#promise kept: the complete artists house recordings | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pennyserenade · 4 years ago

Text

tags: nameless female oc x javier peña, nameless female oc x javier pena. rating: e ( explicit ) warnings: smut, language, talks of violence, unprotected sex, heavy angst, mentions of death, guns, pregnancy. word count: 3k+ summary: not everything can be spoken the way it can be felt. notes: i somehow managed to do this despite feeling entirely unmotivated all day, so that’s nice. this takes place during episode 3, season 2, near the halfway mark. original gif by: @javierian

una guerra sin piedad

scene eight, scenes from a marriage

Javier is a good husband, or at least he tries to be. He doesn’t mean to do this--probably doesn’t even recognize that she knows he’s doing it. He is faced with so many objectives in a day's time, Javier doesn’t realize how easy it is to catch on to his lies. They are hardly coated, though, obvious to anyone who pays attention to him as much as she does, but that’s just it--he doesn’t pay attention at all.

He’s unaware that his fingers are shaking right now. It is a subtle act, a tremble hardly notable to the untrained eye, but these are the fingers that have been touching her for twelve years; she has seen them and felt them and come to know them better than her own. They have remained steady and nimble even after too many cups of coffee and one too many pieces of harrowing news, because they are trained to be fingers that don’t give way to anxiety. A stone body, a man meant to be unflinching in the face of the most awful of tragedies, but here with her, it allows his lies to leak out without his consent. It’s pleading, this body, asking for respite because he won’t go easier on it.

She holds his hands, keeping them steady before they can reach out and lay flat against her growing stomach. Javier looks at her and confusion sprinkles across features that are too pale to be normal, even to him. His eyes reveal an undeniable sadness, too, some sort of impact from war that he’s on the verge of losing simply because he refuses to ask for help. He is all alone in there.

“Me estás mintiendo, Javi,” she tells him, voice level and collected. “Te mientes a ti mismo también.”

He looks startled, and perhaps it is warranted. The glass case he enclosed himself in wasn’t so transparent or frail to him, after all.

He takes his hands away slowly.

“No,” he responds. “About what?”

“No sé. Not completely,” she shakes her head. “That’s why I said it.”

“I’m not lying about anything.”

“Javi.”

“What?”

“The cigarettes.”

She watches his face fall.

“You smoke them when you think I’m asleep but I do your laundry, and I can smell them when you get back in bed,” she shrugs. “You don’t hang out the window far enough either, and you always get ashes on the ground.”

“I can’t quit,” he confesses. “Not now.”

“I never asked you to.”

“Yo sé, pero…” he begins, but falters. “I wanted to.”

“I would rather you smoke than you lie.”

“Okay, but that’s all,” he confirms. “Only the cigarettes.”

“Javi.”

“I’m telling the truth.”

“You of all people should know withholding information is just as incriminating,” she huffs, “I’m stronger than you ever give me credit for. You aren’t the only one who sees the blood in the streets, you know. I saw it too, still do, because we live here and that’s the reality and I’m sick of having to deny it.”

“Baby,” he groans. “Please. I don’t ever ask you to postpone these things, but I cannot do this tonight. I cannot.”

“What happened tonight, Jav?”

He shakes his head. Lips straighten into a tight line and his Adam’s apple bops.

“It was nothing.”

“Please,” she pleads, in the same vein as his own. “You don’t know how bad I need to know what is happening in your mind.”

“Nothing.”

His eyes start going blank again, despite the small smile he forces onto his lips. It has gone quicker than it had come.

She frowns.

He senses that his control over this situation is ebbing away. Lies, denial, the cruel act of simply not telling—it oozes out of him.

Deception ages poorly, if this is anything to go by. It is grotesque what the truth can do to something beautifully fabricated as their marriage has been the past few months. Those tiny cuts that had existed before are now bloody wounds, infected with the spoils of their selfishness.

He cups her face in his hand; she lets him. He swipes the pad of his thumb over the warm skin, and looks into her eyes; she lets him. He leans forward to kiss her; she does not let him.

She’s never done that. It hollows him out, digging deeper in the already sensitive heart he’s carrying around.

“Te amo mucho,” she begins, taking the hand that cradled her face in her own, “but you are hiding from me and it hurts to see.”

He face twitches, as if he’s going to say something, but he grows hesitant. He realizes what he might lose, realizes what’s at stake.

It is not that she hasn’t seen the violence, or that he thinks her too weak to handle it. He knows what she can bear, knows that before he ever met her she was reporting on what he found. Anyone in Colombia, reporter or not, knows, because this is what happens. Violence. She can’t not know.

What she can avoid knowing is his involvement in it. Withholding the truth is just as incriminating, she is right, but she’s been here long enough to know that crime runs rampant. It infects the entire country with its allure—that promise of getting to better places faster—and he is someone who has been swept dangerously up in its tide.

She does not need to know. Some things shouldn’t be told, just as those things shouldn’t have been done.

Doesn’t need to know it had been a boy. Just a fucking mouthy kid who had been washed into a war he didn’t deserve to comprehend let alone contribute to.

The gun was held by someone who should’ve protected him, too. Noble American hero he was, Javi stood by and watched. He hadn’t even wanted to tell Steve—was coerced out the way he refused to be with her.

He swallows harshly and thinks once more about the line of English he muttered before it had happened. It was a plea the boy wouldn’t have understood or grasped, said because deep down Javier knew what was about to happen. He didn’t say it in Spanish, though. He has to reconcile with the fact that the plea was more for himself than it was the boy with the gun in his face. Has to reconcile with the fact that he won’t speak about it again, too, even though he knows it’s wrong. She doesn’t need to know that, does she?

“I’m not going to tell you,” he speaks with a harsh finality. Maybe it’s not so harsh; maybe it’s just the fact that it’s so final that really hurts.

She holds her breath, the pain of his answer sharp and sudden and irrevocably real regardless.

“I can’t,” he repeats.

There’s no way he doesn’t know he’s hurting her now, and she supposes he’s doing this for a good reason, but the ache of it still burns just as bad.

“I know,” she says. Then, a sacrifice, “S’okay.”

Javier’s eyes shift down to her stomach. He has found an increasing need to keep his hands and arms wrapped around her nearly all of the time lately. Given, he has always loved the way she melts into his body when he wraps himself around her, but this is different; it is a sort of comfort that stems beyond liking the warmth of her. This is a need to protect.

His feelings about the child still lean more towards confusion than they do anything else, but he’s begun to accept the fact that it is real. It’s hard to deny such a thing as her stomach begins to grow, but a part of him sort of likes knowing that it’s there now. He has given her something that isn’t pain, something that will be beautiful and innocent. He watches her, too, sees the way she holds her stomach and hears the way she speaks to it when she thinks he’s in a different room.

He remembers when she had told him that she was meant to be so much more than just someone’s mother or just someone’s wife. That felt like a century ago, those two people entirely different than the ones that lay here now and talk with each other. He doesn’t mourn for it, that time and those people, but he does think about them.

She is still so much more than a wife and a mother, to be fair. Maybe she never accomplished everything she had envisioned when she had told him that, but there’s something so fiercely independent about her still, something entirely separate from anyone, even the one who grows inside her.

She kept her last name. She reads all the time and piles books all over the house, adding personality in a way he never favored beyond his own shit until she came. She still writes. She’s compiled an entire record collection, full of artists and bands he’s never heard, and sometimes ones he has, the special sort that remind him of being a kid. She can sew. She is good at puzzles. She always burns her own toast but never his. She is good at oral because in the same way she had dedicated herself to a lot of things in life, she had also dedicated herself to learning how to suck a cock (her words, not his). She is filthy in a way that makes him ache sometimes, it’s so goddamn hot. She is kind. She is his everything.

He isn’t happy or proud of the fact that he cannot find it in himself to admit what he has done. He knows she doesn’t deserve to be in a relationship filled with lies, ones so concealed she can’t even begin to find out what they are. Cigarettes are nothing in comparison to the things he witnessed tonight, and even those break her heart.

His love for her is selfish, but it is still the very best part of him.

“Let me touch you,” he whispers, hands ghosting lightly over her bare arms. “I just wanna make you feel good right now. Will you let me do that?”

She nods, and then, without him asking, she raises the slip she wears over her head, leaving her perfectly naked on top of him. He leans forward soon after and takes a nipple in his mouth. Her fingers rake through his hair as he runs his tongue against the sensitive flesh, but this time they do not tug. There is no rush or hunger in the way they are choosing to be with one other right now. Their bodies are too weak from emotional ware and tear, and their minds too numb from resisting the confrontation of the heaviness tonight has brought upon them.

His fingers travel down to her core and when they find her clit, she pulls her back from her chest and kisses him, stealing a moan from his mouth. She breathes into him. After she pulls back, she rests her forehead against his own. Javi focuses more intently on her pleasure, measuring his success from the way her breath begins to quicken and the way her hips begin to rock up into his hand, desperate for more. He buries his face in the crook of her neck and she bites down gently at the skin of his shoulder, muffling herself as his fingers quicken the pace. She’s getting close, he knows.

“That’s it, mi amor,” he tells her as she works herself on his fingers. “Use me, baby.”

It doesn’t take long until her lips part from his skin and find themselves letting out sharp moans, hips coming to a slow halt as she finishes working herself through the wave of her orgasm on his fingers.

She presses her lips onto his, panting gently as she does so. When she allows herself to rest against him, he can feel how wet she is through the fabric of his boxers.

He grabs onto the back of her neck and deepens the kiss. She wraps her arms around his neck and begins to rub herself against him, and he lets her for a few moments, enjoying what he can of her like this, before he rests a hand on her hip to stop it.

“I want to taste you,” he tells her. She just looks at him. “Por favor.”

She nods, beginning to get off of him, but he grabs at her again, stilling her. Her eyebrows raise in confusion.

“Sit on my face.”

“Javi, I’m too—“

“No you’re not,” he assures. He begins to lay down, pushing a pillow beneath his head. “C’mon, you like it.”

“Baby,” she hesitates.

Javi tugs gently on her hand, urging her forward. She sighs, but caves in.

He helps her, guiding her forward on his chest and she goes, but he can feel how nervous she is still.

He nips at her thighs before he adjusts herself over him. “I like doing this,” he tells her before he guides her forward the last few inches, and immediately he can feel all the tension ease from her as his tongue dips into her.

She grabs a handful of his hair and licks between her folds, lapping up the last bit of her previous arousal. His nose grazes gently over her clit every so often and she cannot help the moan that escapes from her when it does. He is losing himself in her, transforming all the lies into nothing even for the briefest moments.

He may not be the best husband, but he can make her feel good. He likes it too, genuinely enjoys the taste of her on his tongue and the accomplished, satisfying feeling of knowing he makes her legs weak and is the cause of the moans that part from her when she truly gets lost in this. And God, how they fall now as he sucks her clit. She unintentionally moves her hips forward.

“Sorry,” she says, but Javi is quick to gently shake his head, not wanting to lose her. His hands wrap around her ass and he encourages it, going as far as moaning into her when she begins to develop a good pace. He gropes at her ass and she cums again, twitching gently this time. Javi cannot help the grin that forms on his lips as she does this.

She guides herself off of him, collapsing next to him in the bed. Before he has the chance to wipe her arousal off his lips, she’s pulling him into a kiss.

She loves this man. He may hurt her and hide from her, but she never feels unloved in his presence. Maybe that is enough. Maybe asking for any more than that is wrong. He is a good man.

She kisses a trail down his chest, moving back in between his legs before she reaches the halfway point.

“No,” he says, holding out his hand.

“Why?” she questions.

“You don’t need to just because I did,” he says. “You don’t have to touch me at all.”

“I want to, Javi,” she tells him, hands shimming down his underwear.

She kisses down his happy trail, then peppers light kisses around the base of his cock. His breath hitches, anticipating her next move, and he is delighted to find it is her tongue licking the underside of his sensitive member. He nearly jolts out of her hand, the sensation of her feels so good.

He cannot help but tell her, saying, “Fuck, you do it just right.”

Despite all the ache still present in her, she manages a soft, unaffected laugh. He notes that, feels just as moved by that as he does the way her mouth wraps around his member and begins to be worked.

She twirls her tongue around the top each time she comes back up, and she moves back down slowly, drawing multiple moans and “fucks” from his lips. He cannot look at her while she does it, unable to refrain from coming in her mouth if he does. He’s already dangerously on the edge as she includes her tongue when she’s going back down on his choke, running across each vein and causing his hips to twitch just as hers did.

“I’m gonna—“ he pauses, fighting the urge to release with all he has in him. “I’m going to cum soon and I want it to be in you. You—“ he pauses again, breath leveling, “—you gotta stop or I won’t make it.”

“I don’t want you to,” she manages, before returning to his cock, going up and down at an increased rate. His fingers clench the sheets beneath him as she does this, losing it when she moans against him. He can’t stop it, can’t resist the urge any longer and doesn’t truly want to, knowing she’s not going to let him.

He opens his eyes and watches her wipe a line of his arousal from her chin before she swallows down the rest of it. Tired and spent as he is, he still manages to rise from his back quickly to kiss her. He can taste himself on her lips, but he does not mind it. The kisses are not as lust filled, more tender and caring, and he is all the more pleased when she guides him backwards again, before settling next to him and wrapping one of her legs around his. His heart beats rapidly and his mind is not yet void of thought (he isn’t sure if it will ever be), but the tension between them has dissipated. Even if it is temporary, and even if it is something that is going to come back ten times worse, Javi values this for what is now and appreciates her submission once more into this fantasy land with him.

She herself wonders, despite all the unspoken heartbreak, and despite all the unknown truths, what their baby might look like and what qualities it might possess from him as she lies silently next to him. Wonders because what she has learned is that the future is her friend and that imagining it does no harm.

It is a place where nothing is broken or harmed, the future. A place where she can cling to the vestiges of hope she’s granted even when he holds her and doesn’t tell her what he’s done or seen. It’s a place beautifully untouched by the unfair quality of truth and pain; a place where he stands in the doorframe of their bedroom with a small, newly born child and looks happy in a way she hasn’t seen in so long; a place where she will never have to fret about whether she will ever get that from him or not, because it is hers and she does.

The future has always been kind to her, kind in the way the present never, ever seems to be. She clings onto Javi and even manages a sad sort of grin at the thought of a child who’s hair curls the same way his does when it gets too long.

She doesn’t share these thoughts with him, though—hardly ever does—because she needs things for herself. Admitting these notions into the world is to corrupt them, or to corrode the meaning they have to her now. She loves him, but these are her thoughts the way whatever he battles are his.

This is a scene of a war without mercy; this is scene eight from a marriage.

javi tag list : @wyn-dixie , @rosiefridayrogersunday , @disgruntledspacedad , @melaniermblt , @walt-breslin , @theorganasolo , @amneris21 , @over300books

forever/everything tag list : @astroboots , @frannyzooey , @wyn-dixie , @rosiefridayrogersunday , @melaniermblt , @theorganasolo , @amneris21

scenes tags: @gravegoth , @sarahjkl82-blog , @cmonkeepmoving

#javier pena x reader #javier peña x reader #javier peña x oc #javier pena x nameless oc #javier peña x nameless oc #javier pena x female reader #narcos fanfic #narcos #pedro pascal #fanfic

135 notes · View notes

natromanxoff · 3 years ago

Text

22 - Cars & Queenie Days

Hi there Queenie people.

What a strange little weekend this one turned out to be. Let me start by saying that most of my stories seem to have something to do with alcohol, but we were all a hell of a lot younger then, and I for one cannot do that anymore, well not all the time. Although a few days ago an old friend made a guest appearance, the Kurgen was let loose on the streets of Bondi which seemed to start a string of Queen type events. It all started about midday on Saturday when a friend of mine phoned and suggested lunch, what a fantastic idea as it was a lovely hot sunny day, so we met in a nice place with a garden and ordered the first bottle of wine, and it was the Linda Lovelace of vino, it went down very quickly and easily. During the course of the afternoon I phoned my mate Steve and said he should join us, which he did at about 8pm, and we finally moved indoors to have dinner, after sitting in the sun and guzzling wine for the last six hours, and needless to say I'm pissed so we ordered some more food and what turned out to be the last bottle of plonk for the evening.

Half way through dinner Rebecca decided she was to out of it to continue, and wisely went home, leaving the Kurgen and his mate, who has decided he's gonna catch up with me, what a good friend eh, but him getting drunk means me becoming a complete gibbering idiot. After dining we moved next door to the bar where the whisky was flowing very rapidly and the idiot telling one barmaid she looked like a cheap hooker, while swearing his undying love to another. Oh, get me another drink Steve, I think I need one. It finally gets to 1am and time to head home, it's been a long day, and while trying to negotiate the 10min walk I was complaining that my right leg wouldn't work, usual drunken crap.

What has this got to do with Queen I hear you ask, well, apart from the fact that a million years ago I worked for them for a while, not very much. Steve and myself eventually got back to my place and I got phoneitis and I had the need to speak with everyone from my dodgey past, so, phone book out and lets go. Pride of place went to Mr Deacon who was lucky to be speaking on the phone so the Kurgen, after two tries, couldn't get through. Time up for you pal, next. Broughie. He always calls me when he's legless, now it's his turn to try and decipher what I'm on about. When I got through to Trip I can remember saying, "Where the f*** are you?" And do you know what, I have no idea what the answer was, though he did say they cancelled a couple of shows, and everyone was having a great time. This is fun, lets spend some more money. The next call started with, "Mr Taylor, it's Mr Taylor here." Sorry Rog, but you did pick up the phone. I did tell him I'd listened to his new stuff on his website and it's the best stuff he'd done in years, and I have an awful feeling I said that I didn't like 'Happiness,' but he did say that he reads my memoirs, so if you get to see this Mr T. I'll try and be a bit more sober next time I call.

Jacky followed, phone was busy (No it wasn't, we were out, you left a message!!) , gotta move on, I'm on a roll now. A new game, lets try and track down my ex in LA, no luck, thank god, and with that my new accountant Steve took the phone away from me, thanks dear boy. He clears off around 3 and I hit the sack and descend into a coma. Ring ring.....ring ring. Its 9am, who the f*** is phoning in the middle of the night, so, with head pounding I track the phone down and had to raise a bit of a giggle, it's Broughie and now he's pissed and he told me that in nearly twenty years of knowing me, that is the worst he's ever heard me try and talk, to which I reply that this is the worst I've ever felt.

Spandau's Tony Hadley was the next person I speak to, what a diamond geezer, always nice to chat with him. Sunday was a non-existent day with a phone that had no sympathy for me and kept ringing, amazingly it's still in one piece. A wet Monday and I'm still feeling a bit iffy, but come afternoon I receive a package in the post, I like little surprises, so when I walk in and turn the radio on Bo Rap is playing, and when I open my pressie it's from the ever gorgeous Jacky who has very kindly sent me RT's Electric Fire. You know what I mean, his new CD not the electric fire out of his bedroom. I'm glad I told him it was great, cause it is, in my humble opinion, possibly the best thing he's done. That was a hell of a lot of words just to say " go and buy Electric fire and put it in the charts, you won't be disappointed".

I was chatting with Greg Fryer, the fireplace restorer, and we're both looking forward to the Australian convention in a few weeks, although I might be drinking lemonade as I made the idiot promise that "I'm never drinking again". Some time ago somebody asked me a question which went something like, "When you were in the studio with just Roger or the Cross, was it a bit of an anti climax after working with Queen as they were such brilliant musicians." I don't know if I'm missing something here, but as Roger was a solo artist, a member of the Cross and also in Queen, surely that must make him brilliant. Well, whatever your name was, no it wasn't boring it was mostly fun. When he was producing other acts I must admit that I did a lot of sitting around doing bugger all, and I every act were ok as people, though once Jimmy Nail had a hit he did get a rather large ego and changed into a real prat.

Virginia Wolf had two old buddies of mine in the band, Joe Burt and Jason Bonham, so when we went to Ibiza to record it was party time from start to finish, though Jason did go overboard a bit, so to protect us more than him we sent him back to England. I was only involved in one Cross album, Shove It, and that was just going to be another RT solo album so he played all the instruments himself.

I think I've mentioned before that we drove the Bentley to Montreux, well this was the time. The plan was to spend three or four days in Montreux recording then go to Gstaad to write some more songs. That was the excuse because we had a huge chalet there and the idea was to do a lot of skiing and a bit of writing, which is exactly what we did. It was in Gstaad that Roger came up with the idea of forming a band, and after a hard day on the slopes we would sit around at night working out a plan on putting a band together. On the subject of Bentleys and Gstaad I feel obliged to tell you just how much bad luck RT has with his cars.

When he bought his first Range Rover he claimed "You can park them on a sixpence." We had to tow him out of a ditch. His Ferrari burst into flames on his way to the south of France, and his Aston Martin also burst into flames. He hardly ever drove the Bentley, it was my baby and I loved it and never had any problems. Dominique decided she was going to join our little ski trip and was coming to Gstaad, now don't get me wrong, I love Dom, a fine lady, still is, it's just that I didn't fancy the hour drive down the mountain and then the hour along the motorway to the airport. On the day of her arrival RT surprised me by saying he was going to pick her up, that'll do me, drop me off at the chair lift and have a nice drive. A very pleasant afternoon was spent on the piste so when I get back to the house I'm ready for some mindless computer games, and while in the middle of shooting some aliens the phone rings and it's Dominique asking where Roger was as he's not at the airport to pick her up.

The only thing I can say is for her to hang on because he left in plenty of time so he should be there, and I'm back to saving the world. Hours later the door flies open with Roger ranting and raving and saying something about F-in-cars. What's his problem? I look out the window and in the driveway is a VW Golf, so the obvious question is, "Where's the Bentley?" When his lordship finally calmed down he explained that when he got to the motorway there was a blizzard, so he had to have the windscreen wipers on full, but the one on the drivers side came off, so he stopped the car and was groping around in the snow looking for it, and he found it and put it back on. So far so good, except a couple of miles further on it came off again, and this time it was nowhere to be seen. Now try and picture the situation. Swiss motorway, lots of snow falling, very expensive black Bentley and a very famous pop star hanging out the window while driving so he can wipe the snow off the screen so he can see. Not a very good look at all.

On arrival at Geneva he took the car to the Rolls Royce dealer to get fixed, and it wasn't long after this that I said my final goodbye to a trusty friend. Roger on the other hand said Good F***ing Riddance. I have an equally pathetic driving story when we were in Rio, this time it was the two of us, a convertible and one hell of a lot of rain. Next time might be right to tell you how we put the Cross together from the first ad. onwards. Before I go I have a question for Jacky. Do you remember all those bacon sandwiches we had at the auditions? That's it for now Bye

Crystal

#queen #queen band #the cross #the cross band #roger taylor #john deacon #dominique beyrand #crystal taylor #crystal's tales

34 notes · View notes

pregnant-piggy · 4 years ago

Text

World Tour

Sirius Black x reader, band AU

Words: 12k

Written for @slytherinquill‘s writing challenge!

A/N: I’ve been wanting to write a band AU for so long now and here it is! I worked really hard on it and I so hope you like it!

Never in your whole life had you thought that you would get where you are right now; rushing through the airport with no one less than James Potter, the guitarist of the world famous band The Marauders.

You had been a fan of them for years, ever since they started. You watched them grow from little teenage boys doing covers on YouTube to the twenty-four year olds they were now, selling out arenas. The aforementioned James Potter and his electric guitar were a golden combination, Remus Lupin mastered the art of playing the bass, Peter Pettigrew never missed a single beat on the drums and then you had Sirius Black. Lead singer. He looked like how you would imagine one; thick, black hair, angelic bone structure, mysterious eyes and a voice like a child of the devil and an angel. To say that thousands of girls were just fan of him was an understatement.

Even you bore a little crush on him. But how could you not? The man was a god.

How you ever ended up in this situation was still vague to you. Not because you didn't know what had happened but because it all went so fast. Just a month ago you were still in your own apartment, plucking on your guitar, contemplating whether it was all worth it. You had been making music for years now and you had never had your big breakthrough. Though your friends and family told you that it would come and that you were a wonderful singer and your songs were amazing, you had been close to giving up. It was then that James reposted an Instagram video of you singing their song She's not mine and everything blew up. Your Instagram got a boost and the comments wouldn't stop. The Marauders' management hit you up, asked you to record a song with the men and a week later you were a big star.

The experience with the four men in the studio was something you had never done before. You wrote your songs in the safety of your bedroom, where all the failed ones never left. Now you suddenly had been surrounded by four professional artists plus another three songwriters. The song was written in three days, the title Don’t rush assigned to it, and recorded in two. The sixth day was a day for rest, that you had spent at Remus' house with him and Peter. You had gotten to know the men better. You had learned that James had an obvious crush on the manager's assistant, Lily, that Peter lived with his parents because he didn't see the need of buying a house when he was away all the time, that Remus had learned how to play the bass from his grandfather and pictures had shown that that man was the embodiment of rock'n'roll-grandfather, and that it was Sirius who had come up with the idea of starting a band.

The seventh day had been release day. The song came out at midnight and you had anxiously waited at home with your roommate, Tiffany, until it was time. She had been the biggest fan of the song at the first note and when your voice synchronised with Sirius' she had started to cry. She had kept on playing the song, while you got phone calls from your family and friends.

To promote the new song you and the boys had visited radio station after radio station. You had existed on coffee that day; you had promptly fallen asleep in your living room at three in the morning, while Tiffany was still gushing over your song and the fact that you had met The Marauders, and you had to be at the first studio at 6 AM. Coffee had been your saviour.

Interviews were something you had never done before, just like anything you had gone through that week. At the first radio stations, the boys had taken you under their wings, helping you with answers and pushing you in the right direction. Over the day you had learned how to act in interviews and how to laugh away questions, an useful skill you had noted as the interviewers had asked you about your personal life.

You had thought that that would be it. Or at least, that the song would be the end of your collaboration with The Marauders. They had explained to you that they were going on tour just three weeks later and that maybe they would invite you to one of their shows.

Of course you had been a bit sad to see it end there. In just that week you had grown to like those men a lot. You had spent a lot of time with them and your personalities matched. It was easy and fun to hang around with them.

So when the week was over and it had been time for you to get back to your normal life, that you thought would never be the same again, you had spent the first day home with Tiffany, telling her everything about your experience. You had stayed on the couch with her the whole day and fell asleep late at night, relaxing for the first time that week.

However you relaxation had not been long. The next morning you had gotten a call that had turned your life upside down and was the reason why you were at the airport now;

You were going on tour with The Marauders.

‘What took you so long?’ Remus asked, tilling his suitcase on the counter of the check-in desk.

You panted and bowed forward to catch your breath. James patted you on your back and brushed it lightly. ‘I lost my lock.’

‘You lost your lock?’ Remus said and he turned away from the lady behind the desk to see if James was serious.

