes. “Will you stay the night with me, Emma?”

She wanted to answer him with a searing kiss and wandering hands. God, every fiber of her being pulsed with need for him. But then she thought about doing the walk of shame back to the tiny room she was sharing with Henry. He was an inquisitive kid, and the only answers she’d be able to give would be lies. One thing she tried never to do was lie to her kid.

“I can’t,” she told Killian, trying to infuse her deep regret into her words, “Henry.”

He nodded, cupped her face, and gave her a chaste kiss on the cheek.

“I understand. Let me walk you back to your room.”

They turned back to the elevator. The hat he’d bought her was still lying on the floor.

*********************************************************

The flight was early in the morning, so they had to get a taxi at five a.m. When Killian had asked when they were leaving, she had lied and told him after lunch. Part of her felt bad about that, but she didn’t regret the lie. It would be easier this way.

So she was completely shocked when she heard a British accent shout “Swan!” just before she climbed into the taxi with Henry and Ruby.

“Killian! How did you -”

“Open book, remember?” he told her with a smile. “I texted Ruby last night after I left you at your door.”

Emma turned and glared at her friend, who looked way too smug.

“Killian!” Henry exclaimed, leaning out the door. “I knew you wouldn’t miss telling us goodbye.”

“Of course not, lad,” Killian replied, giving Henry a fist bump. Then he turned to Emma hesitantly, scratching behind his ear. “May I speak to you privately?”

Emma felt slight panic well up in her. “Our flight . . . “

“It will only take a minute.”

In the end, she couldn’t say no to those pleading blue eyes. She let him guide her gently a few steps away from the taxi.

“I realize you’ve only known me for a week,” he told her earnestly, “but I swear it feels like I’ve known you forever. I wasn’t sure if I could ever feel alive again after losing what little family I’ve ever had. Until I met you.”

Sadness filled Emma’s heart. “Please don’t say stuff like that.”

“Why shouldn’t I when it’s true?” he replied gently, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek.

“Because it only makes it harder to say goodbye.”

“It doesn’t have to be goodbye forever.”

“Yes it does. I’m American, you’re British. There’s an ocean between us.”

He took her hand, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. “The world’s smaller than it used to be. I have your number already. We can make it work.”

“It would never last, Killian. This has to be goodbye.” She leaned forward and pressed her lips to his chastely. “I’ll never forget you.”

He smiled sadly. “And I’ll think of you always, Emma Swan.”

When Emma turned to get in the taxi, she forced herself not to look back.

**************************************************

Emma wasn’t sure if post-vacation depression was a thing, but if there was, she had it. Getting back into the routine of work and Henry’s school after eight days of leisure was tough. Then there was the realization that the trip she had planned for so long was over.

And then there was Killian. She felt like the memory of him - his eyes, his smile, his kisses – were always at the back of her mind. Tender words he had spoken to her and things they had shared were replayed over and over again. Sometimes Henry caught her daydreaming like a teenager. Killian was in her dreams when she fell asleep, too, and it was always the same dream – a replay of the end of their date. Only this time, she stayed the night and her dreams vividly tortured her with what she had missed.

They had been home for three agonizing weeks when they heard a knock at the door just as they were sitting down to breakfast. Henry looked at her in confusion.

“Are we expecting someone?”

“No,” she told Henry, holding up a hand, “stay here while I check it out.”

The last person she expected to find on the other side was Killian Jones, yet there he was, in all his handsome glory.

“Swan!” he exclaimed. “At last!”

As he surged forward to kiss her, Emma vaguely thought about her bed head, her baggy PJs, and her morning breath. But the feel of his lips against hers was so heavenly, she just melted into his kiss.

“What?” she gasped when the kiss ended. “How are you here?”

She held tight to the lapels of his jacket as if he might disappear at any moment.

“I’ve been miserable every day since we parted, so I decided to do something about it.”

“What about your promise to Liam? What about the Barbary Coast?”

He grinned at her, his thumb dragging over her lower lip. “Boston has a harbor last time I checked. As a matter of fact, my ship’s docked there now.”

