This story takes place in the early 90's Memphis rap scene. You're the typical punk who's into underground music. After hearing a mixtape with a voice you can't get out of your head, you're on a mission to find him and get some new material. You're excited to be his first fan, but it doesn't take long to realize you're in way over your head, as you're unexpectedly roped into the scene.
As you're dragged further into his world, your mission changes. You have to save yourself, and convince him to do the same.
Chapters: intro./pt i./pt.ii/pt.iii/pt.iv
CW (added as needed): Drug usage, gendered violence, gun violence, toxic family dynamics, eventual smut
Black!OC x Black!Punk!Reader
wc. 2.7k
cw: swearing, no physical descriptions beyond being black
a/n: long time no see. my classes have been killing me but hey, i finally got this chapter done. once again there are lyrics in the chapter, mostly so you get a good idea of what the characters sound like. Songs are Love to Make a Stang- Three 6 and Get Da Anna Off- Sinista Sistaz
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You decide not to tell Gloria about Aaron's proposal.
It's been insanely difficult for you to keep a secret like this from her. The two of you had met in your sophomore year in high school, and you'd been attached at the hip ever since. You'd first spotted her sitting by herself, on the other side of the cafeteria from where you were doing the same thing.
While you were alone by virtue of being the sort-of-chubby new kid, she had a reputation for being unable to control her mouth that made her unpopular. You, with some well placed confidence, had decided that the two of you would get along great. So you'd sauntered over, and sat right in front of her with a "Hi, my name is- "
She'd taken a quick glance up and down, and with a scoff, walked off before you could get your name out. Never one to be deterred, you did it again the next day.
"Hey, what's your name?" you tried, figuring that asking a question might go over better. She had ignored you for a good minute, choosing instead to finish her lunch. You stared her down, making it clear you expected an answer. Right when the bell sounded, she responded with a quick "Gloria", before darting off.
You spent weeks hounding the girl, sure that she would like you if she just got to know you a bit. When you stopped making progress by ambushing her at lunch, every morning you followed her to her locker and just started talking. It took a full month before she held a real conversation with you, but she never once told you to fuck off directly. You figured, because of her reputation, that if she had a problem she would have said something already. In your mind, you'd already won.
"Goddamn! You're like a fuckin stalker, you know that? Can't you take a hint?" she asked you one morning, with a drawn out groan.
"I really can't. If you don't want to talk to me then say that." you retorted. She looked at you hard for a second, before starting down the hallway without saying a word. You had worn a victorious smirk for the rest of the day.
It's been a long time since you made a major choice without her guidance. She's the only person currently in your life that you trust to have more sense than you do. Unfortunately, this has had the side effect of her acting as judge and jury presiding over your decision making.
And as of right now, you don't want her changing your mind about anything. Your mom's advice of 'go have fun' rings in your ears, and you know that Gloria would tell you the exact opposite.
You want to go back to the studio. You want to see Aaron again. And you want to show off to someone who appreciates it.
So you're not going to tell her. You're going to make the call and go lay some shit down. After that… whatever happens, happens.
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When you call the number that you had copied down on a Panda Express receipt, the phone rings for a long time. You were already talking yourself into actually leaving a message when he picks up.
"Whassup, this is Aaron."
"Hey! It's Saraiya," you hear a destructive sounding clamber over the line. "You good?!"
"Nah, yeah, I'm cool! Just… phone slipped or somethin. What's good, though, how are you?" he says, quick to brush it off.
"I'm alright, not really doin much, you know?" and he giggles as if you've said something funny. He sounds high as shit. You clear your throat awkwardly, "So, you said to call when I was free and I'm free right now soo… I was hopin I could drop by? If that's okay," you explain.
"Uhhh…" he hesitates, sounding apprehensive. Your confusion is immediate. He had seemed so eager to have your company during your last conversation.
Damn, maybe he has a girl over. Worse, maybe Gloria is right. Maybe everything she said is true and he's running a brothel in his garage!
"Yeah for sure, but can you gimme bout an hour? I need to clean up and get everything ready, you know?"
"Okay then, see you in an hour!" you try to sound excited, but the interaction has left a sour taste in your mouth. You hang up swiftly, and suddenly you're just a little less sure of yourself.
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Nothing seems different when you pull up to his house, albeit the driveway is emptier. And really, you don't even know what you're looking for. All you know is, if even the slightest hint arises that you're about to get played, you're booking it.
You cautiously approach the front door, giving it a 'shave and a haircut' knock. For a long second you're left admiring the lawn decorations they have up. There's a little gargoyle with his hands and feet crossed in a gentlemanly manner sitting on the corner of the porch. It's cute enough to make you start cooing, which is cut short by the door.
The door opens, and there he is. Currently in the process of putting on a shirt, which he apparently didn't have time to do in the last hour. You can't quite process the absurdity of it though, because you're trying to keep your jaw in place.
He's not crazy muscular or anything, but compared to the lanky punk boys you've seen naked so far, he's got a lot more definition. Plus, you have a better view of the swirling tattoos you'd glimpsed before, realizing that they crawl from his mid back up his shoulders and down his biceps. The black ink wraps around softly muscled arms in a way that makes your teeth itch with the urge to bite down.
When he finally gets the shirt on, a thin wife beater, it's not much of a barrier between your eyes and his body. You feel like a pervert, turning something as casual as this into a private peepshow, but…
He has to know what he's doing.
"Sorry bout makin you wait. Had to clear out Craig n them, but it's just us now. No interruptions," he says. His words make you sweat a little, imagining them in a different context. You immediately start looking for something low stakes to discuss instead.
