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inappropriatestork · 1 year

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Finally got to see Les Mis live again after almost 10 years. And since my memory is terrible nowadays and I barely remember those shows other than what I recorded on Tumblr, I figured I better do so again, LOL.

The anticipation dramatically rekindled my Les Mis obsession. I watched the 25th and the Staged Concert versions again about 5 times each in the span of a week and a half or so, developed a bit of a new Thing for Javert in general and Michael Ball's Javert in particular, abruptly became a Valjean/Javert shipper, dove into Les Mis fic (I'd read a few E/R things here and there but not a lot), and decided to give The Brick another try (the new Donougher translation this time, which I've really enjoyed - especially with helpful historical and cultural footnotes on Kindle - though I've gotten a bit stuck at Waterloo again).

Anyway, this was by far the best of the three times I've now seen it live. The first time, in 2012, I had an unsatisfying understudy playing Valjean. The second time, in 2013, the cast was mostly great but there were some technical glitches. This time was more or less perfect and the cast was amazing.

And yes, I painted my nails to match the program.

Loooong rambling review/notes/thoughts, mainly for Future Me, below the cut.

It was opening night in Charlotte, January 31 with my mom and Jeff, and I think we had the full cast with no understudies or anything.

Nick Cartell as Valjean, Preston Truman Boyd as Javert, Haley Dortch as Fantine, Christine Heesun Hwang as Eponine, Devin Archer as Enjolras, Gregory Lee Rodriguez as Marius, Addie Morales as Cosette, Kyle Adams as Grantaire, Matt Crowle and Christina Rose Hall as the Thenardiers.

Looking at their headshots beforehand I wondered if Nick Cartell and Preston Truman Boyd weren't a bit young for the roles, but they were fantastic.

Cartell's voice was a little higher and lighter at times than some Valjeans, but also a bit deeper at others, and he held his own in duets with Javert. His Bring Him Home was gorgeous and his Finale was beautifully emotional and moving. Boyd was perfect as Javert. Powerful voice but still a lot of feeling and emotion.

Haley Dortch as Fantine was wonderful but a little soft and quiet at times. When she put some volume into it, like on I Dreamed A Dream, she was great, but some of her factory bits and deathbed bits were a little too soft and hard to hear. Addie Morales had a beautiful clear soprano as Cosette, and Christine Heesun Hwang was amazing as Eponine.

I thought Gregory Lee Rodriguez as Marius was perfectly good for most of the show but then his Empty Chairs at Empty Tables was absolutely showstopping, maybe the best I've ever heard.

All of Les Amis were good, and Harrison Fox as Gavroche. Devin Archer especially was extremely good as Enjolras. I feel like in the other live shows I've seen Enjolras didn't have a lot of interaction with Grantaire or anyone else outside of specific lines that require it, really? This one had a bit more humanity and feeling to him and I really liked him. Kyle Adams as Grantaire was also excellent, even apart from Grantaire's relatively few lines, his mannerisms and acting were spot on and compelling - cynical and mocking, knowing what's coming and scared for his friends, heartbroken as they begin to fall, starting with Gavroche.

The Thenardiers were pretty good, maybe a little more exaggerated and broad humor than some I've seen, and M. Thenardier's voice seemed a bit obviously a put on funny/evil caricature sort of voice? IDK, I've never heard his natural voice, but this seemed more obviously fake and cartoony than most, sometimes kind of tilting toward Billy Crystal as Miracle Max?

I also thought he played Dog Eats Dog much too funny. I kind of feel like that scene should lean more into the sinister aspect of Thenardier, which Matt Lucas does very well. This one played it a good bit lighter and sillier with his mannerisms and tone, which kind of made the dark lyrics about God being dead and the harvest moon feel a bit out of place and less impactful. I feel like Master of the House should be his sort of genial host persona, even if he's humorously admitting to being a scheming crook at the same time, but Dog Eats Dog (and the robberies) should be more a brief glimpse of his real sinister and base nature without the veneer of humor, what he truly is when there's no one to fawn and flatter and manipulate - and then by Beggars At the Feast he's back to scheming and flattering, craven and vulgar but the darker side hidden away again.

Other stuff:

I'm not sure how much the staging changed since I last saw it live? The souvenir program says the visuals and scenery were revamped in 2009, and a lot of that looked the same, though I think the Paris and barricade sets were a bit different?

I think the opening and Look Down were a little different from what I've seen before. And I've definitely never seen a version that included some extra scenes of Valjean being abused and driven away by the townspeople after his release and before meeting the Bishop. There was even an extra verse about the Mark of Cain? that I had definitely never heard before at all. It was a nice addition, though.

The Fantine scenes were good and about the same as I've seen, I think. One slightly jarring note was the American-ness that showed through in a few parts. I guess I'm just used to British versions, but Mme Thenardier had a very sort of brash American accent, and the factory foreman sang "sitting flat on your ass doesn't buy any bread," which just seemed glaringly out of place? Like I could buy "arse," maybe, but "ass" just seems jarringly American and modern. I kept thinking about the Fry & Laurie "American Ass" sketch.

I'm pretty sure the staging of Lovely Ladies was a good bit different than I remember. One of the whores also had a verse I've never heard in Lovely Ladies, something about "will the bleeding ever stop?" And instead of Fantine singing "Come on, Captain, you can wear your shoes - don't it make a a change to have a girl that can't refuse?" they changed it to "did you wear your shoes?" and had the other whores sing those lines when Fantine came back after her first time with a customer. Which seemed a slightly odd decision to me, I always thought Fantine bitterly singing those lines was pretty central to showing that she's accepted her lot and how far she's fallen as she joins the fallen women.

There's a few other bits that I'm not super familiar with as they're not in the recorded versions I know best - Valjean's lines to Cosette just after they've left the Thenardiers', Grantaire's "fleas will bite" part, Cosette's "you are loving and gentle and good"/"in your eyes I am just like a child who is lost in a wood" verse of In My Life - but I had at least some familiarity with them. I'm still quite sure I'd never heard Valjean's Mark of Cain verse or the one in Lovely Ladies before at all.

I'm not sure if Who Am I? was a bit different from the other times I've seen it in person too. In the recorded versions I've seen most, they mostly skip Valjean actually going to court and revealing himself. I only recently saw a recording of a London version that had the end of Who Am I? in the courtroom and Valjean opening his shirt to show his brand, and it was new to me, so I don't think the previous versions I've seen did it that way? I like this version of it, though.

(ETA: Found the playbill and program from the 2012 show and it does have a Champmathieu - normally played by the guy who ended up as my disappointing Valjean that night instead - in the credits, so perhaps it did have a court scene and I've just forgotten ever seeing it 🤷‍♀️ Goodness knows what else I've forgotten, lol.)

I'm not sure about Enjolras' verse admitting the people have not risen and telling the women and fathers to leave the barricade to not waste lives - it was unfamiliar enough that I was startled by it, but I think I might have at least heard of it or read the lyrics or something at some point but mostly forgot about it? It still surprised me. I also feel like the others I've seen must have had some form of the runaway cart scene, but I'm quite sure never as in depth as this one? Usually just more suggested or glossed over quite quickly, I feel like. Here we had Valjean asking around desperately trying to get the townspeople to help (more like the book) before doing it himself and Fauchelevant thanking him afterward, which I haven't seen before.

