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mingi-bubu · 1 year

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say goodnight (and go)

Fictober22~ Prompt #20: “There’s only us.” (though it doesn’t show up in this part) bo yuan x reader uni au, dj x producer relationship, yn is such a fan of bo yuan and it shows™, title from imogen heap‘s “say goodnight and go”, just under 3.37k words

part one // part two // qcynario masterlist ^-^ // fictober22 masterlist

related to junjie, changxi, and chaoyuan’s scenarios but it’s not necessary that you read them to understand this

i don’t know much about radio dj-ing so please take whatever i say about it with a grain of salt. everything i know i’ve gotten from pop culture and not like, actual knowledge. i also experimented with the narrative structure a bit, so let me know what you think of it :D

“Hey! Turn the radio up!” You call to Changxi as you start wiping menus off. “It’s almost time for FM.211.”

Changxi makes a comment under his breath along the lines of “We get it, you like him” as he passes you, and you quickly twist the damp rag and hit him on the arm with it. He hisses, rubbing the now turning-pink mark on his arm.

“Shut up, Changxi.” You say, taking the dry rag and wiping the small droplets of sudsy water off the menu.

“He’s right, though,” Chaoyuan says from behind the bar. He’s wiping down the bar top, and you can see some dried clay in his hair. You didn’t notice it earlier when you were giving him drink orders, nor when you were taking those drinks to the bachelorette party.

“Didn’t get a chance to shower before you got here?” You ask, looking at the light gray areas in his dark brown hair.

“Nah,” he replies easily, running a hand through his hair. He sighs at the clay dust that falls from his fingers onto the part of the bar he just wiped off. “I was helping a classmate with their sculpture. They’re more of a 2D artist than a 3D one, and so they were having some difficulty with-”

You cut him off, looking up at the speakers in the ceiling, “Shh! He’s started.” Changxi and Chaoyuan just share a look, used to your antics by now.

“To all my followers, hello. Welcome to Radio FM.211. I am your host, Bo Yuan-gēge. Welcome to my radio world.”

You mouth along with the introduction, going back to your task. Bo Yuan was your favorite radio DJ that the university had for its radio station. Your friends, hosts of the morning show “Bazi and Baatjih: Breakfast with B-Squared,” have long since stopped trying to compete with him for your favor. They both have accepted that they are second to him when it comes to having you as a fan. They still tease you about it, of course, but none of you take it to heart anymore.

However, due to when their show is on and when his show is on, they don’t know him all that well. They talk to him during the monthly meeting only; the one that the supervisor has where all the DJs come in, and they go over the statistics and how everyone’s show is going.

The intro music to Bo Yuan’s show starts, something that he had admitted to composing himself on his show during his biweekly Q&A segment a while ago, and you settle into the mindless routine of the restaurant’s closing tasks. Changxi and Chaoyuan work around you, the three of you a well-oiled machine.

Bo Yuan goes through the standard updates, the time and temperature, and talks a little about how the traffic is looking in and around campus before getting into his first segment of the two hours his show is on for. “As always,” he says, “our first segment is Happy Corner. Let’s see what wisdom the fortune cookie has for us tonight.” You smile as you hear the sounds of the cellophane opening and the cookie cracking. “Tonight’s fortune is: The time is always right to do what is right.” He pauses, letting the words have their moment.

“That’s kind of cheesy, don’t you think?” Changxi says loudly. You look to your right and see he has started putting the chairs upside-down on the tables.

“It’s a fortune cookie,” Chaoyuan says back, restacking the various glasses for drinks tomorrow night. “It would be weird if it wasn’t.” You stick out your tongue at them before laughing with them. The three of you fall silent again as the radio show continues on. The only other sounds in the restaurant are those of the clinking of bottles and glasses behind the bar and the tables and chairs being moved around for tomorrow’s lunch crowd.

“… and with that on our minds,” Bo Yuan says, “let’s listen to a new song from KUN.” The track starts playing, the night goes on, and it feels endless in the company of your friends and wrapped in the voice of someone you care for.

Sometimes when you’re asked why you like him, you answer with praise for his personality and his calm demeanor.

When you’re more playful about it, you answer with his looks, his smile.

When you think about it to yourself, why you like Bo Yuan so much, you think that it’s about the comfort he brings you with each show. His Happy Corner segment is something you look forward to, especially on bad days. Knowing that he is able to find even the slightest joy in a bad day is something that wraps a blanket around your heart. Often times, you find yourself doing the same, trying to find even one good thing about a bad day.

And it passes like that for weeks, you listening to him over radio, Changxi and Chaoyuan teasing you about your crush, more fortunes and little stories every night. But everything changes when Junjie and Baatjih rush into the café that you and Changxi were meeting them in.

“YN!” Junjie’s eyes light up when he sees you and Changxi in the corner. He quickly makes his way to you two, Baatjih following close behind.

“We have big news,” Baatjih says, their joy evident in their smile.

“What,” Changxi says as you finish chewing on your bite of cake, “you two engaged now?”

You laugh. “It feels like it was just last month that you said you two were finally dating.” Wiping away a fake tear, you lean into Changxi and look up at him, hands clasped in front of your heart. “Oh, they grow up so fast!”

You and Changxi are able to hold it together all of three seconds before bursting into laughter at how quickly Junjie turned red.

Baatjih, on the other hand, responds by saying, “Fine, I guess we won’t tell you what happened today at the monthly meeting.”

“No, wait, I wanna know,” you say, straightening up and running your hand through you hair, pushing it out of your eyes. And you truly did. While you wouldn’t be caught dead in the broadcasting booth live, you did find the production side of the university’s radio shows fascinating. “Are you guys finally getting that new soundboard that I was telling you about? The one that the international student Jihoon was excited about?”

“Yeah, actually!” Junjie says. He was just as interested in the production aspect as you were, though he preferred to be the talent, and it was something you had bonded over when you met in your sophomore year required math course. “We’re getting a new computer, too, though it is going to take a while before we can use it. We have to clone the old hard drive onto the new co-”

Baatjih cuts him off, putting their hand over his mouth. “You can tell YN about that later. The more important thing is that our supervisor decided to have all the DJs as guests on each other’s shows. Claimed that it was to help boost morale and then started throwing a bunch of statistics at us. I tuned out then.” They made a face letting you know just how boring they found it. “Anyways, all of this to say,” Baatjih paused to take a breath, “Bo Yuan is actually going to be someone we talk to more than just once a month and occasionally in our groupchat.”

You were speechless. Your friends were going to get to have your favorite radio DJ on their show.

Changxi lets out a low whistle. “Well, damn,” he leans back in his chair.

You can feel him turn to look at you, and you feel Junjie and Baatjih’s eyes on you too, but you can’t find anything to say. How are you supposed to express how you feel to your friends when you can’t even articulate it to yourself?

“Do you want to be in the booth with us during?” Junjie asks, coming to the (correct) conclusion that YN.exe has stopped working. “Obviously, you wouldn’t be on-air with us, but you could see him. Maybe ask for a picture or whatever afterwards.”

Baatjih nodded enthusiastically beside him. “You’ve hung out in the booth before during our show, too, so it’s fine. As long as Linkai is able to work like usual, he’s fine with it, too. We ran it by him before we came here.”

Your heart warmed at your friends’ words. “I really do have the best friends ever,” you say, a little sappy at it all.

“Best duo in the business!” Baatjih says, all swagger and confidence radiating from them as they swing their arm around Junjie’s shoulders. He and Changxi share a look at Baatjih’s actions, but the four of you settle into a new conversation. You and Junjie talking about the updates that will soon be happening. Changxi and Baatjih talking about how it was going with his roommate and their fake dating story. Your voices blend in with the hustle and bustle of the café, occasionally looping one of the workers in, as well, when Yao Chi or Huaiwei passed by.

As you got into bed that night, you pictured how it would be watching Bo Yuan in his element, microphone in front of him and headphones on. Maybe meeting his eyes when he smiles at something that Junjie or Baatjih says, or maybe something that Linkai sarcastically comments over his mic. You hold yourself back from picturing anything more, from hoping too hard. After all, it’s better to not shoot for the stars when you don’t even know if you can get off the ground.

When you’re asked why you like him, you say, “He makes me want to be the best Me I can.”

Linkai gives you a nod as you slip into the studio, trying your best to be quiet. There’s still a little over ten minutes until Junjie and Baatjih’s morning show begins, and Linkai is already behind the soundboard getting everything prepared for the show. Junjie and Baatjih were already in the booth, testing the mics and the connection to their headphones. You wave at your friends from behind Linkai, and they give you a smile. Baatjih is swiveling in their chair, obviously ready for the show to start. Junjie is standing, leaning over the microphone arm to try to adjust it properly. You can hear, just barely, the low murmur of the couple talking and the microphone being moved. It isn’t until you sit down next to Linkai that Bo Yuan walks in, his hair hidden under a navy blue bucket hat that matches Junjie’s own. He goes to the other two immediately, pausing to drop his bag on the floor next to Junjie.

“Did they coordinate that,” you ask Linkai jokingly, watching Bo Yuan. His back is towards the sound booth, and you can’t but help feel slightly disappointed. He didn’t even look in the sound booth’s direction once when he walked in. You didn’t consider at all that he might be one of those people who only interact with the faces of the entertainment, and not the helping hands.

He glances up from the switches to see what you’re talking about and snorts. “All four of us did.”

“Four?” You watch Linkai as he gives you an exaggerated put-upon sigh, the effect ruined by his smile seconds later as he fishes a bucket hat out of his bag. It doesn’t match the other two, a surprising blue and red tie-dyed pattern, and you point out as much.

“Just wait,” he says mysteriously, turning back to the computer. He raises the volume level of the mics in the studio so that you could hear your friends and their guest above a murmur. He waves his hand at the three DJs to get their attention and holds up his hat. Baatjih laughs, and you swear you would’ve heard it even without the mics. They bend down in their chair, disappearing for a moment, before popping back up. On their head is the matching pair to Linkai’s own hat.

Baatjih flashes you a peace sign, arm extended and wrist turning from left to right in a wave, as you try to stifle your laughter from behind your hand. A part of you knows that Linkai and Baatjih must have planned something to this effect, an attempt to distract you from the nerves that were sure to come as soon as you meet Bo Yuan’s eyes. You appreciate their attempt, but it’s futile.

Bo Yuan turns around and meets your eyes. You feel your breath catch. You know Junjie and Baatjih are chatting along in the background, but you don’t process a single word they say. You had thought his pictures on the university radio’s social media showed how handsome he is, but in person he was even more attractive than you expected. Despite his eyes being shadowed by the brim of the hat, they were bright. A small smile was resting on his face, and you feel your heart speed up just the slightest. He’s wearing a white T-shirt underneath an oversized navy blue windbreaker. The T-shirt was tucked into a pair of light colored jeans that suited him just fine. He had a chain necklace on that shone when it caught the light, and he had several rings adorning both hands.

“I’m sorry for not saying greeting the two of you when I walked in,” he apologizes. “I didn’t realize that Linkai was training another producer.” His tone is slightly embarrassed, and you wave his apology away. You let him know non-verbally that it’s alright, and you smile at him, hoping that you don’t look like a crazed fan.

Linkai interrupts any chance of you explaining to Bo Yuan that you aren’t a trainee for the booth, though it’s not as if the chance was strong to begin with. You didn’t have a microphone and, while you knew your way around a soundboard thanks to Linkai, you didn’t have the confidence to suddenly use his. You hear the click of his mic turning on. “Thirty seconds to air.” His mic clicks off, and he wordlessly hands you a headset that matches his. As soon as the radio show begins, all the sound is to be heard through the headphones rather than the speakers at the corners of the walls and ceiling. It was something that Linkai started doing after Junjie and Baatjih made it clear that they, and the fans, think that Linkai’s comments were more than welcome.

The both of you settle back into your chairs, and you watch as he raises his hands, counting down the last ten seconds of the song for them.

“Good morning!” Junjie drawls, slipping into his Bazi personality.

“Welcome one and all to Bazi and Baatjih: Breakfast with B-Squared!” Baatjih spreads their arms out in presentation, though you don’t know why. There were only five of you there.

You nudge Linkai and raise an eyebrow, nodding your head in their direction.

“The head of the comm department wanted the so-called crossover episodes to be filmed for possible future use by the university,” he explains, voice quiet. “Most DJs were already filming their spots anyways, but because this might be used in a future promotion or something for the university, all the DJs are doing their best to make it visually interesting.”

Your mouth forms a small ‘o’ in understanding. You cross your arms and turn back to your friends.

“Today’s show is going to be a little different,” Baatjih says, tossing their hair over their shoulder in a carefully practiced careless move. You know this move. They were practicing it a while ago when they were waiting for you to get off shift at the restaurant. “We have a guest with us today! The host of the night show FM.211, our university’s very own, Bo Yuan-gēge!”

“When you send us your messages this morning,” Junjie continues, “use the hashtag ‘BCubed’ so we can see what you guys think.”

“This morning’s show is also being streamed live,” something you didn’t know, “so if you have the opportunity,” Baatjih says, “make sure to tune in!”

“I think that’s enough out of the two of us, eh Baatjih? Why don’t we let Yuan-gēge introduce himself?” Junjie and Baatjih both turn their focus to the third DJ.

“Hello, everyone,” Bo Yuan starts, “as Bazi and Baatjih have said, I am Bo Yuan-gēge, and I am happy to be here this morning.”

“It’s a bit earlier than you’re used too, huh, Yuan-gēge?” Junjie jokes.

Bo Yuan smiles and he agrees. “Usually when I’m on, most of my listeners are on their way to sleep or on their way to a party.”

“Or getting off shift,” Baatjih adds. “Bazi and I have a friend who has their coworker put your show on as they’re closing and cleaning the restaurant they work at.”

Your eyes widen and you stare at Baatjih. They make a point to not look in your direction, but it doesn’t take British particle physicist Dr. Brian Cox to realize that of the five people here, you’re the only one it could be. Otherwise, why bring it up in the first place? Next to you, Linkai chuckles, while Junjie has a little smirk on his face. You love your friends, you do, but you hate your friends.

Bo Yuan also very carefully doesn’t look at you, instead keeping his eyes on his hosts, and says, “Ah? That’s great to hear. I’m happy to make someone’s closing shift a little bit better.” Despite your mortification, you can’t help but swoon just the tiniest bit, knowing that he’s talking about you.

Linkai looks over at you and rolls his eyes as he turns back to the DJs. “Yeah, yeah, you all have fans. Let’s get to the music now, can we?”

“And there is the voice of our lovely Xiǎo Guǐ,” Baatjih jokes.

Bazi laughs, scrolling through his laptop. “Xiǎo Guǐ, you have plenty of fans in the tag right now. ‘I saw the #BCubed promo picture and Xiǎo Guǐ is so punk rock boyfie coded!’”

Baatjih picks another message. “‘I would pay real money to have #BCubed Xiǎo Guǐ dismiss me on air live’? Something to consider for the next fundraiser, I think,” Baatjih struggles to keep their voice level, fighting the smile that is trying to escape.

Junjie complains about the #BCubed tag being filled with other messages like this. “Xiǎo Guǐ, why are Dá Lín like this?”

Linkai turns on his mic and says with a cocky smile, “Sometimes when you got it, you got it.” His mic clicks off, and you mime being sick from what he said.

Bo Yuan had been chuckling throughout the exchange in the background. “Surprising how your show has Dá Lín being so outwardly, um, horny considering how early it’s on. My Bó Lèmén never act up like this.”

You staunchly ignore Linkai’s elbow to your ribs, the both of you knowing damn well what you say when you get drunk. The rest of the show proceeds like that between songs; Linkai being a smart-ass and the three DJs having to deal with him and the thirst comments that flood in every time. Junjie and Baatjih do keep to their general structure despite everything that had been changed for this special event. As always, they have their Student Music hour. Several student compositions played during that time, ranging from hip-hop to hard bop jazz, which wasn’t something you had heard before.

The show ended with Bo Yuan thanking the other two DJs for the opportunity to be on their show, and inviting them to guest on his nighttime show in the future. You look down at your phone in surprise, the clock there showing you how fast time flew. The three of them make their way out of the studio and into the producing booth.

“So,” Baatjih says, taking their bucket hat off and shoving it into their backpack, “coffee?”

#bo yuan scenarios #cpop scenarios #qcynarios #say goodnight (and go)#fictober22 #into1 scenarios #jae.works

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duskythesomething · 6 months

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music asks: 1, 4, 6, 8 (or artist tbh), 13 and 19!!!

1. what is your favorite song. right now. tell me.

proooooobably Lovejoy's cover of The Perfect Pair, but Dropshipped Cat Shirt from Wilbur's newest album goes DELIGHTFULLY hard

4. what band started it all for you?

growing up i listened to a lot of the same rock music my mom did, and my first mp3 player had all those types of songs. i'd say Skillet and Three Days Grace were the first of those bands i notably recognized as favorites for more than just 1 or 2 songs. the first artist i personally demanded be put on that mp3 player was Selena Gomez, but the first artist that really got me insane about music and lyrics and how it made me feel was Fall Out Boy!

6. what bands/artists do you want to see in concert?

Lovejoy ofc but also Streetlight Manifesto and Joywave!! i've been fortunate enough to see quite a few of my top artists but these three have slipped by me due to timing or lack of funds when they were coming to my areas. other artists that would be cool would be quadeca or Freddie Dredd :3

8. tell me about your favorite band. go on infodump for me.

i mean currently it's Lovejoy duh but also those who know me know my LOVE for Yung Gravy and bbno$. i've seen Gravy 3 separate times (with bb for 2 of those shows) and one of them was a whole 4 hour drive away. any time Gravy goes on tour i immediately buy tix if he's coming close enough by to convince my friends to go with me (since i can't drive myself just yet). out of all 3 shows the 2nd one was easily the best! they played in a college auditorium and had a pre-show experience that came with a free pin (mine has a visual defect and i LOVE it) where we all took a big selfie. the 1st show i saw of him was at a local small bar/concert venue where i got separated from my friends, but it was fun! the 3rd time my friends and i didn't have great time management and missed the first chunk of the show trying to get back and forth from the state fair to our hotel to get ready, and get back to the state fair to the concert hall, and the seats were just folding chairs crammed REALLY close together. it was stuffy and i could barely see despite buying seats that WOULD HAVE BEEN INCREDIBLE in any other typical seats or standing room. not the artists' faults though, the venue just sucked and after a terrible day at the state fair itself it just wasn't a good time.