"Nah it's no problem. I, uh, I like your gargoyle. Looks very… polite," you say. Your lips roll together in embarrassment, as you watch his widen into a grin. He tries holding back a laugh at your expense, but a chuckle slips out before he can collect himself completely.
"Thanks, I got like three more in the back if you want one," he offers. You perk up, shedding your embarrassment like a snake. You have no idea where you would put it, but you want that freaky little guy, bad.
…The gargoyle. You're talking about the gargoyle.
"For real? You don't mind?"
"Mm-mm, we can pick one out after the session. C'mon," he turns back into the house, motioning for you to follow behind him.
To your mild surprise, it does actually look like he took the time to clean up. The carpet is freshly vacuumed, and there's a couple folded blankets placed carefully over the back of the couch.
"You hungry?," he asks. Honestly, the nerves that have been bubbling in your gut for the past hour won't allow for you to eat anything, so you meekly decline. He shrugs before continuing up the stairs.
As you climb after his, your nerves worsen. It's not that you doubt your ability to perform, definitely not, no. What you're afraid of is that after this, you'll go back to your mom's house, back to Radio Shack, back to… aimlessness.
Truth be told, since you've graduated high school, you've felt stuck. During your year at college, you didn't really make much progress. The audio engineering program was full of geeky white boys that apparently had been involved in the business since they popped out their mamas bellies. You were consistently looked over and made to feel as though you were behind the rest of the class. There was no way you were finna pay $2000 a semester just to get treated like a dummy, so you dropped out.
It wasn't too bad at first, the experience had helped you book a couple shows where you worked backstage. After a while though, you realized that those boys in your classes just turn into the guys that you started working for. You'd be plugging in DMX cables at $10 an hour for the rest of your life, if you didn't fuck somebody to get ahead.
At least at Radio Shack your manager was a woman, and she wasn't plotting on you… probably.
At any rate, this whole scenario has caused you to feel excited about your future for the first time in a while. Like you might really have a purpose or a goal to hang on to. You can't let anyone or anything get in your way. Not Gloria, not Craig's bitch ass attitude, and not this silly little crush.
You got this.
When you get into the studio, he heads straight to the computer. You sit down next to the desk and watch as his face turns blue from the glow of the start up screen.
"So look. I had Craig cook up some new for you cause I wanted somethin that suits your style," he tells you. Your brow furrows in confusion.
"How you know my style if you only heard me rap for two seconds?," you ask. He laughs, continuing to click around with the mouse.
"I don't, that's why I asked Craig. That lil nigga has mystical music powers or some shit. I know he pissed you off last time but believe me, he's going places," he sits in the desk chair and turns to you, "And hopefully he takes us with him. Now, you ready to show me what you got?"
You take a deep breath in and nod, trying to keep your exhale slow and steady.
"Don't be nervous a'ight? Just listen to it a couple times and start when you feel like it," he reassures you. His hand moves to press play, and the music starts.
It's a mellow tune, with less bass and more piano than the last song. You're almost offended, because this is decidedly not your style. It's not a bad beat per se, but there's no edge to it, no umph. If that's what Craig thinks of you, he must be socially illiterate. You have no idea how to rap over this.
"You want me to start?," Aaron offers. A knot in your stomach comes loose, letting you breathe a bit easier. You nod, punctuating it with a 'please'. He shoots you a small smile, teeth poking into his lip, and starts up with no delay.
"See me with the cloud of smoke flyin' out my mouth
The little hundred rounds, give it to me, now, or me pow
Me cock a slug, drop you in thee mud, in thee blood
Eventually you pass away, and then me choke on me bud
Me wonder why smokin' this thunder makes me go out and hunt a nigga for money
I start this shit out on a Monday and do not stop until that bloody Sunday
No matter sunshine or rain, mane, shut the fuck up and give me everythang"
Clearly, he'd been waiting to let this loose. It's a lethargic sort of flow, and the words seem to slither out of his mouth. It's not lost on you how privileged you are to witness this type of talent take form. You would struggle to keep a syllabic count the way he's doing it, it's way too slow and you don't have enough practice.
Somehow, though, this is working. Your head starts bopping, your cadence starts forming in your mind, and you begin to understand. The beat is a blank slate, it's just the framework. The edge needs to come from you.
Oh yeah, you got this. Deep breath in—
"These bitches be killin' me
They constantly talkin' bout what they gon' do to me
But I'm takin' no chance of gettin' caught slippin'
I'm clickin' on hoes that hate me
The Devil's inside ah me, controllin' my thoughts
He's tellin' me what to do, He's tellin' me make a move
He tell me to test some hoes to see what they gon' do
I be packin' that pistol grip, I be packin' that full clip
And I'm full ah that weed, I'm ready to go to war
Retaliation on you haters you niggas gon' bleed
On that strength I'm makin' me a stang
Pumpin' a hole to a motherfucka brain
Showin' no love to you niggas you bitches
Be killers, for realer ain't nothin' gon' change-"
You're interrupted by the sound of Aaron clapping his hands together and releasing a loud cackle. Without realizing it, in an attempt to stave off the nerves, you'd closed your eyes while you freestyled. You force them open, praying that he's laughing with you and not at you.
His head is thrown back from the energy of his laughter, and when he straightens up he's got a big ol grin on his face. There's an actual, physical sparkle in his eyes, and they're locked directly on yours.
You're seized by an old feeling, something you haven't dealt with in years. Not since the day you decided that you were gonna dress and act however you pleased, fuck what anybody else had to say. In this moment, all you want is the approval of this man who you daydreamed about while sat in front of your stereo.
"How was that?," you manage to get out, your chest tight with anxiety. He scoffs, disbelief coloring his expression.
"Are you for real? Saraiya," he stands up and walks over. To your shock, he kneels down in front of your chair and his hands land on your shoulders. His warmth lingers as they slide down your arms to lightly grip you at the elbow.
