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goldenlikedayl1ght · 9 months

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bound for n.y.c - g. van fleet

a/n: hi everybody! i’m back with a cool 3.6k fic about the one, the only, greta van fleet! i am seeing them at msg next week and am so excited that i just wanted to write a quick fic. please note that there’s no set ship and that it’s sort of implied that reader is in love with all members of the band and all the band members are into reader and NOT EACHOTHER. except maybe sammy and danny. let me know if y’all want anymore of these types of fic, idk maybe it’ll flop. also this is kind of fast paced and i am very sorry for that warnings: kissing, physical touch, mentions of anxiety and stress, complicated love triangles, food mentions, reader has a stepdad and a good relationship with their mom, reader being from ny, i think reader is fully gender neutral with maybe a few feminine traits but no real descriptors. also reader has tattoos and mentions of a dog that is no longer with us! no use of y/n, one mention of drugs, a bunch of references to sex, and cursing :0 word count: 3.6k summary: as tour manager, it's your job to get the boys to new york city, your home town. just don't fall in love with them, or anything. now playing: runway blues – greta van fleet

Being tour manager for America’s favorite Led Zeplin cover band, or at least, that’s what your judgmental bitch of a landlord called them once, was surprisingly difficult.

You were constantly running around after the four of them, feeling often more like a nanny than a tour manager. Especially at first. You had started meeting with them a few weeks before their World Starcatcher tour had begun, where you wore these professional, stuffy outfits. They had been referred to you by their makeup artist, who you had known from when you were an assistant to the tour manager of Phoebe Bridgers’ 2022 reunion tour.

You had been working for a producer when you got the call. Truthfully, you missed touring. It was a great way to see different parts of the country and the world, and you thrived in the chaotic environment. And you had heard of Greta Van Fleet, mostly from your grandfather, who was a huge classic rock fan, and always exploring new music via his iPad.

But you started out rather cooperating with them, wearing these stuffy outfits—Mostly long button ups and pencil skirts, while the boys showed up in comfortable casual clothes, always joking about you having to loosen up a bit.

And one notoriously hot day in early July, you showed up in shorts and a muscle tee to meet with them to go over the final dates of the tour before you all gave your go ahead to the social media manager.

You didn’t do much talking about the tour that meeting, opting instead to answer questions about your tattoos, your taste in music, your life to this point. And in exchange, they gave you pieces of themselves.

“I’m from New York,” You had answered over some late afternoon drinks. “I haven’t been home since Christmas, So I’m excited to see my family when we’re there.”

Josh’s fingers traced your upper arm, over a tattoo of your long-gone dog. “Will we get to meet this little guy?” He asks.

You only chuckled, “No, this one died while I was in college. Best dog I ever had.” You said solemnly.

And that was it. One comment about your dog and the boys were hooked on you forever. And when the tour started, you only grew closer— Sharing with them parts of your childhood, Jake teaching you the very basics of guitar, Josh taking shots with you before shows, Danny bringing you coffee to cope with those shots the next morning, and Sam holding your hand when he’s anxious, or when you’re anxious—or both.

So, by the time you make it to the boys’ first show at the Garden, you’ve developed a routine.

The bus leaves by seven a.m. from the hotel in D.C. to get to New York by nine, nine-thirty-ish. You’re craving a sausage, egg, and cheese on a bagel from your favorite deli near where your mom lives, about an hour outside of the city.

So, you wake Jake up first, as he takes the longest to really wake up, and you’re sure you’ll have to shake him awake at least twice before he really gets up for the day. Then, you go to make sure Josh is up, and hear his shower going by the time you get to it. Good.

Then, you head to Sam, who is snoring away with Rosie. You almost don’t have the heart to wake him up. Almost. But Rosie senses your presence and stands up in bed, starting to lick his face. He groans, mumbling a soft, “I’m up, Rose, I know.” You feel good when you head over to Danny.

But thankfully, he’s already up. He’s in bed, writing in his notebook when you get there, sipping his coffee and all packed up for the road. His hair is tied up in a bun, and you’re entirely grateful that he’s so good at this whole thing.

Usually, you don’t need to wake each of them up, but every few shows, the five of you, as well as other crew members, indulge in the after party. And last night was your turn to be the D.R.O. Designated responsible one.

Eventually, you get all four of them downstairs and on the bus, no real difficulties. You all climb onto the bus and begin the drive to your home state. And you can hardly take the anticipation. Seeing your family again, visiting your favorite spots, and getting a homecooked meal was keeping you going. You had moved to California for school, before traveling on a few tours, and then settling for about a year in Nashville. But you ached for New York.

While your boys busied themselves with talk, games, and music, you stared out the window, biting your thumb and ignoring the reruns of Daredevil that played on your laptop in front of you. And apparently, you were bouncing your leg intensely, because the only thing that snapped you out of your thoughts was Rosie’s head on your thigh to relax you.

You scratched her head, sighing as you closed your computer, before glancing up to the boys, who had gone suspiciously quiet.

“What?” you asked, giving them a concerned look.

“You know we’ll make it to New York, right?” Sam asked, “You’ll be there soon.” He said, holding your hand, just like he always did when you were anxious.

“I know, I’m just—I miss home. And I love touring, and usually I’m never like this, but when I realized I’d be seeing my mom after months, I just... It made me start focusing a lot more on the fact that I miss it.”

You knew they’d get it. Michigan had been their home for years, and although they loved Nashville just like you did, you knew they left a part of themselves in Frankenmuth, just as you had in New York.

Danny tossed you a blanket, “Get some sleep, Sugar. You’ll need it.” he said softly. You nodded, too anxious and tired to argue any further than that. You cuddled up to Sam, Rosie finding her way in between your legs to further comfort you.

As you drifted off, you thought about your relationship with them. Things like Sam’s holding your hand and cuddling, Danny’s very often kisses to your forehead, Jake’s gentle hugs from behind, and Josh’s well—Josh’s everything, he’s a very affectionate young man—had been, for the most part, strictly platonic. You had thought about it. Kissing one of them, asking to break the professional lines of your relationship, however blurred those had become.

But it was more than that. Over the past few months of knowing them, it had developed from you getting them from place to place, into a softer, more tender relationship. The relationship you had formed with them was something you had been desperately lacking and needing. You had only realized that you missed it when you got it from them.

You were all real true soulmates.

You woke up to the sound of a loud series of honks and yelling from outside the bus. You peeked out of the window to see people screaming at each other, thousands of people making their way to work, and tall skyscrapers overhead.

“Jesus Christ, it smells like someone died!” Jake complained, as the rest of the boys agreed on the smell being horrid. It made you grin. You were home.

You stretched and pulled out your phone, checking the itinerary for the day that you had written out in your note’s app the night before. And you were right on schedule, since you accounted for traffic getting here. It was around noon, so you decided to head over to the hotel to get settled in before the show.

Except when you got there, the lady at the front desk informed you there were no rooms booked under the name you had given them. Which was insane, because you booked a room months ago knowing how expensive and unpredictable the city was.

So here you were, a show that night, with no hotel room, and a group of hungry twenty-something year olds. You were going to scream. And they could see it on you, your muscles tense, as you struggled to not start shaking.

Josh rested a hand on your arm, rubbing his thumb gently against it as he wrapped his other arm around your shoulders. “Deep breathes, Baby. You made that reservation; these guys are just a bunch of fucking fucks.” And it made you laugh, enough to relax you. You took another minute to think, before turning back to the rest of the guys.

“Okay, here’s the plan. We must be at the Garden for soundcheck and costumes, hair, and makeup by five thirty. We’ll go there now, drop off our bags and we can go grab pizza and garlic knots at this spot I know, good and are very cool with service dogs.” You said, unable to think of a scenario where you leave Rosie anywhere except with Sam. “While we’re there, I’ll make a call, since I think I know where we can stay if you guys don’t mind a bit of a drive after the show.” No one objected, they simply got back on the bus as instructed, and headed to enact that plan.

After dropping off your things and making it to the pizza place, you step outside for that call, telling Jake to just order you a soda. The phone rings. Once. Twice. And on the third call, your mom answers, excitedly saying your name.

“Where are you guys? Did you make it to the hotel okay?” she asks, and your face melts at the softness.

“Hey, Mom, we’re in the city, getting some lunch. Listen, the hotel messed up our reservation, and now we’re looking for a new place to stay... I know it’s last minute, but—” And before you can ask it, she cuts you off.

“Well, you five can stay here! We have the guest room, your room and your brother’s room.” She decides. “I’ll cook, do they like sausage and peppers?”

“Mom, you don’t have to, it’s gonna be late when we get in.”

“And you still need to eat. I’ll see you tonight, okay? I love you baby, break a leg tonight.” She advises, even though you aren’t the one preforming.

“Alright, I love you, mom.” You hang up and head back inside, settling into your seat next to Josh, just as the waitress comes back to take your order. “We’ll have a large cheese pizza with half mushrooms, please. And a dozen and a half garlic knots.” You say coolly, not giving the boys a chance at all. You love this restaurant. It’s best you order anyways.

They all stare at you for a few seconds before you smile. “You all get to meet my mom tonight.”

“Don’t you think we should have a couple of dates before we meet your mom?” Danny asks, and it makes you giggle.

“What do you think this is?” You tease.

Lunch goes really well, and after a bit of tourism and some drinks around the city, you make it to Madison Square Garden to get them ready for the show. For a brief few hours, you have a break. Usually, you spend it catching up on some work, having some quiet time, or anything of the sort. But this is their debut at the Madison Square Garden, in your hometown. You feel an obligation to watch the show.

Before the show begins, as Josh and Jake are getting their makeup done, you relax with Sam and Danny on a couch somewhere backstage. When Jake is done, he steals your phone off the table, and holds it up to take a photo of the three of you. Sam and Danny lean in and each kiss one of your cheeks, and it makes you roll your eyes for a second before you smile at the camera, letting them be all lovely dovey and affectionate, like a bunch of freaks. Your freaks.

When the show starts, you watch from the sidelines, cheering for them and generally enjoying the show, because you just know how important this is for them. And you eat it right up, watching your boys perform at a dream venue for so many artists.

Before they start Highway Tune, Josh starts speaking to the crowd. “This is a very special show for us. Our debut at The Garden. The Garden, how about that?” He hums. “And we’re also playing in our tour manager’s hometown... So, we have some special surprises for you in their honor.” The crowd goes wild, and your face flushes, giggling at the idea of them performing a special show just for you.

The show goes by quicker than you would like it to, because you’re enjoying it too much. And you’re really understanding suddenly why so many people are down bad for them online. They look really fucking good. When they get off stage, you just want to cling onto them or make out with them or worse, and then they go back on for the encore and it leaves you longing, wanting for more.

What the fuck is happening to you?

You get caught up in this feeling to the point where the next hour or two—Waiting for the crowds to clear out, for them to get undressed, for the bus to get there—fly by, and before you know it, you’re in the bus again, heading to your moms. Josh lays his head on your lap, and Sam has found himself cuddled up against you. Danny is leaning against Jake across from you, and Jake is just staring at you. He has a familiar look in his eyes, and you just stare back.

When you make it to your home, while all the houses are dark and quiet, the kitchen and living room light is on when you make it to your home. The bus driver has family in the area, so he’ll stay with them for the night, and pick you up early on Thursday Morning, giving you all a break from the crazy travel days.

Your mom is in the kitchen when you come in, having late night coffee and tea with your stepdad. She hears you come in and gets excited, greeting you all at the door. She pulls you in for a hug and a kiss, holding onto you for a little while, just excited to see you. When she pulls away, she grins at the boys.

“And who are these lovely young men?” she asks, teasingly.

In a deadpan voice, you respond, “The cokehead rockstars I’ve been traveling with. I’m their groupie.” You say, and she scoffs at your sarcasm.

Josh smiles, “That’s us, Baby!” He opens his arms to your mom, and she gladly hugs him as a greeting, despite this being their first meeting. And there it is again, that aching feeling you had, when you watched them perform tonight, the same feeling that followed you home. After hugs and introductions, you’re all at the dinner table, gobbling down the dinner your mom made for you. You can almost cry, enjoying the taste of her cooking after months without it.

And the boys enjoy it too, loving a filling meal after a busy show. When you have all finished eating, you make your way up to your respective rooms. You stick Danny and Sam in the guest room, Jake sleeps in your brother’s room, and Josh in your bed, with you. You could almost die.

You take out your earrings and then you lay down. Your arms are exposed, showing off the tattoos you have once more. Josh sleeps in his boxers and a tee shirt, even though your room is chilly. He lays next to you and begins tracing his fingers over your tattoos.

“What’s this one?” he asks, tracing over a ghost that’s on your forearm, right above your elbow.

“Got it during the final show of Phoebe’s tour. She has a similar one somewhere, and I guess it was my way of commemorating the tour.” You explain. He hums, and moves to a different one, asking you the origin of that one. This goes on for a while, before you kiss his palm and tell him to get some sleep.

He falls asleep quickly, and you just stare at him through the darkness. ‘Are you dreaming of me?’ You want to ask, a hand reaching out to run your hands through those vicious curls. Before you know what, you’re doing, you cuddle up to him, laying your head on his chest. When you feel his arms wrapped around you, you begin to drift off, confident that you did not overstep any boundaries.

When the morning strikes, you get up and realize Josh is still asleep. You wiggle out of his arms and leave the room. You must be lost in thought because you bump flat into someone without even noticing. It’s Danny. His hair is wrapped up in a towel, and he only wears a towel around his waist.

He reminds you of that one video of Slash from the golden age of Guns N Roses, and it stirs something deep inside of you.

But he just chuckles and kisses your forehead gently. “Hey, sweets.” he says softly, in that raspy morning voice.

“Good morning.” You respond. “Sorry for interrupting.”

“You didn’t interrupt anything; you don’t have to apologize.” He advises. “See you downstairs.” You take a cold shower just to get out of your own head before heading downstairs, where you meet your mom, Jake, Sam, and Danny laughing and eating French toast, as your stepdad cooks in the kitchen.

You love his French toast, but a pang of disappointment hits you as you think about your sausage, egg and cheese on a bagel, with hashbrowns. You quickly eat to dissipate any of those needs. But you’ve been talking about that sandwich for months, so it haunts you.

The rest of the day, you spend pretty much doing nothing. You nap, lounge, and catch up with your mom. It’s the perfect day. Just you, your mom, and your boys. And of course, Rosie. Your mom makes pulled pork sliders for lunch, and you order Chinese food for dinner. Real, good Long Island Chinese food.

And really, the day is over before you really want It to be. Sam asks you to join him on walking Rosie. You happily oblige, planning on taking him to get ice cream along the way. He has his arm wrapped around your shoulders, and you keep your head leant against his shoulder. Rosie trots in front of you happily.

“I could get used to this.” He says suddenly.

“Huh?” It catches you off guard. What does that mean?

“This. The quiet life. Walking my dog in the suburbs...” He says shyly. You get the sense there’s something on the tip of his tongue and you long for him to say it. “I love touring, but these domestic moments... You can’t beat ‘em.” He decides.

You want to kiss him so badly.

Instead, you just hum, and snuggle closer to him, wondering what the hell you’re doing. And that’s a super valid question.

The night goes the same as the last, except you kiss your mom and stepdad goodnight, not wanting them to have to get up in the morning to say goodbye. You suspect your mom will anyways. And she does. As the boys file out of the house, she’s handing them homecooked meals for the road, and you give her one more hug and kiss goodbye, before heading to the bus yourself. The others are on the bus, but Jake stands there, his hands behind his back. You narrow your eyes to him suspiciously.

“You’re an amazing tour manager, you know that?” He says gently.

“Yes, I do. What are you scheming at?” You ask, not totally trusting him.

He just grins as he reveals a brown bag he’s holding, handing it to you. Your confusion only grows as you take the bag and open it only to smell the best thing you have had in months.

A sausage, egg, and cheese on a bagel. With hashbrowns. From your favorite deli.

You almost scream.

“What?!” You gasp, “How did you—”

“I borrowed your mom’s car this morning and got it for you.”

“You didn’t have to do that...”

“Yeah, I did. I meant what I said. You hold us together, and we couldn’t be more grateful. Plus, you’ve been talking about this sandwich for months and—” You don’t let him finish. You kiss him. It’s full of all this pent-up passion you’ve held in, and Jake just wraps his arms around you, deepening the kiss. He wanted this just as much as you did, you realized. Your arms wrapped around his neck as you both lean into the kiss, fully enjoying the moment. Then, he pulls away, saying your name quietly.

You don’t know what to say. Then, the bus honks twice, scaring the shit out of you.

“C’mon you two! We got things to do, you sorry shits!” Josh yells. You can only laugh before you both climb onto the bus. Now, a new lust has overcome you. The lust for the sandwich you hold in your hands.

The lust for the four boys that surround you doesn’t dissipate either.

But as you head for Boston, your boys in tow, your shift as Greta Van Fleet’s tour manager begins once more, and you resume your position easily.

Until Sam kisses your neck. Then you melt again.

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inwintersolitude · 11 months

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- July 17th 2023 -

What's on your to-do list for today? Not much. Just some housework - I need to load/run the dishwasher, vacuum, and get caught up on my expense tracking spreadsheet.

Do you ever watch movies or TV in bed? Do you use a laptop or do you have a TV? Nope.

What's your favourite thing to cook for house guests? Creamy Tuscan chicken, or penne pasta with roasted zucchini and tomato sauce.

What sort of music did you grow up listening to? Did your parents have a big influence on your music taste today? My mom is a classical pianist so I grew up listening to mostly classical, and also some jazz because my parents took a liking to it when we lived in the New Orleans area in the early 90s. And my dad likes classic prog rock so I listened to a bit of that as well. Classical and classic prog/psychedelic rock are still some of my favorite genres.

Do you remember your dreams? Usually.

Are you at home right now? Yep. I'm in the downstairs bedroom that we use as a bird room. I have a mini portable/collapsible desk that I set up when I want to bring my laptop in here from my study and chill with my birds.

When was the last time it rained where you live? About 10 minutes ago. A thunderstorm just passed through.

Do you think you have a diverse vocabulary? Yes, I'd say so.

Have you ever eaten pawpaw? I've had papaya (I've read that some parts of the world call that pawpaw, I'm not sure if that's what you meant), but I've never eaten what people in the U.S./Canada call pawpaw, that's a different type of tree fruit that's really obscure and not usually cultivated/eaten.

What was the last art or crafts project you worked on? Macro nature photography.

Do you know anyone who's been bitten by a snake? Nope, not that I know of.

What's a slang word or term that's specific to your neck of the woods? For me, in Australia, I would say "old mate" or "frothing" :D Ope! It's the most Midwestern word ever lol. It's an exclamation of mild surprise, and in some uses it's also kind of politely apologetic. Sort of like a mashup of ''oops'' and ''woah!'' and ''pardon me.'' Like if I accidentally bumped into someone I'd say ''Ope, sorry, I didn't see you there!'' Or if I had misplaced something and then suddenly found it I'd say ''Ope, there it is!''

Do you know how to ice skate? When was the last time you went, if ever? Barely. I think the last time I went was in 2008-ish? I vaguely remember going to my university's ice area with some friends but I can't remember if I joined them in skating or not. If not, then the last time actually skated was at my 10th birthday party.

Dogs or cats? You must pick one! I honestly can't decide! So much of it depends on the individual animal and its temperament. I like well-behaved and calm dogs more than most cats, but I like most cats more than neurotic/needy/high-strung dogs.

Are there any animals or creatures that scare you? Just spiders and centipedes. And scorpions but I've never seen one in real life.

Do you like watermelon? Yes I love watermelon.

Is your backyard or outdoor year tidy or messy? It's tidy, except for the garden hose in the back yard that's just kind of laying there rather than on a reel.

Have you ever played organised team sports, like in a league? Yep, all throughout my childhood. I played soccer from ages 5-10, and softball from ages 5-13.

What are you insecure about? My teeth, sort of. My tooth enamel didn't develop properly, it was a side effect of antibiotics I had to be on as a baby, because of a birth defect that caused frequent kidney/bladder infections. I want to get veneers but I need to get my TMJ issues and slight overbite fixed first. I had orthodontics when I was growing up but the orthodontist failed to address my malocclusion and made it worse.

Okay, what are you secure about then? Who I am. My personality and sense of self.

What's your favourite kind of puzzle? Sudoku puzzles, or nonogram puzzles.

Do you ever use the bathroom with the door open? Yep. I usually only use the en suite bathroom in my bedroom (so that I can keep the downstairs guest bathroom cleaner for longer), so it's no biggie if I keep the door open.

When was the last time you took an elevator, and where were you? A few months ago, at my doctor's office.

What last made you feel sad? Seeing my Granddad deal with dementia. And seeing how it affects my Granny.

Have you ever received a gift hamper? What did it contain? I have, but it's been so long since I got one of those that I don't remember what was in it.

Are you using a phone, laptop, desktop or tablet right now? Maybe something else entirely? Laptop.

What sort of movies do you tend to watch? I don't watch movies super often, but I like science fiction, psychological thrillers, and historical dramas.

What colours are you wearing today? Navy blue, black, and white.

How often do you use your microwave? What did you last put in it? Not very often, maybe like once a week? I think the last thing I put in there were some of the leftovers that I brought back from dinner at my parent's house last Wednesday.

Who's the last person you messaged and what did you say? My husband. I sent ''You're sweet 🥰"

#survey #surveys #random questions #personal blog

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rawiswhore · 1 year

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Rob Van Dam x Fem Reader- "Pussycat Doll"

The Pussycat Dolls will mostly always be remembered as that oversexualized girl group that sang that "Don't Cha wish your girlfriend was hot like me" song.

But before the Pussycat Dolls were a girl group, they started off as a burlesque act, which really shouldn't be surprising considering if you've looked at the PCD's music videos.

What made the Pussycat Dolls a unique burlesque act is not only were they bringing back burlesque back to this current era, but they weren't stereotypical old fashioned burlesque.

Not to mention, the Pussycat Dolls burlesque show didn't involve women taking their clothes off and had female celebrities as Pussycat Dolls, singing songs.

Female celebrities that were Pussycat Dolls were Carmen Electra, Christina Aguilera, Christina Applegate, Paris Hilton, Charlize Theron, Gwen Stefani, and Brittany Murphy.

There was a moment in the 2003 "Charlie's Angels" movie where the Angels are Pussycat Dolls in the burlesque show.

And you were one of the many female celebrities who was a Pussycat Doll in the early 2000's.

You became famous for being a WWF/E diva and wrestling valet, and when you worked as a Pussycat Doll, you asked some current WWE divas at the time if they'd like to be in the Pussycat Dolls burlesque show.

Stacy Keibler no doubt would love to be a Pussycat Doll, considering she grew up singing and dancing, and she's the type who definitely would be a Pussycat Doll, considering she was more of an eye candy diva and valet rather than wrestler.

Despite that Lita was a bassist for a band before becoming a professional wrestler and eventually became the lead singer of a punk rock band, Lita didn't really want to be a part of the PCD Burlesque Show, considering she turned down offers to pose for Playboy due to her wanting to be a role model for girls, and even when Lita did that "live sex celebration" with Edge in 2006, she didn't want to do that.

She also criticized those "cheesecake photoshoots" the WWE/F made their women's division do in the 2000's.

When you were a part of the Pussycat Dolls burlesque show in 2002, many male professional wrestlers that you were enamored with (and not enamored with) visited the show.

Those male professional wrestlers that visited and watched these performances were Scott Hall, Shawn Michaels, Chris Jericho, Christian Cage, Nova from ECW (who would later become Simon Dean in the WWE), Raven, Triple H and Rob Van Dam.

Those especially were male pro wrestlers you were in lust with the most.

You've invited many male pro wrestlers you've been in lust with (as well as have sex with) to watch you and others perform in the Pussycat Dolls burlesque show, not to mention some male pro wrestlers you've never had sex with visited the PCD burlesque act.

On Rob Van Dam's birthday on December 18th, 2002, Rob attended a Pussycat Dolls burlesque show that had you in it.

Rob sat in a seat in front of the stage, and you performed for him.

During your performance, you wore a bra with a matching tight micro miniskirt that was short enough for your underwear to be exposed.

In this performance, you sang Peggy Lee's classic signature song "Fever" to him.

As you sang the opening lines to him, you made eye contact with him, you sang the song sultrily, sexily and seductively, like you were specifically singing it for him.

And you were.

RVD in general gives you fever and has been since you've discovered him.

Your performance to Rob involved you running your fingers back through your hair sometimes to act sultry.

You slowly sauntered closer to the front of the stage as you sang the first lyrics to the song, approaching closer to where Rob was sitting.

Rob watched you with this faint little smile and smirk on his face with his hands folded in his lap.

Rob wore a popular style of a short sleeved button down shirt that men and even underage boys wore in the early 2000's.

One special part in your performance to him was when you turned your body around until your back was in front of him, your arms resting on this long bar as these Pussycat Doll dancers were stretching their legs up.

You also bent the upper half of your body (i.e. your head and torso) forward as you rested your forearms on that bar.

While your arms were resting on that bar, your ass shook back and forth to the beat of the bongos during a part where you weren't singing.

When you stuck your ass out as you shook your ass back and forth, you had a black thong underneath your short miniskirt, your thong covering your vulva.

The audience as well as Rob saw your panties and your bare ass cheeks, and many male fans in the audience gave you a "Woooooooooo!!!", although not saying it like Ric Flair, and a few of them were even making those cheesy wolf whistles at you.

Some of them were even clapping their hands.

Many of these people watching your performance's eyes grew wide and their eyebrows raised, and Rob's eyes grew wide too, although these people should expect you to perform something like this and so should Rob.

You swaying your ass back and forth to the beat of those bongos was inspired by Christina Aguilera's performance of "Fever" when she was a Pussycat Doll, where

You then turned your body around until your torso and navel were shown in front of the audience, removing your forearms off of that bar when you turned around.

You then began singing the third verse to "Fever", where you slowly sauntered and strolled closer to the front of the stage, where Rob Van Dam was standing.

Rob, meanwhile, was getting a major erection underneath his pants that he was hiding.

He was feeling like the luckiest person in the world right now.

Once you were close enough to where he was sitting, you sat down on his lap, straddling his lap with his legs in between your legs.

Many people in the audience turned their heads and looked at you sitting in Rob's lap, and Rob was taken by surprise, his face lighting up and his eyebrows raising higher while his eyes grew wide.

While managing to hold a microphone near your mouth and sing at the same time, one of your hands unbuttoned each button of his shirt all the way down to the bottom.

Now that is talent.

Rob's eyes followed his shirt getting unbuttoned with each button, his mouth keeping a smirk as he watched the buttons separating from the holes.

You wish you could have maybe 3 arms so one hand can hold a microphone for you to sing in while the other unbuttons his shirt and another hand strokes his chest.

Then again, you can wear one of those headbands with microphones attached like Britney Spears used to wear.

You even tried swaying your hips back and forth on his lap while you undid each button of his shirt, and your eyes, too, followed down to the bottom of his shirt while you unbuttoned each hole.

When his shirt was completely unbuttoned, your fingers let go of the last button and your hand moved to his chest, where your hand stroked and caressed across the side of his chest, your hand pushing and shoving away one part of his shirt away.

For a while, you rolled and gyrated your pelvis back and forth on his lap, giving him a lapdance in the process.

Soon, you turned and rotated your body around until your back was in front of his torso and chest this time.

With your head turned sideways, you began to roll and gyrate your hips and body down until you were squatting in between his ankles, singing the rest of "Fever" as you rolled your hips down.

Rob's legs were spread apart during your lapdance to him.

You could feel his erection underneath his slacks when you performed this lapdance to him.

Eventually, you raised yourself up and walked away from Rob, where you got back on stage and continued to perform for him.

When you were a Pussycat Doll in the year 2002, you sang and performed for Scott Hall--the former Razor Ramon---and Raven from ECW and WCW on their birthdays and gave them a lapdance as well.

#rob van dam #pussycat dolls #2002 #2000s #00s #birthday #happy birthday #rvd

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felassan · 4 years

Text

Mass Effect development insights and highlights from Bioware: Stories and Secrets from 25 Years of Game Development

This is the Mass Effect version of this post.

[In case you can’t read it the subtitle in the bottom left logo above is “Guardians of the Citadel”]

Note: Drug use is mentioned.

Cut for length.

Mass Effect 1

ME began its life in a vision document in fall 2003

Codenamed “SFX”

Conceived of by Casey Hudson and a core team from KotOR. Its genesis was the intention to create an epic sci-fi RPG in an original setting that BioWare owned (so they could have full creative control), and in a setting that was conceived of first and foremost as a video game

Initially players could control any squadmate, but they wanted it to be about Shep and for players to be focused on Shep being a battlefield commander, rather than on switching bodies

By the start of 2004 its story was shaping up. Initially humans landed on Mars in 2250 and discovered evidence of an ancient alien race and a powerful substance, Black Sand, which rapidly advanced tech to the point that FTL travel was possible. (My note: obviously now the Prothean artifacts on Mars & associated mass effect force tech enabled this in the final canon, but I wonder if aspects of the ‘Black Sand’ naming-type & powerful substance stuff was rolled into red sand from final canon) Humans were suddenly capable of travel to multiple star systems and made contact with a multitude of other species. At the start of the first game, these species together with humans had a fragile peace, with focus placed on the political center of the galaxy, a hub known as Star City, later renamed the Citadel

Multiplayer was a vision for the series as far back as 2003. The plan was for ME1, an Xbox exclusive at launch, to take advantage of the platform’s online components. Early designs saw players meeting in one of the central hubs to interact and trade items in their otherwise SP adventures

By 2006 it had the name ME and the story was more specific, with the theme of conflict between organic and synthetic lifeforms. The story’s scope now stretched across 3 games and included scope for full co-op MP

They tried to do MP in every game, discussing it from the get-go, but it always just fell by the wayside. “When you’re trying to build something that is a new IP, on a new platform, with a new engine, you’ve got to really focus on the core elements of the game.”

The conversation system prototype was made in Jade Empire, and some of ME’s earliest writing was done in an old JE build. At first there was no conversation wheel. Paragon was “Friendly” and Renegade “Hostile”. In the prototype Shep was a silent unnamed Spectre. Many conversations in the prototype about the player’s choice in smuggling a weapon through Noveria made it into the game

In said prototype a merchant referred to themselves as “this one”, though the word hanar never appeared. The PC in it also had the option to end a conversation with “I should go”. In the prototype also, Harkin was voiced by Mark Meer

An early version of the Mako got used as the krogan truck in ME2

Early concepts of the Citadel were drawn in pencil by CH. A piece of concept art of its final design was painted based on a photo of a sculpture near Aswan, Egypt

As with any new IP naming it was a struggle. They put out a call to all staff for ideas, did polls, made a name generator that combined words that they liked in random ways and made pretend logos of ones they liked in Photoshop to see if they could make themselves love the name or find visual potential in it. (Some of these names are in the pic at the top of this post.) CH liked “Unearthed” as it was a reference to Prothean ruins dug up on Mars and humanity’s ascendance going away from Earth. They knew the game would have a central space station featuring prominently so some of the ideas were based on that - “The Citadel”, “The Optigon”, “The Oculon”. “Element” was another one they had in mind due to the rare substance in the game

CH: “I was a big fan of John Harris’ book Mass, which had epic-scaled sci-fi ideas, so that was a word that came up often. Many of the names came from the idea that the IP featured a fifth fundamental physical force (in addition to the known four of gravitational, electromagnetic, strong nuclear and weak nuclear) so the word ‘effect’ came up pretty often.” Ultimately none of the ideas really felt right. One Monday morning they were going over the names and Greg Zeschuk said he had an idea on the weekend: “Mass Effect!” CH: “I said, ‘I don’t hate it’, which in the naming process is a high compliment. And it stuck!”