“I don’t think pirates in the same breath as Boston.”

Killian’s hands were distracting her as they cupped her face, his thumb drawing circles on her cheeks.

“Emma, don’t you know what pirates search for?”

“Treasure?” she whispered.

He pressed his forehead to hers, eyes closed. “And I’ve found mine.”

There were a million logistical questions she could have asked in that moment, but not a single one entered her mind. Instead, she laughed as Killian hoisted her up in his arms. She wrapped her arms around his neck as she kissed him and knew that going their separate ways was never an option.

#cs ff #cs modern au #vacation romance #fandom birthday playlist #for sherlockianwhovian #on her birthday #separate ways

[snarky-styles]

Another One Where She’s Named Carolina

The record shop was open until 2 am and Carolina made a point to complain about it every damn chance she had. Why would a record shop stay open for so long? Sure, it was in the middle of the downtown center, but they offered no alcohol to the college students wandering about, only pretentious indie music that played from the speakers outside. Not only was it open all night, but the doors had to be open to “invite in” customers and it was so damn cold.  Carolina was nearly always cold, wrapped in blankets or throws to keep warm. Due to her lower than normal body temperature, she was forced to wear several layers just to keep from shivering too violently. Tonight was no different, except she had snuck in a space heater since her manager wasn’t there to yell at her. Sure, it was a fire hazard, but she was genuinely concerned about hypothermia at this point.  She could hear the bustle of the streets outside, random drunken yells and shoes hitting the pavement mixing with the upbeat vibes she had put on the speakers. She hated the late shift, how tired she’d get, how cold it was, how no one cared to go into the shop, so all she could do was sort through the records. However, there were a couple of highlights.  She was able to make her own playlist for the shop and outside of it, she could get lots of homework done since she wasn’t dealing with customers and she was able to become familiar with all the new and old vinyl. That’s what she was doing right now. Sat on the floor, wearing a denim jacket over a thick sweater, filtering through a new vinyl shipment. Her slightly shivering fingers flitted through the old and new covers, her eyes interestedly peaking at each one. Once in awhile, when she saw an artist she was familiar with or just some really cool cover art, she’d take a second to examine it. This made the process go by a bit slower, but it did make it a whole lot more interesting.  She was sorting them alphabetically, making piles on the floor so she could put them away properly when the time arose.  It made a good last task for the night, something that wouldn’t make her entirely too bored and something that kept her moving and her blood from freezing in her veins. She had already sorted through one large stack, just one more tote-full remaining. She felt she had made progress, sorting them all into their letters, but as she looked around, it looked like she had done more damage than good.  All of the piles looked messier than she remembered and there was a lot more vinyl than she had thought.  With a small huff, she decided to clean up the mess around her, just in case some group of drunk adults milled in. Grabbing a stack of “A’s” in her arms, she swung her hips to the music as she made her way over to the correct bin. Times like these, where one of her favorite classic songs played on the loud speakers, she was glad she had free reign over the music during her shifts.  She gently placed each vinyl into the bin, arranging them neatly as she continued to sway slightly to her selected songs. “Dancin’ lady? I’m on your wall!” An excited voice slurred, which made her jump from the suddenness of it. She was a very jumpy person, especially on the night shift when she knew the percentage of people who were drunk outweighed the sober. 