"I need you to understand somethin, okay? Me and Craig been makin music for a long time, you know? Long ass time. We always worked well together, and it never felt like we were comin up short. But then we brought Ty in, and it took our sound to a whole new level. He was a piece of a puzzle we didn't even know we were missin. It pushed us to work harder and actually drop. And you?," his grip tightens and his gaze turns hot, "You gon push us right to the top. I know it."
The air between you is suffocating. You're hyper aware of his touch, tuned into the movement of his lips and his throat. His words are burning themselves into your brain, and it scares you. You don't know that you've ever been this effected by another person's opinion of you.
"I want to join," you tell him. There's no affectation, no dancing around the point. All you can do is give him the plain truth. You want this.
His hands drop even further, until he's got your fingers softly secured in his own.
"Everybody in this city gon know bout us, I promise. You and me," he swears to you. The weight of it threatens to break your composure. Fortunately, he breaks first. He retreats, the fever of his skin dropping away and leaving behind a sickly chill.
"Speakin of which, you need a stage name. Can't be poppin out with your government name," he lands back in the chair, "My suggestion, read a dictionary and just find some words you like."
"Puh! If I gotta pick a name you gon have to find a new one, too, Montana," you take the opportunity to tease him a little. He sucks his teeth, but you can see his mouth twisting up to surpress his smile.
"You right, you right. Lemme talk to Craig and figure some shit out, yeah?," his gaze lingers for a moment. "You wanna go pick one of them gargoyles now?"
Joy courses through your body, and you're already on your feet and out the door. You bound down the stairs toward the backyard, Aaron's faint laughter following at your heels.
How to create a character for an online or tabletop RPG (also a good guide on creating characters in general)
Royalty/nobility TV Tropes page
Basic character profile
OC masterpost
Random character generators - (1), (2), (3), (4)
D&D Character Building Tool
Character Design Ideas:
How clothing affects a character’s personality
Character Design Inspiration blog
Concept art, fan art, cool art to be inspired by
Character design references and inspiration
Sources for POC character design ideas and models
Create your own character model using HeroForge
For horned characters
Body and hair types guide
Random outfit generator
Naming Help:
Amazing site with an endless amount of naming resources
General advice on avoiding naming appropriation
Hispanic Surnames
Gothic Victorian names
Huge master list for character things in general
Masterlist of names of all types - including but not limited to ancient/old world names, Celtic, African, Northern European, Southern and Central American Native names, Japanese, Chinese, Mongolian, Polynesian, and more
Another name masterlist
How to pick a character name guide
Yet another names masterlist
Creating Background/backstory:
Character Sheet/Development Sheet
Another character development list
In-depth character personality, motivations and traits sheet
320 talents and passions for characters
On writing likes and dislikes that aren’t frivolous
Why you should write non-human characters non-conforming to the gender binary
Stereotypes, tropes, and archetypes
Random backstory generator
Assassin and thief character tropes to avoid
Character Interactions and putting your character into your world/story:
Comparing character height/height references
Characters who are scientists and writing about them doing science
Describing what different voices sound like
Describing skin tones
Writing friendship interactions that are platonic
Why having one character knock their friend unconscious to prevent them from doing something is a bad idea
Advice on shipping OCs with canon characters and what to avoid doing
Sweet Polly Oliver and Sweet on Polly Oliver situations (think of Disney’s Mulan for an example)
How to write multiple viewpoints/juggling a main cast of more than 4 to 6 characters
How to make readers care about your morally gray hero/anti-hero
On platonic OC and canon character relationships
How to avoid Godmodding in RPs
When it’s cheap to kill off a character
Writing dialogue
Things you shouldn’t do to canon characters
Avoiding purple prose in writing and RPs
Slang resources
Dialogue tips
Websites to chart your story/plot/character relationships
Black!OC x Black!Punk!Reader
wc. 2.2k
cw: swearing, no physical descriptions beyond being black
a/n: sorry for the delay!!! hopefully the next one comes faster. we get more of our main couple here though
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You've been moping around your house for about two weeks now. The surge of affronted fury at Craig's comment had cost you what you'd been desiring for months. You didn't regret it, not one bit, but you were certainly bitter about it. Complaining to Gloria wasn't an option, though you'd tried. She had cheerily informed you that it was for the best, and even offered to go with you to an underground show she'd previously declined.
Somehow, in the hour a day she spent outside her room, your mama had noticed your tanking mood. She catches you skulking around the kitchen while she grabs her midday snack.
"What crawled up your ass?", she asks, not looking at you. She never does. Not since your Aunt Dee Dee died.
When she was alive, the similarities between you were a running joke in your family. Your grandma would remark that the two of you looked more like sisters than she and your mama did. Dee was much younger than her as well, smack dab in the middle in terms of age, making it easy for you to bond with her like a big sister.
But truthfully, as inseparable as you'd been, she'd been your mom's best friend first. Your aunt's death had destroyed her, mind, body, and soul. She stopped getting out of bed and going to work, causing you to have to move back to Tennessee where your grandparents could keep an eye on her. It took three years before she could look at you without wailing, the catalyst being when you came back home at fifteen with a septum ring.
Even now (four piercings, three tattoos, and many, many dye jobs later), she could only find it in herself to look at you when you seemingly had your gaze elsewhere. Fortunately, now that you're grown, you're able to go out and make your own money. Since your grandparents owned the house, they only asked for help with the light bill, mostly to help fund their little cross country adventures. They'd taken off soon after you started working, only ever spending about a third of the year at home. Most of the time it was just you and the sounds of your mama.
"You know that tape I been obsessed with?". you ask. She rolls her eyes and nods an affirmative. "Well, I met the artists."