CH on Shep’s Prothean vision from the beacon: “It was hard to imagine how we would do this. CG was - and is - really expensive. Instead I wanted to try doing it through photography and video editing. So I went to a local grocery store and bought a few packages of the weirdest looking meat that I could find. Then I set up a little photoshoot in my basement, complete with some electronics parts and some red wine for juicyness.” He used these props to create a video sequence where the photos were rapidly cycled and blurred, along with production paintings, to create the scary vision an organic/machine experiment on the Protheans. These mashups were also used as inspiration for concept artists and level designers who were working on these themes

Tali used to be called Talsi

On the licensing side they often joke that they’re licensing N7 not “Mass Effect” due to N7′s popularity

There was a confidential internal guide to the IP in 2007 to help devs along and summarize/synthesize the vision etc. Some excerpts from it are shown in the book and this is the first time the public have ever seen them

Early versions of Asari had hair

Asari were designed as a nod to classic TV sci-fi (with human actors wearing obvious makeup and prosthetics to play aliens)

The turian design guideline was “we want them to be birds of prey”. They also wanted a range of alien types, some close to human like Asari, while others were to be a lot further away, like turians

BioWare patented the conversation wheel, which was a first for them. CH had been frustrated with reviews of Jade Empire that said that the actioncentric game was too wordy [with its list dialogue]. “I’m like, story is words. [...] What is it about our games that is making people feel like they’re wordy?” Then he thought “In a game you kind of need to feel like you’re continuing to play it. Maybe you should continue feeling like you’re playing it actively into the dialogue.” “[The wheel] kind of gave a new experience with dialogue when you did start to react based on emotion, and that’s ultimately what we’re trying to bring out in our games”

The original krogan concept was based on a bat “with a really wide squidgy face. We just used its face on top of this weird body and it kinda worked”

Geth musculature was based on fiber-optic cables, with flexible plates of armor attached

The vision for the IP was 80s sci-fi inspired space opera

The concept art of Saren lifting Shep by the throat inspired a similar scene in-game. The staging wasn’t planned til designers saw that art

A squadmate with Shepard on the way to meet Ash in an old storyboard was called Carter. Early name of Kaidan or Jenkins?

Bono from U2 was kinda instrumental in bringing us ME lol

Finding the right cover art for ME1 was notably tricky

Matt Rhodes got his start drawing helmets for ME1, including one which would become Shep’s “second face”. He estimates he drew between 250-270 different ones

Some of the sounds in-game were people smashing watermelons with sledgehammers and sticking fists into various goos

The audio team had fun trying to slip the iconic main theme into unexpected places throughout the MET. “We were very aware of how powerful that track was for the fans and it was tempting to overuse it for any moment we wanted to make really emotional”.

The theme was creatively repurposed in ME3: slowed down and reworked as the ambient sound for the SR-2. “If you listen to it for a really long time, just stand in the Normandy and listen, you’ll actually hear the notes change slowly. It doesn’t sound like music, it sounds like a background ambiance, but it’s there.” (My note: Well no wonder the Normandy feels so much like home?? 😭 sneaky..)

Bug report: “Mako Tornado”. There wasn’t enough friction between the tires and the ground, causing testers to lose control of the vehicle and send it spinning into the air like a tornado. “As it turns, the front end comes up, and then it starts spinning and spinning and spinning and spinning faster and faster and faster until it just flies up in the sky” (My note: Sounds like a regular day in the Mako to me)

Cerberus originally had a bigger role in this game. It was cut but they had a whole explorable outpost. “I called it Misery,” says Mac Walters, “It was this planet with a little outpost that said ‘Welcome to Misery’”. Everything on the outpost was shit - dirty worn stuff, no windows, no kitchen, the vehicle bay was open to the elements etc

The Reaper sound is literal garbage. Some audio designers went on a recording trip to a national park. One of them got fixated on a garbage can, “a metal bear-proof receptacle with a heavy lid that creaked horribly when opened”. “It was like, ominous, spooky, tonal and almost musical. I decided to throw a mic into the garbage and record it moving. I didn’t know what it was going to be until later”

They were making lots of noises to record like throwing logs and rocks around. An old couple peered at them through the window of their camper van in the woods and must have called the cops because then the cops showed up, pulled them over and told them to stop. The cops towed their car (the driver’s plates were Cali plates and expired), drove them to Edmonton outskirts and then the audio producer Shauna got a call and had to go pick them up “like three little boys”. “We got a stern talking to”. Once back they were playing around with the garbage sound, editing it etc. Casey heard it and proclaimed “That’s the sound of the Reapers”

Preston Watamaniuk: “There are things I could have done to Mass 1 to make it an infinitely better game with better UIs” and some simple cuts and changes. “But when you’re living with it, it’s very hard to see those things”

BioWare Labs

As social media and smartphone games exploded, BioWare dedicated a small team dedicated to exploring opportunities here - BioWare Labs

Mass Effect: Galaxy used a unique graphic art style and static visual presentation common in visual novels. It has the distinction of being the only iOS game BW have made during their first 25 years

Scrapped ideas were a 3rd person space shooter called Mass Effect: Corsair and 2 DA titles - a strategy game and a top-down dungeon crawler starring young Wynne. (My note: Maybe the corsairs stuff was rolled into Jacob’s backstory in 2, the Alliance Corsairs)

Corsair was a very short-lived project that never got its feet under it. It was a spin-off on Nintendo DS featuring a behind-the-ship perspective and branching dialogue. At one point it had MP. The idea behind it was basically “ME: Freelancer” - fly your ship around, do missions, get credits. It had a limited branching story but was a gameplay-centered experience intended to fill the gap between ME1 and 2. That gap ended up being filled by Galaxy

Galaxy and Corsair’s smaller screen allowed concept artists to use bold colors and a simplistic character design style to help those games stand out from Shep’s story

Nick Thornborrow did some art for Corsair but was worried his art style didn’t fit ME. He moved to DA where he feels his art style fits better

Lots of BioWare VAs and even a lead writer and the VO director are drawn from Edmonton’s local community theater scene, which is vibrant. Think this is how Mark Meer got involved

Mass Effect 2

Player choices carrying over was a first for BW

Dirty Dozen-inspired plot

Its plot is a web of conditionals (see Suicide Mission)

Was more of a shooter than anything BW had made since Shattered Steel

There was 2 camps on the team, those who wanted to push combat and systems forward and redefine the ME experience and those who wanted to make a true sequel, with the same gameplay and systems but a new story. Karin Weekes: “I think it ended up being a good push-pull. It felt like a pretty healthy creative conflict”

“ME2 was a game you could hold up to someone who argues that games aren’t a serious medium and go ‘Oh yeah, then why is Martin Sheen in this?’” Sheen was their first pick for TIM

The idea for TIM came from a mash-up of concepts CH had collected over the years. The name “Illusive” originally came from his pitch for naming DAO’s Eclipse engine, a word inspired by Obi-Wan’s line “It’s not about the mission, Master. It’s something... elsewhere. Elusive”. “I thought, what if we called our next engine 'Elusive', but used an ‘I’, and then it’s like ‘Illusion’. [...] I still really like the word with an ‘I’ and what it conjures”

When ME1 DLC was in production, CH had been watching a lot of CNN, specifically Anderson Cooper. “How is one guy travelling to all these places and never looking tired and always being able to speak with clarity?” CH says it seemed almost superhuman. “What if there was someone who is the absolute maximum of the things you would aspire to be, but also the worst of humanity?” Cooper, though not evil, became an inspiration for TIM down to the gray hair and piercing blue eyes

Inspiration for TIM’s behind-the-scenes role pulling political strings came from Jack Bauer’s brother Graem in 24. Graem “can call up the president and tell him what to do and hang up, because he’s so connected and so influential”. Sheen had played a president and his performance brought gravitas and wisdom to the role. He had quit smoking, but the character smokes. He didn’t want to fake it, but he also didn’t want to smoke, “so he actually asked for a cigarette” to hold so he could stop his words to take drags with natural cadence

Writing was still pushing to write and revise lines hours before VO started. A series of problems like injury and some writers leaving for other opportunities left it so that Karin, Lukas Kristjanson and editor Cookie Everman hand to land the story safely, with PW helping where they could. Lukas: “We took over the writing bug and task list, and I can’t stress enough how much [Karin and Cookie] did to get ME2 out the door. There’s no part of that thing we didn’t touch”. Karin: “That was the most dramatic 2 weeks of my life”

Initial fan reaction when they started promo-ing ME2 was very negative because people didn’t want to know about new chars like Jack and Mordin. “[fans were like] ‘Get them out of here. We want our characters from the first game’. But then when they played them, those became some of the most popular chars [of the series]”

Concept art of Thane has an idea annotation saying “Face can shapeshift?”

At one point when designing Thane concept artists sent multiple variations of him to the team asking them to vote on which was the most attractive

Most of the Normandy crew was written by lead level designer Dusty Everman. Lukas gave him advice in the evenings between bugs

BioWare Montreal made ME2 and 3 cinematics

CC for Shep was based on tools used by char designers to create in-game chars. Under the hood similar tools existed to create aliens

Aliens were much easier to animate than humans. When something is human it’s very difficult to make it look realistic and you can see all the mistakes and everything

Over the holiday period in 2007 CH worked out a diagram on a single piece of paper that would define the entire scope and structure of the game. The diagram is included in the book

Bug report: “I shot a krogan so hard that his textures fell off”. At one point shotgun blast damage was applied to each of the pellets fired, and shot enemies ended up with just the default checkerboard Unreal texture on them after their textures got blown off

Blasto was meant to be 1 step above an Easter egg but his fan popularity prompted them to bring him back in ME3

They rewrote chunks of Jack 2 days before she went to VO. She was the only one they could change because all the other NPCs were recorded. They redesigned her mission by juggling locked NPC lines and changing Shep’s reactions by rewriting text paraphrases to change the context of the already-recorded VO

Lukas snuck obscure nods ito ME2′s distress calls. In the general distress call for the Hugo Gernsback, there’s BW’s initial’s and Edmonton’s phone number backwards. In a fault in a beacon protocol there’s the initials and backward phone number from Tommy Tutone’s “Jenny”. In 2 other general distress calls there’s initials and numbers from Glenn Miller Orchestra’s “Pennsylvania 6-5000″ and initials and numbers from Geddy Lee and Rush’s “2112″ respectively

Mass Effect 3

“The end of an era marks the beginning of another”

ME3 “marked the end of Shep’s story”

Saying bye to Shep was as difficult for devs as it was for players

JHale’s final VO session included Anderson’s death and romanced Garrus’ goodbye. “We were in the session and we both just started crying”, Caroline says. “I couldn’t come on the line to give her notes because I was crying, and she was crying. And so there was just this minute-long pause of like, nothing, nothing, nothing - just silence through the airwaves. And then I came on and just told her that I was crying and she said ‘I’m crying!’” They talked about these anecdotes also here on the N7 Day reunion panel

The Microsoft Kinect voice support required devs to teach Kinect hundreds of commands in a variety of accents across multiple languages. The result was useful but made for some awkward moments. Numerous players accidentally said “geth” or “quarian” while making a particular decision and accidentally killed Tali

MP chars were voiced by cops and military people

The helmet on one of the MP chars was originally designed for cancelled project Revolver

The payload device at the end needed to attach to the Citadel while essentially serving as a giant trigger. “It ended up becoming quite the engineering feet just to visualize how this thing would move and connect to the Citadel”

Concept artists explored creating an anti-team, where Kai Leng was almost an anti-Shepard essentially, with an elite squad to counteract your team. This idea never went beyond concept phase

ME3 Special Edition was released on Nintendo Wii U exclusively. This exclusive version of the game includes Genesis 2 (a sequel to the original Genesis comic) and unique gameplay features that took advantage of the touchscreen GamePad. For years Sonic Chronicles: Dark Brotherhood had had the honor of being BW’s only game made for a Nintendo console

FemShep regrettably didn’t feature in major ME marketing til ME3. Later releases like DAI, MEA and Anthem have taken increasing care not to gender their protagonists in cover art

To capture combat sounds they took a trip to CFB Wainwright, a military base southeast of Edmonton. They got a big tour of it and were allowed to record anything they could find. The tour ended with them getting to drive and shoot tanks (real shells). The force of doing that sent waves through Joel Green, he felt his whole chest compress when it went off; the perfect sound for the Black Widow! After the trip the soldiers let him keep the shell he fired and it’s been passed on like a torch to various devs since

Kakliosaurs began life as a joke in the writers’ room after John Dombrow placed a Grunt figure on a t-rex toy he had on his desk. Lore was brainstormed to justify the mash-up before someone asked, “Why don’t we put this in the game?” They loved it so much Karin had custom coffee mugs made

Bug report: For a while Tali’s final romance scene would fire when she was supposed to be dead

“Balancing combat: how designers in ME3 entered an ‘arms race’” - the solution to players feeling OP vs players feeling frustrated by really strong enemies is to find a good middle ground, but for designers Corey Gaspur and Brenon Holmes, it was war. Brenon designed enemies, Corey designed guns. Corey “was obsessed with bigger, heavier guns. We had this sort of informal competition where he’d make this crazy overturned gun that would just murder all the enemies, and then I tuned some stuff up to compensate”

Brenon had to invent new ways to “stop Corey” and this led to the Phantoms. Corey had in turn designed consumable rockets that could wipe out entire waves of enemies. He must’ve figured this would make short work of Brenon’s space ninjas, but Brenon had other plans: “I had just added the ability for her to cut rockets [when Corey was playing MP and he was watching]. She cut the rocket in half... Corey just turns and looks at me and is like: ‘Really dude? I just shot a rocket at this Phantom and she’s fine? Not even damaged? Zero damage?’”

This friendly rivalry helped elevate ME3′s gameplay. Corey had a knack for making a gun feel so good to fire it had his fellow designers scrambling to keep up. It was his version of balancing. Before Corey sadly passed away he mentored Boldwin Li in all things weapon design and the arms race continued

Corey designed the Arc Pistol. It was causing problems for enemies because it was too powerful. It seemed hell bent on staying that way, Boldwin would tune down all its stats and it was still doing 3x the damage it should have been doing. “I was like ‘What the hell?’, and then I looked closer. It secretly fired 3 bullets for every pull of the trigger! Corey, you sneaky jerk”

The day it launched there were midnight launch parties across North America including one near the BW building. Numerous devs sat at long tables greeting fans and signing autographs as the fans picked up preorders. When midnight struck the line was long enough that it took several hours for some fans to get their game. One particular fan is remembered: “It was 3am. Some guy drove up from Calgary with his friends. He was like one of the last people in line. I think he was sort of tired-drunk. He threw himself across the tables, pulled up his shirt and shouted ‘Guys, sign my abs!’ And like I did, because he waited so long. It felt impolite not to. So I hope he enjoyed his copy of ME3″

For designing Protheans concept artists had free reign to design something that read as ancient

Before the concept art team had the story of the game to work toward, they explored wild ideas of their own including an image of the crew stealing back the Normandy to go after the Reapers

Jen Cheverie was testing scenes and was initially excited to be testing Mordin scenes, til she saw she was testing the Renegade version of his death. “This is even before like all of the audio and everything was in, so you didn’t even have the sad music. I remember sitting at my desk and my hands just went to my face when I saw that the gun Shep pulls on Mordin is the gun he gives Shep in ME2. I burst into tears and was crying for the rest of the day. People are waving to me as they walk by and I’m like, ‘It’s ok, I’m just killing my best friend’”

There’s a segment called “Shepard’s story ends”. Casey on the ending: “There’s a whole bunch of things that come together to make it incredibly tense and emotional for players. I think the biggest one was the sense of finality, that whatever it was that happened in that very last moment... was it.”

Wrapping up the story was a massive feat. In a way all of ME3 is an ending. Its final moments were the players’ last with a char they’d been with all the way from Eden Prime

“And while the critical reception of the game was extremely positive, many fans were unsatisfied with the ending, which became one of the most controversial in the history of games.” CH: “We were, on one hand, at the end of a marathon trying to finish the game and the series. But as devs we also knew that there would be more. We knew that we would continue to tell the story. In retrospect, we didn’t fully appreciate the tremendous sense of finality that it would have for people”. He envisioned an ending that posed new questions, something in the tradition of high sci-fi that left players dreaming about what that particular galaxy’s future could hold. “Frankly, there’s a lot more that we could have and should have done to honor the work players put in, to give them a stronger sense of reward and closure”

AAA games are massive undertakings with a million moving parts. Somehow they come together but even the best-planned projects don’t turn out quite like devs hope. From start to end video game production is a series of compromises. It’s rare if not impossible for devs to ship a game they’re entirely happy with. “I think that people imagine that when you finish a game, it’s exactly the way you wanted it to be. But whether people end up loving or hating the final result, we work hard to finish it the best we can, knowing that there’s a lot we would have wanted to do better. I think that’s true of any creative work”

As the dust settled after the initial reaction to the ending and later its epilogue, meant to show the wide-reaching ripple effects of Shep’s final choice, “players emerged mostly asking for one thing”. CH: “Now, most of what we hear, after both ME3 and MEA, is ‘Hey, just go make more Mass Effect’. And that to me is the most important thing. Knowing that players want to return to the ME universe is what inspires us to press on and imagine what comes next”

Mass Effect: Andromeda

By creating a new ME in a new galaxy the team was challenged to put their own visual stamp on the game while keeping it true to the franchise

Being the first ME game on a new gen of consoles meant for more detail

“Massive transport ships called arks populated with salarians, turians, humans, asari and quarians” made the risky jump to the Cluster

MEA was the first time BW had truly codeveloped across 3 studios: Edmonton, Montreal and Austin. The bulk of the work especially early on was done in Montreal, which was composed of a handful of Edmonton expats and heaps of experienced devs who joined from elsewhere specifically to bring a new ME experience to life. Series vets in Edmonton then came on to contribute writing, cinematics, design and QA, along with leadership from creative director Mac Walters and the core Production team. Austin writers and level designers also joined the fray

“It took a new team to take ME beyond the Milky Way”

Mac: “A lot of people in Montreal joined BW as fans of the franchise, so they just had this passion, and it felt like it was more like the days of Jade Empire, where a smaller younger team gets to do something for the first time. Even though it wasn’t necessarily a new IP for me, it felt fresh and new because of that. The team was just super excited to be working on it”

Early plans had the player exploring hundreds of worlds, procedurally generated, allowing for a nearly infinite variety of experiences. But as development wore on, it became clear that the game narrative required more specific, hand-touched level design on each world to keep the story focused and the experience engaging. “The plan was to give players numerous uncharted worlds to explore. Designers worked hard to come up with procedural elements that would make such planets special. Eventually the team made the difficult decision to abandon procedural planets in favor of more memorable hand-touched alien worlds, each with a specific story to tell”

One challenge was defining what ME meant without Shep. Care was given to include many of the MET’s key species. “Ryder recruited turian, asari, krogan and salarian followers”. Like Shep Ryder represents humanity’s hope for a peaceful coexistence among aliens who had long operated without human contact

Beginning with MEA the team decided that with few exceptions vehicles in ME have 6 wheels. Early Nomad concepts were bulkier. Later ones focused on its ability to move over its ability to protect itself from hostile fire, underlining the themes of exploration

German concept designer and auto-motive futurist Daniel Simon was contracted to create the Nomad and Tempest. The Tempest’s final design took inspo from the Concorde

Concepts for angaran fighter ships have the following notes: “Two doors swing open, wings rotate down to function as landing struts, the landing struts split open. It has a spinning turbine engine

Despite being set a galaxy away and some 600 years after Mordin’s death, there was a time when he had a cameo. It wasn’t cut due to running out of time however, it was cut due to drug references. John Dombrow explains: “One day I had to write a small quest for Kadara. I thought it’d be amusing if these 2 guys living way out on the fringes in a shack were growing plants for uh, medicinal purposes, and needed Ryder’s help with it. It occurred to me, wouldn’t it be amusing if Ryder had the option of actually trying ‘the medicine’ to see what would happen? And I thought, what if it turned into some hallucination that somehow involved SAM - like maybe SAM would sing? But why? How could I motivate that? Then it hit me. Who else in the ME game sings unexpectedly? MORDIN. As a nod to him I wrote SAM singing Modern Major-General. It got even better when our cine designer John Ebenger wanted to take it even further. Bless him, he came in on a Saturday to do a special hallucination showing Mordin himself. It was great. Til the fateful day we were told MEA had already been submitted to the ratings board. That’s when you declare things like drug references in your game. Mordin fell under that category which meant it was a no-go. We were too late”

Ryder’s white AI armor contrasts Shep’s iconic dark armor (intentional design)

Concept art for Ryder involved experiments with cloth (cloaks, ponchos, capes - “Pull here to release cloak”) and asymmetrical design elements

For alien design, there’s a few exceptions but humanoid figures are the ME standard and this persisted into MEA

Kett and angara concepts explored striking lines and textures

– From Bioware: Stories and Secrets from 25 Years of Game Development

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sixofpomegranates · 3 years

Text

Rain in California - Act 1 - California

🥀Mini Series “Rain in California” Act 1 - Part 1 - California🥀

✨My Main Masterlist✨ | 18+ | AO3 | Wattpad

🥀Soundtrack🥀 | ✨Aestethic Trailer✨ | 🥀Masterlist🥀 | Words: 9.4k

A/N: The music used in this story is not owned by me (obviously) & I used it in the same style that 'Rock of ages' and 'Mamma Mia' used songs. I gave them a different meaning and context. The meaning and context are NOT representing the one that the ORIGINAL ARTIST had.

TW: ANGST, mention of loss/death/addiction/sobriety/murder, suicidal thoughts/tendencies, depression, addiction, substance abuse, drugs, alcohol, ABUSIVE RELATIONSHIP, stalking, death by overdose, mentions of OD, passive aggressiveness, arguing,

Songs in this Chapter: La di die – Nessa Berrett Going to Hell | My Medicine | Heaven Knows – The Pretty Reckless

“Spence?”

Spencer looked up from his book.

Oh, so now he was allowed to talk with them about the case.

Since the briefing they hadn’t talked to him about anything. Spencer had to beg them, to let him work on this case.

He had really felt left out and why?

Because the stalking victim was a famous Rockstar with addiction issues. Spencer was hurt about his team not wanting him to be on the case because of this. Yes, he had struggled with addiction in the past, but he had been clean for over ten years now.

Was this unfair treatment…this distrust in his sobriety, ever going to stop?

It wasn’t like they had cared much about it when Emily had faked her death or when Maeve died, but this, for them, looked like a too high risk? Because there was a pretty girl involved?

He tried his best not to sound passive aggressive when responding.

“Yeah, JJ?”, with success.

“I asked if everything´s okay.”

“Sure. Why should anything be wrong?”, the blonde shrugged a little, an apologetic look on her face.

“Well the case-“ “It´s just a stalking case. Nothing we haven’t already seen. I actually wonder why we even need to come. The stalker isn’t aggressive and hasn´t hurt anybody. Right now he´s just importunate. The police should be able to catch this unsub themselves.”, he had accidently let a little of his passive aggressiveness slip and Emily, who was sitting next to JJ, looked at him.

“The record label convinced the police to contact us. They seem worried about their artist.”

“From what I know…this girl can take care of herself.”, Luke snickered, earning himself a ‘Come on, really?’-look from Emily. “Sorry, but have you seen or listened to her music? She could probably beat Reid in a fist fight.”

“Just because she´s making rock music, doesn’t mean she´s tough. But we should talk a little about the case, Reid if you ever feel unco-“, he quickly interrupted her with a snappy tone.

“Why, because she´s an addict? I don’t care about that.”, Emily lifted her hands in a calming manner.

“Okay, jeez. Just the way you´re on edge, since the briefing, doesn’t look like you are okay.”, Spencer took a deep breath, trying to talk calmer this time, now almost pleading in tone.

“I-I know. But I´m clean since was twenty-six. I never touched anything again and I don’t feel the need to. I even regulate my alcohol intake, never drinking more than a beer, maybe two glasses of whiskey. Which means, that statistically all of you are at a higher risk, of becoming addicted, during this case, then I am. You guys need to trust me.”, the dark haired woman sighed and nodded.

“You´re right. I´m- We´re just worried. You´re our friend, Spencer.”, she handed him a file. “Just promise me you talk to one of us, if something changes.”

He nodded opening the file. A picture of [y/n] looked at him. Dark heavy make-up, dark clothing and jet black hair with colorful streaks.

His younger self would´ve been as attracted as terrified of her.

He flipped through the pages. [y/n] [y/l/n]. Twenty-six years old. Stalker since approximately two years. Nothing extremely outstanding for a stalking case…which was kinda outstanding. No letters, no calls, no pictures, no break in, no threats…sometimes she would get random, expensive present delivered to her mansion, but that was it. Given that she was famous, this presents did not even have to be from a stalker.

“Are we sure there´s even is a stalker?”, Spencer frowned at his own question, Emily shrugged as a response.

“According to the manager, Philip Schuyler, since the first time she played his concerns down, he gets these calls of a man asking for [y/n] and how she is doing. The label didn’t take it serious after he told them, but then the unsub stole the last finished album from [y/n]´s band ‘Shot Monarch’, before it could get released and distributed, also erasing every digitally existing copy. He then called the manager and send the owner of the record label a letter; typed on a computer, no fingerprints; stating that he wanted to be taken serious. Later [y/n] got the USB, containing all her songs, with a dozen white lilies, her favorite, back per mail with an apology letter; stating that she had done nothing wrong and didn’t need to worry, since he could never harm her or her carrier. That´s when the label pushed the police to contact us.”

“Because they are worried about the music…not the woman.”, JJ sighed, shaking her head.

“Well, that´s the industry. At least her manager is worried. Police states that he got himself a gun license after that and tries to be everywhere [y/n] is.”, Luke added.

“Something about that is off.”, Spencer whispered, rubbing his stubbles, before looking at JJ, Emily and Luke again. “There is nothing that indicates a stalker, but every time somebody doubts his existence, he does something noticeable. I know she is famous and that comes with the stigma of having crazed fans as stalkers, but most stalking in general is committed by someone known to the victim, such as an ex-partner or acquaintance. We should check that out.”, JJ nodded.

“It would also be smart if one of us stays by her site.”, Luke quickly raised his hand.

“I volunteer. I- Like- Really! If necessary I´ll sleep in the SUV.”, Emily raised an eyebrow.

“Can it be that you´re a fan? I heard you and Penelope freak out a little over the case earlier.”, a shy smirk appeared on his lips.

“‘Shot Monarch’ has really good music. Since my road trip a year ago, I love their stuff. Penelope actually tol-”, Spencer interrupted him determined.

“I´ll do it.”, Emily quickly shook her head.

“Reid, no.” “Why not?”, his voice got high, making him quickly cleared his throat. “Because-“ “Because she is taking drugs. Do you trust me that little, Emily?”, Spencer snapped at her and she leaned back into her seat. Sure the others from the team were older than him, but he was in his late thirties, and yet was treated like a child.

“Fine. If you think you can handle it, do it. But stop being so sassy, I hate that.”, Emily looked at look in defeat. “Luke tell him what you know about [y/n] and the band.”, he nodded pulling out his phone.

“Okay so, [y/n] is the lead singer of ‘Shot Monarch’. She´s from a small town in Ohio and came to LA when she was eighteen, to become a singer after going viral. They are a band since five years, the name never really got explained by them, but it has something to do with the butterfly; at least that’s a fan theory I now from Penelope. Plus it makes sense, because [y/n] has a tattoo of one on the back of her hand.”, Luke flipped through some pictures of older man, reminding Spencer of bikers and insurance agents at the same time. Like middle-aged fathers that liked rock but still had a nine-to-five job.

“Hank, the guitarist, was a lawyer before and in a cover band with his high school friends Tom, the bassist, who worked for an insurance company, and Leroy, the drummer, who was history teacher and is also married to Hank. They met [y/n] at an open mic night and even though she´s twenty-six and they are in their late forties, early fifties, they got along so well, that they became a band. That´s ‘Going to Hell’ by the way. One of the more controversial songs.”, Luke pressed play on the video and already moved the lips to the lyrics.

“Father did you miss me,

Been locked up a while.

I got caught for what I did but took it all in style.

Laid to rest all my confessions I gave way back when.

Now I'm versed in so much worse,

So I am back again, and he said

For the lives that I take, I'm going to hell!

For the love that I make, I'm going to hell!

Gettin' heavy with the devil, you can hear the wedding bells.”

“The guitar you´re hearing is a classic Hank. That guy knows what he´s doing.”, Luke added, seemingly in his element, reminding Spencer a lot of Garcia when she was excited.

Spencer nodded and watched the music video, the overall theme was dark and heavy. [y/n] voice was nice, a little smoky and strong, but everything just sounded so angry. Not really his style, although he preferred older, classical music in general over the ‘normal’ things ‘normal’ people liked. [y/n] wore tightfitting latex, while the men from her band mostly just wore black jeans and shirts, sometimes leather jackets. At one time, she was surrounded by snakes, only wearing white lingerie. She was really pretty, red lipstick making her look like a biting version of Snow White. Like a princess that would rather save herself, becoming the villain along the way, before letting someone else save her.

“Father did you miss me,

Don't ask me where I've been.

You know I know, yes, I've been told I redefine a sin.

I don't know what's driving me to put this in my head.

Maybe I wish I could die, maybe I am dead!

And he said

For the lives that I fake, I'm going to hell!

For the vows that I break, I'm going to hell!

For the ways that I hurt, when I'm hiking up my skirt.

I am sitting on a throne while they're buried in the dirt.

For the man that I hate, I'm going to hell!

Gettin' heavy with the devil, you can hear the wedding bells.”

The lyrics and symbolistic in the video mocked parts of the Christian belief system. Such as the bite Eve had taken from the apple, showing [y/n] taking a bite from the forbitten fruit. The last supper and the crucifixion were shown with a dark twist too. This could be a hint of rebellion, to cope with religious trauma, or simply be a way to cause controversy.

“Please forgive me father,

I didn't mean to bother you.

The devil's in me father.

He's inside of everything I do.

For the lives that I take, I'm going to hell!

For the laws that I break, I'm going to hell!

For the love that I hate, I'm going to hell!

For the lies that I make, I'm going to hell!

For the way I condescend and never lend a hand.

My arrogance is making this head buried in the sand.

For the souls I forsake, I'm going to hell!

Gettin' married to the devil, you can hear the wedding bells.”

As the video ended Luke took his phone and put it back into his pocket.

“Their earlier stuff had a little more emotion to it, was about heartbreak, suffering and made you feel. This is one of the more recent ones and you can hear that it´s now mostly just stuff like sex, drugs and anger. Most people think that´s because [y/n] writes all of their music and she´s…seen better days…”, Luke sighed, trying to make it sound as polite as possible.

“Because she started taking drugs?”, Spencer raised his eyebrows, but Luke shook his head. “Oh, no. She, according to many rumors and an interview with her father, has taken drugs since she was a teen. But at this point…she just simply seems to have given up, having chosen to not go deeper with her songs anymore. I mean, they still slap. They just don’t slap your heart anymore, you know?”

“Not so nice, when your father talks to the press about your addiction. Could her father be a suspect?”, JJ asked, making Luke shrug and shake his head at the same time.

“Most likely not. He said in that interview that he wishes her the best, but doesn’t want to speak to her again.”, Emily mouthed a silent ‘ouch’, the whole talk about the rockstars private life making Spencer think.

“Maybe that´s part why she´s taking drugs? Often people use them to cope with-“, Emily interrupted him, profiling [y/n] and her substance abuse, quickly.

“Reid. We´re not going there to fix her, just the stalking situation.”, he nodded, knowing that he had a savior complex, always trying to help and save everybody.

“Exes?”, Spencer asked and Luke shook his head.

“Just one is known, Dean Lennox, singer, now married with kids. He and [y/n] were together for two years and according to him it was toxic. Like, always fighting, jealousy, distrust, fear of being left but she still didn’t want him close at the same time, lying. After their last breakup, he told a gossip magazine, he just couldn’t watch her destroy herself anymore. She never commented on it.”, JJ looked at Spencer worried.

“She seems like a handful, are you sure you can handle her alone?”, he chuckled while nodding.

“I´ve been through worse. How hard can it be to watch a twenty-six year old? When she, like Luke said, really doesn’t want anyone close, I´ll just sit on her couch and let her do her thing.”