I definitely liked Les Amis (and the bits of E/R content) more in this version than past ones. If I remember right (and judging by my notes) the other versions had only the bare minimum of Enjolras & Grantaire interaction, and Grantaire mainly interacted with Gavroche? This version kept the Gavroche & Grantaire bond, which I rather like, but did have a fair bit of E/R too. Early on in the cafe, Enjolras sort of grabbed Grantaire while he sang "don't let the wine go to your brain." and in Drink With Me, Enjolras was up on the barricade looking all statuesque and dramatically lit when Grantaire began his verse, but he quickly came down and stopped the others from bothering Grantaire, looked into his eyes for a long moment, and clasped Grantaire's arms in a somewhat comforting way for a moment, at least.

This Grantaire was not very comforted, though - he turned away and sort of staggered miserably off to the corner of the room and hid his face in his arms against the wall until Gavroche ran and threw his arms around him. Enjolras looked after him for a moment, but didn't follow. I really liked this Grantaire, he was very mocking and sarcastic early on, then pretty wretchedly angry and scared and bitter knowing what was coming for his friends and Enjolras, and showed all of that even in his manner and gestures when he didn't have lines. On the barricade he hung around the fringes, hanging back when the others had all climbed up. He was the one to stay and watch the captive Javert during the first battle and clearly wasn't in any hurry to join in. It was subtle enough that if you didn't know the characters you probably wouldn't catch much of the nuance, but if you do and you were making a point to watch Grantaire especially, he was absolutely perfect.

And then when Gavroche died! Apparently the other versions I've seen, his death was off-stage. Here he'd climbed down behind the barricade out of sight and Les Amis and Grantaire all panicked when there was a shot but cheered when he turned out to be fine. He'd climbed back up the barricade and was standing at the top finishing Little People when he was shot and fell forward across Enjolras' lap. And gah, the way they all reacted, but especially the tender sorrow of Enjolras picking up his body and the sad, lingering touch as he handed him down to Grantaire. And then Grantaire carried him to the front of the stage and just sat bowed over him for a good long time. I also liked how after everything was over, Javert stopped and looked sadly at Gavroche's body, bowed his head and crossed himself (I can't remember exactly where but earlier in the Paris street scenes there was a quick, cute little sassy interaction between Gavroche and Javert at one point, too.)

I wasn't expecting the Grantaire & Gavroche relationship the first time I saw it live, being mostly familiar with the 25th and YouTube clips of older versions, but I like it (though I prefer they don't make that Grantaire's *only* real interactions, which I think the first versions I saw live kind of did). It gives Grantaire a little more softness and humanity. This version had a cute moment, I think maybe during Red & Black? where Gavroche, feeling like one of the grown up rebels, is enthusiastically swallowed up in a crowd of most of Les Amis singing fervently about rebellion and stuff, and Grantaire, who has kept his distance from the passionate crowd, sort of sighs, walks over, reaches into the crowd and extracts Gavroche at arms length and pulls him away. I thought it was sort of a sweet moment of Grantaire not wanting Gavroche to get so enthusiastically swept up and involved in this adult (albeit young) rebellion that he's quite sure is doomed.

(Another minor Gavroche bit - after Eponine died, he was standing next to Grantaire and turned his face into Grantaire, who hugged him for a bit. Then Gavroche went and hugged Marius for a long moment and then picked up Eponine's fallen hat after she'd been carried away and handed it to Marius. The show usually doesn't acknowledge him being Eponine's brother, but it was a nice little touch.)

I really wish I'd followed the final barricade death scene better. I'm seeing it again in March, so will pay closer attention to that. It's quite dark and strobey, so that makes it harder to follow, but it seemed like Grantaire kept trying, at the very end as his friends began to fall, to climb the barricade at last, maybe toward Enjolras, but never made it all the way? It's not quite "will you permit it?" but if I was reading (and am remembering) it right, at least it's a sort of nod to Grantaire still being willing to die with his friends and Enjolras in particular even if he can't truly embrace their cause.

While I'm on a shippy note, I have recently found myself enthusiastically on board the Valjean/Javert ship (IDK how I wasn't before, tbh, but I blame Michael Ball for giving me a new appreciation for Javert that I never quite got from Norm Lewis) and there were some good moments for them too. I'm so used to recorded concert versions with minimal acting, so it's always nice to actually see stuff. And this Valjean and Javert had pretty good chemistry, quite a lot of physicality, pushing each other around and grappling and a lot of long tense eye-contact. Especially after saving Fauchelevant, if I remember right Javert ended up holding Valjean's coat when he went to lift the cart? And there was some lingering eye contact as Valjean cleaned up and put his coat back on. And it might have been there or some other scene around that time, Javert holding onto Valjean, like they shook hands or maybe Javert was handing him his coat and kind of grabbed him and lingered for a moment while singing the "I have only known one other" stuff? Something like that, anyway, and I enjoyed it.

Boyd did a great Javert's Soliloquy, enough convincing fury and despair and agony. Some Javerts don't put enough emotion and absolute end-of-his-rope despair into it for my liking, but his was excellent. And as I mentioned, Gregory Lee Rodriguez was very good as Marius in general - even a few humorous touches I hadn't seen before when he's in the throes of awkward infatuation with Cosette - but then his Empty Chairs at Empty Tables blew me away, both the voice and the emotion.

The staging of the finale bugged me a little. I did like that once Valjean joined the company for DYHTPS, the Bishop stepped forward and hugged him in welcome - I've seen that in other versions but never live. But it drove me nuts that from the "take my hand" line on, well into the DYHTPS reprise, Marius and Cosette were just sitting at center stage holding each other sadly, which felt a bit distracting? Valjean was a bit off to one side, but it would have felt more fitting to me to have him at center stage and let Cosette and Marius move off to the side to comfort each other. It's not their moment! And then they stayed sitting there when the rest of the cast was gathered singing the closing lines, which still felt a bit off. I think they finally got up and joined the company on the very last line or two? Meh.That staging bothered me a bit.

That scene, especially once it gets to "take my hand" and he's actually dying, should be entirely Valjean's moment. Fantine and Eponine too for the gorgeous harmony, but Valjean and "to love another person is to see the face of God" should absolutely be the focal point. And then the DYHTPS finale should be about unity, everyone together. So it just seemed weird to have them just sitting around in the middle of the stage for so much of that transcendent ending.

(Very on brand for Marius though, that boy can never read a room. Always making him and his love life center stage when everyone else is busy with serious things like dying.)

Overall, though, it's definitely the best of the three times I've seen it live. Really no significant complaints about the cast or anything at all, other than fairly minor nitpicking. I loved it and was just in heaven from start to finish. I'm seeing it again in March with my friend and I already can't wait.

My mom, who has seen the movie long ago but isn't super familiar with the story, said she found it a little hard to follow a few bits (at least from our upper level seats, though I did bring my binoculars). It took her a while to realize that M. Madeleine was actually Valjean, as he looked quite different between leaving the Bishop and showing up there, and she didn't realize who Javert was on the barricade until he'd gone and returned and Gavroche called him out. The musical also doesn't really mention Valjean's having been famous on the chain gang for his strength, which makes it not super clear why the runaway cart scene makes Javert suspicious. But overall both she and my brother loved it too, though not quite as rabidly as I did, lol.

#les mis

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madamewriterofwrongs · 3 years

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I have thought long and hard about your AU prompt post and o have decided on bringing your attention to a Buddie singer/songwriter AU. Professional or amateur, either way, my soul aches for one of them seducing the other with a love song they made themselves. I am w e a k.