(below is mentioned picture from Gravy Baby pre-show experience!!)

13. what is one album that has irreparably damaged your social skills?

i could easily just say Your City Gave Me Asthma but, honestly rather than album i'd say artist, and that artist would be Quadeca. something about the absolute angst and anger he put into a lot of different songs carried me through a really rough time at my old workplace, but not necessarily in a good or productive manner. i'm an angy person by default, so angy music doesn't always help that.

19. what is your favorite album art from one of your favorite artists?

let me highlight a personal favorite artist i practically never talk about, The Used!! their 2007 album Lies for the Liars is my fucking JAMMMMM and i specifically asked for that specific CD as a kid! the funky boxhead guy has always stood out to me, and i think his expression really captures the feel of the album. i'm also a fan of Streetlight Manifesto's 2003 album Everything Goes Numb, the red and black palette makes for great merch and the songs on it all slap. another notable mention is Joywave's 2015 album How Do You Feel Now, very funky and again perfect for the sound of the album!!

#mrowr.txt #thank you for the ask!!#thetimecrystal #long post

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matthewbeilschmidts · 3 years

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It’s been a long while since I’ve posted but I’m so glad that I am :’)

This is for Day 1: of @prucanweek - Ordinary

Apologies for spelling errors, it’s a little short but I hope you enjoy 😭💞

Matthew doesn’t mind that he’s living an ordinary life. Really.

He grows up near the coast, two parents, a fraternal twin brother, and their gangly hairless cat, Tony (picked curtesy of Alfred). Their parents take them everywhere they can during their childhood, the beach, museums, sports game. They focus on their interests, figuring out what the two like and dislike, as they encourage them both to be themselves and do what they love no matter what. Alfred debates between whether he likes wrestling or football more, while Matthew settles into hockey. In between family get togethers, community festivals, and endless sports training, they somehow have time for homework. (The two share answers a lot.)

He and Alfred each have their own rooms when they enter their teen years, a space to decorate and fill with their own mementos and awards. The sports continue, but later their parents find themselves a little bit busier than before. They do though, give them as much time as they can during the school year, never wanting them to go without someone by their side.

Matthew fades into the background a little bit as they get older, while Alfred puts himself front and center. Matthew watches once with a hand over his eyes as Alfred auditions for the school musical, and surprisingly he read and sings the lines well. “It’s always the rowdy ones!” their theater teachers says after he’s finished performing, a mix of anticipation from planning on putting Alfred on stage and dread at the thought of having to manage him.

Matthew silently supports him, after all he has his own things to do.

He’s the co-caption of the hockey team, the coach giving him the position to give him a little more of a voice, and his teammates verbally agree, considering on the ice Matthew has a lot more to show than he does in person. He accepts, albeit hesitantly.

By the time graduation comes by, Matthew can barely believe how the time has passed. His team even wins a championship under his watch. Some of his fellow classmates look so ready to go out and experience the world, and it’s scary to him because weren’t they all going at the same pace?

His parents talk him through picking his college of choice, and he decides to go. He needs to do what everyone does and experience the world.

And if he decides he wants to come home, that’s okay because at least he tries.

He’s in his first art class during his third year at university. The time has been going well, he’s got pretty decent grades and has managed to join a few clubs. But he’s not done yet. Extra curriculars, can’t finish without them. He prioritizes his general education first, and even slips himself into a few major classes early on, but humanities is on record now and has to be completed no matter what one’s studying.

He can get through one semester, he hopes.

Next to him, a student is snickering and the professor doesn’t look amused.

“Gilbert.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“If you’re done, I can introduce myself now.”

The professor goes in with complete, in-depth introductory slides with her name and credentials, and a briefing of all they will overcome this semester.

He’s never been an artist, at least not one that picks up a pencil and creates a realistic masterpiece with nothing but that and a pad of paper. Maybe some poetry contests in high school, if that counts. The written word has its own impact, its own set of colors to breathe out for the world to see.

There’s another snicker, interrupting his internal monologue.

He doesn’t say anything, because he doesn’t know the student, and it’s not his place to control others. But, if it starts to hinder the class, maybe he’ll tell him something. He’s paying to be there, too.

The man catches him staring.

“Yes?” he asks Matthew without being spoken to in the first place.

“Oh,” Matthew flushes at being caught, not that he was trying to hide it anyway. “Well, she didn’t say anything funny?”

The guys waves a hand, making a “psssh” noise as he does.

“I’m just laughing because of how formal this all is. She won’t be this dignified later in the semester that’s for sure. She’ll be ripping her hair out.”

Matthew glances back, he doesn’t want to say anyone looks mean but, he would believe it if she was.

“You look scared,” the guy laughs, which is rude because isn’t he the one that just put the thought in Matthew’s mind? “She’s not too mean just a sticker to the rules. Will get real pissy if something doesn’t go right.”

“And you still set her off knowing that?”

The man laughs again, but this time around he’s actually trying to contain it behind the thin art easel. He’s not very hidden.

“She’s my cousin’s wife.”

Ah, that makes sense then? Messing with family is normal, but also he shouldn’t be bothering her at work.

“It’s no wonder you seemed casual.”

“She taught both of the lower division figure drawing classes, too. This is my third semester in her class. She’s the only one teaching this specific class I didn’t have too much of a choice.”

“Art major?”

“Yep! And you?”

“Psychology major. I have to get in some cultural classes.”

“Ever taken art?”

“Actually no, not even in high school. I got through that stuff by working backstage in the theater department.”

“Well not to worry my friend, because you picked the best one.”

“Is it easy to pass?”

“Nope. Well, maybe if she likes your work,” Matthew deflates at the blunt response, “but don’t worry because I’m here to be your guide.”

Matthew perks up, but it takes him a moment. This guy’s gonna help him?

“Are you any good?”

“Am I good?” He looks perplexed Matthew would even ask. Matthew has to cover his own amusement. “I may not look it but charcoal and I go way back. I’ll show you my work later as proof.”

“Deal.”

“Gilbert, since you’re adamant on talking, you can be the first to introduce yourself.”

Even if his name wasn’t said, Matthew feels just as guilty. Caught, for talking on the first day of all things.

“Gilbert Beilshcmidt. Fourth year. I’m an art major and my favorite breakfast food is pancakes.”

Matthew looks surprised that he was paying attention, even to the last addition of their introduction. Matthew’s not sure he would have known considering he was distracted.

And so their friendship starts.

Gilbert sits next to him again. And again.

Where ever Matthew sits in the art room, Gilbert follows not too long after.

Some days they take the sitting desks, some they stand and lean against the stools.

And despite not even talking much, Gilbert treats him like a friend.

“Do you have any plans this afternoon?”

“Nope, this was my last class.”

“Do you want to get some coffee and work on our sketch books.”

“Yeah, let’s go.”

Matthew finds himself meeting Gilbert in his downtime. Every Thursday after drawing for three hours becomes the day they meet. At first, all they do is draw, little more.

Gilbert is animated in all moments, but he has short spurts where he focuses exceptionally on his work. Matthew is no art critic, but he thinks Gilbert expresses himself quite well on paper. Graphite, charcoal, and pastels, all the utensils glide easily without a single stroke missing its mark.

Watercolor though, could use some work, which actually happens to be Matthew’s favorite. Even if the intention is to guide the colors with a brush, it’s okay for them to take a life of their own spreading across the thick paper.

They share snacks, art supplies, and their time.

Gilbert proves himself very useful as he promised. Matthew though never planning to be the next Van Gogh, has to pass this class. And it would be nice to pass it with flying colors, but some concepts are harder to grasp than others.

It’s obvious to tell he’s a beginner, while Gilbert excels. Matthew finds out he only now needs the intro class since it’s the first semester it became a requirement.

Gilbert helps him find the shapes he’s comfortable with, explains the processing for hatching and how it relates to shading. And while he’s no expert, he sees a subtle improvement over the next few weeks that makes some pride swell within himself.

“Do you want to come with me and my friends to this cool bar for dinner on Friday?” Gilbert asks about a month into the semester.

It’s the first time Gilbert and him will have spent time off campus.

“Yeah, I’d love to.”

Gilbert’s friends are just as animated as he, it’s almost hard to keep up. Overwhelming as they are, they’re extremely welcoming. Matthew eases into the atmosphere, joining in when he can but mostly pleased to be out and doing something different.

He’s made friends during his time, but like him they’re a little more reserved and pick quieter places on the town.

It’s fun. And he wants to go out again.

Matthew invites Gilbert and his friends to watch his next hockey game.

After their shock in finding out he plays such a violent sport, they’re all agreeing and planning to find the best seats in the arena.

“Are you serious. Are you hiding muscles under that red sweater?”

Gilbert pokes at him, it tickles when he gets closer to his biceps, but he knows he’s only teasing.

“You think I’m playing but I’m serious! You should have been there, well you were there. On the stands, I mean. We all screamed after you sent that player flying against the wall.”

Gilbert recreates the motions, but only slams himself into the wall and whines after he bounces back. He then plays it off like it doesn’t hurt. Gilbert’s not a very good actor.

People tell him it’s so much different watching him on the ice, but it’s still him. He’s always wondered how much different, he feels like himself. He just knows he goes into the zone when he’s in his gear. He just wants to win. And he will.

“It’s like night day,” Gilbert continues. “You were ready to kill a man down there.”

“You’re not the first to say that. I guess maybe, I could be a little more out there in real life, huh?”

Gilbert stops walking.

“Nope.”

“Nope?”

“You’re perfectly fine the way you are. I like the way you are, so don’t go change. I don’t want to be at risk of dying during art class.”

And as silly as it sounds, he’s pleased. He likes Gilbert a whole lot, too. Just the way he is.

“Do you want to have dinner with me?” Matthew takes the initiative.

“Dinner?”

“Yeah, just you and me. I want to take you out.”

“Like you did to that guy on the court,” Gilbert laughs nervously.

“On a date. Gilbert, would you like go out with me?”

He says yes.

Later that evening when he’s heading home, Gilbert starts running through the courtyard cheering that “I have a date with the cutest guy I’ve ever met!”

Matthew’s window is open, he’s face is bright red and he slams head first into his pillow. He needs to plan the best first date ever.

Three months into dating, he’s finally heading home again for a school break. He wants to take Gilbert with him, who is waiting for the next major holiday to go back home. But isn’t it too soon? They haven’t been dating that long, after all.

But Gilbert surprises him, and jokingly says he wants to go with him because he’ll miss him too much while he’s gone. And then, Matthew asks if he seriously wants to go.

“I do.”

So they ride the 3 hours train down to Matthew’s childhood home. He’s a little bit nervous, because he’s had dates to school dances, and brought friends over, but this is entirely different. This is someone he wants to take a serious step with, even if the time hasn’t been that long. They’ll never get anywhere if they don’t, so they’ll both take the leap and pray it works out.

“Mom, dad, Alfred, this is Gilbert.”

It’s the most timid Matthew’s ever seen him.

“Nice to meet ya, I’m Matthew’s boyfriend.”

After he shakes all their hands, he takes his hand back to link pinkies with Matthew.

There’s not an once of regret in his mind as the long weekend passes.

Gilbert graduates the next year, and the year after it’s his turn. They’re going to move in with each other. Gilbert really has no irresistible urge to go back to his home town, satisfied with just visiting a few times a year. And Matthew thinks he would like to go back closer, just to figure out his next move. So, they go together.

It’s only a one bedroom, but is more than enough space for them both. Gilbert finds work as a docent while Matthew works for a second degree in education.

He still plays hockey for a local league, Gilbert becoming their number one fan. They find their own rhythm, a pace that works for them both, where they can settle down or speed up when they agree with each other. Dewey mornings, warm summers, chilly evenings they spend them altogether.

They decide move up North closer to Gilbert’s hometown. Matthew’s more nervous meeting his grandparents than he was introducing Gilbert to his own family, but Gilbert assures him again and again they’re just a stuffy old family who actually really care about each other a lot more than they let off.

Gilbert’s grandfather towers over him, despite being a hair above 6 feet. He’s silent, eyes boring into Matthew as he introduces himself. And to end all of Matthew’s worries, the elder man pulls Matthew into a hug and tells him he’s glad him and Gilbert are home. Gilbert, just as perplexed as he, stares, but he melts into a pleased laugh.

Yeah, this is his and Gilbert’s home now.

They stay, for a long while, contemplate moving a few times, but they’re satisfied for now.

Gilbert and him always make time for each other, continue their own respective interests with complete support of the other. They’re never afraid to complain, because they always work through it rather then let it simmer.

Gilbert’s vivacious spirit keep them going, and Matthew’s heart keeps them grounded.

His life at first seem a little bit ordinary, but how can he complain when the pieces of the puzzle fit themselves in and stayed locked in tight.

#hetalia #prucan #prucanweek #APH Prussia #APH Canada #.txt post #I forgot all my writing tags #will fix later HAHA

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salty-rey · 3 years

Text

Singing for the Troops

Pairing: Fives x Reader

Words: 3948

Warnings: Fluff! Open-ending (sexual mention???)

A/N: Hello everyone! This is the first time I do a fic for Star Wars, so I apologize in advance if I mislabeled certain ships. Or if I didn’t do the boys’ personalities any justice.

I was inspired by old performances/entertainment for the Allied troops in WWII, and after watching Christina Aguilera’s Candyman music video. Then I thought, “do the clones get any kind of entertainment like this?” So I took it upon myself to make a fan fic!

Hope you guys like it!

I don’t know how to end a fic....

Playlist: Something’s Got a Hold On Me | Candyman | Ain’t No Other Man

Your dream is to become a famous singer, and you have been working hard for years to reach this goal. You have been visiting various bars and cantinas, singing for patrons whenever the owner allowed it. Even if you were paid or not, you still sang. If a bar had an open mic night, you were there. Out of all the bars you’ve been to, 79s has always been a favorite. It was always packed, and the owner was happy to have you sing for the guests. It always brought more patrons, which meant more money for the establishment. Plus, you were even paid, unlike previous locations.

After a few months of you visiting 79s, you attracted the attention of a particular ARC trooper. When you finished your playlist of songs, both originals and covers, you were given a glass of whiskey.

“Compliments from the ARC trooper,” the droid server told you before gesturing to the said trooper in blue.

Looking over, you spotted the clone who raised their glass to you, sending a wink your way. Even though they all share the same face, this clone had a distinctive number tattoo on the side of his head and a classic goatee hugging his chin. It wasn’t the first time that someone bought a drink for you. Troopers before had attempted to grab your attention, even tried to get lucky for a night, but you brushed them off. But there was something about this trooper that was welcoming. Perhaps the way he smiled at you or the way he spoke to you. He was causal yet not dull. Flirty, too but it didn’t make you uncomfortable. You become bashful at his witty comments. It felt as though the two of you were long-time friends.

The ARC Trooper introduced himself as Fives and greeted you to his fellow brothers. There, you met Echo, Jesse, Kix, and Hardcase. They all serve under Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker, aka “Skyguy,” as to how Padawan Learner Ahsoka Tano calls him. They had stories to share with you; their missions on other planets engrossed you. In turn, you told them about your dreams to become a singer.

“It’s silly, I know. Been lectured by my parents for years.” You lightly laughed, only to become surprised at the boys’ reactions.

“No dream is silly!” “Anyone who says otherwise is just jealous of your voice!” “I don’t know what it’s like to have parents, but they should be supportive of you.”

“If that’s your dream, then go after it. To kriff what other people say.” Fives huffed before fully turning to you. “Who can say that they had dreams but didn’t achieve them because they thought it was unrealistic? I’m going to see you on a big stage one day, and I’m going to say, “That’s our songbird.” Because you will always have us cheering you on.” The trooper said with a soft smile.

A blush crept onto your face, and a smile was spreading cheek to cheek. “Thanks, Fives!”

After that night, you and the boys exchanged your private commlinks. Soon enough than anyone would like, they were shipped back to the battlefield. While they were away, if there were any downtime between missions and work, you would hear your holoprojector beeping. You spent hours talking to each trooper, glad to see that they were doing well. Fives was the one who spent the most time with you, almost talking the night away. He would only stop when he saw your head dipping and your eyes blinking to stay awake.

“Go to sleep, songbird. I’ll talk to you as soon as I can. With any luck, we should be landing back to Coruscant within the month.” So fives said, his holo-imagine occasionally flickering due to the distance.

After letting out a yawn, you rubbed your eyes and smile at him. “Okay. Be safe out there, okay?”

“Anything for my songbird,” Fives smirked. He then bid you goodnight with a soft smile, and he was gone.

Within the month, the 501st had returned to Coruscant, and you met up with the boys back at 79s. The bar 79s was packed as usual, especially on a weekend evening. Troopers from all kinds of battalions were here, drinking and dancing, retelling stories with their brothers and civilians. The music was pumping, and the dance floor was full of slightly or fully intoxicated soldiers.

Tight hugs and smiles were exchanged when you were reunited with the boys at the bar before entering and finding an empty booth for you all to sit. Echo had left the table to get everyone their drinks as you and boys caught up.

“I heard that there this campaign being made for singers by singers and that they want to sing for you troopers.” So you told them, raising for your a bit so that they can hear you over the music.

Singing for the Troops was a campaign created by independent singers on Coruscant. Singers who supported the clones and believed that the troops deserve a moment of peace and perhaps experience some form of normality, which may be entirely new to them. What clone can say that they have been to a concert? Plus, it would give the artists a moment to shine and perhaps score big with a sponsor. It’s a win-win situation!