*****

After landing in Los Angeles and checking into their hotel, the team drove to police station. There already waited a massage for them with an address. It was from the manager, he wrote that he was terribly sorry, but they needed to come to the recording studio, since the band was on a tight schedule all morning. Luke had tried his best, but Spencer could see his excitement through his tough-guy-façade. He, JJ, Luke and Emily took one of the SUV´s and drove to the address.

The building they entered was large and with great security. Expensive, white marble flooring in the entire entrance hall. They showed their batches to the lady at the front desk and the security, she called somebody and soon a short, pudgy man, dressed in a designer suit walked out of the elevator and up to them. He smiled at them friendly and shook everyone’s hand.

“Ah, the agents. I am so glad that you´re here. Hi. Hello. I´m Philip Schuyler, the manager of ‘Shot Monarch’.”, Emily shook his hand and pointed at the team.

“Nice to meet you. I´m unit chief SSA Prentiss, those are SSA Jareau, Alvez and that´s Dr. Spencer Reid. He will take on the job as bodyguard for Miss [y/l/n].”, the man scratched his brown hair, avoiding the bald spot on top.

“Yes, uhm, please just call her [y/n]. She really dislikes being called Miss [y/l/n]. We also already have police and security around her house, so I don’t know how important a personal bodyguard is. I really want this case solved and it would be terrible if we would hinder your work.”, Spencer lifted a finger.

“Actually, it would be better if I´m able to stay close to [y/n]. Normal police and security could probably oversee minor details about the stalker, Mr. Schuyler.”, the man waved off.

“Please, Mr. Schuyler was my father. Philip is completely fine. Everybody calls me that.”, he started walking to the elevator and the agents followed him. “Right now the band´s having a little break. After that, we need to record one more song for the ‘live in the studio’-version of their new album, that just came out. Are you familiar with their music?”, they got into the elevator and Luke already nodded.

“Yeah. Really great. Big fan.”, Emily lifted her hand, silencing Luke.

“I´m sorry. If that´s a problem we can-“, Philip laughed, interrupting her.

“Oh, no, no. [y/n] will love that. She likes meeting fans and showing off her music.”

They got out of the elevator, walked through the little hallway and entered the large double door in front of them. There was the recording studio. A lot of technical things, Spencer didn’t know much of, and a large glass wall in front of it, showing another room.

The recording room was large, with a black leather couch and beanbags in it and nice, warm, wooden flooring. A drum set was placed on an vintage looking, red carpet and the overall lighting was warm and inviting as well. The door to the room was open and he could hear the three men, from the band, talking and laughing inside.

“Guys, can you come out for a bit?”, Philip asked them and they looked up, walking up to them. “Okay, uhm, guys, those are the agents from the FBI. You know? The once coming because of [y/n]´s stalker.”, the largest man, a head taller than Spencer, smiled through his long grey beard that contrasted his bald head.

“Nice to meet you then, I´m Hank. That my husband Leroy,”, they shook hands with the dark skinned, skinny man, who in contrast to his husband was cleanshaven, with short black hair and glasses, “and that´s our friend Tom.”, the chubby, white, blond waved at them friendly.

“Why would like to talk with each of you individually, later at the police station, if that is possible.”, Emily said before introducing her team again, also mentioning Spencer´s duty as bodyguard. Leroy grimaced his face.

“Uh, [y/n] will hate that. The girl does not like being babysat.” “I´m not going to babysit her.”, Spencer answered, making Leroy chuckle. “That´s not how she will see it though.”, Hank sighed and put a hand on Spencer´s shoulder.

“Our girl is going through a lot right now. So it would be nice of you, to not take everything she´s saying personally, okay?”

“Personally?”

Spencer raised his eyebrows. He desperately hoped [y/n] wouldn’t be a bitch the entire time, since he couldn’t promise to not give her a piece of his mind, if so.

“[y/n]´s a little belligerent…Easy to get triggered and then she blows up like a bomb.”, Tom said and JJ cocked her head. “Is the stalking getting at her?”, Leroy shook his head. “Not really. But her mother died a few months ago and since then…little rough patch. She´ll get better. We all hit rock bottom once.”

“Is she going to therapy?”, Emily asked straight forward, making Tom, the chubby one chuckle. “Not since she hit the last therapist a few years ago. We paid his medical expenses and he was nice enough to not sue her. But we are here to help her, once she´s ready to let us.” “Must be exhausting, for you.”, JJ said empathetic and all the men waved off.

“Because of the drugs? No, it´s not that bad. She´ll collect herself. I have seven kids. Four of them are going through puberty right now. Phil has a toddler and Leroy and Hank have three rescue dogs and a couple of snakes. We can handle her.”, Tom laughed and the rest of the men started too.

“And that little stalker…Imma just say, I´m gonna rip him a new one, should I ever get the chance of meeting him. Counts for all of us.”, Hank added with everyone nodding in agreement.

“[y/n]´s a really nice girl and she´s been through a lot. If you´re nice to her, chances are high she´ll warm up to you and you won´t have any problems.”, Tom said to Spencer making him nod.

“And if she doesn’t?”, the tall doctor didn’t get an answer and just witnessed the rockers share a look.

Nice girl. Drug issues not so bad. Be nice and maybe she´s nice to you. For Spencer all of that sounded like he would have to walk around on eggshells, while she would blast through walls like a wrecking ball. The manager, Philip, checked his watch and looked around.

“So, where´s [y/n]? One more song and we´re done. Would be great not to hold up the investigation for too long.”

“She went to the toilet thirty minutes ago. We just ate our sandwiches. She said she wasn’t hungry.”, Leroy answered and at the same moment [y/n] walked in.

Spencer looked at her and for a moment forgot how to breathe. Short, high waisted, leather skirt, low cut, tank top and biker boots, all black, rounded off with fishnet stockings. [y/n] looked like she had climbed out of a teenagers wet dream. The perfect, little goth-girlfriend. She stretched a little and Philip looked at her.

“Bonjour, Philly.”, she said with a sassy undertone, while walking up to him and leaning on his shoulder. He was the same high as her, which wasn’t really tall, about 5,4, if Spencer had to guess.

“Hey, where were you?”, the pudgy man asked her.

“Took a nap in my car.”, she booped his nose and gave him a sheepish little smile. Spencer knew she was high. In fact the whole room knew it.

“You drove here?”, Tom asked shocked and [y/n] grinned sarcastically.

“I guess so, else somebody explain to me why my car´s here.”, Phillip patted her shoulder, looking worried as she took four pills out of an orange pillbox from her bag. He gave her a glass of water and she swallowed them. The men from her band looked at her concerned, making her give them a pearly white smile.

“Headache.”, she explained and they only nodded. Spencer couldn’t help but think, that she wasn’t having a headache and even if she had, it was probably a withdrawal symptom.

“You know that I don’t want you to drive when you´re…”, her manager looked at the agents and stopped talking, making her look at them as well.

“What? Why´d you stop talking? That the fun police?”, she started giggling at her own joke, making the band chuckle, since she clearly didn’t know how accurate she was with her joke.

“That´s the FBI, Princess.”, Hank told her and she made a fake shocked face and then laughed again.

“Officer- No wait, agents, right? I swear I did nothing wrong. Weed´s legal in Cali.”

The team shared some looks and Spencer couldn’t help but roll his eyes. [y/n] was not just on weed. Most definitely not just on weed.

“They are here because of your stalker.”, Philip explained and she shrugged almost disappointed.

“Oh, that guy. Well, then hello. Nice to meet you. I´m [y/n].”

She shook hands with JJ and Emily as they introduced themselves. Luke couldn’t help but breathe in sharply, as he shook her hand and almost choked on his own spit as an aftereffect. She started patting his back with wide opened eyes.

“Shit, you okay? Asthma?”, [y/n] reached into her black, designer handbag and gave him a bottle with clear liquid. Luke took a sip, quickly grimaced his face and began coughing harder.

“Vodka.”, he stated through his coughing. [y/n] quickly took the bottle from him and took a sip too, without flinching. She then started cracking up at her mistake.

“Whoops. Mixed up the bottles, the other´s probably in my car. Philly, can you bring him…?”, Philip nodded and gave Luke a fresh water bottle from the mini fridge.

Wow. Vodka hidden in a water bottle. Spencer licked his lips, taking in the view of her bandmates looking at each other. ‘Not that bad’ looked different. ‘Not that bad’ would not have her sleeping in her car, midday, with a bottle of ‘water’ and coming back high as a kite. Luke, by now, had stopped coughing and [y/n] stepped away from him again.

“You good?”, she asked him, watching him wipe away his tears.

“Y-Yeah. Sorry.”, the black haired girl waved him off.

“Nah, don’t worry. I had asthma till I was twelve.”, he shook his head.

“I- I- No asthma. Just a really big fan.”, she started laughing again and although the light was dimmed, Reid could clearly see Luke´s cheeks turning red.

“Oh, that´s cute. But ‘Take My Breath Away’ is by Berlin.”, that sentence actually made the whole room laugh except for Spencer, who didn’t understand the reference. “What´s your name?”

“Luke Alvez.”, she shook his hand again, this time he didn’t almost choke.

“Well, nice to meet you, Luke. What´s your favorite song of ours?”

“25, no doubt. Really amazing. Like a James Bond song.”, the bandmates chuckled.

“We said that too.”, Leroy snickered, patting Luke´s shoulder and [y/n] nodded.

“It´s also my favorite. Excited to hear one of the new songs?”, Luke nodded excited and she turned her head to Spencer. “We both don’t know each other yet. Hi, I´m [y/n] and you are?”

She sounded quite collected. Clearly high, but able to think straight if necessary. [y/n] must´ve been doing this for a while now, seeming to have figured out, how much she could handle while working. Spencer had been at that point too once. You wanted to do your work and be good at it, but needed to be high, to make it through the day. So you just tried over a period of time, bit by bit, how much you were able to take before doing a shitty job. ‘Not that bad’ didn’t make you figuring out a system to be high all the time.

“Dr. Spencer Reid.”, he shook her hand.

“Dr. Reid will be your bodyguard, [y/n].”, Philip explained and quickly earned an angry look, as she let go of Spencer´s hand instantly.

“What? I don’t need a bodyguard, we talked about this.”, she hissed at her manager, but then started laughing after looking Spencer up and down. “And then that guy?”, Philip nodded as she rolled her eyes at him. ‘Do not take it personally’, Spencer told himself.

“I am more than capable of protecting you.”, he stated as friendly as possible, making her giggle.

“From what? A difficult math question?”

[y/n] mocking tone started to piss him off, but as Spencer felt Emily´s look on him, he played it cool. After all, he had to proof himself able to handle her.

“Your stalker.”, he corrected her and she licked her lips, pulling out a pack of cigarettes, looking at Luke.

“Since you don’t have asthma, would you mind if I…?”, Luke shook his head and she smiled. “Nice.”, she looked back at Spencer, at his gun. “Philip has a gun too.” “But Philip isn’t an FBI agent.”, Hank told her, making her shake her head in protest, like a little child.

“That´s ridiculous. And all of that just because a stranger sends me stuff, people send me stuff all the time.”

“You should be more worried about this guy.”, Leroy said and Tom nodded in agreement. “Yeah, what if he´s dangerous?”

“What´s the worst that could happen, like honestly, Doctor?”, she cocked her head at Spencer, looking up at him with an almost flirty smile.

“He could kill you.”, he gave back objectively, making the rockers obviously worried. “Geez. You make that sound like it´s a bad thing.”, she snickered and looked over to Luke. “Luke, wanna hear some music?”, he nodded.

“It would be an honor.”, his sentence made her giggle as she walked past him.

“You´re really cute.”

[y/n] walked into the recording room, Tom, Leroy and Hank following her. She put on her headphones and lit a cigarette, putting the package on the little table next to her mic. Philip closed the door and started pushing some buttons on the sound mixer in front of him. JJ whistled impressed.

“You do the technical stuff too?”, he nodded, chuckling.

“Since the stalking started, I try having as little people near [y/n] as possible. Thought it might just be a little crush from a weirdo and when he doesn’t get to see her, he gets over it.” “We need a list of the people that worked here though.”, Emily told him and he nodded.

“Of course.”, then he pushed a button and started talking into his microphone. “You guys, ready? Last song. ‘My Medicine’, then we can go home.”

They all approved of his words and started to playing. [y/n] relighting her cigarette and clearing her throat. Spencer couldn’t tell if that was her simply not caring or doing it for the feeling of the song. However, it seemed to fit the style.

“Somebody mixed my medicine

Somebody mixed my medicine”

“I love this already.”, Luke whispered and JJ chuckled.

“You haven’t even heard anything yet.”, she snickered.

“Doesn’t matter, the feeling is there.”, he lifted his arms, showing her his goosebumps.

“Well you hurt where you sleep and you sleep where you lie

Now you're in deep and now you're gonna cry

Got a woman to your left

And a boy to your right

You start to sweat so

Hold me tight 'cause

Somebody mixed my medicine

I don't know what I'm on

Somebody mixed my medicine

Now baby it’s all gone

Somebody mixed my medicine

And somebody's in my head again

And somebody mixed my medicine again, again”

Spencer watched [y/n] starting to move to the rhythm, swaying her hips and tapping her left foot to the beat, then looked to Philip pressing some buttons.

“She´s gonna be happy with that one.”, he whispered almost to himself and the next time Spencer looked at the band again, it almost felt like she was attentionally singing in his direction.

“Well I drink what you leak and I smoke what you sigh

See you cross the room with that look in your eye

Got a man to his left and a girl to his right

You start to sweat so

Hold me tight 'cause

Somebody mixed my medicine

I don't know what I'm on

Somebody mixed my medicine

Now baby it’s all gone

Somebody mixed my medicine

Somebody's in my head again

And somebody mixed my medicine again, again”

She started moving her head in a way that made her long black hair fall in her face, framing her features almost delicately. While Spencer starred and earned some grins from [y/n], he could hear Luke whisper with Emily, who actually seemed to like the music too.

“There's a tiger in the room and a baby in the closet”

The room laughed and Spencer looked confused, having JJ tell him, that it was a movie reference. Sometime he felt like an alien, having such simple references fly over his head. Star Trek or Book references would´ve been easier for him…although he still didn’t know what that ‘Twilight’ book was Penelope and JJ talked about a couple of times. Or that other book all the women had talked about in their break….what was it called, ‘Fifty Shades of Grey’? They had told him it was a romance novel, so he just assumed it was like ‘Pride and Prejudice’ by Jane Austen.

“Pour another drink mom I don't even want it

Then I turn around and think I see someone that looks like you”

Philip pressed some buttons again, [y/n] now harmonizing with herself.

“Well you hurt where you sleep and you sleep where you lie

Now you're in deep and now you're gonna cry

Got a woman to your left

And a boy to your right

You start to sweat so

Hold me tight 'cause

Somebody mixed my medicine

I don't know what I'm on

Somebody mixed my medicine

Now baby it’s all gone

Somebody mixed my medicine

Somebody's in my head again again

And somebody mixed my medicine

Again, again, again

Again, again, again”

The music started to slow down again, just like [y/n] movements, making Luke whisper words in awe.

“Somebody mixed my medicine

Somebody mixed my medicine

Somebody mixed my medicine”

Philip and the team applauded as [y/n] took her headphones off and the men put their instruments away.

“I´m happy with that.”, she said looking at Philip. “You, Philly?”

“Sounded great to me.”, he gave back, happy to answer.

“What about my new favorite fan. Luke?”, Luke quickly pushed Spencer aside to get to the microphone.

“Loved every second of it! Like- Amazing! Really!”, she giggled, throwing her head back and came through the door.

“What about my new guard dog?”, Spencer pointed at himself, not knowing if she was talking about him. “Of course you. So, what do you think, Doctor?”

“I- I don’t really know.”, she raised her eyebrows at his answer.

“Okay? Was it the drugs or just the music in general?”, he felt himself go pale. “Ah, okay. You´re prude, get it. I mean you already have that whole tutor-thing about you, so…Bach or Chopin?”

“Pardon?” “Which one? Or is it Mozart, or the deaf bitch, Beethoven?”, she grinned snarky.

[y/n] had a mocking tone in her voice, making Spencer feel embarrassed and like he was in school again, when the other kids in high school were making fun of him for not being cool enough. But he was too old to be bullied by a little junkie, who thought she was better than him.

“I´m surprised somebody like you would even know them.”, her smile vanished.

“Little bitch.”, she snapped at him, stepping closer as he cocked his eyebrows at her. Philip quickly walked between the two of them and smiled.

“So, what are we doing next? The albums done. Taken care of. [y/n] have you eaten something today? You wanna go out for dinner?”

“No, I haven’t and no, I don’t want to, when THAT is around.”, with ‘that’ she clearly meant Spencer.

“Now don’t be grumpy, Princess. You started it.”, Hank told her and she started to pout, shoulders relaxing.

“Wasn’t worth my time anyways.”, she murmured and Spencer felt himself getting proud. This was the first person, trying to bully him, he had stand a chance against.

“So, we´re gonna need you at the police station, if that´s okay?”, Emily asked Leroy, Hank and Tom, who nodded. “And Spencer, you should take [y/n] home and check out her house.” “Mansion.”, [y/n] corrected Emily. “I have a mansion. Worked too hard to have it being called a house.”, Emily only nodded, not letting herself get bothered by her words. Philip nodded, completely ignoring his clients snappiness too.

“I follow you in my car.”, he told Spencer. “[y/n] give Dr. Reid your keys, please.”, she shook her head indignant.

“No. That guy is not driving my car. I´ll drive.”, the whole band now started saying no.

“[y/n], you´re not driving.”, Tom ordered and Leroy nodded. “You´ll get an DUI so quick, it´s not even funny.”, Spencer lifted his hand, waiting for the key. “Oh, come on.”, she groaned, looking at her bandmates like her childish behavior would change their mind.

A nice sound. An annoying person, not getting what they want. Almost as beautiful as her [y/e/c] eyes, that actually were rather bloodshot, when Spencer thought about it.

“Should the police pull you over and see that you´re high, they´ll look through your car and I don’t think you want be taking in custody for drug possession, right?”, she handed him her keys and Spencer couldn’t help it and whispered “Thank you”, in the most mocking tone he was able to.

“Fucking cunt.”, she whispered back at him and he just chuckled.

“I´ve been called worse. So your little words don’t hurt me…sorry.”, she then grinned.

“Things like Spencer?”, [y/n] asked him, spitting his name like poison.

Spencer took a deep breath and watched her go out the door, telling himself to not answer her.

“Hey, kid.”, Spencer looked at Hank and he just lifted his thumb.

“You held yourself better than we thought you would.”, Leroy added, Emily looking at Spencer concerned.

“You sure you can handle her?”

He nodded, walking out the door and to the elevator which doors [y/n] was holding open for him.

“Hurry up, bitch boy! I wanna go home.”

*****

Of course the rich, spoiled brat drove an imported sportscar. When Spencer got in, he firstly had to push back the seat, not having enough room for his legs and then tried getting [y/n] to tell him where she lived.

“Try google, smart ass.”, was her answer and he sighed.

[y/n] then rolled down her window and grabbed a joint from her glove compartment. Spencer quickly leaned over and snatched it from her hand, making her whine as she tried getting it back.

“You´re such a bitch. Give me-“, he interrupted her whining.

“No. First tell me you´re address.”, she sat back into her seat.

“Fine. I´ll lead you there.”, [y/n] said, making grabbing motions with her hand and he handed her the joint back. She lit it and smoked out of the window.

Spencer knew he should have questioned why she gave up and let him win so easily. After ten minutes they weren’t at her mansion, they were at a McDonald´s.

“You´re fucking kidding me, right?”, he snapped at her and she began to giggle.

“You´re kina hot when you´re angry.”, her flirty grin and the way she bit her lip made him furious, because it was hot.

“What is wrong with you?”, Spencer almost yelled and she leaned back and pointed somewhere. “I´m hungry. Drive-Through. Over there.”

“No.” “Come on. Don’t be a bitch, dog.”, she snickered, resting her feet on the dashboard.

He looked at her, for a second thinking about simply getting out of the car and leaving, before he could hurt her. Maybe she was really too much for him to handle, the drugs were manageable, but it was her personality that drove him mad, yet he wasn’t someone to give up easily. Cars started to honk behind them.

“You´re holding up the traffic. I just wanted something to eat.”, [y/n] said, now almost annoyed because she wasn’t getting what she wanted. Spencer took a deep breath.

“Okay.”, she looked at him confused.

“Okay?”, he nodded, pulling into the Drive-Through. He was above this. ‘Give her what she wants, so she´s at least quiet.’

“You win.”

She started clapping and hugged him, smelling like marijuana and something he couldn’t quite make out. When they came up to the microphone box, [y/n] crawled over Spencer´s lap, forcing him to look and think respectfully. She ordering a bunch of stuff and then looked at him.

“What do you want? I only have booze at home, so…”, he looked at her a little startled. Was she trying to be nice to him?

“You wanna buy me something?”, she nodded like this behavior was normal to her. “Sure.”

“Surprise me. I never eat fast food, I don’t know what´s good.”

She nodded and then told the voice from the box to double her order. Sitting back into her seat, [y/n] took out a hundred dollar bill from her purse, handing it to Spencer. When they pulled up by the window, taking their things, the woman in the window nearly lost it when she saw the rockstar, starting to cry. [y/n] was really nice to her and asked her if she wanted to take a photo in the parking lot. Of course the woman said yes and after paying, where [y/n] had left almost fifty bucks as a tip, Spencer had to park and wait till they had made the photo and given an autograph.

“Okay, now drive before it goes viral. I wanna eat that stuff before it gets cold.”, she told him, taking a sip of one of the milkshakes.

“That was nice.”, she shrugged and then told him her address, telling him she´d scream when they reached it.

*****

Lo and behold, no twenty minutes later they parked in front of [y/n] mansion, next to another, more run down car, belonging to Philip. The mansion would´ve made Rossi´s mansion cry. At least twice as big and the property was enormous. In contrast to [y/n], it was very light and minimalistic from the outside and the inside.

“Most rooms are empty. Too big.”, she explained walking straight into the open living area, that had a large terrace with pool and a view over the Hollywood hills. She put the paper bags filled with food on the large kitchen island and sat on a barstool.

“You could sell it and buy a smaller one.”, [y/n] shrugged and took out a burger, starting to eat it.

“Philip says I´m gonna grow into it.”, she answered, mocking the tone of voice her manager had probably had.

Spencer watched her type something on her phone and a minute later Philip came into the room.

“Hey, where were you? I got worried.”, he asked them and [y/n] handed him a salad.

“It´s the one you always have.”, he smiled at her.

“Thank you. You´re so nice.”, she shrugged at his words, not really caring.

“Yours is in here too, dog.”, she now told spencer.

Ah, yes. She was being bitchy again. Spencer had only waited for it to happen. He said nothing, but walked up to the white kitchen isle and took the bag she pointed at.

“Milkshake, burger, fries. Fast food essentials.”, she stated, finishing her small cheeseburger and getting up to her fridge, taking out a beer. She held it to Spencer who declined and then to Philip who did the same. “Lame asses.”, she chuckled, opening it and standing at the counter, watching Spencer eat. “So you´re here for…?”

“Technically it would be the easiest for all of us, if I just stayed.”, she raised her brows.

“Staying like, in my house staying?”, he nodded and she shook her head. “No chance. I enjoy my solitude.”

“[y/n]. If it´s easier for the agent and better for you…”, she sighed, opening a drawer and taking out some pills, swallowing them with her beer. “Fucking hell. But don´t expect me to be considerate of you.”, the rockstar told him.

“Should you consume them with alcohol?”, Spencer asked, taking a bite of his burger and she shrugged.

“I´m going to sleep…you guys…do what you want, I don’t care…”

“Do you need me to do your laundry?”, Philip asked and [y/n] shrugged again, it seemed to be her favorite motion. As she walked down the hallways and Phillip yelled after her. “Don’t forget that you have a gig tonight, [y/n]!”

“THAT`S WHY I`M GOING TO SLEEP NOW, DUMB ASS! WAKE ME UP WHEN WE NEED TO GO!”, she yelled back, followed by the smashing of a door.

“She´s a nice girl.”, Philip said in the middle of the silence, as Spencer took place on one of the barstools.

“Like a car crash.”, the man in his fifties chuckled.

“I know she´s difficult, but in here she´s good.”, he pointed at his heart. “She has suffered a lot of losses in her life.”

“Then, just as a random thought, you should get into therapy before she OD´s.”, Spencer answered sassy.

“I know what you mean. But as long as she doesn’t want help or overdoes it…she has a system.”, Spencer let his head fall back and groaned.

“You know about that fucking thing?” “You too?”, Philip asked back in surprise. “Profiler. Took me no longer than the nap in her car, to figure that out.”

Yes, a small lie from Spencer, but it sounded better then: Oh yes, I was addicted to dilaudid once. I had a system too!

“Tell me, how does that train wreck of a system work?”, Philip leaned back from his salad.

“Well, she takes her painkillers in the morning and smokes some cannabis to get out of bed. When we´re touring or she has to be at shootings, interviews or anything else that needs her to focus, she only smokes and takes the pills all day, alcohol in water bottles is a new one though.”, Spencer sighed and thought if he even wanted to know more.

“And when she´s alone or not busy?” “Then she does the harder stuff.” “Harder stuff like cocaine, LSD…?”, Philip nodded. “Nothing with needles though…she´s scared of them.”

“She will not always be, if she continues like that.” “I know. That´s why I do my best to keep her busy. She even has her own recording studio here, knows how to handle everything herself. I thought it might make her spend more time making music than getting high. I also go out with her a lot, to a point where my wife starts to get jealous.”, he laughed bittersweetly. “Have you ever been to Disney World, agent?”, Spencer shook his head. “I take [y/n] there once a week, because she likes it there. I spend more time with her there then with my own daughter.”, [y/n] was famous, no chance people wouldn’t notice her.

“Does she even get to do anything there?”

“Not often. She mostly meets her fans there, but she loves that a lot. She is really sweet to them too, they mean everything to her.”

That was the first time Philip had said something that was true about [y/n]. She had, not once been mean to a fan. The complete opposite actually. She had been nice and thoughtful, going out of her way to make the woman at the Drive-Through happy and was nice to Luke.

“I know she was a little mean to you today, but she also bought us food, seeing it as a matter of course. There are two sides to every person, like a coin.”, Like a coin, just that [y/n] sides flipped as quickly like one too. Philip sighed and got up from his barstool. “I´ll show you around a little, if you want to.”

Spencer nodded, getting up, following the short man around the house.

*****

[y/n] had been right.

It was way too big and many of the rooms were empty. When Spencer asked Philip about the necessity of such a big mansion, he told him, that he had hoped to motivate [y/n] to have a family one day. But now the only rooms in use were her bedroom, one of the five guest bedrooms, which Spencer got to stay in, the open living area with kitchen and living room, the recording studio and a little library. The latter made Spencer a little jealous. In the middle of the room even stood a white piano with notes on it. [y/n] also had a lot of books, all dusty, because she never read anymore. He would´ve killed to have his own library…she probably didn’t even value what she had.

When they returned into the living area, Philip gave Spencer some spare keys, beginning to clean up a little and putting the food in the fridge. [y/n] didn’t lie, when she said, she only had alcohol at home. JJ came over and brought Spencer his go bag, asking him how it was going. Of course he said he was doing great, but couldn’t help but rant to her about [y/n]´s behavior.

“Well, she is an addict, Spence. You know how erratic some drugs can make you.”, he nodded.

“Yeah, but she really tries pushing me and then, one second to the other, she´s nice and polite. Have you talked to her bandmates?”, JJ laughed.

“Way too long. We had interviews with them and then Luke just couldn’t stop talking to them, he has also taken about a million pictures with them and facetimed Penelope so she could meet them too.”, Spencer chuckled.

“Sounds like they had a good time. Anything else happened? Found out something?”

“[y/n]´s mother was an addict and left the family when she was younger. When she found out her daughter was famous, she got back in touch with her, to borrow money. [y/n] didn’t care and even got her to live with her, in one of the guest bedrooms. She overdosed a few months ago, since then [y/n]´s addiction got worse.”, Spencer´s eyes got wide.

“She didn’t die in the guest bedroom though, right?”

Just as JJ wanted to answer, [y/n] walked in. Philip walking behind her with a duffle bag.

“She died in the bathroom and she didn’t overdose perse, she drowned after falling unconscious in the bathtub, while being high.”, she answered cold, seeming to have overheard their conversation. [y/n] grabbed a beer from the fridge and continued calmly while taking some colorful pills. “I found her. The bathroom that it happened in is always locked. Don´t worry.”, Philip fidgeted a little with his hands, looking for his keys.

“Uh-Uhm. Agents? We need to go. The concert…”

“You coming too?”, [y/n] asked, looking at JJ and she shrugged. “We could also invite the cute one…Luke. It´s about 20.000 people so two more won´t hurt…right Philly?”, Phillip nodded.

“You´re all invited. SSA Prentiss as well.”, he said and JJ smiled at them.

“Thank you. That´s very nice, but I´ll have to talk to them first.”, [y/n] shrugged at that and drank her beer.

“You have my number, just call when you know. We start half past eight.”, Philip then took the empty beer bottle from [y/n] and threw it away. “Show time.”

*****

Half an hour into the concert Luke had shown up, completely hyped.

“What did I miss? We had some ex-staff members to talk to. Did they already play ‘Going to Hell’?”, Spencer nodded. “Argh, dammit. Doesn’t matter, that song´s amazing too.”

During the whole concert Spencer watched [y/n]. The music wasn’t that bad, a little harsh, but it was mix of hard and alternative rock after all. At least that´s what Penelope said, when Luke started facetiming her. After the last costume change, Spencer pulled [y/n] aside. He asked her to not be so ‘touchy’ with her fans. Since she would kneel down and hold their hands. He tried telling her about the risks of having the unsub in the audience, but she only laughed.

“I´ll be as touchy as I want, bitch.”, he started to frown.

“At least don’t stagedive. Luke says you always do that and the risk of the unsub use-“, she interrupted him, wanting to go on stage.

“Fuck off, dog.”, he held her arm, trying to reason with her.

“Can you ple-“, she tried pulling away, like an angry child.

“No.” “Stop being so fuck-“, [y/n] interrupted him again.

“Stop trying to fucking babysit me.”

“I just want to hel-“, she ripped her arm away. “Yeah, fuck you too.”, the rockstar answered, not letting him finish and walked back on stage.

Philip walked up to Spencer, having seem the ordeal of him trying to talk to [y/n] and him now driving the heel of his palm into his eyes. This girl gave him migraines.

“What happened?”, Philip asked and Luke answered for Spencer.

“He told her not to stagedive.”, Philip laughed a little and shook his head.

“Oh yeah. Never tell her what to do. She hates that and then does it out of spite.”

“You don’t say?”, Spencer answered sarcastically.

On stage [y/n] took her microphone, saying something to her bandmates and then smiling sweetly, while talking to her fans.

“This next song is for my lovely new babysitter, who thinks he can tell me what to do.”, the crowd started booing and she laughed. “I know, I know. But it looks like he doesn’t know how things work around here…So I think we have to help him out a little.”

The music started to play and Luke patted Spencer´s arm.

“She dedicates ‘Heaven Knows’ to you! Penny have you heard? She sings ‘Heaven Knows’ for Reid!”

“NO! SHUT UP!”, the blonde on the phone squeaked.

He and Garcia started to freak out while Spencer watched [y/n] clapping her thigh and stomping to the beat.

“Jimmy's in the back with a pocket of high

If you listen close, you can hear him cry

Oh Lord, heaven knows, we belong way down below

Sing it!”

She lifted the mic to her audience she started to sing for her.

Oh Lord, heaven knows, we belong way down below, way down below, way down below

“Judy's in the front seat picking up trash

Livin' on the dole, gotta make that cash

Won't be pretty, won't be sweet

She's just sittin' here on her feet singin'

Oh, Lord, heaven knows, we belong way down below

Go!”