"And?"
"Aaand they showed me some stuff they were workin on. They were having trouble with the lyrics though, so I rapped somethin off the dome, you know, and the producer wanted me to do more."
"Soooo… what's the problem? You didn't do it?", she asks, confused.
"No. He was disrespectful with it, and Ri said they seem like bad news anyways. Besides, I got stuff goin on.", you try to brush it off. As much as you love the attention she's paying you, you don't want to accidentally reveal what part of town this went down in.
"No you don't. You don't do anything but read and listen to music.", she minces no words. How charming. Unfortunately, you don't have a valid rebuttal to this.
"And you know I like Gloria, but that girl is wound tighter than bark on a tree. Just ask him to apologize. Go do somethin fun.", she continues, already on her way back to her room. Of course, she wouldn't be your mama if she didn't have something slick to say, and you hear her mutter 'and get out my damn house'.
"This ain't even your house.", you mumble back. Once she was out of earshot. Obviously.
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Currently, you're in the middle of the most frustrating shift of your life. Everyone who's come in so far has had no intention of buying anything, just poking and prodding at the equipment. You've tripped over at least three RC cars that these shit eaters just leave laying around when they're done playing with them. If you hear one more high pitched whirring noise, you're gonna scream.
You sit behind the counter and take a deep breath to center yourself. Just get through the next few hours. You'll go home, smoke a fat blunt, and take a hot shower to wash the gel out of your hair. And yes you know you should use cold water, but you already bleached it to hell, so who cares?
It's starting to work, your shoulders almost relaxed, when the bell on the door rings again. Ugh. When you open your eyes though, your breath stutters to a halt.
It's Aaron.
Damn it. He looks even better than before. He's grown his facial hair out a bit, now sporting a goatee that subtracts from the sweet character of his face. There's a fitted cap on his head with the Grizzlies logo, and a spliff tucked behind his ear. Your hand flies up to your own ears, already feeling them begin to burn. Who let him out of the house like that?
He's clearly looking for you, because as soon as his gaze settles on yours, he bestows you with a blinding smile. As he makes his way over, you're privately chastising yourself for being so damn thirsty. Be cool, bitch!
"Yo I been lookin for you everywhere! I was startin to think you don't actually work here. How you been?", he asks. It throws you off a bit, and has you blinking at him emptily. You are 100% positive you didn't tell this man where you work. Despite what Gloria seems to think, you're not actually that dumb.
He seems to realize his misstep, and reels himself in. His expression switches from exuberant to sheepish in .2 seconds.
"Uh, my bad. I asked that bald dude y'all was with where I could find you. But don't worry, I made sure he wouldn't tell nobody else.", he says. Fucking Ernie. And what the hell does he mean by 'made sure'? What is going on right now?
"Oh. Yeah. Well, thank you. I dunno why he felt comfortable spreading my business, but I'm glad it was just you.", even if it was a little weird. To be fair, you'd done the same to him.
There's an awkward moment where you're both just nodding and smiling at each other.
"You were lookin for me becaaause…?", you prompt. He jolts as if he's been shocked, his mind clearly somewhere else.
"Because, um, cause I wanted to talk to you. About the… about my lyrics. I didn't get to say thank you.", he tells you, fidgeting with the edge of his collar. It draws your eyes to his fingers, noticing he's got some rings on that he didn't last time. In fact, he's more accessorized in general, all the gold giving his skin a warm glow.
"It was no problem, for real! I was happy to be involved.", you say. Then, remembering where you'd gone wrong before, "But if you don't mind, I wanted you to sign the tape last time, I just forgot."
"For real? Like an autograph?", he asks, his eyes going wide. You can't help but smile at his deer in the headlights impression. His personality is really the polar opposite of what you'd expected.
"Yeah. You know y'all gon be famous one day, right? I wanna be the one with your first autograph."
He chuckles shyly, doing a dorky bounce on the balls of his feet. You have to cover your mouth to hold back a giggle.
"I don't know bout all that but I can sign it, for sure. You got it with you?" he asks you. Suddenly, you become aware of your surroundings again. You're in the middle of a shift, and there's a customer waiting behind him to purchase a VCR. You most certainly do not have the tape on you.
"I have it in my car. If you can stick around, I get off at six.", you tell him.
"A'ight then, I'll be back later.", he responds, backing away. He ends up running into the man behind him, mumbling an apology and throwing one last smile your way.
You've got a little smile on your lips for the rest of your shift.
When six o clock rolls around, you find him sitting on a bench near the store's entrance. You walk past him with a jerk of your head, indicating that you want him to follow you. He trails behind you all the way out to the parking lot, neither of you speaking. It's not an uncomfortable silence like it was before, it simply feels like you're adapting to each other's presence.
You reach your car, throwing your bag in the passenger seat and reaching forward to grab the tape and a marker out of the glove box. When you straighten up, Aaron is pretending to be lost in the clouds, his eyes on everything but you. Men are so strange. He clears his throat.
"You want me to sign it as Montana or Aaron? Cause Imma be real with you, I did not come up with that name. That's all Craig.", he says. You can't help but snort. It's not hard to imagine him just going along with whatever his little brother tells him.
"You don't like it?"
"I mean, I fell asleep durin that movie, but I'm pretty sure that nigga fucked his sister. It was weird.", he admits. The laugh tears out of your throat and sends you forward, your hands coming to rest on your knees. It's not a remark you've ever heard about Scarface, most of the people you know completely idolized that movie.
When you finally settle down, he's got the subtlest smirk on his face, his eyes low. You wipe a tear away, suddenly a bit timid.