The lady behind the counter watched the back of Remus’ head impatiently as this one burst into laughter and shook his head. Peter, who had noticed that the lady was looking rather grumpy and might have realised that she wouldn’t get any happier by the fact that there were more suitcases coming, pushed Remus back to the desk.

Meanwhile you had caught your breath and were standing straight up again. You pushed your suitcase behind Remus and stood next to him, waiting for him to finish with checking in his bags. ‘We lost it somewhere on our way and James wanted to get it back.’

‘How good a lock can it be if it fell off?’ Peter asked, raising his eyebrow so high that it disappeared behind his blond hair.

‘It wouldn’t have fallen off, if someone didn’t bump their suitcase into mine!’ James whined and he looked at you.

‘It was not my fault! You suddenly took a turn! What was I supposed to do? Jump over it?’ you asked sarcastically, sending James a smile.

It was your turn to check in and while you smiled at the grumpy lady, you apologised for making such a scene. She just shrugged and said nothing as she continued to weigh your suitcase and then pushed it to the space behind her desk, where the bags disappeared to be loaded into the airport. She handed you your boarding pass and then called for the next one.

- - - - - -

The air in the airplane was cold. You hid your hands in the sleeves of your sweater and wrapped your arms around your body. You were sitting next to the window and you looked outside. The plane had to take off yet, but you already felt the nerves rushing through your body like you always had when you were in plane. Not that it happened that often, but enough to recognise the feeling.

It was still early in the morning. The skies were just turning blue and there was dew on the windowpane. The first rays of sun broke through and the windows of the airport-building reflected the orange light.

You figured that this wouldn’t be the last time that you would be on a plane this early. Another city every day, or every two days, meant that you would be travelling a lot. But something about the cold and humid morning air was refreshing. The promise of another great day rose with the sun.

However, despite the fresh air and the rising sun, you were tired. You hadn’t slept a lot last night; Tiffany had thrown a little bon-voyage party and had invited your friends. Before the party you had had dinner with your parents. Your mother had cried tears of happiness as she had said goodbye and you just had hoped that was because she was happy for you. Your father had made you promise to him that you would be careful around the four men. You had laughed and told him that nothing would happen with them, but you had promised him, since you feared he wouldn’t let you go if you didn’t. The party Tiffany had thrown wasn’t big; just a few friends, but it had lasted till late at night and you had had to be at the airport at four o’clock.

Your sleep schedule was completely messed up and you feared that it wouldn’t go back to normal for a while.

The voice of the pilot sounded through the airplane and you were pulled from your thoughts. His calm voice soothed none of your nerves, instead only made them worse. You clasped the fabric of your sweater in your hands and took a deep breath as you closed your eyes.

‘If you’re scared of flying, we have a problem,’ James’ voice sounded next to you and you opened your eyes at him.

‘I am not scared of flying, don’t worry,’ you said, your voice quivering a bit. ‘I’m just nervous and excited for everything.’

‘I get that,’ James said, nodding his head. ‘I remember our first time going on tour. Remus knew the whole planning by heart and he took every opportunity to tell us it. Peter cried when he had to say goodbye to his parents; they’re very close you know?’

‘I heard,’ you said and James looked surprised at you. ‘He told me when I was at Remus’ a while back.’

‘Oh, right. Anyway, he cried and we did not hesitate to mock him about it. Poor guy had a terrible first day,’ James chuckled and his eyes glistened with mirth, ‘Sirius was nervous too, but he wouldn’t show it. To this day, he still thinks that we didn’t hear him whispering motivating words to himself before the show-’

‘I wasn’t!’

Sirius, who sat in front of you and James, turned around and looked at you through the space between the seats. You giggled and rested your hands on your thighs, not in your sides anymore.

‘You were!’ James cried out, while Sirius shook his head. ‘I clearly remember you telling yourself that you “could do it, because I am good”.’

Sirius opened his mouth and then closed it again. He shot James an angry glare and then turned back around in his seat, starting to talk to Remus. You looked at James and smiled. ‘What about you?’

‘Oh, I was nervous too. But I kept myself together quite well, if I say so myself.’

Remus and Sirius snorted in front of you and turned around in their seats. Their faces, as they looked at James like he had just told a joke, made you chuckle. James made sputtering sounds, but Remus cut him off before he could say anything.

‘He held my hand the entire flight and was so nervous for the first show that he forgot his lyrics in the first song.’

‘Remus!’

You laughed and nudged James playfully. ‘Come on, it’s funny! It could always be worse…’

‘What do you mean?’ James asked and Remus and Sirius looked curious at you. You shrugged and played with the sleeves of your sweater as you answered.

‘When I had my first performance, I threw up right before I had to go on stage. I had to play three songs while smelling like vomit.’

James and Sirius burst out into laughter and Remus shot you an apologetic look. You couldn’t help but smile as you watched James wipe away a tear from the corner of his eye. For a moment you had forgotten about the take-off and when you looked outside you realised that you were already in the sky. The airport was left behind and you watched the city get smaller and smaller with the seconds.

The little scene down on the earth had your attention until the plane flew into the clouds and you could see nothing but white. You turned back to James, who was watching a film on the little screen installed in the chair in front of him. He mouthed along the words of the protagonist as this one spoke.

You fished your earbuds out of your pocket and put on your music as you turned back to look outside. You pulled your knees up to your chest and closed your eyes for a second as the melody took over you.

Music always had a way to make you feel all the emotions at once. For you it wasn’t just a way to pass time, it was something so much bigger than that. Ever since you were young you had been singing. You had driven your parents crazy, though deep down they were happy to see you passionate about something at such a young age. Any music you could get your hands to, you would listen to. Your mother had dozens of records and you always asked her to play them. Often your brother had complained because he wanted to listen to different music than you. But with your angel eyes you could always win your parents for you.

Guitar lessons had seemed like the most logical thing for you. You had enjoyed learning the chords and soon you could play guitar better than your father, who had been trying to learn how to play for years then. At twelve you had started to write your own songs. Back then they were simple songs with simple lyrics about that one boy crush you had had. As you matured, so did your songs with you. More often they were about the things you felt and the darker periods in your life. Many times your mother had said that you had gift to turn emotions into words.

At the age of sixteen you had recorded your first cover. You had posted it on your Instagram account and then the anxious waiting had begun. A week it had been before someone had commented saying that you had a great voice and that they wouldn’t be surprised to hear more of you. You had been euphoric. After a month you had ten comments, all good ones. The second video you posted was a cover of a song of The Marauders; Lies are fine. It was, at the time, your favourite song of them and to this day the song held a special place in your heart. Again you got some good comments, but for the first time in your life, you had read that someone didn’t like your voice. Now you were quite good at handling hate, but back then it had been enough to break you down. For a month you hadn’t sung and your friends had to show you all the good reactions for you to realise that it was just one opinion.

Ever since you had started to sing your own songs, you had felt liberated in a way. It was easier to sing your own words than someone else’s. The hate had gone on, of course it had, but you had built a wall in front of it. Only a few times something had broken the wall down and then it was patched up quickly again.

You had grown strong over the years and music had formed your life.

- - - - - -

The first place was New York. Management had wanted to start the tour with a big show. Two nights the band would perform at Madison Square Garden. The venue had been booked full both nights. There was not a single place left.

There was one day to install yourself in the city and to get used to the big stadium. You arrived in the city just as it was waking up. Cars were already driving like maniacs over the busy streets and you feared for your life as you looked out of the window of the van you were sitting in. Cars drove by fast and close. The so typical yellow cabs were the worst; driving almost straight into the sidewalk to stop for people and then racing away as soon as the passenger had taken their seat.

The driver of your van wasn’t much different either. He took sharp corners and only stopped abruptly for red lights. With ever turn he took you were pushed out of your seat, one time against the window, the other time against Sirius, who was sitting next to you.

As the driver took another turn, you shifted so you were practically in Sirius’ lap. You placed your hand on his leg not to fall over and his hands caught you.

‘Watch out, darling,’ he smirked when you pushed yourself back to your seat.

‘It’s not my fault that guy drives like he’s got a death wish,’ you grumbled and pulled the sleeves of your sweater over your hands. Sirius laughed and shook his head as he watched you shoot an angry glare at the driver’s head.

‘So got any plans for today?’ you asked, turning your gaze away from the man and looking at Sirius. ‘Other than checking out the venue?’

‘Not really,’ Sirius shrugged. ‘Why, do you got plans?’

‘My plan is to drop dead on my bed and sleep for the rest of the day,’ you said. ‘Care to join me?’

‘I don’t think there would be much sleeping when I’m in bed with you,’ Sirius smirked. ‘There’s no way you can resist me.’

You laughed and shook your head. ‘I don’t know, I seem to be doing fine now.’

‘That’s only what you think, darling. Deep down you’re burning with desire.’

‘Huh, so it seems…’

It was like this with all Sirius’ jokes around you. The flirtatious tone, winks, nicknames. You knew he was only kidding, but still the jokes made you get hot on the inside and a little flustered. You tried to comment back on him, but that didn’t work all times.

The van stopped at the hotel and the driver, much to your surprise, as you had thought that he would drive off the second you stepped out of the vehicle, took your suitcases from the back of the car.

Together with the boys you stepped into the luxurious hotel. The floors were white marble stones and on the ceilings hung golden chandeliers with crystals that sparkled in the sunlight that came through the big window at the front of the building.

It was a surprise to you how the hotel wasn’t loaded with fans yet. From what you had always heard, fans would find out where artist were staying before even they knew. But there was no one on the streets and not one of the people in the lobby looked up when your group walked in.

Your footsteps echoed in the silent hall. You felt utterly underdressed in your sweater and black jeans as you looked around you and saw women in neat dresses and men in suits. You tried to fix your hair, which you feared was peeking out on all sides. Your fingers untangled a tiny knot while you listened to the manager talk to the receptionist.

‘Alright, your rooms are on the fifth floor. Two to six. Tonight we’ll go to the venue but I’ll text you the details,’ the manager said and handed you, Sirius, Peter, James and Remus a room key.

Your room was number six, on the corner of the building so you had windows on two sides. It was by far the most luxe hotel room you had ever stayed in and you were a little disappointed you would only stay here for three days. Though it wasn’t a massive room –it only existed of a bathroom and a bedroom with a small corner where a big chair stood –it looked like everything, from the rug on the floor to the paintings on the walls, was more expensive than your apartment.

You opened the curtains in front of the windows that lead to your balcony, that was connected to the balconies of the others, and the light washed over the room. It was only ten in the morning, but sleep took over you as soon as your head hit the pillow. You didn’t even change; all you had done was take off your shoes.

- - - - - -

Anxiously you sat in the dressing room, staring at yourself in the big mirror that covered one side of the wall above the dressing tables. The round, yellow light bulbs that surrounded the mirror were reflected in your eyes.

You were nervous. More nervous than you thought you would be. The silence in the room only added to your anxiety. The boys had been called away for a moment, to take a last view of the stage before the stadium filled with fans.

Your phone lied open on the sofa next to you. Maybe you shouldn’t have gone through Twitter, but you just couldn’t resist. There were a lot of people wishing you good luck, but you also saw some tweets saying that taking you with The Marauders on tour was the worse decision they had ever made. Doubts had started to play in your head and now it was all you could think about in that silent room.

Luckily the silence was broken when your phone started to ring. Scaring up from the sound you almost fell of the couch as you looked around the room to see what it was. Quickly you noticed your phone and a feeling of relieve washed over you as you read your roommates name on the screen.

‘Y/N! WHERE ARE YOU? ARE YOU AT THE VENUE YET? ARE THEY THERE?!’ Tiffany yelled through the phone before you could even say hi to her.

‘Nice to talk to you too, Tif,’ you laughed. ‘I am at the venue actually. The show’s in two hours.’

‘I know, I wanted to talk to you before all the madness begins. How are you holding up?’

‘Nervous. What if I mess up? What if I forget the lyrics? What if I do something embarrassing on stage? There are so many people who will see it.’

‘Don’t worry, sweetheart,’ Tiffany said. ‘You have had performances before and the guys wouldn’t have asked you if they didn’t think you were any good.’

You sighed and smiled to your phone, though Tiffany couldn’t see it. You asked about home and while Tiffany started to tell you about your friends, you heard some noises coming from the hall. Not two seconds later, the door of the dressing room burst open and a laughing James and Sirius entered, followed by Peter and Remus, who had a smile on their face, but weren’t as much laughing as their two friends.

You took one glance at them and then turned back to your phone, catching Tiffany’s last words. ‘…so now I have to visit her parents, while she is away with Jason. Can you believe it?’

‘What can I say, I always thought she was weird,’ you answered and only now the boys seemed to notice you were on the phone. They silenced and watched you as you awkwardly continued to talk to Tiffany. ‘Just be careful around her, okay? I don’t want to see you all caught up in her things, when she is out having fun. You’re better than that.’

‘I know,’ Tiffany sighed and then there was a silence. ‘Well, call me tomorrow, okay? I want to hear everything!’

‘I will. Goodbye, I love you,’ you said and put down your phone after Tiffany had said her goodbyes too.

The four men were looking at you expectantly, but you ignored their looks and walked to the corner of the room, where a little fridge stood, to grab a bottle of water. You felt their eyes pricking in your back and when you turned around you were met with four staring gazes. You suppressed a smile and sat back down on the couch, next to Sirius.

‘So, everything settled for later?’ you asked, taking a sip from your water.

You met Remus’ eye and he noticed you were teasing them. Everything about their faces told you that they wanted to know who you just told ‘I love you’ to, but you wouldn’t give in so easily. Remus shot you a smile and then started to talk about the stage, taking the other three’s attention of the cause for a while.

It was only an hour later, as James, Peter and Remus were out checking their instruments, the subject of your phone call came back. You were walking up and down in the room and Sirius was lying on the couch, his eyes focused on his phone. You were softly rehearsing your text one more time, as the nerves were making their way up to your throat now. You feared that if you didn’t find a way to calm down soon, you would not even be able to sing.

‘Who was that on the phone?’ Sirius asked out of nowhere, startling you in your walking.

‘Why?’ you asked, tilting your head to the side.

‘Just curious who the subject of your love interest is.’

‘Don’t be jealous, you know you’re the only one,’ you smirked and grabbed an empty water bottle. Your fingers played with the label on it for a few seconds and then you threw it away.

‘No boyfriend then?’ Sirius asked and you stared at him for a minute before you shook your head. ‘Come sit,’ Sirius ordered while he pushed himself up from the couch and patted the empty space next to him. Hesitantly you sat down next to him. ‘I won’t bite,’ Sirius laughed. ‘Unless you’re into that of course.’

You blushed and shook your head, not able to keep the scoff inside your mouth. Staring at your hands you took a deep breath. Sirius’ gaze was focused on the side of your face and when you breathed out he placed a hand on your back, rubbing it lightly. You felt butterflies fly up in your stomach and you closed your eyes for a second.

‘You don’t have to be nervous, darling. You have a beautiful voice, you fit really well with the group and not to mention you’re gorgeous,’ Sirius said and his hand kept still on your back. The blood rushed to your cheeks and you smiled, looking up to Sirius as you opened your eyes again.

‘Thank you,’ you whispered.

‘And if that doesn’t help, you can always imagine everyone naked. That helps in all situations,’ Sirius added with a wink, his eyes gliding over your body for a second.

‘I’m going to strangle you,’ you said with a laugh, pushing Sirius away from you.

‘Is that a threat or a promise? Stop confusing me,’ Sirius said, his smirk evident on his face. You got up from the couch and walked to the door, swaying your hips exaggerated and throwing your hair over your shoulder as you looked back at him. His eyes were focused on your bum and you smirked as you stepped through the door.

‘Whatever you want it to be, dear,’ you said before disappearing and your smile grew at hearing Sirius sigh as his body hit the cushions of the couch.

- - - - - -

The crowd was cheering and yelling as The Marauders played a song from their newest album, Disaster. You mouthed along the words while you stood backstage, watching the band play from the side. They performed with such a passion and love for their music that you couldn’t but smile. You had seen their performances countless of times online and you had been at a show once, but that was four years ago. In those four years they had grown from teenage boys to men. Their style had matured with them, but still their music had something that had been there from the start; passion.

‘You’re up next,’ the stage manager told you and pushed you to the stairs that lead to the stage. You wrapped your hands around your waist and took in a deep breath. Someone pushed a microphone in your hand and pushed you even closer to the stairs, so you were almost standing on them now.

‘Our next song is one we’re particularly proud of,’ Remus said and from your place you could see James trying to calm the crowd down a little. ‘It’s something we have worked hard and specially fast on.’

The crowd eased a little and you felt your heart beating in your chest. This was it; the moment you had been waiting for ever since you started writing music. A big stadium filled with people who wanted to listen to your song.

‘Please welcome to the stage the lovely Y/N!’

With fierce steps you climbed the stairs. The view that came to your sight as you took your place next to Sirius was something that you already knew nothing in your life could top. Thousands of people cheered, yelled and screamed your name. There were lights from phones and cameras everywhere and you were blinded as a spotlight was placed on you.

Anxiously you turned to Sirius, who was standing next to you and he gave you a smile and a wink. You relaxed and even dared to smile at the crowd in front of you. You could hear the screaming of hundreds of girls somewhere in the section closest to the stage and you chuckled lightly, remembering what it was like to stand there and be so close to your favourite band.

‘You ready?’ Sirius mouthed at you and when you nodded he looked at Peter over his head, who started to tick his drumsticks to the beat of the song. The bass joined in and you forgot about the crowd as the tunes of the song you had worked so hard on the past month filled the stadium.

‘Don’t you think about me tonight

I’ll still be there in the morning

In the sunrise we’ll reunite

Our heads empty and dark inside’

Every last nerve that you had disappeared as the first words left your mouth. At the first verse, the crowd was totally silent, never having heard you live before. But when you sang the last word of the verse, they burst loose and the screaming filled your arms, likely to be remembered for a lifetime.

As you looked at the people in front of you, you realised why singers loved touring so much. The adrenalin that filled your body before now had turned into excitement and utter happiness as you heard all the people sing along with you. The words left your mouth without thinking and you interacted with Sirius as if you had been doing so your entire life. His grey eyes were what you were focused mostly on as you sang the words of the chorus together, your voices synchronising in a way no one had ever heard before.

‘Don’t rush

I will wait for you

Take time

Leave your love behind’

You smiled at Sirius and he smiled back at you, the first honest and happy smile you had gotten from him and you were enchanted. All his smiles had been smirks and sarcastic grins till now, but this was a sight that was just as impressing as everything that was happening around you. And as Sirius took over and his smile disappeared as he sang further, you realised that you would anything to just see that smile again.

‘So just take your time

Cause I’ll wait for you’

The last notes sounded through the stadium. Sirius took you in his arms and lifted you off the ground as he spun you around. You laughed relieved and excitedly and pressed a kiss on Sirius’ cheek when he put you back down again. The audience screamed like it was the end of their life and you felt like crying, so happy.

- - - - - -

The sunlight was shining through the curtains in front of the windows. It was still early in the morning. Early meaning 6.30 AM.

The alarm on your phone woke you from your sleep. Sitting up, you rubbed your eyes and searched with your hand for the phone on your nightstand. Your hand passed various objects before it found the phone. With a sigh you turned off the alarm and plummeted back in your pillow.

The high of last night still hadn’t fully disappeared and when you thought about it, you still got butterflies in your stomach. It was surreal to you to see the thousands of people in that concert hall, all singing along to a song that you had helped writing, that you were singing.

And maybe the high would have stayed all day, if you didn’t have to get up so early in the morning. But you would not complain. You were on tour with a world famous band. This was your dream and if that meant getting little sleep and early mornings, then so be it.

An interview had been planned for eight o’clock, but you had to be there at least twenty minutes earlier. Another sigh escaped your mouth as you got up from your bed and stumbled to the bathroom.

Surprisingly, you didn’t even look so bad for so little sleep. The bags under your eyes were not even that dark and though your hair was a big mess, you looked like you had at least a six hour sleep. Which you hadn’t.

After the show, the boys and you had had a little party with the crew to celebrate the first show. It had been fun to learn everyone better. You had talked to Lily, the manager’s assistant and the girl James had a crush on. She was really nice to you and you hit it off well. You laughed with her at James’ lame attempts to ask her out, what made James a little annoyed as he was sitting close to you and listening to your conversation.

The hot water of your shower relaxed your muscles. You let the warm water stream over your face, the drops rolling over your cheeks and nose. You washed your hair and when you breathed in the scent of your shampoo that was spreading in steam through the whole bathroom, you were in a different world for a moment.

You were so deeply concentrated that you didn’t hear someone entering your room, until the person knocked on your door and you were startled from your daydream.

‘Who’s there?’ you asked loudly, making your voice clear over the running water.

‘Sirius,’ the answer was.

‘Hold on a minute!’ you yelled and finished your shower.

As the water was turned off a silence filled the bathroom. You reached for your towel and dried your body as quickly as you could. You turned around to take your clothes and then you realised that you had left them in the bedroom, since you had not expected any company so early in the morning.

Cursing under your breath you wrapped the towel around your body and brushed your hair so it looked at least a little presentable. You unlocked the bathroom door and barefooted you walked to your bed, where Sirius was sitting, playing with the remote of the television.

You tried to ignore the blush on your face as you made your way over to your suitcase and took your clothes out of it, your back to Sirius. You could feel his gaze on your body as you bowed forward to grab a shirt.

‘What’s up?’ you asked, killing the awkward silence.

‘I was wondering if you were awake yet,’ Sirius answered and he quickly averted his eyes when you turned back around.

‘I was,’ you said and you smiled at Sirius. You walked back to the bathroom to get dressed, but let the door open so you could talk to Sirius.

‘So how’d you sleep?’ Sirius asked, his voice echoing on the tiles of the room you were in.

‘Fine, little, but good,’ you mumbled.

You informed after Sirius’ sleep and after that a silence fell over the two of you. You were doing your make-up in the mirror, not having your shirt on yet in case you’d drop your mascara, which unfortunately happened more often than you liked, while you listened to the news anchor talking about a robbery in a local supermarket.

The silence was broken by your phone that had started to ring. Your hand flinched at the sudden sound and the brush of your mascara shot up against your skin, making a big black stain below your eyebrow. You quickly grabbed a towel and cleaned the black make-up from your face as the phone kept on ringing.

‘It’s yours…’ Sirius said from the bedroom.

‘Gimme,’ you muttered, lowering the towel from your head. You left the bathroom and walked to where Sirius was sitting with your phone in his hand. Immediately you recognised Tiffany’s picture on the screen and you smiled to yourself. You took the phone from Sirius and raised your eyebrow at him as he was staring at you. It was only then you realised that you were wearing nothing but a bra and pants. You scoffed and pushed Sirius back on the bed, making him flash his smirk at you. You rolled your eyes and answered your phone.

‘Y/N, YOU’RE ALL OVER THE INTERNET!’ Tiffany screamed through the phone. ‘HAVE YOU SEEN IT YET? I’M SURE YOU HAVE! YOU NEED TO TELL ME EVERYTHING!’

You chuckled at your friend’s enthusiastic voice, that was so loud Sirius probably had heard it too. ‘Tiff, Tiff, relax please,’ you eased her. ‘Listen, I have to get ready, so I’ll give you to Sirius for five minutes, alright?’

‘y/n, don’t you dare-’ Tiffany started, but you had already given the phone to Sirius, who had his mouth open when he got the phone from you. You gave him a smile and disappeared in the bathroom again.

Continuing with your make-up, you listened to Sirius talking to Tiffany, who was probably going to kill you when you got back home. You couldn’t hear the other side of the conversation, but Sirius laughed a few times and by his words the conversation seemed to flow quite easily.

Once you were totally dressed, you got back to the bed and sat down next to Sirius who quickly gave your phone back.

‘Love, it’s me again,’ you said and Tiffany sighed relieved.

‘y/n, I swear, the next time I see you…’

You laughed, while you put on your shoes. Catching Tiffany up with what had happened last night, you walked with Sirius to breakfast.

‘Your friend’s a handful,’ Sirius said after you had hung up on Tiffany.

‘She is, but she’s wonderful and has been nothing but supportive ever since I met her. I couldn’t wish for a better friend,’ you said as you stepped into the hall where they served breakfast. You sat down next to James, who was already sitting there with Remus.

Sirius sat down next to you and poured you coffee from the can that stood on the table. ‘I’ve got to say, I am a little disappointed you decided to put on a shirt, darling,’ Sirius grinned and next to you James choked on his orange juice.

‘Excuse me?’ he coughed.

You patted him on his back and shook your head. ‘Nothing, Sirius just can’t get the picture of me in my bra out of his head.’

‘I don’t think anyone ever could, dear.’

‘Sirius, please,’ Remus said. ‘It’s breakfast. Save your jokes for later.’

‘And how is it a joke, Rem?’ Sirius asked looking at his friend over his cup.

- - - - - -

‘Welcome back to Sirius XM, where we are currently joined by no one less than The Marauders and y/n, who is joining the band on their tour! Their new song Don’t rush, is out since a month and last night was the first show, kicking off The Marauders’ world tour. We have all five of them in our studio!’

The two radio hosts, whom you had learned were Raj and Marshall, sat on the other side of the table. You sat on the far left with Remus next to you. Since the studio wasn’t exactly built for five guests, you and Remus had to share a microphone, just as Sirius and James had to. The only difference was that you and Remus were both mature enough to let each other talk, while Sirius and James kept pushing the mic in the other’s nose.

‘Peter, starting with you. Are you excited for this tour? Any cities you are looking forward to visit?’ Marshall asked.

‘I am really excited for tour, yes. This album is something we worked really hard on and I think I speak for all of us when I say that this might be the best we have written so far,’ Peter answered, a smile spreading on his face as he talked about the album. ‘That being said, I am looking forward to every city we will visit. Every show is special and every crowd is awesome.’

‘Remus, Peter says this album is your best yet. Care to weigh in?’

‘I agree with Pete. We poured our heart and soul into this album and I really love how it turned out in the end. This music is different than our previous albums, but I think that doesn’t make it any less better. These songs are more about ourselves, about our insecurities and fears, but also about our happy moments.’

‘It’s our up and downs,’ James chimed in and Remus nodded.

‘Yes. And I think that is the beauty of it. It has something that everyone recognises. Nobody’s life is perfect and nobody lives on “ups” alone. We wanted to create something that shows that’s it’s okay to feel down or scared. It is okay to be insecure, because everyone is,’ Remus said and the other three boys nodded.

‘y/n,’ Raj said. ‘As a listener of the album, someone who didn’t know the thought behind the album, did you feel the same way when you listened to it?’

‘I did,’ you answered. ‘I first listened to the album alone at midnight, when it was released, and I am not ashamed to say that it definitely brought me to tears. I really think the guys got the message across.’