Again her fans obeyed her, Luke and Penelope freaking out next to Spencer. If it wouldn’t have been a moment, were he had to fear which move she had planned next to unnerve him, he might have even enjoyed this song and the involvement of her fans in it.

Oh Lord, heaven knows, we belong way down below

“Sing, oh Lord, tell us so, we belong way down below”

She now looked at him for a moment, while her audience sang. Before, again, walking around the stage, touching her fans hands.

Oh Lord, tell us so, we belong way down below

Way down below, way down below, way down below, way down below

“I've had better days, man, I've seen better days

I've had better ways, man, I know better ways

One, two, three and four, the devil's knocking at your door

Caught in the eye of a dead man's lie

Show your life with your head held high

Now you're on your knees with a head on low

Big man tells you where to go

Tell them it's good, tell 'em ok

Don't do a goddamn thing they say”

Spencer was surprised how well her fans knew her lyrics. She would just have to point at them or lift her mic and they would instantly sing were she stopped. Not missing a beat.

Oh Lord, heaven knows, we belong way down below

Oh Lord, tell us so, we belong way down below

Way down below, way down below, way down below, way down below

“I've seen better ways, and I know better ways

I've seen better days, man, I've got better days”

[y/n] now stood at the edge of the stage, back turned to her audience. She smiled directly at Spencer, fingers held like a gun to her head.

“Gina's in the back with a pocket of high

If you listen close you can hear the cryin'”

At the last word she mimicked shooting herself and let herself fall back into the crowd. Her fans got wild and continued her song, while Spencer certainly not in a long time, if ever, felt so much spite and frustration against a woman, other than Cat Adams.

Oh Lord, heaven knows, we belong way down below

Oh Lord, tell us so, we belong way down below

Singin' oh, Lord, heaven knows, we belong way down below

Oh, Lord, tell us so, we belong way down below

The crown placed [y/n] back on her stage, where she walked up to her bandmates again, waving at Spencer and Luke with the sweetest smile.

Way down below, way down below, way down below, way down below, way down below

*****

After the concert and the encores she and the band got behind stage, where Spencer for the least thirty minutes had waited to give her a piece of his mind. As [y/n] giggled and walked up to him and Luke. He grabbed her arm, a little harsher than planned.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”, she blinked at his yelling, answering with her innocent eyes blinking and a mocking tone.

“What´s the prob, dog?”

“What´s- Do you really care so little for your own safety?”, Hank came up to them, having seen Spencer´s grip on the girls arm.

“Hey! What´s going on here? [y/n], are you okay?”, Spencer quickly let go of her.

“Yeah, the dog is just pissing himself because I stage dived.”, he quickly took a deep breath.

“I´m not pissing myself, [y/n], but I told you not to do it. What would you have done when your stalker would´ve been in the crowd and lost it? Nobody would´ve been able to get to you fast enough and help!”, Hank looked at her in disappointed shock.

“Is that true, [y/n]?”, the black haired girl ignored her friend and just continued arguing with Spencer.

“Well, maybe I don’t want anybody’s help!”, she hissed at Spencer.

“Then why are we even here?”, Spencer hissed back. “BECAUSE I BRING MONEY! Else the label would let me rot in a fucking corner! GOD! You are ruining my after-show-high. I hate you!”, [y/n] yelled and Spencer tried not to yell back, tried to be the bigger person, only hissing back at her.

“Oh, trust me. That feeling is mutual.”, she swallowed hard and then turned around, stomping away.

*****

After half an hour waiting, Spencer got a call from Philip, telling him that [y/n] refused to see him again and would be sleeping at his house tonight. He told him, that he should just let himself into the mansion and eat what´s in the fridge. It wasn’t from use, to try talking to [y/n], when she was that angry. Tomorrow Philip would call him and bring her back into Spencer´s care.

Spencer did as told, Luke driving him to the mansion, telling him that it wasn’t his fault. He then got into the large, empty mansion and grabbed himself a well-deserved beer. Being alone in this big house was depressing. After his third beer he stopped, walking into his room.

He pulled his blue and gold sobriety token, he had gotten for being clean ten years, out of his bag. Thumb rubbing over the golden X in the middle of it. He actually had deserved a twelve year token by now, but since prison didn’t actively attended the meetings anymore, having grown past it. Yet, he still kept the tokens he had, close to him.

They reminded him of his achievement, reminded him to be proud at himself.

Spencer never wanted to fall back into the dark hole he was in, when he was addicted, and even when [y/n] would throw tantrum after childish tantrum, she wouldn’t cause him to relapse. He was stronger than this. Stronger than her.

To be continued...

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xo-cuteplosion-xo · 3 years

Note

How about a musician reader x character fic? Maybe a singer who performs in a cafe, or a classical musician who plays in an orchestra, or who plays in a rock band? I dunno I have a lot of ideas in my mind but I'm just too lazy to write them :D What do you think?

So here's the baseline you gave me - a musician reader fic x character. Here's what I decided to fill in for this lovely fic- a fluffy bsd collage Au where the reader is majoring in music and has the side job of a stage performer. Then, because they would match well, so I decided to go with a Fyodor x reader. Hope this is alright!

Words- 1728 ~

Hearts Composition | fyodor x musician reader | (collage Au)

Music thudded against the walls, muffled only by the thick layers that hid backstage from the audience. The aroma of heavily worn perfume surrounded people in pleasant bliss. Waitresses and waiters swayed with heavy plates rested along arms and in hands. Carrying much-wanted foods and booze to awaiting customers. The collection of accents muted under the heavy beats of taps and clicks from the metal of the dancer's shoes. Picking up a smaller wooden, finely carved, and rather expensive model of a violin, stood yourself. With a smile, your hands trailed the curves and strings of the delicate instrument. With all the work you had to do for university you had truly didn’t have time to be doing some minimum wage job. Though you didn’t care much, if you could play something, it would be fine. You performed here every once in a blue moon. You weren't one of the performers, but they would grace you with the intermission on busy nights. Much like these nights, when the crowd was full and the people rowdy and in need of constant entertainment. You could soothe those shouts and demands of perverted drunk men; Soothe the cries of broken women and rich spoiled children.

Stepping onto the wooden stage as the lights dim, allowing you the bare minimum of the peeping moonlight to find the microphone located at the center. Inhaling as your anxiety turned into bliss, you waited. As the colored light flew on, you rested your chin on the soft velvet. Holding up the bow, you set it to the strings. With a final inhale, your eyes fluttered shut as you played a classical piece; one constructed for an upcoming project that was due for your music composition class. You had nearly all the string instruments you could play finished; all but the cello. With every strum of your instrument, the crowd fell silent, enjoying the break from all the heavy excitement. Even the children's chatter soothed down, so your instrument could echo off the thin walls of the pub.

Sipping nothing but a cup of tea with a small side of biscuits, a male leaned in his seat. Sitting with a pristine, perfect posture, he listened to the soft sound. The way his violet eyes slowly lidded, and his hair fell back against his face, lit his features in a urethral, almost divine light. His mind working to recognize the piece. As an up-and-coming musician, he had several classics memorized. He could join in by ear, or even write out the full pieces without needing to see the original sheet music. This piece wasn’t something he recognized, could it be an original piece?

If you were to open your eyes as you neared the end of the first piece, you would notice his gaze rested on you. Eyes open halfway with hidden interest, and yet, the stare was attractive. The blank look that hid everything beneath a mask laid strewn across his features. As you finished and stood up, surrounded by applause, he watched your every stride. It was funny, he thought he could almost recognize you.

With shaking hands, your fingers typed within a group chat of other college students you had met and become close to. “I’m so nervous. I have to hand in that piece today. I pulled an all-nighter trying to decide on the cello part, but nothing sounded right, so now I might not get a full mark.” You could hear the whine through the text. When replies of good luck came to you, except for two replies, you chuckled. One read “could always just die before handing it in.” Another wrote, “I've got the wine ready.” laughing to yourself as you walked into the classroom and set down the folder in the bin. Glancing through the room, you took a seat with your head down. It was unusual for you to arrive early to class, but your anxiety with this project was slowly picking at you to just get there and hand it in. With twenty minutes till class started, you decided to pull out your laptop and listen to the recording from last week.

Taking out your notebook, you started jotting notes about small things to improve, and things you hated about your performances. You didn’t notice somebody else enter the classroom rather early. Carrying his bag, he set it down at one of the desks before the sound of a violin entered his ears. Sitting down he listened to the melody you had played several nights before. As the piece finished, his eyes traveled to the bin. Now understanding where you had gotten the piece from, he sighed. “You’re not half bad, you played a little flat, but it sounds okay. Becoming a flustered disaster, you froze glancing over to him. This wasn’t the first time you had noticed him in class, he was hard to miss. His completely perfect grades, perfect posture, and looks made him stand out. Not only that, but he had strong ideals and his debate skills could sway anybody. Though, you knew it wasn’t really skill, more manipulation. To add to everything his Russian accent stuck out with every word he spoke. “Could you play that again?” hesitating at first you restarted the piece.

He took out a blank piece of sheet music and started scribbling down notes. As if memorizing the piece, he tapped his fingers before bringing his thumb to his mouth and chewing on it. Tapping his foot as the piece came to an end, he glanced at the time before walking over to one of the room's cellos. His face resembled discontent as he looked at it. Looking to where he sat, you realized he didn’t have his with him. You presumed it had to do with the instrument being heavy and somewhat large. Though for somebody of his height, it may not be that big of a deal. Perhaps he didn’t want to lug it around with him, considering he had all of those other books for classes. “So uh, why did you want to hear it again?” you mumbled, rubbing the back of your neck as you watched him strum a few strings. He was checking the accuracy and pitch of the notes. With a contempt sigh, he shrugged.

“Your writing is considerably well done. I wished to try something that is all.” He did not shed a glance as he sat down and ran the bow across the strings. The sound was heaven within your ears, but to him, it was nothing but ordinary. The sound of a well-made expensive Russian model, the model he owned, was much better than this school-provided variant. As the melody played, you recognized it as your piece. Smiling slightly as your eyes sparkled. You bolted from your seat to grab your folder; the music that was due in 10 minutes.

Looking over the cello part you had constructed, you changed the key signature to hold a few new sharps and took away some of the flats. Boldly, you handed the male the sheet music and pointed as if asking "Is this the piece you were playing?" Setting the cello aside, he ran a finger over the bars with a nod. “So that’s what I was missing! You're a god at memorizing and creating. Now I'm excited to see what you concocted for the presentation.” You smiled lightly before placing the folder in the bin. “Oh, I never got your name. I’m-” he cut you off before you could formally introduce yourself.

“You’re y/n. I do pay attention to people who aren't a complete waste of time.” The layers of his ego began to shine through his solid expression. The way you'd called him god just then, was another layer added to the ever-growing ego this man had. He thought he was above everybody else; he indeed was. In every way possible, he was above the normal human. With an exceptionally sharp mind, emotionless facade, and a spin of extraordinary talents, he was a god among men. “I’m taken aback, you don’t know me.” frowning you sat back at your desk. Leaning your head against the palm of your hand with a frown, you clicked your tongue.

Coming up with a sharp reply, you rolled your eyes. “Please, who doesn't know the great Dostoevsky. You’re only at the top of our class. Correcting myself before you can, the top in everything.” He snickered his brows raising in interest. His lips curled into a smirk moments before breaking to speak to you again.

“Consider your words before speaking. That wasn’t exactly the best wording to say "I'm better than everybody at everything.” It took you several seconds to realize what had gone through his head. Of course, he understood what you were saying, but he also managed to nitpick everything.

Blushing you placed your hands in front of your face. “I didn't think about it because that’s not what I was saying!” he snickered again. Listening to him stand you peeked from your hands to watch him set away the cello and bow.

“How often do you perform at that pub?” He switched the discussion relatively quickly. But with the sudden pause of your reaction and the setting away of the instrument, it flowed nicely with the conversation.

“Once or twice a month?” You answer honestly. A bit upset by the lack of real performances you had.

“Next time, I'll reserve something, and we’ll set something up. I want to see if you can play something… difficult.” It wasn't much of a question, more a demand. Nodding you wrote down your number, sliding it to the student with a smile as the bell rang.

For the next week, the two of you met in the unused rooms Fyodor managed to snag for practicing. He often shook his head at your way of playing. He did compliment the several different instruments you would take with you. From the cello to the violin, there wasn’t much you couldn’t play. Each was expertly designed and crafted to fit your arm length and height. Custom made and shipped from all over the world. Eventually, it became a routine, going to his concerts as he attended yours. While you praised how good he was, he would find the smallest mistakes to condemn you about.

#bsd #bsd x reader #bsd x reader scenerio #bsd scenerio #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs #fyodor #bsd college au #bsd college au x reader #bsd college x reader #fyodor college au #fyodor college #fyodor x reader #musican fyodor #musician fyodor x reader #fyodor x musician reader #fyodor x you

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ryqoshay · 3 years

Text

Happy Life: Fallen Angel vs. Little Demon

Primary Pairing: YohaRiko Words: ~3.4k Rating: G AU: Angelic? Time Frame: Between Riko’s 2nd and 3rd year and Yohane’s 1st and 2nd year of high school Story Arc: Stand Alone

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Author’s Note: Inspired by a somewhat recent SIFAS Daily Theater translation. I will link to said translation in the follow up post.

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A knock sounded at the door.

Riko quickly shoved the doujin she had been reading under her pillow. “Yes?” She responded, grabbing some sheet music from nearby on her bed.

“Riko, dear.” Mrs. Sakurauchi said, as she opened the door. “Your friend, Yohane-chan, was it?”

“Yoshiko-chan?”

“I believe she left this.”

Riko recognized the device in her mother’s hand as Yoshiko’s phone and sighed. “Yes, that’s hers.”

“I tried calling her mother already, but it seems she was called in to work and is unable to get ahold of her daughter to tell her.”

“I see…”

“So, I was hoping you could bring it to her?”

“Me?”

“I’m not sure how else to get it to her, or even tell her that it’s here.”

Riko sighed. Perhaps some of the fallen angel’s luck rubbed off on her. It was probably bound to happen at some point or another, what with the two of them spending more time together as of late.

“Alright.” Riko agreed, sliding off her bed.

As she made her way down the stairs to the front entryway, Riko considered the events leading up to her needing to deliver the forgotten item. Yesterday, she had noticed Yoshiko a bit out of sorts, even for the purported fallen angel. In an effort to cheer up her friend, Riko had offered to have her come over to visit Prelude. Thankfully, the tactic had worked well. Yoshiko had perked up immediately and had been quite enthusiastic in her time with the young dog.

The three went for a walk before returning to Riko’s home for a warm meal prepared by her mother. From there, the two girls watched a movie together, while Prelude spent the entire show curled up in Yoshiko’s lap.

At some point, Riko had noticed the time and wondered aloud if Yoshiko would be able to make the last bus back to Numazu. Yoshiko was confused by the question and had to check the schedule. Riko had wondered if the younger girl had bothered to check the schedule earlier. To Yoshiko’s dismay, she had already missed her bus. Thus, Riko had ended up offering to let her stay for the night and pulled out the guest futon.

After another movie, the two turned in for the night. Riko had noted, with a bit of jealousy, that Prelude chose to sleep on Yoshiko’s futon instead of Riko’s bed or her own dog bed. In the morning they went for another walk and enjoyed a quick breakfast before Yoshiko headed back home. Unfortunately, without her phone, it would seem.

At least it was early enough in the day that Riko wouldn’t have the same problem returning home as Yoshiko did yesterday, she thought as she took a seat in the bus.

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“Ah, Riko-chan.” A voice called from behind her.

Riko startled and spun. “Oh, uhm… M-Mrs. Tsushima.” She said upon recognizing the blue-haired woman. “I thought… My mother said you were at work?”

Yoshiko’s mother paused for a moment. “Oh dear, I believe there must have been a miscommunication. I said I was on my way home from work. It was just a minor emergency that I was able to address quickly before returning.”

“Oh, well… I came to bring Yoshiko-chan’s phone.”

“Yes, I figured as such. That was very kind of you. My daughter should be grateful to have such good friends. Elsewise she would have had to retrieve her lost belongings on her own.”

“She’s helped me in many ways as well.” Riko said, remembering the events leading to her getting past her fear of dogs.

Mrs. Tsushima smiled. “Well as thanks for today, why don’t I make something for lunch, if you don’t mind eating a little early, or later, if you intend to stay for a little while.”

“I can stay for a little while.” Riko said. “I don’t have any other plans until later this afternoon.”

Mrs. Tsushima nodded and let them into the complex. Inside, they took the elevator up several floors and walked down the hall to the Tsushima apartment.

“My daughter is likes to stream when she is home on the weekend.” Mrs. Tsushima explained as they removed their shoes in the entry. “So she’s probably in her room.”

“Thank you.” Riko nodded and headed toward her friend’s room. Streaming? She thought to herself. Perhaps she shouldn’t stay until lunch. She was about to interrupt Yoshiko’s session and wanted to keep the interference to a minimum if possible.

Upon arriving, she knocked on the door. No response. She knocked again.

“Yeah, Mama, c’mon in.” a voice called from within.

“Uhm, actually, it’s…” Riko started as she opened the door.

“Wha?!” Yoshiko startled from her seat at her desk. “Riri?!” She dropped the controller she had been holding. In her attempts to catch it, she fumbled, causing it ricochet off the edge of the desk and hit her in the face as she leaned forward. “Kyaa!” She cried, recoiling in such a way that her chair spun, and she slid off onto the floor. “Ughn….” She groaned.

“Yoshiko-chan!” Riko rushed forward and knelt beside the younger girl. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m…” Yoshiko pushed herself up enough to see her screen and sighed. “I lost…”

“Lost?”

“My match.” Yoshiko accepted Riko’s hand and pulled herself up to her feet.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Yoshiko shook her head before smiling strangely. “Though perhaps as punishment, Yohane should have Riri play a match.”

“Eh? Me?”

“Kidding.” Yoshiko chuckled. “Unless…”

As Yoshiko straightened her skirt and halo, Riko turned to the screen. Sure enough, the words “You Lose” were displayed in English overlaying a camera slowly orbiting what Riko assumed to be the two competitors in the match. The one on the ground was surely Yoshiko’s character and the one posing was whoever had won.

There was also a flood of text scrolling up the side of the screen.

“Eh?” Riko blinked as she recognized her name among the scrolling text. Or rather, Yoshiko’s nickname for her, accompanied by a myriad of emojis and other icons she didn’t readily recognize.

“Hey!” Yoshiko suddenly said, leaning forward toward the camera. “What have I told you all about Riri? Only Yohane is allowed to use that name bestowed upon one of her favored little demons.”

For some reason, Riko wasn’t surprised when the text sped up and the frequency of her nickname being typed increased.

Yoshiko growled something Riko didn’t understand but retrieved her controller and took her seat again. “Sorry, Riri, the horde sometimes doesn’t listen to their mistress when they get too excited.”

“And they’re excited… to see me?”

“Of course!” Yoshiko grinned. “Who wouldn’t be excited to see someone as wonderful as Riri?”

Riko felt heat rise in her cheeks. “A-and they know about me and that… nickname?”

“Well yeah, Yohane takes great pleasure in telling her little demons about those she favors most, such that some may ascribe to ascend to such greatness as well someday.”

Riko couldn’t help wondering what sort of details about her friends Yoshiko might share with her followers. Hopefully nothing too private. Still, despite the embarrassment, she couldn’t deny that it did make her feel good that Yoshiko held her in such high regard.

“A-anyway, you forgot this at my place this morning, Yoshiko-chan.” Riko held out the phone.

“Wahhh!? I didn’t even realize!” Yoshiko grabbed the device. “Thank you, Riri! Thank you!” She paused for a moment, apparently realizing she had once again dropped her persona. She cleared her throat. “And as a token of gratitude, Yohane shall rescind the punishment.”

“I thought you were just kidding about that.”

“Well… the horde seemed to think it was a good idea.” Yoshiko admitted, jutting a chin toward the screen. “But Yohane doesn’t want to force one of her favored little demons to do something she doesn’t want to do.”

“I never said I didn’t want to.” Riko pointed out. “I was just a little surprised by the offer. And, I’ve never played a game like that before, so I’m not sure how good I would be.”

“It’s not a matter of how good you are.” Yoshiko said, pulling open a drawer from her desk where she retrieved a second controller. “It’s about having fun.” She handed the device to Riko.

“Oh, uhm… alright.” Riko accepted the controller.

“Go ahead and grab that chair.” Yoshiko motioned in the general direction. “I’ll get things set up for a local game.”

Riko nodded, slid the chair next to the other girl and sat down.

“Alright, quick rundown of the controls.” Yoshiko indicated each button, named it function and added a small tutorial about combo moves.

Riko swallowed down her nervousness, telling herself it was little different than being on stage in front of an audience. Except the audience was watching through a camera. So maybe it was more like a PV? Except it was live. So… somewhere in between?

“Yohane shall go easy on Riri for the first couple matches.” Yoshiko said as she selected a character, an angelic girl with one black and one white wing. “Oh, the next guy over is a good beginner character.” Yoshiko pointed toward Riko’s selection.

“Alright.” Riko made her choice of a muscular man with classic anime-esque spiked hair and a very strange sword.

“Ku ku ku.” Yohane chortled. “Fallen Angel Yohane verses Little Demon Riri! Heaven or Hell! Dual 1!” She intoned, mimicking the game’s announcer surprisingly well. “Let’s Rock!”

Riko fumbled through her first combo and was disappointed when Yohane blocked the first blow and followed up with a counter. Yoshiko giggled and tripped Riko before backing off.

“This is Riri’s first match, so of course Yohane is going easy.” Yoshiko said. “I thought I already made that clear.”

Riko assumed she was responding to something she saw in the endlessly scrolling chat but wondered how the other girl was able to read it while concentrating on the game.

Riko made another attempt to attack and got a little excited when the first two hits managed to connect. But, no surprise, Yoshiko turned things around quickly and delivered a devastating combo that wiped out more than half of Riko’s health bar. Riko grunted and attacked again, only to be countered yet again.

“Slash!” the game and Yoshiko said in unison.

“But…” Riko started to protest.

“Yohane said she would go easy.” Yoshiko explained as though reading Riko’s mind. “But she didn’t say she would just let Riri win. And besides, that was just Round 1. Oh, here we go…”

Round 2 proceeded in a similar manner to Round 1 and it wasn’t long until the overall match was won by Yoshiko.

“So, do you wanna keep using that guy or try someone else?” Yoshko inquired as the character selection screen came back up. “Oh, you can also choose alternate costumes by using different buttons.”

“I see.” Riko took note. “I think I will use him a little while longer, until I learn more.”

“Alright.” Yoshiko nodded. “Well, I’m going to change things up and use her.” She moved her selection box to a short girl wielding a ship’s anchor as big as her. “She’s one of the hoard’s favorites.”

The second match, not surprisingly, went about the same as the first. However, Riko did find herself highly amused by the colorful sea animals that appeared during the special moves Yoshiko used. She could see why the audience liked that character.

Then it happened.

Riko’s eyes widened as a huge pink whale, breached across the screen to crash down over her character, along with a tidal wave of water. The remainder of Riko’s health bar was destroyed and the match was over.

Hearts, whales and other emojis flooded the chat and Yoshiko giggled.

“Heh, managed to actually pull it off again.” Yoshiko said with a toothy smile, seeming to forget her fallen angel persona again.

“What was that?” Riko asked.

“One of her super moves.” Yoshiko explained.

“It was very… cute.”

“I know, right?”

“Even if I did take a lot of damage from it.”

“Well, again, it is one of her super moves.”

“Can I try her next?”

“Of course!” Yoshiko excitedly turned her controller toward Riko. “It’s not the most complex combo, but I sometimes struggle to get the timing right when in active play.” She demonstrated the button sequence.

Riko nodded, selected the anchor-wielding girl and the next match began.

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“Oh, is that the time?” Riko asked, happening to notice Yoshiko’s alarm clock out of the corner of her eye.

“Hm?” Yoshiko turned her attention to where Riko was looking. “Oh… heh… I guess we have been playing a while, haven’t we? Time flies like an angel when you’re having fun, huh?”

“Mm…” Riko nodded.

The two girls had been playing, almost nonstop for over three hours. Riko barely remembered Mrs. Tsushima delivering a lovely, light lunch of mini sandwiches and crudités; easy finger food for gaming, as Yoshiko had described it.

During the session, Riko had started to learn how to skim chat with the side of her vision as her primary focus was on the game. As such, she was eventually able to join in on the conversation. She wasn’t nearly as good as Yoshiko, and missed some things and misunderstood others, much to every else’s amusement. Still, she found that the interaction enhanced the overall experience. And she now had a better understanding as to why Yoshiko loved streaming so much.

“I suppose I should at least get up and stretch a bit.” Yoshiko said, standing and raising her arms above her head.

Riko grimaced as she heard several joints pop.

“Eheh… Sorry, Riri…” Yoshiko offered an amused apology before twisting her shoulders to cause a cacophonous cascade up her spine.

“That… can’t be good for you…” Riko mumbled.

“This mortal shell can get a bit rickety at times.” Yoshiko finished by cracking her neck. “I look forward to resuming our practice sessions as it provides a good reminder to stretch properly. Though I do wonder who will take up Dia’s place as taskmaster.”

Riko chuckled. “She wasn’t that bad.”

“Hrm…” Yoshiko leaned forward to check something on the screen. “Ne, Riri, do you have any plans for dinner?”

“Yes, Chika-chan and I were going to write get some early drafts in so as to possibly have a new song or two before the new school year.”

Was it Riko’s imagination, or did Yoshiko’s expression change, strangely, for the briefest of moments? If she had blinked, she may have missed it.

“Ah. That sounds like fun.” Yoshiko’s normal…? smile returned. “Maybe sometime later.”

“If I may ask, was there something in particular you wanted to do or somewhere you wanted to go?”

Yoshiko pointed to where she had been looking a moment ago. “That’s the total donations I’ve received this stream. It’s more than I normally make. A lot more. And I believe that is because Riri agreed to join us today.” She paused and read several messages affirming her theory. “And I wanted to show my appreciation.”

“I see. Thank you for the offer. Uhm…” Riko reviewed her weekend plans. “Tomorrow night, I’m having dinner with my parents… But I’m free around this time, so…”

“I can do lunch.” Yohshiko offered quickly. “I was going to stream again, but I can move that to any other time.”

“Or we can eat lunch again like we did today.”

Yoshiko blinked. “You… want to stream with me again tomorrow?”

“If you’re alright with that, yes.”

Now that was unquestionably a genuine smile. Yoshiko’s eyes sparkled and her shoulders drew up with excitement. “Of course!” She cried joyously. “Riri is always welcome as a guest… no, better yet, co-host!” She turned to the camera. “Didja hear that everyone!? Riri is gonna come back tomorrow and join us again!”

The chat exploded again with emojis.

Riko couldn’t help smiling as well. It was a little embarrassing being the center of such commotion, but Yoshiko’s excitement was as contagious as it was adorable. And she wanted to see more of it. She liked seeing this side of Yoshiko.

Not that the fallen angel thing was bad or anything, but… Right now, Yoshiko was her happy human self. She wasn’t getting hurt or sick, losing or breaking anything, or anything else the fates decided to torment her with, and make Riko worry about her wellbeing. Yoshiko was happy. And that made Riko happy.

“Anyway, I had a lot of fun today.” Riko said, getting up. “Thank you for that.” She turned to the camera. “See you all tomorrow.” She offered a small parting wave.

“I’ll see you out.” Yoshiko popped up as well. “Be right back, my little demons. Then we’ll see who else is brave enough to face Yohane in combat.”

Still giddy with excitement and bubbling about plans for tomorrow, Yoshiko escorted Riko to the door. From there, Riko bid her farewell to the Tsushima family and headed home for the day.

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Riko’s brow furrowed and she grunted in frustration. Another match lost. She sighed and set her controller down on her desk.

Or rather, it was actually Chika’s controller. While the two of them were composing in Chika’s room, Riko had noticed the device and asked if Chika had the game she had played earlier that day.

Chika did not actually own the game but had been able to show Riko where to obtain it for herself, as well as order her own controller. In the meantime, while awaiting delivery, Riko was able to borrow Chika’s device, which Chika also showed her how to pair with her laptop.

So now, several hours later, Riko was practicing for the next day’s stream.

Suddenly, a notification popped up in the lower corner of her screen. Riko leaned forward and moved the cursor to click on it. A new window came up with a message.

Sventa: Greetings

Sventa? Had that been Yoshiko’s screenname? No, Riko was pretty sure it had something to do with a fallen angel. Actually, that literally was her screenname, Riko remembered, TheFallenAngel. Perhaps this was one of her other friends? Maybe Chika? She didn’t have the game, but she had the program through which it was installed and run.

YuriYoukai: Hello

YuriYoukai: Is that you, Chika-chan?

Sventa: No

Sventa: I do not believe we know each other

Sventa: But I am a fan of Yohana-sama’s streams

Sventa: Are you the same little demon Riri that appeared on Yohane-sama’s stream today?

Riko paused, wondering if she should confirm.

Sventa: If you are, I wanted to say that you made for a very fun stream

Sventa: We got to see a rare side of Yohane-sama because of you

Sventa: You are obviously someone she cares for deeply

Sventa: She talks about you and some of her other friends a lot

Well, Yoshiko had admitted as such earlier. Riko wondered again what all Yoshiko talked about with her followers.

Sventa: But this was the first time she’s brought one of you onto her stream

Sventa: And it was fun to see her having so much fun

Sventa: So thank you for that

YuriYoukai: You’re welcome.

Riko wasn’t quite she sure had really done anything worth thanks, and she had fun as well, so… Well, she had thanked Yoshiko herself, so maybe this individual just wanted to do the same.

Sventa: And now you are playing this again

Sventa: Practicing for tomorrow?

YuriYoukai: I didn’t win a single match against Yoshiko-chan

Sventa: That is true

Sventa: But Yohane-sama is an experienced player and you only started playing today

Sventa: Still, I must say you showed great potential

YuriYoukai: I still can’t win now

Sventa: But you are having fun, right?

YuriYoukai: Yes

Sventa: That is good

Sventa: And more important that how good you are or how much you win

Riko chuckled as she remembered Yoshiko saying something similar.

Sventa: Still, perhaps I can offer some advice?

Sventa: The character you used today was my first favorite when I first started playing

Sventa: And I would be happy to recommend some other characters as well

Sventa: Even the one I know Yohane-sama struggles against

Sventa: Perhaps you can catch her off guard

YuriYoukai: There is a character Yoshiko-chan struggles against?

Sventa: The game is a complex set of Rock Paper Scissors, with every character having strengths and weaknesses

Sventa: Some of these strengths can be exploited against the weaknesses of others

YuriYoukai: I see

Sventa: A skilled player can still work around it all and win

Sventa: But if they are not expecting their opponent to know certain things, they will not be ready for them

Sventa: I think it would make for a really fun stream if you were able to surprise Yohane-sama like that

Riko smiled. That did sound like fun.

YuriYoukai: Alright

YuriYoukai: Teach me what you can, Sventa-sensei

The other player invited Riko to a network game and the two started playing.

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Author’s Notes Continued in Followup Post

#YohaRiko #YoshiRiko #Sakurauchi Riko #Tsushima Yohane #Love Live Sunshine #Happy Life #fanfic #Tsushima Yoshiko

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dustedmagazine · 3 years

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Listed: Colin Fisher

Photo by ilyse krivel

Toronto-based multi-instrumentalist Colin Fisher is on a constant quest for the ecstatic through sound. His journey has taken him in many directions, from the math-rock inspired group Sing That Yell That Spell, to the fiery free improvisation duo Not the Wind, Not the Flag. As a band leader, his free jazz quartet released the white-hot Living Midnight for Astral Spirits in 2020, about which Derek Taylor wrote, “Passages of ruminant restraint alternate with excoriating blasts and outbursts, but the means always remains intelligible and momentum driven whether full-steam or incremental.” Solo, Fisher has recently wafted in a more contemplative direction that might see him associated with the new age revival, but this work is as exploratory and engaging as his most spirited improvisational outings. Here, he lists some of the pieces within which he experiences the sublime.