“The campaign reached several Republic-allied planets, encouraging other singers to sign up. Not just that, but it’s was being crowdfunded, and it reached its price goal! Also, I heard that a famous singer is the main supporter of the campaign,” you informed as Echo passed around everyone’s drinks.

“You should sign up!” Kix said after taking a sip of his drink.

“I don’t know. I never sang for a large crowd. Let alone been off-world.” You replied nervously, your hands fiddling with the glass of liquor.

“That never stopped you singing at bars!” Hardcase responded before downing his drink in one gulp.

“Just imagine that you’re singing to us! We already have the same faces.” Jesse joked before wincing at the sudden punch to the shoulder.

“Look, songbird; you’re a great singer. And you’ve sung in front of countless drunken troops. So singing in front of a bunch of sober soldiers will be easy,” Fives chimed in, leaning forward and resting his arms on the table. “All those other singers will be lucky to have you join them.” He said before winking, a smirk on his face.

Your cheeks felt warm, and it wasn’t because of the liquor. “Thanks, Fives.” A soft smile formed on your lips, happy to hear his compliments. You then sighed before downing the rest of your drink. “Alright. I’ll do it!”

“Alright. A toast to (Y/N)!” Kix cheered, raising his glass, and the rest joined in.

The next day, you wasted no time in signing up for a chance to sing in the campaign. The requirements are to submit a recording of your singing, and if you are selected, you will receive a message at the earliest notice. When you waited for a response, you and the boys roam the upper mid-levels of Coruscant, taking time to hang out before the boys were shipped back to war. It always felt bittersweet saying goodbye, but you knew that it wouldn’t be for long.

It will be much longer.

Arriving at your apartment from working your day job, you noticed that your holoprojector was blinking; someone left a message for you. A tightening sensation was felt in the pit of your stomach, your heart racing as you approached your holoprojector. You stared at the blinking light. Did one of the boys leave a message for you? No, they know your schedule, so it possible it isn’t them.

Is it from the campaign? Your heart hammered hard against your ribcage as your hand reached over. Then, what felt like many minutes, you finally pressed the button, the image of a well-dressed man appearing.

“Evening, miss (Y/N). I am the manager of the campaign Singing for the Troops, and I’m here to congratulate you. You have been selected to be one of our singers! We hope to hear from you soon.” The recording ended with a courtesy bow from the man, leaving you standing there in shock.

Did he just say that you were accepted? Does that mean you get to go off-world and sing?!

A squeal of joy echoed throughout your apartment, you jumping in place. “I did it!!” You cheered before reaching for your holoprojector. You had to tell the boys! You had to tell Fives!

After several minutes to reach them, no one answered your calls. Your smile slowly turned into a frown before sighing in defeat. “They’re at war, (Y/N)... they’re probably outside of their base. I’ll just leave them a message about the good news.”

Later in the day, you contacted the campaign manager and agreed to meet with them for further instruction. The plan was to visit various battalions and sing for them during downtime. It will be difficult, and the campaign will have to plan, seeing battalion will go first. During those long weeks of planning, meeting other artists, and vocal practices, there still was no response from the boys. It wouldn’t be the first time you didn’t hear from Fives and the others, although you couldn’t help but worry.

“Once everyone arrives onto Coruscant, we will first visit the 104th Battalion,” the campaign manager informed everyone via holoprojector.

“The Wolfpack Co.,” you whispered to yourself. Fives told you about this battalion, having pointed a couple of them out back at 79’s. Fives said to you that the unit within the 104th was a serious, no-nonsense type of group. Entertaining this group and the rest of the battalion will be a challenge.

The manager continued to list other battalions and legions until one of them caught your attention. “501st and finally, the 212th.”

“Bottom of the list...” You whispered, frowning lightly. How long will it take for you to reach the 501st Legion?

The meeting concluded with a buzz of excitement. It was happening. For reals! In a few days, you will be flying out of Coruscant for the first time, following your dreams.

Before the faithful day could arrive, you decided to reach the boys once more. You sat with anticipation, your knee bouncing as you waited for someone to answer. Finally, after several beeps, the projector came to life, and standing before you was Fives.

“Fives! Thank the Maker,” you sighed in relief before glaring up at him. “Why hasn’t anyone returned my messages?”

The ARC Trooper lightly winced at your tone before smiling apologetically. “Sorry, songbird. The mission was a lot tougher than we first thought. But we finally liberated the planet from Separatist control. The boys and I are fine. I’m sorry for worrying you.” He said, frowning and eyes cast downward.

You opened your mouth to speak before shutting, looking away as well. “No, it’s not your fault. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have snapped at you. We’re at war, and I know that you won’t always be there for our calls. I just....” You began to say but couldn’t finish your sentence.

“I know.” Fives stared at you, eyebrows knitted. “(Y/N)?” Looking back up, he was now smiling at you ever so sweetly that it made you blush. “Congrats on getting picked. I knew you would get in.”

You blinked up at the ARC trooper before smiling. The two of you spend a couple of hours talking, quickly making up for the lost time. You told him the battalions that you were going to visit, and he groaned in annoyance. “Why do we have to be at the bottom of the list?”

“I guess the 104th battalion are in dire need to put some smile on their faces—especially that sourpuss Wolffe.” You teased, causing Fives to laugh.

“That’s going to be one hell of a challenge. I don’t think I saw Commander Wolffe smile before.”

“I welcome a challenge. And I’ll sure be the one to turn his scowl into a grin.” You puffed out your chest in pride.

Fives chuckles at your comical posture, lightly shaking his head. “If anyone can, it’s you.” You relax, returning to an upright position, looking back up at the trooper. The two of you stare at each other in silence, observing each other’s features.

His armor was scuffed and dirtied. There are new scratches and dents throughout, roughing his paint job. His face looked tired, yet there was a glow in his eyes, staring at you in what it appears to be loving.

“I can’t wait to see you again, pretty girl,” Fives spoke, breaking the silence.

That was a new nickname, and it caused you to blush once more. Despite feeling embarrassed, you smiled back. “Me too. Take care, okay?”

“Anything for my songbird,” he repeated all those weeks ago.

Who knew participating in a singing campaign would last for so long. Then again, the war is still going on, so landing on Star Destroyers only happens when the surrounding area was safe. But it was all worth it. Seeing the joy on the troops’ faces and feeling their excitement as the music vibrated throughout the hanger was rewarding.

Working with the manager and group of artists was a great experience as well. Many of the singers were friendly, sharing their stories of how they got into music. Many of them were humans; one was a Twi’lek, another was a Pantoran, and a couple more alien species. Listening to them sing in their native tongue was thrilling, giving you goosebumps at the realization that there are so many cultures out there. So much more for you to learn, and what better place than here.

As the list of locations was getting shorter, you felt more nervous and excited as you got closer to the 501st legion. You were going to see Fives and the others soon. It’s been months since you last saw them. I tried staying in touch with them via holoprojector, but it was getting more complicated since you were busy as well. But that will all change as you near the Star Destroyer that the famous boys in blue occupied. Although, you were nervous for an entirely different reason. You would do something big, having already talked about it to the manager, band, and fellow singers would help be your backup singers. You’re taking a big chance, and there’s no turning back now.

The ship that you and the rest of the artist travel on docked, allowing the whole group to exit. The hangar will house the concert. That same space will also enable the troopers can dance and sing along. In a matter of hours, the soldiers set the stage, and the singers filed onto the hanger. Just like every other Star Destroyer, the stage is decked with standing spotlights and a curtain to act as a background. It also shields the rest of the group whenever they’re not performing.

You watched your fellow singers perform on stage, peeking from the corner of the curtain where the rest of the artists prepared themselves. As the crowd cheered and danced in place, your eyes scanned around the group. But at your current angle, you can’t see past the first few rows of troopers. So the only way to spot your boys is when you perform on stage. And it was happening real soon.

Three more singers performed, some of them accompanied by background singers or dancers. Then, it was your turn.

“Now, please welcome (Y/N)!” The manager introduced, and the crowd cheered as you walked on stage. Dressed in your performance outfit, you approached the microphone stand. Your eyes quickly scanned around the group, searching until a voice rang out from the sea of white and blue.

“That’s my songbird!!!”

Your eyes snapped to the source, and you softly gasped. There he was—your favorite ARC trooper.

Fives was waving his hands at you, a broad grin on his face. Standing by his sides were Echo, Hardcase, Jesse, and Kix. They were waving at you too, whistling and clapping their hands. They were all here. They are all safe and sound. You felt a weight come off your shoulders, blinking your eyes to fight back the tears.

Gripping the microphone, you paused for a second before opening your mouth. Your voice projected throughout the hangar as you sang out your first couple of lyrics. “Oh, sometimes I get a good feeling, yeah/I get a feeling that I never, never, never had before no, no/And I just wanna tell you right now that I-/I believe, I really do believe that/Something’s got a hold on me.”

“(Oh, it must be love),” your backup singers sang softly after you. Drums began to play. A soft bass followed along as you continued to sing. Your feet carried you around the stage, feeling the beat. The large crowd of troopers resumed their dancing, stomping their feet and cheering as you reached the middle of your song. Standing at the center of the stage and facing forward, your eyes then locked to Fives’s as you sang out the next couple of lyrics.

“My heart feels heavy, my feet feel light/I shake all over, but I feel alright/I never felt like this before/Something’s got a hold on me that won’t let go/I never thought it could happen to me/Got me happy when I’m in misery/I never thought it could be this way/Love’s sure gonna put a hurting on me.”

The whole time, neither one of you broke eye contact. You can see the look of surprise appearing on the ARC trooper’s face before shifting to one of love, a smile decorating his face. The other boys looked surprised at your words before looking at Fives. It was evident that their brother had a thing for you since day one, but to have you tell him of your feelings ---incredibly so bold like this--- was shocking. But they began to cheer, Echo smacking Jesse’s back as his brother rolled his eyes before depositing a small number of credits.

You grinned at the end of your song. Then, having witnessed the reaction from the boys, you blushed a bit. Glancing back at the band, you nodded your head. Drums began to play, followed by a couple of trumpets. “I met him out for dinner on a Friday night/He really got me working up an appetite,” you began to sing, moving your hips to the beat. The crowd started up again, dancing along to the sound of your voice. “He’s a one stop shop, makes my cherry pop/He’s a sweet talkin’, sugar coated candyman!”

“Well, by now, I’m getting all bothered and hot/When he kissed my mouth, it really hit the spot/He had lips like sugarcane/Good things come for boys who wait!” So you sang, smiling at Fives, who smirked back at you. The crowd was getting excited as you moved your hips rather proactively, your confidence rising after seeing Fives’s responses to your words.

“He’s a one stop shop with a real big (ugh)/He’s a sweet-talkin’, sugar-coated candyman.” The crowd wolf-whistled at those words, but your focus was on Fives. You can see him biting his bottom lip, eyes heatedly watching you now.

When the song finished, the band continued onto your final piece. You had perfectly planned this night. Your choice of songs were different than the ones from previous performances. This was your love letter to Fives. You love him, and it appears that he feels the same way. You don’t know when will be the next time that the two of you will see each other. You would have loved to tell him your feelings differently, but like how you said before, singing is what you know best.

“Ain’t no other man can stand up next to you/Ain’t no other man on the planet does what you do/You’re the kinda guy a girl finds in a blue moon/You got soul, you got class, you got style with your bad ass/Ain’t no other man, it’s true/Ain’t no other man but you!”

Your performance ended with a loud round of applause. You were softly panting, sweat trickling down your neck, eyes watching Fives. He was clapping the hardest, using two fingers to whistle. A bright smile came to your face, thanking everyone before retreating to the back of the stage.

“What are you waiting for?!” Jesse shouted, a smirk on his face before lightly shoving Fives. “Go after her!” Echo encouraged, followed by a thumbs up from Hardcase and a nod from Kix.

Without wasting another second, Fives rush past his brothers, being careful not to bump into anyone as the next singer came to the stage. It didn’t take him long to reach the side of the stage, but two non-clone guards stopped him. “Sorry, sir, but no one is allowed back here.”

“It’s okay! He’s a friend,” you quickly intervene. The guards relaxed, allowing you to approach the ARC trooper. All that confidence from being on stage was dripping away. Now, your heart was racing, and your cheeks felt like they were on fire. Fives smirked as your cheeks darken in color, your blush reaching down your neck to the tips of your ears.

“Don’t tell me you’re embarrassed now, cyar’ika.” Fives chuckled as he took his hand in his.

You laughed nervously, letting Fives pull you away from the group of singers and towards a more secluded area of the hangar. “M-maybe a little,” you admitted before rounding a corner. Both of you were now hiding the two of you behind a starfighter, Fives gently pressing you against a stack of heavy crates. A hand laid on your hip while the other laid on the containers, trapping you in place. “I told you never sang in front of a large crowd.”

“Could have fooled me,” he responded as his hand on the crates moved to cup the side of your face. You slowly relaxed under his touch before gently leaning into his palm, looking up at him with hooded eyes.

“I meant every word, Fives.” You said in a hushed tone, your cheeks still flushed. You raised your hands up, before wrapping your arms around his neck, gently pulling him down to you, until the tip of your noses brushed. “I love you.”

“Say it again,” Fives moaned, his arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you flushed against his armor.

“I love you, Fives.”

What little space was between you two was gone, as Fives leaned forward, capturing your lips. It wasn’t a light kiss nor a deep one, but still full of passion. It was something that the two of you wanted. A moan escaped you as Fives pressed his tongue into your mouth, your hands moved to cup his cheeks, his hand cradling the back of your neck. “Ner cyar'ika laar senaar,” he purred against your lips after parting to breathe, before pecking your lips a couple of times. Hearing speak in Mando’a caused you to shiver in excitement, which he felt against his hands.

“You liked that?” He growled before nipping your neck, causing you to gasp. “There’s more where that came from.” You then felt his hips press and grind against yours, releasing another moan from you.

“There a few more singers left. Plenty of time for it,” you smirked before taking his hand. “And I know the perfect place where you can show me everything.” You both raced back to the ship that you arrived in. You both definitely had enough time, returning back to the hangar but the way you were walking, it was obvious what had occurred.

You didn’t care how the boys teased you, or how the other singers looked shock, or flustered. You are in complete bliss, having Fives at your side and holding his hand for the rest of the evening.

---------

A/N: Thanks again for reading! I have another fan fic in mind, but I should really focus on my finals first!

Ner cyar'ika laar senaar = My darling song bird

#fives x reader #arc trooper fives #clone trooper fives #trooper fives #501st fives #501st legion #clone trooper x reader #trooper fives x reader #clone trooper fives x reader #arc trooper fives x reader #fives x you #arc trooper x you #clone trooper x you #star wars x reader #star wars x you #fan fiction #fan fic #star wars fanfic #star wars fanfiction

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stopeatingwhales · 3 years

Text

vinyl searching (pt. 1) x graham coxon

okok i'm so sorry i haven't posted in such a long amount of time, but i'm back! (and hopefully for much longer this time haha). this was requested to me a very long time ago and i fell in love with the entire concept immediately - i'm sorry it took so unbelievably long to post it!! i might make a second part to this as i felt like i haven’t properly put the story to an end so look out for that!

Pairing: 1999 graham coxon x reader

Warnings: nothing!

Word count: 3.421

part two

Requested by anon (I’m so sorry this is so late) x

༉‧₊˚✧

Cutting open my last box of new vinyl, I quickly scanned through the contents, figuring out what genres it had consisted of. I discovered a brimmed box of popular 80s vinyls ready to be organised as I allowed my nimble finger to slowly caress every bump that was conveyed whilst it went through every single record. Working in a record shop was often tiring due to the amount of physical labour you have to commit to doing (it really takes a toll on your back sometimes), but it overall was a magical experience, with a lot of perks: free vinyls every once in a while, the ability to snatch a first copy of a highly anticipated album before it got sold out, and ultimately being able to be surrounded by art constantly. It was a genuine blessing to be able to work in a shop that abides and requires your whole passion, because it can never go to waste. What was beautiful about music was that, regardless of personality, fashion or who you genuinely were, everyone can connect to some form of it, whether it be rock, pop, hip/hop, rap, anything. A simple strum of a guitar or mumble of a lyric can manipulate one’s mind so diligently that you become so enthralled by that rhythm to the point it consumes and dictates your entire outlook on existentialism and surroundings of life. You are free to interpret what you like from either lyrics, melodies or even music videos; music is there for one form a bonding with it, not to be told specifically what this or that means, otherwise it loses its enchanting wizardry. Unsurprisingly, you are never able to free yourself from the affiliation that you receive from music, as it is infinite, absolute, limitless without end. Every day, every hour, every minute, there is either a small group, or just one person, attempting to create melodies and cadences that can resonate with people for the rest of their lives - and once they’ve cracked that specific coding, that in which takes overwhelming amounts of dedication, you have created something that is unforgettable to maybe a nation, or a couple, or just one single person. Regardless of the amount, with such ability, you carry the ultimate power that no grade, mark or report card, can ever prove to show.

Exhaling, I began to stock up the few crates that were beginning to gain empty space in between the few vinyls that embraced them. Attempting to organise them as quickly as I could, I hummed along to the soft music that was escaping out of the radio. Usually, during the day, there wouldn’t be much activity in the store, so having to care for the place by myself wasn’t something out of the ordinary. The shop tended to be more of a second home to me; it never became excessively stressful, and being able to conversate with customers about opinions on specific albums or ‘which album by this or that artist is their best?’ was always an enjoyable part of the day as it simply felt as if it was a random conversation instigated in a bar. Almost as if you’re discoursing with a long lost friend; you gain this sort of connection between specific albums that both mean something to you, and despite the fact that it could mean completely opposing ideas, you were both able to share that connection the music was able to provoke. The shop was moderately small, with 6 rows of 5 crates (two on either side of the wall) aligned neatly, three quarters of a metre separating each in order to allow those to walk around. Having the space quite compact yet overflowing with all sorts of music was what made the space so enthralling. You could have your favourite album of all time sitting there, patiently lingering for your grasp and attraction to seep in, and eventually your purchase - all you seemingly had to do was rummage for it. That in specific is what makes record searching so entertaining, simply scanning through crates of records until you find something that appeals to you. And although you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover, if a band has put enough effort in their covers, it would appeal to people more, and therefore allow more sales to seep through. Situated on the end of a high street which had countless amounts of civilians walking into multiple stores each day, only a few customers had come in every so often as it only sold vinyls, and CDs were becoming more of an attraction these days. It didn’t bother me all that much - I definitely preferred having only a few customers in and out every couple of hours in comparison to groups of screaming teenagers begging for the chance that I might have the Californication vinyl by the Red Hot Chilli Peppers.