Remus nudged you thankfully and you smiled at him, as Raj asked Sirius and James about a particular song. You listened with interest and smiled at the passion that the men had as they talked about their music.

‘And then y/n came into the picture, working with you on Don’t rush, which is a banger by the way. y/n, how was it working with the band?’ Raj asked.

‘It was all very new to me. I am used to writing songs on my own and now there were suddenly a lot of people around me. But it was an experience I will never forget.’

‘Did you have a lot of influence on the song?’

‘I think we all equally contributed to the song. The meaning behind it is definitely one that I recognise. We all tend to rush into the things that seem exciting and in doing so we often forget the way we get there. It is important to take your time and I think the song described that perfectly.’

‘James, how was working with her? What was she like?’

‘She was such a good person, not like us,’ James grinned and Sirius sniffed. ‘It was refreshing to work with y/n. She took us all back to that feeling we had when we first started writing songs. I think in a way she has improved us all, because she made us stand still and look at how much we have accomplished already. Sometimes you forget to look at that when your life is so busy. I am forever thankful for the friendship I have built with her.’

‘You’re gonna make me cry here, James,’ you said and wiped away a tear from your eyes. Remus put his arm around you and placed a kiss on the side of your head, while the others chuckled at you.

‘Sirius and y/n, we have to talk about your performance last night,’ Marshall said and he looked at you and Sirius. ‘I assume you have seen the way social media exploded after last night’s show?’

You nodded and chuckled as you thought back of the reaction of your friends and family. Your brother had sent you a video of your parents watching your performance for the first time and their reaction warmed your heart. Your mother was jumping around and had waved her arms through the air and your father had stood watching the video with tears on his face.

‘Fans have been speculating all around and I hope I am not crossing any boundaries here, but I do have to ask,’ Raj said and he leaned forward over the desk. ‘Are you two together?’

A silence fell over the studio as you looked at Sirius. He smirked at you and you smiled as you shook your head. ‘No, were not,’ you said and Raj frowned.

‘Really? You seemed to have quite some chemistry on the stage.’

‘The art of music,’ Sirius shrugged. ‘It can make anyone believe anything.’

- - - - - -

At the next show you were more relaxed. Now the nervousness of the first show was gone, you had found that you quite enjoyed the adrenalin that was rushing through your veins right before you went on stage. And even better was the joy that filled you when you stood on the stage.

Singing the song with Sirius had something magical to it. It wasn’t just the crowds that screamed the lyrics along or the music that reached to your bones. No, the best part was the smile that Sirius wore when he looked at you. For a moment you forgot everything around you when Sirius flashed you that smile.

The band played show after show and travelled all through North America. The cities you passed were all greater than the other. You went to places you had always wanted to visit and met new people.

The other thing that was just as fun as singing on a big stage every night, was meeting all the fans. And not even The Marauders’ fans; you had even met people that were fan of just you. People asking for pictures with you, for your autograph, anything. It was a new experience for you, but you adored every one of them. It had thrown you off at first when someone told you that you had saved their life, but the band had taken you under their wings and had explained how to deal with such situations.

You were beyond thankful to have those four guys around you. You had learned so much from them and you knew that you would have never made it if it wasn’t for their help.

In the time you spent with the boys, preparing before the show, talking after, the interviews, sleeping on the tour bus together, you really got to know them. You learned so much about them in such a little time and you were sure that even after the tour you would stay friends with them. You teased each other continuously , but where the teases with Remus, James and Peter were all innocent, with Sirius there was always another layer to them. Always a smirk or a wink. Not that you minded; you liked the little jokes and innuendos.

And if you were completely frank with yourself, you just liked Sirius.

- - - - - -

It was long dark as you lied in the uncomfortable bed of the tour bus. You were glad to at least have a bed and not have to sleep on a couch or something, but you had to admit that sleeping was very hard on those things.

You stared at the empty ceiling that was way too close to your face for your liking and thought of what you had read earlier.

You had been warned before not to believe the things people on social media said, but that was easier said than done. How could you not let those hateful words get to you?

Though you had dealt with hate comments more, these had been worse than ever before. There were people saying that you couldn’t sing and that you were ugly and fat, but that was nothing new. The things that hurt you the most were the people that said you were just on tour with the guys because you were an easy lay. Someone even said that you were just there to help them blow off some steam.

A tear escaped your eye and rolled over your face to fall on your pillow. You sighed sadly and got up. You jerked away the curtains before your bed and stepped out of it, bumping your head in the process. You cursed something under your breath as you walked to the back of the bus, where there was place to sit.

‘Who hurt you?’ Sirius chuckled as you sat down sighing.

He was lying on the couch in his grey sweatpants and an old T-shirt with his headphones in. He had a smile on his mouth, but that changed when he saw how you were looking. He took of his headphones and threw his phone to the side.

‘What’s wrong?’ he asked genuinely.

‘It’s nothing,’ you muttered, playing with the edge of your sweater sleeves. ‘Just stupid people that suggest I’m a slut.’

‘What?’ Sirius asked and he moved closer to you.

You took out your phone and showed him the tweets. Sirius cursed out loud when he read them and he threw your phone behind you on the couch. He took your hands and forced you to look at him.

‘Listen to me,’ he said, his voice low. ‘You are not a slut, okay? You are the most incredible woman I have ever met. You are magnificent, lovely, beautiful, intelligent, witty and you have the most beautiful voice. My dear, if I couldn’t hold you in my arms, I would believe you are an angel.’

You smiled through your tears and wrapped your arms around Sirius’ neck.

‘They are just pity, little, jealous people that have nothing better to do in their lives. I wish I could protect you from them, but there will be more. Will you just promise me one thing?’ Sirius asked and you pulled away from him. ‘Never listen to them. Never doubt yourself. If you weren’t a good singer I wouldn’t have asked for you to come to tour with us.’

‘You asked for that?’ you said surprised.

‘Uh, yeah,’ Sirius said and he suddenly became a little awkward. ‘I had such fun writing with you, and the guys too, and I could not stop working together with you after just one song. So I asked out manager if you could tour with us.’

You smiled thankfully at Sirius and pressed a kiss to his cheek. ‘Thank you, Sirius. And I promise. If I’m good enough for Sirius Black to come to tour with him, I am good enough to not believe those haters.’

‘You’ll always be good enough for me, darling,’ Sirius said with a wink and he got his usual cocky smile back. ‘Even better, if I say so.’

He wrapped his arm around your shoulder and you leant in to his chest. His cold fingers rested on your forearm and you felt a sparkle rushing through your body. You tried to ignore the little butterflies in your stomach, but the longer you sat with Sirius, the bigger they became.

‘I like having you here,’ Sirius said, his deep voice reaching to your bones.

‘You do?’

‘Yeah, you’re a refreshment from James’ lame jokes, Remus’ boring facts and whatever Peter tells. He’s not a great storyteller, that man.’

‘Well, I like being here,’ you said, turning a little so you could look at Sirius. His arms lowered and his hand rested on your hip as you leaned with your elbow on the back of the couch. You draped your legs over Sirius’ lap and played with his curls as you talked. ‘I do miss my family and friends though. Talking on the phone and face timing is not the same as actually being with them.’

‘I know, I hear the guys complain about that too.’

‘You not?’

‘No, I don’t talk to my family anymore.’

‘Oh,’ was all you said and you stopped twirling his black curls around your finger as you looked at him. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t know.’

‘It’s alright,’ Sirius smiled at you. ‘I left home when I was seventeen, moved in with James, lived there for a while before I got my own place. I got the perfect tragic background for an artist.’

You chuckled sadly and reached for Sirius’ hair again. There was a silence that stretched out through the whole bus. You stared at the black hair in your hands while you tried to ignore Sirius’ gaze on you.

‘Thank you for telling me,’ you whispered as if breaking the silence was a crime. Sirius nodded and rested his head back into your hand. He closed his eyes as your nails scratched his skin. It was something you used to see your mother do to your father when he was upset and you did it to your brother when you were younger.

‘I should go back to bed,’ you said after a while and made effort to get off the couch.

‘Or you could stay here,’ Sirius said as he pulled you back against his chest, making you fall on top of him on the sofa. ‘Those beds suck. I am far more comfortable.’

The couch was deep enough for two people to lie next to each other and you settled close to Sirius, his chest against yours.

‘Well, I can’t disagree with that,’ you grinned as you buried your neck in his chest.

Sirius placed his arm over your waist and pulled you closer to him. You listened to his heartbeat and you quickly found yourself dozing off.

‘Goodnight, love,’ Sirius whispered, placing a kiss on the top of your head.

‘Goodnight, Sirius.’

- - - - - -

One benefit of touring with a band was that there was always someone around. If you wanted to play a game you could go to James, if you wanted to have a conversation you could go to Remus, for fun stories Peter was available and Sirius was always there if you needed a cuddle.

You appreciated the company but you were also glad if you had some time alone. And though that was hard as you woke up in a bus with the men, rehearsed, spent free time with them, then played a show with them and after that hung out with them until you fell asleep in the same bus, only for the cycle to start again the next day, there were some moments that you were alone. Like when you got coffee in the morning for everyone, while the boys were still asleep. Or if they decided to practice on the stage longer and you could sneak off to the back of the bus with a book. Those were little moments of peace that you found yourself enjoying more and more as the tour continued.

However, you were immensely grateful for all the fun moments you had with the band. You were basically living your lifelong dream right now and you’d be an idiot if you didn’t realise that. You got to see what it was like to have fans all around the world, to have people come up to you and ask for a photo, to be recognised in the streets. At first it had been a bit weird to you, but over the time you had learned how to handle such situations and how to say ‘no’.

Maybe that was the hardest part. Saying no. You knew that you had to set boundaries between personal and public life, but if someone came up to you, you were quick to take a photo with them or to talk to them. The guys taught you that it was important for yourself to sometimes just say no. Your fans had to respects your boundaries and if they didn’t then they couldn’t be called your fans.

- - - - - -

‘Ready for tonight?’ Peter asked as he sat down next to you and handed you a cup of tea.

‘Thank you. Yeah, I think I am. My family’s coming over, so I’m really excited,’ you answered.

This night, Tiffany, your brother and your parents were coming over to see your show. You had been talking to Tiffany over the phone for the past time and she was super enthusiastic to see the show. You had gotten them backstage-passes so they could see you before the show.

‘Are we gonna meet them?’ James asked, taking place on your other side.

‘Oh, you’re not going to get out of that,’ you chuckled. ‘Tiff is asking about you guys all the time.’

‘Tiff, eh? And what’s she like?’ Sirius asked as he pushed Peter aside to sit next to you. ‘Anything we might enjoy?’

There it was, that cheeky wink that made your stomach turn upside down. Combined with the smirk that seemed to be glued to his face.

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ you said. ‘She’s pretty fond of Remus.’

You grinned back at him and he wrapped his arm around your shoulder. A shiver ran down your spine as you felt your butterflies in your stomach. The blood rushed to your cheeks and you tried to play it cool by starting a conversation with Remus and James.

Sirius was listening to your conversation while his fingers drummed on your upper arm. He hummed a song and you felt the bass of his voice thrumming in your chest. He brought his head closer casually and his voice was closer to your ear. Subconsciously you placed your hand on his thigh and his humming stopped. He twisted his head to you and you looked up from your conversation with the others.

‘What?’ you asked when you saw Sirius was raising his eyebrow at you.

His eyes shifted to your hand and then back to your face. ‘Enjoying yourself?’

You gave his thigh a little squeeze and smiled. ‘Very much.’

He opened his mouth to say something but nothing left his mouth. A smirk formed on your face when you turned back to your conversation. James cocked his eyebrow at Sirius and you heard the latter sniff next to you.

The ringing of your phone caught your attention. You jumped up from the couch, Sirius’ hand falling off your shoulder and sliding along the curve of your body, and you reached for your phone on the other side of the dressing room.

Tiffany’s voice was yelling through the room as you answered your phone, telling you that she and your family had landed and were on the way to their hotel. ‘It’s so great here, honey! I can’t wait to see you! I am so- What do you want?! Och, just leave me alone for a second!’

You laughed at Tiffany’s angry words as you heard your brother’s voice in the back. You knew she had always had a thing for him. Every time he came over she always made sure she was at her best. You had teased her endlessly about it. She made dinner for him countless times and always gave him a little more than the other guests. She was always stealing glances at him and sitting next to him, their legs pressed together.

But you didn’t think your brother minded. He liked her just as much if not more. And you teased him with it too. But he was reluctant of his feelings. Though he seemed to flirt with Tiffany now, from what you could hear.

Lily, the assistant, knocked on the door and when it opened revealed her head. She, when she noticed you were on the phone, whispered something to the men on the other side of the room. Tiffany was still talking to you about how much she liked wherever she was right now and you let her ramble on, turning to the guys to ask what Lily said.

‘We have to leave in five minutes,’ Remus mumbled.

‘Tiff, I have to go, honey,’ you said, cutting off Tiffany’s speech. ‘Okay? I’ll talk to you later. Love you.’

- - - - - -

The crowd was making a lot of noise as they filled the hall. You stood backstage in the hallway of the dressing room, but you could still hear them. You could feel the nerves slowly rising in your body. This wouldn’t be a night any different from the other nights the past month, but yet you felt more nervous than normal.

Anxiously you paced up and down in front of the door of the dressing room, waiting for your family and Tiffany to arrive. Your brother had sent you a text, saying that they were at the venue but after that you hadn’t heard from him.

Maybe that was why you were nervous. You had never played for such a big crowd with your family there. They had been at many of your little shows, but never one this big. You knew they were proud of you and that they would like it, but you couldn’t stop the nerves.

‘Darling, calm down. What are you so nervous for?’ asked Sirius as he left the dressing room and found you walking up and down.

He lifted his arms and you buried your face in his chest, as he wrapped his hands around your waist. ‘I don’t know,’ you mumbled, hugging more tightly onto Sirius.

‘You’re a great singer, your family will love you, the fans love you, the band loves you,’ Sirius’ voice got to a whisper, ‘I love you.’

Maybe he thought that the crowds were so loud that you wouldn’t hear it. Maybe he thought that if he whispered you wouldn’t hear. Or maybe he wanted you to hear. You didn’t know what he thought, but you knew one thing.

You heard.

Your body froze for a second and you lifted your head from Sirius’ chest. You stared at him with big eyes and you were unable to answer. Unable to tell him that you loved him too. Because you loved him too. You had known for a while, but you were too scared to admit it to yourself.

Sirius stared back at you with questioning eyes. A tiny smile formed on your mouth but before you could say anything, you heard footsteps.

You let go of Sirius, your hands lingering on his body and your chest aching for letting him go, and at the same time your parents, brother and Tiffany came around the corner. Your friend launched herself at you and you caught her in your arms. She immediately started talking about how much she had missed you, how silent the house was without you and how all your other friends were jealous of you.

Tiffany was still talking while you hugged your brother, who looked at your roommate with a goofy smile. You pinched his cheek and stuck out your tongue at him before you whispered: ‘So are you together yet?’

Your brother immediately averted his eyes from Tiffany and stared at you. He scrunched his eyebrows together at you and hit you playfully on the head. ‘Are you together with Mr. Singer yet?’

Your happy smile disappeared for a second as you were reminded of the moment that was just interrupted. But your grin came back quickly and you laughed at your brother. ‘Hm, I think I have made more progress than you,’ you said mysteriously and you winked before you stepped to your parents.

‘Oh, princess!’ your mother exclaimed and she engulfed you in her tight embrace. ‘Your father and I are so proud of you! We have seen ever video of every show!’

You hugged your father and he pressed a kiss to the side of your head. ‘Good job, angel,’ your father said and your eyes watered up as you saw the tears in his.

‘And dare I say, you have quite the chemistry with that long haired man!’ your mother giggled. You looked over your shoulder at Sirius, who was occupied with Tiffany talking to him. He looked as distressed as when he first talked to Tiffany at your first night in New York. He caught your gaze and you waved at him before turning back to your parents. Your mother had a smug smile on her face and your father was looking over your shoulder at Sirius, with furrowed eyebrows.

‘Yes, Sirius has proven to be an absolute gentleman,’ you said, pulling your father from staring at Sirius. ‘You should meet the others too! Everyone is so nice!��

You saved Sirius from Tiffany, who seemed could not stop talking, and pulled your friend with you to the dressing room.

‘You have to tell me everything about you and my brother tonight,’ you whispered at her, while everyone else followed you. ‘And don’t tell me nothing has happened!’ you said when you saw her opening her mouth. ‘I know him and the way he looks at you tells me something has happened!’

Your family meeting The Marauders was as if your two families met. Your father immediately was drawn to Peter, your mother fussed over James, who was quickly saved by your brother and Tiffany sat down next to Remus. You winked at him and then raised your eyebrows at Tiffany and he burst out into laughter.

You sat down on the chair furthest away from everyone and watched the scene happily, though a little embarrassed at the way your family acted. The nerves that you had felt a while ago had gone and you were excited to play the show tonight.

After a while, James sat down next to you, after he was released from your mother’s conversation. He handed you a beer and you greedily accepted it. Maybe inviting your parents and your brother and Tiffany at the same time wasn’t such a good idea after all.

‘Where’s Sirius?’ James asked you.

Sirius hadn’t joined you and your family in the dressing room and you feared you had messed up by not answering to his confession. You wanted to look for him, but you knew all hell would break loose if you left your family alone.

‘I don’t know,’ you said, taking a sip from the bottle. ‘I was talking with him, but we were interrupted by these idiots.’ You gesture at your father who is doing a little weird dance in the middle of the room.

It wasn’t unusual for you to see this side of your parents, but you had hoped they would not show it in front of people whom they had never met. You knew they were crazy, but no one else needed to know.

‘Oh, well,’ James said nonchalant. ‘I am sure he’ll come back soon.’

- - - - - -

But Sirius didn’t. The next time you saw him was long after your family had been brought to their places and right before he was about to go on stage. In the dark you could see his silhouette contrasting with the lights from the stage. He was fumbling the microphone in his hands, as you had learned he only did when he was nervous.

You walked over to him and placed your hand on his shoulder. ‘Hey,’ you said softly. ‘Are you okay?’

‘I’m fine,’ he snapped back and you removed your hand from his body.

‘Sorry,’ you mumbled. ‘I know we never got to finish our conversation, but I just-’

‘Twenty seconds!’ the stage manager yelled, interrupting you.

‘I’ll see you there, right?’ Sirius asked, his voice cold and distant. ‘Just… do what you always do.’

Sirius stepped away from you to the stairs and you watched his figure with tears in your eyes as he climbed the stage with the rest of the band. James looked back at you and pointed at Sirius before ticking the side of his head. You chuckled through the tears and blew James a kiss before he disappeared into the bright lights.

Watching the men perform was still so inspiring to you. The passion that they had was something that you hoped to achieve some day yourself. They didn’t just make music, they made magic. You would never get tired of watching it.

‘Now I think it is time we bring out the person who is an immense support to us and who you all love. And if you don’t, well, then just cover your ears or something… Here’s y/n!’ James shouted and the audience screamed as you walked on stage.

You stood next to Sirius and for the first time since the tour started you felt like you were back at the first show again. All the insecurities came back to you in a wave and you felt a little dizzy. You grabbed Sirius’ arm for balance and he looked quickly at you, before averting his eyes again.

You knew that his was the only way to reach him. Through music, through his lyrics. If he didn’t want to talk with you, then fine. But you knew that he would listen to you if you sang to him.

So you sang the song with all the passion and love that you had in your body.

‘Won’t you please just look at me?

And listen to my heart

As I tell you all the stories

To never be apart

If this is what you’re feeling

Then tell me one more time

Will you take my heart along

And leave this all behind?’

Sirius looked at you, like he had done all those nights before, but something in his face was different. You smiled at him and put out your hand for him to take. He looked from your hand to your face and then the biggest smile you had seen all tour appeared on his face as he took your hand in his and squeezed it a little.

‘Don’t rush

I will wait for you

Take time

Leave your love behind’

A tear slid down your cheek as you looked at the big crowd in front of you that was singing along every word that left your mouth. The flashlights of phones waved through the air as in one movement.

‘Love, don’t break my heart again

Just push it to the side

I will still be waiting here

So you just take your time’

Sirius wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you closer to him. You both stopped singing for a minute and listened to the audience as they sang from the top of their longs. Even the band stopped playing and all that could be heard were the thousands of voices from the fans.

Pressing a kiss to the side of your head, Sirius whispered: ‘I love you, darling.’

You looked at him and smiled, while he wiped away the tears on your cheek. ‘I love you too.’

‘So know that I will love you still

Even if you take so long

Leave this place but come back please

For you are everything to me’

The last melodies of the song started and you intertwined your fingers with Sirius’ as you poured all your feelings into the last words.

‘So just take your time

Cause I’ll wait for you’

----------

Taglists

Sirius Black @treestarrrrrrrr @bumbelbeeesblog @with1love1anu @transparentttttttttt @sirius-satellite @cheoco @malikinglove @alwaysinmydaydreams @eateraa @bi-andready-tocry @fangirlofbooksandpasta @littlemissgothgirl @always394patronus @heavenly-ascended-melodies @mrs-moony @coldlilheart @fific7 @april-showers-and-flowers @susceptible-but-siriusexual

Marauders @secretsthathauntus @ronniethelost @sognatrice-as-a-hobby @hxrgreeves @wecouldbreakthedistance @valentina-007

General HP @kitkatkl @girllety @yuptha-tsme @sleep-i-ness @iamak20 @thefuturelawyer @weasleydream @missmulti @deafgirltingz @moonstarrnghtsky @bloodblossom73 @mytreec @lilulo-12fanfiction @emmaloo21 @kashishwrites @ananad1 @figlia--della--luna @kylosleftbuttcheek @mrs-malfoy-always @obsessedwithrandomthings @thefandomplace @magicwithaknife

let me know if you want to be added/removed/replaced

MASTERLIST

#haraces1kchallenge #sirius black x reader #sirius black #sirius black imagine #sirius x reader #marauders x reader #marauders #marauders imagine #harry potter x reader #harry potter #james potter x reader #remus lupin x reader #peter pettigrew x reader #sirius black fanfiction #marauders fanfiction

460 notes · View notes

taylorswifthongkong · 4 years ago

Link

Taylor Swift broke all her rules with Folklore — and gave herself a much-needed escape The pop star, one of EW's 2020 Entertainers of the Year, delves deep into her surprise eighth album, Rebekah Harkness, and a Joe Biden presidency. By Alex Suskind

“He is my co-writer on ‛Betty’ and ‛Exile,’” replies Taylor Swift with deadpan precision. The question Who is William Bowery? was, at the time we spoke, one of 2020’s great mysteries, right up there with the existence of Joe Exotic and the sudden arrival of murder hornets. An unknown writer credited on the year’s biggest album? It must be an alias.

Is he your brother?

“He’s William Bowery,” says Swift with a smile.

It's early November, after Election Day but before Swift eventually revealed Bowery's true identity to the world (the leading theory, that he was boyfriend Joe Alwyn, proved prescient). But, like all Swiftian riddles, it was fun to puzzle over for months, particularly in this hot mess of a year, when brief distractions are as comforting as a well-worn cardigan. Thankfully, the Bowery... erhm, Alwyn-assisted Folklore — a Swift project filled with muted pianos and whisper-quiet snares, recorded in secret with Jack Antonoff and the National’s Aaron Dessner — delivered.

“The only people who knew were the people I was making it with, my boyfriend, my family, and a small management team,” Swift, 30, tells EW of the album's hush-hush recording sessions. That gave the intimate Folklore a mystique all its own: the first surprise Taylor Swift album, one that prioritized fantastical tales over personal confessions.

“Early in quarantine, I started watching lots of films,” she explains. “Consuming other people’s storytelling opened this portal in my imagination and made me feel like, Why have I never created characters and intersecting storylines?” That’s how she ended up with three songs about an imagined love triangle (“Cardigan,” “Betty,” “August”), one about a clandestine romance (“Illicit Affairs”), and another chronicling a doomed relationship (“Exile”). Others tell of sumptuous real-life figures like Rebekah Harkness, a divorcee who married the heir to Standard Oil — and whose home Swift purchased 31 years after her death. The result, “The Last Great American Dynasty,” hones in on Harkness’ story, until Swift cleverly injects herself.

And yet, it wouldn’t be a Swift album without a few barbed postmortems over her own history. Notably, “My Tears Ricochet” and “Mad Woman," which touch on her former label head Scott Borchetta selling the masters to Swift’s catalog to her known nemesis Scooter Braun. Mere hours after our interview, the lyrics’ real-life origins took a surprising twist, when news broke that Swift’s music had once again been sold, to another private equity firm, for a reported $300 million. Though Swift ignored repeated requests for comment on the transaction, she did tweet a statement, hitting back at Braun while noting that she had begun re-recording her old albums — something she first promised in 2019 as a way of retaining agency over her creative legacy. (Later, she would tease a snippet of that reimagined work, with a new version of her hit 2008 single "Love Story.")

Like surprise-dropping Folklore, like pissing off the president by endorsing his opponents, like shooing away haters, Swift does what suits her. “I don’t think we often hear about women who did whatever the hell they wanted,” she says of Harkness — something Swift is clearly intent on changing. For her, that means basking in the world of, and favorable response to, Folklore. As she says in our interview, “I have this weird thing where, in order to create the next thing, I attack the previous thing. I don’t love that I do that, but it is the thing that has kept me pivoting to another world every time I make an album. But with this one, I still love it.”

TAYLOR SWIFT: I was. I wasn't expecting to make an album. Early on in quarantine, I started watching lots of films. We would watch a different movie every night. I'm ashamed to say I hadn't seen Pan's Labyrinth before. One night I'd watch that, then I'd watch L.A. Confidential, then we'd watch Rear Window, then we'd watch Jane Eyre. I feel like consuming other people's art and storytelling sort of opened this portal in my imagination and made me feel like, "Well, why have I never done this before? Why have I never created characters and intersecting storylines? And why haven't I ever sort of freed myself up to do that from a narrative standpoint?" There is something a little heavy about knowing when you put out an album, people are going to take it so literally that everything you say could be clickbait. It was really, really freeing to be able to just be inspired by worlds created by the films you watch or books you've read or places you've dreamed of or people that you've wondered about, not just being inspired by your own experience.

In that vain, what's it like to sit down and write something like “Betty,” which is told from the perspective of a 17-year-old boy?

That was huge for me. And I think it came from the fact that my co-writer, William Bowery [Joe Alwyn], is male — and he was the one who originally thought of the chorus melody. And hearing him sing it, I thought, "That sounds really cool." Obviously, I don't have a male voice, but I thought, "I could have a male perspective." Patty Griffin wrote this song, “Top of the World.” It's one of my favorite songs of all time, and it's from the perspective of this older man who has lived a life full of regret, and he's kind of taking stock of that regret. So, I thought, "This is something that people I am a huge fan of have done. This would be fun to kind of take this for a spin."