Jean-Pierre Leguay — Chant d’Airain

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Some of my first experiences with the sublime in music were in church. I abhorred being in church (and would even attempt to hide to avoid attendance) but at the end of service the organist played as the congregation filed out. The selections were usually secular and I can remember my rapt attention. Not because of some aesthetic taste but because I was having a physical/biological response to the sounds. Being in the resonant chamber of the cathedral provided a fully immersive experience. Rather than suggest whatever music was being played at the time I’m going to fast forward to my mid 20s… While in the same church, I heard the principal organist of Notre Dame improvise with some Messiaen-symmetrical ideas that lifted me out of my corporeal form and left me sobbing in a church pew at the very church I would have done everything in my power not to be present in as a child. The organist was Jean-Pierre Leguay.

Ravi Shankar — At Monterey Pop

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An early transmission from what seemed like outer space at the time, as a young child I heard the sounds of Ravi Shankar and Alla Rakha live at Monterey Pop (my parents had this and the record with Yehudi Menuhin.) Ravi is far from my fav Hindustani musician or sitarist, of which I have innumerable favorites now. But I’m particularly enamored with Vilayat Khan after reading his biography, The Sixth String of Vilayat Khan, a couple of years ago. Pandit Pran Nath is also a huge inspiration.

Polvo — Cor-Crane Secret

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Without sifting through the rubble of my punk/hardcore teens (which was totally legit inspirational beauty, from Minor Threat and straight edge to grunge, etc.) I want to highlight a band that literally changed my life in my mid to late teens. When I first heard Cor-Crane Secret by Polvo, I didn’t realize that music like this existed. It gave me permission to go on long wonky improvisational explorations — endless melodies and whammied chords that would go on for hours sometimes. I also got to see them on the Today’s Active Lifestyles tour when I was 18, totally life changing.

Ornette Coleman — The Shape of Jazz to Come

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The next stage I’ll focus on has a little more girth: my introduction to jazz/free jazz/improv/fusion. I think I first discovered this music by accident. I remember seeing a clip of Monk on the news the day he died. I was much younger, and I thought to myself “this music is like an alien transmission!” But I put that away in the vaults for a couple of decades. I also remember seeing a clip on TV of a soprano player at a jazz fest in Toronto, playing the craziest shit I’d ever heard (once again on a news program,) but had little-to-no context. The clip lasted probably 10 seconds but felt longer and I remember thinking something like “this is more punk rock than punk rock!” hahaha. So, there was a hunger there that I needed to satiate. But I had no access to any recordings where I lived. I remember reading books at the library about jazz history and the only CDs I could borrow were Manteca or big band music. I had to imagine what Song X sounded like for the time being. Ornette’s The Shape of Jazz to Come was one of the first albums I actually bought, and it was more magical than any description could possibly illustrate. As pedestrian as this may seem to everyone now, it was another life changer for me. I can remember late nights sitting by myself, probably super high on good weed, listening to “Lonely Woman” and weeping.

John McLaughlin — Extrapolation

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In my early days of discovering jazz, I also came across the music of John Mclaughlin, initially via Mahavishnu Orchestra. His whole profile as a guitarist was incredibly inspiring for me — someone who had an equal footing in jazz, Flamenco, Indian classical music and fusion — a model for what I could become as a player (although I don’t think our styles are really even that comparable.) One of his albums that I think is maybe overlooked in his career is Extrapolation which has an incredible lineup and the compositions are incredible.

John Coltrane — Interstellar Space

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In considering this list I’m realizing there’s no way I can touch on all the music that has shaped me. But there is an album that’s shaped a great deal in terms of how I play and in what seems to be my favorite type of collaborative setting — the duo. Interstellar Space is an absolute masterpiece. Everything feels raw — the intensity, the interplay, the emotion. As much as I love so much of John Coltrane’s music, there’s something about this record that was akin to hearing punk music for the first time. There’s an immediacy to expression and interaction. And it was something that felt available to me (certainly not his virtuoso chops, which felt otherworldly — an unscalable monolith.) The direct communication between two people was a revelation and the content of this music felt like something I could mine for the rest of my life.

The Ivo Perelman Trio — “Cantilena”

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Fast-forward another few years or more and I had travelled with some good friends to NYC for I think it was the JVC Jazz Fest. We wanted to see MMW play (of whom I still think Friday Afternoon In the Universe is a perfect album.) While we were there though, we saw so much beautiful music that blew me away. The most significant for me though, was catching the last 10 minutes of a set by the Ivo Perelman trio in Tribeca somewhere (the trio was with Jay Rosen on drums and Dominic Duval on bass, who I played with several years later. RIP). It was electrifying. I was moved enough to go and talk to him after and he gave me an unmarked demo tape of Seeds, Vision and Counterpoint. There’s a track on the album called “Cantilena” and it really drops into this heavy space for around 10 minutes that gives me the chills every time I hear it. There is this free lyricism that is still absolutely elating to me. I love his playing and he’s still probably my favorite living saxophonist.

Marilyn Crispell — Vignettes

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Masabumi Kikuchi — Out of Bounds

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Using lyricism as a segue it brings me to the music of Marilyn Crispell, especially her albums Amaryllis,Nothing Ever Was Anyway, Vignettes and many others. She has a mode of free ballad playing that is absolutely transcendental. I will also mention Masabumi Kikuchi in the same breath. I find the desire more and more to play with a similar intention even though I rarely find myself in the context to do so.

Jute Gyte — Birefringence

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A total shift from this narrative of discovery and development is metal music. Something I’d been listening to since my teens and getting hip to some cool thrash music through Canadian band Voivod, particularly the album Dimension Hatröss. I've continued to follow the music and all of its various subgenres and have so many favorite picks, but I’ll choose just one and it’s a total mindbender. Jute Gyte’s Birefringence actually eclipses easy category and you really just need to experience it.

Giacinto Scelsi — “Uaxuctum”

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Catherine Christer Hennix — “Blues Alif Lam Mim In The Modes Of Rag Infinity/Rag Cosmosis”

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My last pick is another double pick (I know I’m cheating) because it relates to the power of music and ties it into the first selection. Another current, among many, of musical obsessions is “new music.” But when I heard Giacinto Scelsi’s music for the first time it surpassed all of my previous notions about what was possible with composed music — it felt like music from an ecstatic vision. Even as I listen to the track now, it immediately accesses some occult realm of sublimity that feels similar to the music I first heard in church but with an unbridled intensity and depth.

Another more recent selection that fits into this category — but that is different in that it embraces a sort of stasis rather than dynamic movement — is the music of Catherine Christer Hennix. If you don’t know her, she’s a deep well of musical/mathematical/spiritual inspiration for me. Another music without a real equivalent in this day and age — something that echoes ancestral currents as well as the vibration of the cosmos itself. Thanks for reading/listening. Peace be with you. xoxo

#dusted magazine #listed #colin fisher #Jean-Pierre Leguay #ravi shankar #polvo #ornette coleman #john mclaughlin #john coltrane #ivo perelman #marilyn crispell #masabumi kikuchi #jute gyte #giacinto scelsi #catherine christer hennix

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ssatoritendou · 4 years

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Blueberry Eyes

Pairing: kageyama/reader

Kageyama Tobio

Word count: 4.2k

+ summary: You and your soulmate are connected by listening to music.

Genre: fluff; soulmates

To say he found it annoying was an understatement. How can someone listen to the same song over and over again? Stupid soulmate. That’s what Kageyama thought. He didn’t have time for a soulmate. He has one focus and his one love Volleyball. But he could say this about his soulmate. She listened to the playlist in exact order every day at the same time. It kept him on a time schedule surprisingly. Sometimes she went a little off base in the afternoon, sometimes listening to classical piano pieces and sometimes white noise.

Right now he was practicing sets against the wall at lunch waiting for Hinata to come over to yell at him excitedly to set to him. Which he would end up ultimately doing. When all of a sudden strong guitar rift came into his head causing him to set the ball higher than expected leading it to hit him in the face. “Kageyama what happened? You messed up. You never messed up.” “Idiot. Stupid idiot, she is not on a schedule. And this song isn’t even on her playlist.” “Maybe it’s a song she listens to when she is upset,” Hinata suggested. Kageyama didn’t like the feeling that his soulmate could be upset. But what could he do, he didn’t know you. “I don’t care if she is upset! It’s really annoying that she is listening to songs not on schedule and not the regular ones. It throws me off my game. And you don’t want me off my game if you want perfect sets Hinata.” “I think you need to be more appreciative of your soulmate bond. It’s amazing that you are able to hear the music she listens to. It gives you an insight into her personality. I just have my soulmates' first words to me and all I know is that I’ll know who it is when I meet them. I guess for you it could be anyone with headphones on. And why are you assuming the gender of your soulmate for all you know it could be Tsukishima with all the times he is wearing headphones.” Hinata said with an evil smile on his face. “Baka it’s not Tsukishima he doesn’t listen to music on a schedule and he doesn’t listen to this type of music that is for sure.”

“HEY! HEY! HEY!” You heard come from your owl-headed captain while he was reading a volleyball magazine. “Keiji does he always have to yell like that inside?” You asked your older brother. He exhaled and shook his head, “Settle down Bokuto, we are inside.” Bokuto frowned and his hair frowning with his face. “Akaashi, ____ you won’t believe it I’m one of the topped 5 ranked Aces in the nation. See!” He pointed to the magazine with a great picture of him spiking. “Weren’t you in the top 3 the last time we went to nationals?” “Akaashi!” He bit back your brother. “You are in the top 5 that’s all that matters.” You said with a smile. “It’s a positive thing. Universities with strong volleyball programs will see this and definitely want you on their team. As long as you eat healthily and improve your technique.” “Thanks, little Akashi.” You hated that nickname he had given you “Bokuto don’t call me that. Shouldn’t you be studying if you want to go to the training camp next month?” “Don’t you guys want to help me?” He said, turning to you and Keiji. “I’m a first-year Bokuto. I have no clue what you are learning about.” “I have my own finals to worry about so that I can play as well. ___ here is just a manager in training. She doesn’t even have to go. I'm sure she would rather stay home anyway.” “Not true. I would like to know everything about the teams playing style considering we will be playing against them in the future.” “There you go _____. You know Kuroo told me about this amazing combo team from the Miyagi Prefecture. Fast spikes. But I’m sure he is over exaggerating. They were invited to the training camp.” You were able to get Bokuto to calm down. Maybe that was your gift as an Akaashi, being able to calm down the Owl-Headed captain, just like your brother. You were able to get him to talk about volleyball with Akaashi while you put in your headphones. You were listening to some Beethoven pieces to keep you focused. You put your phone to your side and started working on some of your math work. Sometimes your mind wandered to soulmate connections. Most girls your age would tell and squeal about their connection. But you had no clue what your connection was. It bothered you a little bit. Akaashi was lucky he had a tattoo of a timer of when he was going to meet his soulmate. He wouldn’t tell you the exact timing of the timer. You never had any strange markings or any sort of sign. It worried you. Were you destined to be alone? But dwelling on things that shouldn’t make you worried won’t do you any good. You had a plan for your life and the universe will work things out for you. As you are working on the homework your music was changed to a rock song. You yanked the headphones out and Konoha was laughing. “Don’t do that you jerk.” You pushed him.

Kageyama was going for his morning run. He put his headphones in not like he needed the music he had his soulmate's morning playlist playing. “Tobio dear I made eggs and toast. Where are you going?” “Out for a run Mom, I’ll be back in 20 minutes.” He said after finishing tying his shoelace. He began running around his neighborhood. He noticed the music was barely playing a faint, low noise of the start of techno piano, he thinks it is Korean pop. But he could barely hear it; he heard the pumping of his heart louder. He decided to take a stretching break and put on his own music. His sister made him a playlist to keep him pumped while running. He was a little ashamed of admitting it but he enjoyed Ariana Grande. He put on her new song and continued his run.

Yes, the finals were finally over but in the midst of immense studying, you had gotten sick. A chest cold you would have gone to school but your mother insisted that you stay home for the day. You put on your music at a low volume. You had NCT U’s light bulb playing in your ear as you were falling back to sleep in the early morning as Keiji the adjoining bathroom was brushing his teeth. The cough syrup finally kicks in and making you feel sleepy. That's when you swear that your song had changed to Ariana Grande’s Positions. When you look down and your screen still said NCT—Light Bulb with the volume not even passing the rewind icon. “Keiji!” He emerged from the bathroom toothbrush in his mouth shrugging at your loudness so early. “I can’t hear the song that is playing in my headphones instead it’s playing Ariana Grande. Can you hear it?” You handed him the headphone. He spat the toothpaste in the sink and came to sit on your bed placing the headphone in his ear. Instead of hearing the very powerful female vocalist, he heard the rap section of the song you were listening to. “I do not hear Ariana Grande, I just hear the Korean Rap.” You flopped your head down on the pillow. “Is this cold medicine making me go crazy?” Keiji laughed at your dramatics. “You know some soulmate connections are connected to what you listen to.” He smirked leaving your room. “Well, I’m off to school text me if you need anything.” Your eyes were wide open with shock. You listen to music all the time. All the time. Based on times of day, feelings and emotions, and tasks. This is the first time you heard your soulmate's music or whatever they were listening to. Or maybe your music was always too low for you to hear what they were listening to. But if that’s true based on this experience that means the volume was too loud for them to hear their own music. You had forced your music preferences onto someone else which is a horrible thing to do. You must be so annoying to this person. Listening to music all the damn time. And they have to listen to it. You quickly pulled the covers over your head hoping to fall apart.

The rest of the morning the person whoever they are were playing pumped-up songs. You assumed they were happy about something or possibly working out. After Akaashi requested your help with songs for his workout routine you were well versed in the subject. They played them until about 8:50 which is when a majority of when classes start in high school. That was a plus you knew this person was in high school.

Kageyama has had 2 off days now in the past 2 months. The one where his soulmate changed the song they were listening to and messed with his practicing of setting to himself. 2 today when his soulmate didn’t listen to any music at all. Today was the day he got back his final grades. He did overall well except for one that didn’t even graze the passing mark. How the hell was he going to get to Tokyo now? He wanted to play Nekoma. He wanted to face that setter that got along with Hinata again. He wanted to play those other Tokyo teams. Some have been to nationals and he wants to beat them and let them know that he is better than them. When it came to practice time and they were in the club room, Hinata had failed one test too. He and the orange were seething that they were not able to go. “Hey, you two only failed one test right? So just take the supplementary lessons in the morning and don’t worry I got you a ride to Tokyo. You’ll be there in no time.” Tanaka said with an evil smile.

Summer has finally approached. With that comes a lot of training for the volleyball team. But these camps were more than just training. It was about building relationships with teams and other players in the same positions as you to pass on techniques. But once it’s game time no one can really beat Bokuto’s spikes. With his strong arms, pure agility, and positive attitude while playing it's hard to keep up with him. Expect when he is shut out then and only then can Akaashi really know what to do to make him feel better. But Bokuto is also not your team's strongest link; everyone else is very strong as well.

You were filling water bottles up when Kuroo tapped your shoulder. “____ this is the Manager and Junior Manager of the Karasuno team from Miyagi.” “Oh, you mean the wonder-team. The ones with the crazy spike attacks. Bokuto was talking about this for months. Pretty sure Keiji was going to strangle him if he wouldn’t shut up.” You said with a laugh. The oldest bowed, she was quite beautiful. “Hi my name is Kiyoko and this is Yachi.” The smaller one blonde bowed as well and said a quick hello. You bowed back and said, “It is nice to meet you. I’m ___ as Kuroo said. And I’m a manager at Fukurodani. I’ll show you around and where you and where your team will be sleeping.” You were given the job of showing the new managers where they would be because you drew the shortest straw of the managers. It didn’t bother you as much. “Since we are in a school we are staying in classrooms that’s why the form said sleeping bags are required. So the girl managers are sleeping in room 119. And based on the map I was given Karasuno will be staying on the opposite side of the building in 160. And the coaches are staying right in between 140-142. Why don’t you two set up your spots here? And then I’ll help you with the other bags if you need them for your other rooms.” You said looking up from your paper. “Thank you again. But don’t worry about the bags the boys will bring in their own. Yachi do you mind putting my bag in there while I tell the coach about the sleeping arrangements.” “U-uh yes, Kiyoko,” Yachi said nervously. The tall older dark-haired female left the room. “Are you a first-year by chance? There aren’t a lot of first-years well none, managers and I would very much like to have a friend.” You said to the blonde female. “Yes I am. Yachi Hitoka.” “Akaashi, _________. Pleased to meet you and I hope we can become good friends.”

Yachi and You spent time together when you weren’t with your teams. You found her company enjoyable. She talked about Hinata an orange-haired short but fast spiker and his partner a setter Kageyama who is obsessed with volleyball. She then told you they weren’t the brightest pair and they had to take supplementary lessons but would be arriving shortly. Within an hour the 2 burst through the door panting from running. As soon as the next set for Karasuno’s match started you watched to see what Yachi was talking about. And she was right the little orange one moved so fast and the blueberry setter, set to his exact speed. That was a true pairing.

As soon as the camp started it ended in 2 days. And you were thankful. You enjoyed the rushed yes, but since you were the runt of your Fukurodani manager team and were the servant to everyone. Keiji saw that it was taking a toll on you. You just finished cleaning around the gym when someone bumped into you causing you to drop the floor polish. “Hey watch it blueberry.” You let that slip out by accident slapping your hand on your mouth. When you first saw the setter of the Karasuno team you thought his eyes looked like blueberries and even his hair now that you are closer to him looked like that shade of blue. “What did you say?” He said with anger in his tone. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I’m just a little worn out and I tend to get a little crabby when that happens. I know you didn’t mean to bump into me. And that reaction was not warranted.” You bowed and apologized profusely hoping that he would accept. Keiji was walking over when he saw you bent over in front of the young setter. “Uh ___ what is going on here.” “Not now Akaashi.” “What did she do?” Akaashi asked with a sigh in his voice as he pinched the tip of his nose. “She called me blueberry after I did accidentally bump into her causing the polish to fall over.” “Hmm, not her worst reaction.” This caused you to kick your older brother in the ankle. “Wait till I tell mom about this then will see if you get any curry tonight.” You stuck your tongue out in return. “There is one way to settle this then you rambling apologies and making Kageyama uncomfortable. As long as Kageyama doesn’t mind will you help her clean up the polish?” You felt bad for him, how was a first-year going to say no to a second year. Also, your brother putting him in an awkward position to if he said no he would look like a bad guy. But what you and your brother didn’t know that Kageyama had the utmost respect for him. Akaashi was setting for one of the top aces in Japan. He was so lucky. So naturally, he agreed to do so. You were a little shocked. You and he cleaned in silence; it was peaceful. You were humming a little bit. You noticed that Kageyama looked up when you started humming. You stopped right then and there afraid you would freeze to death from his icy glare. Not that you mind though, the none emotionless setter was gorgeous. He did have ridiculously beautiful blueberry eyes and a nice jawline. And his hair looked really soft too, which made him look like a blueberry even more. You finished quickly so you would not hold him up anymore. “I’m sorry again that my brother forced you to help clean.” You apologized bowing to him. “He didn’t force me. I did bump into you, causing you to drop the polish. I’m sorry I wasn’t paying attention, I was lost in my thoughts.” He bowed to you. ‘Also very gentlemanly.’ You thought to yourself. “I understand I do that too sometimes. You played really well for the games you got to play in. You can set to the orange guy perfectly. You match his speed so he can spike it perfectly almost every time when he isn’t blocked by Nekoma.” You said mocking Hinata’s spiking motion. Kageyama looked down and smiled at you. “I think Fukurodani stumped him a couple of times.” “Well, we do have one of the top 5 aces in Japan. It is bound to happen.” You said with a chuckle walking backward out of the gym. “Hey I was wondering was that song you were humming earlier something by Ariana Grande?” You thought for a minute. Over the course ever since you found your soulmate connection you decided to lesson your time listening to music. You found that the person you were connected to liked Ariana Grande a lot. Maybe it was Positions. “Oh yeah, it was. Sorry if you found that was annoying. Just someone I know really likes that song.” You laughed again. “Come on ___ we got to go!” Bokuto yelled from the bus he was hanging out of the door while your brother was trying to pull him in. “It looks like I have to go. There is supposed to be another training camp soon, maybe your team will invite them too, it was nice talking to you. Yachi has my number if you need another friend.” You grabbed your bag by the entrance of the gym and hopped over to your bus. Kageyama watched you the whole way, his heart fluttering a little bit. When you reached the bus Bokuto was smirking, “Was Little Akaashi flirting with the setter from Karasuno?” “No! I have no idea what you are talking about! And stop calling me that!” You huffed and sat in your seat. You placed your headphones in for a somewhat long drive which you can get some much-needed sleep. You decided to listen to music for once, choosing to listen to Blueberry Eyes. As the bus was finally pulling out Kageyama was looking at the bus and you gave him a little wave and he waved back. “You are blushing.” Bokuto leaned over with a big smile. You pulled his sleep mask down. “Go to sleep you great horned owl.”

As the Manager from Fukurodani gave Kageyama a wave. He waved back. But the reason he was looking at the Fukurodani bus leaving was that he heard the song his soulmate was playing, Blueberry Eyes. He does not believe in coincidences. You just called him blueberry. Worse of all was that he kind of liked you. But not in a romantic way yet. He liked you as a person. You didn’t find volleyball boring, your brother was also a setter, and you were fun to talk to. “Kageyama who are you waving at?!” Hinata yelled at him. “No one you need to worry about Dumbass!” He yelled back. “He was waving at one of the Fukurodani’s cute managers,” Nishinoya said, smiling. “She seems so sweet and innocent like a pure angel.” Tanaka agreed. “Yeah, she is Akashi's sister,” Suga said. “So I doubt you two will ever get close to her.” The two second-years pouted at their chances with the manager.

The next camp was coming up in a few weeks. Hinata and Kageyama did have a fight and he did frighten Yachi. He felt bad because of the few friends he had; he lost both of them. As much as he hated Hinata, he was able to keep up with Kageyama’s skill and shared the passion for volleyball. Yachi was able to help him with his grade and was a great tutor and she also didn’t find volleyball boring, and she is curious about the sport. He went to her house to apologize. He brought her some cat-shaped cookies (that what his sister told him to do). “You didn’t have to Kageyama.” Yachi was shaking her head feeling guilty that she didn’t do anything for him. “It is an apology for what happened in the gym the other day between Hinata and me. You shouldn’t have seen that and we shouldn’t have let that happen.” “Thank you for the apology. I hope you and Hinata work things out.” She said with a smile. There was silence for a moment before Yachi’s phone dinged. She looked down at it knowing it was you continuing the conversation that you guys started earlier. She laughed at her phone. Kageyama lifted his eyebrow in suspicion. “Sorry, that was ____.” “_____?” “Uh yeah. Fukurodani’s manager, Akaashi’s sister.” “Oh her. I believe she is my soulmate.” With that statement, she almost dropped the box of cookies. “What?!” She squeaked.

“Yachi!” You screamed and leaped into her arms. “____ it had only been 2 weeks.” “But I missed you. I don’t have a lot of girl-friends.” She laughed and hugged you right back. “Come on I’ll show you to your classroom again.” Yachi was not the one for evil plans or devilish plans. But only knowing for a few weeks she knows Kageyama would be a good fit for you. And you for him. So she and he planned for a way to get to know each other. While he focuses on volleyball.

“____ I have to help with setting up for dinner. Can you throw balls for Kageyama? I usually do but-” “Of course Yachi. I’m used to doing it for Akaashi.” You jogged over to Kageyama and he was stretching.“Hi Kageyama, Yachi asked me to throw balls for you to set is that ok?” “Yes of course. I’m assuming you know how to throw to setters?” “Mmhmm.” You hummed with a nod.

Evenings passed, helping Kageyama with his setting for this move for him and Hinata. After each training session, he would walk you to your room. You got to know him, he was really a simple person, with some anger problems, and a love for volleyball. You also found out you could make him blush easily.

The last day had finally approached. The boys and managers were treated with BBQ. After that, you had to clean the gym. “Want some help again? A way for me to repay you for helping me this week.” Kageyama asked. “Please do.” You said with a sigh. “Thank you.” He shrugged happily helping you. “You and Hinata really improved that move. It looks good I have a feeling you will get to play Seijoh. I’ll be rooting for you.” He was listening to you but also not because he had a plan for you, he was going to confirm his theory that you were in fact his soulmate. He put in his headphones when you weren’t looking, putting it at full volume, and played the song you have been listening to for 2 weeks. Blueberry Eyes. He turned his head and watched you jump and seeing you drop your broom. You looked directly into Kageyama's eyes. He looked at you deadpan, smirking, skipping the song to an Ariana song. You had a cute confused look on your face and made his heart flutter again. He took out his headphones. “You- You, uh… You are my soulmate!” You said flabbergasted. “Yes.” He shrugged. “You knew? For how long?” “2 weeks when you were leaving. You listened to that song. Blueberry Eyes. Normally I would be offended, but the song is very complimentary. You do have good music taste and I like that you were on a schedule. Then you went off it and that did throw me off.” “I’m sorry. When I found out that was my connection which was when I was sick and you were listening to your music. I felt horribly guilty that I was forcing my type of music onto another. And I never wanted to do that to you.” He walked over to you and hugged you to stop you from rambling. “It doesn’t matter to me. You have good music taste. I don’t know what I really liked.” “Ariana Grande.” He blushed and pushed you out of his grasp. “Hey, Baka that is not fair.” He said embarrassed. “Oh, Kageyama it is not that bad.” You laughed. You noticed he was still holding your hand. “I like that you are my soulmate Kageyama.” “And I like you are mine. And I ask for a couple of things. 1. Please call me Tobio, 2. Never change your music taste, and 3. If you can please come to my games.” You blushed at the last request. “Anything for my Blueberry.” You pecked his cheek. His face heated up again. “You can call me Tobio,'' I said. “Blueberry in private please.” “Anything you want.” you agreed.

#kageyama #haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader #haikyū!!#haikyuu kageyama #tobio #haikyuu tobio #kageyama tobio #tobio kageyama #hq tobio #hq kageyama

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fateblood · 3 years

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OC List - a short overview

Technically, I am a writer. I know, surprise surprise. And technically, I have original characters and have had them for quite a while. This is a short introduction post to my 10 reoccuring characters! They all come with worlds, backstories, writing pieces and much, much love. If you ever wanna ask me about any of them, do it! I'll happily chatter for hours lol.

(Sorted by order of creation)

Sophy "Soldier #08" [REDACTED] (est 2013) - Sophy is a genetically modified sniper/assasin from a program which raised children from birth to become the most efficent type of soldier. She is one of the last four surviving members. She is cold, sarcastic, heartless, loyal and quite a bitch. Her story is the "SPARD Project".

Nicolas "Victory" Chale (est 2014) - Nico or "Vic" as most people call him comes from a science fiction novel I wrote in my early teens where he leads a rebellion. Currently, he's a hacker in current days. He's a player, rebellious, charming, has an easy time at convincing people and always jumps back to his feet.

Michael "Freak" Gavon (est 2014) - Freak comes from the same science fiction story as Vic does and the two have always been best friends (I go back and forth on shipping them and can't really decide). He is rather silent, has a hard time keeping up eye contact and prefers to be left alone. Just like Vic, he is a hacker, though much better at it.

Vina Danae Morphus (est 2014) - Vina is a fandomless and also kind of storyless character. She also originated in the science fiction novel. In current days, she works as an alternative/goth model. She is chatty, positive, kind of an ankle biter and a hopeless romantic. She is currently engaged to her girlfriend Sarah and they have two cats together. She is also a comic book and TV show nerd.

Robin "Bird" Kenzie (est 2016) - Bird is sort of the little sister character to Vic and Freak, even though she was added long after the book. She is a gamer, 16 years old, small for her age but that doesn't stop her. She has a weird sense of humor, is a total tomboy and still very much a teenager. She lives with Vic and Freak and constantly annoys both of them.

Eric Morton (est 2016/2017) - Eric is the leadsinger of my fictional 90s rock band "The Freaks". He plays guitar, sings, writes most of the lyrics and the music. He is a style icon, a heavy smoker, unable to stay in a relationship and very much a rockstar in the classical sense of the word. Though when you get to know him, he can be quite sweet and he's a great storyteller.

Silas "Nancy" Hayes (est 2019) - Just like Eric, Nancy is a 90s musician. He sings for the Industrial/EBM/aggro tech group "Chained" and models. He is famous for his extravagant style of fashion, for going on stage in drag and for being quite open about his homosexuality. At first glance he seems to be "style over substance" but he's an amazing friend and more than ready to kill someone for the people he loves.

Wren Sunderland (est 2020) - Wren is a black metal musician and sings for the band "Muroi". He is in a relationship with Tony Valentine from @lostbutnot-found (and they are very much the cutest). He is shy, drawn back and only really opens up on stage. He struggles a lot with his mental health and is pretty much taken along by the people around him. Super talented but doesn't like speaking about it. Child of nature.

"Thorn" [REDACTED] (est 2021) - What is there to say about Thorn. He's a serial killer, he belongs to the "Crimson Valley" verse by @lostbutnot-found and is in a weird co-dependend relationship with her OC Ezekiel Thorton. He feels very little emotion, is quite paranoid, clever and has a habit for pushing needles into his body for fun. He grew up in a cult, but not much else is publicly known about him.

Nova Elisabeth Morton (est 2020) - Nova is, if you guessed it, Eric's daughter! His only child (at least the only he knows about) and is just on the verge of turning 21. She is a famous streamer/social media starlet, plays guitar just like her father and has his sense of humor. She didn't see him much growing up but currently lives with him and they start to actually get along.

And that's all! I'm tagging a few people because without them, these little headcreatures wouldn't exist and because I thought you'd like to see them lol. @captain-bonefish @kuroiinku @ronald-to-die @neoncl0ckwork and @lostbutnot-found. Love you guys!

#faible blogs #faible's ocs #my ocs

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ilovesausagerollsandchocolate · 3 years

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Thank you for the tag @theageofsims!

Rules: 1. Pick a sim of your choice

2. Tell us about them

3. Tag someone else (if you want to!)

Name: John Anderson

How old is your sim? Late 50s/early 60s

When is your sim’s birthday? I’m not actually sure when it is haha, so I’ll use Harrison Ford’s birthday (who this character is based on) which is July 13th

What is your sim’s zodiac sign? He would therefore be a Cancer

Martial Status: He was very happily married to his wife Joanne and they also had a daughter but very sadly they both were murdered in a house fire which he’s now investigating. He is devastated by their deaths but deep down he will always be married to Joanne despite her death. He just loves her too much!

Does your sim have any nicknames? No I don’t think so, apart from him being called grumpy John where he used to work.

Do they have a job? If so what is it? He’s a Detective Inspector, and he’s always been a workaholic and claims he loves his job, but recently it’s all caught up with him how much pain and illness this job had caused him over the years and he’s devastated it’s lead to his family being killed and having to work on their case and his friend’s case after his friend was shot in front of him 2 years prior to his families’ deaths. Working too much and stress has also caused him to suffer more than 1 heart attack and he really isn’t too well anymore.

Where does your sim live? A rural midlands village/town in the UK.

Who does your sim live with? Used to live with his wife (daughter moved out to go to work but visited often) but now he’s living with Abby Sullivan, a detective who’s helping him out and working on the case too.

What environment did your sims grow up in? It was loving but became quite tense when his bother Robbie started becoming jealous and aggressive towards him.

What are your sim’s favorite food? He hates everything these days, but normally he loves any kind of pasta dish.

What is your sim’s favorite drink? Water (I know haha) because he barely drinks anything and he usually has water when he gulps his pills down, he also should lay off caffeine because of his heart condition

If they have one what is your sim’s favorite color? Green, black, grey and brown

Is your sim introverted or extroverted? He’s most likely introverted and likes to keep himself to himself but he’ll shout happily (or angrily rather) at any criminal who’s being difficult.

What is your sims favorite woohoo position? I’m not actually sure haha, I’ll have to ask him!