"Sign it with your name then. It's just for me anyways.", you inform him. It'll be the third in your collection, next to your signed shitty self-recorded tape of a Bad Brains concert, and an EP from Spitboy.
He does as instructed, handing it back to you after. As you're putting it away (and congratulating yourself for a job well done), he adopts a faux unconcerned tone.
"So uh… you like to rap?"
When you turn back in his direction, he's leaned up against the hood of your car. He pulls a lighter out of his pocket and lights up his joint, letting smoke spill from his lips. He offers it up to you immediately.
You're a weak, weak woman. Weed and a cute boy? You have no line of defense!
You take a puff, holding it in while you think of your response.
"I guess. I never thought about really doin it though, know what I mean? And.. I dunno, it sounded like your brother only asked cause I'm a woman, not cause I'm good at it.", you say, deciding on honesty. He crinkles his nose in disagreement.
"You only think that cause you ain't heard Ty rap. His shit is bogus, man. The two lines you gave me was better than anything he came up with."
"Damn. That's cold."
"It's the truth. And look, he's still in the group, cause that ain't the important part. It's all about how we work as a unit. I was stuck on that verse for weeks, I scrapped a million different lines. You walked in there and got me spittin in five minutes!", he tells you, his voice growing more impassioned with each word. You twist your mouth up to the side, considering his argument.
Y'all pass the joint back and forth in silence. You're not sure that you're convinced. They haven't actually heard you rap, two lines isn't much of an indicator for anything. It feels like a shallow offer. As if he can read your thoughts, he makes a proposition.
"How bout this, you come back to the studio, right? I'll lay some down, and we can say whatever comes to mind. If we sound good together, I want you to just think about workin with us. Deal?", he asks. The way he phrases it is so tempting, we sound good together, and your senses are a little hazy from the bud. Still…
"If I say yes… I'm not cool with your boy callin me a bitch, aright? He needs to get that mouth under control before I fuck with him.", you assert. He's already nodding before you can finish.
"I got you! I was gon make him apologize anyway, and he knows he was wrong for that. Ey look, can I give you my number?"
You pull your marker out again, and he gets in your space to write on your proffered arm. His scent is a heady mix of weed and what you think is vetiver. You're gonna get dizzy. As soon as he's finished writing the last digit, you back away to give yourself some fresh air.
"Just call me, let me know when you can pull up. Imma be waitin.", he tells you, giving you soft, doe eyes. You are still far too close for comfort, and you can see a faint scar that cuts horizontally through his eyebrow.
You nod dimly, and get a quick flash of teeth in response.
"It was good to see you again.", he starts walking toward his own car, but turns around one more time, "If no one else told you, your hair looks real pretty today."
And he's off. You watch him for a moment, bringing a hand to the bantu knots you had tied your hair up into. You know he's buttering you up, but damn him, it's working.
Black!OC x Black!Punk!Reader
wc. 3.6k
cw: swearing, no physical descriptions beyond being black
a/n: i know it bothers some people so i'd like to warn that in this chapter there are lyrics. they're plot driven, with the intention to give you a notion of how these characters sound when they rap. nevertheless i will try to keep them to a minimum when i can.
⛧°。 ⋆༺♱༻⋆。 °⛧
As you ride passenger on the way to the 'studio', the sun steadily sinks down into a purple horizon. You're trying not to fidget too much, wringing your hands on your lap. Gloria's tensed up in the driver's seat, and there's a visceral look of paranoia on her face. When the two men had shown y'all the car you're currently following, she went rigid immediately, and you knew why. It was a Caprice from the 80's, with gaudy gold Dayton rims. It was a clean ass ride. When you'd gotten in her car there was a brief moment of stiff silence before she broke it.
"You know that's a drug dealers car, right?", she asked. It was plainly rhetorical, but you were trying to stop her from working herself up into full on panic mode, so you responded steadily.
"You don't know tha-"
"Oh yes I do! Where you think he got the money for a car like that? Either they dealin, or they pimpin. You best pray it's the first one", she interrupted.
"I don't know, Ri, his job? He could work on cars or somethin. That don't automatically make him a pimp… drama queen.", you were getting agitated as well. You know she has a very fierce protective streak, but sometimes she went overboard with it. You were perfectly capable of taking care of yourself, and if you had major worries about this guy you would remove yourself from the situation immediately.
"Naw, cause if he worked hard for it, it'd be in his garage. The only reason a nigga would ride around in that is if he don't need to worry about gettin jacked. That's common sense now, come on.", nevertheless she started up her engine and started following the Chevy.
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You're currently listening to her mutter about how you were just supposed to get a new tape, and she shoulda never helped you with this, and how you're always dragging her into some mess. Uncle Ernie is in the backseat, failing to smother his laughter at her tearing you a new one. It's only been a few minutes but you can't wait to get out this damn car.
The car in front of you pulls into the driveway of a brick townhouse. There's a wrought iron gate in the front, and a miniature scarecrow propped up against it. It's an old building, possibly built around the same time the neighborhood was. As a child you would have gone up to this type of home as a dare, to prove to your peers that you weren't as scary as them. While you climb out, you hear Gloria tell Ernie to keep his eyes peeled. Your heart starts pounding when Aaron gets out of the drivers side and beckons you over with a tilt of his head.
Ugh. You know what's happening. Every once in a while, you get hit with a disproportionately massive crush on a guy. Truly your curse, you're far too susceptible to a cute face. It makes you act ridiculous, doodling hearts around their names and making every song you listen to about them. When you get close to them you can feel your ears start to burn, and it's a small mercy that your blush isn't visible. Small, because despite your face not turning bright red, you're still embarrassingly obvious. The amount of times you've caught yourself literally twirling your hair is worthy of humiliation. Sometimes you feel like there's a neon sign on your forehead that says 'READY TO GO'.