I knew instantly this was the scene I wanted to write and I finally got there.

Prompt Me with AUs

A Syncopated Heart

Read on Ao3

This was a bad idea. He knew it was a bad idea the moment it entered his head – as most of his ideas were what Hen called “too impulsive to be recorded, do you want to get me fired?” – and yet, nodded as the sound guy gave him his thumbs up. It was time.

If he were being truly honest with himself, ‘time’ was six months ago, when he met a prodigy of a guitar player wanting to join his band. ‘Time’ was five months and twenty-nine days ago, when he got over his own ego and realized that the player (though he had less experience in the industry) could definitely teach him a thing or two when it came to professionalism and technique.

‘Time’ was four months ago, when a bad case of bronchitis made him question whether he’d be able to sing again, but his new friend refused to look at him any differently. ‘Time’ was three months ago, when he was introduced to his best friend’s son by saving him from a falling stage light. ‘Time’ was two months ago when his producer told him to write a song to launch his solo career and he was faced with the notion that he would be leaving his family forever.

‘Time’ was one month ago, when he called Bobby in the middle of the night, frantic because he couldn’t figure out why the words wouldn’t come. ‘Time’ was two weeks ago, when he finally understood what his old mentor had meant when he told him that “he was missing what was right in front of him.”

‘Time’ was ten days ago, when his best friend informed him that he would be leaving to sign with another company who could “give him what he needed”. ‘Time’ was six days ago, when he’d shown up on his friend’s doorstep and begged him to stay – but when it came time to explain why, the words still wouldn’t come.

‘Time’ was two days ago, when his producer had asked him to perform his new song at a live event downtown, despite having never heard it. ‘Time’ was twelve hours ago when he’d finally put pen to paper and written the lyrics to his song – their song.

‘Time’ was sixty minutes ago, when his sister had asked him, for the fortieth time, if he was certain about his next move. ‘Time’ was two minutes ago, when he’d checked his phone, only to find no news of whether his best friend would be attending his final performance.

‘Time’ was now: stepping on stage with the first guitar he’d bought with his own money, and a head full of words he hoped would explain everything he wanted to convey.

The lights were blinding and the scent of stale beer and old plywood filled his nostrils. It was soothing, really, to be surrounding by such familiar sensations as he stepped over the precipice into the unknown. He had dreamed of the floodlights and the mumbling crowd since he was a kid (or, that was the story they’d told the media, but he hadn’t picked up a guitar until he was in his twenties). Regardless of when he’d discovered his love for music, it was the one thing that gave him joy. Whenever everything else was falling apart in his life, he could still feel a song sitting on his chest, just above his heart. Sometimes, it would press down until he could barely breathe; until the notes had to be played or he might burst. Other times, a melody would follow him for days. He liked to imagine a nymph floating beside him, whispering tunes into his ear to keep him occupied. His own personal muse.

He wouldn’t be using her tonight. He had new inspiration. And he prayed it would be enough.

“Hey folks.” He coughed into the microphone and it filled the bar. His eyes began to adjust under the lights, slowly revealing the audience to him, like a wave of vaguely buzzed shapes.

“You all know me as ‘Buck’ but that’s not my real name (obviously).” The few chuckles floating into the air were drowned out by the thrumming in his ears as he searched the crowd for a familiar face. “My real name is Evan Buckley. Before we get started on our set, I wanted to sing a song for you all. It’s a new song, actually, one I wrote for…” He cleared his throat when the words pressed harder on his chest, refusing to come. “For someone special.” Even over the pounding of his heart, he heard the murmurs of curious audience members, knowing the rumour mill was about to start spinning. But none of that mattered. No. The only thing that mattered was the next three minutes.

“Here it goes.”

The first strum of his guitar released the stranglehold the words had on his heart. In his more poetic moments, he would swear he could hear his muse gasp with the beauty – not of the notes, but of his intentions. In truth, he could barely feel his hands. They played of their own volition, moved to dance in a pattern they’d never rehearsed.

When the melody pulled so strongly, he would normally close his eyes and surrender to the music. But tonight, there was more than just him and the music. Though his eyes burned under the penetrating lights, he kept them trained on the audience, constantly looking for the one face he needed to see.

He had always been very proud of his singing voice. Though it was relatively untrained, he had done countless hours of research to make sure it was as healthy as possible. Like his guitar, he wanted to keep his voice finely tuned – lest someone realize he was merely a replaceable vessel on the ocean that was the music industry. After his bronchitis, he had taken extra care of his body but tonight, he felt like a novice – stepping out on stage for the first time, hoping his voice didn’t crack under the pressure.

The lyrics were the thing he held most precious in this journey. They contained within them the story of his life – of what he hoped would be his future. It was the story of a boy who wanted to make something of himself. He wanted to be somebody so badly that he made it to adulthood without becoming anything in particular. Then he picked up a guitar and thought he’d met the love of his life. All that changed when he met someone who made every note fall flat. And now, the boy finally realized how much he needs that person. How much he wants that person. How much he loves that person.

“And I will follow you around I will wander through the darkness that we made There is nothing else I want except for…”

His eyes connected with Eddie’s and the shock of it stole the words from his mouth. His fingers fell away from the strings and for the first time since they’d met: there was silence between them. Eddie’s expression was warm and open, looking up at Buck with what he hoped was affection and not pity.

In his mind, he watched Eddie shake his head and walk out the door at the back of the bar, the two of them never to meet again. Instead, he stood motionless as the man he’d wondered about for so many months slowly strode through the crowd towards him. With each step, he replaced the resignation in his mind with caution, and then, disbelief, and finally optimism of the smallest margin. Some peripheral awareness not centered on Eddie realized that people had noticed when the lead singer had stopped and all eyes were split between Buck and Eddie.

And why shouldn’t they be? Here were two souls meeting on the center of the stage, Buck making space for Eddie beside him without really thinking about it.

“You came.” He found himself speaking irreverently; a prayer he never believed would be answered.

“You invited me.” Eddie’s smile could still melt his heart in an instant.

“Yeah but… you came.”

“Of course I did.” As if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“I thought you’d be in Texas by now.”

“I cancelled my flight.”

Buck blinked, if only to reassure himself that he was, in fact, still awake and staring at the man who was going to leave but chose to stay.

“Why?”

“Buck, you know why.”

Did he? Did he know the truth between them? Or was he simply hearing the words he hadn’t realized he needed to hear until it was too late?

“The song.” He swallowed his pride. “Did you like it?”

“You haven’t finished it yet.”

“I’m not sure if I should give it a happy ending.”

When Eddie grasped his fingers, slowly threading them together with his own, Buck couldn’t contain the gasp that left his mouth. The look in the other man’s eyes was so gentle and open, his heart burst with the hope he hadn’t let himself feel.

“It should definitely have a happy ending.”

When their lips met, a symphony erupted in his mind – he would realize later that it was, in fact, the noise of the crowd cheering them on. The kiss was electric, crowded, and utterly perfect. Buck’s smile nearly broke them apart but he kept their lips connected until he was overpowered with the need to breathe.

His lips tingled with the memory of their kiss and his chest hurt for the guitar pressed between their bodies, but his mind had dissolved into simply memorizing every sensation from the moment their eyes had met until their lips had parted. Over and over. There was nothing else.

“You came.”

Eddie’s chuckle was added to the lexicon of sounds Buck would replay for the rest of his life.

“I think we already established that.”