Is your sim a pet person? He loves dogs and cats, he doesn’t own one at the moment, but is thinking about it to help with his grief and loss.

Does your sim have a best friend? He used to be best friends with his colleague Reg who was sadly shot in front of him on duty 2 years ago which he still has flashbacks from. Of course he was best friends with his beloved wife Joanne and loved his daughter very much. Now he’s become friends with Abby who has helped him a lot and also has remained good friends with a colleague Matt who visits him often.

What is/was your sim’s favorite school subject? He enjoyed English literature and some science, particularly when he became interested in joining the police as the forensic side of science started to become relevant to the work he was drawn to. He also had interests in criminology but didn’t do a full degree, he joined the police and worked himself up.

Are they planning to go or have they already been to college? He went to college to study courses he was interested in but didn’t go to university, he joined the police, as mentioned above.

What are your sims political beliefs? John literally despises every politician to have ever walked the land and hates the government haha! He has no party so to speak. How do you know a politician is lying? Their lips are moving. That’s John’s outlook and actually kind of mine since I’ve gone into a depression recently haha! He just doesn’t trust any of them and thinks they’re all out of touch. He knows what real pain feels like, he’s been through hell and back, those guys don’t understand a thing!

Does your sim have a favorite TV show: Doesn’t have one, he hates everything!

Does your sim like books? He did like books but really hasn’t had the time to pick one up in ages, the only thing he’s been reading are crime files full of distressing images and details about real deaths not fictional ones. And any kind of novel would be way too heavy going for him right now!

What is your sim’s personal style? He wears a suit for his job as a DI but usually just wears cute green jumpers (I think they look cute on him haha) and shirts, which are usually green or brown, grey or black.

Is your sim religious? He hasn’t thought about God in ages but is drawn to go into a church after he’s been told he needs a major operation on his heart and has lost hope with everything. However, he wonders why he even bothered going in because he feels like this God guy has just given him all this suffering so loses hope again. But he does slowly gain more of a connection with the church nearby, especially after his families’ funerals but overall he’s not really religious. He questions it and doesn’t really know if he believes in it.

What kind of music does your sim listen to? As he hates everything he hasn’t had time to listen to anything but he quite likes classical music and rock music. He has fond memories of listening to music with his wife when they met and further on into their lives together. He’d probably well up and cry if he listened to music he used to love again for this reason ;(

What is your sim’s favorite type of weather? He doesn’t really care, he’ll take whatever comes his way!

Does your sim have a dream job? Not really, he used to think being a detective was his dream but it’s caused him to witness awful things and has now taken his family away. He’s had to bury it all over the years the pain it’s really caused him. After his operation, he tries to look for something he can do to keep him busy but not dangerously busy like before!

Does your sim have any siblings? Yes, an older brother who’s a massive twat and a younger sister who’s nice luckily.

Does your sim get along with their family? He obviously loved his wife and daughter very much, but despises his brother with a passion as it was his brother Robbie who had criminals burn the house down his family perished in. He cannot believe his own brother would do this and the shock of the news brings on a massive heart attack which really does nearly kill him. He gets on well with his nephew, Nathan (Robbie’s son) and essentially raised him as well when Robbie was controlling Nathan’s mother and treating him like shit (this makes Robbie very jealous and wanting revenge, hence the murder).

What is your sims favorite hobby? Walking, he finds peace when he goes out for a walk in the woods or somewhere peaceful even if he’s despairing. He likes to clear his head, although it has been a mistake him going out alone after he suffered a heart attack alone in the woods after his families’ funeral.

What does your sim look for in a romantic partner? He refuses to ever look for anyone else again. It was Joanne and always will be Joanne, she was the love of his life.

What is a flaw your sim has? He’s a bit too much of a workaholic and buries his head in the sand about the fact working so vigorously is making his condition worse, despite everyone around him telling him so. He constantly misses counselling appointments and heart checkups out of fear his health has declined further which he knows it is doing. He struggles to face up to these things and works even harder as a result to bury that fear away. It’s a downward spiral that’s just making him worse. He also gets incredibly angry at others very easily, but it’s understandable given what’s happened in his life lately.

Does your sim have a greatest achievement? If so what is it? For John, probably surviving in the first place! He’s survived so much, he survived his heart condition, he’s survived dangerous situations in his job and has survived all this grief and misery (that’s not to say it won’t ever go away) but he has somehow been managing to carry on and I’m proud of him haha! He needs a massive hug rn.

If they have one, what is your sim’s greatest regret? Being unable to save his wife and daughter from the house fire and this is something that haunts him daily, nightly and for the rest of his life.

I’m tagging whoever wants to do this!

#sims 4 #sims

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thatbanjobusiness · 3 years

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I want to briefly talk bluegrass fashion.

I appreciate and enjoy bluegrass from its roots to its present. I think creative growth over the decades has allowed for incredible and diverse music. Whether it’s disco influenced jamming, rock-bluegrass fusions, or classical music inspiration, there’s cool stuff to be had anywhere in the timeline. That said, one thing I wish contemporary bluegrass bands did more of was take fashion tips from the first generation bands.

In the 1920s, barn dance type radio programs featuring hillbilly music and rural style entertainment became popular. Some of these radio shows like the WLS National Barn Dance and WSM Grand Ole Opry had stage shows where you could watch the program in person. Costuming and presentation of the performing cast tended to be rough rube depictions, even caricatures, of rural people. George D. Hay, who founded and hosted the Grand Ole Opry, himself named the bands things like “The Gully Jumpers” and “The Possum Hunters.”

But when Bill Monroe and his Blue Grass Boys auditioned and were made members of the Grand Ole Opry in October 1939, Monroe detested this rough presentation that could quickly engender degrading opinions of hillbilly stereotypes. He opted instead to dress in a more classy manner. His band came out in white shirts, ties, jodhpurs, and boots.

This is something Bill Monroe bragged about even as the decades went on. For Monroe, it was important to dress well and in dignity when you got onstage. You respect yourself and you respect audiences when you come out in your best.

By the mid-1940s Bill Monroe’s band had accumulated a number of musical features that today our ears would recognize as bluegrass. It’s interesting to notice that bandmembers who left Monroe and went on to do their own bluegrass music often... took with them some of Bill’s ideas about stage presentation. Flatt & Scruggs, when they left Monroe and started their own band, are sometimes seen in early images wearing jodhpurs.

Early bluegrass bands on occasion might have had an “exception” to the rule. At the very least, you see this in Flatt & Scruggs in the late 1940s and first half of the 1950s. But I believe what they were doing reflected a trend that existed in the broader hillbilly music industry. I’d like investigate that more later to understand better. Unlike today’s concerts that involve music and only music, in those times, comedy was a more expected part of a show. White banjo performers, prior to bluegrass, were essentially all comedians; and in ensembles, someone (as I’ve often seen, the bass player) might take a comedy role. So you could’ve gotten a well-dressed band... and then the bassist dressed in comic rube garb.

That said, each first generation bluegrass band ended up creating their own unique presentation. It’s variation around a theme: dress up nice to respect audiences and put your best foot forward. How you present yourself onstage has impact. Audiences aren’t coming out to see some tattered everyday person; they’re coming out here to listen to music stars.

And so you see bands and acts coordinating their outfits in classy ways like...

(The 1958 screencap above doesn’t 100% evoke this, but I’ve noticed Flatt & Scruggs in the mid-50s through mid-60s would often do a 2-2-2 coordination. Everyone would wear hats. The band leaders would wear matching jackets and string ties. Two band members would wear the same collared shirts and the same string ties as the leaders. The last two band members, who were a duet and comedy team, would wear vests or different hats or some other distinguishing marker. Everyone’s clothes would carry the same overall color theme. Very well-thought out wardrobe presentation.)

SEE? EVERYONE IS DRESSED UP AND LOOKS GOOD.

You can tell they’re an act. You can tell they’re professional. You can tell, the second they step up to perform, they mean business. It helps elevate them into STARS.

As new generations took up bluegrass, the social context of how to dress changed. The Folk Revival of the 1960s brought many Northerners, urban people, and hippies into the bluegrass world. I haven’t read up as much on this part of bluegrass history, but I believe it was starting here that new bluegrass ensembles quit thinking about dressing up to be onstage. I’ve certainly seen photos of the early bluegrass festivals of the late 60s and 70s, and some second generation bluegrass groups would wear extremely casual things onstage. Other groups would coordinate by wearing the same collared shirt, which meant they were matching, but also (to me) making less of a “statement.”

It makes sense. First generation bluegrass performers were seeking to dress to impress and get away from crappy hillbilly stereotypes. Later generations of bluegrass performers might not have been from the South or a country lifestyle at all, and would feel more inclined to try to evoke a “working class” vibe by wearing everyday or ragged clothing. Today, I feel many bands do this to evoke their own form of an authentic stage presentation.

This means that today, many groups wear rather casual clothing. I feel I see this especially in jamgrass. And for the record, these are all VERY talented, well-known ensembles; I’m not comparing pros to locals or something.

And they’re dressed better here than what I’ve seen for bands at concerts.

I think it’s ironic that Bill Monroe, the Father of Bluegrass, sought to escape tattered clothing that actual country people wouldn’t wear on the fields, let alone onstage... only to have bluegrass musicians half a century later revert to costuming concepts Monroe had rejected. Today’s clothes of course aren’t the torn-up straw hat and single-strapped overalls of the early Opry, but it’s the same idea: dress down to look “country.” I don’t think there’s any objective disrespect to bluegrass’s history to dress like that, but I do think there’s a point that everyday clothes don’t make as much of an impression for your band.

Now of course not all groups have gone this route. In any generation of bluegrass, you still see bands that dressed more “traditionally.” But it’s certainly been a trend—since at least the 70s—to see bluegrass groups, either at the local or professional level, wearing everyday clothes. Get jeans, maybe some flannel, and you’re good to go. I see it oh-so-often now.

It doesn’t resonate as much to me. I get the point of their presentation, trying to evoke a casual non-mainstream working class image, but I feel there’s other ways you can set a vibe for your ensemble that doesn’t come off as lazy, everyday, or unnoticeable.

I’d be much more interested seeing:

YEAH!!!!! YOU GO RHONDA VINCENT AND THE RAGE!

I think it’s interesting to see this mindset about proper bluegrass performance attire recur in interviews. I’ve watched a number of 2000s and 2010s interviews for first and early second generation bluegrass performers, and one common thing the old-timers complain about is how people don’t dress up anymore. They feel it doesn’t respect the audience or make a good impression for the ensemble. How you present yourself onstage is half of the performance; it can be an effective means of enhancing a show when you do it well.

And I’ve seen it in conversations with people like Steve Martin, showing how in the 2010s, there’s still negative “hillbilly” images to butt against:

INTERVIEWER: Does it bother you that quite possibly the most famous banjo song in pop culture is "Dueling Banjos" from "Deliverance"?

MARTIN: It doesn't bother me at all. Actually I might argue with that because another most famous song would be the theme from "The Beverly Hillbillies" or "Foggy Mountain Breakdown," the song from "Bonnie and Clyde." So there are a couple of 'most famous' banjo songs.

INTERVIEWER: But still… the theme song from "The Beverly Hillbillies"?

MARTIN: It's just something we have to face. And everything changes. That's why I always wear a suit and tie when I play bluegrass.

INTERVIEWER: Do you feel like you're helping changing the face of bluegrass?

MARTIN: I don't know. That's what I do when I go on stage. I don't make hillbilly jokes or things like that. I'm just playing it as the person I am, not pretending to be anything else. The band I play with, we all dress in suits and ties.

One of my favorite contemporary bands also has one of my favorite wardrobes. What they choose to wear is a huge element of their stage presentation, amplifies their show powerfully, and contributes to the entire vibe of their music product. Good costuming can be part of marketing, and they market themselves spectacularly.

The Dead South almost marries the best of both worlds between “dress up” and “dress as the everyday man.” Their clothes aren’t “formal” in the sense of suits and ties. There’s more casualness to it. At the same time, what they wear—blatantly Southern and Western gear that matches with variation across the band—isn’t something everyday Joe or Janet would put on to go to Walmart. It’s got a little more of a “period” feel to it while also being modern enough to feel authentic. Altogether, it makes them classy without being formally classy.

It’s perfect for them. This is a “controversially” bluegrass band who knows that, while they play string band music, its creative reach extends beyond what you’d expect of something labeled “bluegrass.” They have called themselves “a rock band without a drummer, a bluegrass band without a fiddler.” Elsewhere, they’ve marketed themselves as “a gold rush vibing four-piece acoustic set from Saskatchewan [that] infuse[s] the genre's traditional trappings with an air of frontier recklessness, whiskey breakfasts and grizzled tin-pan showmanship.” This is a band I’ve always said plays to a “degenerate” image, songs filled with cowboy shootouts, barfights, gun-wielding robberies, alcoholic nights, and more.

And doesn’t their wardrobe evoke that spotlessly? There is CLASS and INTENTION with how they present themselves, to the point the band almost always stands in that order left-to-right, and has used their unique wardrobe choices for album covers and stage design.

Check out how the stage’s stained glass window lights behind them evoke both images from their songs, and have the tie, beard, skull, string tie theme on them. Every band member stands in front of his respective window.

That is *WAY* cooler, more effective, more impacting, more resonating, more memorable, more vibing, than simply tossing on my latest t-shirt.

(And yes, the last photos are from when I went to their concert last year. One of the best concerts I’ve EVER been to, and it’s because they knew how to put on a SHOW.)

Performance entails everything from the sounds you make to the personality you evoke to the clothes you wear. It’s why I prefer the first generation bluegrass bands’ approach to “dress well” over some modern string band trends. And again, bands like The Dead South show alternate ways you can dress up and rock out.

#long post #that banjo business #thatbanjobusiness #Country Music History #Haddock Deep Dives #General Banjo Business #The Dead South #Bill Monroe #daddy boi billiam #Flatt & Scruggs #bluegrass #first gen bluegrass

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imacrowcawcaw · 4 years

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Hi I come with a rather silly question, but I was curious, according to your perception how would you describe the personality of every girl in the GVF fandom here at tumblr

That's not a silly question at all, I think it's great and actually quite creative!!!

It seems to me that there are a couple types, which is normal cause there's a lot of us lol. We're not all the same, even if we have some interests in common!

Types of Greta Van Fleet Fans on Tumblr as Observed By Me

Type 1: The Casual Fan

She knows their music, but it's not her favorite. She might reblog a few photos or funny things about the boys on occasion, but her blog is no where near dedicated to Greta and they probably aren't even one of her hyper-obsessions, just another artist in her library. She's more on the outs of the fandom; it's rare that she's tagged or mentioned in anything because not many of us know her. Greta Van Fleet is, most likely, an outlier in her music taste: either heavier than she's used to, or more classic rock when she's a straight up metalhead. All of this is absolutely okay! This girl is generally chill and sweet when she does get to interact, although if she ends up liking GVF more and wants to get "in" on the fandom it can be frustrating to make herself seen.

Type 2: The Die Hard Groupies

I feel kinda bad calling them this but, if given the chance, these chicks would become groupies in an instant. They love the band with their whole heart, and want to live a life of peace, sex, drugs, and rock n roll with their idols. But since they are contained to Tumblr at the moment, these ladies contend themselves with thirst tagging, sending various friends like @satans-helper and @dreams-madeof-strawberrylemonade naughty fanfiction requests and confessions, reblogging pictures of their favorite groupies from rock history, and, of course, listening to Greta Van Fleet (cause they do like the music, I want to make it clear it's not all about sex). It's a toss up whether this girl is open to any and all of the boys, or has a lane she will die in. Jake seems to be the most common.

Type 3: The Accuser

This can girl is much, much more common on Instagram, but I've seen a few here too... The Accuser takes "cancel culture" to the extreme and is canceling a person for something every single day (and encouraging others to do the same) despite the fact that she still likes them apparently (you'll see that she still posts about this person who is "awful")? She thinks the boys are abusing their fame by not promoting social justice very publicly at all times, she has problems with all their girlfriends, she thinks the album is taking too long and that they're being lazy; she goes on rants about symbolism in the songs, makes every conversation about social justice no matter the relevance, and picks fights about the most ridiculous things. (Again, this was on Instagram, but I had two girls fighting over which twin had the larger gay following and things got INTENSE). This girl is quick to anger and accuse, wants everyone to be on her side and thinks even minor disagreements are Literal Death, and still proclaims to love the band despite finding fault in everything they do. High probability she excludes Danny or hates him the most. Yikes.

Note: If you're mad at "The Accuser" one cause, hey, sometimes there are problems that need to be addressed, keep reading.

Type 4: The Defender

While I prefer this girl over The Accuser, she is also... not perfect. The Defender, in contrast to The Accuser (and probably fighting directly against her in a reblog chain no one else bothers to read cause ugh this again), thinks that the GVF boys are literal angels on earth who can do no wrong. She agrees and backs up every decision they and their management make, and always jump to their defense whether it’s music, looks, actions, or online activity being criticized. She is probably a pacifist, heavily dislikes fighting, and wholeheartedly believes in “peace love and unity”. I wouldn’t say that she is naive or irresponsible entirely, but she tends to ignore anything that she dislikes or else immediately jumps to the defense. Think One Direction fangirls circa the early 2010s.

Type 5: The Happy Hippie Medium

This girl is what I, personally, would consider an enthusiastic yet responsible fan. She generally stays outside of the drama because it has nothing to do with her, she thinks it’s too silly to argue about, or she just values her sanity and peace. She does, occasionally, chime in on matters that she thinks are too important to be ignored, whether it’s the wait time for the album or their social media presence, and she’s always respectful about stating her opinion. She loves Greta and posts quite a bit about them, including original content, but she also has other interests that she blogs about. It could be other bands, aesthetic photos, astrology, artwork, tv shows, activism, it doesn’t really matter, but you’ll find that her blog is an interesting and utterly disorganized haven of herself. Gives great recommendations on all manner of things, and has probably been to a concert and had the time of her life.

Type 6: The Obsession Blog

This is the girl - or, rather, the blog - that is 100% about Greta Van Fleet. Every bit of content that comes in or out is GVF related; she’s the one you go to if you want a certain picture or an ear to hear your fantasies. Even more so if her blog has a specific topic, such as a Sam Kiszka blog! (Or @gretavanfleetconfessions lmao shameless self plug). She probably also has one or more side blogs where she has other content she is interested in, as well as personal information. I am surprised at how often I follow both blogs without knowing it’s the same person!!!

-----

So, I think that those 6 types covers pretty much all the types of fans of GVF on Tumblr, or maybe more accurately their attitudes and content. I admit that I probably walk the line between “Happy Hippie ” and “The Defender”; I try to keep a healthy balance between my obsessions and a healthy amount of affection to GVF, sometimes that means ignoring stuff!

I have also noticed that there are things that a LOT of GVF fangirls have in common that aren’t band related, but make this fandom more vibrant and close nonetheless. Many of us:

are musicians

are writers

are artists (plugging @sphoox cause she’s my favorite but seriously all the artists rock)

generally like to be creative, whether it’s crochet or cooking or making moodboards

have other shared bands, such as: Led Zeppelin, Fleetwood Mac, Motley Crue, Guns n Roses, Nick Cave, Hanson, Harry Styles, Lana Del Ray, Twenty One Pilots, David Bowie, Pearl Jam, Metallica...

have other shared tv shows and movies, such as: Avatar the Last Airbender, The Witcher, Killing Eve, Mad Men, The Office, Parks and Rec, Labyrinth, Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure, The Adams Family, Pirates of the Carribean...

are interested in astrology and star signs

are interested in history

are interested in fashion

love to read and learn (not necessarily in school) and have all manner of knowledge

are in the LGBT+ community

are women of color, in and outside the U.S.!

are neurodivergent

love nature and being active outdoors

love and share various aesthetics, whether it’s cottage core or ‘67 hippy or 80s rocker vibes

I love this fandom community and hope I can remain a part of it for a long time! There are things that diversify us and things that bring us closer together, plus, of course, the four wonderful (and sexy) musicians that brought us all together in the first place. What type of fan do you consider yourself to be? Was I accurate (enough), are there more types? I hope I haven’t wildly offended too many people lol....

#greta van fleet #gvf #lulucrowproductions #my writing #gvf fandom #peaceful army #jake kiszka #josh kiszka #sam kiszka #danny wagner

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softbiker · 5 years

Text

Steve Rogers Oneshot

Warnings: mentions of character death, cursing, haunting, spooky stuff, angst

Word count: 7.1k

Summary: Steve Rogers is a man out of time. He knows more ghosts than people. One of his ghosts has come home.

A/N: This is waaaay longer than I normally write, but I just wanted to do it justice. This is my submission for @barnesrogersvstheworld AYAOTD writing challenge! Sort of an Endgame AU, also features an appearance from a rather obscure Marvel comics character. The prompt I had was “Don’t look behind you.” - it’s highlighted in bold. This is also really sad. I’m sorry for that...but please let me know what you think!

His tastes have changed.

Most people wouldn’t have known that - wouldn’t have seen anything abnormal about a 100+ year old man reaching for minute oatmeal and Folgers at the grocery store. There had been a few articles, before, in health or men’s interest magazines, about the ‘Super Soldier Diet’. They were much more colorful than this - full of sugary cereals and peanut butter and seasonal frappuccinos. The articles always ended with reminders that a normal human should reach for more nutritious foods.

Steve pulls his oats - plain, made with water, no sweetener - from the microwave, and stirs just a little. Not thick enough; he replaces the bowl and adds another 30 seconds to the microwave timer. On the counter, the Mr. Coffee drips away, slowly filling the pot.

He eats quietly, perched on a stool at the island; he never uses the table anymore. A few news highlights appear in the notifications on his phone, and he scrolls through them, eyes scanning as he spoons his tasteless breakfast into his mouth.

New York Nears Completion of Relocation Program he reads, letting his thumb swipe down to read more of the article.

“Almost three years after the globally devastating event in which Earth’s population was reduced by half, the people of New York City are finally seeing a light at the end of the tunnel in their relocation efforts for residents whose homes were damaged or destroyed in the aftermath of the Decimation. The project, one of the last proposals by Tony Stark before his retirement from the Department of Damage Control, is expected to end-”

He closes his phone.

**********

There are three support group meetings that he attends each week - two as a leader, one as a participant.

“You should come, Nat.” He’s a broken record, but he just keeps spinning. Like the planet, like the solar system. If he falls out of orbit- “Just once. You might be surprised…”

“Some of us still have jobs, Steve.” She raises a still perfect eyebrow, now back to its natural red. He finds a little comfort in that.

“They’re not mutually exclusive.”

“Maybe not. But don’t wait up for me.”

The Tuesday meeting is the hardest, though it was the first one he ever lead. It caters to a specific group, a group that looks to him because...well, because he lost what they lost. He wonders if they know, if they realize, that it’s all his fault.

“Jackie was...she was my rock, you know?” The new woman, Elsie, sniffs as she continues. “We went through a lot together, and I remember thinking all that time ‘God, what would I do without her?’ And now I know the answer - spiral and-and become an alcoholic.”

“You can’t blame yourself for all of that.” Steve shakes his head. “There was so much more going on - the world was practically in flames, and you were trying to cope. What matters is that you’re here now, trying to get better.”

Elsie is nodding, accepting a tissue from the man sitting next to her. She gives a shaky little smile and settles back in her chair, done sharing for now. Steve glances around the circle, waiting for someone else to speak up.

It was such an odd reversal for him, especially at first. When he first wandered into one of Sam’s support group meetings, he had felt out of place and alone - and that feeling was exactly why he belonged in a place like that. Sam could see it. It was one of his gifts; he was better at reading people than anyone Steve knew, except maybe Natasha. Even when Bucky came along, and Sam played the tough act, he could see all of that fear and pain, and knew exactly what to do with it. Over the years they were in hiding, Sam would secretly reach out to Bucky - during their visits in Wakanda, Steve found the two of them sitting at the lake behind Bucky’s hut and talking, low and intense.

“You know, sometimes-” It’s a man on the opposite side of the circle, dark-skinned with a greying beard. “I don’t know about all of you, but sometimes...I wonder if they can see us. If they know what we’re doing. Does that make any sense?”

He gets a few nods and murmurs from the group, so he goes on.

“I mean, after my old man died, my mom used to say he was watching over me.” He swallows thickly. “She was on her own, tucking a 9-year-old boy in at night, and telling me that Daddy could see me from heaven, that he was looking out for me. And I just think....well, I wanna know - where are they? Are they in heaven? Is that even possible?”

He turns to Steve, several of the people in the circle do. It’s always like this - whenever the sessions turn to specific questions or musings about what happened, they look to him. Because shouldn’t he know? He had lead them, he failed them, he was there when their lives went up in dust.

“Well, I don’t think I’m qualified to offer religious advice,” he starts with a rueful smile. “And, from everything I’ve seen, I don’t think we even know what’s possible. All I know is, we can’t live in the past...even if they see us, wherever they are, we have to accept that they’re really...gone.” He crossed his arms. “They’re not here with us anymore.”

The group has gone quiet, reflective. Most are staring at their hands rather than him, each lost in their own haze of memory and ashes. He wishes he could offer them more, but he knows grief like this, and Steve Rogers is honest to a fault - he won’t lie, even for the sake of comfort.

“We’re on our own now.”

**********

He goes for runs alone now.

No Bucky to keep up with him, pushing the pace and trying to trip him. No Sam to complain about his hamstrings and insist on coffee afterwards. Not even music on those weird tiny headphones she had gotten him. Just his sneakers and pavement and the sound of his own breath. Sometimes he hated that - how he never got winded anymore, never sounded hurt and tired, the way he would wheeze through his asthma attacks with Bucky holding him up and reminding him how to pull in air. The machine of his body was too efficient for that.

In his apartment, he takes short showers, cold and fast, like in the Army. The soap is blue, with a generic smell that is clean and reminds him of nothing. He turns and tilts his head back under the spray, allowing a few more seconds to rinse and-

He nearly jumps when a burst of heat runs down his back.

The water has suddenly turned hot, a steamy, balmy, sultry hot that turns his soft Irish skin pink. He had never had this problem with his showers before - never run out of cold water certainly. Maybe something was wrong with the…

When he turned around, he saw the hot water knob turning slowly clockwise, centimeter by centimeter, untouched.

He shut off the water and got out.

**********

“I’m gonna have to call a plumber sometime.”

“Oh yeah? I thought all you old guys were handymen.”

“Ha ha.” He watches Nat scoop some spaghetti into bowls for the two of them. “I was the artist type. Not really handy around the house.”

“Guess that means Barnes was wearing the pants?” She’s smirking, and he feels like he’s seeing the real Nat again, so he goes along with the joke.

“How could he not? Who’s gonna let a 90-pound asthmatic wear the pants?”

“So what’s wrong with your plumbing?” Nat peeks over the fridge door as she grabs some parmesan and a bottle of wine. Steve, under strict orders not to help, is watching from the kitchen table.

“It’s my shower, something happened the other day. The water turned hot while I was in the middle of showering, even though I had it turned cold.”

“Hm. Weird.”

Steve comes out here at least once a month, or as often as he can. He sees the way that Natasha would rather slip into her work, lose herself in the business of holding the pieces of the world together, let go of her own life. The pantry, open and visible from where he’s sitting, is stocked with the bare minimum dry goods and canned foods; the fridge isn’t much better. He’s seen her on missions, seen her at home in her mismatched socks; he knows that she’d barely feed herself, surviving on a sandwich a day, if the thought or the hunger struck her. So he comes and threatens to cook and she saves the compound from being burned down by making a meal for the two of them.

It’s a far cry from normal. From pizza nights with Sam and Wanda at the compound, the two of them taking turns introducing Steve to movies he missed - all the “classics” he hadn’t heard of. They were missing their monthly family dinners, too; Tony always made room in his schedule to attend, dragging Pepper along from the office, and Steve sat at the head of their long dining table watching this strange, funny little family he had share and eat and laugh with each other.

Now he sits across from Natasha at a table otherwise occupied by her scattered files and reports, a pair of pointe shoes laying in the chair next to her. He didn’t come often enough to expect her to clean for him. She had enough on her plate.

“You know, I was talking to Carol last week,” Nat says, twirling her pasta around her fork. “And she said she might make it to visit us next month. It’ll depend on that trafficking case she was working in the Pegasus galaxy.” She shrugs a little.

“That’s good.” Steve chews, sips his wine. “It would be nice to see her.”

They don’t talk much throughout their meal; there isn’t much new to share. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows along the wall of the compound, Steve watches the early sunset fall over the grounds, shadows reaching and reaching, as quiet as it was empty.

**********

Sometimes, sometimes, when he’s feeling more stupid than usual, he opens the drawer.

That drawer. The lower one in his bedside table. With her box inside.

The box isn’t really anything special - just plain black, with her name written on the top. He got it at the suggestion of the team’s - his - therapist, Dr. Rajan. She recommended that putting some things away, rather than leaving them around his room, might help him move on, realize that his life had changed. He thought about putting the compass in the box, too, but it felt wrong. She wouldn’t want that in there. Somehow it mostly ends up in his pocket, and he stares at it from time to time, at the picture inside, thinking about words like should have and what if.

He’s staring at the drawer now, remembering the night before, when he thought about getting the box after he shuffled in from support group. When he was halfway through his flask of that Asgardian shit he kept under the bed. Steve had shuffled out of his clothes and fallen asleep in his underwear instead, flask still clutched in his hand, just sober enough to turn down the bad idea.

So why was the drawer open?

**********

“Have you thought about getting back out there? Dating again?”

His laugh is humorless.

“Doc, come on. I think we both know I’m not the type.”

“All we know is that you’re a serial monogamist.” She smiles. “And a very eligible one.”

“Sure, but…” Steve pauses, rubbing his palms against his jeans. He looks around the office, trying to find something to focus on. “I feel lucky...really lucky, to have had the kind of love I got. I mean, I never really expected to have it, not after I woke up in this century. And then, with her, it just sort of happened so naturally...well, lightning never strikes twice, as the saying goes.”

“It seems like, for you at least, it did,” Dr. Rajan raises her brows. “Two great loves in one lifetime? More rare than lightning.”

He runs a hand through his hair, still long on the top.

“I-I guess so. But it won’t strike a third time.”

“Because you’re not going to give it a chance?”

“You know me too well, doc.” His smile is apologetic, kind.

**********

At night, he sweats through dreams of her. His legs tangle in sheets where they used to twist and curl around her. The pillows smell only of him, his blue generic soap, but in his mind, locked somewhere far and sweet, her scent fills the air. Fills him up until he tastes it.

He tastes her, too, in dreams; under him, around him, pressed close in that intimate haze only lovers can know. Her lips chase his and smile into his mouth, following the curve of his jaw as he tucks his own face into her neck. It’s in his veins now, her smell and taste, ripe and alive on his tongue and oh, he’s swimming in it. She sighs, blissful, and sinks her teeth into that spot at the base of his throat-

Bedsheets fly off him as he bolts upright in bed, chest heaving, the sweat rolling in little beads down his temple. The smell is fading, drifting away from the room even as he tries to hold on to it; she was here, right here, and it had all felt so real, having her in his arms again. But now he’s wading back to consciousness, unwillingly, the tide of his dream pulling away from the shore and tugging at his ankles, carrying her with it. He wants to drift out to sea on it, drown in it, never resurface in this half-empty world.

Always so dramatic, Rogers.

Something nags at the corner of his eye, and he turns to the bedside table. In the pre-dawn light of the window, he can see the second drawer open. Her box is pulled forward to the front of the drawer with its lid propped up, asking, begging to be seen. He feels himself almost chasing the tide, diving back in as he leans over the side of his bed…

He slams the drawer shut.

Steve blows a harsh breath past his lips and swings his legs out of bed, tugging the sheet from between his thighs. His bare feet brush the cold wood and he arches up on his toes, tight muscles protesting the stretch. Palms scrub at his heavy eyes, brushing away what he can of his sleep. He has no plans to go back to bed, not now. He’ll just get an early start on his run. Maybe put in a few extra miles. He runs a hand through his hair, fingernails scratching absently at his scalp.