The worst part, though, is that despite coming off as painfully eager, you don't score much. You're not a virgin by any means, but the men that you had said crushes on typically ruin it once they open their mouths. You've found that men in the scene tend to be in it for aesthetics only, holding the same low brow misogynistic views most do. And you don't even want to get started on the casual racism. Their radicalism only applies as long as they maintain their own position in society. Typically, this leads to drawn out conversations turned arguments, which end with you getting labeled as a self righteous know-it-all.
In this moment, you decide to stomp on that burgeoning infatuation. The last thing you need is this group getting ruined for you cause you got disappointed by another crush. Besides, you have an actual goal to accomplish here, and you're not about to humiliate yourself in front of these guys. Being their first fan? That's bragging rights. Being their first groupie? Hheeell no. You need to get an autograph, pre-order their next mix, then bounce.
Easier said than done. A blithe smile graces his face, forcing you to chase away a dreamy sigh. You avoid eye contact and in doing so your eyes land on his car again. It really is a work of art, with a deep red paint job and a chrome finish.
"You eyein the whip?", he asks teasingly.
"Yeah, it's clean. What's your sound set up?". because with a car like this, he must have one. He perks up at the question.
"MTX, MB Quarts, and a Kenwood amp."
Holy shit. You fight the instinct to drop your jaw in shock. Just a couple months ago you'd started working at a Radio Shack, which means you know exactly how good that system is, and how much he dropped on it.
He waves you all inside through the garage, and you file into his front room. It's a typical bachelor pad, bare bones, unmatched furniture complete with a giant bong resting on the coffee table. The only thing out of place is the random dude passed out on the couch with a bag of chips in his hand.
"Ty!", yells Craig. The man jolts awake, sending chips flying all over the carpet. Aaron murmurs a noise of dissent from beside you.
"Wha- Yeah. Yeah whassup?", he asks, still functionally asleep. Craig is already on him, giving his shoulder a light shove.
"How the fuck you keep gettin in here man?"
"And why you gotta eat my funyuns?", Aaron chimes in, staring mournfully at the now empty bag on his floor.
"Nigga wha- leave me alone. Why y'all actin new?", Ty asks, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He finally seems to notice you and Gloria awkwardly lingering by the door. "Ohhhhhh. I see how it is."
"Uh, no. You really don't.", Gloria responds, a scowl striking her features. The mental clock is already going for her, and as soon as that hour is up she's gonna drag you out of this house. You need to get what you came for.
"We're just here to see the studio, actually. I was really feelin the mix tape they did and I wanted to check it out.", you say. His eyebrows shoot up and his demeanor quickly turns jovial.
"Pssh, say less. You lookin at the secret weapon of the group. I'm the one that gets Craig's mopey ass beats bumpin.", he says, dusting off his shoulders, prompting a scoff from Craig. You're actually surprised they have a second producer, but you had noticed a few of the songs had a different sort of bounce to them. Little mister Carlito might not be as prodigious as you'd thought.
"Aight buddy, you gon be the one to show us this so called studio then?", asks Gloria, shifting her feet. Ty grins at her, his teeth pearly white. He's actually quite handsome, with strong features and skin several shades darker than the rest of you. He stands up, revealing he's also the tallest one in the room.
"No problem, shawty. Either of you wanna hit this first?", he asks, gesturing toward the bong on the table.
Now you might be willing to take some risks, but you know better than to smoke questionably sourced weed with some Castalia niggas that outnumber you 3 to 2. So you decline, as does Gloria, but Aaron moves forward to grab the lighter. He's been weirdly silent, and you're not sure if it's because of you or if he just doesn't speak much. You hope it's not you. While he's taking a puff, Craig and Ty start leading you to a room upstairs.
"Can I get you ladies names?", Ty asks, his gaze lingering on the taller woman next to you. He's not lewd or obvious with it, thankfully, but she's definitely noticed all the same.
"Gloria.", and she leaves it there.
"Saraiya, good to meet you. How long you been producing?", you try to make conversation.
"Couple years, but I ain't much for rapping so I never released anything. Once I met these fools though, bam! Magic."
"Oh absolutely! I been playing it everywhere I go. Did you work on Stompin Hoes?", you ask. It was one of the bassier tracks, a staple in your car for the past few weeks.
"Yeah that's me.", a grunt of protest comes from behind him, "Well, me and Craig."
The room you enter is small, but not suffocating. The floor is covered in comforters, and there's two chairs in the corner. Beyond that, everything else is recording equipment. A mic, headphones, a bass guitar against the wall. There's a desk with computers, speakers, a soundboard, and two keyboard synths.
"Is that a SY99?". Both men turn to you, surprised, but you're zeroed in. Most of the gear is pretty standard, he's got a NT2 mic, not bad. But a SY99? Those things are like $3000! "Where the hell you get one of these?"
"Don't worry bout it, girl, just appreciate. And don't touch anything!", Craig tells you. These are clearly his babies, his eyes trained on you like a hawk as you bounce around to each piece. The bass is a Peavey Dyna, with a sick little design etched in near the strap pin. It looks a bit like a scorpion, but bent into the shape of a crescent moon.
"Whose is this?", you ask.
"Mine.", and you turn to see Aaron entering the room. He's running his tongue over his lip ring, and you immediately feel a rush of blood to your head. Ooh, lord lead me not into temptation.
"You play?"
"Yeah, lil bit. Say we got a sample, right? Sounds dope, but it don't got enough umph. So, I play the bassline, Craig layers it, cuts the mids. Now it's jumpin.", he says, coming over to you. Your heart rate picks up once more, his proximity allowing you to notice the tattoos crawling up from underneath his shirt. They seem to be abstract, wrapping around his shoulders and neck from behind like a shadow. He picks up the bass and plays a little riff, which you immediately recognize.