Once I had completed distributing the vinyls to their designated boxes, I put the large - now empty - cardboard box behind the counter to place in the rubbish after my shift was over. As if on cue, I was met with the light ringing sounds that escaped from the bell at the top of the clear glass door, indicating that someone had arrived in the shop. Swiftly turning my head to figure out who it was, I was met with the sight of Graham Coxon, a usual customer, and an amazing lead guitarist in one of the most known bands in Britain as of this moment due to their latest album titled 13, Blur. News had surfaced that the band were having troubles between each other, and it became apparent that Graham hadn’t played on the album that much. He looked a little scruffy, his short hair untidy but that didn’t make him look horrible, it suited him very much. There were small dark circles forming on his eyes, exposing ideations that he may not have slept, or been able to sleep, which played on my heart strings a little. Although he was a heart-throb of many young girls over the coming years, especially during the height of the Britpop era, he had the demeanor completely contrasting against those projected to the nation by his other bandmates. Graham was quiet, reticent, composed, and it was obvious that the entire Britpop era didn’t work to well for him - being put up against Oasis to fight for the supposed ‘king’ of a genre proved its mental strains on him, to the point he had began drinking to escape his struggles. Me and Graham had become quite good friends over the months that he had been visiting the store, so a shocked face and beg for an autograph was something that by no means would be happening in this given moment. I always felt that because of Graham’s restrictive attitude, it caused him to be quite secluded from maintaining a lot of friendships - although that may just be an assumption. “You alright?” I asked sweetly, putting on a soft smile as I made my way over to the counter.

“Yeah, fine thanks. You?” He replied, exchanging the same smile which caused my heart to patter in an unsteady rhythm as he paced over to one of the crates, beginning his search for something new. Over time as mine and Graham’s friendship had bloomed, I felt myself forming a sort of tenderness for him. The way he stared at the ground whilst speaking to someone; the way he ruffled through his dark coloured hair ever so often; the way he bit his lip when conflicted against what album he should buy, were all things that I had taken into note after I had caught my eyes staring at him repeatedly, every single time he had entered the shop. And of course, he was immensely good looking, which only added to the long list of things that made me so captivated by his presence. Sometimes he would meet my eyes, to which I would instantly look away, hot flushes forming on both my cheeks over the sudden embarrassment I would receive from being caught admiring someone. Then again, would you not continue to stare at someone who carried an undeniable amount of beauty, that they were so oblivious to understanding that they had?

“I’m alright, we’ve got a couple new 80s records in the crate over there if you’re interested.” I said, exiting the counter as my finger pointed towards the freshly updated crate. Whenever Graham had come into the shop, he tended to spend a good chunk of his time in here, which made me almost addicted to his presence there constantly. We would talk about a lot of things, bridging from best albums of specific decades, to what our favorite candy was. It was a joyful experience, talking to someone that you would have seemingly looked up to for such a long period of time, watching them grow musically, but also physically. In ‘91, all the boys from Blur had charmed themselves with tattered bowl-cuts, which indirectly emphasised their innocent-yet-psychedelic look. Now, his hair was in a much different state, almost completely short yet there was still a small chunk of hair covering his forehead. I much preferred this look of his, though. He looked mature, and pairing with his personality that I have come to be somewhat close with, it boosted his attractiveness. Whenever he left the shop, I would be accompanied with such boredom and sadness right afterwards. I seemingly wanted him here, all the time, adding to the fondness that I had formed for him.

Shifting his gaze to interlock eyes with mine, I felt my heart begin to form into the same unsteady pattern it composed when he had reciprocated my smile. “I’ve pretty much listened to everything that had appealed to me from that decade, it was when I was growing up you know.” He chuckled, which caused my cheeks to heat up a little at the sound of his lovely laugh that I sadly didn’t hear so often than I would’ve liked.

“Well, what have you been coming in here to search for then?” I questioned, slowly making my way to stand next to him as I analysed his actions, his index finger grazing over each album name, mirroring how I was earlier when scanning through the vinyls I needed to unpack. I was able to gain a whiff of his aroma standing near him - he smelled like cigarettes and cologne, a combination that when mixed would sound quite disgusting, but they somehow complimented each other. I attempted to edge my body closer to his, to take a greater look at what exactly he was doing, without it coming across as suggestive. I would have no courage to do something that evocative, anyways.

I allowed my arm to rest on the other crates as my hand held my face. I felt Graham’s stare switch from the vinyls to quickly take a look at me, noticing my new positioning. A very short silence was shared between the pair of us, almost as if Graham was trying to find the right words to say, whilst the music from the radio had continued on playing. “Not too sure, just want to find something to listen to,” he began, slowly trailing off his sentence as he pulled a record out and examined its cover. “I’ve worn out all of my records at this point so I’m practically desperate for something else.”

“Well, you’ve come to the right place!” I grinned, making eye contact with him for a short second, before switching to look at the album he was looking at. He was holding up Pavement’s 1997 album, Brighten the Corners. The cover was quite colourful and artsy, almost as if it had come straight out of a cartoon. “Play that on the record player, see if you like it.”

Moving over to the record player that was situated by the cashier, he took the record out of its sleeve, placing it on the turntable as carefully as possible. I turned my body around to watch him place the stylus on the grooves of the record, my body fixated in place. Every so often I would glance at the walls of the shop, which were decorated messily with band posters and tour-dates of multiple bands that you were able to purchase in-store. Although it was untidy, it added to the sensation of music; you don’t need to be the smartest, the most organised, the most put-together person in order to make an amazing album. All you could have is three chords that you are unaware of the names, and you’ve got a song. The Sex Pistols done it, and the message they portrayed was that no matter who you are, you can make music. It’s universal. Sometimes my gaze shifted to look through the window that portrayed the cars passing down the road, with the occasional person walking past. The comparison of outside, where it professedly looked very dull and unhappy, and the liveliness of such a small shop, is what proves the power of music. Life is tedious without some colour in it. Regardless of anything though, my eyes would always trail back to Graham, whose back was resting on the counter where the cashier was, intently listening to the music draining from the turntable. The sweet sounds of pop songs that were once splashing out of the radio were now inaudible; the record player emitted music that was much louder, so it was now the only thing you could hear inside the closed space. By the look of Graham’s expression it seemed that his desperation to listen to something new was much needed than I had come to expect; it was almost as if he depended on the new music to soothe him away from whatever thoughts, or distressing moods that were battling his mind.

Once the song had ended, I decided to ask for his opinion on it. “What do you think?”

I watched him intently as his eyes fluttered back open, examining his facial features slightly. Our eyes had met, and they stayed fixed in place as I began admiring his honey-like orbs. “It was good, might as well get it to hear the rest of the album.” He answered, sighing slightly at the end of his sentence. It was quite obvious, to me, that he had been going through something that he wasn’t able to quite mention or bring up to anyone - especially me, as I am only just a worker he knew quite well inside a record shop. It enthralled me slightly, how mysterious he was, although he was completely projected to the limelight of Top Of The Pops and many interviews countless amounts of times over the years. The thought of asking him how he was always played in my mind; his reaction however, frightened me to the point of me avoiding the topic. I didn’t want to come across as patronising, I simply cared for him, for someone I didn’t even know all that well, too much.

Graham placed the vinyl back into its sleeve gently, and then made his way to where he previously stood - next to me. Although our bodies weren’t touching, I felt as if my skin was entering the gates of hell due to the amount of heat that had been emitting from my skin. He began looking through the same vinyl crate that he did before, whilst my eyes inspected his hands, allowing my thoughts to randomly drift on the feeling of his hand in mine. How soft his palm may feel, how warm it would be - like a hug from a loved one when you needed it most, their touch, caressing, having so much impact that it completely changes your entire mood for a short period of time. How they could perfectly merge together, his and mine. Or not, though either way it would release a sensation of my teenage-girl like self, squealing inside over the fact that a boy that I've seemingly fallen for is in grasp of my palm. I doubt that he was feeling the same things that I was, but in moments so silent but loud, exactly like this one, it was all I could muster a thought about. “You have lovely eyes.”

I noticed Graham pause in his movements once those accidental words slipped off my mouth. Mentally cursing myself, my gaze was fixed on him. The air was a little tense, the pit in my stomach completely empty from my unneeded slip-up of words. “Thank you…” He replied, shifting his gaze over to look at me. He seemed taken aback to my sudden compliment, which made me feel a little embarrassed, causing my cheeks to heat up slightly. “Yours are lovely too.”

My heart fluttered slightly towards the compliment he passed back to me, my lip sinking into my teeth in anticipation towards where the conversation was headed. Graham’s awkward self carried on searching through vinyls, and began walking over to different crates in search for something else. I moved to position myself behind the till, where my gaze followed him as he preoccupied himself in the cover art of multiple vinyls he had taken out, admiring them or looking perplexed by them, then putting them back into their original place if they weren’t appealing to him. I began humming along to the new song that began playing on the radio, as I played with my fingers, deciding on forwarding the conversation to something else. “What are you up to this week?”

“Nothing much… I’m probably going to stay at home. There’s not much to do these days.” He answered, his eyes glued onto the vinyls he had now found. My heart sank after those words left his mouth, almost in pity for him - he didn’t seem like he was fully okay, then again no one is, but it came across as if he had been struggling quite a bit mentally and that he needed someone to be there for him, yet he didn’t know exactly how to ask for it, or maybe he felt cowardly to ask. He began to walk over to the cashier, instigating the fact that he had found the records he’s decided to buy - filling my stomach up in an unusual mix of sadness and anticipation. I wanted him to be here, all the time.

“So I assume you’re not doing anything tonight?” I questioned, taking the vinyls from his hand in order to scan them and place in a bag. I avoided his stare whilst asking, though I could feel the burn of his eyes intently staring at every move I made.

“Yeah, the most I’m going to do is probably listen to these vinyls at home.”

With the little amount of courage I had spared inside, I decided to take a big leap of my conscience and ask him a question he’s undoubtedly been asked so many times before. Lifting my gaze to connect eyes with him after I had finished neatly placing everything into a plastic bag, I handed the vinyls to him. “Do you want to go out tonight?”

“I mean I’d like to go out.” He responded, completely oblivious to what I was egging towards, which only bubbled the apprehension inside me even more. I began to second guess the idea of me asking him out to do something together.

“Graham.” I sternly responded, a hint of annoyance laced between my voice when I spoke his name.

“What?”

Sighing to myself, I realised that his oblivion wasn’t on purpose, which brought the same feeling of a sinking heart in my body. I came to realise that Graham had been so isolated, so deserted from society, that he was completely blind towards someone taking an interest in him. Inhaling sharply, I asked, with my sweetest smile. “Would you like to go out with me tonight?”

Graham’s expression had completely changed from his delirium to shocked. His eyes widened, a reddish tint forming on his cheeks as his lip sank into his bottom teeth. A couple seconds were shared between us staring closely at each other's eyes, as I tried to decipher what was going through his mind. “I- Uh- Yes, sure.”

The little stutter that rolled off his tongue warmed my heart as the beam on my face began to widen. I noticed a small smile starting to curve at the bottom of his lip. “That’ll be fifty pounds, please.”

#graham coxon #graham coxon x reader #my writing #blur #blur band #90s #nineties #britpop #band imagines #fluff #fanfic

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suituuup · 3 years

Photo

pieces - chapter one

Five years ago, Chloe dropped off the face of the Earth. Beca sees her again in the most unexpected place.

rating: M (drug abuse, mention of sexual abuse in later chapters) word count: 2,100

ao3 link

“Any messages, Gina?”

Beca Mitchell strode out of the elevator, high heels clicking on marble flooring on her way to her office.

Her assistant rushed to walk alongside her, notebook opened as she handed Beca her second coffee of the day, which Beca took with an appreciative smile.

“Mr. Mendes needs to push back his meeting to Thursday, and Mr. Hozier-Byrne is waiting for a call back, preferably before 2 as he’s five hours ahead.”

Beca rounded the corner to her office and dragged her leather desk chair back, shrugging off her woolen trench coat and draping it over the back. “Got it, remind me what I have planned today?”

“You’re having lunch with Mr. Zimmer at the Plaza to discuss Jesse’s project, and apart from the weekly team meeting at five, you’re expected at Edgy Reggie’s party from 10 pm at the Sapphire.”

A groan surfaced from Beca’s throat and her eyes slammed shut as she plopped down on her chair. “I forgot about that. Luke can’t go?”

Gina winced and shook her head. “Family dinner.”

“Family dinner, my ass. His whole family lives back in fucking England,” Beca muttered before she could help it, throwing her assistant an apologetic smile. “Sorry. Thanks, Gina. Hold my calls until ten, please?”

“Of course, Ms. Mitchell.”

As she did every morning while sipping her coffee, Beca listened to demos over the next hour, forwarding them to Luke if any of those yet-unknown artists spiked her interest enough to sign them into their label.

The rest of the day consisted of two meetings, a dozen calls, countless email exchanges, and not enough studio time. A thick blanket of darkness had veiled the city by the time she closed her laptop and called it a day. She stretched her neck and took a moment to gaze at the lit skyscrapers through her floor to ceiling windows, sighing softly.

It was sometimes weird to think about how this was her life. How the asocial, grumpy freshman from thirteen years ago had made it to the top of the music business and now co-owned one of the biggest labels throughout the country.

Scratch that, throughout the world.

Snapping out of her daze, Beca stood and slipped on her coat, plucking her phone off the desk to call herself a Lyft home. She had just about time to take a shower and eat dinner before heading to that stupid party.

Beca could think of a million things she’d rather be doing right now as she strode down the wet sidewalk towards the lit GIRLS red neon sign in the distance a couple of hours later.

She told herself one drink, an hour tops, then she could head home, put on her pajamas, and finish that true-crime TV show she started yesterday.

“Name?” A dude bulkier than the freaking Rock asked her as she made it to the club door.

“Um, Beca Mitchell. I’m Edgy Reggie’s producer.”

Her artist had privatized a strip-club for his celebration party over his album hitting Platinum, and Beca couldn’t not show up, as... well, he was an important client and brought her label the big bucks.

The guy checked his clipboard and nodded, hitching his thumb over his shoulder. “You’re good to go.”

Casting the bouncer a nod, Beca ducked inside the dimmed, crowded club, wincing at the crappy music heavily pumping through the speakers. Three girls in bikinis and heels stood on platforms, twisting their bodies around dancing poles as dozens of dudes reclined back in leather sofas, shamelessly ogling their forms.

Beca’s nose crinkled as she scanned the room for her artist.

“Yo, Beca!”

Her gaze snapped to the left corner, catching sight of Edgy Reggie (he didn’t want to change his stage name, no matter how much Beca insisted) waving her over.

“Hey,” she cast him a tight-lipped smile, tucking her straight hair behind her ears. She nodded at the other dudes sitting around the low table. “What’s up.”

“Guys, this is the girl behind the magic of my album,” Edgy Reggie explained, throwing an arm over her shoulders before Beca could squirm away. “She is fire. ”

Beca chuckled awkwardly, then pointed over her shoulder. “I’m gonna go get myself a drink.”

Maybe two come to think of it, so she could get herself through this.

She headed to the bar and ordered an old-fashioned, fishing in the inside of her coat pocket for her credit card.

“Thanks,” she muttered when the barmaid (also clad in a bikini that left very little to the imagination) came back with her drink, handing her her card just as the club’s speaker made an announcement.

“Ladies and Gentleman, please welcome to the stage… Ariel! ”

The crowd cheered and hooted, Beca glancing over her shoulder to see what all the fuss was about.

There was no amount of alcohol that could have prepared her for the scene unfolding before her.

There, on the main stage, strutted in a redhead, only wearing a silver g-string and high heels. Beca would have recognized that shade of hair anywhere, and while the lighting in the club was low, there wasn’t a doubt in her mind that this girl -- Ariel -- was her former best friend.

Her former best friend who had dropped from the face of the Earth almost five years ago, without so much as an explanation. She hadn’t just stopped talking to Beca, but to all of them, even Aubrey. She was nowhere to be found on social media and when Beca had tried calling her after six months without news, she found out Chloe’s phone number had been disconnected. It wasn’t like they talked on a daily basis before that. After three years spent living on opposite sides of the country, the texts started coming further in between, their communication coming down to a few check-ins a year and on birthdays, until they eventually stopped.

Fearing the worst, Aubrey had called Chloe’s parents, who assured her she was fine, working as a vet in NYC and in a committed relationship. While relieved, the news stung Beca, as it was clear Chloe had deliberately ceased contact.

It took some time, but Beca eventually stopped thinking about her so much, especially when she started getting successful as a music producer and pouring her time and energy into her projects. She soon won her first Grammys, Gold, and Platinum records featured in notorious magazines and talk shows. She could stop working tomorrow and money wouldn’t become an issue, but Beca didn’t like to boast about her fortune, or fame, for that matter.

Despite being insanely busy, she still kept in touch with the other Bellas in their group chat, but she hadn’t seen any of them in a couple of years, missing the last reunion because of her job.

Beca’s mind steered back to the present, where the once most important person in her life was currently dancing for money. Men were staring hungrily at her as she sensually moved around the pole or bent over with her ass in the air to collect dollar bills from the floor, and Beca suddenly felt sick.

This couldn’t be her dream job, right? Something had to have happened for her to settle for this.

Beca grabbed her drink and knocked it back, flagging the barmaid down for another as her mind reeled as to what to do.