She nearly dropped the vinyl she was holding, instead settling for a small squeak as she carefully set them down and turned to face the offender. She was faced with a boy around her age, brown, curly hair atop his head and a nice looking suit. “Dancin’ lady? Di’ you hear me?” He asked, a wide smile on his lips as he stumbled over to the wall she assumes he spoke of. It looked like he was trying to open his eyes wide, all curious like, but they were tired-looking and slightly bloodshot.  “Dude, you’re hammered,” She said, following him as to make sure he didn’t break anything, either in the store or in himself. “Celebrating!” He exclaimed, doing a ridiculous little twirl with outstretched arms.  She flinched at his loud voice, eyes narrowed at him. He was still drunkenly wobbling around the store, picking things up in his ring-covered hands and setting them down again, only to grab something else.  “Please stop shouting. What are you celebrating?” She asked, taking a vinyl from his hands and putting it back in its place. “Sorry,” He whispered, “Jus’ di’ a show,” He told her, positively beaming. “A show?” She asked, humoring him. He only smiled, pointing up at their wall of displayed records, a mix of old and new artists. Her eyes followed his painted fingernail, which certainly surprised her, to see a pink vinyl of someone in a bath. “On the wall?” She asked, trying to match the bare back to the man standing beside her. He nodded a confirmation, a dopey smile on his lips.  Maybe his earlier drunken declaration meant something.  They did have the same hair, but brown hair that was wavy wasn’t necessarily rare. She searched her mind for any memories of people coming in to ask for the album. She’d never had to take it off the wall or search for it in the back, or else she would’ve known the name, but she could recall several girls who came in to purchase the pink record.  She never thought too much about it, too busy with her mind preoccupied with various tests she needed to take for school.  “Never hear’ o’ me?” He asked, looking slightly disappointed. She couldn’t help but feel guilty at the sad look in his eyes, but she slowly shook her head in honesty.  He frowned, pink lips settling into a childish pout that unfortunately pulled at her heart-strings.  She had a very boring life and meeting a cute, puppy-like popstar was not an occurrence that happened frequently, or ever.  “I’ll give it a listen though, alright?” She appeased, not being able to take the sadness in his emerald eyes. He perked up instantly, nodding like an enthusiastic puppy. “Right after I get you home,” She told him, addressing him like a small child.  He pouted, “Quite like you, wha’s your name?” He asked, slurring as he leaned up against the table of bins.  She narrowed her eyes as he did so, watching closely to see if they were going to topple over.  Famous or not, she would kill him.  “Carolina,” She said simply, her head upturned as she looked at the vinyl wall, eyes searching to find his name anywhere on the album. “I have a song called Carolina!” He nearly screamed, making her jump… again. He looked apologetic afterward, but it didn’t last long since he was quick to reach for his album off the wall. She watched his unstable form anxiously, waiting for the moment when his wobbly legs finally fail him.  He successfully grabbed it though, holding the record lovingly and passing it over to her like it was a newborn baby.  She took it from him, momentarily examining the front and then flipping it to see the tracklist.  Her name caught her eye immediately, three down the list.  Then, she looked at the other tracks, admittedly intrigued by many of the names. She examined the spine of the album, seeing his name was “Harry Styles.”  She’d certainly heard of him, whether it be from the news or just being a normal person who uses the internet.  She momentarily wondered how she hadn’t noticed him, was she really that tired she couldn’t tell an infamous pop-star from a random drunkard?  “Like it?” He asked, staring down at the record as his eyes flitted between her and the item she was flipping over in her hands. “Seems cool. I’ll give it a play,” She said, fully planning to.  “Promise?” He asked, looking at her hopefully. She nodded, walking the record over to the front desk for her to play later.  