"Kool & The Gang?", you guess. He gives a bashful smile and a curt nod, switching into something punchier. It takes you only a second longer than last time to guess.
"That's… The Clash."
"Mhm. You know how to play?", he asks you. His eyes are low, and he seems more talkative than before. Apparently, he just needed a hit to open up more.
"Eh, I can play a little drums, but mostly I just work with the equipment. I went to school for bout a year, audio engineering.", you tell him. It had been a short stint at a community college, with the goal of working backstage at some local venues. Ultimately though, you dropped out and decided to just get experience from work. Plus, it was like $2000 per semester.
Across the room, Ty has pulled Gloria and Craig into a side conversation that you notice has her fighting a little smile. Craig, on the other hand, barely looks like he's paying attention. His eyes stay darting between everyone in the room, his stance screaming discomfort. What is his problem?
"Damn, you might know more about em than I do then. I'm good at writin raps, you know, but Craig got all the musical talent.", he says, flicking his chin in his brothers direction. There's pride in his eyes, cluing you into how highly Aaron thinks of him.
"You got enough to play an instrument, don't you? Give yourself some credit. I was equally excited to meet both of y'all.", you lie. You don't want to gush, just let him know that he's got talent in spades.
He's averting his eyes as he puts his bass back in it's spot. His hands go up to his face in what seems to be a nervous tic, giving it a light scratch.
"'Preciate that, ma'am. So uh… you wanted to hear the new music.", and with a stiff point toward the computers, he slinks away, prompting you to follow.
Ma'am? What the hell? Did he think you were older than him or something? You had thought you were around the same age…
You don't witness him cringing at himself, nor the pleading eyes he sends toward Craig. What you do see is Craig swiftly move toward the computer as well, arriving before either of you. He clicks around, opening up his programs containing their songs.
"Now, I got a couple beats on here, but we ain't recorded over em yet. Fuckin Shakespeare over here still writin his verses.", he says, with a thumb thrown in Aaron's direction. The other man presses his lips thin, and a wicked glare is directed at Craig's back. When he catches you looking, he covers with an equally thin smile.
"I got my flow down, you know, just can't find the words. Nothin sounds right, so…", he trails off, seeming a bit embarrassed. Considering the complexity of his verses, it doesn't shock you that he spends a long time writing them. It does upset you, though, to think that he lacks faith in his own words. The interactions you've had so far make you believe that he's really not as confident as he sounds in their songs.
"Do you mind if I look at what you wrote? Not on any sneaky shit, I promise, I just wanna know what you're stuck on.", you ask. He's getting ready to respond when Ty cuts in.
"Man, you couldn't read that if you wanted to. Be lookin like he just scribbled lines on the paper, don't even bother. "
It's rude, and you can see Aaron's jaw start working in response. You don't know how he's going to react, not being familiar with him, but you hope it doesn't turn into an argument. Men have such a low threshold for disrespect, and it's even lower in front of women. This could easily turn into a spiteful dick-measuring contest, and then you and Ri would have to bounce, empty-handed. You have to admit, though, you would have been pissed if you were in his position.
He takes a deep breath though his nose, and just deflates.
"It is hard to read so maybe not. But I can just show you though!", and he shuffles through the notebooks on the desk until he pulls out a white notebook covered in little sketches. "Craig, can you pull up track four?"
You're unable to look away as he pages through the book, sporting a fixated expression. Ever since you first heard his voice, you'd been waiting to hear it in person. Now, he's about to perform an unreleased song just for you. You're completely geeking out internally. Is it hot in here or is it just you?
The track starts off slow and pulsing, with a looped sample of what you recognize as a Geto Boys lyric. The bass comes in, rattling the desk the speakers are resting on. Your head starts moving on instinct, you can already tell it's going to go platinum once it hits the streets. It's perfect for late night cruising,and you're already imagining hot boxing your car to this.
Aaron is waiting for the right moment, letting his body fall into the rhythm. And then-
"Check-check it out, nigga, I'm kickin' in doors, bodies are froze
Bloody ya clothes, gun to ya nose
All of you niggas, you really need to give up money and dope
Face the floor, forty-four, into ya head, droppin 'em dead
Montana fled, put 'em to bed, with the weight, then escape
Count the stacks, shine my gat, after I jack like a rat on the creep
All you dope boy niggas will get put to sleep
When I sneak, give up the dope or get a hole in yo' cranium"
He was picking up an electrifying momentum, causing your throat to tighten in pure adulation, when he suddenly cuts himself off. It's clear though, that his verse isn't over, or at least isn't meant to be. There's an empty space at the end, unfulfilled but with a distinct presence. He clears his throat but won't look you in the eye, instead choosing to busy himself by fidgeting with his notebook.
"Like I said, it's there. It just ain't all there.", he says. You want to grab him by the shoulders and shake his brain loose. How could you make him understand how incredible that was without exposing yourself as a total sycophant? Who cares how long it takes when it's so, so perfect?
There's a short moment of silence as you figure out what to say.
"It sounds fine bruh, if you just let me record it-", Craig starts, but Aaron is quick to interrupt.
"Fine? I'm not tryna sound fine, nigga, I'm tryna sound cold-blooded.", and it's the first time since you met that you've heard agitation in his voice. Despite this, he's not even looking at Craig, who quickly shut his mouth at the admonishment. His scowl is instead directed upward, an exasperated sigh falling from his lips as he runs his hand over his face.
"Can you play it back? I wanna hear it again.", you tell them. Part of you just wants to watch his mouth shape the words again, but you do actually have an idea forming. They exchange puzzled looks, but do as you ask anyway.