She needed to talk to Chloe. In private. Tonight, as soon as she finished… parading in front of these disgusting fuckboys. Only… she wasn’t sure Chloe wanted to talk to her.

“Hey,” she said when the barmaid came back as an idea struck. “How do I get a private lap dance with one of the girls?”

The girl raised a surprised eyebrow. “Backroom, hun. Who do you want?”

“Ariel.”

The platinum blonde let out a curt laugh. “Ariel doesn’t do lap dances, babe.”

Beca’s eyebrows knitted together in a heavy frown. “Why not?”

“Because she’s the boss’ favorite.”

Beca didn’t know what that meant exactly, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to find out as another wave of nausea swept over her insides. “Is your boss here tonight?”

The barmaid scanned the room quickly, nodding. “He’s the guy over there in the suit.”

“Thanks.” She took her drink and headed over to where the fifty-something dude was talking to another guy. Stepping up to them, she ignored their glares over her interrupting their conversation. “Hey. Are you the manager?”

The dude who looked like he ran a mafia mob turned a bit more towards her. “What’s this about?”

“How much for a private dance with Ariel?”

His gaze flickered over Beca’s shoulder towards the stage, then sized Beca up, unimpressed. “She’s not available, kid.”

Beca gritted her teeth at the condescending tone of his voice. “Not even for ten grand for twenty minutes?”

He slow-blinked, then burst out laughing. “Yeah, right.”

“I’m being serious. Ten grand, twenty minutes. Alone in a room, just the two of us.”

The man’s expression hardened. “And I said she’s not available .”

“Twenty grand.” Hell, she’d throw half a million on the table if that’s what was needed to talk to Chloe. After a beat, she added, “And no touching. That’s not what I’m here for.”

The manager seemed to consider her offer for a handful of seconds. “You got the money?”

Dammit. She couldn’t withdraw that much right now, she needed to call her bank. “Tomorrow night.”

He smirked, snickering. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

He turned back to his buddy, leaving Beca grumbling under her breath as she turned around and stalked out of the club. She couldn’t stay. She couldn’t stand the sight of Chloe objectifying her body for money.

As soon as she got home, Beca fired up her computer and typed in Chloe’s name in her browser. Apart from old stuff on the Bellas, she found nothing relevant. Chloe appeared to still be MIA from any social media.

Beca grabbed her phone and scrolled through her contacts, bringing the device to her ear.

“What’s wrong?”

“How do you know something’s wrong?”

“We call each other twice a year on our respective birthdays and stick to the Bellas chat for the rest.”

Beca nibbled on her bottom lip. “I found Chloe.”

A long stretch of silence on the other end of the line followed. “What?”

“I saw her tonight, Aubrey.”

“Where??”

“At a strip club. She’s… a stripper.”

“What? Did you talk to her?”

“No. She was performing on stage. But I will. I’m… buying a lap dance from her tomorrow. I figured… she’ll have to listen to me since she’s being paid for it.” Her eyes slammed shut, scrunching up her nose. “I don’t know. It might be a bad idea, but-- I just wanna make sure she’s okay, you know?”

“Yes, of course. Keep me posted?”

“I will. Talk to you soon.”

Beca shuffled to bed after that, but sleep never came. Her mind kept reeling about Chloe, about what she might say to her once they were face to face, and the possibility that Chloe might shoot her down and refuse to talk to her.

She spent her Saturday trying and failing to make some progress on an ongoing project, willing time to tick faster so she could head back to the club. Mid-afternoon, she headed to the bank to withdraw twenty grand, tucking the envelope in her purse.

“Why does it feel like you’re doing something illegal, Beca?” She muttered to herself on her way out of the bank, slightly paranoid about carrying so much cash on her.

The club was just as crowded when she got there around 10 pm. A different girl danced on the main stage and the manager was nowhere in sight, so Beca perched herself on a stool at the bar, ordering herself another old-fashioned.

“Is your boss around?” She asked the barmaid, a different girl from last night.

“Who’s asking?”

“Tell him the person who wants Ariel is here.”

The girl’s eyebrows shot up at that but she didn’t say anything, nodding before strutting away. Beca sipped at her drink for the next twenty minutes, keeping her back to the stage.

The manager eventually appeared in her peripheral, and he leaned an elbow over the counter, lacing his fingers. “So what’s so special about Ariel?”

Beca slowly set her drink down and fished for the envelope, pushing it towards him while keeping her gaze straight ahead. “I like redheads.”

He plucked the envelope off the counter and peered inside. Twenty stacks of ten hundred dollar bills in exchange for twenty minutes with Chloe.

He nodded. “Follow me.”

Beca finished the rest of her drink, the alcohol managing to muffle her nerves some as she followed the manager towards the back of the club, and down a set of stairs. Her heart pumped hard in her ears and her palms started to sweat as she was led inside a dimly lit room with a handful of sofa chairs and a small stage with a dancing pole, some kind of music that seemed straight out of a porno carrying through the speakers. A spiral staircase was tucked in the right corner, and she guessed that is where the strippers made their entrance from.

Beca wondered how far things usually went in these kinds of private rooms.

She wondered how far Chloe went.

She cast the guy a tight-lipped smile and a nod before he closed the door, and paced the room for a little while, eventually lowering herself on one of the leather chairs and wiping her palms on her designer slacks.

The clicking of heels over metal made Beca’s spine snap straighter. She resisted the urge to look over her shoulder as the steps grew nearer, digging her nails into her thighs as a new round of nerves gripped her insides.

“Good evening, sweetheart,” the huskiness of Chloe’s voice made Beca swallow, and she felt a hand run over her shoulders as Chloe approached from behind.

Glancing up, Beca met familiar, ocean blues.

#bechloe #bechloe fic #bechloe fanfic #beca mitchell #chloe beale #pitch perfect #pieces

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pip-n-flinx · 3 years

Text

On Creativity

So I’ll probably be updating this a couple of times, but I spent nearly 2 hours with a friend debating the nature or definition of creativity. It’ll be difficult to get all this in text, but I’m going to do my best because I think thinking is so important my lord. I promise, if you follow along you’ll find that some beans, and some beans, is four.

Old Blackadder jokes aside, I recently participated in a survey on creativity. I was so angry about the methods and assumptions that after spending maybe 2-3 minutes on this online survey I ranted at length to one of my best friends.

The Impetus:

The TL;DR for the survey was input 10 nouns, and get a score. The score measures how ‘creative’ you were in thinking of your nouns. It’s a word association game, where the fewer associations the study could draw between the nouns, the higher your score and the more ‘creative’ a participant was judged as being. But see, here’s where I think that breaks down - ignoring the hidden algorithm and apparent data-set of connections the survey claimed when calculating this inverse relationship - I don’t think creativity has anything to do with originality.

What do you think of when you think about creativity? What is creative? What does a creative person do? According to Merriam Webster: the ability to create. Most people might lean more towards the Oxford definition which reads as : the use of the imagination or original ideas, especially in the production of an artistic work. Or perhaps you prefer the dictionary.com version: the ability to transcend traditional ideas, rules, patterns, relationships, or the like, and to create meaningful new ideas, forms, methods, interpretations, etc.; originality, progressiveness, or imagination. Truth be told, I think MW is the closest. And I vehemently disagree with the following two.

Allow me to explain - creativity and productivity are two sides of the same coin. You don’t have to be original or unique to be creative, and anything you do that is purposed or fashioned to aid in your survival - here extended to include any activity that you get paid for - is productive. An artist who carves out time to write a novel they’ll never publish, a musician who wants nothing more than to jam in the basement with a friend, these people are being creative whether or not their work is original. Artists who sell their art or their time or their expertise are not inherently less original, or less artistic. Indeed, they aren’t even necessarily less creative than an artist whose art never earns a penny. They do however, spend time and energy making their art specifically for a market. They have to take time to carve out space in whatever market they inhabit. So they are spending more of their art-time being productive.

Let me be clear here: this isn’t a call against productivity, or art as a means to support oneself, or a condemnation of ‘selling out.’ If you enjoy doing something, I can scarcely fault you for seeking out ways to spend more time doing it. That can be hard when you also have to secure the basic necessities of life. Furthermore, I don’t want to lionize either productivity or creativity. I think wanting to better yourself, or secure food or safety for yourself or a loved one, is a laudable goal. I think this very human urge is the seat of productivity. On the other hand, to do things for no other goal than the pleasure of doing them, the hedonism and joy of simply being, should not be demonized. Surely if were to be purely ascetic we would never know soul food, or barbeque, or sushi, or coffee or tea, beer or wine, cake or pie.... Rarely do we do anything for purely creative or purely productive ends. For as sure as bread brings nourishment it warms the heart.

So when a hipster tells you their favorite artist sold out to the record label, or a critique calls a piece gauche and derivative, they are commenting on a real change in behaviour. Usually, the reasons they give are rationalizations or worse baseless attacks on a stranger’s character. Rarely are we actually upset that our favourite band is releasing music with more time and effort and polish in it’s production or recording, for instance. It’s impossible to pin down, but if you go from being a creative artist to trying to make a career of your art, or even just trying to earn some money freelancing, you are allocating time and energy to the productive part of the process - talking to patrons and commissioners, managing social media, networking, etc. - and that time and energy both must come from somewhere. This doesn’t necessarily mean you spend less time on creative endeavours, but if you aren’t then you must be pulling the time/energy for productivity from other productive behaviours.

This is the shift that I think young artists/musicians/actors struggle most with. ‘Get a job doing what you love and you’ll never work a day in your life.’ What a load of BS. You will absolutely be working. And some of the freedom of the creative process will have to be turned over. Transitioning from loving music to studying music in college was one of the most heart-breaking things I ever had to do. The harder my professors pushed me to be better, the more time I spent practicing things I myself didn’t discover, the less I enjoyed my music.

I chose to study Jazz, out of all the fields of music, because I had this sense that jazz improvisation was more creative than playing in an orchestra. That the originality of inventing a melody on the fly was somehow more creative than playing a written part in an orchestra. This is simply not true. They are both acts of creation, of creativity. One takes marginally more originality, and one takes marginally more cooperation and teamwork.

Originality still relies on the constraints of the environment. You can’t break the mold if you can’t recognize it. You can’t bend the rules if you don’t understand the rules. As per the infamous Shakespeare quote “nothing new under the sun.” In any act of originality we still stand on the shoulders of those before us. When I was younger, it was always tempting to conflate originality or inspiration with creativity. I think it’s important now to move beyond that. They are different words, they mean different things, they might even influence one another, but they are not the same.

Take, for example, one of my college roommates. They worked all through highschool and college, trying to help support their family after an ugly divorce and then trying to move out and make their own way in the world. The weight of being constantly productive wore on them, and while they had been an honor student in a college prep program they simply dropped out of college before two years were up. For those formative years between the ages of about 14 and 20, Jess did not have time to be creative. All their energy was spent trying to ensure they had enough money for food or rent or utilities or whatever other mundane cost can be associated with living. I was by all measures a more creative person for 6+ years. Then Jess made time to do things for themself. Cosplay, the convention circuit, nights out at the bar or club. Jess was never less original than I was. Only ever less creative, and only then by force of habit. This does mean that people in marginalized groups are going to - on average - look less creative than those of us with privilege and the advantage of even minor inherited wealth.

Remember that, the next time someone tries to tell you you’re creativity is average.

Oh and fuck that survey it was garbage and what little they disclosed of their methods made fuck-all sense I sincerely hope that was a student project and the creator(s) have a chance to learn to do better later.

#long post #rant #creativity #linguisitics #I'm being pedantic but I swear the way we use and understand language is important

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teaandatale · 3 years

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HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO @geekynerddemon who so lovingly wished for me to finish Layer on Layer. And though I haven’t been able to do so, I thought I would whet your appetite with a preview of Part 1 of my 2 Part Epilogue.

Please note this is a rough draft & subject to thorough revisions when I get the writing muse under control again.

Layer on Layer: Epilogue- PART ONE

“You see one painting, I see another, […] it’ll never strike anybody the same way and the great majority of people it’ll never strike in any deep way at all but—a really great painting is fluid enough to work its way into the mind and heart through all kinds of different angles, in ways that are unique and very particular. Yours, yours. I was painted for you.” ― Donna Tartt, The Goldfinch

Despite the scorching heat radiating from the sudden summer outside, Steve had turned the AC off while the sun blazed in through the windows of the loft’s living room where he’d been painting. He had his music turned up and he was humming as he worked.

Peggy had given him the custom made easel, sturdy, adjustable, gorgeous, no doubt pricey, as a gift. He’d been painting so much that Peggy had deemed it necessary he have an easel at her place, a designated space to work since he spent so much time there anyway. She had claimed is a selfish gift after he voiced concern about her being too generous, assuring him she looked forward to watching him paint from the comfort of her couch. And she often did, taking breaks from her work by watching him mix colors and paint broad strokes.

The first thing he had painted at his new easel was for her, another detailed flower arrangement, just for her.

After unveiling the final product of Ana’s anniversary painting, which reportedly made Ana cry, happy tears Jarvis assured, she had given Steve a tremendous hug and after their double date dinner, they discussed art for a long time, their significant others at their sides sipping tea opting to discuss the dessert spread instead. He’d been so happy and warm to sit there among her friends, her make-shift family, accepting and open to him. How he could possibly love Peggy more he didn’t fully understand other than that he was learning he did it with every passing day.

Not long after that, Peggy started suggesting dates at more art museums and galleries. She watched him paint and encouraged him to do it more broadly. To show his work. To do more commissions. He wasn’t sure about all that, but he did start to paint more and more. He’d started even transferring images out of his therapy journal into oils. He’d done several, even brought one in to show his art therapy group. They encouraged him to make a series, to show his stories on canvas.

Steve swirls his paintbrush into his yellows, ochres melding with browns.

He’s deep in concentration getting her warm brown eyes just right, the right shade, the touch of a knowing glimmer in them. He remembers the first time they locked eyes, across her bedroom, just down the hall from where he stood right then.

He’s so deep in concentration, he doesn’t think twice at the sound of the front door opening and then when he hears footsteps approaching.

“Hey Peg, aren’t you late?” he asks distractedly without looking up.

“She sure is,” a voice that’s not Peggy’s startles him. He nearly drops his palette, tipping it over and paint gets on his bare chest.

He looks up and sees Angie.

“Sorry!” she cries out, and he notices she’s not looking at his face when he sets the palette down, trying to wipe at the pint on his skin. “Wow. This is a look. Go English!”

Steve blushes, grabbing his rag and using it as a make-shift cover for at least part of his bare torso.

“I thought you two were meeting at your hotel for drinks,” Steve said, reaching over to the couch for his shirt. Angie is still staring when he slips it on.

“We were but she was running late. And so when she didn’t show I thought I’d see if we got our wires crossed and see if she was here. Sorry for scaring you. I still had my key, and I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t realize you’d be here.”

“It’s okay,” he said. “I’m sure Peggy just got caught up or stuck in traffic. You know how her work is.”

Angie nodded. “Yeah, she’s always going at a hundred miles a minute.” She stepped further into the room until she was right in front of the canvas. “You’re painting Peggy! You’ve been painting a perfect portrait of her half-naked looking like a Greek God. Unreal.”

Steve blushed further. “It’s hot in here but I prefer the breeze and the sunlight filtering in while painting so I turned the air conditioning off.”

“Oh don’t apologize, Steve. This has been the best surprise to walk into. I can’t imagine how Peg handles coming home to this every day.”

“We’re not living together.”

The yet goes without saying.

She giggled. “Yeah and when’s the last time you were at your place?”

“This morning,” he said defensively.

She just smirked and continue to devolve into giggles.

“You’re an amazing artist. That looks just like Peggy, down to that spark in her eye. I might need to hire you to paint me.”

He laughed. “Free of charge Angie. Friends and family plan.”

She grinned. “You’re as sweet as a button, you know that?”

“Can I get you something? Water?” he asked, already headed into the kitchen.

“Water’s good.”

They say down in the living room together chatting.

“How was your flight? Did you have press today?”

“Yup. Did a few of the morning shows. I have a late-night show appearance tomorrow afternoon that I’m pretty excited about. I can’t believe they’re having me on it!”

“We’ll have to record it. Peggy and I have been watching every episode by the way. But we’re a few behind because I have to wait and watch them with her. But you’re our favorite!”

“Aw, shucks. I cannot believe you got Peggy watching network TV.”

He laughed. “No I got her to use Netflix. You got her into network TV. She says you’re the most believable, though she always figures out the plot twists before I do. Are you giving her spoilers?”

“No way! And give away the impact of my performances before she sees them? That’s definitely all English. How’s she been? Super busy?”

“A little, but less so recently. She had a busy few weeks before her conference with the EU but she’s been keeping a regular schedule lately, coming home for dinner most nights.”

“Guess I just got unlucky with my timing,” Angie replied. “But I’m glad Peggy’s been taking some time for herself.”

Steve nodded. He’d seen Peggy in all sorts of ranges of stress in the last ten months. He’d been so glad that she’d been taking more personal time off, delegating, taking care of her well-being, seeking out his support when she needed it. Of course she was a busy woman. That was a given. But she always tried to make time. She always took the effort to stay present when they spent quality time together.

She’d gone out of her way to support his painting. They’d spent so many evenings out, sipping wine and swinging by the latest “hot” opening only for Peggy to proclaim that his work was much better, more moving, worthy of his own showing.

He still wasn’t all too sure about the whole artist career, but he loved how supportive she had been. How much she cared. How much she believe in him. It was nice to know if nothing else, he had a fan in Peggy.

“I’ve been trying to make sure she’s been taking care of herself better.”

“Good. I already know how good you are to her. She’s always happy to talk about you. I wouldn’t have believed it before actually meeting you.”

He shrugs off the compliment, after all he didn’t want the praise for just being there for someone he loved. Besides she deserved it and more.

“Maybe she’s got held up in a meeting. I’m sure she remembers our reservation,” Steve said after another fifteen minutes without hearing from her. “I’ll try to call her again.”