There was only one thing that Eddie still had to know. One thing that could sway the end of their song. “I’m staying.”

But then his partner smiled and whispered: “Me too.”

And Buck kissed him again with more fervor than before, the desperation and excitement of the moment finally seeping in. Eddie was staying here, with him, and their song would finally get a happy ending.

And if his manager forgave him for ending the concert early because their kiss went viral, all the better.

What mattered most was Buck, Eddie, and the music.

#911 on fox #911 fox #buddie #eddie diaz #evan buckley #buddie fic #911 fic #musician au #alternative universe #getting together #cj writes things #cj answers things #florenceandthemachine #love flo

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therappundit · 3 years

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Top 10 Rappers of 2020

The finish line of this long, surreal year is finally upon us...which means that it’s time for me to throw down the gauntlet in the ‘Best of 2020’ frivolous list race! 🙌

*Just to be clear*: this is a list of MCs who I believe turned in the best overall performances in 2020. ***This is NOT a list of the my top 10 favorite MCs***, or even who I believe to be the best MCs in the world at the moment...these are simply dope artists that put forth the strongest, most consistently interesting and important (to the genre) high-quality work in the perilous year that was 2020.

If you think your favorite MC was slighted....well, Michael Jordan is the greatest to ever play the game of basketball but even he didn’t win MVP every year, right? I encourage you to write your own list - it’s a cool way to dap artists that are too often overlooked by industry websites, and share the music you enjoy with others that may not have given the record a spin otherwise.

Even if 2020 didn’t bring you the “instant classic” you had been hoping for, I think it’s hard to deny that this year really had impressive depth when it came to showcasing some of the most diverse music that the genre has to offer. I can’t speak for music in general - sadly I’m just The Rap Pundit, not The Music Pundit - but I can say that it has been an impossible task to keep a playlist less than 500 songs deep at a time, because for every truly great release in 2020 there seemed to be 30 very good releases. 👌

So how did I come about these 10 MCs (and Honorable Mentions)? Before you get huffy about who I snubbed (and that is pointed directly at my jury of older head peers that consider themselves tastemakers, but also haven’t opened their minds up to any new takes on rap styles since the year 2000)...here are the five chief pieces of criteria that I put into finalizing my list:

- quality (whatever lane you’re in, how often did you ‘own it’?)

- quantity (at least 10 very good-to-great songs released, and 3-4 verses that stand out as a ‘must-hear’ for any rap music fan)

- consistency (not just 4-5 great features and a few forgettable solo tracks, will I want to keep at least 7 or 8 of your own new songs released in 2020 in my rotation for 2021?)

- impact (are you so vital to the type of rap music you make that if you stopped rapping tomorrow, there’s no one else in the game that could fill that void?)

- “it” factor (are you carried by a co-sign or an elite production team, or did you bring a style/talent to the table that could carry a record in and of itself?)

Got it? Then here we go...

1. Conway the Machine

I hope 2020 was the type of year that Conway the Machine had been hoping for since he first began his journey with rap music. After years of scraping and hustling towards music industry recognition (and not just cult figure status), at year’s end we see Griselda’s top Lieutenant holding down a rare balancing act: champion of underground hip-hop, and most requested feature by any mainstream rap star looking to add some tough-talking muscle to their album.

While much of Conway’s content has always been driven by surviving an attempt on his life in 2012, much like 50 Cent, Conway’s way with words and perspective manage to elevate the quality of his material to a higher tier than most. And where - at least in his heyday - 50 Cent benefited from an indestructible super-villain persona, Conway’s success can be greatly attributed to a larger-than-life heart. With every braggadocious act of gunplay, there are moments of gratefulness to still being alive to share success with his brethren, as well as a painful longing to be with close allies that are no longer with him (at least not in the physical form).

Above all else, in 2020 Conway the Machine did what he has always done throughout his career: delivered well written, passionate bars about coming up in an impossibly challenging environment and coping with loss...only now his craftsmanship and understanding of how to channel all of those feelings into a more polished final product have yielded the most well-rounded solo project of his career in From King to a God. Progress is a slow process, but the long and winding road has finally taken Conway a step closer to that G.O.A.T. status he will hopefully continue to reach for...

Best Evidence: FKTG, and a countless number of scene-stealing verses alongside rap acts ranging from deep underground to household names

2. Freddie Gibbs

I don't use the word "sauce" all too often (this may actually be the first time), but if there was any MC guaranteed to bring sauce to any rap record right now, it's Freddie Gibbs.

Forever existing somewhere between gritty gangsta and syrupy old soul, the flavor that Freddie brings to every verse is malleable enough to work on virtually any type of record, which was certainly proven in 2020. Anyone foresee a Gibbs & Alchemist Grammy nomination heading into 2020? It’s a testament to how high quality work, through consistent reliability and dues paid, can elevate a project from underground niche following to critical acclaim. While his work with Alchemist may not reach the lofty levels of his heralded collaborations with Madlib, Alfredo represents the best that “quarantine music” can offer...two talented friends saying one day, “hey we should finally drop a full tape together, why not?” - and then BOOM, it happens.

Too many fail to remember that Gibbs already has a long accomplished body of work behind him...so the fact that he may just be entering his prime now, is scary.

Best Evidence: Alfredo, Machinedrum’s “Kane Train”

3. Boldy James

Comeback MC of the year, and no it is not close (but big shout-out to Grafh, another dope MC who had an amazing year).

I'm old enough to remember when folks like Roc Marciano and Ka were seen as sleepy, monotone rappers with little hope of reaching permanent rap icon status (flash-forward to today, and they are widely consider geniuses). For some, the quieter, less hook-dependent approach to making rap songs, was....well, not great rap music. They were wrong then and they’re wrong now, but similar to how the coolest, smartest cat in the room is rarely the loudest, it can take some time and patience before everyone learns what’s what. Time is what is required to appreciate Detroit’s Boldy James, a veteran that has been through it - both in terms of the ups and downs of the music business, as well as the streets through which he draws his stories and inspiration.

Boldy makes it seem all too easy, rapping his verses with the cool, casual tone of telling old stories to a close friend over drinks. Dropping multiple projects (with one still to come) in one year can often lead to over-saturation. Even the most dedicated fans/stans can begin to feel less enthusiastic about new releases when they have already received a healthy portion of more of the same...but most rap fans are not necessarily Boldy James fans. Boldy fans (much like Roc Marciano and Ka fans) are already aware that knowing what type of material to expect from your favorite MC can be a blessing if that MC takes pride in the execution of the final product, rather than the noise leading up to it.

The beauty of his collaboration with The Alchemist (big year for that guy, huh?), The Price of Tea in China, is that it celebrates the more subtle nuances of boom-bap, proving that great MC and producer chemistry can trump the “shock & awe” of more uptempo rap music. The shock in Boldy James’ lyrics sits within the detailed descriptions of the cold world he grew up in...so monotone or not, how can any music could be more gripping than that?

Best Evidence: TPOTIC, Manger On McNichols, a long list of consistently perfect feature verses

4. 42 Dugg

I would say this is more of a longterm investment rather than the celebration of a rapper already within rap’s inner circle, but 42 Dugg didn’t just steal the show on every feature this year, he also displayed maturity in his ability to craft well-rounded, high quality rap singles. I’m talking joints that work just as well on the street tape level as they would at the radio level. That is especially rare to see from a rapper that is still relatively new to national conversations.