Stumbling into the bathroom, he turns the cold water tap in the sink and splashes his face a few times, feeling the two-day stubble on his cheeks. The shave can wait until after his run, he thinks. He stands straighter and reaches for the towel next to the sink, patting his face dry - he leaves his eyes closed, buried in the cotton for a moment before meeting his own gaze in the mirror. Immediately his eyes are drawn down to - what the hell is that?

At the base of his neck, just where it meets his shoulder, is a small red mark. A love bite. He presses it with a finger and hisses at the tenderness of the skin. Unbidden, the wave of his dream crashes over him, rolling him under, and he can almost feel her lips again…

The hair on the back of his neck and arms is standing straight up, his body gone cold all over. He thinks, maybe, he should go back to bed after all. Somewhere deep in the back of his mind, he hears his own name. What if...what if she’s waiting for me? He almost turns around, almost looks at the rumpled bed, almost expects her to be in it, rolling over in that tangled mess and smiling past the curve of her shoulder…

He yanks on a hoodie and running pants, toeing into his sneakers without socks, and leaves the apartment unlocked. Hardly knowing it, he clocks 50 miles, the sun high overhead before he can force his legs to stop, even his enhanced muscles starting to twitch. His sweat is still cold.

**********

There’s a memorial. Lots of them, actually.

All the major cities have at least one, and New York has built theirs, unsurprisingly, in Memorial Park. It’s huge, a sprawling garden of sculpture installations covered overhead by a soft white canopy. A retaining wall, approximately 3 feet high, lines the garden beds and holds in the dark rubber mulch, its outer white brick etched with the names of the lost. Even Steve could admit that it was beautiful, and so different from the solemn obelisks and walls of names he had expected when the memorial was announced.

The city had commissioned a team of artists, led by the famous Chihuly, to create blown glass sculptures using...well, as much of the collected ashes of decimated people as they could. “Cremation glass” it was called. The concept was morbid; though symbolically beautiful, most hadn’t imagined a stunning art gallery, more suited to the Met than this mass grave of the unknown.

Steve was there when it was dedicated, as was Tony. He was asked to say a few words, and he did; he has no idea, now, what he read from those cards handed to him by the administrative team. A black suit stretched around his shoulders, no shield in sight, his tie more like a noose as he watched the somber faces of the attendees. Loved ones and friends of people he had failed. A living memorial. Tony stood next to him, year-old wedding band still shining as he crossed his hands in front of him and declined to speak.

There are a few locations he has memorized around the park, the Lost Garden, as it has been named. A blooming blue hydrangea bush, sculpted white flowers and leaves pressed between the green, with the name “James B. Barnes” carved a few inches below. Across from it, red and yellow globes hang from a white tree, the round shadows falling over “Samuel Wilson”. Two rows over, an exploding tower of tangled green and blue spirals, surrounded by bushes, guards the name “Wanda Maximoff”.

Hers is carved neatly - block letters, plain font - into the white brick near the entrance of the memorial. Above it, a cherry blossom tree blooms sweetly, the pink flowers joined by purple and pink glass stems sprouting up from the ground around the trunk of the tree. Soft green bushes hem in the sculpture, as though keeping the glass from growing too far. It’s whimsical, charming. Elegant.

He fucking hates it.

He hates how this is meant to honor her - the vibrancy of her memory, the slyness of her smile, the passion of her love, the ferocity of her anger. She was more solid and real and hard than the delicate stems of glass that stood for her now. It wasn’t even her ashes in there anyway - he knows that for certain. He knows because he felt her drift through his hands under a hot Wakandan sun. He had watched the dust float and settle and knew that all the parts of her he kissed and held were under his feet and in his mouth and Jesus God it made him want to scream.

He doesn’t know whose ashes are here, in the glass above her name. But he wants to smash it. Put a fist through it. Hear that tinkling glass shatter on the ground the way she did. It would only be right.

As he stands there, staring at the falling cherry blossoms scattered around the sculpture, he feels the air go cold around him. His whole body breaks out in goosebumps and the little hairs on the back of his neck start prickling. He shudders, looking around, but no one else is nearby. It’s a late spring day, warm and getting warmer, with the sun beaming through scattered clouds. He shouldn’t be shivering.

The wind picks up, light breeze growing stronger, and the long stalks of glass begin to vibrate. A low hum builds as the wind carves its way between the sculptures, a plaintive, lonely noise that he feels low in his belly.

Steve…

He whips his head around, looking up and down the row, but he’s alone - no one else is here. That whisper, his name, it was so close…

Steeeeve

He’s turning a full circle, looking for a microphone or a drone or something tiny like Scott’s suit.

“Hello? Who’s there?”

Stevie …

A cloud of cherry blossoms billows into his face, making him jump back. The chill sinks through his skin, slips down his spine bone by bone with each breath. His heart is hammering hard and fast. That name, that voice - it’s been three years. They’re gone. It’s not possible. He closes his eyes as he feels a presence close beside him, right at his shoulder, and he knows, he knows if he turns his head she’ll be-

“Captain Rogers? You alright?”

He jumps again, startled, and looks over to see a policeman watching him, eyes wary and concerned. The officer was young, like all of them now - mass recruiting in public services has been going on for a couple of years, with things nearly falling into chaos after...everything. The military, the police, trying to swell their numbers enough with what was left of the population to keep the world in check. Not like the Avengers were doing a very good job.

“Captain?” The young officer asks again, inching a half-step towards Steve. His hand, unconsciously, twitches towards his radio.

“I’m fine - really,” Steve shakes his head and offers a smile. “Everything’s fine. Just...remembering someone.”

The kid nods; Steve wonders if he himself ever looked so young in a uniform.

“I understand.” He’s tugging at his uniform jacket. “My, uh, parents - they’re over there.” He points at a patch of lilies, not far from Wanda. “And my brother.”

“I’m so sorry.”

That’s all he ever says these days. I’m sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Everyone pretends that it’s enough.

He walks the kid - the officer - back to his patrol car, shakes his hand; the boy has to crane his head back to look up at him, and he stares up at Steve like there’s still hope in this world. Steve doesn’t have the heart to tell him.

**********

The chill follows him into the summer. Even with the sun high and New York sweltering with heat, Steve shivers in his apartment, cold biting at him until he aches with it. He cranks the heat on his thermostat, yet still finds a harsh breeze blowing through his apartment somehow. He allows the shower faucet to continue turning hot - blistering hot, the way she liked it - now that this chill won’t let him go.

Despite that, he finds himself staying in more than ever. He was never exactly a social butterfly - Bucky could testify to that. It tumbles him into memory: Bucky, slicked-back hair and spit-shined shoes, a rose tucked into the lapel of his jacket; Bucky, chin thrown back and ready to laugh at the world, an arm around Steve’s shoulders as he drags them on yet another double date. “Ya gotta get out more, Rogers,” he’d say, cigarette tucked behind his ear. “I’m a piss-poor excuse for real company.”

The only people he sees now are Dr. Rajan and the members of his support groups. Occasionally Nat, but she’s been traveling more lately, following the crumbs of Clint’s trail. Their emails are few and far between, containing only the bare bones.

It’s a Friday night - or maybe it’s Saturday, Sunday. He sits on the edge of his bed, turning the little thing over in his hands. The compass stays in his pocket most days. He flips it open, stares at the portrait inside, the one he’s had memorized since ‘43. He could draw it with his eyes closed, probably.

Suddenly, the compass snaps shut, unbidden, in his hand. It shakes, the mechanisms inside rattling violently, and grows hot to the touch. He yelps and it falls from his palm, dropping to the floor between his feet. The skin of his hands is red, scalded, and he flexes his fingers, watching the trinket warily. It lies on the floor, perfectly still.

Behind him, he hears the second drawer of his dresser roll open.

**********

More dreams come to him, sweet ones, and he sinks into them without protest. He falls into his bed at night happily, searching for the smell of her somewhere behind his eyes. She’s always there, always smiling for him, reaching and pulling him further down into their own special hiding place. She’s there in her uniform, in her sweatpants, in his t-shirt, in nothing at all.

“C’mere, Stevie baby,” she nuzzles his nose, and he’s close to tears but he doesn’t know why. Then she’s tugging at his own clothes and he’s not thinking about it at all.

The ache in his throat returns when he wakes empty-handed and alone. Beneath his jaw, a line of hickeys leads down his neck and across his shoulder. His breath puffs in small clouds as he pants and tries not to cry.

**********

“You don’t look so good, Steve.” Nat’s tone is worried, her voice tight. She watches him stare at the wall with a cup of coffee in his massive hands. “Have you been sleeping?”

He nearly chuckles at that.

“A little too much, I think.” He goes quiet then, mouth turning back down, carved sadness in that larger-than-life face.

“I think...God, Nat,” Steve slumps forward, elbows on his knees. “I think I’m losing my mind.”

“Join the club.” She sits down next to him, sliding a soft hand across his back. Her voice is just above a whisper. “We’re all still struggling. You know that. You’ve seen it. Sometimes it feels...it feels like...you’re just holding on by a thread.”

He’s shaking his head before she finishes.

“Have you - do you dream about them? Ever?”

“Of course.”

“No, I mean…” Steve rubs his eyes. “I mean...do the dreams feel...when you wake up, does it feel like it really happened.”

Nat frowns.

“I’m not following you, Steve.”

He sighs, heavy and resigned.

“No, I know. I’m not making any sense.” He leans into her embrace a little. He likes the contact of it. Hasn’t had that in a long time.

“Listen, Nat. I know S.H.I.E.L.D. used to keep a lot of records of...enhanced individuals…”

“Sure. Everyone that pinged on their radar,” she nods. “So, pretty much anyone with abilities.”

“I need to have a look at them.”

“Anything in particular you’re looking for?”

“Yes. But if I told you, you’d have me committed.”

“Yeah, that really makes me want to help you.” She leans her head against his shoulder, fingers squeezing his bicep. Her voice still soft and low. “Tell me what you need.”

**********

They meet in a public place. It’s not hard now, with the world half-dead, to go about their business as though they are two men with nothing to hide. A bright, hot July sun beats on their heads, and Steve adjusts his sunglasses as a bead of sweat slides down his neck. On the street, traffic grumbles along, bikers and street vendors and tourists darting between. The hard metal chair of the café presses into the soft underside of his knees, leaving little dents in his skin.

“It is nice to finally meet you, Captain,” the man across from him smiles. The white symbol on his forehead stands out starkly against his dark skin. “I understand we move in different circles.”

They’re sitting outside a small restaurant in Port-au-Prince, only coffee on the table in front of them. The heat is sweltering, oppressive, different from the New York heat that Steve knows. Part of him wishes they were near the beach, with the wind coming off the ocean. She would have begged him to go to the beach.

“That we do,” Steve raises his eyebrows. “Even with everything that’s happened, aliens, Thanos...things like magic are still...hard to believe.”

“Hm.” Jericho Drumm leans back in his chair, steeples his fingers. “I think you are here because...it’s not so hard anymore, yes?”

He grits his teeth. There are fingernail scratches on his back and they chafe against the sweaty cotton of his shirt.

“You’re a smart man, Jericho,” he sighs. “And I think you might be the only person who can help me.”

Jericho Drumm nods.

“Yes, I think so, too.”

According to the S.H.I.E.L.D. files Steve spent all his free time digging through, there were only a few enhanced individuals with supernatural abilities. And now half of them were gone. Some, like the sorcerer Tony told him about, had managed to stay under the radar for thousands of years. With precious little to go on besides an alias, Steve commandeered a quinjet and packed a bag for Haiti.

“What you are asking me...communication with the spirits…” Jericho shakes his head. “It’s not what you think. Or what it looks like in the movies.”

“Then tell me,” Steve presses, leaning his elbows on the table. His coffee is half full. He can see his reflection in the oily surface of it.

“I’ve served as a houngan for many years; I’ve served as Sorcerer Supreme. In fact, with Stephen Strange gone, they may ask me to serve again. But inviting spirits into this world is a dangerous practice - not white magic.”

“But it can be done?”

Jericho narrows his eyes. The white streak in his hair is bright in the noonday sun.

“When Thanos tore a rift in this world, in this universe,” he speaks slowly, choosing his words with careful consideration. “He tore through the other side as well. The things he’s done affect us all, the living and the dead. It is possible, the things you describe, are caused by this. A ripple effect, if you will. A door not closed.”

“A ripple.”

“Yes. However,” Drumm raises a finger, leaning forward to speak in a low voice. “I will say something else. I may have years of experience with the supernatural, but I studied psychology as well. My time in America was mostly in a university, studying the human mind, how it works…” He pauses for a moment, giving Steve a look that is on the suspicious side of apologetic. “Our minds are powerful. When a person wishes for things, even terrible things, the mind can give them what they seek.”

Steve closes his eyes, jaw tightening.

“Believe me, I know how I sound,” he sighs. “I know. My therapist says the same thing. But if anyone’s going to believe me, it’s you. This is not in my mind.” His fingers are shaking and he curls them into fists. “This is real. She’s...it’s real. It’s her.” Haunting me.

Dr. Drumm nods, sympathetic and quiet. He watches this captain, this legend, the age showing in his young man’s body. With the sunglasses propped up on his head, the dark circles beneath Steve’s puffy eyes are on full display. His shoulders curl in, posture defensive, small. His knee bounces under the table, and his jaw ticks every so often, teeth clicking in his mouth. There is a bruise visible at the base of his neck where the collar of his shirt has shifted to one side.

“Very well, Captain. I will do my best to help you.”

**********

He sits cross-legged on the tile floor of the bathroom, surveying the items in front of him. According to Dr. Drumm, he would need only a few candles, items that belonged to her, a circle of salt to protect himself. Incense, too, burning in the corner, the smell of sage and smoke floating around him. The lights are off, only the flickering candles illuminating the room.

He feels a little silly, setting all of this up. When he was a boy, vampires and werewolves and ghosts were all just stories - hiding under the covers with Bucky and scaring themselves silly. No real monsters hid under his bed. All of that came later.

Under his shirt, the amulet rests against his chest, growing warm with his own body heat.

“If you must do this alone as you insist,” Jericho had said, shaking his head. “Then wear this. Bene gris-gris. It is the best I can do to protect you from dark magic.” His steel grip closed around Steve’s arm. “And this may be a dark thing, Captain. Her coming back to you. It doesn’t feel like white magic.”

Steve had only nodded, his hand closing around the amulet. He was beyond light and dark now, beyond counting costs. He had chased ghosts for so long after he woke up. It’s only right for him to chase her, too.

Here, in the bathroom, toes pressed to cold tile, he digs two more items out of his pockets. Dr. Drumm said to bring something that would ground him to himself, something special. He turns the compass over in his hand, flicks it open, and sets it on the edge of the circle. From the other pocket, he fishes a black velvet box. His fingers twitch, feeling the soft fabric; he doesn’t want to open it. He hasn’t opened it, since he took the ring off their nightstand in Wakanda and put it back in the box. She hadn’t worn it - didn’t like wearing it on missions or in fights. Afraid of scratching it. She had wiggled it off her finger, smiling at him, leaving a kiss on his bearded jaw-

He leaves the box closed for now, and places it in the center next to the other tokens - a photo of her, a necklace with a small silver pendant she used to wear whenever they went on dinner dates, a little jar of seashells from a beach vacation she took in college. All the little things he had packed away in that nightstand drawer. Memories he had put into storage.

Safe inside his little circle, he reaches in his shirt and grabs the amulet tight in his fist. He closes his eyes. Breathes deep the incense and soft curling smoke from his candles.

He says her name softly in the dark.

In his mind, he shifts his awareness down the plane of his body, piece by piece. He learned meditation techniques during his therapy sessions; now he has another use for them. He says her name again.

“I want to speak to you.” He says, voice low, a lover’s intimacy. “I call on your spirit.”

Her name. Her name. Her name.

He’s not sure how long he stays there, curled on the floor, but the chant of her name lulls him into a trance. His eyes are half-open, the candles wavering in front of him, casting long shadows on the walls. He licks his lips, calls her name again.

One by one, the candles snuff out.

He goes quiet. Smoke curls up to his nose, but he can’t see - the only light is coming from underneath the bathroom door. That familiar chill trickles down the back of his neck, raising the hairs. His flesh is covered in goosebumps; his muscles tense up, coiled tight, ready to spring. His tongue lies dry and thick against his teeth.

“Hello?”

Steve?

He sighs her name. “Sweetheart, is that you?”

A cold breeze passes over his face, rumpling his shirt.

“Are you there?”

The compass flies up and smashes against the wall.

Steve…

Her voice is harsher. Sadder.

“Baby, please,” he’s begging now. He can feel how close she is, she’s in the room, he knows it like he knows his own body. Like he knew hers.

For the first 25 years of his life, he lived with asthma - any little trigger could set him aching for air, his lungs betraying their purpose and seizing up on him, his whole body trembling in relief when he managed to pull in oxygen. He feels that ache for her now - acute and sharp as it was the day he first lost her, a physical pain and its cure so close, so close, if she would only let him - let him breathe-

Oh, Steve.

“Honey, I’m here, I’m right here.” He stands in his little circle, spinning around, though he still sees nothing in the darkened bathroom. He feels the tip of his nose go numb in the frigid air, his body shivering slightly.

I’m here, too, Stevie.

“Where, baby? Where are you?” He’s desperate, so desperate. He’s going to cry if she doesn’t-

I’m here. Look.

He feels, thinks he feels, cold fingers brush down his cheek, and he turns. The mirror above the sink is frosted over, he can see it now that his eyes are adjusting to the pale dark, and he stumbles towards it. Pulls a sleeve down over his hand and wipes at the fog, the remains of his body heat melting it away in streaks.

“Oh...oh god.” He grips the edges of the sink.

Hi, baby.

There she is. There she is. Standing right behind him, over his shoulder. His eyes sweep over her face in the mirror, scanning the details he never forgot, not for a moment. Her lips quirk a sad little smile, tilting her head.

You don’t look so good, Rogers.

His laugh comes out as a sob, and he nods. Fingers curl tighter over the edge of the sink because it’s all that’s holding him up right now. In the reflection, he sees her take a step closer to him - feels her presence, her smell is right behind him and if he can just turn and take her in his arms then everything will be alright again…

NO DON’T!

The force of it is loud in his mind, sends him reeling forward against the sink. Her lips are trembling in a soft frown.

Don’t look behind you.

It sounds so soft. So sad. And he knows, knows in the marrow of his bones, that this is it, this is all they can have. This halfway, this inbetween, this ships in the night barely seen as they pass - it’s all he gets. All he has left.

He presses his hand to the cold glass of the mirror, tips of his fingers stroking the image of her face. His chin feels weak, jaw slack, his hip leaning against the sink. She’s crying, too, tears shining against her soft cheeks.

“Where are you? Do you know what’s happening?” He manages to ask. It’s the question, the question everyone would ask of their ghosts. She shakes her head a little.

I...I don’t really know. But I know I’m not with you.

He nods, tries to swallow around the thick lump in his throat.

Wherever I am, I’m not with you. And I miss you, Steve.

“I miss you - God, honey, I miss you so bad-” his breath hitches, and he wonders in the back of his mind if he’s going to have another asthma attack, his first in 70 years. “I-I need you, sweetheart. Jesus Christ, I miss you. I don’t know what I’m doing without you and-and-”

He’s hyperventilating, breaths stuttering in his chest. The hand that’s pressed to the mirror has gone numb with cold but he won’t move it, not if it’s the closest he comes to touching her face. He watches her come closer to him, behind him - her smell fills the room, no smoke, no incense, only her. His teeth are clattering in his mouth even as he tries to grit them together, lungs stuttering and he’s so so cold but he only half feels it; the muscles in his back jump and twitch as he feels her, really feels her, right behind him. And then-

I know, baby. I know.

Her forehead presses between his shaking shoulder blades. Icy hands creep up beneath his shirt, pressing right over his heart. Her arms lock around his ribs and squeeze, squeeze, squeeze - as if she could brand herself there. In the glass, Steve’s lips are blue and his sobbing breaths come out as little frozen clouds. The mirror is starting to frost over again; the goosebumps on his body won’t lie down. His eyes slip closed, tears chilling in their tracks on his cheeks, and he presses his hand over hers at his heart.

I’m right here.

The ache in his chest sharpens, then dulls, slow and familiar. Something he always carries. His breaths are slowing now, the trembling in his muscles calms a little. She traces a frozen circle over his heart.

I’m right here.

He sighs her name before he blacks out.

**********

Natasha watches Steve in his kitchen, her green eyes sharp and narrow. She hasn’t been to his apartment in a long time, but three days of no answered phone calls, texts, or emails and the Black Widow will investigate. He seems...fine. As fine as Steve has been since it all happened, when he went clean-shaven and cropped his hair, like girls do after a break-up. He smiles over his shoulder while stirring the pot in front of him.

“It’s the one thing my ma made sure I knew how to make for myself,” he says. “She knew I’d need this soup every time I got sick.”

“That’s sweet,” she says. And it is, though she’s never heard him mention it before.

They eat on barstools at the island, sharing little bits of conversation, small talk, mission updates. Sound bites of friendship. Still no explanation for his radio silence.

“Can I use your bathroom?” She sighs as he scoots back his stool, scooping up their bowls to take to the sink.

“Of course - you don’t have to ask, Nat.”

She slips down the hall. Doesn’t go to the bathroom - turns right instead.

On the floor of his bedroom, she sees the candles. The circle. The pictures. A little jar of seashells on his nightstand. While they were eating, she had seen something new - a little chain around his neck, the shape of something underneath, suspiciously like a ring.

Natasha leaves without saying a word, maybe hugs him a little tighter at the door.

She won’t begrudge him this.

#steve x reader #steve rogers x reader #steve x y/n #steve x you #AYAOTDchallenge #steve rogers #steve rogers fic #steve rogers imagine

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freewheelshippin · 4 years

Text

FIC: “What Do I Call You?”

There was something so honest about how she hyped the crowd, leaned so forward she seemed like she might leap into a crowdwalk, pointing at her ear until the whole crowd bellowed in their own guttoral harmony. And she smiled so much at her crewmates -- Ranmaru realized he was smiling, too, while she played guitar and accompanied the others’ solos, only breaking from her deep sway with the music to look at them with brightness and joy in her eyes.

In those moments, Ranmaru understood something he hadn’t before, but it also made him realize that the hunger in him wasn’t being sated so much as it was deepening.

So! I had some fun writing for the roleswap AU, where I’m the punk rock idol and Ranmaru’s the freelance artist getting some juice from all the love and music.

Not much by ways of content warnings -- lots of eating, a fair amount of alcohol, too, and you know, we utter the word ‘fuck’ a few times.

Ranmaru swore as he dropped the case on his toe. He could tell immediately that this was one of those jammed toes that would hurt for days from the bruising, especially when he still had half of the city to cross before he could get back home. And what was home? His shithole apartment and limping around while he went on his rounds for the local cats?

At least the train was empty enough he could sit alone, even comfortably with all his equipment. He was still cross that the live house didn’t have it themselves. Weren’t they professionals? Stupid. The show had sucked, too, with the band spending more time fucking around then putting on the damn show they were paid for, that their fans came out to see, that Ranmaru had put such care into getting the tech just right to enhance. And that one jackass trying to throw hands with anyone in the crowd. Nobody on staff did a fucking thing to kick him out until Ranmaru dragged him out himself, and now he had a black eye and the stink of shitty beer and stale cigarette smoke hanging on him to show for it.

Thirty minutes ‘til his stop. He could listen to some music to smooth over this shitty...everything. He slipped his headphones on, ready to mute the rest of the world and stop anyone from entering his.

Reiji (12:42 AM) : Iiiiiiiiiit’s dropped!!!!!

What, your balls, Ranmaru thought ruefully to himself, unconsciously clicking his tongue in annoyance. He moved his finger to swipe and mute him for … a week, maybe, from how shitty he was feeling right now, but Reiji was too fast. The link appeared, and Ranmaru hit it, if only to have something concrete to be annoyed with him for.

It was a preview for a new PV. That’s right. It was technically tomorrow already, the day this content was due, but this was still early. Reiji must have found a leak. Lucky he was such an otaku, Ranmaru never had to go hunting for sketchy files or talk with weirdos he knew he wouldn’t be able to level with outside of the crowd. There was a long windup before the music even started playing, the visuals building dramatic lighting and obscuring anything but their silhouettes, but there was the low fuzz of an amp before it all hit at once.

Ranmaru didn’t want to admit that his eyes darted right to that flash of turquoise as the lights came up in the PV, because it would mean that he might’ve smiled at just the sight of her. No, it had to be the sound. That clean, driving guitar, that strong bass, it felt like Deep Purple and Iron Maiden, but pushed to be danceable and idol-friendly with synth and a digital drumkit beat Ranmaru could vaguely recognize parts of.

His toe and face didn’t stop hurting and body didn’t stop aching, but he stopped feeling so mad about it for the minute he watched and listened. There was professional polish there he’d missed seeing at the shitshow that was tonight’s gig, but there was still that rawness there of a good, irreplaceable concert. Something less precise than other idol groups’ practiced, saccharine perfection, but Ranmaru found it more welcoming than any other group he’d seen or worked with.

The camera cut to a focus shot. Her hair was as bright as ever, styled like she were one of those princely girls from anime, just somehow made real, and she turned to look right at him--

Reiji (12:44 AM) : Ranran~~ how are you liking your girlfriend in this one :3c

Ranmaru actually growled a little. He only realized he had been smiling because of how intensely he frowned at that bastard, barging into his texts --

Ranmaru (12:44 AM): shut the fuck up and let me watch it. don’t call her that

Reiji (12:44 AM): Isn’t she doing all the things you like???

Reiji (12:45 AM): So handsome! So rock! So passionate!

Reiji (12:45 AM): Feels tailor made for you ;o

Ranmaru (12:45 AM): I told you to shut the fuck up. go text natsuki if you have to annoy someone

Reiji (12:46 AM): Aww Ranran did the show go bad? :(

Reiji (12:46 AM): But I already did, you know! And I’ve already gotten twice as many sparkly sticker replies than texts you’ve sent me in the past week!!!

(He had to admit he laughed a little at that. Reiji was probably getting another onslaught as he was typing, his own push notifications as clogged as he was making Ranmaru’s.)

Ranmaru (12:47 AM): I’m muting notifs since you won’t learn how to fucking shut up

Reiji (12:47 AM): ohhhh she’s getting ranran’s full attention~! You must really like this preview, huh? I guess it’s true love

Ranmaru (12:48 AM): WILL YOU SHUT UP ALREADY

Reiji (12:48 AM): You’re right, I should, I should be listening for wedding bells!

Ranmaru (12:48 AM): go make out with your gacha girlfriend body pillow and leave me alone

Ranmaru (12:49 AM): hypocrite

He finally muted all his notifications. An hour should be enough to ride it out, he thought as he settled a little into the hard plastic of the seat, restarting the video. The anger from the past couple hours melted away as he watched, uninterrupted, and replayed it with eyes closed as the sound flowed in through his headphones and released the tension in his body bit by bit.

---

The hour ran out when Ranmaru was squatting over an especially runty kitten, eating noisily while the others watched from a couple feet away. Why stray cats could understand him better than anyone else when he said to piss off, he’d never know. He swiped around to turn his notifications back off for the rest of the night before pocketing his phone again.

“...Oi. Slow down.” He pulled the plate of food away from the kitten. It shook with hiccups as it watched carefully, almost fearfully, before it pounced back onto the food, gobbling it down like it was going to be its last meal. Ranmaru sighed but couldn’t blame the little thing. He dumped out the last of the food, gave the rest of the cats one last look as he stood up to walk away, and he heard the frenzied scratch of their claws against the pavement as they swarmed the plates of food.

Maybe it wasn’t so much they understood him as he understood them. To hunger like that, both literally and for something less physical but just as carnal.

He plugged his headphones back in, listening to the leaked preview a few more times on his way back to the apartment.

He liked this group to begin with mostly because of her. She dressed, talked, and acted more like someone from a band than an idol, and something about that felt weirdly familiar and good. The rest of the group were more unique than a lot of other idols -- you’d expect that from a unit made up of a pack of ragtag international recruits, sure, but it was refreshing how they’d made everything about their presence wholly their own.

Hers just made the most sense to him. The brashness, the way she talked about music, the way she performed, it all felt like someone who was chasing and understood the same things he did. She even said her music was about giving people power in an interview Reiji’d dug up for him.

“Beyond language, or the way words reach people,” she’d said in decent but definitely non-native Japanese; she’d grown up some in Okinawa while her family lived on the military base, but mostly shuttled between America and Bangkok before getting recruited by chance here. “I want to give everyone a home that makes them feel strong through my music.”

He wondered, dimly, as he took a hot shower and stared down at his swollen red toe, if he felt drawn to the group because he wanted that for himself, or because it reminded him why he kept picking up jobs that made him as angry as tonight’s did.

He went to bed that night with an ice pack balanced on his swollen eye, the frustration more or less passed as he listened to the classic bands that new song reminded him of.

---

He woke up to his phone buzzing, the hold on push notifications finally expired, and he murmured in bewilderment at just how many there were. Not just from Reiji, but Natsuki, too.

Rather than try and parse whatever the hell happened while he was asleep, Ranmaru just went into the group chat well after he’d gotten himself breakfast.

Ranmaru (9:28 AM): what the hell happened last night that you had to blow up my phone

Natsuki (9:30 AM): Maru-chan-senpai! Ah! You’re alive!!!!

Ranmaru (9:31 AM): I just went to bed is all

(“Why the hell are you calling me ‘senpai’?” Ranmaru had asked him, and Natsuki had looked at him with those big dopey eyes and earnestly said since he’d been a fan longer, he was naturally Natsuki’s senpai, and any protest Ranmaru made never stuck.)

Reiji supplied a link without any fanfare, introduction, or goofy dramatics, which almost startled Ranmaru.

Notice (posted by Ootori Eiichi x/xx/xx):

We are currently seeking an emergency replacement sound/stage technician for performances at the following dates and locations. Inquire immediately. [PAID]

Ranmaru stared at the listing, barely processing the lurch in his stomach that came from just reading it. It was for them. That act. The debut mini-tour for that new single. It’d take rearranging his sound editing queue and massaging some deadlines, but he could feasibly make all of those dates and times.

He thought for a moment of doing that sound check, and seeing for himself the electric energy of that live. Of working with that group whose respect for their audience he personally felt, of watching her prepare, having to talk directly to her as she tuned her guitar....

There was the very real possibility that it’d prove everything he believed about them - about her, really, that ethos he was drawn to - was just smoke and mirrors, too.

Natsuki (9:35 AM): Can you do it, Maru-chan-senpai?

Reiji (9:36 AM): Ranran, you have to do it.

Ranmaru (9:36 AM): this is just a listing, just because I ask doesn’t mean it’ll go through

There was a long pause, where everyone went on and off typing, never actually saying anything, and he frowned.

Ranmaru (9:40 AM): can you all just fucking say what you’re thinking already

Natsuki (9:42 AM): You really love their magic and energy, I just wanted to say I hope you do it and get it because your heart wants it!

Reiji (9:45 AM): Yes, Nacchan, you said it! Ranran, I’ll give you all the free bento you need to keep your tummy full to go do this!

Ranmaru (9:45 AM): don’t fucking do that, reiji, you’ll just piss of your sister. I’ll buy them myself

Ranmaru (9:45 AM): assuming I even do this

Reiji (9:46 AM): I really think you should.

Reiji (9:46 AM): Not because we want the insider scoop. But because when’s the last time you had fun at a live you worked?

Ranmaru could curse Reiji where he stood. Whenever he stopped fucking around and got to his point, it was always a good one.

---

He got the job, somehow, after a little emailing back-and-forth and negotiating the contract. Now he was on a train to Yokohama for the first gig, his case packed full, his backpack stuffed with supplies for a week. Comping travel, hotel, and meals was enough to take the job, even if it paid like ass, but it didn’t. The contract was actually pretty decent. They -- or, well, at least that Ootori guy -- were upfront that he’d be worked hard, the hours were going to be long, and there wasn’t going to be much room for rest or leisure. But the pay was good. Enough that if he had a dryspell of jobs afterwards, he’d be okay for longer than usual.