What are your favorite William Bowery conspiracies?

I love them all individually and equally. I love all the conspiracy theories around this album. [With] "Betty," Jack Antonoff would text me these articles and think pieces and in-depth Tumblr posts on what this love triangle meant to the person who had listened to it. And that's exactly what I was hoping would happen with this album. I wrote these stories for a specific reason and from a specific place about specific people that I imagined, but I wanted that to all change given who was listening to it. And I wanted it to start out as mine and become other people's. It's been really fun to watch.

I didn't think about any of that for the very first time. And a lot of this album was kind of distilled down to the purest version of what the story is. Songwriting on this album is exactly the way that I would write if I considered nothing else other than, "What words do I want to write? What stories do I want to tell? What melodies do I want to sing? What production is essential to tell those stories?" It was a very do-it-yourself experience. My management team, we created absolutely everything in advance — every lyric video, every individual album package. And then we called our label a week in advance and said, "Here's what we have.” The photo shoot was me and the photographer walking out into a field. I'd done my hair and makeup and brought some nightgowns. These experiences I was used to having with 100 people on set, commanding alongside other people in a very committee fashion — all of a sudden it was me and a photographer, or me and my DP. It was a new challenge, because I love collaboration. But there's something really fun about knowing what you can do if it's just you doing it.

Did you find it freeing?

I did. Every project involves different levels of collaboration, because on other albums there are things that my stylist will think of that I never would've thought of. But if I had all those people on the photo shoot, I would've had to have them quarantine away from their families for weeks on end, and I would've had to ask things of them that I didn't think were fair if I could figure out a way to do it [myself]. I had this idea for the [Folklore album cover] that it would be this girl sleepwalking through the forest in a nightgown in 1830 [laughs]. Very specific. A pioneer woman sleepwalking at night. I made a moodboard and sent it to Beth [Garrabrant], who I had never worked with before, who shoots only on film. We were just carrying bags across a field and putting the bags of film down, and then taking pictures. It was a blast.

Well, Aaron is one of the most effortlessly prolific creators I've ever worked with. It's really mind-blowing. And every time I've spoken to an artist since this whole process [began], I said, "You need to work with him. It'll change the way you create." He would send me these — he calls them sketches, but it's basically an instrumental track. the second day — the day after I texted him and said, "Hey, would you ever want to work together?" — he sent me this file of probably 30 of these instrumentals and every single one of them was one of the most interesting, exciting things I had ever heard. Music can be beautiful, but it can be lacking that evocative nature. There was something about everything he created that is an immediate image in my head or melody that I came up with. So much so that I'd start writing as soon as I heard a new one. And oftentimes what I would send back would inspire him to make more instrumentals and then send me that one. And then I wrote the song and it started to shape the project, form-fitted and customized to what we wanted to do.

It was weird because I had never made an album and not played it for my girlfriends or told my friends. The only people who knew were the people that I was making it with, my boyfriend, my family, and then my management team. So that's the smallest number of people I've ever had know about something. I'm usually playing it for everyone that I'm friends with. So I had a lot of friends texting me things like, "Why didn't you say on our everyday FaceTimes you were making a record?"

Was it nice to be able to keep it a secret?

Well, it felt like it was only my thing. It felt like such an inner world I was escaping to every day that it almost didn't feel like an album. Because I wasn't making a song and finishing it and going, "Oh my God, that is catchy.” I wasn't making these things with any purpose in mind. And so it was almost like having it just be mine was this really sweet, nice, pure part of the world as everything else in the world was burning and crashing and feeling this sickness and sadness. I almost didn't process it as an album. This was just my daydream space.

Does it still feel like that?

Yeah, because I love it so much. I have this weird thing that I do when I create something where in order to create the next thing I kind of, in my head, attack the previous thing. I don't love that I do that but it is the thing that has kept me pivoting to another world every time I make an album. But with this one, I just still love it. I'm so proud of it. And so that feels very foreign to me. That doesn't feel like a normal experience that I've had with releasing albums.

When did you first learn about Rebekah Harkness?

Oh, I learned about her as soon as I was being walked through [her former Rhode Island] home. I got the house when I was in my early twenties as a place for my family to congregate and be together. I was told about her, I think, by the real estate agent who was walking us through the property. And as soon as I found out about her, I wanted to know everything I could. So I started reading. I found her so interesting. And then as more parallels began to develop between our two lives — being the lady that lives in that house on the hill that everybody gets to gossip about — I was always looking for an opportunity to write about her. And I finally found it.

I love that you break the fourth wall in the song. Did you go in thinking you’d include yourself in the story?

I think that in my head, I always wanted to do a country music, standard narrative device, which is: the first verse you sing about someone else, the second verse you sing about someone else who's even closer to you, and then in the third verse, you go, "Surprise! It was me.” You bring it personal for the last verse. And I'd always thought that if I were to tell that story, I would want to include the similarities — our lives or our reputations or our scandals.

How often did you regale friends about the history of Rebekah and Holiday House while hanging out at Holiday House?

Anyone who's been there before knows that I do “The Tour,” in quotes, where I show everyone through the house. And I tell them different anecdotes about each room, because I've done that much research on this house and this woman. So in every single room, there's a different anecdote about Rebekah Harkness. If you have a mixed group of people who've been there before and people who haven't, [the people who’ve been there] are like, "Oh, she's going to do the tour. She's got to tell you the story about how the ballerinas used to practice on the lawn.” And they'll go get a drink and skip it because it's the same every time. But for me, I'm telling the story with the same electric enthusiasm, because it's just endlessly entertaining to me that this fabulous woman lived there. She just did whatever she wanted.

I found myself being very triggered by any stories, movies, or narratives revolving around divorce, which felt weird because I haven't experienced it directly. There’s no reason it should cause me so much pain, but all of a sudden it felt like something I had been through. I think that happens any time you've been in a 15-year relationship and it ends in a messy, upsetting way. So I wrote “My Tears Ricochet” and I was using a lot of imagery that I had conjured up while comparing a relationship ending to when people end an actual marriage. All of a sudden this person that you trusted more than anyone in the world is the person that can hurt you the worst. Then all of a sudden the things that you have been through together, hurt. All of a sudden, the person who was your best friend is now your biggest nemesis, etc. etc. etc. I think I wrote some of the first lyrics to that song after watching Marriage Story and hearing about when marriages go wrong and end in such a catastrophic way. So these songs are in some ways imaginary, in some ways not, and in some ways both.

How did it feel to drop an F-bomb on "Mad Woman"?

F---ing fantastic.

And that’s the first time you ever recorded one on a record, right?

Yeah. Every rule book was thrown out. I always had these rules in my head and one of them was, You haven't done this before, so you can't ever do this. “Well, you've never had an explicit sticker, so you can't ever have an explicit sticker.” But that was one of the times where I felt like you need to follow the language and you need to follow the storyline. And if the storyline and the language match up and you end up saying the F-word, just go for it. I wasn't adhering to any of the guidelines that I had placed on myself. I decided to just make what I wanted to make. And I'm really happy that the fans were stoked about that because I think they could feel that. I'm not blaming anyone else for me restricting myself in the past. That was all, I guess, making what I want to make. I think my fans could feel that I opened the gate and ran out of the pasture for the first time, which I'm glad they picked up on because they're very intuitive.

Let’s talk about “Epiphany.” The first verse is a nod to your grandfather, Dean, who fought in World War II. What does his story mean to you personally?

I wanted to write about him for awhile. He died when I was very young, but my dad would always tell this story that the only thing that his dad would ever say about the war was when somebody would ask him, "Why do you have such a positive outlook on life?" My grandfather would reply, "Well, I'm not supposed to be here. I shouldn't be here." My dad and his brothers always kind of imagined that what he had experienced was really awful and traumatic and that he'd seen a lot of terrible things. So when they did research, they learned that he had fought at the Battles of Guadalcanal, at Cape Gloucester, at Talasea, at Okinawa. He had seen a lot of heavy fire and casualties — all of the things that nightmares are made of. He was one of the first people to sign up for the war. But you know, these are things that you can only imagine that a lot of people in that generation didn't speak about because, a) they didn't want people that they came home to to worry about them, and b) it just was so bad that it was the actual definition of unspeakable.

I mean, you just immediately think of the health workers who are putting their lives on the line — and oftentimes losing their lives. If they make it out of this, if they see the other side of it, there's going to be a lot of trauma that comes with that; there's going to be things that they witnessed that they will never be able to un-see. And that was the connection that I drew. I did a lot of research on my grandfather in the beginning of quarantine, and it hit me very quickly that we've got a version of that trauma happening right now in our hospitals. God, you hope people would respect it and would understand that going out for a night isn't worth the ripple effect that it causes. But obviously we're seeing that a lot of people don't seem to have their eyes open to that — or if they do, a lot of people don't care, which is upsetting.

You had the Lover Fest East and West scheduled this year. How hard has it been to both not perform for your fans this year, and see the music industry at large go through such a brutal change?

It's confusing. It's hard to watch. I think that maybe me wanting to make as much music as possible during this time was a way for me to feel like I could reach out my hand and touch my fans, even if I couldn't physically reach out or take a picture with them. We've had a lot of different, amazing, fun, sort of underground traditions we've built over the years that involve a lot of human interaction, and so I have no idea what's going to happen with touring; none of us do. And that's a scary thing. You can't look to somebody in the music industry who's been around a long time, or an expert touring manager or promoter and [ask] what's going to happen and have them give you an answer. I think we're all just trying to keep our eyes on the horizon and see what it looks like. So we're just kind of sitting tight and trying to take care of whatever creative spark might exist and trying to figure out how to reach our fans in other ways, because we just can't do that right now.

When you are able to perform again, do you have plans on resurfacing a Lover Fest-type event?

I don't know what incarnation it'll take and I really would need to sit down and think about it for a good solid couple of months before I figured out the answer. Because whatever we do, I want it to be something that is thoughtful and will make the fans happy and I hope I can achieve that. I'm going to try really hard to.

In addition to recording an album, you spent this year supporting Joe Biden and Kamala Harris in the election. Where were you when it was called in their favor?

Well, when the results were coming in, I was actually at the property where we shot the Entertainment Weekly cover. I was hanging out with my photographer friend, Beth, and the wonderful couple that owned the farm where we [were]. And we realized really early into the night that we weren't going to get an accurate picture of the results. Then, a couple of days later, I was on a video shoot, but I was directing, and I was standing there with my face shield and mask on next to my director of photography, Rodrigo Prieto. And I just remember a news alert coming up on my phone that said, "Biden is our next president. He's won the election." And I showed it to Rodrigo and he said, "I'm always going to remember the moment that we learned this." And I looked around, and people's face shields were starting to fog up because a lot of people were really misty-eyed and emotional, and it was not loud. It wasn't popping bottles of champagne. It was this moment of quiet, cautious elation and relief.

Do you ever think about what Folklore would have sounded like if you, Aaron, and Jack had been in the same room?

I think about it all the time. I think that a lot of what has happened with the album has to do with us all being in a collective emotional place. Obviously everybody's lives have different complexities and whatnot, but I think most of us were feeling really shaken up and really out of place and confused and in need of something comforting all at the same time. And for me, that thing that was comforting was making music that felt sort of like I was trying to hug my fans through the speakers. That was truly my intent. Just trying to hug them when I can't hug them.

I was really excited about "August slipped away into a moment of time/August sipped away like a bottle of wine." That was a song where Jack sent me the instrumental and I wrote the song pretty much on the spot; it just was an intuitive thing. And that was actually the first song that I wrote of the "Betty" triangle. So the Betty songs are "August," "Cardigan," and "Betty." "August" was actually the first one, which is strange because it's the song from the other girl's perspective.

Yeah, I assumed you wrote "Cardigan" first.

It would be safe to assume that "Cardigan" would be first, but it wasn't. It was very strange how it happened, but it kind of pieced together one song at a time, starting with "August," where I kind of wanted to explore the element of This is from the perspective of a girl who was having her first brush with love. And then all of a sudden she's treated like she's the other girl, because there was another situation that had already been in place, but "August" girl thought she was really falling in love. It kind of explores the idea of the undefined relationship. As humans, we're all encouraged to just be cool and just let it happen, and don't ask what the relationship is — Are we exclusive? But if you are chill about it, especially when you're young, you learn the very hard lesson that if you don't define something, oftentimes they can gaslight you into thinking it was nothing at all, and that it never happened. And how do you mourn the loss of something once it ends, if you're being made to believe that it never happened at all?

"I almost didn't process it as an album," says Taylor Swift of making Folklore. "And it's still hard for me to process as an entity or a commodity, because [it] was just my daydream space."

I'm really proud of that one too. I heard the track immediately. Aaron sent it to me, and it had this immediate sense of serenity running through it. The first word that popped into my head was peace, but I thought that it would be too on-the-nose to sing about being calm, or to sing about serenity, or to sing about finding peace with someone. Because you have this very conflicted, very dramatic conflict-written lyric paired with this very, very calming sound of the instrumental. But, "The devil's in the details," is one of those phrases that I've written down over the years. That's a common phrase that is used in the English language every day. And I just thought it sounded really cool because of the D, D sound. And I thought, "I'll hang onto those in a list, and then, I'll finally find the right place for them in a story." I think that's how a lot of people feel where it's like, "Yeah, the devil's in the details. Everybody's complex when you look under the hood of the car." But basically saying, "I'm there for you if you want that, if this complexity is what you want."

There's another clever turn-of-phrase on "This is Me Trying." "I didn't know if you'd care if I came back/I have a lot of regrets about that." That feels like a nod toward your fans, and some of the feelings you had about retreating from the public sphere.

Absolutely. I think I was writing from three different characters' perspectives, one who's going through that; I was channeling the emotions I was feeling in 2016, 2017, where I just felt like I was worth absolutely nothing. And then, the second verse is about dealing with addiction and issues with struggling every day. And every second of the day, you're trying not to fall into old patterns, and nobody around you can see that, and no one gives you credit for it. And then, the third verse, I was thinking, what would the National do? What lyric would Matt Berninger write? What chords would the National play? And it's funny because I've since played this song for Aaron, and he's like, "That's not what we would've done at all." He's like, "I love that song, but that's totally different than what we would've done with it."

Yeah, I was at the show where they were playing through I Am Easy to Find. What I loved about [that album] was they had female vocalists singing from female perspectives, and that triggered and fired something in me where I thought, "I've got to play with different perspectives because that is so intriguing when you hear a female perspective come in from a band where you're used to only hearing a male perspective." It just sparked something in me. And obviously, you mentioning the National is the reason why Folklore came to be. So, thank you for that, Alex.

I'm here for all of your songwriting muse needs in the future.

I can't wait to see what comes out of this interview.

This interview has been edited and condensed.

For more on our Entertainers of the Year and Best & Worst of 2020, order the January issue of Entertainment Weekly or find it on newsstands beginning Dec. 18. (You can also pick up the full set of six covers here.) Don’t forget to subscribe for more exclusive interviews and photos, only in EW.

#ew #entertainment weekly #article #interview #folklore promo #folklore interview #quote #aaron dessner #jack antonoff #joe alwyn

181 notes · View notes

knjoodles · 5 years ago

Text

learn to love; jungkook | 01

pairing: teacher!jungkook x singleparent!reader

genre: fluff, angst

word count: 3K

summary: raising your daughter alone while simultaneously watching your ex-husband live the life of his dreams away from the two of you hurts. badly. it hurts a little less, though, when you find an unlikely friend while looking for help.

lowercase intended

02 | 03 | 04

“seyoung, please,”

being a single mother at this time in your daughter’s life? it wasn’t the best, so to speak.

to your beautiful seven-year-old seyoung, the local supermarket was a treasure trove of goodies and tasty treats she could barely keep her hands away from. you darted your head in either direction of the breakfast aisle, following the sound of the patter of steps running away from you, just to spot seyoung slipping behind a tower of canned corn and into an ambiguous section of the store. “seyoung!” you gasped, dashing in the direction she went. catching your breath, you found her sitting in the middle of the candy aisle, toying with a bag of skittles and trying to use her small, short nails to tear open the wrapping.

“can you stay near me, baby? please?” you walked towards her slowly, placing your shopping basket on the floor and kneeling to meet her gaze. your mouth twitched into a smile as she shook her head in a pout, shoving the bag of candy against the floor in another attempt to open it. you reach your hand to take it from her hands when she pulls the bag towards her again, clutching it to her chest stubbornly.

“mommy, i want this one!” she whined quietly, kicking her legs and fiddling with the corner of the bag. as you opened your mouth to say no, you realized you couldn’t remember the last time you’d bought something for her. it’s not that raising her alone was extremely difficult — your music producing career had taken off when she’d turned four and you finally had enough money to sustain the two of you — it’s that you were unable to give her the attention and benefits she needed as a child. money that was supposed to be spent on things like an abundance of toys, bags filled with vegetables and spices to make a delicious dinner, adorable slip-ons to match her favorite dress, were all spent on paying for bills, an occasional nanny, and her private school. you weren’t begging for help, but it would be nice.

“alright,” you sighed, the excitement of getting candy shining through her doll-like eyes. “i’ll buy you the candy, but can you promise mommy you won’t run away like that anymore?” she happily placed the bag in your hand with the guarantee of sweets, letting you drop it into your basket. looking back at her to make sure she understands, you raised your eyebrow, prompting her to nod slowly and rise from the market floor. as the two of you made your way to the cashier, she grasped your pinky, doing what she could to hold your hand. after loading all of your groceries in the back of your car, you drove her to her friend, ailee, so they could spend the rest of the warm, welcoming sunday afternoon together. before you left, she gripped your hands as tight as she could and promised you that she’d be back soon. because she knew how much mommy will miss her.

you savored her kind words as you slipped into your car once more, running your hands over the comforting leather stitch of the wheel before pressing the gas and driving home. on your way home, you noticed your phone sitting in the cupholder vibrating as someone called you. waiting until you reached a red light, you answered the phone quickly, paying no attention to the caller id — you get random phone calls from other producers about artists you’d be working with in the future, it was something you’d gotten used to by now.

“hey.” a deep, masculine voice mumbled on the other side of the line. you recognized it instantly.

it was your ex-husband.

“hi, hoseok. is there something you need?” you asked, a hint of annoyance in your voice. hearing him again after three months was surreal; it reminded you of everything that’d happened with him.

“yeah, i was wondering if we could, uh, visit seyoung.” he muttered, obviously tense from your tone.

we. he said we.

the word we, without you, was the reason why you’d left him.

you found them. that’s all you’d allow yourself to think about regarding him. if you let yourself go further, you may break down in the middle of the freeway.

“ah, you mean you and yebin? of course. seyoung’s not home right now, but you guys can come and visit her at any other time.” you replied, savoring the fact you’d planned a playdate for her. hoseok and yebin were the last people you wanted to see at the moment.

you weren't angry that he’d continued with his mistress after the two of you divorced; you weren’t the jealous type, and frankly, you didn’t want to be with someone who threw away years of love and support for a woman who he’d known for less than six months. you missed your other half, you missed that comforting back hug after a long day at work and the affectionate ear nibbles while cuddling together. you missed the intimate moments, you missed having someone else in the house. you missed having emotional support, as well as a financial one. while hoseok seemingly frolicked with his younger, sexy girlfriend, you were in the studio all day to make sure your daughter has what she needs to have a healthy childhood without a father. and you weren’t even sure if you were doing it right.

the idea of divorce will never be something a child can digest completely without having questions. hell, it’s not even something an adult can handle without asking questions. seyoung would often wonder out loud about why daddy was hanging out with a second mommy and why the two of you didn’t live with daddy anymore; why the two of you had to downsize and move away. embarrassingly enough, your daughter told her friends about how her parents live in separate houses, thinking it was impressive that she had two houses.

“great. yebin’s really been eager to see seyoung again. i think the two of them are really getting along nicely.” hoseok explained, making things worse in an attempt to break the ice.

“that’s great. i'm glad seyoung’s taking a liking to yebin.” oh, how you wanted to hiss that you hoped she wouldn’t replace you with yebin the way he did.

“you know, you’re reacting to this better than i thought you would,” he replied. bad move.

“i don’t know how you want me to react, hoseok. maybe, it’s because i haven’t heard from you in three months.” you spat, angry that he even dared to say something like that. what did he mean? did he think you’d welcome yebin, his mistress, the woman he cheated on you with, with open arms? did he think you’d take a liking to yebin the way seyoung did? unfortunately, that’s not how infidels get treated. you two were a team, he randomly got up and joined the opposition, leaving you alone to play the game of life by yourself.

“you’re right,” he admitted. “i should’ve called or text, but you know how my job is and—“

“i'm sure if you had enough time to go clubbing with yebin you have enough time to spend two hours with your daughter. hoseok, i will support you in almost everything, but you need to be a part of seyoung's life — and seeing her once in a blue moon won’t leave a lasting memory of you in her childhood.”

he sighed. you could imagine him habitually rubbing his eyes with one hand before running it over his hair; he shakes his head when he doesn’t have anything left to say. the muffled sound of a woman voice sounded from the other line, making you roll your eyes.

“i get what you’re saying. i... i need to go right now, but i promise we’ll come and see you guys soon. bye.” he completely shook off your conversation and it made you angry. how could he disregard something so important?

“of course you do.” you muttered bitterly before the line went dead. fortunately for you, you’d just returned home, allowing you to frantically throw your groceries on the kitchen island and drown yourself in what sorrow he caused you.

it had started off like a dream. the two of you had met in your third year of college, him a business and economics major and you a music production major with a minor in audio and sound engineering. you’d bumped into each other at a banal frat party — one neither of you really wanted to be at. he began boasting about his dog back at home, making you erupt in giggles and inch closer and closer towards him as the night grew older. the two of you eventually left the crowded house together, not going to someone’s place, but rather to a local noodle bar, the midnight empty tables and sentient music a great transition from the pounding music and lack of personal space of the party. he joked about how he was never amazing at talking to people, especially women, so he was surprised that you managed to stick around with him for this long — a new record, to quote him directly. his warm aura kept you snug from the cold night, and he eventually took you home, dropping you safely to your apartment. after that night was over, you began to notice him more and more on campus, like a bright color in a mellow painting.

one day, out of the blue, he drunkenly confessed his feelings for you. ironically enough, the same people had hosted a party in the same frat house a year later. with his intoxicated body pressed up the wall next to you and the thought that you were someone else, he moaned about how much he likes you but you never seem to pick up on his advances. the days following sprouted conversation after conversation regarding relationships, and eventually, the two of you decided to date. you felt as if you were on the top of the world, as if there was nothing stopping you anymore. after you graduated, the two of you rented an apartment together and entered the job market, taking steps together. and, three years later, you asked him to marry you. right in the middle of pasta night, while you were watching the little mermaid together.

he named seyoung. you can remember exactly when the two of you decided on her name; when you first held seyoung in your arms and the two of you gently admired her perfection. he kissed behind your ear and whispered, “seyoung. eternal.”

the three of you were like the three musketeers, and life was a never-ending spiral of fun. you were happy, so happy that you were afraid it would go away. it was perfect: you’d wake up to your loving husband snoring softly beside you with your baby girl giggling happily in her crib, watching the spinning sheep on her crib mobile with glee. every single day, the same cycle, but somehow, your family taught you a new feeling of happiness each day.

you hate this part. of course, all good things come to an end. they have to, because the bad is what reminds you how lucky you are to have the good. you’d thought life was great. seyoung was a very likable toddler according to her preschool teachers, hoseok had recently gotten a promotion, and your career finally felt like it was going somewhere. you’d recently been hired at bighit, working for their new group, txt.

it was around twelve in the morning. you’d gotten home late because your team had finished mapped txt’s first mini-album, the dream chapter: star. pulling your coat closer to your frame as you stepped towards your door, you prayed hoseok had put seyoung to sleep. you’d told him that you’d be coming home as late as three in the morning, not knowing exactly how long it would take to decide how many songs would make it onto the album, as some potential songs were songs meant for other groups that were eventually scrapped.

you entered quietly, the door creaking at your attempt to open it silently. you weren’t very observant of your surroundings; truthfully, you just wanted to kiss your baby’s forehead and collapse into your bed. kicking off your shoes, you placed your bag on the coffee table, sighing before trudging towards your shared bedroom. it hit you like bricks — you weren’t paying attention to any noises, you weren’t living a cliché romance movie scene, it was completely unexpected. when you pushed open your bedroom door, a nude woman, lean and visibly younger, was rolling her hips on top of your husband’s bare form. it had taken a second to even register: what’s going on? who is she? am i dreaming? yet your silent thoughts were proven wrong as her head turned in fear to see you standing there, silhouette in the doorframe. she swung her leg over hoseok, pulling on the covers as her body fell next to him on the bed.

that was your spot.

hoseok sat up, eyes wide with fear. “(y/n)… i… this-” he scrambled, thousands of excuses flying through his mind as to why he was just caught hooking up with his assistant. someone you, for one, trusted.

you, like him, were at a loss for words. your soul felt as though someone had ripped it from your chest and slammed it to the ground, trampling on it bitterly. you turned your head, seeing your baby girl sleeping soundly in her crib. one thing remained stable while your entire world came crashing down onto you, and it was her breathing, chest rising and falling rhythmically, eyes fluttering.

you nearly slammed the door in fury, turning and sliding down against it, trying to catch your breath. you’d never faced this type of pain before, you didn’t know what to do. there was so much to lose and so little to gain.

your mother had always taught you to not take any shit from anyone, especially not a man. you tuned out the begs and pleads and cries for you to stay with him and stood your ground on a divorce. ‘it won’t happen again’ has proven itself to be a white lie time and time again. you’d gained custody of your child, and hoseok gained all of the freedom the world could allow. it was as if he was young again.

it’s not that life was all bad for you after the divorce; crown, the song you’d mainly produced with the help of others became a huge hit in korea, festering hundreds of millions of views and charting #1s worldwide. your company credited you along with a couple other coworkers as the reason for txt’s success in the west. and, as txt continued to grow in popularity, so did your paycheck. you were a wildly successful single mom, fearless on the outside, getting there on the inside.

fast forward to now: you, single mother, barely getting by mentally, struggling with things your daughter is too young to understand. your husband, living a carefree life with his young mistress, the only connection between him and his ex-wife being his child support fund. you didn’t envy him, but you envied his happiness.

trying to kill time, a piece of toast hanging from your mouth, you opened your laptop, an email from seyoung’s teacher popping into your inbox. it read,

“ hello parents of wonderful third graders! welcome to (or welcome back to) yooseong elementary!

my name is mr. jeon jungkook, and i have the great honor of having your kids this year. i know that the school year has only recently started, but i’d love to get to know all of you soon! attached to this email are my parent hours along with the introduction handout i gave my students on friday, just in case any of your little stars misplaced it or haven’t shown it to you yet. i’d like for you to sign it and have your child turn it in on monday to ensure that we’re all on the same page! i hope all of you are just as excited for your child’s school year as i am.

again, if any of you need to contact me for any reason, please shoot me an email at this address! i’ll respond as soon as i can.

thank you,

mr. jeon ”

his enthusiasm made you smile. nothing comes before seyoung’s happiness, and if seyoung has a teacher which loves his job as much as you love her, that’s all the satisfaction you need. you’re glad, and somewhat relieved, that when you’re not around, seyoung is in great hands.

quickly writing him back and thanking him for sending the handout seyoung has yet to show you, you closed the tab, scrolling through a news article about txt’s unfinished success story, refreshing your mind on what you already knew about the boys, and chuckling at what facts they got wrong. as you continued to read through the article, an advertisement on the sidebar caught your eye. now, normally, you’re not one to pay attention to them. you’re more of the type to frown at them and spam-click the ‘x’ in the corner until it eventually vanishes. this one was different.

an advertisement for a singles support group, offering a place for your voice to be heard, and, well, support.

you hesitated, wondering if you’d be paired with a group of adults with more emotional issues than time per session. reminding yourself of how hoseok’s actions combined with the consistent stress of your job and raising seyoung threatens your sanity on a day to day basis, you put that voice on mute, and promptly clicked away, this time clicking on the ad instead of the ‘x’.

after all, anything for seyoung.