So much more than just a co-sign of Lil Baby and Yo Gotti, the Detroit eastsider has already proven that he can craft a full solo album with the swagger of a far more seasoned MC. 42 Dugg combines a Boosie-esque, "oh you think you’re better than me??” chip on his shoulder with the unpredictable bombast of Lil Wayne. What he may lack in punchlines he makes up for in musicianship, his voice bringing one of the most nimble touches to trap music that I have heard in a long time. 42 Dugg music is hard and soulful, with the natural hunger of a rapper that knows me might be one smash away from superstardom. By this time next year, I’m betting he will be.

Best Evidence: Young & Turnt 2 (Deluxe), features on high profile records like Lil Baby’s “Grace” and “We Paid”, and a growing stream of attention grabbing solo loosies

5. Rome Streetz

In 2020 it was almost impossible to be an underground MC with a great project unless you landed a Rome Streetz verse.

Rome has been bubbling for a while now, but in 2020 he unleashed an onslaught on the game. At times he seemed like the hardest working MC in underground circles, busting his ass to not only make as many appearances as possible, but also to own any song he guested on. He raps like every verse might be “the one” that gets him a huge contract, and that’s a level of hunger and consistency that will likely land him more than one huge contract someday. In spite of that laundry list of strong features, the young Brooklyn MC still managed to release multiple dope solo projects, all flashing a rap style that feels at once a throwback and the fresh voice NYC rap needs.

Rome is clearly from the same school as many of the New York City greats, because he has the capacity to deliver dark, potent bars with the sharp intellect of a Harvard lecture (think AZ before “Sugar Hill”). While he sounds most at home when he’s rhyming over instrumentals that run more coldblooded than a horror flick, it’s easy to picture him popping up in more places in 2021...if that’s even possible.

Best Evidence: Noise Kandy 4, Kontraband, The Residue, and at least 50 incredible features with a who’s-who of the underground’s finest

6. Stove God Cook$

No one saw this coming....well, maybe Roc Marciano, Lord Jamar, Busta Rhymes and a few more NYC heads in the know - but I guarantee you, no one else saw the Stove God coming!

Bar for bar, no MC owned more rewind-worthy rap quotables in 2020 than Stove God Cook$. Dropping a solo debut with VERY little fanfare and zero features (apart from the steady, reliable guidance of Roc Marciano - low key one of hip-hop’s most reliable producers), a slow bubbling word of mouth campaign on social media eventually got Stove God verses exposed to more and more high profile ears. Such a grass roots campaign is rarely seen...I mean, a rap album slowly becoming a critical darling simply off the strength of more and more random folks discovering the music and Tweeting about it, as opposed to the buzz being calculated before the product??? It feels almost too good to be true these days, as early reviews of Reasonable Drought typically lead with something along the lines of, “hey, have you heard of this album? I have no idea who this is, but it is 🔥🔥🔥”

It has often been said that Roc Marciano has a lot of “sons” in the game, implying that Roc Marci gave birth to a style that a whole generation of underground MCs run with today. So it’s ironic (or perhaps highly appropriate?) that the next level of progression for Roc might be to have a protege, a young Jedi to carry on the tradition on Roc’s own terms, and become the next new star to be embraced by the old heads. But Stove God isn’t a clone of Roc, or anyone else, he’s simply one of the most exciting artists to hit the NYC underground in a generation. Everything from his word choice, to his fresh references and sense of humor, to his delivery and the way he structures his verses, feels like a collection of “firsts”, there’s simply no one sounding like him. And if his work in 2020 is any indication, he will continue to be in a league of his own for years to come.

Best Evidence: Reasonable Drought, spotlight snatching features alongside Roc Marciano and Griselda’s finest

7. Lil Baby

Once viewed by some as just another “Lil”, Lil Baby had been rollin’ coming into 2020, but by the end of 2020 it’s clear that he has arrived at the forefront of rap music’s most reliable hitmakers right now.

A must-have feature on any rap album reaching for max exposure, Lil Baby’s dexterous flow, charisma, and pen that is significantly sharper than early reports indicated, made him one of the few shining stars in 2020 to consistently deliver good rap music to what in any other year would have been considered smash hits in any club.

What makes Lil Baby’s music standout is that he could easily be a “cookie cutter” MC, phoning in verse after verse just to get another check, but instead he continues to bring it - trying to squeeze in an extra catchy lyric, maybe flow in a way that breaks up a verse to make it stand out from the pack a little more - and even when he is featured over cookie cutter beats that sound like every other trap inspired beats that came before it, Baby seems eager to prove something. I think that’s what I like about him - he’s on a short list of mainstream-bred Young Thug disciples that seem to really want to put the work in to becoming one of the greats.

Best Evidence: I mean...did any rap star have more songs in circulation this year? Dude was everywhere, but “The Bigger Picture” got his name officially into the lyricist conversation (even though personally I don’t even think it’s one of his more impressive records - at least not stylistically)

8. Westside Gunn

No one denies that the Griselda Records team had a banner year, yet somehow the vocal leader of the group managed to drop a handful of dope projects without receiving credit for being a great MC in his own right. Great artist, great album curator, great business man - sure, but great MC?? That credit is rarely given to the FLYGOD. He might not even understand how natural he is as a solo MC, waxing unpredictable flows and half-bars that stick in your mind in place of catchy hooks or predictable song structure. He might call himself an artist first, but I still call him one of the most prolific rappers today (regardless of whether he retires after the ball drops).

I can’t believe I have to tell rap fans this in the year 2020...but......you all know that message and punchlines are just part of the art of rapping, right...and not the only thing that defines who is a dope MC and who isn’t?? Play any solo cut from Westside Gunn and filter out the “doot-doot-doots” and stream of conscious hooks and what you are left with is one of the most distinctive voices in rap music, attempting off-kilter flows and phrases over some of the most impressive production in rap music today, and to me that sounds like my kind of rap music. What the Buffalo floor general lacks in diversity of subject matter he makes up for with a relentless imagination.

That’s why it’s not all that surprising to me that Westside Gunn enjoyed more mainstream attention in 2020 than he ever has before. All he needed was a window of exposure and he certainly capitalized on it, pitching his sound and his vision in all the right places, without compromising his style or vacating his lane. So strictly as a MC, I would consider him the Young Thug of the east coast underground scene, and if 2020 does turn out to be his final year of recording solo projects, I am thankful that he already has a long list of quality projects with high replay value to revisit again and again. But don’t wait - give this man his flowers now.

Best Evidence: “Euro Step”, “Rebirth”, “327″, “Shawn vs. Flair”, “Michael Irvin”, and YES he even had a more than worthy verse on “$500 Ounces” alongside Freddie Gibbs and Roc Marciano

9. Benny the Butcher

Who else is more reliable to deliver a dope feature verse than Benny?

By now you must be muttering at least a few things about me, so let me just make two points: YES, I am a big fan of Griselda records, but NO I do not consider that an unreasonable bias because even on paper according to a large variety of sources, it’s clear that Conway, Boldy James, Westside Gunn and Benny are true specialists when it comes to the quality of the work they distribute. Its not a fluke or a trend, they’re just that good at what they do...I have been saying this for almost 5 years now, but in 2020 the rest of you sleepy heads finally just stopped hitting snooze.