He didn’t catch her, but he did leave her a message reminding her of their reservation and that he and Angie would meet her there. Steve changed quickly in Peggy’s room and then the two of them hailed a cab. Angie filled him in on some L.A. gossip and some stories of her cast mates. He liked how bright and bubbly Angie was. He liked hearing stories of how she and Peggy became friends. How Peggy had always believed in Angie becoming an actress, and how the two always had each other’s backs. He liked knowing there were people apart from himself that cared so much for her.

They were early for their reservation, opting for the bar while they continued to swap stories. He checked his phone once they were seated but there were no messages. Angie convinced him to split an appetizer as she was starving and he hadn’t eaten since lunch.

“Must be some hell of a meeting English is stuck in for her to respond to my texts for like five hours.”

Steve hummed, checking his phone.

“Wait. What did you say? You haven’t heard from her in that long?”

#geekynerddemon #steggy #my fic #I’m sorry I couldn’t get you the whole thing #may has been kicking my ass #also doing this on tumblr mobile was not fun #happy birthday friend!!

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huearmy · 4 years

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The Smell of Truth - VII

Summary: After years being forced to fight in clandestine hybrid ring, Jungkook is now living in shelter, but life remains bad, the place is abusive, and nobody seems to want adopt him. Until one night a pro-hybrid activist group invades the shelter, and a woman in black smelling like truth promises that things will get better, and he decides to follow her wherever she goes.

Pairing: pitbull!Jungkook x human!Reader

Genre: fluff, angst, future smut maybe.

Words: 5784

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: None.

A/N: I know, Y/N and Jungkook eat all the time and spend a lot of time on her car.

Chapter I Chapter II Chapter III Chapter IV Chapter V Chapter VI

"Jungkook, can you help unload the new merch, please?" Jessi said from behind the cashier, where she was talking with a customer.

"Yes, ma'am!"

"Be careful!"

Jungkook dropped what he was doing at the back of the store - cleaning CD shelves and rearranging alphabetically and music genres that customers take out of place - and ran outside by the back exit, where his coworker, another hybrid, was already signing receipt papers in front of a truck. One of the delivery men was already carefully removing some boxes from inside the truck and putting it on the sidewalk.

"What's in the boxes?" He curiously asked.

"These two bigger ones are guitars, they are orders. And those others are smaller instruments, like flutes and harmonicas." The golden retriever with slightly pink hair that he hadn't memorized the name yet said. Was it Ryujin? "Take care, even if the box is light, everything is very fragile."

"Ok." Jungkook stacked the two heavier boxes, as he saw the delivery guy do, and being careful, he went back inside to store it in the warehouse. In one second he was back to pick the others.

It was his first week on his new job, and obviously, it didn't even surprise you, he chose the music shop. The boy has a great ear and an excellent musical taste, besides music proved to be one of the things he likes most in his new life.

The other day you caught him risking singing softly in his room, when he thought you weren't at home, and in order not to make him uncomfortable, you didn't reveal your presence at all, letting him be. He has a beautiful voice. So, the possibility of being able to discover new music and new artists at work and talk to people with the same tastes as him made Jungkook's round eyes shine like the universe.

Up until then, working was fun, and the coworkers were nice. Maybe it was because of the initial excitement, but Jungkook was efficient and learned quickly, so he was praised almost all the time, which made him blush and have an almost permanent smile. The customers usually think it's cute.

"Ah... excuse me."

Jungkook listened to someone calling, he was at the top of a ladder, arranging some instruments on the top shelf, and looked down to see two high school girls.

"Yes?" He asked.

The same girl responded.

"I'm looking for new strings for my guitar. Can you help me?" Her voice shook a little, but at the end of the sentence she smiled confidently.

"Sure!" He went down. "Six strings or twelve strings? Nylon or steel strings?"

The two girls looked to each other in confusion.

"Ah... Six and... steel." It was almost a question.

"Ok. I'll get it for you."

From the cashier, Jessi and Ryujin watched the scene with judgmental eyes. Both of them were free, but it was obvious it wasn't their help that these girls wanted. Who knew Jungkook was going to bring new customers just for being handsome.

"I never saw these two here." Jessi crossed her arms.

"Me neither. Bet she doesn't even have a guitar." Ryujin shrugged.

"I don't care, as long as they buy something." The other shrugged too, leaving to the back of the store.

At this moment Jungkook was coming to the cashier, three packs of guitar strings from three different brands in hand, and speaking the decorated speech they taught him on the first day, followed by the two girls, who were attentively paying attention with heart eyes.

"If you can't or don't know how to put the new strings on the guitar, just bring it here that we put for you... Not we, because I don't know how to put it, but Jessi knows..." Jungkook smiled, and it looked like the girl that didn't talk at all wasn't breathing anymore. He placed the three string options on the counter in front of his coworker, still smiling.

"Are you going to take them all?" Ryujin asked, also with the friendly smile of a good employee.

The girls' eyes widened for a second.

"No." The talkative one replied, perhaps with too much emphasis, and with a quick glance at Jungkook and an embarrassed smile, she added. "Only this one."

Ryujin took the set of strings that the girl chose - the cheapest one - to pass through the barcode reader. After the two paid, Jungkook accompanied them to the exit with a short conversation, implying that the girl should dedicate herself to learning the new instrument and wishing her luck and that she would always return if needing anything. He was happy. Technically this was his first sale ever.

At this moment you pulled over at the other side of the street and jumped off of your SUV. An excited sound left Jungkook's mouth and he beckoned. Remembering to look side to side, you crossed the street, walking straight to him.

"Hey, cutie." You gave him a shiny grin. "I've come to pick you up."

"Hm?" He was surprised, he had walked home by himself everyday since day one, and you didn't say today would be different. "Ok. Want to wait inside till my shift ends?"

You chuckled, looking at your wristwatch.

"Your shift ends in three minutes."

"Really?" His eyes widened, and his hands pulled your arm towards him - consequently you whole - so he could look at the hours too. "Wow. I didn't see the time passing..."

"Go change and pick your things." You bossed, releasing your arm from his hold just to mess up his hair.

He nodded and got back inside, fast stepping to the back of the store. Through the glass in the window you waved to the other two employees, who smiled and waved back. Ryujin seemed torn between running to you to greet you right and giving you love, or staying at her post doing her job, in the end she sent you several different hearts with her hands.

When Jungkook got back, now in his everyday large clothes instead of the shop uniform, you were exactly on the same spot waiting for him, but now with two ice cream cones.

"I was thinking here, you said 'do you want to wait inside bla bla bla...', but like, I'm your boss, JK. If I wanted to pick you up earlier I could. You know?" You said, talking betwing licks on your ice cream.

Jungshook looked at you with a half-open mouth.

"You wouldn't." He stated.

"Why not?" You took his hand to cross the street.

"Isn't that abuse of power or something? I don't think you look like someone who has favorites... Like, you are too pragmatic, too good girl for that."

You looked offended, as if he had slapped you. You entered the car and waited for him to do the same and close the door behind him.

"First of all... The whole town already knows you, know you are my roommate. Everybody already thinks you are a favorite of mine, so no one would be surprised if I pamper you in public, cuz I do it all the time?? Aaaand...!" You aggressively put your seatbelt on."You know very well I'm part of a group considered a terrorist by the government, which automatically takes from me any title similar to good girl."

"The government is dumb. You are a hero, and this absolutely returns your title as a good girl and its variables." He raised a cocky eyebrow at you.

You started the car and turned it off again, looking at him incredulously.

"On one of our first talks, I literally told you about how I got expelled from the only school I attended in my whole life... I only went to college because my parents are rich and know important people." You shrugged at the end.

"That's not true. You are intelligent and had exemplary grades during college, I heard Jackson talking about it ..." He pointed out, before you could question how he knows it." Besides, you were expelled for protecting your family, and that is heroic to me."

"It was actually revenge and pure violence... But I'm dropping this conversation." You started the car again and it started to move just to stop right then at the red light. "Put some music on."

"Ok." Jungkook obliged. "But seriously, Y/N... Why did you get this offended at being called a good girl? Do you want to be a bad girl?"

Your face heated up. One month ago he didn't even know what playing bickering was and now this...

"Shut up!" You yelled.

He gave a loud laugh, losing it with your flustered face, and all you could do was to laugh along with him. ______________________________________________________________________________ Instead of going home, as Jungkook imagined at first, you had different plans for today. You took the road and in forty minutes you were in the neighboring city parking in front of a movie theater - the kind of thing you don’t have in your city because it’s so small. It was Saturday night and you had reason to celebrate.

"Wow, I've never been to the movies before... What are we watching?"

"You can choose." You pointed to the mural of posters and opening times of the movies. "We can also choose where we'll get dinner."

"I want pizza." He bluntly said.

You chuckled. Of course he wants pizza.

You went to buy snacks and let him get the tickets.Waiting for the big bucket of popcorn, you were humming a song that has been stuck in your head all day and drumming your fingers around the candy display case, considering buying a chocolate bar.

"Are we celebrating something? You look really excited today..." Jungkook came back, stopping by your side, looking you up and down, your whole body expression saying happy puppy to him.

You smiled as if he had catched you on something.

"Is just... You ended your first week of work ever... I finally got what I wanted from my job... We are like, both successful, gorgeous, young and free. We deserve to fill our stomachs with buttered popcorn, gummy bears, pizza and coke."

A wide smile spreaded on his beautiful face, cute teeth showing up and making your own smile wide too.

"What did you want from your job?" He picked the bucket of popcorn from the attendant's hands when you didn't notice it. "Thank you."

"I'll tell you later." You dismissed the question with a hand wave. "What movie we gonna see?"

Jungkook pointed to a dark sign with a putrefied hand coming out of a half-open wardrobe, blood dripping from the doorknob.

"A horror movie? Do you want me to scream in public?" You laughed in self-depreciation.

"I never watched one of these. It should be fun. Don't worry, I will hold your hand." Jungkook inflated his chest and indeed held your hand.

You were actually worried about him, not you. It is not your custom to watch horror movies, usually you only watch the ones with the most hype, but you know they can be very violent, and maybe your cute Jungkook still can't deal with it... Instead of voicing your concerns, you decided to pay attention to see if it really was necessary to worry at all. First sign that he was more uncomfortable than he should be, you would leave the theater.

You reciprocated his hol and scoffed.

"I'm holding your hand." _______________________________________________________________ At the end, your concerns weren't necessary. The movie was kind of trashy, besides some jump scares that got you screaming, and some disgusting, gross special effects that made you feel slightly nauseous, the bloody scenes were funnier than violent, drawing some good laughs from Jungkook. Still, he spent the entire movie holding your hand, as he promised. At the pizzeria the two of you ate until you had to open the button on your pants, still laughing at how bad the movie was, and how the couple sitting in a row in front of you were startled by silly things and made everything funnier. Jungkook was radiant, and that was what you wanted.

"A month from now when I get my first payment, we have to come back here. And I'll pay." Jungkook declared. "What reminds me, what would you say about your job?"

"Hm..." You looked around. The place was considerably crowded, normal movement for a Saturday night, your table was a little isolated, but not enough for you to have this conversation here. "My... friends wanted me to work with a guy. And I finally got the opportunity."

At first Jungkook thought of Jimin and Tae, but then the message sinked in. It was a secret organization's thing.

"Let's go?" You got up from your chair.

"Sure." Jungkook's eyes were big with curiosity. He didn't expect you to tell him about such things, but now you were implying the rest would be said in a more private place.

You two got back to the car with the pizza box with what you couldn’t eat whole and a stuffed animal that Jungkook got from a hook machine on the first try. You were feeling tired and sleepy, not in the mood for driving at all - maybe you should teach Jungkook how to drive for moments like that. You didn't put on some music or asked Jungkook to do so as you usually do.

"The organization has been investigating some lawyers, suspected of facilitating illegal hybrid purchases and transfers, and of covering up such crimes. And I basically need to get proof to frame this guy and expose who he works with." Your eyes were glued on the dark road. "Now I'm going to work directly with him."

"He is a lawyer from your firm?"

"Not yet. He is in the process of being the new partner in the firm. I worked hard to be part of the process or to be designated as his assistant." You explained, still too focused on driving. "I just have to do one mission. Whatever you want to call it. The rest is up to the organization. But for that I need to travel, to work in person, for about a week."

Oh." Jungkook looked at his hands.

Until now he hadn't thought about being alone, by himself. But of course at some point it would happen, you can't live exclusively according to him. He's not the only thing in your life, as he feels you are in his. Suddenly a week seemed like an eternity. Suddenly your apartment looked huge.

"Now I need to know what you want to do." You continued, not noticing the change in his mood.

"What do you mean?"

You made a funny face. It was like you were making a lot of effort to talk about it in a serious tone, but he could see the happy puppy in you again, and it made him relax a little bit, even though he didn't understand why.

"I thought of taking you with me, of course. But you may not want to... Which is ok too. You can stay at home taking care of things and going to work normally... Or you can stay with Taetae and Jimin... which would surely make them happy... " You chattered.

"I want to go with you. I’ll go where you go." He decided, almost solemnly. That sentence gave you both a nostalgic feeling, even though it hasn't been much more than a month since he first said it to you, and your lives changed overnight. You smiled, glad that he chose what you wanted him to.

"Awesome." Your finger drummed on the steering wheel. "Even if it's a business trip, we're going to have some free time, so I chose a super amazing hotel with lots of things for us to have fun together, and for you to have something to do when I'm at the office. Besides... There are others things that you have to decide..."

Jungkook was already excited about the idea of having fun with you on a trip.

"What is it?"

You sighed, as if you were collecting courage to say what was on your head.

"I am thinking about it for a while now... And my friend from the organization suggested it would be a good idea too. If you were in agreement..." You hesitated. "Would you like to help me?"

Jungkook didn't answer. A stiff silence settled in. In the absence of an answer, you panicked, your fingers tightening the steering wheel.

"It wouldn't be really dangerous, because my task is simple... I would never put you in danger, JK. I don't even get involved in really dangerous situations. It's just because you know about us. I ...I'm sorry."

The silence prolonged.

It was selfish, but you saw in the opportunity of Jungkook working with you in the organization a little of your loneliness fading. Loneliness that is created when you keep a secret even from those you love the most, like your family and the guy who always says he wants to spend the rest of his life by your side. Even your best friends since childhood... Even if you don't hide the truth from them, you can't tell everything either... Your fears and concerns. With Jungkook I would be different. He would be your partner. You could lean on him. It is selfish because you promised him a new life, of peace and tranquility, without even a shadow of the horrible things he lived in the past, and you still don't even know exactly how horrible they were. And in your secret work, bad things can always appear, in one way or another.

"Anyways... One thing we are going to do for sure is bungee jumping. And I think you will love it." You cheered, masking any disappointment you could be feeling.

You chose this double life for a much bigger reason than yourself. You knew from the beginning how it would be. So let's push those bad feelings back inside and move on.

"I'm really... grateful." Jungkook whispered, uncertain voice reaching your ears. "To you, and the organization. I truly think you guys are heros. I would like to be a hero too."

"JK..."

"I trust you." He didn't let you interrupt. "I know that you would never put me in danger or in a situation against my will. You respect me. So I don't have concerns about it. I just don't think I'm going to be very useful... I don't know how to do anything... except to fight. And I will never do that again."

Your hand reached to his on his lap, and as it had become natural his fingers intertwined with yours.

"You don't have to worry about that. I just basically need two little things from you, and I'm sure you got it. One of them you are doing right now."

"And is it?" He was confused. He was doing absolutely nothing. Right?

"I need you to be handsome and charming, just like you are doing now, but in a button-up shirt." You winked at him, making him feel hot, and totally thankful for the darkness so you couldn't see him bright blush. "And that you watch a door for me."

"I-I can do that." ______________________________________________________________________________ The sun didn't even rise yet and you are programming the better route in your gps, sunglasses on the crown of your head, sleep still on your puffy eyes. The suitcases were already in the trunk, and the snacks on the backseat, but for some reason your travel partner was not yet seated beside you, the passenger door he forgot open, letting the morning air in, covering your skin with goosebumps. Is too early to be in a hurry, so even though you have a schedule to follow, you patiently reclined your head on the back of the seat and waited. Jungkook got out the back door of the flower shop, checking twice if he locked the door and turned on the alarm, and then ran to the car. In his hands were his keys, cell phone - that you gave him when he first started working -, and his new wallet - papers and old photograph inside.

"All ready, Y/N!" He entered and closed the door, happy smile on his also puffy face. He was about to put on his seat belt. "Wait!"

"What?" You said in your morning voice - you don't like to speak for the first hour after you wake up at all.

"I forgot my toothbrush." He was already with his hand on the door to go back and get it.

You chuckled and started the motor.

"Sorry, JK. We can buy a new one later... Now we need to hit the road." __________________________________________________________

Just like the suitcases and everything else you would need to travel, at the night before you and Jungkook prepared a travel playlist, specifically songs with road vibes and good for singing at the top of your lungs - your plan was to make him sing along with you to finally praise the beautiful voice you already know he has. If it didn't work, the next plan would be karaoke. It worked. In fact, at start your were all by yourself, you always sing in the car, so he didn't saw it as a invitation to join your personal show, preferring to eat m&m's separated by color while watching you, some hours later tho, motivated perhaps by a specific song or by the energy you established, he gave in, and now you two were having so much fun. The lyrics he didn't know - like the 70s and 80s ones you like because of your mother - you explained about the artists and bands, detailing things about their careers and why you like them, he likes it because he knows more about his job an about you, and the next second you started the next song that you both knew how to sing, there you were joyingly screaming again. You forgot to compliment his voice.

With his mouth full himself, Jungkook filled yours with mini carrots and slices of apple cutted in bunny shape. It was about 10 already, your but was square and legs were sore, you needed to stretch, not to mention your bladder, which should be twice as big as you needed to go to the bathroom.

As if he was reading your mind, the boy beside you whined.

"Y/Nnnnnnnn... I need to pee."

"Me too." You whined back. "Can you wait a little bit more? I planned a stop, and we're almost there."