He followed her like a puppy, trailing her and observing her. She was wearing thick layers with tight jeans. She was small in stature and width, but the large layers gave a comical effect. She waddled slightly, either due to the weight of her clothes or maybe pain in her feet. She was wearing some well-loved vans, the same pair he wore when he was relaxing, which made him interested just that extra bit more. “Let’s get you home, alright?” She said, watching as he leaned his whole body against the counter, elbows propped up, and stared at her with his head in his hands. “Is there anyone I can call for you?” She asked him, glancing at the late time on the clock before looking over to glossy eyed Harry. “My mate, but I don’ wanna leave here,” He said casually, eyes looking around the store everywhere. She nearly groaned, he was very cute and endearing, with big eyes and unsteady feet, but she really needed to return the famous man before police broke down her shop.  “Gonna have to, we close soon,” She told him, trying to sound stern, but failing when she saw his pink lip was once again tucked out.  She had to look away, sighing as she wondered how she managed to get into this situation. She had her phone out, waiting for him to give her any sort of number so she could get him sorted in order for her to go home.  “Can I just stay with you forever?” He asked, sounding completely serious. She felt the urge to hit her head against the countertop; where the fuck was she? A YA novel?  “Afraid not, since you’re some sort of star,” She told him, scrolling on her phone as his eyes lit up. “You do know me, then?” He asked happily. She smirked, showing him her phone which had his google page up. He frowned slightly, but gave her a shrug to suggest it was fair game. “Can you go ahead and call someone? Your mate?” She asked, glancing at the clock yet again to see that the closing time was nearing and she hadn’t even finished the project she started. Dean was going to kill her if she didn’t get all of her work done, even if she did explain the situation with the under the influence star staring right at her.  “Guess,” He mumbled, sounding slightly offended as he pulled out his phone. He messily scrolled and typed, but Carolina didn’t pay much attention since she was worried about the stack of vinyl she had to clean up. “Look worried,” He muttered, phone to his ear. She looked up at him, eyes narrowed. “How do you know?” She retorted, sounding more defensive than intended. He didn’t seem to mind, phone still ringing in his ear, “Eyebrows all furrowed. I do the same thing,” He explained. She looked at him a bit, then glanced at the records behind him before taking a deep, and attempt at calming, breath. “He’s no’ pickin’ up, we all decided to ge’ a bi’ hammered. Was supposed to stay with him, but I don’ much like followin’ orders. Reckon I could walk to my hotel from here-“ He said this all quickly, the words mixing in Carolina’s head but she was quick to shake her head no. “Just… Stay here. I’ll get you some water and you can… watch me sort the records or something,” She said, ignoring the way his eyes lit up and turning on her heels to get that water.  “Really?” He said, sounding excited as he followed her, stumbling, to the backroom where she retrieved some water for the both of them.  “Yeah, won’t be the most exciting thing, but letting you off on your own isn’t the best idea,” She told him, handing him the water as he took it gratefully. “Can handle myself,” He argued lightly. She let out a small giggle, seeing him stumble slightly as he made his way back to the front. “Sure you can,” She muttered, walking over to her project as he took a seat on the floor. “Comfy floor, you’ve got,” He complimented, head resting against the leg of the table. “High praise from a rock-star,” She responded, grabbing a stack of albums by the artists that started with the letter “b.”  “Wan’ any help? Real good at liftin’-“ His words were cut off as he attempted to stand, hitting his head on the bottom of the table. He winced, being forced to sit back down. She nearly rolled her eyes, for maybe the tenth time since he arrived, wondering why his friends allowed him to get so wasted.  Carolina had turned to look to make sure he was alright before stifling a giggle, “Think you’re better off sitting down. Don’t forget to drink your water,” She urged him, placing the records on the bin as she began to place them in their designated spots. “Angel, you are,” He said, the cap of his water bottle popping as he opened it. She sighed, staring at the mess before her and thinking of the mess of a person behind her, “I really am,”