3K notes · View notes

bananaofswifts · 4 years ago

Link

Taylor Swift appears to be waging war over the serial resale of her old master recordings on two fronts. She recently confirmed that she is already underway in the process of re-recording the six albums she made for the Big Machine label, in order to steer her fans (and sync licensing execs) toward the coming alternate versions she’ll control. But now that she’s followed the surprise release of “Folklore” with the very, very surprise release of “Evermore” less than five months later, the thought may occur: If she keeps up this pace, she may have more new albums out on the Republic label than she ever did on Big Machine in a quarter of the time. Flooding the zone to further crowd out the oldies is unlikely to be Swift’s real motivation for giving the world a full-blown “Folklore” sequel this instantaneously: As motivations for prolific activity go, relieving and sublimating quarantine pressure is probably even better than revenge. Anyway, this is not a gift horse to be looked in the mouth. “Evermore,” like its mid-pandemic predecessor, feels like something that’s been labored over — in the best possible way — for years, not something that was written and recorded beginning in August, with the bow said to be put on it only about a week ago. Albums don’t get graded on a curve for how hastily they came together, or shouldn’t be, but this one doesn’t need the handicap. It’d be a jewel even if it’d been in progress forevermore and a day.The closest analog for the relation the new album bears to its predecessor might be one that’d seem ancient to much of Swift’s audience: U2 following “Achtung Baby” with “Zooropa” while still touring behind the previous album. It’s hard to remember now that a whole year and a half separated those two related projects; In that very different era, it seemed like a ridiculously fast follow-up. But the real comparison lies in how U2, having been rewarded for making a pretty gutsy change of pace with “Achtung,” seemed to say: You’re okay with a little experimentation? Let’s see how you like it when we really boil things down to our least commercial impulses, then — while we’ve still got you in the mood.Swift isn’t going avant-garde with “Evermore.” If anything, she’s just stripping things down to even more of an acoustic core, so that the new album often sounds like the folk record that the title of the previous one promised — albeit with nearly subliminal layers of Mellotrons, flutes, French horns and cellos that are so well embedded beneath the profuse finger-picking, you probably won’t notice them till you scour the credits. But it’s taking the risk of “Folklore” one step further by not even offering such an obvious banger (irony intended) as “Cardigan.” Aaron Dessner of the National produced or co-produced about two-thirds of the last record, but he’s on 14 out of 15 tracks here (Jack Antonoff gets the remaining spot), and so the new album is even more all of a piece with his arpeggiated chamber-pop impulses, Warmth amid iciness is a recurring lyrical motif here, and kind of a musical one, too, as Swift’s still increasingly agile vocal acting breathes heat into arrangements that might otherwise seem pretty controlled. At one point Swift sings, “Hey, December, I’m feeling unmoored,” like a woman who might even know she’s going to put her album out a couple of weeks before Christmas. It’s a wintry record — suitable for double-cardigan wearing! — and if you’re among the 99% who have been feeling unmoored, too, then perhaps you are Ready For It. Swift said in announcing the album that she was moving further into fiction songwriting after finding out it was a good fit on much of “Folklore,” a probably inevitable move for someone who’s turning 31 in a few days and appears to have a fairly settled personal life. Which is not to say that there aren’t scores to settle, and a few intriguing tracks whose real-life associations will be speculated upon. But just as the “Betty”/”August” love triangle of mid-year established that modern pop’s most celebrated confessional writer can just make shit up, too, so, here, do we get the narrator of “Dorothea,” a honey in Tupelo who is telling a childhood friend who moved away and became famous that she’s always welcome back in her hometown. (Swift may be doing a bit of empathic wondering in a couple of tracks here how it feels to be at the other end of the telescope.) One time the album takes a turn away from rumination into a pure spirit of fun — while getting dark anyway — is “No Body, No Crime,” a spirited double-murder ballad that may have more than a little inspiration in “Goodbye, Earl.” Since Swift already used the Dixie Chicks for background vocals two albums ago, for this one she brings in two of the sisters from Haim, Danielle and Este, and even uses the latter’s name for one of the characters. Yes, the rock band Haim’s featured appearance is on the only really country-sounding song on the record… there’s one you didn’t see coming, in the 16 hours you had to wonder about it. Yet there are also a handful of songs that clearly represent a Swiftian state of mind. At least, it’s easy to suppose that the love songs that opens the album, “Willow,” is a cousin to the previous record’s “Invisible String” and “Peace,” even if it doesn’t offer quite as many clearly corroborating details about her current relationship as those did. On the sadder side, Swift is apparently determined to run through her entire family tree for heartrending material. On “Lover,” she sang for her stricken mother; on “Folklore,” for her grandfather in wartime. In that tradition the new album offers “Marjorie,” about the beloved grandmother she lost in 2003, when she was 13. (The lyric videos that are being offered online mostly offer static visual loops, but the one for “Marjorie” is an exception, reviving a wealth of stills and home-movie footage of Grandma, who was quite a looker in a miniskirt in her day.) Rue is not something Swift is afraid of here anymore than anywhere else, as she sings, “I should’ve asked you questions / I should’ve asked you how to be / Asked you to write it down for me / Should’ve kept every grocery store receipt / ‘Cause every scrap of you would be taken from me,” lines that will leave a dry eye only in houses that have never known death. The piece de resistance in its poignance is Swift actually resurrecting faint audio clips of Marjorie, who was an opera singer back in the day. It’s almost like ELO’s “Rockaria,” played for weeping instead of a laugh. Swift has not given up, thank God, on the medium that brought her to the dance — the breakup song — but most of them here have more to do with dimming memories and the search for forgiveness, however slowly and incompletely achieved, than feist. But doesn’t Swift know that we like her when she’s angry? She does, and so she delves deep into something like venom just once, but it’s a good one. The ire in “Closure,” a pulsating song about an unwelcome “we can still be friends, right?” letter from an ex, seems so fresh and close to the surface that it would be reasonable to speculate that it is not about a romantic relationship at all, but a professional one she has no intention of ever recalling in a sweet light. Or maybe she does harbor that a disdain for an actual former love with that machinelike a level of intensity. What “Evermore” is full of is narratives that, like the music that accompanies them, really come into focus on second or third listen, usually because of a detail or two that turns her sometimes impressionistic modes completely vivid. “Champagne Problems” is a superb example of her abilities as a storyteller who doesn’t always tell all: She’s playing the role of a woman who quickly ruins a relationship by balking at a marriage proposal the guy had assumed was an easy enough yes that he’d tipped off his nearby family. “Sometimes you just don’t know the answer ‘ Til someone’s on their knees and asks you / ‘She would’ve made such a lovely bride / What a shame she’s fucked in the head’ / They said / But you’ll find the real thing instead / She’ll patch up your tapestry that I shred.” (Swift has doubled the F-bomb quotient this time around, among other expletives, for anyone who may be wondering whether there’s rough wordplay amid Dessner’s delicacy — that would an effing yes.) “‘Tis the Damn Season,” representing a gentler expletive, gives us a character who is willing to settle, or at least share a Christmas-time bed with an ex back in the hometown, till something better comes along. The pleasures here are shared, though not many more fellow artists have broken into her quarantine bubble this time around. Besides Haim’s cameo, Marcus Mumford offers a lovely harmony vocal on “Cowboy Like Me,” which might count as the other country song on the album, and even throws in something Swift never much favored in her Nashville days, a bit of lap steel. Its tale of male and female grifters meeting and maybe — maybe — falling in love is really more determinedly Western than C&W, per se, though. The National itself, as a group, finally gets featured billing on “Coney Island,” with Matt Berninger taking a duet vocal on a track that recalls the previous album’s celebrated Bon Iver collaboration “Exile,” with ex-lovers taking quiet turns deciding who was to blame. (Swift saves the rare laugh line for herself: “We were like the mall before the internet / It was the one place to be.) Don’t worry, legions of new Bon Iver fans: Dessner has not kicked Justin Vernon out of his inner circle just to make room for Berninger. The Bon Iver frontman whose appearance on “Folklore” came as a bit of a shock to some of his fan base actually makes several appearances on this album, and the one that gets him elevated to featured status again, as a duet, the closing “Evermore,” is different from “Exile” in two key ways. Vernon gets to sing in his high register… and he gets the girl. As it turned out, the year 2020 did not involve any such waiting for Swift fans; it’s an embarrassment of stunning albums-ending-in-“ore” that she’s mined out of a locked-down muse.

#taylor swift #evermore #review

130 notes · View notes

suituuup · 4 years ago

Photo

pieces - chapter three

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

rated: E for drug use and sex scenes

AO3 LINK

“Bec?”

Beca hummed absentmindedly, blinking out of her daze and twisting her head in the direction of the voice.

Sarah smiled gently as she leaned against the doorframe of the kitchen. She cocked an eyebrow, giving a pointed look towards the sink. “I think the pan is clean.”

Beca glanced down, stilling her movements. She had been scrubbing that pan for probably ten minutes now, her thoughts completely consumed by Chloe and what she was supposed to do next.

Chloe clearly didn’t want to see her, and Beca wasn’t going to wait by the phone when it was clear that Chloe was far from okay. She was thinner than Beca remembered, and the look in her eye, the lack of light in those once bright blues, chilled Beca to the bone.

She looked… broken. As though her spirit had repeatedly been battered until all that was left were mere pieces of her old self.

If there were any left at all.

Beca couldn’t stand the thought of not doing anything, and she needed to come up with a plan to help Chloe without driving her into a corner and risk losing her forever.

“What’s going on?” Sarah questioned, pushing off the doorframe and padding over. She rested her hand between Beca’s shoulder blades, her eyebrows knitted together in concern. “You’ve seemed off today.”

Beca released a sigh, setting the pan down into the sink and reaching for the dishtowel laying next to her on the counter to dry her hands. “I’m sorry, I’m just… worried about a friend.”

Sarah nodded slowly. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Sarah was unexpected, to say the least. Beca was a workaholic, and her career was too time-consuming for her to get into the whole dating thing. But Sarah, who happened to work as a barista in Beca’s favorite independent coffee shop, had somehow managed to convince Beca to go out with her. One dinner surprisingly turned into a second date, then a third, and it just like that, it had been almost a year since they officially got together.

Sarah was gentle, patient, understanding, overflowing with positivity, but most of all, incredibly kind. She reminded Beca of Chloe, sometimes. And maybe it was those similar personality traits that drew Beca to her in the first place.

They didn’t live together. Beca could feel that it was the next expected step on her girlfriend’s end, but she didn’t feel ready to commit, yet. She liked her own space, her solitude. So Sarah spent a few nights a week at Beca’s place, like tonight, and Beca was fine with that.

“Not really,” she replied, casting Sarah an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, it’s just-- complicated right now.”

“You need to stop apologizing,” Sarah murmured, her expression soft and loving. Beca let her shoulders sag, ready to apologize again. “I understand. But if you do change your mind and need to let something off your chest, I’m here.”

Beca nodded. “Thanks.”

“Are you coming to bed?”

“Not yet, I wanna get some work done, first.” She leaned in to peck Sarah’s lips. “You go ahead, I’ll join you soon.”

Walking across the living room and past the huge floor to ceiling windows looking over Central Park, Beca made her way to her home office, her happy place. She had bought the Manhattan condo two years ago, making it a requirement during her house-hunt to have a large room with plenty of light and enough space to store all her records and her music equipment. It was also where she kept her Grammys and other prizes, away from the attention as nobody really stepped into her office.

She usually popped a blues album on the record player, enjoying the soothing instrumentals while she replied to various emails, but not tonight. Tonight, she grabbed a yellow legal notepad and her headphones from her desk and curled up on the leather couch tucked in the far corner, then scrolled to her Spotify playlists until she found the one she was looking for.

she is magic

Beca couldn’t remember the last time she had listened to her Chloe playlist, one she had made back in Barden when she was hopelessly in love with her best friend. They were songs that reminded her of Chloe, or songs that Chloe liked. Or used to like, at least.

As lyrics she knew so well poured into her headphones, blocking out the rest of the world, different ones flowed out of Beca’s heart, materializing on the paper in front of her in black ink as she scribbled across the page. Lyrics about friendship, unrequited love, and regrets for listening to her brain and not her heart all these years ago.

It was pushing on two am by the time Beca called it a night. Her eyes burned, her mind felt mushy, but her soul felt a tiny bit lighter. Music had always been her therapy, and writing songs had always proved more efficient than paying a licensed professional, even though it had been years since Beca had last finished one, for lack of inspiration.

Or rather, because of the absence of her muse.

She woke up five hours later to a stiff neck and sore back, the bright sunlight pouring in from the windows lining one of her office walls drawing her from her sleep. She had meant to go to bed, before deciding to close her eyes for five minutes right on the couch.

Straightening with a groan, she grabbed her phone and turned it over, hoping to see a text from an unknown number on her screen.

Aubrey Posen [6:23am]

Any news?

Aubrey Posen [6:37am]

Should I come to New York?

Aubrey practiced family law up in Boston. She and Beca saw each other a few times a year, whenever Aubrey was in the city. Bella reunions were a bit more scarce now, with the girls being scattered all around the country. Their last one dated back to a year and a half ago, on the Fourth of July.

Beca ran a hand over her face and heaved out a sigh, swiping her thumb across the screen to unlock it.

Beca [7:16am]

No news yet. I think I’m gonna wait a few days before I head back to the club, if she doesn’t call in the meantime that is. The manager gave me serious sleazy vibes and I’m sure he could blacklist me if I’m too insistent. I don’t think there’s any need for you to come down for now. I’ll keep you posted.

Hitting send, Beca pushed to her feet and shuffled out of her office, hanging a left down the hall towards the kitchen. A note next to her coffee thermos sat on the island.

Missed you last night, but I hope you got whatever you needed done. I had to leave for my shift, you’re welcome to swing by for your second coffee of the day and your morning kiss ;) have a good day!

Sarah xx

Guilt swooped in over picking old feelings about an ex-almost over her girlfriend, and Beca let her head hang forward, releasing a grown. She was far from an expert at this relationship thing, but she cared about Sarah a lot and didn’t want to mess that up.

Beca shook off the sleepiness lingering in her bones and the stiffness in her muscles with a long, hot shower, then got ready for her day. She usually got to the office at 8 sharp, but it was already 7:54 by the time she was out the door, and her commute lasted about twenty minutes, so she wouldn’t get the chance to stop by Sarah’s workplace.

To: Sarah

I’m sorry, I got caught up in work last night and ended up falling asleep on the couch around 2. Come over tonight? I’ll cook dinner. Have a good shift.

Her morning was spent in the studio canning vocals for girl in red’s new album, a project Beca was stocked about as she was BMLJ’s most promising artist for this year’s Grammy Awards.

“That was awesome, Marie,” Beca spoke into the microphone, giving her a thumbs-up through the glass. “Let’s take a lunch break and resume in an hour?”

“Sounds good,” the younger woman agreed with a smile as she took off her headphones.

Beca headed back to her office down the hall and checked her phone for any new messages (finding none important), before shrugging on her thick winter coat and screwing her beanie over her head.

“I’ll be back in an hour, Gina!” She told her assistant on route to the elevator.

As Sarah’s workplace was just five blocks south from the label, Beca figured she would eat lunch there as she wasn’t able to stop by that morning. She stopped in the convenience store across the street from the coffee shop to buy Sarah her favorite magazine as she knew her break was coming up soon and she’d have something to read.

Beca was scanning the press stand for that specific magazine, not paying attention to the person walking into the store until they spoke.

“A pack of Marlboro, please.”

Beca would recognize that voice anywhere. Her head snapped up so fast she felt something in her neck pull, and she was rounding the stand before she even registered giving her feet the order to move. “Chloe?”

Chloe glanced over to her right and froze for a second, before fishing for a twenty in her jacket pocket and handing it to the cashier. “Are you following me or something?”

Given their last encounter, Beca wasn’t surprised by Chloe’s snark, so she gave as good as she got. “You came in after I did, so maybe I should ask you that question.”

Chloe stuffed the cigarette pack and the change into her pocket. “What do you want, Beca?”

“To talk,” she replied, softly. “One coffee, that’s it. And if you decide you really don’t want me in your life, then I won’t bother you again. I promise.”

Chloe seemed to ponder on that for a few beats. “One coffee.”

“There’s a shop right across the street.”

Taking her to the place her girlfriend worked at? Probably not the brightest idea, but she was afraid Chloe might go back on her decision if they spent too long finding someplace else.

When Chloe nodded, Beca took the lead and stepped outside, forgetting all about that magazine as she racked her brain about what she should say. Tactfulness wasn’t her greatest suit; Aubrey would be so much better at this.

They stepped inside Devocion and Beca picked a table in the corner, shrugging off her coat and draping it over the back of her chair. Chloe kept her jacket and beanie on, a bit hunched on herself as she sat down in the chair opposite Beca’s.

“Beca?”

Beca glanced towards Sarah as she approached, wearing a waist apron with the café logo on it. Her dark blonde hair was woven back in a French braid, a few strands escaping, and curiosity swirled in her green eyes as they flickered to Chloe.

Okay, in hindsight, bringing Chloe here was a terrible idea.

“Hey, um, Sarah, this is Chloe, a friend from college.” She cleared her throat. “Chloe, this is my girlfriend, Sarah.”

“Nice to meet you,” Sarah replied brightly, her smile fading a little when all Chloe offered was a distant nod. Sarah met Beca’s gaze briefly, clearing her throat. “What can I get you guys?”

“My usual. You want anything to eat, Chlo?”

The nickname rolled off her tongue so naturally, Beca didn’t even catch it.

Chloe shook her head. “Just a black coffee.”

“Coming right up.”

“Thanks,” Beca said as Sarah spun around on her heels, her focus shifting to Chloe. “So um, I wanted to apologize for the other day and putting you on the spot at the club. I just… wasn’t sure how else to talk to you.”

“I can give you some of the money back if you need it.”

Beca furrowed her brow, not having expected that. “No, no. I… it’s fine. I don’t care about money.”

Something flashed in Chloe’s eyes at that, something Beca couldn’t quite pinpoint.

Sarah came back with two coffees before she could analyze it further, setting the mugs down on the table. “Your club sandwich will be here in a few, babe.”

Beca nodded, casting her a small, appreciative smile.

Chloe straightened a bit in her seat, cradling the mug with both hands. “I’m not sure what you expect me to say or do, Beca.”

Beca licked her lips. “I was hoping we could… hang out from time to time. I’ve missed you, Chlo. So has Aubrey.”

The mention of Aubrey made Chloe lookup. “Does she live in New York, too?”

“Um no, in Boston. She’s a lawyer. But she’d come down to have coffee, or lunch, or whatever you feel like doing. In a heartbeat.”

Chloe shook her head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

What little hope flared in the pit of Beca’s belly upon Chloe showing interest in Aubrey’s life vanished. “Why not?”

“I told you. I’m not the same person anymore. I’m-- I’m not…”

Beca tilted her head to the side. “You’re not what?” She pressed gently.

Chloe’s gaze fleeted out the window as her rather calm demeanor now radiated agitation. Her knee started bouncing and her fingers tightened around the mug, and it was as though Chloe was battling against her own thoughts.

She was itching to reach across the table to rest her hand over her wrist in a sort of grounding gesture, but something told her that would have the opposite effect.

“Chloe?” Beca attempted once more, her voice as soft as she could muster, as it seemed like Chloe was on the brink of bolting.

The tear slipping out of Chloe’s eye tore her heart into two. “I-I have to go.”

Her chair screeched as she pushed it back roughly, and she was nearly out the door by the time Beca scrambled to her feet.

It was lunch-hour rush in one of the busiest avenues in Manhattan, and Chloe had already disappeared in the crowd when she reached the exit, leaving Beca to helplessly wonder how someone like Chloe, once the epitome of sunshine, got herself trapped in so much darkness.

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

74 notes · View notes

juniorgman187 · 4 years ago

Text

The Bones (Reid Series) Part 2

Summary: After doing an even deeper dive on Valerie’s past, Spencer finally meets her, but his invasiveness isn’t the worst part ... the worst part is he might actually like her.

Playlist: “The Bones” by Maren Morris & Hozier (BONUS: song includes major foreshadowing) Category: Series, Fluff, Soft Angst, Eventual smut and *NSFW content Pairing: Spencer Reid POV x Fem!OC - Valerie Content Warning: invasion of privacy, allusions to Maeve’s death, arrhythmia Word Count: 3.4k

Part 1 |

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

After firmly deciding not to weave Penelope into my tangled web, I was met with the arduous burden of conducting my own research.

Firstly, I would need a computer - yeah ... a computer. That’s how far I was willing to go for this pursuit. I once vowed never to fall victim to modern technology’s clutches, and yet here I was, doing my research on a public library’s computer. To my credit, I hadn’t gone out and bought one, I was merely using my resources.

With the need for a device out of the way, all that was left was the knowledge of what to look for. But that didn’t pose a problem either.

Funny enough, with as many rules and restrictions as there are regarding patient privacy and confidentiality, all it took was matching dates of news stories with hospital records to complete my research. I was fairly certain I was only scratching the surface of information about Valerie as opposed to the sea of things I could’ve uncovered if I asked for Garcia’s help, but there are only so many lines a person can cross in one week.

This was my limit.

Call me naive, but I was actually quite surprised with just how expansive the internet is. To an almost relentless degree, I would open an article and it would lead me to ten more about the same topic. It was this never ending rabbit hole that seemed to spiral on forever. I kept digging deeper and deeper until I could no longer dig.

I’d officially hit rock bottom.

It took me a grand total of just two hours to unearth all the ‘dirt’ I could on a young Valerie Bishop.

Local 16-year-old Wins Nevada’s Statewide Art Contest! Published by Henderson Press.

Valerie, just a sophomore in high school at the time, was donning what any experimental teen girl would’ve worn in the early 2000s - bootcut jeans and a sequin blouse over top of a plain camisole. And if I zoomed in close enough, I could spot the evidence of a sparkly blue shadow coating her eyelids. Surprisingly, though, that wasn’t the first thing I noticed.

It was that smile. That tooth-achingly sweet smile.

Though I never got the chance to see Maeve truly smile, that’s what I imagined it would look like.

The photographer must’ve caught her midway through a laugh, at least that’s what the image of her slightly open-mouthed grin told me. Meanwhile, her two tiny hands were clenching her overbearingly large trophy while her artwork stood behind her as the background.

It didn’t take me long to figure out why her painting won. Simply put, there was no need to see anyone else’s art to know that they couldn’t possibly compete with hers.

Hers was an abstract rendition of what I believe to be a forest of some sort. The detail is what I was most drawn to. It would’ve been unbelievable on its own but the fact that she was 16 when she painted it? That’s what was unbelievable to me.

If that’s how talented she was at that age, I could only imagine how much more talented she became with time. However, I lost the chance to investigate the current state of her skill before a related article from The Cleveland Gazette about Valerie succeeded this one.

From Award-Winning Artist to Henderson’s Hero

Read my interview with 17-year-old Valerie Bishop to find out more about her struggle with arrhythmia and how she turned her pain into a project!

By Kelli Gallagher from the Cleveland Gazette.

Gallagher: Thank you so much for letting me interview you, Valerie.

Bishop: Of course! I’m happy to.

Gallagher: You’ve become somewhat of a hero in Henderson, Nevada, haven’t you?

Bishop: I wouldn’t call myself a hero ... but if everyone else wants to - I’m fine with that. (laughs)

Gallagher: Don’t be so modest! I mean, what you’ve done is so incredible, and you’re only what? Seventeen?

Bishop: Yes, ma’am. I just turned seventeen this past August.

Gallagher: Wow, I can’t believe how young you are and yet you’ve already accomplished so much. I saw that you won a statewide art contest last year. Tell me more about that.

Bishop: That’s a funny story actually. My Grandma Sheila was the one who entered me in that contest. I didn’t even know about it until I won it. She’s always surprising me, though. In fact, she’s the one that surprised me with my first ever art supplies, when I was about eight or so. They were these super expensive oil paints, and I knew she couldn’t afford them, so I told her we should return them and get something cheaper, but she said, “Nonsense. When the bones are good the rest don’t matter. A house don’t fall when the bones are good.” That was kind of her saying.

A house don’t fall when the bones are good.

The bones.

Gallagher: I’m interested to know more about your relationship with your grandma. If I’m remembering correctly, she was also diagnosed with arrhythmia a while back too, right?

Bishop: Yes, she was, but that’s never slowed her down. And as for our relationship, my grandma and I have always been close, but arrhythmia, in a weird way, has brought us even closer. She has always been my biggest supporter and the fact that we’re both on this journey together makes her my biggest supporter even more so.

Gallagher: Absolutely. Now, I also heard that you’ve started a fundraising program to possibly start a gallery and studio in Virginia Beach. If you don’t mind me asking, why Virginia Beach? Is there any special significance?

Bishop: Actually, that’s where my grandma met my grandpa, and they got married and started a family there, too. So if Grandma Sheila hadn’t been there to meet him, she wouldn’t have had my mom, and that would mean I wouldn’t have been here either. I like to think Virginia Beach is where it all started. In a way, it’s where my bones are. That solid foundation in Virginia gave me everything I have today.

Gallagher: That is just incredible. I’m so glad to see your fundraising project is thriving, but I can’t imagine any of this has been particularly easy for you. You were diagnosed right around the time your senior year was starting right?