Benny the Butcher already possesses the writing capacity, attention to detail, and skills of observation/personal reflection to put himself within special company as one of the nicest pens in the business today. But in 2020, he dialed things up even higher...or perhaps word of mouth just finally caught up with the rest of his peers? The tribute to the classic Roc-A-Fella era that was his Burden of Proof project with Hit-Boy helped expose Benny to a much larger audience, and it has been beautiful to see so many more folks quoting and sharing his lyrics on Twitter, because I recall when he had about the same amount of Followers that I do, because it wasn’t all that long ago (I just hope they go back to experience all of his prior work - I’m still partial to his incredible verses on “Shower Shoe Lords” and “Pissy Work”)!

In my not so humble opinion, I do think some of the more dramatic pomp and circumstance on the BOP album was more suited to a Rick Ross or Meek Mill than Benny, so I’m actually more excited to hear what Benny has in store for 2021. He truly sounds at his best over more minimalistic production that lets his lyrics fill the spotlight...but still, tracks like “Timeless” and “Legend” do remind me of some of my favorite moments from old JAY-Z albums...blasphemous, maybe, but true.

A shot to the leg last month seems to have done nothing to slow his momentum, so if you didn’t board the bandwagon by now, you are inexcusably late.

Best Evidence: Burden of Proof, mercilessly slaughtering every verse on every Griselda projects, and a ton of show-stealing features

10. Drakeo the Ruler

What a journey it's been for the L.A. rising star.

Flexing a penchant for placing local slang into his music and delivering dark verses with a clear sense of humor, it's easy to see the appeal of Drakeo's style. If Thank You For Using GTL was an inspiring attempt to do anything possible to keep his buzz going (in that case, recording his verses over a prison phone), the quick release of We Know The Truth shortly after he regained his freedom seems to have given him a 50 Cent-esque teflon aura at the moment.

But this is about more than just Drakeo himself, it’s about what he represented before incarceration, and what he represents now. As one of the more visible forces in a new generation of west coast hip-hop, Drakeo was a few key features away from exploding onto the national scene. Now after surviving his ordeal, likely with a great deal more to write about, his ceiling has only been raised - and along with his growth potential, so rises the potential for the current rap scene out in L.A. right now. Mark my words: by this time next year Drakeo’s flow will be one of the most flagrantly jacked flows in rap music coast to coast.

A sincere welcome home from the rap world, Drakeo the Ruler. Hopefully the worst is now behind you. 🙏

Best Evidence: We Know The Truth, Free Drakeo, Thank You For Using GTL

*Honorable Mentions*:

Che Noir, Ka, Ransom, Billy Woods, Royce Da 5′9″, Jay Electronica, Fly Anakin, Curren$y, Lil Uzi Vert, Roc Marciano, Skyzoo, Black Thought, Tee Grizzley, Your Old Droog, Flee Lord, Lil Wayne

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passionate-reply · 3 years

Video

youtube

“Why did Kraftwerk stop making albums?” they all ask, as though Karl Bartos isn’t right here, consistently kicking ass and making great music. If you’re hungry for more Kraftwerk goodness, specifically with an early 90s techno flair, you probably won’t do better than Esperanto, so come check it out! (Also featuring special guest star Andy McCluskey from OMD.) Full transcript below!

Welcome to Passionate Reply, and welcome to Great Albums! Today, I’ll be talking about an album not too many people have heard, but that I think more people really should--especially fans of Kraftwerk. It’s Esperanto, the 1993 debut of Kraftwerk alumnus Karl Bartos’s project, Elektric Music. The production of the final classic-lineup Kraftwerk LP, 1986’s Electric Cafe, had been dominated by frustrating delays, rewrites, and remixes, and when all was said and done, the resulting album was a relative flop. By the time of the 1991 remix album The Mix, which seemed to end Kraftwerk’s career with a whimper, Bartos had grown alienated from founding members Ralf Huetter and Florian Schneider-Esleben, and fed up with their apparent lack of work ethic. He set out on his own, partnering with Lothar Manteuffel of the Neue Deutsche Welle act Rheingold, to form Elektric Music.

What I think really stands out about Esperanto first is its sense of freewheeling, unrestrained immediacy. For nearly a decade leading up to this album, Bartos had been working at the whim of others, waiting around, and feeling like he was spinning his wheels. Esperanto feels like a tightly coiled spring that’s finally being released. It’s dense, busy, in-your-face music that positively demands to be paid attention to.

Music: “Lifestyle”

Vibrating at the core of Esperanto is an undeniable Kraftwerk-esque sonic template: textural synth side-swipes, chattering vocoder-driven vocals, and hypnotic, mechanical rhythms. It’s natural to expect that rhythmic quality from Bartos, since he was chiefly brought on to provide percussion parts for Kraftwerk, but it’s also important to remember that he’s as interested in pop music as he is in classical. Both Bartos’s solo work, as well as the Kraftwerk tracks he had a hand in, emphasize melody, in a poppy, easy to love manner. The melodies here have some precedent in Bartos’s earlier work, but they’ve never been quite as punchy and vibrant before.

“Lifestyle” also makes early use of vocal chops, which contribute to that tight and busy feel, while also being a marked attempt at pushing this core sound into the musical future. Some of these specific samples are actually repeated across multiple tracks, if you listen closely--a sort of callback to the repeated melodic motives of the early Kraftwerk albums. “Information,” a high-concept eight-minute epic that the rest of the tracklisting pivots around, is even closer to being structured like “Trans-Europe Express”:

Music: “Information”

Bartos has never really ceased struggling under the weight of his Kraftwerk past, torn between indulging in these ideas and themes that come so naturally to him, and feeling obligated to set himself apart--as well as obligated to push the envelope and break new musical ground. Esperanto radiates and burns with that sense of conflict, which feels fresher and more raw, given the timeframe involved. This tension between working with and working against the Kraftwerk legacy is not only musical, but also thematic. Like the Kraftwerk albums, Esperanto is deeply concerned with the role technology plays in our lives...but it’s a lot less optimistic. Take, for instance, the opening track, “TV”:

Music: “TV”

“TV” is Esperanto at its most gloomy or melancholy, portraying the detached haze of modern lotus-eaters transfixed by the glowing screen. It’s an image that’s readily familiar and relatable to us today, of course, and it’s also one that runs contrary to the techno-utopianism of Kraftwerk, where home technologies offer hope of bringing people together rather than splitting them apart, and disconnecting them from the real world. If that wasn’t enough to convince you to read “TV” as an anti-Kraftwerk screed, the lyrics even point to “computer graphics” and “electric bands” as fodder for that destructively distracting entertainment. Ouch! Along somewhat similar lines is the track “Kissing the Machine”:

Music: “Kissing the Machine”

“Kissing the Machine” is also a sort of rebuttal of Kraftwerk tracks like “Computer Love,” demonstrating the pitiful perversion it really is to expect human, emotional fulfillment from a cold and sterile mechanical contraption. Whereas “TV” is more overtly downbeat, “Kissing the Machine” takes the route of dramatic irony, going for an eerily cheerful, naive sort of sound, painting its narrator as utterly oblivious to what they’re missing out on. You probably noticed that the vocalist on this track is actually not Bartos--it’s Andy McCluskey, best known as the frontman of Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark. Like Manteuffel, McCluskey is a younger synth-pop artist whose career began in the 1980s, making music that owed quite a lot to what Kraftwerk had achieved before. Bringing on some slightly younger talent is not only a nod towards keeping up with the times, but also another jab at the legacy of Kraftwerk, who refused to collaborate with any other musicians, and at times even seemed loath to acknowledge how the art of electronic music had evolved in their wake. As the title of Esperanto implies, the theme of language is also prominent here, and that serves as yet another way in which the Kraftwerk philosophy is turned on its head, most notably in the title track:

Music: “Esperanto”

While many people assert that it’s more “authentic” to listen to Kraftwerk in German, they made consistent attempts to incorporate a wide variety of languages into their work. Besides the English-language versions of their LPs, Kraftwerk also sang in French, Italian, Spanish, Russian, and even Japanese, to varying degrees. They were selling a vision of “Europe Endless” that was multicultural and multilingual, and seemed to have wanted people from all over the world to connect with them and feel included and represented in their future, rather than view them as some distant and peculiarly Teutonic phenomenon.