“What do you mean you have him?” An accusatory voice asked her. She was slightly taken aback, having called the last person Harry had texted to try to find out where he was supposed to be. He didn’t have a lock on his phone, which seemed like an ill-advised move considering he was so famous. She had hoped they would be as cool as their friend was. That was an optimistic wish.   She had harmlessly told them she had Harry with her and wanted to know where his hotel was. They were less than pleased with this information. “What’d do you? Take him off the streets? Kidnap him?” He bit back, his words slurring to tell her he was drunk, but his tone cold to tell her he was pissed. She had practically frozen, fury settling within her as she looked at the sleeping boy on the floor of her shop. She really understood where the friend was coming from, considering Harry was famous and also very drunk, but she also really resented it. She wasn’t a fan, she didn’t know who the hell this guy was until a couple of hours ago. Carolina didn’t think she was some sort of martyr for protecting a nice, drunk person, but she also didn’t think it was something to scoff at. Not to mention, this friend, who seemed to keen on protecting Harry, was probably the same friend who let him wander off and get smashed on his own devices. So, with these thoughts in mind, her response may be slightly justified. “Actually, asshole, he wandered into my shop because he was alone and drunk. I gave him water and I’m just trying to get him home. I’ll ask him myself and I’ll let him know you’re the reason I had to wake him up. Fuck off!” She exploded, keeping her voice relatively low since Harry was really fast asleep. She didn’t give them time to respond, hanging up and placing the phone next to Harry. She sighed angrily, fuming. She was no angel, like Harry had proclaimed, but did taking someone in really warrant such viciousness? Sure, they were drunk too, but she had a rough day at a school and she was so looking forward to a bath and now she was more or less stuck with a man who she didn’t know and had a moral obligation to care for. So, in her mind, she would really love if she was given some slack. “Carrie?” She heard a soft British voice ask sleepily, breaking her from the angry monologue that was ripping through her mind right now. She almost didn’t answer to it, having never been referred to as a name other than Carolina. Sure, people had tried, but it never stuck. “Yes?” She responded, glancing over at him. He looked ridiculous. He had his cheek pressed to the concrete floor, his body curled up into a small ball, resembling a design of a seashell. His eyes were still closed, even when he spoke, and his lips barely even moved when he did so. “Can you take me home?” He mumbled, arms wrapped around himself. It really was cold in there. All visions of red anger disappeared as she looked at him with concern, wondering if he had done more than just alcohol. He seemed pretty wasted, or maybe he was just always as needy as a kindergartener. “Where’s home?” She asked him, hoping for an address to a hotel. “Holmes Chapel,” He mumbled. Carolina let out a deep sigh, “Which hotel are you staying at?” It was really no use. He was practically comatose, which was concerning, but she had no way to deal with it. He was breathing fine, so she took that as a good sign as she helped him to his feet. She was no nurse and she also wasn’t his HR secretary, but he didn’t seem like he was dying and she doubted he would appreciate a hospital headline the next day. So, she made a rash decision and a decision she didn’t necessarily prefer, but it was really the only thing offered to her right now. He was harmless, or at least, he looked harmless right now considering the way he was laying like a puppy who was trying to fit into a bed that was too small for him. “You’ll stay at mine, alright? We’ll just pray no one calls the police,” She said, staring at him as she wondered how the Hell she was going to get this grown man into her car, or out of the building for that matter. He hummed in response, sounding content as he continued to blissfully float within the land of not yet asleep and not yet awake. Her hand went to her head, slightly rubbing in between her eyebrows as she felt the onset of a stress-related headache. “I’m gonna need you to get up, alright?” She asked, trying to make her voice as gentle as possible, despite wanting to do nothing more than scream. Isn’t meeting a celebrity supposed to be fun? Because right now she felt like she was in Hell. She was being dramatic, for sure, but you have to believe her when she says that lifting a drunk man to his feet purely on your own really sucks ass, no matter how good his expensive cologne smells. Thankfully, he was still somewhat aware of the situation, since he wrapped his arms around her waist to keep himself upright. That allowed her a moment to think, still using at least half of her weight to hold up the man, as she ran through her checklist of what she was supposed to do today at the shop. She had cash checked the registers, locked the doors, cleaned up her mess, emptied the trash and now the last thing she had to do was to take care of a fucked up pop-star. “Nices’, you are,” He muttered, head falling to her neck as she struggled to lead him to the back exit where she had parked. “Wanna lay in the back?” She asked him, pushing open the door and plummeting them into the cold alley. He hummed an affirmative, which made her open the back for him first. He took no time in laying down, resembling a toddler. She rolled her eyes as she closed the door.   