Bishop: Yes ma’am.

Gallagher: So what brought you from Henderson to Cleveland?

Bishop: Well, actually, I didn’t want to move, especially not before I graduated, but Cleveland has the best cardiovascular hospital in the country and my health is far more important than graduating in the same state I grew up in. So when my parents were willing to move me and my sister out here, I saw it as a privilege rather than something to be sad about.

Gallagher: I am so inspired by you, Valerie.

Bishop: (laughs) Really, why?

Gallagher: Despite everything that’d been thrown at you, you are still so grateful. I hope you never lose that.

Bishop: I promise you I won’t.

Gallagher: So one last thing before I go, what is one hope you have for your future self?

Bishop: I hope, future self, that your ‘bones’ are still strong.

Gallagher: Beautiful. Thank you so much again for doing this, Valerie. I sincerely hope you reach your goal and you get to open up that gallery and studio in Virginia Beach.

At the bottom of the article, there was a footnote from Kelli Gallagher.

Exactly 10 years later, Bishop was able to move to Virginia Beach and open up her gallery and studio.

By the end of the article, I felt a genuine sense of pride for Valerie, and I know I had virtually no right to know these things about her, but I could still be proud of her for them right?

I would never fully get my answer to this question before I crossed the final boundary.

After exhausting all that I could gather from the internet without Penelope’s assistance, the only thing left for me to do was actually meet her in person. However, this would prove to be a bigger obstacle that it seemed. I decided to delay the daunting task until the next day. A decision partially influenced by the phrase, ‘sleep on it.’ I prayed I’d gain clarity on what to do when I woke up the next morning, but even with a night’s rest, I was still undecided as I drove to Virginia Beach once more.

To sit in my car that was conveniently parked right in front of the gallery was a poor choice. Because with every passing second, the temptation to walk in grew, but the fear of regret dampened those impulses. The more I thought about it, the more I psyched myself out. Between my two choices, to freeze or to fight, I should’ve taken the third - to flee. But I was here now and I couldn’t leave empty-handed for a second time.

After a moment’s indecision, adrenaline coursed through my veins to give me the courage to get out of my car. When I felt an outdoor breeze blow over me, I knew there was no going back now. Right when I walked in, the little bell above the door rang, solidifying that I was officially crossing the threshold, and whether I liked it or not, she was going to see me after hearing me walk in.

“I’ll be right with you!” A small voice called out from somewhere in the back. She was hidden from my immediate sight, and somehow that made it so much worse. It was now I that was waiting for her, instead of her unknowingly waiting for me.

As though I were prey getting ready to escape a predator, I stayed put by the door. It gave me a full view of the entire place anyway.

Scoping out my surroundings, I spotted the paintings that were carefully measured and placed on the walls, almost to perfection. I had no time to notice anything more before the person in the back walked out.

Immediately when I saw her, I knew.

“You’re … not Valerie.” I couldn’t help sounding so disappointed but luckily, the woman that came out took no offense to my observation.

“No, I’m not,” She laughed. “But I can get her for you-”

“No wait!” I uselessly leapt forward to stop her from saying, “Vee! There’s someone out here to see you!” But that’s precisely what she did anyway. Evidently oblivious of my previous protests, she politely smiled back at me. “She’ll be right out.”

For the second time that day, I waited with bated breath, anxiously anticipating the arrival of Valerie. And I was almost too focused on subduing the pounding of my heart to realize that she was actually walking out of the back right now.

“Hi, sorry about that!” A new voice chirped.

Valerie.

The moment I laid eyes on her, it became clear to me that the pictures in her files hardly did her justice. Nothing could compare to the real sight of her. I was only able to catch the profile of her face when I saw her in the cafe, but in her entirety, I began to wax nostalgic. Though her face and hair and body had transformed into that of a grown woman’s features, I could still identify the same tooth-achingly sweet smile that a younger Valerie once wore on the front page of the Henderson Press. She was no beast to conquer, she was just a girl, smiling at me in that same gentle way.

Her expression just as well showed no indication of recognition, not that she would recognize me, considering my letter was anonymous and unless she pulled the same stunt I did, she wouldn’t ever recognize who I was.

“I’m Val,” She made her greeting to me while untying her dirtied waist apron, and it was merely the action that caused my gaze to fall to her hips, but when she shed the apron, I was still staring. There was something sort of mesmerizing about the way they swayed as she approached. It wasn’t until they stopped swaying completely that I realized they did so because there was no more distance to advance - she was already right there in front of me, patiently watching me stare.

“Val?” I blinked hard to revert my gaze while also playing into the part that I had no idea who she was.

“Mhm. Short for Valerie,” She confirmed happily. “Like the Amy Winehouse song.”

This time, I genuinely didn’t know what she was referring to, and my confused countenance prompted her to clarify, “You don’t know that song?”

Then, seemingly out of nowhere, she began to playfully sing, “Well, sometimes I go out by myself and I look across the water ...”

While she watched my face and waited for the recitation of the song to jog my memory, I was just as much studying her face. I could tell she was only kidding when she sang, evidenced by the laugh that followed her rendition, but it sounded so unironically good that I had to question what other talents she possessed.

“Um, I was actually thinking more like Valerie, the martyred medieval saint, whose name stood for strength and health.” No sooner than the words spilled from my mouth did I recognize the freudian slip - the simultaneous coincidence and confession. The coincidence was that, now, with Maeve’s heart beating in her chest, she lived up to her name - she was newly strong and healthy. But I worried, she would see the correlation I drew between her name and her successful transplant and would realize that I knew more about her than I let on. Did I just give away too much?

“Sorry, I didn’t catch your name earlier. What was it?” Her casual dismissiveness of my previous statement did nothing to ease my worries. Was she beginning to piece everything together?

“Oh, right!” I said dumbly. “S-Spencer. I’m Spencer.” I was such a blubbering bundle of nerves that I actually reached out to shake her hand - a stranger’s hand.

“Nice to meet you, Spencer,” She softly laughed, which was hopefully not out of the enjoyment of seeing me squirm. “What can I do for you?”

A loaded question, don’t you think? What can you do for me, Valerie? Well, for one thing, you could’ve answered my letter, but to say something as bold as that would require me to admit the real reason I was here, and how could I do that without mentioning how I found you in the first place?

“Um ...” Whose birthday is the soonest? “My friend Emily’s birthday is coming up and I was wondering if I could possibly buy a painting from you as a birthday present.”

There was the faintest perceptible skepticism in her expression, but that could’ve just been my paranoia talking because in the next breath, she didn’t suggest a proclivity to my deceit. “Yeah, of course! Do you know what her favorite medium is? Or her favorite artist? Or her favorite style of art?”

For every addition to the question, I wordlessly shook my head no. Was my lie already unraveling? Could she see right through me?

“No worries. If you want, you can walk around the gallery and tell me if you see anything you think she’d like.” She made her offer to me sweetly, then disappeared into the back room again. I tried to follow her with my eyes for as long as I could, but from where I was standing, I couldn’t see very far into it. I wandered a little further into the center of the gallery to possibly catch a glimpse of what was occupying her time back there, but when I heard the chattering of two voices, Valerie and the other woman, coming from the same general direction, I realized I was completely alone in this part of the studio.

With no one around to bear witness but these portraits, I could’ve easily slipped out and made my escape, and I might’ve even done it had it not been for the unmistakable gravitational pull forcing me to stay here and walk about the room.

Making my way throughout the gallery, I would pause every now and then when a painting would stand out to me, which was often, considering each picture was impressive.

But there was one painting in particular that piqued my interest. It made me feel something I’d never felt before.

It wasn’t special by any means. By rights, I shouldn’t have even noticed it, for it wasn’t the largest painting, nor the smallest one - it wasn’t even the most average painting. But it felt exceptionally ... Valerie. I had no doubt in my mind that she painted this one - in fact, I had a good bet that she painted most of these portraits, if not all of them - but this one. There was just something about it that I couldn’t put my finger on.

“So,” A draft was created from where Valerie swiftly and unexpectedly joined me at my side. “What do you think?”

“Um, there’s definitely something,” I struggled to find the word. “appealing about this one.” Almost as soon as the word came out of my mouth, I knew it was only a matter of time before she called out the inadequacy of my answer.

“Appealing?” She repeated in mockery. “That’s the best you got? Come on, you’ve been standing here for like ten minutes. There must be something about it you like.”

“I’m not sure.” I honestly admitted with a shrug.

“There’s no wrong answer.” She assured me, but I found that hard to believe.

“So if I said I see a grizzly bear attacking a UFO, that wouldn’t be wrong?”

“Nope,” She popped the p. “If that’s how you interpret it then that’s how you interpret it. Just because someone else sees it differently, doesn’t mean you’re wrong.” It would’ve sounded like complete bullshit or nauseatingly cheesy coming out of someone else’s mouth, but her delivery felt so genuine. It actually moved me.

As she said this, she turned her head in my direction to look up at me, causing her shoulder to brush my upper arm, sending a wave of goosebumps all over my body.

She was so close.

But I was so unbothered by her proximity that I didn’t even notice exactly how close she really was. If someone else had invaded my personal space like that, I would’ve moved in the opposite direction just on instinct, but I didn’t even think to do that with Valerie. I was so comfortable with her being there.

But was that just because a part of her was once Maeve’s? Was the entire foundation of my likening to Valerie built upon that single attribute?

Was that my bones?

“Um,” I began fidgeting with my hands to self-soothe. “I like it. I don’t know why. But I like it. How’s that for an answer?”

There was a pause before her response that compelled me to look at her, but when I did so, she was already looking at me. “I’ll take it,” She nodded. “It’s the biggest compliment to me if my art can make you feel something.”

Was it the art that made me feel something ... or you?

“I’ll tell you what,” She walked over to grab something from the front desk. She came back with a small piece of cardstock. “I’m going to an art exhibition next weekend. Why don’t you come with me and see if you can’t find something for Emily there?”

She handed me the paper, which was actually her business card. “You don’t have to have an answer for me today, but call me when you do.” She seemed to think that was the end of the conversation, but I still had more questions.

“You’re inviting me?” was the first question that came to mind, albeit the dumbest one.

“Yeah, you can be my plus one.”

I gulped to dislodge the lump in my throat. “Like-like your date?”

She furrowed her brows with mild confusion. “Um ... sure, if that’s what you wanna call it,” which was the last thing she said to me before vanishing within the back room again.

I peered back down at the card and tapped it gently on the palm on my hand as though to register its presence really being there.

For all intents and purposes, this card was meaningless. But to me, it was the formal consenting - nay, invitation - to reach out to her again. She was willingly extending this line of contact to me.

No more public library computers. No more files. No more ‘research.’ Just her number - a way to reach her without veering off my moral compass.

Despite this, I still had no clue whether or not I was going to accept her offer.

All that I did know was that I wanted to see her again.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

PART 3 COMING SOON!

comment to be added to taglist or CLICK HERE to be added to a taglist of your choice!

tag that isn’t working: @archiveofadragon

taglist: @rainsong01 @calm-and-doctor @inkstainedwritergirl @rexorangecouny @ashwarren32 @carooliina @fortheloveofcriminalminds @watermelongubler @obsessedmaggiemay @k-k0129 @aperrywilliams @eevee0722 @spencersmagic @spencerreid-mgg @half-blood-dork @goldeng1rl8 @just-a-bunch-of-fandoms

@dreatine @bisexualwomanofcolour @andiebeaword @a-broken-pact @kylab @thelovelyrose @rexorangecouny @goldentournesol @sierraraeck @coffeeandendlesswords @sweetboyspencer

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #the bones pt 2 #the bones #juniorgman187 #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds series #spencer reid series

67 notes · View notes

path-of-my-childhood · 4 years ago

Text

Taylor Swift Broke All Her Rules With Folklore - And Gave Herself A Much-Needed Escape

By: Alex Suskind for Entertainment Weekly Date: December 8th 2020 (EW's 2020 Entertainers of the Year cover)

The pop star, one of EW's 2020 Entertainers of the Year, delves deep into her surprise eighth album, Rebekah Harkness, and a Joe Biden presidency.

youtube

Is he your brother?

“He’s William Bowery,” says Swift with a smile.

It's early November, after Election Day but before Swift eventually revealed Bowery's true identity to the world (the leading theory, that he was boyfriend Joe Alwyn, proved prescient). But, like all Swiftian riddles, it was fun to puzzle over for months, particularly in this hot mess of a year, when brief distractions are as comforting as a well-worn cardigan. Thankfully, the Bowery... erhm, Alwyn-assisted Folklore - a Swift project filled with muted pianos and whisper-quiet snares, recorded in secret with Jack Antonoff and the National’s Aaron Dessner - delivered.

“Early in quarantine, I started watching lots of films,” she explains. “Consuming other people’s storytelling opened this portal in my imagination and made me feel like, Why have I never created characters and intersecting storylines?” That’s how she ended up with three songs about an imagined love triangle (“Cardigan,” “Betty,” “August”), one about a clandestine romance (“Illicit Affairs”), and another chronicling a doomed relationship (“Exile”). Others tell of sumptuous real-life figures like Rebekah Harkness, a divorcee who married the heir to Standard Oil - and whose home Swift purchased 31 years after her death. The result, “The Last Great American Dynasty,” hones in on Harkness’ story, until Swift cleverly injects herself.

And yet, it wouldn’t be a Swift album without a few barbed postmortems over her own history. Notably, “My Tears Ricochet” and “Mad Woman," which touch on her former label head Scott Borchetta selling the masters to Swift’s catalog to her known nemesis Scooter Braun. Mere hours after our interview, the lyrics’ real-life origins took a surprising twist, when news broke that Swift’s music had once again been sold, to another private equity firm, for a reported $300 million. Though Swift ignored repeated requests for comment on the transaction, she did tweet a statement, hitting back at Braun while noting that she had begun re-recording her old albums - something she first promised in 2019 as a way of retaining agency over her creative legacy. (Later, she would tease a snippet of that reimagined work, with a new version of her hit 2008 single "Love Story.")

Like surprise-dropping Folklore, like pissing off the president by endorsing his opponents, like shooing away haters, Swift does what suits her. “I don’t think we often hear about women who did whatever the hell they wanted,” she says of Harkness - something Swift is clearly intent on changing. For her, that means basking in the world of, and favorable response to, Folklore. As she says in our interview, “I have this weird thing where, in order to create the next thing, I attack the previous thing. I don’t love that I do that, but it is the thing that has kept me pivoting to another world every time I make an album. But with this one, I still love it.”

ENTERTAINMENT WEEKLY: We’ve spent the year quarantined in our houses, trying to stay healthy and avoiding friends and family. Were you surprised by your ability to create and release a full album in the middle of a pandemic? TAYLOR SWIFT: I was. I wasn't expecting to make an album. Early on in quarantine, I started watching lots of films. We would watch a different movie every night. I'm ashamed to say I hadn't seen Pan's Labyrinth before. One night I'd watch that, then I'd watch L.A. Confidential, then we'd watch Rear Window, then we'd watch Jane Eyre. I feel like consuming other people's art and storytelling sort of opened this portal in my imagination and made me feel like, "Well, why have I never done this before? Why have I never created characters and intersecting storylines? And why haven't I ever sort of freed myself up to do that from a narrative standpoint?" There is something a little heavy about knowing when you put out an album, people are going to take it so literally that everything you say could be clickbait. It was really, really freeing to be able to just be inspired by worlds created by the films you watch or books you've read or places you've dreamed of or people that you've wondered about, not just being inspired by your own experience.

In that vein, what's it like to sit down and write something like “Betty,” which is told from the perspective of a 17-year-old boy? That was huge for me. And I think it came from the fact that my co-writer, William Bowery [Joe Alwyn], is male — and he was the one who originally thought of the chorus melody. And hearing him sing it, I thought, "That sounds really cool." Obviously, I don't have a male voice, but I thought, "I could have a male perspective." Patty Griffin wrote this song, “Top of the World.” It's one of my favorite songs of all time, and it's from the perspective of this older man who has lived a life full of regret, and he's kind of taking stock of that regret. So, I thought, "This is something that people I am a huge fan of have done. This would be fun to kind of take this for a spin."

What are your favorite William Bowery conspiracies? I love them all individually and equally. I love all the conspiracy theories around this album. [With] "Betty," Jack Antonoff would text me these articles and think pieces and in-depth Tumblr posts on what this love triangle meant to the person who had listened to it. And that's exactly what I was hoping would happen with this album. I wrote these stories for a specific reason and from a specific place about specific people that I imagined, but I wanted that to all change given who was listening to it. And I wanted it to start out as mine and become other people's. It's been really fun to watch.

One of the other unique things about Folklore — the parameters around it were completely different from anything you'd done. There was no long roll out, no stadium-sized pop anthems, no aiming for the radio-friendly single. How fearful were you in avoiding what had worked in the past? I didn't think about any of that for the very first time. And a lot of this album was kind of distilled down to the purest version of what the story is. Songwriting on this album is exactly the way that I would write if I considered nothing else other than, "What words do I want to write? What stories do I want to tell? What melodies do I want to sing? What production is essential to tell those stories?" It was a very do-it-yourself experience. My management team, we created absolutely everything in advance — every lyric video, every individual album package. And then we called our label a week in advance and said, "Here's what we have.” The photo shoot was me and the photographer walking out into a field. I'd done my hair and makeup and brought some nightgowns. These experiences I was used to having with 100 people on set, commanding alongside other people in a very committee fashion — all of a sudden it was me and a photographer, or me and my DP. It was a new challenge, because I love collaboration. But there's something really fun about knowing what you can do if it's just you doing it.

Did you find it freeing? I did. Every project involves different levels of collaboration, because on other albums there are things that my stylist will think of that I never would've thought of. But if I had all those people on the photo shoot, I would've had to have them quarantine away from their families for weeks on end, and I would've had to ask things of them that I didn't think were fair if I could figure out a way to do it [myself]. I had this idea for the [Folklore album cover] that it would be this girl sleepwalking through the forest in a nightgown in 1830 [laughs]. Very specific. A pioneer woman sleepwalking at night. I made a moodboard and sent it to Beth [Garrabrant], who I had never worked with before, who shoots only on film. We were just carrying bags across a field and putting the bags of film down, and then taking pictures. It was a blast.

Folklore includes plenty of intimate acoustic echoes to what you've done in the past. But there are also a lot of new sonics here, too — these quiet, powerful, intricately layered harmonics. What was it like to receive the music from Aaron and try to write lyrics on top of it? Well, Aaron is one of the most effortlessly prolific creators I've ever worked with. It's really mind-blowing. And every time I've spoken to an artist since this whole process [began], I said, "You need to work with him. It'll change the way you create." He would send me these — he calls them sketches, but it's basically an instrumental track. the second day — the day after I texted him and said, "Hey, would you ever want to work together?" — he sent me this file of probably 30 of these instrumentals and every single one of them was one of the most interesting, exciting things I had ever heard. Music can be beautiful, but it can be lacking that evocative nature. There was something about everything he created that is an immediate image in my head or melody that I came up with. So much so that I'd start writing as soon as I heard a new one. And oftentimes what I would send back would inspire him to make more instrumentals and then send me that one. And then I wrote the song and it started to shape the project, form-fitted and customized to what we wanted to do.

Was it nice to be able to keep it a secret? Well, it felt like it was only my thing. It felt like such an inner world I was escaping to every day that it almost didn't feel like an album. Because I wasn't making a song and finishing it and going, "Oh my God, that is catchy.” I wasn't making these things with any purpose in mind. And so it was almost like having it just be mine was this really sweet, nice, pure part of the world as everything else in the world was burning and crashing and feeling this sickness and sadness. I almost didn't process it as an album. This was just my daydream space.

Does it still feel like that? Yeah, because I love it so much. I have this weird thing that I do when I create something where in order to create the next thing I kind of, in my head, attack the previous thing. I don't love that I do that but it is the thing that has kept me pivoting to another world every time I make an album. But with this one, I just still love it. I'm so proud of it. And so that feels very foreign to me. That doesn't feel like a normal experience that I've had with releasing albums.

When did you first learn about Rebekah Harkness? Oh, I learned about her as soon as I was being walked through [her former Rhode Island] home. I got the house when I was in my early twenties as a place for my family to congregate and be together. I was told about her, I think, by the real estate agent who was walking us through the property. And as soon as I found out about her, I wanted to know everything I could. So I started reading. I found her so interesting. And then as more parallels began to develop between our two lives — being the lady that lives in that house on the hill that everybody gets to gossip about — I was always looking for an opportunity to write about her. And I finally found it.

I love that you break the fourth wall in the song. Did you go in thinking you’d include yourself in the story? I think that in my head, I always wanted to do a country music, standard narrative device, which is: the first verse you sing about someone else, the second verse you sing about someone else who's even closer to you, and then in the third verse, you go, "Surprise! It was me.” You bring it personal for the last verse. And I'd always thought that if I were to tell that story, I would want to include the similarities — our lives or our reputations or our scandals.

How often did you regale friends about the history of Rebekah and Holiday House while hanging out at Holiday House? Anyone who's been there before knows that I do “The Tour,” in quotes, where I show everyone through the house. And I tell them different anecdotes about each room, because I've done that much research on this house and this woman. So in every single room, there's a different anecdote about Rebekah Harkness. If you have a mixed group of people who've been there before and people who haven't, [the people who’ve been there] are like, "Oh, she's going to do the tour. She's got to tell you the story about how the ballerinas used to practice on the lawn.” And they'll go get a drink and skip it because it's the same every time. But for me, I'm telling the story with the same electric enthusiasm, because it's just endlessly entertaining to me that this fabulous woman lived there. She just did whatever she wanted.

There are a handful of songs on Folklore that feel like pretty clear nods to your personal life over the last year, including your relationships with Scott Borchetta and Scooter Braun. How long did it take to crystallize the feelings you had around both of them into “My Tears Ricochet” or “Mad Woman”? I found myself being very triggered by any stories, movies, or narratives revolving around divorce, which felt weird because I haven't experienced it directly. There’s no reason it should cause me so much pain, but all of a sudden it felt like something I had been through. I think that happens any time you've been in a 15-year relationship and it ends in a messy, upsetting way. So I wrote “My Tears Ricochet” and I was using a lot of imagery that I had conjured up while comparing a relationship ending to when people end an actual marriage. All of a sudden this person that you trusted more than anyone in the world is the person that can hurt you the worst. Then all of a sudden the things that you have been through together, hurt. All of a sudden, the person who was your best friend is now your biggest nemesis, etc. etc. etc. I think I wrote some of the first lyrics to that song after watching Marriage Story and hearing about when marriages go wrong and end in such a catastrophic way. So these songs are in some ways imaginary, in some ways not, and in some ways both.

How did it feel to drop an F-bomb on "Mad Woman"? F---ing fantastic.

And that’s the first time you ever recorded one on a record, right? Yeah. Every rule book was thrown out. I always had these rules in my head and one of them was, You haven't done this before, so you can't ever do this. “Well, you've never had an explicit sticker, so you can't ever have an explicit sticker.” But that was one of the times where I felt like you need to follow the language and you need to follow the storyline. And if the storyline and the language match up and you end up saying the F-word, just go for it. I wasn't adhering to any of the guidelines that I had placed on myself. I decided to just make what I wanted to make. And I'm really happy that the fans were stoked about that because I think they could feel that. I'm not blaming anyone else for me restricting myself in the past. That was all, I guess, making what I want to make. I think my fans could feel that I opened the gate and ran out of the pasture for the first time, which I'm glad they picked up on because they're very intuitive.

Let’s talk about “Epiphany.” The first verse is a nod to your grandfather, Dean, who fought in World War II. What does his story mean to you personally? I wanted to write about him for awhile. He died when I was very young, but my dad would always tell this story that the only thing that his dad would ever say about the war was when somebody would ask him, "Why do you have such a positive outlook on life?" My grandfather would reply, "Well, I'm not supposed to be here. I shouldn't be here." My dad and his brothers always kind of imagined that what he had experienced was really awful and traumatic and that he'd seen a lot of terrible things. So when they did research, they learned that he had fought at the Battles of Guadalcanal, at Cape Gloucester, at Talasea, at Okinawa. He had seen a lot of heavy fire and casualties — all of the things that nightmares are made of. He was one of the first people to sign up for the war. But you know, these are things that you can only imagine that a lot of people in that generation didn't speak about because, a) they didn't want people that they came home to to worry about them, and b) it just was so bad that it was the actual definition of unspeakable.

That theme continues in the next verse, which is a pretty overt nod to what’s been happening during COVID. As someone who lives in Nashville, how difficult has it been to see folks on Lower Broadway crowding the bars without masks? I mean, you just immediately think of the health workers who are putting their lives on the line — and oftentimes losing their lives. If they make it out of this, if they see the other side of it, there's going to be a lot of trauma that comes with that; there's going to be things that they witnessed that they will never be able to un-see. And that was the connection that I drew. I did a lot of research on my grandfather in the beginning of quarantine, and it hit me very quickly that we've got a version of that trauma happening right now in our hospitals. God, you hope people would respect it and would understand that going out for a night isn't worth the ripple effect that it causes. But obviously we're seeing that a lot of people don't seem to have their eyes open to that — or if they do, a lot of people don't care, which is upsetting.

You had the Lover Fest East and West scheduled this year. How hard has it been to both not perform for your fans this year, and see the music industry at large go through such a brutal change? It's confusing. It's hard to watch. I think that maybe me wanting to make as much music as possible during this time was a way for me to feel like I could reach out my hand and touch my fans, even if I couldn't physically reach out or take a picture with them. We've had a lot of different, amazing, fun, sort of underground traditions we've built over the years that involve a lot of human interaction, and so I have no idea what's going to happen with touring; none of us do. And that's a scary thing. You can't look to somebody in the music industry who's been around a long time, or an expert touring manager or promoter and [ask] what's going to happen and have them give you an answer. I think we're all just trying to keep our eyes on the horizon and see what it looks like. So we're just kind of sitting tight and trying to take care of whatever creative spark might exist and trying to figure out how to reach our fans in other ways, because we just can't do that right now.

When you are able to perform again, do you have plans on resurfacing a Lover Fest-type event? I don't know what incarnation it'll take and I really would need to sit down and think about it for a good solid couple of months before I figured out the answer. Because whatever we do, I want it to be something that is thoughtful and will make the fans happy and I hope I can achieve that. I'm going to try really hard to.