"Yeah... Sure." He smiled, opening another can of energy drink.

Your look went from the road to him, from him to the can, and from the can to the road again.

"I can't see how drinking another one will help with the bathroom issue..." You mocked.

"I'm also thirsty." He answered as if it was obvious.

Almost half an hour later you parked at a gas station beside the road. As you jumped up the suv, a pursehanging on your arm - with toilet paper and other hygiene items that toilets for community use by the roads don't usually have, you are a prepared woman -, you checked your location to make sure it was the right place. You were supposed to be at a specific gas station at 11am. It only had two bathrooms. One was under maintenance, and the other had a broken lock. At least it wasn't as filthy as you expected it to be.

You handed the purse to Jungkook.

"Go first. I'll guard the door for you." You said.

Jungkook just obeyed, having taken another can and a half of soda after the energy drink. You watched the movement of people and cars, a few filling up with gas, customers at the convenience store, truck drivers stopping for lunch at the restaurant next door. There weren't many people. And you haven't seen anyone paying attention to you.

"Are you looking for something?" Jungkook quietly asked, already beside you.

"Oh. Nothing... I just zoned out. My turn." You run inside the bathroom, remembering your physiological needs.

Back at the car, Jungkook expected you to continue the journey right away, instead you grabbed the steering wheel, still looking through the window with a look so intent that a little line formed between your eyebrows. Jungkook didn't know what was bothering you out of nowhere, but he was willing to help.

"Y/N?" He put a lock of your hair behind your ear so softly that you hardly felt it at all. You looked at him, face unconsciously relaxing. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Just a little headache." It wasn't a lie, until he asked you hadn't noticed, but your head was throbbing a little. "We ran out of water, right? I'm going to buy more."

"Want me to go?" He volunteered.

You considered it. He is just so sweet. But not all places are friendly to hybrids on their own, even documented or free ones, you didn't want to find out if the convenience store was friendly or not in the worst way. It was going to ruin the mood of the trip. Strangers mistreating Jungkook for no reason is always the last thing you want in your day.

"Thanks, sweetie." You shook your head negatively. "I'll be right back."

Jungkook followed you with his eyes as you jumped off the car, walking straight with your hands on your jacket pockets, till you disappeared into the store. Last night when both of you were packing your things, you showed him a 'first aid kit bag' you prepared with several remedies you could need, remembering it now, for sure there's something for your headache there. Wanting to help, he got out and opened the trunk.

You said you would put it in your suitcase... Can he open it? Was it an invasion of privacy? Maybe the kit was in the suitcase's outer compartment, and there would be no issue...

A shiver went up his back and a growl formed in his throat, but it didn't come out. Someone was behind him, terribly close, and with a confused smell that made it impossible to know whether they were human or hybrid. Jungkook did not hear the person's footsteps approaching, and that was fearsome.

"Don't turn around, don't try running, and don't scream. Act naturally." A deep voice of a male spoke.

Despite it being low, there was so much force and authority in this voice that Jungkook couldn't desobay. His eyes reached to the store, looking for you.

"Are you Jungkook?" The voice calmly asked.

How could this guy know his name? What does he want? Different thoughts crossed Jungkook's mind, none optimistic, all scary. He wanted you to show up to save him, and at the same time, without knowing exactly what was going on and the risks, he wanted you not to come back, so you wouldn't be hurt. What should I do?

"I'm." He answered, voice firm to not show fear. A voice he is used to using almost all the time, but since you came into his life, he didn't need it anymore.

The man behind him hummed. Jungkook concluded that he must be a hybrid after all, because he had the urge that the guy was smelling him, but he couldn't say for sure, it could just be in his head. How could this guy's voice be so calm and trustful if his presence had all this power that made Jungkook unable to move a muscle? How conflicting, the feelings this caused in Jungkook were unheard of for him, a kind of fear that he never felt before, the fear that his former master imposed through threats and punishments...

Jungkook searched around, wishing the man wouldn't notice it... Somebody... Anybody... At least one person would notice that there was something wrong going on there, and if Jungkook made eye contact, if he managed to ask for help in any way, everything would be fine. But nobody seemed to see them there, nobody noticed. The gas station employees continued to work normally, the customers entering and leaving their cars, totally unaware... How frustrating.

"I'm a Y/N's friend." The man throatily said. "Nice to meet you, JK."

Jungkook's eyes wided. Friend. One of those friends of yours?

The sound of something being placed on the floor caught Jungkook's attention down, next to his feet was now a small black backpack.

"This is for her. Take care, it's fragile."

"What is it?" Jungkook questioned, not trusting at all - he wouldn't give you anything without being sure it's safe - but strangely relaxed for such an unusual situation.

A low, funny sound came from the guy. Was he laughing?

"Something you guys will need." He simply said. One moment of silence and Jungkook thought the guy was gone, but then he spoke again, now his voice seemed a lot less impersonal. "Tell her she's beautiful today. As always. Good luck."

It was not possible to hear the guy's footsteps leaving, just like when he appeared, but Jungkook felt the absence of an extra presence after a few seconds. The guy was some kind of ninja. He bent down to pick up the backpack and slung it over one shoulder, looking around, trying to find someone who could be the intimidating guy... But he found no one. Without thinking much, he took the kit and closed the trunk, returning to the passenger seat, still looking over his shoulder.

A few minutes later you got back, still with a frown in your face.

"I definitely need an aspirin... You got the kit already!" You slammed the door by accident and cringed at the loud noise, you hate to slam your car door. "Thank you, sweetie... What is it?"

You pointed to the backpack, and Jungkook looked at you with doe eyes. Only now you noticed he was looking frightened.

"Your friend told me it is to you."

Your eyes widened as well and your hand reached your mouth. You were instructed to find someone from the organization at this gas station to receive the necessary equipment for your task. So you were stressed about nobody showing up at the appointed time, it even gave you a headache. Even though you involved Jungkook, you didn't expect them to contact him instead of you. Actually you forgot to tell him about it at all.

"Oh my... JK, I'm sorry I didn't warn you. I guess I still haven't gotten used to having a partner..."

Usually, in this kind of situation, you are all alone or needing to be sneaky around your friend and family. It was out of habit.

"It's ok." Jungkook gave you a sympathetic smile. "What do I do with it?"

"Put it on the backseat." You shrugged and started the car.

"Aren't you checking on it?" Jungkook was surprised. What if it was a bomb? You guys have used bombs before...

"Not here. First we leave." Suddenly you were on your pretty good mood again. "Can you give me an aspirin, please?"

Jungkook gave you the pill and you drank almost an entire bottle of water with it. A car honked past you, because you slowed down, but you just ignored it.

"Did my friend say anything else?" You asked, putting on some low music once again.

Jungkook looked through the window, wishing his cheeks wouldn't get red just because he agrees with what he was about to say. He couldn't look at you to say it when the wind was making your hair move to all directions as if it has his own life, or the sun on your skin makes it shine, or your eyes showing above your sunglasses as you look at him. It wasn't fair.

"He said you are beautiful today.... As always.'

A loud, ringing laugh escaped your lips, forming an incredulous smile.

"I can't believe Yoongi came personally..." You laughed again. "Now make sense... He was checking on you... He didn't let you see him, right?"

"No. He stayed behind me the whole time."

You nodded vigorously, as if that obviously confirmed what you were saying. Jungkook was confused, not understanding anything.

"Who is Yoongi?" He uncertanly asked.

Unlike when you talk about your friends of the organization, almost as if you were telling a story of people who do not exist, perhaps because they are people you work with but generally don't know, neither name nor face, when talking about this Yoongi was much like how you talk about Jimin or Taehyung, a real friend. Only with something more... An admiration that Jungkook hadn't yet heard so present in your voice.

"Min Yoongi." You said, and it was almost possible to see the fire on your eyes. "He is not just one of my friends... He is the boss."

Now it makes sense. It wasn't a ninja. It was the super hero. That is why all thatauthority in his voice and the powerful presence, totally intimidating, but at the same time Jungkook did not feel threatened as he felt so many times before... because there was no real threat. Suddenly Jungkook wasn't frightened or uncomfortable with the situation anymore, he was euphoric. He had met the boss of heroes who save hybrids, and soon he would be one too. Now it seemed a little more real that he could help others like him, just like this Min Yoongi and you.

"What are you smiling at?" You brought him back from his daydream with a teasing smirk.

"It's just... It is exciting." He was clearly excited.

Your smirk wided, eyes on the road. Your partner feels it just like you, and you almost couldn't hold yourself back. You never gave a name to it, and now Jungkook used a perfect word to describe it, and since you can't get out of your head. This secret job... secret life... It really does make you feel like a hero. Sometimes you feel guilty for feeling that way, since you were born on the bad side of history, you are human and humans are the villains. Helping hybrids to fight for justice and gain their freedom is nothing more than your obligation... But with Jungkook you can feel how you want, because you are sure that he will understand and never judge.

"Isn't it, JK?"

You two exchanged a meaningful look. The bond between you becoming stronger without you realizing it.

Just moments later you both excitedly increase the volume of the music that just started so you can sing at the top of your lungs again and again.

__________________________________________________

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squishneedsahero · 3 years

Text

Sour Lemonade

It’s Who I Am Part 3

Word Count: 2320

How would The Falcon and The Winter Soldier have played out if you, the younger daughter of Howard Stark got involved? You had been kidnapped by HYDRA at a young age, your mind taken from you as they forced you to work towards creating new weapons for them and when HYDRA had fallen you had gotten free with your scattered memories for you to slowly piece together.

After you all had left the prison where Zemo was being held, you and Sam unintentionally follow Bucky into this garage with a ton of old fancy cars in it. It is at this time that Sam turns to him and asks, "wait- where are we?"

Bucky avoids the question by bringing up Zemo once again, "we need to get Zemo out, he's our best chance to figure-"

"We aren't breaking Zemo out of prison." Sam responds bluntly.

There is a split second pause and then Bucky begins, "can I give you a hypothetical? Let me run you through a hypothetical." From there he runs the both of you through this scenario of how easy it would be to break Zemo out, with the ease he goes through this scenario you're pretty sure he has already done this without asking you or Sam.

Your theory was proven correct mere moments later when Zemo walks in and removes his hat. Sam and Bucky begin to argue from there and Zemo asks, "if I could-"

"NO!" Sam and Bucky shout simultaneously.

Zemo quietly nods his head and says, "apologize" under his breath.

From there Bucky talks Sam into it and Sam decides to go along with it as Zemo is already out and he might as well keep an eye on things.

Once they finish talking you look at Bucky and just say, "this is stupid." Then you turn and look at Zemo for a moment before going back to looking at Bucky, "so, how are going to do this?"

"We will go to Madripoor." From there Bucky and Zemo run you and Sam through what the plan is going to be as far as it is that they know what to do.

Before either you or Sam has the chance to ask how you'd get there, the four of you are already on your way to the airport. From there you all board a private jet, learn that Zemo is a Barron and has a butler.

It is once you all are in your seats that Zemo actually turns to you. "Y/n Stark? How unexpected... you still struggling with your memory?"

You look at him, then look at Sam and Bucky, before deciding to ignore him and the fact that he is trying to provoke you. From there he moves on to instead harass Bucky about the names he has in his journal, which Bucky chokes him over before taking his notebook back. This starts an entire conversation on Marvin Gaye and how he is one of the greatest musical artists of all time.

It takes a good few hours of flying to get to Madripoor, during this time Zemo tries another couple times to get you to talk to him... but he's careful since both Sam and Bucky are there and will do who knows what to him if he messes with you. He finally stops when you tell him to, "either stop being a coward and get out whatever is on his mind or to fuck off." He knew quite a lot about you, that much was obvious, but that was why you had gone to him, because he knows about HYDRA. Despite knowing a lot about you, your attitude towards him seemed to surprise him quite a bit. You took note of this, knowing he was prodding and probing to see how it is you would react, knowing that it couldn't mean anything good for you if he was interested in you.

You all leave the plane, Sam getting a nice suit to wear and they somehow talk you into the fact that to pull this off you'll need to wear a dress. You weren't necessarily happy about the idea, dresses, especially more revealing dresses were not your thing, as you preferred to keep to yourself and stay covered nearly from head to toe, to the point that the idea of a morph suit had crossed your mind more than once. When you stepped off the plane in your heels and dress you're thankful that at least it's dark and that it will make the many scars that covered your body less obvious. Sure, your scars from your time with HYDRA might not be as noticeable as a prosthetic arm but they were deep and hadn't healed well, leaving them obvious against the rest of your skin.

"I look like a pimp," Sam comments as the four of you walk.

"Only an American would think a well dressed black man looks like a pimp," Zemo says then once again explains who it is that Sam is supposed to be pretending to be. Then Zemo was himself, and Bucky pretending to once again be the Winter Soldier. Then you. You had been given what seemed to be the only obvious role for a woman, at least when it came to men and sleazy places like Madripoor, you got to be the stupid girl hanging on the Smiling Tiger's arm. At least it's just Sam you tell yourself, not Zemo and definitely not Bucky, not that you had anything against Bucky but due to him and you having some shared time with HYDRA you weren't really comfortable with him. Probably because he would have been the one they sent to take you and fake your death, the reason you'd had such a panic attack at the feeling of his cold metal hand over your mouth back in that warehouse.

The four of you get out of the car, and your act begins. Your arm naturally links with Sam's as you walk into the bar together, your grip is a bit tight and Sam notices but he knows you've been through a lot even if you haven't a clue what exactly it is that happened to you. He gives your hand a slight, reassuring, squeeze, you look at him and offer a slight smile, squeezing his hand in return before loosening the death grip you had on him.

Zemo knows exactly where it is he is heading, going right up to the bartender and asks to see Selby. The man behind the bar somewhat ignores Zemo to instead as Sam if he wanted his usual. Sam only nods, not wanting to use his voice and risk revealing that he had an American accent. You watch in disgust as the man dissects a snake right there on the counter and adds something from its innards into the shot glass before handing it to Sam.

"Ah, Smiling Tiger, your favorite."

"Yep," Sam says, barely getting the word out, but he pushes through and takes the shot.

All you can do to help him is offer another gentle squeeze to his hand. You hadn't let go of his hand since you had entered the place and something about it seemed to be helping you stay calm despite the crowd and the volume of the place.

Zemo asks once again about Selby, then as some guy is about to jump him he says, "Soldier, attack," of course it is said in Russian but you understand it.

It is with ease that Bucky flips that invisible switch, turning on the Winter Soldier and quickly downing the man before being told to stop. In those few seconds you heart reaches your throat and you feel your knees begin to buckle under your weight. Sam feels you begin to shake next to him and puts an arm around your waist to steady you. Surprisingly this helps pull you back into the moment. Your legs still feel weak but you lean your head on Sam's shoulder and try to ground yourself, you don't even think about it as your arm finds its way to go around his shoulders. By the time the fight is over with you truly are hanging on Sam's arm like the eye candy part you're supposed to be playing.

You don't think too much about it, focusing more on the current threats than the one thing making you feel safe. You're still holding onto him when you reach the room Selby is in and Zemo begins speaking to her. The both of you let Zemo do the talking, he offers Bucky and the code words to control the winter soldier in exchange for information on who is manufacturing the super soldier serum.

"Where can we find him?" Zemo asks, Selby about the scientist who is making the serum.

"Oh, Zemo, the bread crumbs you can have for free-" The woman gets interrupted by the ringing of Sam's phone. "Answer it. On speaker," she says, leaving no option for Sam but to answer his phone.

He tries to answer it and play it cool, you can hear the woman on the other end and she isn't making it easy on Sam to stay in disguise, obviously trying to talk about something important to the both of them. Next thing you know the conversation comes to an end as the woman yells at what is most likely some kids before saying, "sorry Sam I got to go."

The phone clicks as it hangs up, and Selby just asks, "Sam? Who is Sam?" The next moment there is a ton of shouting, a gunshot, and then for you things go dark.

When you come too you're lying on a couch in an extremely nice house. You can hear voices off in an adjacent room but you don't make any move to get up. Instead you lie there, trying to gather your thoughts in your scrambled mind. Something had happened. There was a familiar feeling of a cold sweat over your body and you feel nauseous. You try and focus on the conversation with Selby, where it had gone south and what had happened.

The memory was on the tip of your tongue but you couldn't get a solid grasp on it, you grab at it and keep digging. There had been yelling then the gunshot. Selby fell to the floor, dead. You take a deep breath as you remember letting go of Sam. You had let go of him and Zemo had shouted something in Russian. That was when things went dark. Zemo knew a key word. The words that HYDRA had used to control you.

You slowly sit up and look at your hands, they were covered in blood, you didn't know who but Zemo had activated something inside of you, causing you to kill someone. Anger swelled within you, Zemo had used you. He had broken into your mind with a single word and caused you to attack. Your heart feels as though it will explode as you stand up and without warning enter then next room.

You notice Sam and Bucky, but not Sharon. Your eyes lock onto Zemo and in less than a second you're across the room, your hand on his throat as you push him against the wall. "What do you know?" The anger in your voice is clear, an anger you couldn't remember seeing in yourself before.

"So now you'll speak to me?" Zemo taunts you and you slightly lessen the pressure on his neck only to be able to slam his head back into the wall behind him with more force.

"I said tell me what you know and what the hell you did to me back there." You can feel the eyes of Sam and Bucky on you, Sam is standing behind you now but you just hold out your other hand in warning. If he wants you to stand down it will mean knocking you out. You aren't taking no for an answer Zemo will give you answers.

As you stare Zemo down its as though he's staring down the barrel of a gun. He knows that he'd hit a spot with you by doing what he had, he wasn't scared of death, but your look did make him feel some fear. You weren't a killer. "You were the one HYDRA used to torture people. A brilliant mind they got completely under their control by only giving you parts of your memories as you needed them. You were their top scientist from the time they took you, you did terrible things, gave many people long and drawn out deaths when they wouldn't do what HYDRA wanted. You used innocent people as test subjects for your weapons, you killed just as many people as he did," he nods towards Bucky, "but at least he made their deaths quick and relatively painless."