How the hell did she end up in this situation? Locking the car, she hurried back into the shop to grab her backpack, running back out to the car and locking the shop door behind her. She was a bit worried he would feel he was being kidnapped, or come to his senses right when he was laying in the back of her vehicle, and she can’t even tell you just how much she would not like that to happen. She climbed into the driver’s seat, turning on the heat as she wasted no time in getting on the road to her apartment. Her mind wracked if she had properly cleaned, really he wouldn’t know since he was wasted, but it did bother her slightly. She had a tendency to undress in random places, leaving her tops and pants in odd places like hanging off the backs of chairs or just scattered on the floor. She tried to set that subconscious thought aside, now worrying about the possibility of a SWAT team being sent to her just because she had the star in her hands. She continually sighed the way home, thinking about just how huge of an inconvenience this was. The only sounds in the car were her occasionally sighs and his little snores and sniffles which would only make her sigh more and make her wonder why his friends wouldn’t watch over him. It was a vicious cycle, really. It just had to be her. Of course, she hadn’t sent him away, had to swoon slightly at his cute little eyes and handsome outfit. She cursed hormones and her niceness. She pulled into the parking lot of her complex recklessly, parking quickly and trying to build up the courage and strength to lead this tall man up the stairs to her apartment. After a two minute pep talk about how she was strong and went to the gym occasionally, she managed to coax him out of the car and they slowly made their ascent into her apartment. She was hoping he’d remain quiet the remaining time they had to spend together, but she was terminally unlucky and he was drunk and very rambly. “You smell so nice,” He breathed out, clearly sniffing her neck. She tried to ignore the way his nose was nudging against her jaw, but she couldn’t help but wince lightly. This had to be the weirdest thing that had ever happened to her. “You’re so smashed,” She shook her head, inserting her key into the door. “How are you not sober yet? What did you even take?” She was mostly talking to herself now, guiding him into the house. She was definitely losing the small amount of sanity she had remaining, the thoughts of how she was going to take care of him settling deep within her mind. She could barely take care of herself when she was drunk, and that was just under the influence of alcohol and God knows what he got his rich little hands on. He was wobbly on his feet, holding onto her and other items to stay upright. “Something with a k? Ket-?” She gasped, eyes widening as she watched him fall onto the couch. She was going to have him take the bed, considering he was way richer than her and probably better than her considering that hierarchy. But, he seemed pleased throwing himself down on the leather, so she didn’t argue. She did argue with his admittance of drug use, though. “Ketamine? You took fucking ketamine? Who the hell gave you ketamine?” She repeated the name several times, in shock of whoever gave this puppy such a hard drug. Sure, he probably just acts like this when he’s… high, or whatever, but really! Ketamine? How much did he take? How did ketamine even work? She didn’t even think ketamine was something that was in circulation. She was learning so much tonight. “Please don’t be mad at me,” He pouted, eyes brimming with tears as he looked at her. Her eyes widened again, panic settling within her as she walked near him. “Oh, it’s... ok. You’re an adult,” She reasoned, trying to do anything in her power to prevent a waterworks show. “Mad a’ me, don’ like when you’re mad a’ me,” He mumbled, turning to face the back of the couch. She assumed he thought she was someone else, considering she had never been mad at him before and had also never met him before two hours ago. She watched him warily, eyes narrowed as she stared at his back. His breathing was steady, matching the pace it had at the record store. She had made a habit of checking his breathing since she hadn’t identified the substance he was on. She’d taken one, maybe two health classes about drugs, so she felt… still very uneasy about it. She was frozen in place at the fear of disturbing him or making him break down, it wasn’t until she heard his peaceful snores did she even consider to move. Tiptoeing, she quickly tried to make her way to her bedroom, where she immediately closed the door and slumped against it. She kicked off her shoes, shrugging off her coat as she let her head hit the door behind her. A rather loud snore rumbled through the house from her unexpected house guest. She closed her eyes in disbelief. It had to be her, didn’t it?