“Esperanto” flies in the face of the dream of linguistic unity. Esperanto itself is an artificial, constructed language, created by L. L. Zamenhof in the late 19th Century. Combining features from the most commonly spoken languages across the globe, and streamlining away things like irregular verbs, Esperanto was built from the ground up to become a true “universal language” for all of mankind, that was easy to learn and use. But despite the hopes of Zamenhof, whose name for his new tongue translates to English as “one who hopes,” it obviously never caught on. The most beautiful utopian vision in the world is still just a vision, and you can end up failing even if “you’ve got the perfect pitch.”

Kraftwerk’s longtime graphic designer Emil Schult, whose contributions to Kraftwerk’s signature aesthetic are nearly as important to their legacy as any of their music, returned to create the cover art of Esperanto. With its bright and simple red tone and strong use of diagonals, Esperanto’s cover art is clearly evocative of the iconic cover of Kraftwerk’s 1978 LP The Man-Machine, arguably the finest hour for the band as well as Schult. However, its abstract, non-figurative qualities set it apart from the work Schult and Bartos had done before, as Kraftwerk hadn’t made an album that didn’t feature their own faces front and center since 1975’s Radioactivity. The image of a rising sun is fitting for the idea of Bartos’s empowered return to music after a period of dormancy.

The world is full of people bemoaning the fact that Kraftwerk gave up on making new music, and the apparent irony of this band who appeared to be visiting from the future being absent from the world they helped create, in which “electronic music” has ceased to be a novelty and become a default. Karl Bartos may not be the most prolific artist in the world, but I’ve always seen him as the rightful heir to the Kraftwerk legacy, and I think his string of solo albums since leaving the band are the most worthy follow-ups that could ever have been paired with Kraftwerk’s classic run. Esperanto does everything you could possibly want a 1990s Kraftwerk album to do, staying true to that musical heritage while also pushing forward, and staking a place in the broader artistic conversation. I think everyone who identifies as a fan of Kraftwerk owes it to themself to give Esperanto a spin.

My favourite track on Esperanto is the closer, “Overdrive.” Unlike the readily apparent cynicism purveyed by tracks like “TV” and “Kissing the Machine,” “Overdrive” reads as a more complex perspective about technology and everyday life. It’s a portrayal of that all-too-modern scourge of overstimulation, that’s still ultimately a very exciting one, that sweeps you up in its triumphant “kiss of life.” Listening to its chaotic instrumental outro, I can’t help but feel that it leads directly into Bartos’s follow-up to Esperanto, 2003’s Communication--an album that would tackle the Internet age, and its inescapable virtual hustle and bustle, head-on. That’s all for today--thanks for watching!

Music: “Overdrive”

#music #great albums #album review #album reviews #karl bartos #kraftwerk #andy mccluskey #omd #orchestral manoeuvres in the dark #elektric music #techno #synth pop #synth-pop #synthpop

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tomoonine · 4 years

Text

in every way.

[nakamoto yuta] — there are four ways to express your love in the japanese language. and thanks to you, yuta was able to learn how to say “i love you” in every way his mother tongue would let him.

Pairing: yuta / reader (gender neutral) Genre: non-idol au, strangers to lovers au, friends to lovers au, sociology major!yuta, fluff, and a tinge of angst Warnings: none Word Count: 6.3k words

☽. yuta has a special place in my heart, and i’ve been meaning to write something like this for him. i studied nihongo and japanese culture for several years, though for good measure i used a japanese forum for reference.

happy reading! and if you liked this, please leave feedback and check out my other works!

「大好き」— daisuki; a daily word to confess love that is commonly used among friends and family. it is casual in nature, and can also be used to refer to things that people like, are interested in, or enjoy.

Yuta first met you during his second year in college in one of his classes, a subject you both shared despite being in different courses. You were taking this subject as an elective, although for Yuta, this was one of his major subjects. Contemporary Social Issues, a course under the Sociology department, where he majored in.

In his honest opinion, he never really imagined being drawn to you in any way. He was in university to study for his bachelor’s degree after all, along with making sure his athletic scholarship will be maximized efficiently. The only thing about you that he was intrigued by was the reason you took this exact subject, considering that you were the only person from your major who was taking it.

Everyone had their eyes on you when you introduced yourself, and they all marvelled at your rationale for taking the class. He could even recall your response word per word, just because it was so honest and sincere.

I enrolled in this class because it was something I was interested in. And I know that whatever I will learn here will help me understand what I need to do to help people in our community. I want to help people using my respective field, and I can only do that when I know what issues need to be solved in society.

He and his coursemates applauded at your response, and it really deserved the appraisal. You were determined to maximize your time in the subject, unlike others they’ve seen who have spent their time on their phone during lectures. You diligently took notes, and you listened well. Not only that, but you also made sure to contribute to the discussion by joining in the discourse. Your input was valued since it was from a perspective of someone in your field, and you were very helpful when it came to group works.

That was all Yuta could ever say whenever he had to formulate some sort of opinion about you. You were an acquaintance, a classmate from his sociology subject who took the subject seriously. You were articulate when it came to recitation, but you kept to yourself since you didn’t know anyone else in class.

Despite that, you were pretty much doing alright on your own, and during mini-group discussions you were ready to talk to him and his other friends. So he never felt the need to talk to you, nor to initiate a conversation with you outside of academic work. Not until this day, that is. On this particular school day, he was excused from his previous class because of an obligation he must meet with the football team. And since it ended relatively early, he figured that he should cool down in the classroom after taking a shower. Surely by this time, the air-conditioning would be turned on even if there isn’t a class before his.

When he arrives in front of the door to the room, Yuta’s hair is damp and he has changed out of his football uniform. The watch strapped on his left wrist reads 9:34 am; approximately 30 minutes before your shared class. He can feel the cold air seeping through the gaps of the door, and he beams at the thought of being able to sit down in silence. As he knocks on the door as courtesy, Yuta opens the door only to be taken aback at the sight of you alone at your desk.

Considering your dry hair and your neatly organized notebook, Yuta could only assume that you’ve been sitting there for quite a long time. Your gaze is set towards the windows, watching the birds perch on top of the trees outside the building. It appears that you haven’t noticed Yuta’s presence either, since your back is still turned while humming a tune to yourself. Initially, he didn’t want to bother you because you look so immersed and transfixed towards what’s outside. Though he can no longer keep to himself when he realizes how oddly familiar the song you’re humming is.

When he connects the dots, Yuta couldn’t control his excitement and speaks before he could process his own thoughts. “Is that One OK Rock?” He asks you, with a radiant smile across his face.

You jolt up in shock upon hearing Yuta’s voice by the door, turning your head towards his direction with embarrassment written all over your face. When you don’t immediately reply, Yuta simply walks toward you with an eager grin. “The song you were humming just now, it was Mr. Gendai Speaker right? One OK Rock, Zankyo Reference album, the chorus that starts with nobody can find me here?”