In addition to recording an album, you spent this year supporting Joe Biden and Kamala Harris in the election. Where were you when it was called in their favor? Well, when the results were coming in, I was actually at the property where we shot the Entertainment Weekly cover. I was hanging out with my photographer friend, Beth, and the wonderful couple that owned the farm where we [were]. And we realized really early into the night that we weren't going to get an accurate picture of the results. Then, a couple of days later, I was on a video shoot, but I was directing, and I was standing there with my face shield and mask on next to my director of photography, Rodrigo Prieto. And I just remember a news alert coming up on my phone that said, "Biden is our next president. He's won the election." And I showed it to Rodrigo and he said, "I'm always going to remember the moment that we learned this." And I looked around, and people's face shields were starting to fog up because a lot of people were really misty-eyed and emotional, and it was not loud. It wasn't popping bottles of champagne. It was this moment of quiet, cautious elation and relief.

Do you ever think about what Folklore would have sounded like if you, Aaron, and Jack had been in the same room? I think about it all the time. I think that a lot of what has happened with the album has to do with us all being in a collective emotional place. Obviously everybody's lives have different complexities and whatnot, but I think most of us were feeling really shaken up and really out of place and confused and in need of something comforting all at the same time. And for me, that thing that was comforting was making music that felt sort of like I was trying to hug my fans through the speakers. That was truly my intent. Just trying to hug them when I can't hug them.

I wanted to talk about some of the lyrics on Folklore. One of my favorite pieces of wordplay is in “August”: that flip of "sipped away like a bottle of wine/slipped away like a moment in time.” Was there an "aha moment" for you while writing that? I was really excited about "August slipped away into a moment of time/August sipped away like a bottle of wine." That was a song where Jack sent me the instrumental and I wrote the song pretty much on the spot; it just was an intuitive thing. And that was actually the first song that I wrote of the "Betty" triangle. So the Betty songs are "August," "Cardigan," and "Betty." "August" was actually the first one, which is strange because it's the song from the other girl's perspective.

Yeah, I assumed you wrote "Cardigan" first. It would be safe to assume that "Cardigan" would be first, but it wasn't. It was very strange how it happened, but it kind of pieced together one song at a time, starting with "August," where I kind of wanted to explore the element of This is from the perspective of a girl who was having her first brush with love. And then all of a sudden she's treated like she's the other girl, because there was another situation that had already been in place, but "August" girl thought she was really falling in love. It kind of explores the idea of the undefined relationship. As humans, we're all encouraged to just be cool and just let it happen, and don't ask what the relationship is — Are we exclusive? But if you are chill about it, especially when you're young, you learn the very hard lesson that if you don't define something, oftentimes they can gaslight you into thinking it was nothing at all, and that it never happened. And how do you mourn the loss of something once it ends, if you're being made to believe that it never happened at all?

On the flip side, "Peace" is bit more defined in terms of how one approaches a relationship. There's this really striking line, "The devil's in the details, but you got a friend in me/Would it be enough if I can never give you peace?" How did that line come to you? I'm really proud of that one too. I heard the track immediately. Aaron sent it to me, and it had this immediate sense of serenity running through it. The first word that popped into my head was peace, but I thought that it would be too on-the-nose to sing about being calm, or to sing about serenity, or to sing about finding peace with someone. Because you have this very conflicted, very dramatic conflict-written lyric paired with this very, very calming sound of the instrumental. But, "The devil's in the details," is one of those phrases that I've written down over the years. That's a common phrase that is used in the English language every day. And I just thought it sounded really cool because of the D, D sound. And I thought, "I'll hang onto those in a list, and then, I'll finally find the right place for them in a story." I think that's how a lot of people feel where it's like, "Yeah, the devil's in the details. Everybody's complex when you look under the hood of the car." But basically saying, "I'm there for you if you want that, if this complexity is what you want."

There's another clever turn of phrase on "This is Me Trying." "I didn't know if you'd care if I came back/I have a lot of regrets about that." That feels like a nod toward your fans, and some of the feelings you had about retreating from the public sphere. Absolutely. I think I was writing from three different characters' perspectives, one who's going through that; I was channeling the emotions I was feeling in 2016, 2017, where I just felt like I was worth absolutely nothing. And then, the second verse is about dealing with addiction and issues with struggling every day. And every second of the day, you're trying not to fall into old patterns, and nobody around you can see that, and no one gives you credit for it. And then, the third verse, I was thinking, what would the National do? What lyric would Matt Berninger write? What chords would the National play? And it's funny because I've since played this song for Aaron, and he's like, "That's not what we would've done at all." He's like, "I love that song, but that's totally different than what we would've done with it."

When we last spoke, in April 2019, we were talking about albums we were listening to at the time and you professed your love for the National and I Am Easy to Find. Two months later, you met up with Aaron at their concert, and now, we're here talking about the National again. Yeah, I was at the show where they were playing through I Am Easy to Find. What I loved about [that album] was they had female vocalists singing from female perspectives, and that triggered and fired something in me where I thought, "I've got to play with different perspectives because that is so intriguing when you hear a female perspective come in from a band where you're used to only hearing a male perspective." It just sparked something in me. And obviously, you mentioning the National is the reason why Folklore came to be. So, thank you for that, Alex.

I'm here for all of your songwriting muse needs in the future. I can't wait to see what comes out of this interview.

*** For more on our Entertainers of the Year and Best & Worst of 2020, order the January issue of Entertainment Weekly or find it on newsstands beginning Dec. 18. (You can also pick up the full set of six covers here.) Don’t forget to subscribe for more exclusive interviews and photos, only in EW.

#taylor swift #interview #entertainment weekly #folklore album #folklore era #video

71 notes · View notes

hetaliatxtpostz · 4 years ago

Text

“Winter” From the Four Seasons: PrusAus

Roderich’s hands linger over the keys of his piano, fingertips suspended in an abrupt silence that has sliced a hole in the music he was playing. Something has occurred to him quite suddenly, something deeply troubling. It’s about Gilbert. Gilbert Belischmidt. This— this infuriating person, he’s just realizing. A completely impossible German man with a grin like the devil himself and the red eyes to match it.

“You—” But his words ring empty in the room the piano is sat in, and he’s reminded that he’s very much alone, and there’s not a point scolding Gilbert where he can’t hear it. He should hear it.

But Gilbert Beilschmidt had left that morning. Before he was even awake, at some ungodly hour of the day, as usual, Gilbert had packed up his things and left a note that he was going home early. Not a word about—

Roderich pushes away from the piano and stands. What time is it? The note is still burning a hole in his pocket, after all, that’s what he’d been thinking about as he warmed up this morning, and, true to fashion, Gilbert has included the time of his departure for no real reason.

I have time. That’s the first thing he thinks upon pulling out the crumpled piece of paper. It’s the only thought he can have after the realization that’s hit him. I have time if I just—

Roderich is in motion, practically running across the house, tearing into the closet to throw on a coat, scarf, and hat that didn’t match to a degree that would have embarrassed him in a different situation. The only thing he can think, pulling on boots and tying a haphazard bow, is that he should have seen it at the time.

Gilbert unclasped the violin case, and his hands weren’t even tempted to shake because. Well. That just wasn’t the kind of person he was. And. It wasn’t as if there was anything actually intimidating about this, anyway. There wasn’t. He’d performed for Roderich a handful of times now and they’d all been. Unremarkable.

Or. He’d been remarkable, of course, because he always was, and he would challenge Roderich to find someone wh— Rambling in his own head. Annoying. Not like him. It was just a violin solo! Just a solo. And, maybe, it was a song that meant something important to him, sure, but it wasn’t like he wrote it. Not the way that Roderich wrote his. Probably wouldn’t even get through, he thought. Probably wouldn’t even be any different this time.

Still, there was that possibility that it would. That this would change everything. That he would stop playing and meet Roderich’s eyes, and he would understand what— But! There wasn’t any point to thinking like that because he might just be reading into things. Hearing messages in piano notes the artist never meant. And this message might go just as unheeded. Then he would know.

Another solo. He lifted the violin from the case and picked up the bow. Took a breath in and let it out. Steady and measured. Things he could be counted on to be. Steady and measured. Just like he always was. Roderich wasn’t even awake yet. He had some time to warm up. To tune the instrument. To think about what he was doing.

And either way, he told himself, either way, it doesn’t matter to me. Which was a lie, and not a convincing one. Still: doesn't matter to me. I can’t control anyone else. Just me. That’s all I need. Just me. That’s what this is. Performing.

He tucked the violin under his chin.

I’m not worried about this.

Roderich gets all of four steps outside before he starts to actually think about what it is he’s doing. After all, Gilbert lives in the 21st century, doesn’t he? Fumbling a moment, Roderich gets out his phone and calls the number at the top of his contact list, the one with a little gold star beside it earned over hours of late night conversations.

“Answer the phone, Gilbert,” he says, as if he’s listening. “You have always been so good about answering the phone.”

It isn’t picked up after the third ring, which generally means it won’t be picked up at all, but Roderich lets it go the whole time. Then, he thinks, I’m wasting time. And he sets off at a brisk pace, listening to the voicemail come on. Then, he stops again, because he thinks, how far away is the station? Should I get a ride there? And he decides, not far enough that he has time to wait for a ride, and he starts off again.

While he walks, he calls Gilbert again, and he receives the same voicemail, a rather professional sounding voicemail for the sound of what is clearly his little white dog in the background. Funny, Roderich realises listening to it, he’s never heard this voicemail before because Gilbert had never let a call from him go unanswered, no matter the time. The thought kicks him into an even higher gear, which must make him look rather hysterical to anyone he’s passing on the street. Is this really the first time I’ve chased after him…?

Their whole relationship, Gilbert had been the one who complimented Roderich, who sat next to him and listened with a very serious expression when he explained the process of writing music, who seemed to be ready, come rain or shine, to help him with whatever physical task he was finding intimidating. He’d met Gilbert when they were teenagers, the pale rascal absolutely incorrigible. All of the trouble he’d ever been in, and most of it he’d gotten back out of, was because of Gilbert. There simply wasn’t any way that they’d spent so long together, that he’d lived so casually in the back of his mind making smart comments, and he’d never once… It couldn’t be.

Another unanswered call. Roderich is tempted to start running. His breath is coming in clouds of smoke around his face, clouding the glasses that he only really wore because Gilbert, at some point, had complimented him in a way that he probably didn’t even remember. It really couldn’t be.

Roderich’s ankles were crossed, his head tilted ever-so-slightly. That expression meant he was ready to listen. It was the same kind of feverish intensity he always approached music with. One of Gilbert’s favorite things: how it cracked his perfect facade. All the work he put into his hair, his outfits, but when it came down to what mattered: all passion. This morning, however, the expression was threatening.

Violin tucked under his chin, Gilbert played the opening note. He wondered how long it would take Roderich to recognize the song. How long before the notes registered to him as something that he’d written? How long until he pinpointed the solo as the one he had played to Gilbert, the very first time he trusted him enough to hear something he’d written. It would take longer, he guessed, than it normally did. Because it had taken him some time to practice this one.

He didn’t have the music for it. He’d only had a recording he’d taken that night, one that he’d listened to over and over again. Had to perfect it that way, the hard way. And he’d put hours into this performance. Every time he played it, over two years now, he would think: it’s almost perfect. But not quite.

Spending November with Roderich, waking up and seeing him every morning, that changed things. Every day it became a little less important that it wasn’t perfect, until he thought the intensity of his feelings might just stop his heart. So. He had to do something.

A special show. He’d promised that. Before I go home in a week. Something you’ll like. It’ll surprise you.

He couldn’t bear, just yet, to check and see if Roderich was reacting to the music he was playing. Right now, his eyes were closed and he was pouring his heart into the song in a way he hadn’t before. The first thing he was hoping Roderich would notice: the violin itself. Not his favorite instrument, but this was what Roderich had played.

I’m speaking your language, Roderich. I’m trying to show you. I’ve learned from you. I’ve been watching you for a long time. The things you tell me, I remember. The things you show me, I can emulate. I’m here. I’m right in front of you. I don’t know how to live without you, do you see that? I’ve known for a while now, and it’s been killing me to pretend otherwise. It’s supposed to be just me. It’s always supposed to have been just me. But you’ve snuck up on me, and—

He missed a note, and he hardly noticed it. What did that matter, really? One note was nothing. It didn’t need to be perfect. He didn’t need to be perfect! That was the beautiful thing. They weren’t perfect, together. They were this mess of narcissism, and pride, and— and laughter, most of the time. And he wanted more than that. So much more than that.

He had no idea how to say it. No idea how to bring it up, the way that Roderich’s touch sent lighting across his skin. How to even begin to say why he suspected he knew exactly the way that his hair smelled. The way that his clothes lay against his body. He couldn’t pinpoint when it had started to be that way, at which point he wasn’t teasing anymore. He could pinpoint when it had started to take over most of his thoughts.

He was ear the end of his solo, and that was going to be it. Please, he played. For the first time he wasn’t ashamed of that: to ask for something. The notes of the song faded out. There was this painful, and beautiful, silence. Gilbert opened his eyes.

“So?” He kept his tone as casual as possible. “How was that?”

Roderich has abandoned his phone strategy, sticking it back into his pocket. He’s turned up the volume, however, and he’s listening in vain, hoping to hear Gilbert’s ringtone at any moment. The speed at which he’s walking can hardly be called that, only a step or two away from a jog. Around him people are parting on the sidewalk, murmuring behind him things that he doesn’t hear. He’s sure he looks crazy. It doesn’t matter, right now. If I don’t catch him, I’ll buy my own ticket. I know where he lives. I’ll see his brother. I’ll be right behind him. I’ll—

Roderich slams into another person, and he falls backwards onto the sidewalk.

“Ah, watch where you’re walking!” The man, despite the harshness of his tone, still offers a hand. Roderich bats it away, practically leaping to his feet. He isn’t sure what kind of look he gives the man, but it must be something because he takes a full step back.

“I have to go,” he says, to that man; to no one, really, because he just keeps thinking about Gilbert’s face when he was done playing that solo for him yesterday. I talk to him day and night about music and how important it is and I can’t even tell when… I’ve been so selfish. I’ve been so ridiculously dense.

Roderich sees the glass front of the train station ahead of him, and he breathes a prayer of relief. Inside it's crowded, even more so than the usual foot traffic of the city, especially with holiday travel. This morning he had the benefit of skipping the lines in front of the ticket offices and self-service machines entirely. Muscle memory took him to the central display system, where his eyes quickly scanned over the departures until he found the one he knew Gilbert would be taking.

That’s when he starts running, and he isn’t good at running, which Gilbert very well knew, and Roderich curses him for this mentally, because this is clearly his fault, and Almighty, please, he’s going to catch him and scold him when he catches him. He goes skidding around a corner, almost tripping over someone’s luggage and stumbling slightly before continuing, his breathing picking up. You’re an idiot, Gil, and I’m one too, agh, aren’t we a pair??

The moment he sees the train, a train that is still in the station, a train that hasn’t left yet, his heart races. “Gilbert!”

He calls his name before he sees him, or knows if he’s boarded yet; he calls the name as loudly as he’s called anything, at a very embarrassing level. People turn and look at him, and he doesn’t care, because none of them are the one he’s looking for and, as of this morning, his world has suddenly become a lot smaller.

“Gilbert!” He takes the stairs two at a time, almost somersaulting off the end of them, but catching himself on a bench. “Gilbert!”

Most of the people are still streaming onto the train, after having cast him a curious glance or two, and he desperately looks around for anyone who might have stopped. Am I going to have to board this train and buy a ticket?! “GILBERT!”

There, through the crowd: a red jacket that he could name the brand of eyes closed. Yes. Yes! Roderich shoved through a line of people, broke into a clearing, and there he is. Gilbert. Oh, Gilbert... eyebrows drawn in concentration, looking around himself trying to locate the sound of his own name, his hand on a suitcase that Roderich is sure was hastily packed for a man who insisted on folding even underwear.

“Gilbert…” Roderich crosses the few steps left between them and throws himself forward.

“Ugh,” Roderich said, rolling his eyes. “Why on Earth would you choose that song, of all the songs that you could have possibly chosen? That is a terrible solo! Oh, I hardly knew what I was doing.”

The words were like a knife to his chest. Okay. He thought. He didn’t get it. That’s fine. Of course he didn’t. He’s reading too much into this. And he knew that, he did. That he was reading too much into things. Putting too much weight where it was in danger of breaking something. Not communicating. Not really. He knew he was going about this the wrong way, but he…

“You thought it was terrible?” Tone still casual. Still light. Like it was. He was joking.

“Oh, no, your rendition of it was fine, but— well, I can’t really hear past the mistakes I made, I’m sure you understand, being such a perfectionist and all.” Roderich leaned back and surveyed the violin as if it had personally failed him.

Numbness spread outward from Gilbert’s chest, to his fingertips. God. He cared, and that was so fucking stupid of him. What did he really think was going to happen? Of course it was going to be the same as it always was between them. When had Roderich ever even hinted to him that he might—

“I thought you’d like to remember,” he had to pause to keep his voice steady, “that first night you played it. When you trusted me to—”

“Yes, yes, I do recall Gilbert. I couldn't ever forget it. You don’t need to dredge up my old failures to remind me of time we spent together.” Rodrich pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “But, you know, now that I think about it, I don’t believe I still have that particular sheet music any longer. How did you get your hands on it? Are you composing from memory? That would be impressive.”

“No, I… I recorded it, that night.”

Roderich made a face that made Gilbert want to step out of the room entirely, maybe just go home at this point. Maybe try again later. Maybe put all of his feelings in a box and lock them permanently.

“Did you? Ugh. A shame. I’d really rather that all be forgotten. You know, Gil, if you want to play something of mine, I can simply give you music next time. Or! Even better, would you like me to write something for you? I’ve been thinking about that. I think you’re rather inspiring.”

The words fell flat to him, his ears still ringing. He didn’t get it at all! Why would he! Gilbert was being, and he knew this, he knew, he completely understood, that he was being irrational. He was expecting too much while not saying anything, but he just thought. He really thought. Hoped. That if anyone would understand. That if anyone could read between the lines. That if anyone would just get him, after so so many years...

But. It was fine. This was—

“Don’t worry about it,” he told Roderich. He was already thinking about going home, at that point. About nursing this wound somewhere private. About escaping before he revealed too much more. After all, Roderich still didn’t know. That meant, in some sense, he was still safe.

“Well, thank you for the performance, nonetheless. I do prefer you on flute, and I suspect you prefer that as well, but you are more than adequate on violin.” Roderich stood up, dusting his hands as if of the whole affair. “Have you had breakfast yet?”

Gilbert shook his head.

Roderich’s arms wrap around Gilbert’s neck, and he hears his luggage hit the ground with a thud as he drops it to catch him.

“Rod— what are you doing here?” Gilbert sounds bewildered, and Roderich has never been more relieved in his life to hear that voice.

“I— ” Words: suddenly he is at a loss for them, pulling back enough to look into those eyes. “— you are a complete idiot!” It’s not what he means to say, and he’s out of breath, so it doesn’t even come out dignified, or elegant, or whatever other things he liked to think he was.

Something pulls over Gilbert’s face then that he recognizes, like he's closing up his emotions, drawing himself as deep within as possible. It’s so far from what Roderich wants to happen in that moment, needs to happen in that moment, that he almost shakes him.

“No, no, Gilbert— I didn’t— oh, this is— I think I understand your problem, you—” The realization is far too much, too important, to put into words, and even though he knows the answer, and he’s fairly sure he knows what the response will be, the thought of saying it makes his hands shake, makes his heart pound.

Committing to this will change everything between them.

“I have to go,” Gilbert motions to the train. “My ticket.”

“No, no, Gilbert,” Roderich repeats. “You don’t have to go.” His arms tighten around him. “I don’t… I don’t want you to go.”

Gilbert’s eyebrows raise, his mouth a tight line, but he doesn't say anything and he doesn’t move. How in the world, Roderich wonders, did it go from feeling like they had nothing but time to feeling as if this was the last moment he would ever have to speak his feelings?

“I should—”

Before he can put anything else between them, Roderich bends down slightly and kisses Gilbert. It certainly isn’t a very romantic kiss, there in the crowd of people and amidst the noise of the announcements, their lips chapped from the cold outside. The kiss is rough; it’s rushed, and it might just be the only kiss Roderich will ever care to remember no matter the rest. After a moment, after he’s sure that Gilbert has to understand what he means, what he wants, he starts to pull back.

A hand rises to stop him, fingers in his hair, and draws him back down, into a deeper kiss. This time it’s gentle. Beside them, the train doors close with a hiss, and neither makes a move. When they finally break apart, the train is already gone, and Gilbert looks like he’s been split open down the middle, his eyes wide.

“I’m sorry,” Roderich says, his voice hardly above a whisper. “I should have seen it. I’m sorry, I wasn’t listening, I was so blinded by my… by…”

“Your pride and arrogance? Your inability to think of other people?”

Roderich opens his mouth to respond indignantly when he sees the look on Gilbert’s face, the soft, fond smile, and his cheeks flush instead. “I wouldn’t put it like that, exactly. But, yes, perhaps, something along those lines might be accurate.”

“Might be?”

“Yes— I— you know, Gil, if you had just told me how you felt, we wouldn’t even be here in the first place! If you didn’t have this absolutely debilitating aversion to admitting you experience the full human range of emotion, I wouldn’t have had to run to you— which I was terrible at, mind you!”

A look of wonder crosses Gilbert’s face, and he brushes a strand of hair from Roderich’s forehead, no doubt knocked loose during the chase. “You did, huh… run after me? I didn’t think you cared this much.”

“You didn’t think—! Of course! I can see that you weren’t thinking! I care about you, you— you— you’re my best friend, you complete disaster! I don’t care about anyone more than you! If—” Roderich straightens up. “In fact. If I hadn’t caught you here, I would have gone all the way to Germany looking for you. I would have never stopped.” He bites his lips a moment before sighing. “... you taught me that, after all.”

“Okay, okay. I… I’ll admit a little fault here, sure. Maybe. But I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. I didn’t want to risk—”

“Make me uncomfortable?! You don’t think it’s uncomfortable for me to be running about the city like I’ve lost my mind, shoving over strangers on the street, scaring the children?” Roderich shook his head. “There is nothing, Gilbert, nothing, that you can do that’s going to change us! If— look, if I didn’t want you around, you know I would make that very clear. No one in my entire life has ever been more annoying than you, more frustrating, more difficult to have a normal conversation with, and I look forward to seeing you in a way that is so deep it’s an ache some days, and you have the nerve to doubt that I would— I would—”

They must both be hopeless when it comes to saying it.

“My point is, Gil, that your convoluted little plan to play me my own song, to show me how much time you put into thinking about me, it was ridiculous, and I— I’m so sorry I didn’t get it.” Another train pulls in somewhere past them, the force of it blowing their hair about their faces.

“Rod,” Gilbert says, and this time Roderich hears more than what he’s saying, what he means. “I want to go home.”

“Good.” Roderich steps back and Gilbert picks his suitcase up off the ground. Once he’s got it in one hand, Roderich offers him an arm, which he dutifully loops his through.

After a moment or two, just needing to add something, he says, “but I’m not running again.”

Gilbert laughs. “You didn’t pull anything, did you?”

“We’ll see!” Roderich smiles to himself. He can’t stop smiling, and that’s silly, because it’s normally not a problem for him. “I really don’t understand what’s so appealing about that to you, that working out thing. It was dreadful.”

“All four steps you took?”

“It’s a big train station.” They’re walking much slower now, the sound of the luggage wheels clicking along behind them. “My legs aren’t that much longer than yours.”

Gilbert rolls his eyes, something that Roderich can feel in the way he gently bumps him with his shoulder, muttering something about their heights that’s no doubt incorrect. They board an escalator. “Ludwig is already probably annoyed about my sudden change in plans, and now I’m going to be changing them back.”

“I’ll talk to Ludwig for you, if that’s going to bother you.”

“You’re not my secretary. I’m just making a point about what I’m sacrificing for you.” They step off the escalator.

“Right, well you’re the one who keeps telling me about the importance of family on the holidays, so it seems to me we should be… together. By your standards, anyhow.”

“The holida— ha! You don’t even celebrate Christmas.”

“Well. I did specify: your standards. Your holiday. Consider it… emotional support.”

Outside, snow is starting to fall over the city. Roderich wonders, looking up into the infinite and dizzying sky, if snow has ever seemed so magical before. A childish, wonderful thought; Roderich is tempted to stick his tongue out and catch a snowflake only to turn and see Gilbert already doing so, his nose crinkling slightly, eyes squinted.

“You…” Roderich begins.

Gilbert looks over, “what?”

“... you’re just. I—” Roderich keeps walking. “Come on, then. I need to get changed, I look like we belong together.”

He’s going to say it, he is.

Gilbert is sitting sideways on the cushioned bench out on the balcony, his legs across Roderich’s lap, bent so that he’s leaning into his side. They’ve made coffee, and the steam of it rising is mixing with their breath. The first thing Gilbert wanted to do was be this close to him. Something he’s been denying himself.

“I just cannot,” Roderich is saying, “believe that you thought I wanted to watch you workout out of— what did you think it was?-- scholarly interest?”

“No!” Gilbert snorts. “I didn’t think about it!”

Roderich eyes him. “And the sleeveless shirts? You thought I didn’t notice that? The tank-tops? How you continuously volunteered to lift things for me? You really thought I was that weak?”

“I, uh, I did actually.”

“No! I wanted to see— I wanted— I liked looking at you do it. You’re such a show-off, normally, and I liked it when I felt that you were…” he takes a pointedly delicate sip of his coffee “... performing for me.”

Gilbert almost chokes. He manages to recover like a champion, though, and no one can tell. “I— okay, so I was showing off. But you were the one doing your hair up all fluffy for no reason and dressing like you were in a fucking magazine-level photoshoot, even if you were only seeing me— so you can see how I was getting these ideas. Before you.”

“Before— did you not hear what I was saying? Do you—” Roderich’s cheeks color, and it’s clearly not just from the cold. “Ah, this is going to betray some things, isn’t it? But! Fine— When we were nineteen—”

Nineteen?! That early?

“-- and you insisted that we go skinny dipping, and you stripped down there on the spot and—”

“And you were so embarrassed! I remember that, yeah. Ha! You wouldn’t even look at… Wait.”

“Yes.”

“What?!”

“Yes.”

“That early?!”

“Yes, Gilbert! That early!”

“But…” Gilbert frowns down into his coffee. “Wow. I had no idea. You never— hey! Hey, wait a minute, all those little barbs about me being emotionally repressed? And— since 19?!”

Roderich’s blush got worse. “It might have been… I was deflecting. A bit.”

“A bit?!”

“Well! When exactly did you know?!”

“That I was in love with you??!”

Silence. The words had simply slipped out in the moment. It’s something he’s been thinking about for a while now. The whiplash of them colors his cheeks to match Roderich’s.

“That… that you wanted to sleep with me, I meant.” Roderich says, but then quickly adds, “but I love you, too! Just so that you know! I love you, so don't you dare go running off again on me. Don’t think otherwise, I won’t have you doing that thing you do where you—”

Gilbert interrupts him with a kiss. He tastes like coffee, like whipped cream. “I’m not going anywhere.” He replies softly.