It was worth it for other reasons, though, he thought to himself, stuffing spare merch he’d gotten in blindbags (and a couple other last-minute buys he didn’t tell the others about) into a bottom corner of his suitcase. None of it was of her, none of it for him. Something felt unprofessional spending this job acting like a fan, but at least there wasn’t any harm grabbing some signatures for friends who never made it to meet-and-greets.

The single was out properly, now, and so was the PV. There was a section of it he especially liked and had gotten into the habit of watching on train rides, where she broke out of the dance routine to put her arms around her teammates, grin a dumb grin, and kick her legs high. It cut to a different shot of the group in different costumes but perfect sync, and when it cut back to that first shot, she stumbled and fell right on her ass, dragging the others down with her. Still grinning stupidly, and singing through it all.

She didn’t take many vocal solos. She only had one line in this song to herself, and she was singing with the whole group for this shot. He read in an interview she wasn’t happy with the tone quality of her voice yet -- it needed to be richer, and she still needed plenty of training before it reached what her teammates and audience deserved.

Ranmaru told himself, as the train was minutes away from the station, that this had to be the last time he watched this video and listened to the song like this. At least for the duration of this job. Every time he watched that shot, as she kept singing and the rest of the group tumbled down with her with the same dumb grin she wore, he knew in his gut the voice she sang in must’ve sounded like the soul of rock. Even if that gesture were directed and performed, there was still something genuine there that reminded him of those moments at concerts that convinced him to walk the path he did.

Maybe he’d get to see it live. Maybe he wouldn’t. But he had to stop imagining it. She - this whole group, rather - was about to become real, and whether or not everything he imagined would turn out to just be something he made up to deal with his shit, he had a job to do.

------------------------------------

He had a chance to leave his clothes and belongings in the hotel before heading to the live house. Ranmaru was unsure why this Ootori guy had picked him. He didn’t have an exactly long resume with idol shows, but then again, this was a group that debuted without any typical idol sound. There wasn’t any gimmick to them (Ranmaru wouldn’t call being made up of foreigners much of a gimmick when it came to the music), and they weren’t afraid of reaching into all sorts of genres he more typically worked with.

Right as he got to the live house, his phone rumbled with back-to-back notifications.

Reiji (5:48 PM): Ranran~!!! Ganbarimachochho from us!

Ranmaru wouldn’t deign the attached selfie with a response right now (he was about to work, after all), but he felt himself suppressing a smile. Reiji was sticking his tongue out and making a victory sign, Natsuki further in the background, half-buried in stuffed animals and doing the same. They were going to be streaming the event for special-tier fanclub members like REIJI, which Ranmaru had always harangued him for. If he was a fan, wasn’t it enough to just cheer their hearts out live, enjoy their music, buy a CD and shirt, and feel the energy they had to give that way?

(He still pored over the behind-the-scenes and advance material Reiji forwarded to him and Natsuki regardless. Sometimes he translated the English from their social media accounts, even. It was satisfying, as stupid as it felt sometimes, to do those little things in between the real shows.)

He’d never been to the live house before, but it had the same vibes as so many others he’d been to. He found the back entrance effortlessly, where a man with glasses almost took him by surprise.

“Kurosaki?” he asked. His gaze felt just as intense as all the other communication they’d had over e-mail.

“Ootori,” he grunted back.

“You’re early,” Eiichi replied, grinning at Ranmaru. Not that it surprised him in the slightest, but it made him look less approachable and instead even more intense. “Good. I like that in a recruit.”

Ranmaru gritted his teeth quietly. This guy was going to be an absolute bastard, he could feel it, but at least he seemed like he knew how to run a show. “Don’t say that like I joined your agency. Tell me where the group’s at with setup, and I’ll get started.”

Eiichi’s eyes glinted from behind his glasses. He looked too satisfied with himself for Ranmaru’s taste. “I liked how you didn’t beat around the bush when you reached out for the job, and it’s good to see you hold to it. They’re rehearsing in the space, but we still have equipment to unload and cues to sync. You read the notes I sent you, I trust.”

“All forty fuckin’ pages of it.” Ranmaru left out that he’d actually found it pretty impressive, appreciating the thoroughness and ambition of the show for a smaller group and venue. “Are we going to stand around shooting the shit or are we going to get started working on them?”

Eiichi laughed at that. Ranmaru wasn’t sure if it pissed him off or made him feel eager to get to work.

“This way,” he said, showing him to a van stuffed full of equipment.

------

Ranmaru went straight to the live house staff to start doing his work. The master controls were kept in a little room that overlooked the stage. His gut flipped when he first saw them all, rehearsing some specific-looking choreography that needed to adjust to a new stage. He wasn’t about to let that interrupt work. This was just like any other job, except he liked the performers a whole lot more, and things progressed like any other job. Until she looked dead at him from the stage, calling out.

“Heeeeey,” she said. “Scuse me, are you the new tech guy?”

“Yeah.” Ranmaru forced the feeling rising in his throat back down (as much as he could with sheer willpower, anyway). “Whaddya want?”

“I just wanted to ask your name! We gotta call you something!”

“Ranmaru,” he answered, hoping dearly that whatever he felt burning on his face was hidden by the dim lighting.

“Cool, OK. Ranmaru-san,” she continued cheerfully. Ranmaru felt his chest tighten as he heard his name on her lips. “Are we queued up enough that we can do this number with music?”

“This is the one for the new single, right,” he called back. He took a look at the levels, gain, and so forth as they were and instinctively nudged the knobs where the countless plays of that new song told him to. He’d imagined the vision of its stage presence for weeks. “I’m gonna test out some different settings for the levels ‘n stuff while you do that.”

She made an expression of surprise as it came on. Delight, even, as she rode out into the following beats. Ranmaru couldn’t help crooking into his own smile, satisfied his know-how just helped that vision become a little bit brighter. She flashed him a thumbs up, then a gesture to pause, still grinning.

“Can we take it from the top? Five, six, seven, eight---”

--------

Ranmaru had never felt this sort of contradiction. She was restringing her acoustic guitar, from steel to nylon strings, as she hummed and practiced segments of songs, and Ranmaru was adjusting amplifiers and other equipment on the stage nearby. His head swam with the thought and excitement they were sharing the same stage, even just as a tech and pre-show performer, but approaching her felt like being both sides of a magnet at once.

But that push and pull gave way, eventually, as the guitar finished being re-strung and tuned, and the humming turned into full-on singing. Ranmaru fought desperately to make sure he wasn’t just confirming what he’d already imagined, to just appreciate her live voice on its own merits and flaws. But he could feel in his chest that that character, that quality he’d responded so much to was there, that even with some lacking technical skill, there was still a rich tone color you could only get with passion and the spirit for rock.

“You doing any solos tonight?” he asked in English.

“Hm?” She looked caught by surprise.

Ranmaru answered, already anticipating the question. “I’m half-American. I speak it fluently enough.”

“Well, shit,” she said with a grin. “That’s convenient for us. I mean, I don’t mind Japanese if it’s easier…”

“‘Sfine. Do what you want. I won’t complain about the practice, though.”

She chuckled. “Man, maybe losing our usual guy from the agency was a stroke of good luck.”

Ranmaru laughed challengingly. “Say that after the show goes well. And you still haven’t answered my question.”

“Oh, uh. Right. Not really? Why do you ask?”

“Why not?”

She took a moment and laughed brightly in reply. Ranmaru could practically hear the insecurity she was covering up.

“‘Cuz we’re an idol group.”

Ranmaru gestured and murmured in vague acknowledgement. “You still have less solo lines than everyone else.”

“Oh, do I,” she replied flatly, going back to her guitar, trimming overhanging strings. “I guess you would know, now that you’ve gotta manage all our sound.”

“I just think it’s stupid you’ve clearly got your own voice but can’t think of sharing it without hiding behind everyone else’s.”

She looked up at him incredulously. “Ranmaru-san, right?”

“...Just call me Ranmaru.”

“Alright, Ranmaru.” She looked at him again. Somehow when she looked at him dead-on this time, nothing went to mush inside of him. “Don’t fucking talk to me like our group voice isn’t the backbone of everything we’re trying to do.”

“Nothing’s wrong with your group voice,” he shot back, getting heated. “It’s good. I can feel the soul behind it all, even when you’re rehearsing.”

“So why are you fucking complaining?” She was still smiling, laying cheer and energy over her growing frustration. “Is there something you wanna say to me about my crew’s voices?”

“They’re fine!” he barked back, frustrated she wasn’t getting his point. “This isn’t about them! You have something your audience is gonna be lit on fire hearing more of, that’s all!”

Some eyes were starting to fall on them, but Ranmaru could barely notice them over the way her chest rose sharply and her expression became inscrutible.

“...how about,” she said, speaking slowly as she deliberately, diplomatically pulled out her words, switching back to Japanese. “You save any notes you have for after the show.”

“......Sure.” His stomach flipped again, more intensely and more painfully than the last few times. He went back to fussing with the amp, and she laid the pliers she’d trimmed her strings with on it before heading backstage until the show started.

---

The show was electric. Ranmaru couldn’t say he was the right audience for most idol groups -- not so much out of distaste as much as incompatibility, he guessed. The way Reiji and Natsuki would lose their minds over their favorites’ cheerful cuteness or the kindness in their voices, Ranmaru wouldn’t. The fanatical, cult-of-personality devotion some other idols could curate with otaku-types, he didn’t connect with, either. What spoke to him was passion, backed by steely sounds and the sweat behind them; the excitement and fervor of rock and a crowd stinking of sweat; how well you could make someone scream themselves hoarse for that one, shining moment without any care for how sore they’d feel the next morning.

Maybe it was the adrenaline from earlier, but when he could look away from the tech, he felt that here, too. There was no drum or bass player onstage, but he could still feel the beat thrum through his chest and rumble through his bones until his breath quickened, like he were jumping and dancing with the crowd. There was joy in their teamwork. In how they shaped their bodies together in song and in voice, and pushing and pulling the spotlight until it was something brighter, something shared and tangible between them and the audience.

His eyes fell on her. What should he call her? She had a stage name in Thai, but she was open that wasn’t her given name or anything friends and family called her. “Aroon” was just something she picked so she could wear her heritage proudly. It meant ‘dawn,’ it sounded cooler, more idol-ish than her Western name, which wasn’t a secret, by any means, but he heard her called by so many versions of it, none felt real.

It only felt so weird because seeing her onstage, he felt far beyond any confirmation bias he could’ve had that the person he’d seen in the PV’s was every bit as real as he’d hoped. He saw someone who didn’t just fit on stage, but relished and grew like a plant in the hot lights burning down on them. There was something so honest about how she hyped the crowd, leaned so forward she seemed like she might leap into a crowdwalk, pointing at her ear until the whole crowd bellowed in their own guttoral harmony. And she smiled so much at her crewmates -- Ranmaru realized he was smiling, too, while she played guitar and accompanied the others’ solos, only breaking from her deep sway with the music to look at them with brightness and joy in her eyes.

In those moments, Ranmaru understood something he hadn’t before, but it also made him realize that the hunger in him wasn’t being sated so much as it was deepening.

They got cheered back on for an encore. And towards the end of that last song, Ranmaru watched as she broke choreography to literally lift the one Natsuki was convinced was a fairy, spinning them around as the practiced moves dissolved into joyful chaos. The whole group ended the song arm in arm, sloppily holding mics for each other as they alternately laughed, belted, fumbled, and shouted thank-yous into the audience.

Ranmaru still felt something tug at him as the mic got held in front of her, she grabbed it, and handed it to someone else. Just sing, damn it, he thought to himself. It didn’t matter if it was perfect, it just mattered that it was hers.

Didn’t she realize she deserved to be adored the same way she wanted the rest of her group to be?

Ranmaru cut everything as they filtered offstage, staggering and softening the mics as they put them back and let them go. He took a deep, sighing breath in and out, almost like he’d been holding it for the entire concert, as his stomach growled.

Maybe he should’ve taken some more of Reiji’s bento, after all, and give Natsuki’s cookies another try.

--------

They closed up quickly. With the group no longer bound by rehearsal, takedown went faster than ever, and there wasn’t any meet-and-greet at today’s venue. Ranmaru dimly considered looking at the merch table, but he had a week to do that and had other things to finish with today’s closeup, anyway.

He could hear the group discussing amongst themselves in English about where to go for a late dinner celebrating a good show.

“I want chicken,” she pleaded. “Is there one of those Taiwanese shops where you can get boba and chicken around here? You know, the kind that comes in a little bag and a toothpick?”

Eiichi approached them, and she started to repeat herself in Japanese before he asked to interrupt her.

“We’re all headed to the izakaya two blocks from here,” he announced to everyone. “I’ve already called ahead to reserve the space. Consider it a reward for a triumph of the first show on tour.”

“But is there chicken,” she repeated in Japanese in mock desperation as she mussed her own hair, fussing it out of the careful styling she’d had it in for hours.

Ranmaru’s phone buzzed from the notifications he missed, shutting them off for the duration of the show. Mostly from Natsuki and Reiji. He scrolled through the groupchat as they reacted live to the stream and tried to compliment Ranmaru on managing sound so well, though he was sure it couldn’t have possibly made much of a difference for the stream.

Ranmaru (11:37 PM): it was a killer show, wasn’t it

Ranmaru (11:37 PM): they’re talking about craving chicken right now. Guess it’s too bad we don’t have a kotobuki bento branch around here.

Ranmaru (11:38 PM): i could go for a kara-age bento

Reiji (11:38 PM): Ranran….!

Natsuki (11:39 PM): Waaaah~! I hope you find some kara-age soon and share it with your shining star!

Ranmaru immediately locked the phone after that. His stomach somersaulted once more time. He stood by what he said to her earlier, but he couldn’t imagine she’d want to talk after the way things had gone. Better to leave the group to that postshow glow, feed himself, and head back to the hotel.

---------

The room was swimming just a little. Ranmaru blearly looked at his phone, trying to ignore the fact that he’d drank beyond his limit like an idiot. He knew he was like this, so why did he keep downing beer after beer? He’d gotten too used to needing as much as he could stomach to tolerate Reiji’s antics (and, he knew dimly, he was just too used to being able to rely on him once he’d hit his limit).

She was seated right across from him, because of course she was, but they didn’t exchange any words or even eye contact. She was entirely focused on the rest of the group and the meal itself, laughing loudly between boisterous stories and jokes and devouring whatever snacks she ordered.

Ranmaru got up. He could make it back to the hotel by himself, probably. Nobody asked as he left, which was how he’d preferred things, right?

If there was such thing as taking a desolate wizz, maybe this is what it felt like, he thought to himself as he dried his hands on his shirt and left the restroom to step outside. Just for a moment. Just to get some air.

Eiichi followed him out.

“Can I help you,” Ranmaru said roughly after Eiichi caught the door behind him.

“Hardly.” He had the same look in his eye as before. “I thought I’d take the opportunity to say well done.”

Ranmaru grunted. “You still have six more shows with me. Compliment me when I’ve nailed all of them.”

“Hm. I’d certainly expect no less. But,” he continued, that grin going places Ranmaru especially didn’t like. “I can’t say that was what I was referring to.”

Ranmaru looked at him suspiciously.

“She’s been a tough nut to crack,” he continued. “I’m glad my instincts were right, Ranmaru Kurosaki, your brusqueness and deep experience with music laid her heart bare enough she recognized some changes she needed to make.”

He didn’t think, and only saw red -- he couldn’t blame the alcohol entirely, but the haziness was enough that his brain needed a moment to catch up to his gut reaction.

Eiichi laughed, unfazed by Ranmaru’s hands on his collar or snarling expression.

“Bastard!” he barked. Eiichi’s eyes glinted behind his glasses.

“I heard your little conversation. Do you not stand by those words?”

“Of course I do,” Ranmaru snapped.

“They reached her,” Eiichi cut in before Ranmaru could think of what to say next. “She’s already asking me about extra vocal training before the next recording sessions.”

“She doesn’t need more training!” He threw Eiichi back, finally letting go. He barely needed any effort to recover, and Ranmaru just glared at him as he kept raising his voice. “And I’m not your for-hire music coach! Is this how you treat all your contractors, you rat bastard of a producer?!”

He just laughed that laugh of his, making Ranmaru even angrier. “Your passion for music and straightforwardness was evident, even in your initial inquiry. It was just excellent luck your technical skills were just as useful for sending this idol group hurtling towards their fullest potential.”

“If you want her to reach it, you’d tell her she doesn’t need any extra lessons. You’d just tell her she’s a great goddamn idol the way she is right now,” Ranmaru spat. “Trusting her voice is just what’ll make her into a better one.”

“I hear some selfish intent in that, Kurosaki.” Eiichi looked like he was burning with excitement. “But that just means I can trust your intentions more than anyone. You speak as someone whose heart’s already been moved. A fan...a loyal follower who desires their success. Perhaps even more than she does.”

“I’m going back to the hotel.” Ranmaru strode past him, feeling himself burn from top to bottom. He gave Eiichi one last look in the eye. “If you need me before the show tomorrow, find someone else.”

-------

The next day and next show went uneventfully. Now that he’d met the group at Yokohama, he was travelling with them in the cars and equipment vans, and he made a point of finding a back seat nobody wanted to share, stretching out, and napping the whole ride. The setup at the next live house was a pain in the ass with their unusual devices and systems, but Ranmaru was quietly grateful to have his hands full. He liked having a good reason for not wanting to talk to (scold) anyone but the live house staff itself. Being irritated they went for weird, cheap models with lower quality helped him double down on the attention needed to make the group shine. They collectively got ramen afterwards. The only words he exchanged all meal were with the one Reiji liked so much, ferrying his ramen order for him when he got frustrated with the shop crowd and left to go wait outside.

(He’d have to find a way to talk with her later about Reiji. Not just for the autograph -- he opened up his phone, ignoring any notifications that weren’t his work email, and messaged him.

Ranmaru (9:42 PM): send me a pic of your Mae shrine

Reiji (9:45 PM): ehh? Ranran, what for?

Ranmaru (9:50 PM): just send it

Dutifully, Reiji did. Ranmaru couldn’t have imagined he really had no idea what he planned to do with it, but if he wasn’t just playing dumb, at least he’d be getting one hell of a surprise.)

It was during the third show that things started to happen a way he could scarcely believe. The show went pretty normally, except for one point where she stumbled badly enough during a complex turn she completely ate shit. But she played it off into something hammy and funny, rolling out of the way of the others, lying like she were posing in a cheesy beefcake calendar while she found the beat again to sing.

Ranmaru still thought she needed to own up to her lack of courage and just sing more, but putting it like she was a coward was a mistake. He thought dimly to what Reiji had said that had convinced him -- “when was the last time you had fun working a stage like this?” And he wondered if he’d ever had fun onstage like he saw. He might’ve tasted the glory and passion of the stage, the delicious energy of the audience, and the power of rock -- he knew he did, he’d looked an easier, blander life in the eye and felt too desolate to walk that path, even with his inescapable debt.

But it could be more fun. That audience could feel more, even more connected, that he could smile through mistakes when the performance came from camaraderie as much as passion and soul. Things could be better when they were shared beyond just the respect of an audience and a performer.

He didn’t realize he was smiling as much as he was until his cheeks were hurting, but that was also because he felt hungrier than he’d ever been.

----

He couldn’t help calculating how many meals he’d be cutting into as the convenience store clerk rang up everything, even though he’d already gotten Eiichi to confirm he was going to expense him the bill and get refunded every cent.

The show closed late. They had a special meet-and-greet he didn’t need to be around to handle, but none of them had had the chance to eat much outside of some spare snacks. He figured something fast and easy before they could collapse in the hotel would fit the bill.

She wasn’t there when he went around knocking on the hotel room doors and delivering the goods. Gone out to relax on the roof, they said, and when they offered to hold her food, he said no, he’d take it right to her.

The sound of the roof door opening looked like it startled her, and he didn’t know what else to do but hold up the bag full of food like a peace offering.

“Eat something,” he said in English, tossing her a banana from the bag. She caught it before eyeing him up and down, then settled back to the outdoor lounge chair she’d been resting on. Ranmaru took a seat in the one across for her, setting the bag on the ground as he pulled the rest of the food out. She looked hesitant, only speaking until he’d laid everything out, even the drinks.

“...That smells good,” she said in Japanese. “What’s that, kara-age?”

“I heard you guys were craving chicken.”

“I mean, I sure was. Thanks.”

“I told you English was fine,” he said, back to Japanese.

“My Japanese is fine,” she said, tearing into the banana first.

“Yeah, but if you’re tired of speaking outside of your native tongue,” Ranmaru started, already feeling himself get heated. “Why wouldn’t you take the chance to just rest?”

She finished her bite of banana before giving him a look. “...If you insist.”

They just sat in silence as she ate for a bit.

“Is there something else you want from me?” she asked. She left half the kara-age and bottled tea.

“...No, not really. I wanted to say sorry for the other day, though.”

“Ah.” She smiled knowingly, though she didn’t look happy about it. “Don’t worry about it. It sure isn’t the first or last time I’m gonna be criticized in this industry. I can handle it.”

Ranmaru murmured in acknowledgement, not sure to what end making himself clear to would earn, but he had to, anyways. He stared down the half-full kara-age container.

“...This is your goddamn food, you know.” He pushed it closer to her. “Eat it.”

“Oh, you’re sure?”

“I didn’t have a meet-and-greet that made me miss dinner. Do you really wanna work a tour on an empty stomach?”

She scooped it up with a knowing ‘hmm’ and a half-smile. After polishing it off, she let out a heavy sigh.

“You are right, though. I’m being a coward, not singing more.”

“You’re not,” Ranmaru grumbled.

“Sure,” she said dismissively. “But I guess I should apologize for getting so defensive. I thought you were just another macho shithead trying to talk the piss out of our group and the voice we have.”

“That’s nothing to apologize for,” Ranmaru said resolutely. “....when I was in a band, I wish I’d had bandmates who’d do that kinda shit for me.”

“Oh, shit, what’d you play?”

“Vocals. Bass. Rock.”

“Aw, c’mon, get more specific than that. Surf rock? Indie boy shoegaze? Folk punk with a little dash of polka?”

Ranmaru gave her an incredulous look. “...Oi. Do I look like a polka guy?”

She grinned widely, looking very satisfied with herself. “I dunno, you never know who’s got a secret accordion! I could see you, maybe you painted half of it, like, red to match that edgelord RPG hero heterochromia thing you got going.”

Ranmaru grumbled, looking away. She laughed. “....I just like rock. If you had to pull my leg I guess I’d tell you hard rock. Maybe a little alt and prog.”

“Ooh!” She exclaimed, barely letting the sip of tea get down her throat. “That’s the good shit! Did you ever record anything?”

Ranmaru hesitated. “...Yeah, but nothing that anyone can listen to anymore.”

She seemed to understand without much more explanation. “...Well. You’re fucking good at the sound engineering side of things. Don’t tell management this -- or well, just don’t quote me on this -- but I like you a hell of a lot more than the guy we were supposed to have from the agency. He doesn’t know shit about how to make music that’s about soul and hype. It’s like, all one level the whole time, you know? Like it’s just sitting at an 8 the whole time, we don’t really get to do stuff like crescendos. Or like, punch someone in the dick by taking it from a three and shoot it to an eleven, you know?”

“Yeah,” Ranmaru said, throwing a hand up. “What’s with that shit? There’s a bunch of stupid clients I had who were like that. Just one kind of loud, the whole album or concert through. What’s the fucking point if you aren’t gonna make people hear something other than just fuckin’ loud?”

“Yeah! You get it!” she whooped, before she held her hand out for a fistbump.

It surprised Ranmaru enough that it took a moment to register. But he smiled a little and pounded it.

------

“Man-eating momma, steam-driven hammer

Sorts the men out from the boys--”

She slid her arm around his waist, and he nearly choked on his beer.

They were at Korean barbecue tonight, their own private room. The last meal, after the last concert, after the last meet-and-greet, after the last frantic merch sales. Ranmaru tried to buy himself a shirt, but instead was presented with a staff hoodie for the tour and a “one of everything” comp for the rest of the merch. They were now safely tucked with other goods he’d gotten signed for Reiji and Natsuki last night while everyone hung out in their big hotel suite. Hotel management made a mistake and upgraded the whole crew to their biggest room with extra cots to fit them all, and they spent the entire post show in a dizzying, joyful, communal haze. Ranmaru even told stories of the embarrassing depths of his groupchat’s devotion to the group and each of their favorites, and everyone took turns recording chaotic, personalized videos for Ranmaru to share later. They fell asleep at a truly stupid hour, and Ranmaru wondered if this is what having sleepovers as a kid felt like.

“Takes no messing, all-in wrestling

Is one of her pride and joys”

Ranmaru recognized the words as she pulled him closer, swaying after slamming her beer to the table. Maybe less the tune, since that was being yelled more than sung.

“She's a classy, flashy lassy

Imitation sapphire shine-- c’mon, dude, you know!” She looked at him expectantly. She was very, very flushed, and at this point, he had to be, too.

“We’re not at a karaoke bar!” he barked.

“Where’s all that ‘you gotta sing more, fuckass’ energy now, huh,” she said, lowering her voice so much to mimic that Ranmaru briefly questioned if this is what he sounded like to her.

“....Fine! If you’re gonna sing it, actually fuckin’ sing it, don’t just yell!”

“Oh yeah,” she said with what passed for a shit-eating grin with her. “Then show me, partyboy. Hey, everyone, meet my new vocal coach! Hold onto your dick, folks, he better fuckin floor you with all the shit he’s been talking --”

Ranmaru looked at her a moment as she kept ranting, first with incredulity, then with a weird surreal awe. What the hell was happening?

Why the hell should he bother questioning it?

“-- Two-faced liar, full of fire

But I know the flame is mine!” He cut off her rant, singing as much as he could like this were a stage.

She -- and a bunch of other staff at the table -- whooped and cheered and laughed, but she and only she joined in with him without a care in the world. “Rocka Rolla woman for a Rocka Rolla man

You can take her if you want her

If you think you can--”

He let the arm that’d been just awkwardly dangling behind her wrap around her shoulder. He felt warmer than he’d ever had, burning all the way to the tips of his ears.

“Rocka Rolla woman for a Rocka Rolla man

You can take her if you want her you can!”

They hung on the last note of the chorus -- she hung on comedically long before dragging them both up to bow while everyone else clapped, laughed, cheered. A server came, yelling that they had an order of grilled beef up. Eiichi, from the other end of the table, gestured that he’d ordered it, but passed it down until it sat in front of Ranmaru.

--------

They had an overnight bus trip to get back home -- or close enough to home, anyways, Ranmaru still had another long train ride waiting afterwards, so he’d planned to sleep the whole bus ride.

But she wound up sitting next to him, and even if he could pretend like that didn’t make his heart thump now by itself, she was chatty.

He didn’t mind the conversation, though. They mostly talked about music, sharing concert stories and albums. He even talked a little about what he wanted to do now in between all the freelance work, and when she wished him luck and couldn’t wait to hear it, he didn’t feel like she was just blowing smoke.

There came a pause while she downed a bottle of tea.

“...I meant it when I said there’s something in your voice the audience oughta hear,” he said, looking at her intently.

She laughed uncomfortably after she swallowed. “Thank you. I’ll…..I guess I just have to go for it, huh.”

“What’s stopping you?”

“I...hm….” She paused in intent thought for a while. “Well, for one, the technical control isn’t there.”

“Yeah, but you’ll improve that by doing it.”

“Yeah, yeah. But there’s more than just that, I guess.”

“Like what.”

“...Well, you know how this industry is. It’s…hard. Finding the balance of what you’re good at, what people want, and what the higher-ups think they want. I don’t think I’m anywhere near figuring that balance out...”

“Forget all that.” Ranmaru looked at her very seriously, shifting in place so he could look her in the eye a little better. “Don’t worry about any of those things.”

She laughed disbelievingly. “Okay, sure, lemme just. Throw out my job description while I’m at it. Dude, the whole point of this job and this work is to make other people happy.”

“I was happy hearing your voice just as it was that first day. You just. Sang the way you wanted to. I liked that. It felt good. Genuine.” He took a moment to recall the words he found at the beginning of the tour. “...You like it when people connect with your group’s voice ‘n adore your groupmates. So let ‘em adore you some.”

“Oh, cuz I’m so adowable,” she joked, laughing as Ranmaru scowled.

“I mean it. I….” he started. “...The audience is going to be better for hearing more of you. Whatever that means.”

She thought about that for a moment. “...I...you know. I don’t think I’ve ever asked myself what that looks like. Or let myself realize it, anyway.”

“You can handle the criticism if it comes. If that’s something you’re scared of.”

“...Maybe it is. Thank you, Ranmaru, I’m going to think about that and kick everybody’s teeth in the next time we record.

“‘Snothing,” he murmured, but he felt like his heart was going to soar out of his chest, and later, as they both nodded off and slumped over each other as the road stretched on, he realized he felt sated in a way he couldn’t remember being. A weird sort, that took away the pang of hunger, but made him feel it more deeply through his whole being.

----

When he arrived ‘home,’ it was lunchtime, and he was too dazed, hungry, and tired to weather one last long walk home without some food in his stomach. It was on the way-- he may as well go to Kotobuki Bento and make Reiji make good on the free bento offer.

(His sister rang him up, and Ranmaru paid up.)

Reiji found him after the meal, and he wound up heading to Reiji’s room. To give him the merch, theoretically, but after Reiji earned enough grouchy monosyllabic replies, he brought something that sounded like an actual question.

“...So, Ranran, while you were away…”

“Just say it,” Ranmaru muttered, eyes too tired to focus. “I’m too fucking tired for you to take the long away around.”

“Nattsun’s friend wants to join our little fanclub!”

“....And.”

Reiji shrank a little, speaking more sheepishly. “The thing is...we mentioned you and....he’s pretty sure you two already know each other and you’d want nothing to do with him.”

Ranmaru hazily tried to recall who that could be. There were too many people whose guts he hated for him to figure it out by himself.

“Who is it,” Ranmaru growled tiredly. “Just fucking say it.”

“Does...Hijirikawa ring a bell?”

It did. Ranmaru fumed in silence for a moment, thinking about the whirlwind of disaster that name was attached to, but also the vague memories of that quiet, serious boy in traditional dress who fretted after him when they were too small to know of things like debts and bankruptcy...

“...Whatever,” Ranmaru muttered. He looked at Reiji’s bed and decided he wasn’t going to tolerate any more of this exhaustion -- he had a reliable neighbor to leave food out for the cats, anyway, what was a couple more hours? “It’s not really much of a fanclub if it’s just the three of us. He can join if he wants. It’ll give you ‘n Natsuki someone who’s better at responding to your crazy nightlong gushing than me.” He tossed the dakimakura on Reiji’s bed, dented in the middle from so much hugging, to him, before he shrugged closer into his staff tour hoodie and slumped into Reiji’s bed.

He could practically see Reiji stammering, even as he turned away and settled into the comfort of eyes closed and a real bed. Clearly, that wasn’t the answer he was expecting, and it wasn’t the one Ranmaru was expecting to give, either.

“-- R...Ranran, you really--”

“Yes! What the fuck wasn’t clear about what I said! Masato can join! Go add him already! Just let me sleep, you noisy bastard!” Ranmaru barked one last time at Reiji.

Ranmaru ignored whatever last jabbering Reiji had for him, already carried off to proper sleep. He wondered what he could possibly dream about that would rival the past week and this satisfying feeling, cradled in his new hoodie.

(I perform semi-professionally -- not as an idol, mind, but I’m still getting up on a stage/camera to entertain people on the reg -- and it was so weird but also really......doki-inspiring, let’s say, to imagine Ranmaru being a fan of my stage bravado :’’’’’D To be honest I’ve been feeling a little discouraged and burnt out by it lately but this really refilled my tanks!!!)

#iron maiden & rocka rolla #hints of #matchamocha #and #peach lemonade #scribblings #roleswap au #selfship #self insert #selfship fic

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