#harry styles #harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #one direction #hrought #harry #styles #fanfic #harry styles fanfiction

[diamonddeposits]

BEST TRACKS OF 2017-ARTISTS LIST #63

MATT HECTORNE

Matt Hectorne will be issuing his upcoming LP titled Work--a collection of bluesed up folk poetics in early Janurary. Here is some of the songs that made his year in 2017! 

01. Hiss Golden Messenger- Jenny of the Roses 

I could have easily picked any song off of this record. I’ve been a fan of Hiss for about 5 years, and each record just continues to outshine the last. It’s endlessly inspiring to see a band running on all cylinders both creatively and professionally. On first listen, the record just sort of washed over me, leaving behind a sediment I couldn’t soon wash off. I became addicted to it and am still going back to it again and again. This is music of and from the Heart, capital H. 

02. Rae Morris- Do It

I actually found Rae Morris on YouTube earlier this year. I had never heard her before and honestly have only given this song several spins. I think it’s just one of those great indie-pop songs. Great vibe, love the melodies, production’s great. The melody on the chorus “Let’s do something that we might regret” gets me every time. 

03. Charly Bliss- Percolator 

I’m a huge fan of 90’s indie rock. It was a big part of my early teenage years as well as my early musical education. Unfortunately a lot of the current 90’s grunge revival has left me wanting. This record is so succinct, yet its understanding of melody and chord modulation keep you engaged and returning for repeat listens. Amazing for a debut. In short- rock n roll ear candy. 

04.Phoebe Bridgers- Motion Sickness

This song kind of snuck up on me. I had heard of Phoebe a little here and there, but (as many of us do nowadays with an endless stream of musical choices) I thought I knew what this record was about and just slept on it. When I finally got around to hearing it, I was annoyed at myself for taking so long. This song is a triumph of the well-worn singer-songwriter motif. Her lyrics are incredible and challenging without ever sacrificing melody or style. It sounds so effortless, but that is an extremely hard skill to pull off. 

05. Caroline Spence- Hotel Amarillo

I don’t recall if Caroline Spence and I have properly met, but we have a lot of mutual friends in the Nashville scene. I decided to give this record a listen and check what others around town were up to, and I’m so glad I did. Every song on this record is great, but I can definitely relate to the loneliness and to-hell-with-it determination of living a life out on the road that’s chronicled in this one. The production is right on, with the vibe and intention being represented perfectly. Female folk-rock singer-songwriters are my music-fan sweet spot, and I’m glad to have found another record to add to the collection. 

06. Ryan Adams- Prisoner 

Some of my fans won’t be surprised at all to hear that I’ve been a big Ryan Adams guy since the early 00’s. Yet with most of his records nowadays, I have to give them time to break in, like a pair of new jeans. It took me a few listens to realize how much this song was burning into my brain. I love his production choices on this song. It’s beautiful, sad, jangly yet sparse. I welcome this song like an old friend. 

07. Pale Waves- Television Romance

My friends know that I’m a sucker for a good, easy pop song. I do however have some criteria. And while this band and song are far from original, they are at least unique from a lot of the current musical landscape. It’s very reminiscent of 80’s new wave bands (The Cure, Human League) with a modern touch. With so much going on in my head and in our society these days, it’s nice to take a break with a jangly pop song about unrequited love. 

08. The Barr Brothers- You Would Have to Lose Your Mind 

I first really got into the Barr Bros with their last record, Sleep Operator (2014). It was a beautiful, living record. It ebbed and flowed and spoke to me deeply. I’m still chewing on the newest one, but this song hit me hard the first time I heard it. They’ve taken their exploratory sound from the last record and settled in with an even deeper wealth of longing and exuberance.

09. Shelby Lynne & Alison Moorer- Not Dark Yet

I’ve loved this Dylan track for years but hearing it re-interpreted and in the context of this whole record, I couldn’t stop repeat listening. The performances and production are immaculate. Not to mention it’s a little too poignant given our current state of affairs here in the States and abroad. 

10. John Murry- The Wrong Man

John Murry’s last record, The Graceless Age, was one of my favorite records of the past 10 years. It was perfect. Needless to say I was very excited to hear he had a new record out after a 5 year hiatus. I’m still working my way into this one- I really want to give it the time I think it deserves. This song stuck out to me right away on first listen. Living in Ireland, it’s hard to find his records in the States, but his Mississippi roots shine through everything he touches. It’s criminal that more people don’t know about him.

PLAYLIST

#best of 2017 #matt hectorne #hiss golden messenger #charly bliss #rae morris #phoebe bridgers #caroline spence #pale waves #ryan adams #john murry #shelby lynne #alison moore #the barr brothers