“Well, you ought to… to stay in my bed. So I can feel sure about that.”

“Gladly.” A pause, Gilbert nuzzling his head against Roderich’s shoulder, which is something he only ever imagined doing. “And it was around twenty-two, for your original question.”

“What happened at twenty-two?”

“I— you are never going to remember this— you made this joke, agh, this is so embarrassing I should have thought of a lie. Hold on, I need to think of a cooler lie.”

Roderich jabs him.

“Hey! Fine! Fine. I’m going to spill your coffee if you do that again. So, the joke. You were talking about how nice your clothes are. You said all the layers. All the way down to your underwear. Er, and until then I hadn’t really, uh, really, thought about your underwear, but then you went and added this bit about. Okay. Context, I guess. I said something like what like you’re ordering lingerie? And you said. Uhm. Yes. Which was quite the mental image. And then I thought about it every day for years. Actually. I’m still thinking about it. Right now.”

Roderich regards him with an expression that he has no idea how to read. “I wasn’t joking.”

“You— you—” Gilbert’s eyes drop down a bit. “You— weren’t? Joking? You’re saying that, right now, you’re…”

“No, of course not! Ah, does the idea of me in lingerie really affect you so much? You’re normally sharper than this.” Roderich takes a sip of Gilbert’s coffee. “I’ll have to remember that. It actually isn’t one of the things I’ve thought about doing for you, and to you, in my rather extensive catalogue of fantasies.”

“Ex...tensive?”

“It— I told you— it has been since nineteen, Gilbert. I’ve had seven years now.”

“So…” Gilbert waggles his eyebrows. “When we’re done with coffee, huh?”

“Yes. Absolutely.”

They watch the snow swirl past them, against the slate grey sky. It’s weird, kind of, after all the drama… how normal this felt. Natural. Right. Like nothing had changed between them at all. As if they’d always been like this, curled up together.

“Hey, Rod?”

“Mmmm.”

“I love you.”

“Are you going to finally admit to how sentimental you are? Start being the sappy self I know you are internally?”

“Maybe.”

“Good.”

Somewhere below them, the sounds of someone playing music.

“Hey, Gil?”

“Yup.”

“I love you, too.”

#hetalia #prusaus #fanfiction #hws austria #hws prussia #winter song stories #This one is my favorite one out of my two #I hadn't written Austria's perspective before it was great #I love this ship

20 notes · View notes

midnight-inthe-kitchen · 4 years ago

Text

“Hotel Potter” (Part 3)

Paring: Remus x Reader (Marauders Era)

Warnings: Fluff, James is bad at fixing things, More awkwardness haha, and mentions of eating issues?

Word Count: 1775

A/n: I didn’t proof read this, so enjoy/I’m sorry... (Also, we’re getting close to the part I had in my DrEaM✨)

You watched as Sirius dropped his bag on the floor before immediately breaking into a sprint to fling himself onto the bed. The bed...

You didn’t know exactly why you were expecting there to be two... I mean that would be a bit excessive for a regular house... but not until this very moment did you realize the consequences of your poor decisions.

“Hey, Y/N,” Marlene called out from the hallway after hearing Sirius’ loud running start. “Good luck!” Her laugh echoed throughout the hall.

Lily came from around the corner to let you know you were always welcome in her room if Sirius turned out to be an actual dog. You simply accepted and just smiled while shedding a singular, figurative tear. “Nah, I’ll be fine... Probably ;)”

It didn’t take you very long to choose a side of the room and stick to it. You were just going to leave most of your stuff in your suitcase to avoid any huge messes. This obviously left you with some time to kill so you wandered back into the hallway.

When you got there, however, all you saw was Remus sitting on the floor in front of the first door James had tried so hard to open. When he saw you step into the hallway, he stood up.

“Where’s James?” you asked confused since they were supposed to be ‘bunking’ together.

Remus shifted his weight, “Oh um, he went to get a hammer, I think.” He shoved his hands in his pockets in hopes of looking less awkward.

“Oh,” you laugh. “Wh- why on Earth does James need a hammer?” You laugh at he thought of James actually fixing anything successfully.

He turned and jabbed his finger behind him to the door. “It, uh... locked us out.” He laughed under his breath as he rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment.

You laughed as well. “...Did you try Alohamora?” you offered to your ‘genius’ friend.

He straightened up a little, almost offended. “We did, actually,” he smiled, “...Except James kept saying ‘Hola-ha-mora’, so it shouldn’t have worked the first three times anyways.”

You, having the heart of a Hufflepuff but intuition of a Ravenclaw, made your way over to him to see the doorknob yourself. Remus shuffled out of the way after first being stunned by your unexpected approach.

“So what’s actually wrong with it, then?” you question, getting on one knee to peer though the keyhole.

Remus awkwardly leaned over your head to look down on the situation but quickly realized how weird it looked from everyone else’s perspective and simply took a step back. “Um... You know I was actually thinking there might be internal rusting somewhere?”

You tutted your tongue on the top of your mouth, still very concentrated. “I mean sure, but that seems very unlikely due to the appearance of the rest of the house. You would think if someone could take the time to polish the toilet-paper holders, the inside of the room locks should be in perfect condition...” Remus nodded in agreement. “... And James doesn’t have the key?” you asked, confused by the concept of poor safety measures.

Remus just shrugged, “He said the house is so old that with unlocking charms, you know, because they are so common in wizarding communities, his parents figured ‘what would be the point’ of keeping any of the keys I suppose? I don’t know... Anyways, I told him that was dumb and then he went to go get a hammer.”

You stood up, having to steady yourself first from the fast rush of blood to your head. “What does he exspect to do?” you wonder out loud, “It’s not like he can just smash the handle off— though that would solve the problem,” you mutter that last part. “...But come on... I mean Mr and Mrs Potter would kill him and let Sirius bury his bones...”

“What?”

“...Nothing,” you continued. “But by the looks of it, all the handles look like an original artist’s craftsmanship which means not only are they more valuable and rare as a completed set, but they’re also way more expensive.”

Remus marveled silently at your quirky fountain of knowledge. For such a quiet and peaceful-minded soul, he often forgot that in the moments you weren’t tarnished by the boisterous personality of everyone else, you were more than bright enough to light up his world for a moment.

Just then, you and Remus turned to where you could both hear quickened footsteps making they’re way up the staircase. “Not to fear, Moony!... You’ll be reunited with your precious books in no ti-” James stopped mid-sentence before he nearly ran into the two of you.

“Back from your quest, oh key-less one?” You watch as James furrowed his brow before glancing at Remus then back to you.

”Ah, yes, I almost—”

“Is that a screwdriver?” you bite your lip to prevent yourself from laughing right in his face. James lifted up the “hammer” he got from heaven knows where with pride.

“No. It’s a hammer, Y/n, jeeze, I would have though you’d know, coming from a nice muggle community.... Now will you please move out of the way so I can fix this thing?” He readjusted his glasses sassily.

By this point in the conversation, Remus and you were nearly having a seizure trying not to burst out in laughter at your friend who really was trying his hardest. You eventually caved and shrunk up against the wall in a ball. “You ca- You can’t fix a door know with-”

“James,” Remus chuckled as he tried to pry the screwdriver from his hands. “That’s not going to-”

You both burst into another fit of laughter as James broke free and started whacking the lock with the butt-end of the device.

When the knob finally came loose, the three of you let out a little cheer. It was you, of course, who realized that the door needed to be lifted up a little while opening or closing becuse the real probably was with the hinges, not the lock.

About fifteen minutes later, when everyone had finally “set up camp”... James gave everyone a grand tour of the house. Your favorite bits were probably the drawing room because of the gorgeous window view and the library/study for obvious reasons. The part that you couldn’t quite get over, though, was the fact that there was a fireplace in practically every room. YAAAS WARMTH✨

When dinner finally hit though, you were definitely hungry. (You weren’t exactly starving because, well, eating had always seemed like a chore to you... Just thanks to the many perks of living in a 26% functioning body... But of course, you would push it aside unless you were on mental overload and therefore stress-ate an entire box of Cheerios plus a whole bag of goldfish and chocolate all night during that one OWLS season). But right now, in the midst of friends and good food, you were excited to spend the first evening of the weekend with them :)

The table (the smaller one meant for family not business guests in the main dining hall, was seated with James and Mary on both ends. Lily had somehow slithered her way to James’ left putting her, Marlene, and Sirius between the two. Peter sat on the left of James, smushing you between Remus on your left and Mary on your right.

You watched as the conversation switched from quidditch fowls, to hot quidditch team players, to James, Sirius, Mary and Marlene competing on who had gone out with the hottest Gryffindor member.

You obviously stayed out of this one as the three of you, Remus, and Peter all watched... Lily would throw in some deviously timed mention about her short flings with Slytherin team boys just to throw James off his lead.

“Sorry about not answering earlier...” Remus stated out of nowhere.

“What?” you muffled, trying not to choke on the soup you were currently obsessing over.

Remus was hoping he would t have to repeat himself, but just when he was about to, your brain registered his words.

“Oh! Oh, no no, that’s totally fine. I actually had just told Sirius that I didn’t care where I was- Wha- I’m sorry,” you laugh nervously, stuttering on every new sentence. WhY wAs iT sO HaRd To TaLk RiGhT NoW? “I just didn’t want to put you in that position, you know having to choose who to sleep with- I MEAN not sleep-sleep with just you know...” You could practically feel your face cooking.

“...Sirius(?).” You both finish as you gesture to the boy across the table from you, trying to stick his spoon to his nose using only his breath.

You both sat there, distracted and watching him until he actually succeeded. “Mary, look!” Right as he turned to show her however, it slid off and splashed soup up in his face.

You propped your head off your hand after a long moment of thought.... “Bet I could do it longer...” you start, turning back to Remus.

A confused smile stretched across his face. “...What?” he questioned again as if he hadn’t hear you properly the first time.

Without answering, you picked up the second spoon placed at your table spot (for whatever reason) and you watched as your reflection became more and more cloudy.

“Are you—”

You turned calmly to meet his face with a spoon now hanging from atop your nose.

After a good couple seconds of Remus staring at you, it finally clicked in his head what you were doing. A rare grin stretched up his face as he grabbed his own spoon and tried it himself.

It took a couple of tries for the spoon to really stick, but as soon as it did, Sirius saw from across the room and automatically turned it into a table-wide competition.

By the time pudding came around, you were holding the record of four minutes and twelve seconds versus Peter somehow who was thirteen seconds shy.

When the competition had ended though, Lily finally asked what the heck the plan was for the rest of the weekend...

In the morning, James said, everyone could go up to an abandoned village area where a muggle summer camp once stood and they could spend the night there. He promised the plumbing still worked for whatever reason, so it could be totally doable.

Every fiber of your being was telling you that was a dumb idea, especially a bunch of teenagers in the woods alone, but whatever right? Majority votes are always won by the delinquents.

#remus lupin x reader #remus lupin #books and libraries #marauders era fanfiction #fanfiction #sirius black #james potter #lily evans #marlene mckinnon #mary macdonald #hogwarts #harry potter #wizarding society #winter break #godrics hollow #moony wormtail padfoot and prongs #marauders

18 notes · View notes

honeyhan-123 · 4 years ago

Text

The Artist ~ II

Summary: When Steve meets the reader at an art class he immediately becomes enticed and maybe, just maybe, she can help heal his wounded heart.

Warnings: Lil’ bit of angst/previous heartbreak

Word Count: 3.2k

AN: Here it is! The next chapter of The Artist! Thank you so much to everyone for their feedback. I’m not sure if I’ll be able to get the next chapter out by next Saturday as I have a uni exam on the Friday but I’ll try.

As usual, a massive thank you to @imanuglywombat for the beautiful moodboard and @magdaleneruth for being an exceptional beta.

Series Masterlist

My Masterlist

Part One

II.

Despite the serum making him run hotter than most, harsh temperatures always managed to seep under his skin. The cold wind nipped at Steve, sending a chill down his spine, he’d spent enough time on ice for one lifetime.

Days like these reminded him of those nights, when he’d tuck in next to Bucky. Most of the time they hadn’t been able to afford heating—when things made a turn for the worse, Bucky would crawl in next to him, cocooning him in his arms, sharing his body warmth.

Steve had struggled for a long time after the first of those nights. A mixture of emotions has swirled inside him and he had no idea what to do, let alone what to think or how to feel about it. He felt lost.

Bucky was his one constant—the one person he could come to, always. Who could he turn to when he, himself, was the catalyst?

Maybe it was wrong by old world sensibilities. He didn’t see it. He didn’t care, not really. Not when the even beating of Bucky’s heart thumped against his back as he drifted into a peaceful slumber.

It was only years later, during the war when Steve had met Peggy and found that same solace that he had realised what it meant.

Steve shuddered against the wind, curling himself further into his jacket, trying to wrap it around him tighter as though it would help him purge those memories from his mind.

He heard a sound before he felt the impact—catching against his chest, it almost clapped against his coat. Digging his hands from his pockets, he grabbed the paper. He could barely make out the heading as the wind kept folding it over, this way and that, obscuring his sight of the blasted thing.

When he finally managed it, his face broke out into a smile.

Calling All Art and Wine Lovers. Do you love art? Do you also love wine? Come down to Roman’s Bar for a night of painting with accompanying wines. Entry fee $25. Drinks and easels are supplied but feel free to bring your own.

He skimmed the rest of the flyer to find the first session was happening Monday night. it would only be painting a fruit bowl or something like that, but for some inexplicable reason Steve felt compelled to go. It almost felt like fate that he’d happened upon that flyer. Not that he put much stock into that.

Maybe he could convince Sam to go with him… maybe Bucky? He had always been interested in Steve’s art back in the day. It might even help him feel more like himself. Steve knew he hadn’t been adjusting very well since coming back from Wakanda, since that conversation. The world still felt so new and different and he hardly trusted himself due to his days as the Winter Soldier.

With his mind made up, Steve strolled through the city streets, a new found warmth blooming in his chest and a smile on his face.

‘I’m not sure, Steve. I was never that good at art like you.’

It was Sunday evening that Steve had finally decided to broach the idea of drunken painting with Bucky.

‘You don’t have to be, Bucky! That’s why this is so perfect. I can guarantee you it will be a relaxed night of drinking some wine and painting a couple of pieces of fruit. It’ll be fun.’ Steve could see him mulling over his words, his brows pulled close into a frown.

‘What if they recognise me, though? That’s a great way to ruin everyone’s night.’

‘Bucky.’ Steve clasped a hold of the brunet’s shoulder, forcing him to look into his eyes. ‘Everyone knows it wasn’t you in Vienna and everyone knows you weren’t in control for all those years before.’

It broke his heart to hear his best friend talk so dismissively about himself. He tried not to let it show on his face when Bucky shrugged his hand off of his shoulder.

‘I think it will be really good for you, getting out, you know? Letting people see the real you. You’re an Avenger, Buck. You can’t hide away forever.’

‘I don’t even know who the real me even is anymore.’

‘Then this is a perfect starting point. You can find out if you like drinking wine and painting.’

Maybe he was stretching, but he was just so eager to show him the new world. Bucky had to face the fact that if he continued hiding in the shadows, then rumour mill would only continue to turn.

He was desperate to get his best friend back. Things hadn’t been quite the same since that night. ‘Look, if you hate it, I promise I won’t bug you about going back.’

Steve could tell Bucky still wasn’t a hundred percent sold on the idea, but he nodded. ‘Fine I’ll come. Where the hell are you taking me, Rogers?’

Despite the near perfect mask Bucky’s face wore, Steve could tell he was nervous. ‘Don’t worry, I’m sure everything will be fine.’

He let out a sigh that turned to a muttered uh huh before stepping forward and pushing open the frosted glass door.

Steve had no idea what he had been expecting but Roman’s Bar was definitely not it. He couldn’t help but be taken aback. The room was buzzing despite it being a Monday. It looked to be a popular after work hangout for those that lived in the Brooklyn area.

‘Hi there, are you looking for a table for two?’ A handsome man came up to the pair, his voice was deep and flowed like honey. Steve peered at the tag on his chest pocket and read that his name was Miguel.

‘Uh… I’m sorry. I think there’s been a mistake.’

Realisation washed over the man’s face and he nodded in understanding. ‘You’re here for the wine and painting class correct?’ Steve nodded, relieved that he at least wasn’t making a complete fool of himself. ‘Don’t worry, it’s right through here. Most of the painting patrons come in through the side entrance over on J Avenue. I’m sorry for the mistake.’ He led the two men through the heaving crowd and Steve started to get second thoughts.

He had expected a more elderly crowd, similar to the one at Maxine’s class last week, not young twenty-somethings. Yet when Miguel pushed through a velvet curtain at the back of the room, they were led down a small hallway—Steve could see another door leading out onto the street and assumed this was the entrance Miguel had been talking about. They were led through another frost glass door and he was relieved to see a room much more like the one he had been expecting.

It was small, cozy, and slightly old fashioned—a complete contrast to the sleek, modern bar he had just left. They’d only just arrived but Steve already felt right at home. Some soothing Jazz was playing from a record player in one corner of the room, completely drowning out the vibing music that had been pumping out on the main floor of the bar.

‘This is Susanne. She’s the lead instructor for tonight. I hope you fine fellows have a pleasant evening.’ As he turned to start heading back to the main room, Steve could have sworn he saw Miguel wink at him and it sent a rush of excitement through him.

‘Good evening gentlemen. You’re just in time, we were just about to start. The entry fee is $25 each. Will you be paying together or separately?’ Susanne’s voice was soothing and Steve hastily fished a fifty from his pocket.

‘Together, thank you.’

She nodded and took the bill, heading over to a small bar in the back corner of the room.

‘What can I get for you? Would you like a glass of the house white or red? Other options are available, but at an extra cost.’

He shared a look with Bucky before responding. ‘Two of your house reds, thank you.’

‘Of course, dearie.’ She pulled two glasses from underneath the counter and uncorked the bottle. The dark red swirled in the glass as she poured.

Steve thanked her again as he and Bucky took their drinks.

‘If you need a refill at any point just let one of the servers or instructors know. Now it’s nearly eight, so why don’t you grab a seat and we’ll be starting very soon.’ Steve smiled and led Bucky off, searching for a pair of seats together.

The easels were set up in a semi-circle around a stool with a bowl of fruit. There were only two rows and even though the first wasn’t filled yet, Steve headed for the back row, knowing it would make Bucky more comfortable.

Once they were all settled in, Steve pulled his sketchbook from his bag and placed it on the easel. Even though the bar had supplied some utensils, he again opted for his own pencils—this time bringing some coloured ones along.

He could see Bucky’s eyes darting around the room, assessing everything from neighbouring faces to points of entry. It had been so long since he’d been able to rest. Steve just wanted to put him at ease or at least offer him some respite to the memories that plagued him.

He sighed at the thought, having more than enough guilt for them both.

The door swung open, catching Steve’s attention. He felt his jaw go slack at the sight.

There you were. You wore the same button down shirt and jeans as last time and Steve figured they must be your painting clothes. You seemed slightly frantic searching through the crowd, more than relieved to find Susanne as she bustled over to you.

‘I’m so sorry I’m late. Work was hectic, there’s this big case and–’

Susanne cut you off shaking her head with a smile on her face. ‘You don’t have to apologise, darling. You're hardly late, we haven’t even started yet. Just grab a seat and we’ll begin soon.’ You smiled, graciously handing over some cash before taking a seat in the front next to an elderly lady Steve had noticed earlier.

‘Oh! Darling you’re here!’ The woman greeted you excitedly, leaning over to give you a slight hug. ‘I was worried something had happened, you’re normally so punctual.’

‘It was work.’

‘Is that boss of yours giving you a hard time again? I honestly don’t understand why you don’t tell him where he can stick it and just quit.’

A melodic laugh escaped your lips and your eyes crinkled slightly. You smiled further as one of the servers approached, carrying a glass of shimmering white wine. You thanked her by name as you took it.

Clearly you were a regular here.

‘If only, Gladys… but you of all people know how expensive Brooklyn’s gotten to live in.’

She hummed in agreement. ‘It’s nothing like it was in my day. But still, you shouldn’t be stuck behind a desk at a job you hate. You should be out there, showcasing your work. It’s truly remarkable.’

‘I don’t hate my job. Besides, I’ve already been down that road, remember? And failed hard.’ Even in his short time of knowing you, Steve could hear the lie on your voice and felt a pang of sadness for you. ‘That’s what led me to Mr. Barber’s company.’

Gladys nodded and before she could respond, Susanne stepped up by the stool.

‘Hello all and welcome to tonight’s ‘Fine Art and Fine Wine’ class. If everyone has what they need, we should be ready to get started.’ She lifted the red cloth from the table, revealing the bowl beneath. It was a clear glass serving bowl that had blue swirls of ink running through it and inside was an arrangement of autumnal fruits—

Pomegranates. Blood oranges. A passion fruit and some figs, all ornately placed.

At first glance, Steve knew it was a perfect arrangement. It was simple enough that some of the beginners in the class would still be able to manage but had some difficult elements that would offer a challenge for the more seasoned artists.

Brilliant.

Despite the small fragments of chitchat, Steve quickly lost himself to the sketch—capturing the slight green tinge of the passion fruit or the darker hues of pink from the pomegranates.

It was so soothing, just being able to sit and draw, occasionally taking sips of his wine. Even Bucky looked relaxed. Well, nearly… It’s as close to the word he could manage these days.

The hours had flown by all too soon. Still. Steve felt fairly proud of what he had achieved. It had been a while since he had worked with colour, but he felt he had done a decent job of it.

‘So what do you think?’ He asked Bucky as he started packing up the pencils, sorting them neatly into their colours.

‘It was actually okay. I… I had fun.’ Steve looked about ready to pull a muscle in his face with how hard Bucky’s words had him smiling. ‘Don’t start.

‘I didn’t say a word,’ he defended, hands raised in fealty. ‘You just need to be willing to try and put yourself out there. I know it’s hard, but you’ll always have me.’

Maybe it was still too soon. Too fresh after that conversation.

He quickly averted his gaze back to his drawing. Steve felt a pang in his heart and continued to silently pack up, trying desperately not to think back to that night when Bucky had first returned to the tower.

Steve found himself shivering as he stood out on the landing pad, waiting for the quinjet to touch down.

He knew rationally that Bucky still had a long road of recovery ahead of him. He knew this. It didn’t stop Steve from being so relieved to have him here. To have him home.

Maybe this time around, Steve would be the one to be Bucky’s protector. And maybe, once he was ready… If he was ever ready.

Steve hated himself for thinking so selfishly, but he couldn’t help but hold onto that hope.

Hope that in these new modern times, he and Bucky might actually have a chance.

He had greeted Bucky and quickly shown him inside, guiding him through the multiple hallways and staircases until they reached his new apartment.

Steve had made sure it was the one next to his own, wanting him to be as close as possible. He had even gone so far as to temporarily move out of his apartment in Brooklyn for this.

He’d wanted to stick around, help him settle in but when Bucky told him all he wanted to do was sleep, exhausted from the flight as he was, Steve relented.

Later, they said.

Another day, they said…

Only that day never came.

Over the coming weeks, Steve quickly noticed Bucky was avoiding him.

While he was quiet most of the time with the others, he didn’t find some excuse to leave the room whenever they entered like he did with Steve. At first, he just thought Bucky needed time to adjust.

He gave him time.

He gave him space.

But a couple months down the road, they were well into summer with no mention of the rift between them.

He made sure to wait him out until he knew with certainty that Bucky was back from dinner with Sam.

When he heard his familiar rustling the next room over, he tried to push away the pain that things had fallen so off course. Steve hadn’t even been to dinner with him yet.

He glanced at the mirror, taking himself in. Despite the heavy bags that lined the underneath of his eyes, he felt that he had managed to look at least a bit presentable. A final nod before heading out for the night. A final breath before blowing his reality to bits.

He pads next door and knocks.

When the answer came swiftly, Bucky didn’t seem surprised. If anything, he looked as if he’d been expecting him.

‘Come on in.’

‘Your head’s gonna combust if you keep all that fire locked up in there. Say your piece and it just might bring you some.’

‘I thought… I thought things were better.’

‘Things are better. I’m better. But you—’

‘Then what is it? Tell me what’s going on,’ he begs over him. ‘I can feel you pulling away. You can barely stand to be in the same room as me. Please, Buck. Help me understand.’

He was quiet for a beat, just watching Steve come down from getting so worked up. It gave him time to collect himself, collect his thoughts…

‘I know what you want from me. I take one look at you and I know… but I’m not him.’ Steve looked about ready to argue but Bucky raised his hand, begging to finish. ‘You wanted to understand. I’ll never be the same man I was back then and being around you, being with you? It’s painful, Steve. It’s a constant reminder of what was taken from me and how I’ll never be the same.’

‘You can’t say things like that. It’s not true.’

‘Don’t you think it hurts me that I can’t be that for you?’ He gestured all around the room, never wavering. ‘That we could have all of this together and call it a day… Don’t you think I want that rest?’

‘We can work through it. We’ve been through so much together.’ Steve swallowed the lump in his throat, so ready to contest that he doesn’t have to feel the same. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered—he still loved him. ‘We can get through this, too.’

‘Steve…’ Bucky could tell just how painful this was for him but he knew it needed to be said, it needed to be done. ‘There was a time I loved you so much I’d have fought a whole war for you. Love and war… that’s not something you get out of. I’m still fighting.’

Face buried in his hands, Steve swiped at the tears that stained his hot and itching cheeks.

‘Please, Buck… don’t say it. I love you. Here and now. I don’t care about the rest of it,’ he murmured desperately into his palms. ‘I love you.’

‘I know.’

Both men sat in their defeat as the confession faded into silence.

‘He’s gone. I can’t be him and we can’t be together. I know it’s hard but please, please, don’t hate me. You mean so much to me.’

‘I shouldn’t have thought just because you were here with me now—it doesn’t mean anything. I could never hate you. And I would never want to see you in pain… But I can’t just leave you, knowing you’re out there alone as me.’ He drags a hand through his hair, looking anywhere else. ‘We were friends, best friends. We could go back to that, couldn’t we?’

‘Of course, punk.’ He clapped his back and hoped it wasn’t too much, too soon. ‘Best friends.’

Even as his heart was breaking, Steve managed a small smile. It was a far cry from ideal, but if it kept Bucky in his life, he was prepared to bite the bullet if that’s what it took.

Despite the smiles and promises, things would never be the same after that. Not really…

Tags will be added in a reblog

Series Masterlist

My Masterlist

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x bucky barnes #bucky barnes #captain america #marvel #mcu #the winter soldier

116 notes · View notes