This time, as Aaron reaches the last line, you pick it up.
"You see this mean artillery, you know it is containin' some
Shit that makes me flexible to make your life ejectable"
Granted, it's not much, and your flow isn't quite as quick as his. You weren't intending to freestyle or anything , you just wanted to spark something in his mind and get it moving again.
The stillness that follows is palpable. The three men in the room are staring at you, and Gloria is giving you a wide eyed expression. It can't be surprise from her though, she already knows that you like to rap a little. You're not sure what she's trying to communicate, but you don't have time to parse it out.
"I thought you said you can't rap.", Craig says accusingly. You scoff.
"No, I didn't. I just said I couldn't keep up with him. I can rap just fine.", you point out. Aaron bursts into soft laughter, flashing his pretty teeth at you.
"Shit, you sure can. Ey, say that again.", he tells you. This time he writes it down, then has Craig start the track again. When he gets to your part, he's got a completely different tempo than you had.
"You see this mean artillery, you know it is containin' some
Shit that makes me flexible to make your life ejectable
And with this bullet in your brain, you be dead either comatose
So when you pushin' candy with the killah comin' to smoke you, mane
Simple and plain, you'll get stained, if you in the dope game, bitch"
On the lowest of keys, you are freaking the fuck out. You can't believe that actually worked! If he's gonna use that in his verse, this is beyond future bragging rights. You might even get to ask for a shout out on their next release. Fuck an autograph.
"That's what the fuck I'm talkin bout, boy!", Ty shouts, coming over and dapping him up. Craig, meanwhile, is continuing to stare a hole into the side of your head. You make eye contact and raise an eyebrow. If he's got something to say he oughtta just say it.
"You tryna record a lil some?", he finally asks. You rear back, not expecting that at all. "You could make some good money. Folks like hearing bitches rap."
Bitches!? Fffuck this fool.
Gloria seems to agree, shaking her head frantically from where the others can't see her.
"Craig!", Aaron protests, throwing his hands up in an incredulous manner.
"What?"
"I don't think so. Least not until you learn how to speak to a woman, lame ass nigga.", you say. You stand up and address Aaron, "It would be cool if you could gimme a shout out or somethin, though. It was good to meet y'all."
With a quick wave to Ty and Aaron, and a dirty look thrown in Craig's gobsmacked face, you rush out of the room with Gloria in tow.
The whole ordeal had taken less than 45 minutes, and Ernie must have narcolepsy or something, cause he's passed out cold. Drool on his shirt and all.
"I'm glad you said no, cause I was boutta drag you out kickin and screamin. Don't get twisted up with dudes like that, okay? Promise me.", Gloria says from the drivers seat. She holds her pinky out, and you half-heartedly tangle yours with hers. Truthfully, your mind is somewhere else. Bunny teeth and sleepy eyes cloud your vision. Then it hits you.
Black!OC x Black!Reader
a/n: still working on this one but i wanted to give a peek into my next chapter. i'd also like to know if y'all are interested in a face claim for aaron?
⛧°。 ⋆༺♱༻⋆。 °⛧
As you ride passenger on the way to the 'studio', the sun steadily sinks down into a purple horizon. You're trying not to fidget too much, wringing your hands on your lap. Gloria's tensed up in the driver's seat, and there's a visceral look of paranoia on her face. When the two men had shown y'all the car you're currently following, she went rigid immediately, and you knew why. It was a Caprice from the 80's, with gaudy gold Dayton rims. It was a clean ass ride. When you'd gotten in her car there was a brief moment of stiff silence before she broke it.
"You know that's a drug dealers car, right?", she asked. It was plainly rhetorical, but you were trying to stop her from working herself up into full on panic mode, so you responded steadily.
"You don't know tha-"
"Oh yes I do! Where you think he got the money for a car like that? Either they're dealing, or they're pimpin. You best pray it's the first one", she interrupted.
"I don't know, Ri, his job? He could work on cars or something. That don't automatically make him a pimp… drama queen.", you were getting agitated as well. You know she has a very fierce protective streak, but sometimes she went overboard with it. You were perfectly capable of taking care of yourself, and if you had major worries about this guy you would remove yourself from the situation immediately.
"Naw, cause if he worked hard for it, it'd be in his garage. The only reason a nigga would ride around in that is if he don't need to worry about gettin jacked. That's common sense now, come on.", nevertheless she started up her engine and started following the Chevy.
You're currently listening to her mutter about how you were just supposed to get a new tape, and she shoulda never helped you with this, and how you're always dragging her into some mess. Uncle Ernie is in the backseat, failing to smother his laughter at her tearing you a new one. It's only been a few minutes but you can't wait to get out this damn car.
The car in front of you pulls into the driveway of a brick townhouse. There's a wrought iron gate in the front, and a miniature scarecrow propped up against it. It's an old building, possibly built around the same time the neighborhood was. As a child you would have gone up to this type of home as a dare, to prove to your peers that you weren't as scary as them. While you climb out, you hear Gloria tell Ernie to keep his eyes peeled. Your heart starts pounding when Aaron gets out of the drivers side and beckons you over with a tilt of his head.
Ugh. You know what's happening. Every once in a while, you get hit with a disproportionately massive crush on a guy. Truly your curse, you're far too susceptible to a cute face. It makes you act ridiculous, doodling hearts around their names and making every song you listen to about them. When you get close to them you can feel your ears start to burn, and it's a small mercy that your blush isn't visible. Small, because despite your face not turning bright red, you're still embarrassingly obvious. The amount of times you've caught yourself literally twirling your hair is worthy of humiliation. Sometimes you feel like there's a neon sign on your forehead that says 'READY TO GO'.
