FILL fic: crying alive, alive oh (g, no warnings)sweetwatersongAugust 27 2015, 23:49:37 UTC
He knows strings; his hands grew up brushing over the catgut of a neighbor's banjo and the polyester of a hunting crossbow, found strumming chords on a clown's half-broken guitar and a singing thrum in the stretch of a longbow. He's improvised (albeit poorly) on a fiddle and taken half a day to play a cello in the attic of the boarding house he was bugging, he's done William Tell shots and lucky shots and everything short of alcohol shots with the compound bow that's now his lifeline. His handlers tell each other they're tired to death of listening to him hum snippets over the commlines when radio silence means something to everyone else on the op, and do shots of hard liquor themselves when his songs get stuck in their heads for the day. Clint knows music - and he knows people
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FIC: We Together Make A City [ R , no warnings ]franztastischSeptember 1 2015, 19:17:31 UTC
"You were good," he says suddenly and she turns back to find he's dropped his hand and is staring right at her, still lying down but with his head tipped back. "It..."
He trails off.
"You really understand music. I can appreciate that."
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He trails off.
"You really understand music. I can appreciate that."
On AO3.
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