You continue to stare him down, slowly you released your grip on his neck and stepped back. Turning to Sam you ask, "where's the bathroom," Sam looks at Sharon, causing you to notice her for the first time, and Sharon gives you directions to the bathroom.

You go on your own to the bathroom, taking your time with washing your hands and then slowly sliding to the floor and sitting with your back to the door. Zemo was right. He knew exactly who you were and could probably name every single terrible thing which you had done and who your victims were. You grip your forehead as you make yourself remember what Zemo had said in Russian, what word he had used to activate your kill switch.

"Лимонад." That was what he said. It was a simple word, a word that meant Lemonade. You begin to say the word out loud to yourself, starting in a whisper as you repeat again and again, "Лимонад. Лимонад. Лимонад."

You can feel your anxiety rise as you do this to yourself, but you can't make yourself stop once you've started. As you sit there, as you repeat that code word, glimpses of your past, your time at HYDRA and even some memories before that, when you were young and would try to play with Tony. You lost track of time as you sat there, bringing your own memories back, with the taste of sour sour lemonade on your lips.

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bqstqnbruin · 4 years

Text

Give your heart a break

I did in fact scream about how much I hate and love the Bruins while in the middle of Kohl’s today, so there’s that. I also wore my Harvard hockey shirt again and another person asked me if I played for the team so next time someone asks I’m just saying yes.

This was requested ages ago (because y’all know I’m the worst when it comes to doing things in a timely manner), so I hope the anon who requested this likes it!

This was also inspired by Give Your Heart A Break by Demi Lovato!

----------------

You were on stage, loving the rush that every performance came with despite how tired you were. Now almost done with your second tour, you couldn’t believe this was your life. Your favorite song that you sang during this tour wasn’t even one of your own; Give Your Heart a Break was the only cover you performed. Every lyric seemed to mirror your relationship, despite being released before you were a teenager.

“Alright, we’re going to change things up a bit, and switch over to a song written by one of my favorite artists: Miss Demi Lovato. I hope you guys like it,” you say as the violin melody that provided the beat started to play, drawing out the sound of the crowd as you got lost in the song.

The day I first met you, you told me you’ll never fall in love.

Singing the song takes you back to that night at the bar, out with your friends in your hometown. Your friend, Rebecca insisted you go out to this particular bar when she found out the Vancouver Canucks were going to be there seeing as she was slightly too obsessed with the group of men. You weren’t too invested the reason why you were going there, you just wanted to go out with your friends before leaving for what was going to be a way too long, three month tour around North America, your first one ever.

“To Y/N and her tour!” Bex leads your friends toasting the first round, “let’s hope it’s successful so that when she comes back she can pay for our drinks!”

You roll your eyes, everyone agreeing as you sarcastically say, “Very funny.” They continue to banter, Bex with her eye on the hockey players sitting at the table across from yours. She was purposefully being loud enough for them to hear her say she knew someone going on tour, but that could mean a lot of things when you think about it. It was enough to catch the attention of some of them, causing them to look over and see what the commotion was about. But you weren’t too interested in anything. Leaving within the next week meant you had to focus on nothing besides your career.

Your friends kept talking about how excited they were for you, but you weren’t paying attention. Only one of the guys at the other table had caught your eye: you weren’t sure if it was because he looked tired and like he didn’t really want to be there, sort of like you, or because of something else, but there was something that drew you to him. Apparently you caught his eye, too, since the two of you spent about five minutes doing what your friend would probably refer to as ‘eye fucking,’ even though you really hated that term. She would think that you were both mentally undressing each other, both of you fully aware of what was going on.

You get up to get yourself another drink, praying that he would follow you to the bar. If he did, you would talk to him. But, no, you couldn’t start anything. Who the hell starts something and then leaves for three months? It’s not like you were the type of person who did a hookup, either, but who knows? No, wait. You were overthinking things, like normal. How the hell do you even know what he wants? You don’t unless he tells you. He had to follow you to the bar first.

You order your drink, your back turned towards your friends and the Canucks. “Put it on my tab,” you hear from behind you as you’re about to hand the bartender your card. You turn around, seeing the tired boy standing behind you, trying to weasel his way next to you. “Quinn,” he introduces himself, “I hope you don’t mind. If you don’t want it I’ll just drink it and have you pay for another one.”

You laugh at how nervous he sounds, introducing yourself and telling him it was fine that he was buying the drink for you. “My friends said next time I’m home, drinks are on me, so might as well save up while I can.”

“You have that tour coming up, right?” he asks, you shocked that he would even know that before remembering how loud Bex was. Hockey players didn’t strike you as the type of guys to listen to your music, but then again, you remember Rebecca saying this team was watching Gossip Girl together, so anything was possible. “Sorry, I kinda listen to your music. What’s it called, the By the Book Tour?”

You groan at hearing someone say the name out loud. “I really actually love that you listen to my music but it is so important to me that you know I did not come up with that name.”

He laughs, starting a conversation about your music, his hockey, everything else in between. The conversation somehow managed to get really deep really fast. “Wait, but you have all those songs about being in love and the perfect guy and all that stuff.”

“Well, yeah, since I’m still new in the industry I have to write what sells and ‘build a fan base’ as my manager says before I can start writing what I really feel,” you say, rolling your eyes, “And I think I was in love and falling out of love when I wrote those songs, but I don’t know what real love is. You don’t know what it is until you actually experience it.”

“So you don’t think you’ve been in love before?” he asks.

“No. Have you?”

He stops for a minute, trying to think before shaking his head, “Nope. I don’t think I ever will be.”

You look at him, shocked that he would even admit something like that to someone he just met. “Really? Never? You don’t think there’s someone out there for you that you could fall in love with?”

“Nah. Who’s got the time? I mean, traveling for most of the year for hockey? How can I? You’ve got to understand: you’re about to be traveling for three straight months and then who knows what comes next. How can you even find time for love?”

“I don’t know,” you shrug, thinking about it seriously for the first time, “I think that,” you pause, trying to find the words, “I think that everyone is destined for love, regardless of how they get there. People who don’t want it might just be afraid of the pain that would come with losing it.”

He looks at you, eyebrows raised, not like he’s shocked but impressed, instead. “I can tell you write your own songs,” he takes a long sip of his drink, finishing off the glass, “That was pretty poetic.”

----------

You look out at the crowd, knowing exactly where they were sitting. He had the biggest smile on his face, the other guys, surprisingly, looking like they were enjoying themselves, too.

Now here we are, so close, yet so far. Haven’t I passed the test? When will you realize: baby, I’m not like the rest?

After a month on tour, one of your shows happened to be in the same town that the Canucks were playing that night, so Quinn had suggested you meet up after your show and his game for drinks. It seemed that a lot of your upcoming tour dates and his away games matched up, some sort of weird but welcome coincidence.

“Hey, Quinn!” you say as soon as you see him, practically jumping up from the table where you were waiting for him. You two had been talking nonstop since the night you met, but his words always haunted you, changing the flutter in your heart when his name popped up to absolute heartbreak: he doesn’t think he’ll ever be in love. Especially when you were sure you were falling in love with him.

“Hey, how was the show?” he says, wrapping you in a tight hug. Even after just playing a game, he smelt so good.

“It was fine, not one of my best, but hey, the fans seemed to love it. As long as they’re happy, I’m happy,” you say. The trust was, you were already exhausted. Before every show, it seemed like, you were doing nonstop conferences, photoshoots, other promos like meet and greets, having your manager talk to you about your set list as if it weren’t the same each night, rehearsal, sound checks, costume, wardrobe, and so much more. You weren’t sure you had more than five hours of sleep in the last three days. You weren’t exactly sure how you were going to keep up.

“You’re exhausted already?” he asks, as if he were reading your mind. You look at him, confused how he could have known that. “Even under the makeup you’re still wearing from tonight, I can see the bags under your eyes. Look, they’re the same as mine,” he says, laughing, pointing to his eyes.

“I just, I knew it was going to be hard, but wow, I never thought it would be like this,” you admit, laughing at how that sounds. Something worth it is never easy, so why should this be any different.

“But you love it, so who cares?” he asks.

“Very true.” The two of you sit there in silence for a moment, surprised it wasn’t as awkward as you expected it to be. “Can I ask you something?”

“Always.”

“Are you afraid of love?” you ask, bluntly. But after that night you met, you had to know. It had been swirling around in your head the time. The more you talked to him, the more you swear you could see yourself falling in love with him if you could spend time with him, like you were right now, but was it worth falling in love with someone who didn’t love you back?

He looks slightly shocked at the question, but you could tell it was something he had thought about before. “Well, I wouldn’t say afraid. I just don’t think right now it’s worth it. I mean, before I moved to Vancouver, girls would say they liked me because they thought I was going to be a professional athlete. So I would end up falling for them, then when I wasn’t in the NHL fast enough for their liking, they would dump me, and I’d be left just, standing there,” he says, not making eye contact with you. You can see his face getting red, obviously getting a little upset but trying to hold it in. “I mean, I don’t have time, you’re the only girl I talk to at this point who isn’t dating one of the other guys and isn’t my mom.”

You don’t know why, but hearing that from him made you want to cry. Unable to look at him, you bite the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from doing that, pushing the food on your plate around with your fork. You were right there, constantly flirting with each other while you were on the phone, anytime Quinn was with the guys you could hear them teasing him about how excited he got when your name popped up on his phone, or when your songs came on the radio. Your band knew that when you were alone, you were probably talking to Quinn, getting to the point where they had some sort of code word to talk about you and him.

You thought he liked you. You were so close to getting him, and you thought that’s what he wanted. If he asked you out on a real date right then, not just two friends getting together, you would say yes with no hesitation. When is he going to understand that you aren’t those girls from his home who would dump him when he wasn’t doing what you wanted him to with hockey? Who does something like that anyway?

-------

You felt like you were staring at him the entire time you were singing, knowing that he couldn’t take his eyes off you either.

On Sunday you went home alone, there were tears in your eyes. I call your cell phone, my love, but you did not reply.

Another night on tour, another night where your schedule lined up with the Canucks away games. You had no idea where you were at this point, you just knew you were exhausted, leaving in the morning for the next city and planning on sleeping on the bus the entire time, praying there was no reason for anyone to bother you when you arrived in the next city Sunday night. After the show, Quinn had invited you out again, the guys celebrating some big win that you didn’t know the significance of. You really didn’t care that much, especially since it was something that made him happy, so you went along and met him anyway, despite the fact that your veins had more coffee and energy drinks coursing through them than they did actual blood. You were getting there after the guys were, trying to find their table. The bar was crowded enough as it was, trying to find them taking way too long.

“Where’s that singer girl?” one of them asked. You still didn’t know his teammates well enough by name to know who said it, all you could tell was that he was blonde.

“She should be on here by now,” Quinn says, checking his phone to see if you had sent him anything. He had no idea you were a few feet away.

“Look at Huggy bear, already whipped by a girl he won’t close on,” another one teases.

“Ok, first of all, I am not whipped. She’s my friend. Second off, we will not talk about her like that, regardless of if she’s coming here right now or not,” you hear Quinn trying to defend you, even though the boys kept teasing him about you. Whatever, part of your career was criticism, this was just part of it.

You finally make your way through the people to get to the table, Quinn’s eyes lighting up when he sees you. You had to admit, you melted a little seeing him, despite him just putting you in the friendzone, him not knowing that you heard that. But were you really ready to sit with his friends knowing that they were teasing him about you?

“I thought you weren’t coming,” Quinn whispers into your ear, pulling you in for a hug and sending chills down your spine.

“And miss seeing you again? Please, I’m always up for seeing a friend,” you say. You swear he flinched when you said friend, but he said it first in your defense. You could already tell this night was going to end badly somehow, and none of you wanted to find out how.

He leads you over to the table of guys, none of them seeming to notice that you and Quinn had returned. The entire night was pretty much spent with Quinn pretty much ignoring you and only paying attention to the guys. They acted like you weren’t even there.

“I’m going to go get another drink,” you say, annoyed at Quinn, motioning to the empty bottle sitting in front of you.

Quinn nods, getting up with you “I’ll come with you.” You feel his hand on the small of your back, leading you from behind through the crowd to the bar. You couldn’t help your heart beating faster at this touch, something so intimate even though it probably meant nothing to him. The two of you sit down, you obviously bothered by the way the night was going. “Hey, I’m sorry for the guys,” Quinn apologizes, studying your face, “Are you ok?”

“No,” you admit. “You’ve been ignoring me the entire night. What’s the matter with you?”

He bites his lip, looking back and forth between you and the guys while he tries to figure out what to say. “The guys think I’m falling in love with you so they tease me about it.”

You stare at him for a moment. Could the guys be right? Could Quinn actually have the same feelings about you that you did for him? “Well are you?” you ask, knowing that it was the alcohol in your system.

“Am I what?”

“Are you falling in love with me?”

“No.”

“Oh,” is all you can let out, looking down at the drink the bartender had given you. You didn’t want to drink it. Honestly, you just wanted to throw it in his face and storm out. You couldn’t believe he was doing this to you. You look up at him, his face red, him not able to make eye contact with you. He was lying. You know he was.

“I can’t,” he says, his voice small and wavering like he was about to cry.

“That’s bullshit and you know it. You can, too, fall in love, because you know what? I’m falling in love with you, and my schedule is just as busy as yours. So stop being afraid of letting people in because you don’t want to get hurt. All that does is hurt the people around you who are trying to care for you.” You sit there for a second, waiting for his response. When he doesn’t say anything, you get up and leave, before he can see you crying.

You take out your phone, trying to dial Bex as you make your way back to the hotel you were staying in. “Hey, babe, what’s up? It’s late.”

“I hate him,” you sob into your phone, knowing it wasn’t true. “He was so close to telling me he loved me, and he just looked at me and said he won’t.”

“Whoa, whoa, back up. What do you mean?” she says. You recount the night to her, Quinn not paying attention to you and then pretty much breaking your heart right there. “Ugh. what a bitch. He should be lucky to love you.”

You can’t help but smile, even though you were still upset about what had happened. You hear your phone beeping. Taking a look at the incoming call, you decline it, “He’s trying to call me.”

“Nope. Don’t answer.”

“Not gonna. Not for a while.”

-------

You open your eyes, not even realizing that you had them closed. For a moment, it seemed like you were just singing to him, no one else around you even though you knew the venue was full.

When your lips are on my lips, and our hearts beat as one, but you slip out of my fingertips every time you run.

“So how does it feel knowing that this is the last night of your first full tour,” Bex says on the other end of the phone. The last night was in Vancouver, meaning that all of your friends who said goodbye to you three months ago finally got to see you again, and go out and celebrate with you again.

“I’m so ready to sleep in my own bed, I’m fucking exhausted,” you tell her, sitting in the dressing room and looking at yourself in the mirror. You still had three more hours before you were supposed to take the stage, but you could already hear the audience going crazy. It felt so surreal, traveling around America and performing in front of thousands of people every night. You had never in your wildest dreams thought you would actually be doing this.

Your thoughts and reminiscing are interrupted by a knock on your door. “Hey, Bex. I gotta go, I’ll see you tonight? You have the passes ready to see me right after the show?”

“Yep, love ya, you’re gonna kill it. See ya,” she says, hanging up.

“Come in!” you call, not getting up from your seat. You were sure it was your manager, who always insisted that you stay in your seat instead of ‘tiring yourself and using energy to get the door.’ The door opens, seeing him in the reflection of your mirror. Practically jumping out of your chair, you run over to him, having not seen him since that night you left crying. “What are you doing here?”

The two of you had been talking again, but it took a while for you to be able to get comfortable with him again. Being told that someone refuses to fall in love with you is heartbreaking, especially when you were in love with them. But at this point, all you had to do was focus on the tour and repress your feelings, and you were doing pretty well until you saw him in your doorway.

“Something I should have done a long time ago,” Quinn says, his hands snaking their way around your waist. His lips crash to yours, you stunned by what was going on before relaxing into it. Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging the soft strands when his grip tightens around your waist, pulling you closer to him. Your mind went blank, still unable to process that he was actually here.

He finally pulls away, your foreheads resting against each other, both of you with smiles on your face. “I don’t understand?” you say. He said he couldn’t love you. You talked all the time about how you weren’t really the ‘hook-up types.’ So why did he just kiss you? Why was he here before your show?

“I’m sorry,” he says, squeezing his eyes shut, “I don’t want the pain of losing someone, so I close myself off. You are everything to me. I don’t think I let myself fall in love because I never found someone who I could see myself being with until I met you.”

“You’re not going to run away this time, are you?”

“No.”

Another knock at your door startles you before you can say or do anything else. Your manager pokes their head in, “We need you for the pre-show warm-ups?” they ask, as if you were able to say no. “Are you staying here or finding a seat?” they motion to Quinn.

“Finding a seat,” he says, running his hand through his hair.

“I’ll see you after?” you say to him, giving him another quick kiss before running out to get ready for the final show of the tour.

-----

You finish the song, the crowd cheering. You find Quinn and the boys sitting in their seats. You go through the rest of the show, still not able to pry your eyes away from Quinn. The second you saw him sitting the crowd, you nearly started crying; he had said he wasn’t going to be able to see you on this tour because of his hockey season. So not only did he technically lie, he surprised you and took all the guys to see you perform, too.

After the show, you can hear the guys coming back to see you through the closed door of your dressing room. Opening it before they can knock, you nearly knock Quinn over, jumping into his arms and kissing him right in front of the guys.

“Who woulda thought that Q here would have actually landed a girl?” Brock asks.

“Hey, it was bound to happen at some point, look at the child,” Jake adds, “Even if it was with someone who sings about love all the time,” he teases you.

“I make just as much money as you do and all you do is chase a small rubber thing over a slippery surface. At least I create music people listen to while most of your fans just yell at you to shoot the puck,” you shoot back, the guys laughing.

“Come on, give her a break,” Quinn finally adds, “I mean look at her, how could I not love her?” he asks, the guys groaning at how mushy he was as as you plant a kiss on his cheek.

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