“Uh…” You gulp, eyes never leaving Yuta’s approaching figure, even as he plops down on the seat beside you. “Yes, actually.” There’s a sheepish smile that settles on your face when you admit it to him. “I’ve just started listening to their older songs. The ones that aren’t from their most recent albums, I mean. I really like them.”

“Me too!” Yuta replies, without a faltering smile. “I like One OK Rock. No, well-- I actually love them.” There’s a laugh that leaves his lips, and you can’t help but laugh along. Your body shifts from its original position to one that’s completely facing Yuta. “I’m surprised though,” Yuta says. “their songs from Eye of the Storm have a different vibe from those like Mr. Gendai Speaker.”

“That’s true.” You agree. “But more than the sound, I really admire them for their lyrics and message. Mr. Gendai Speaker talks about government incompetence, and Stand Out Fit In is very…” You struggle to find the right words, but Yuta’s gaze on you doesn’t falter. He watches you with genuine interest, eager to learn more. Your fingers snap and you point at him with a triumphant smile. “Empowering! Self-empowering, actually. Stuff along the lines of breaking away from society’s norms and being who you are.”

Once he’s certain that you’re finished speaking, he lets out a hum for acknowledgement. “You’d make a good socio major, (Y/N).” Yuta concludes, and you thank him timidly. “But you know what? I think we’d make good friends.” He adds as he brings his hand up in front of you. “Anyone who appreciates One OK Rock in the same way you do is a friend of mine.”

Your eyes dart toward his hand, and back at his face. After much thought, you smile at him and take his hand for a firm shake. “Anyone who can sing OOR with a wonderful voice like yours is a friend of mine too.”

Since that day, Yuta could finally say more about you. You were (Y/N), a classmate from his Contemporary Social Issues class every Tuesday and Friday at 10:00 am to 11:30 am. Despite your major, you took the class because you genuinely wanted to know how to help people using your profession. But more than that, you were (Y/N), his new friend who liked One OK Rock as much as he did.

「好きだよ」— suki dayo; commonly used for confessions since it holds a special meaning in the context of love.

“I don’t understand you, Yuta.”

Yuta stares at you blankly and scoffs. “Even after one semester of being classmates and seatmates, you still tell me that?” He fiddles with the hem of his jersey as he struggles to find more words to say. Given the awkward atmosphere in the university’s health center, he has nothing else to express aside from the guilt that builds up when he realizes that he must be bothering you right now. Frankly, the horrifying gash on his shin and the prickling pain from his twisted ankle isn’t even a nuisance to him. It’s not anything he’s new to, but what he can’t seem to handle is the worried expression you’re wearing while you’re seated across him.

“One semester isn’t enough to get to know someone.” You reply, as you watch a nurse tend to his wounds. You wince when Yuta flinches at the contact of the disinfectant to his gash. “But back to what I was saying, there’s a lot that I don’t understand about you.”

The nurse leaves and Yuta is left gaping at you with a curious look. You look away and sigh, contemplating for a while. “For one…” You take a glance at him, licking your lips as you struggle to explain. “I don’t even know why I’m here. Sicheng called me to watch over you, I asked if your roommate Taeil was available but he wasn’t. I even asked if Mark or Yuto could make it, yet he insisted I’d go here since you asked for me. “

Despite being apprehensive and hesitant, you continue on. “And you know… I’d expect her to be here instead.”

A bitter smile graces Yuta’s face. “Things didn’t work out with Soojin. We stopped dating weeks ago, we didn’t have the same interests and she said I was boring.”

You look at him blankly, unblinking even with his piercing eyes. “Okay, scratch my earlier statement. I don’t understand Soojin.” Yuta smiles as he braces himself for your speech. “You’ve been dating for a month, and she was the one who expressed interest over you. Why is she the one suddenly saying you’re boring?” You look at him incredulously, and Yuta can only offer a shrug in response.

“You’re on an athletic scholarship, you can sing, you can dance, AND you’re smart as hell.” You enumerate on your fingers, and as you continue to ponder, your expression suddenly freezes and you forcefully shove your four fingers toward his direction. “I haven’t even included the fact that you’re a feminist and human rights advocate! That’s five impressive and not boring things about you, and I haven’t even included the fact that you’re a weeb--”

“I’m Japanese, (Y/N).”

“Can’t help it, you have good anime recommendations.” You snicker. “Even so, you have a diverse cultural background. And if that isn’t interesting for Soojin, then she’s the boring one.” You cross your arms with a huff. “Plus, who else can score a goal despite having a wound on the shin and a twisted ankle…”

Yuta perks up at your off-handed remark. “How did you know about that?”

“What do you mean?”

“The point I scored. Didn’t you have class during our game?” Yuta asks you. “Or maybe Sicheng told you about the game before he left you with me?”

“Nah.” You tell him as you begin searching for your phone. Once you’ve retrieved it, you quickly unlock it and tap on the screen a few times. Yuta watches you fumble around with your device, and tilts his head when you turn your phone screen towards him. “I follow the football team’s twitter, they were live-tweeting the match. I scrolled through it while there was a presentation going on.” You lock your phone and put it away. You beam at him. “I heard you guys won and I was about to text you congratulations, but Sicheng called me telling me that you were here in the infirmary. Good thing my class ended early, so I was able to go here as quickly as I could.”

Yuta is about to respond, but the nurse arrives back in the room. Both of you remain silent as they resume working on Yuta’s injuries. As the nurse dresses his wounds and checks on his ankle, you continue to look after Yuta, ensuring that you pay attention to any reaction that could signify discomfort for the boy. Yuta, meanwhile, still can’t wrap his head around your explanation.

He can’t understand why you’d go out of your way to even keep yourself updated with the game. You were (Y/N), his friend from last semester who always focused in class, regardless of the activity being conducted. And looking back at your defense earlier, any friend would hype up another with encouraging words. Those types of words would flatter the individual and put them on a high pedestal. Though the way you pointed out every good thing about Yuta impacted him in a way that can’t be explained just by mere obligation.

Yuta can’t help but wonder if you truly saw a much better version of himself that even he himself couldn’t notice. You describe him with such tender words and he’s inclined to believe that you saw past his imperfections and appreciated him for all he is, more than Soojin ever did. More than she ever could. Regardless, you’re his friend. Is that not what you’re supposed to do?

He couldn’t understand you. Even after being close friends for one semester, he somehow can’t understand you.

“These injuries don’t look as severe as your previous ones.” The nurse suddenly speaks to Yuta, and it effectively takes his mind off of you. “Although I would still recommend that you rest for at least two weeks, just to prevent it from recurring. If the pain persists, don’t hesitate to visit the infirmary again.”

Yuta frowns. “Two weeks?”

“Yes, at least.” They reply with a straight face. “I know you’re stubborn, Mr. Nakamoto. So I’ve already advised your coach about it, so you have no excuse to give to him.”

You watch in amusement as Yuta continues to complain, wondering if Sicheng left him with you so he can avoid watching Yuta throw a tantrum. The nurse silences him by placing several tablets of painkillers in front of him. “As usual, take them only if the pain is unbearable. And I hope I don’t see you back in here any time soon with a new injury, we don’t want your significant other over there worrying about you again--”

The nurse is pointing at your direction as they talk to Yuta. Panic surges in his system as he tries to correct them. “We’re not--”

“Before you leave, please sign out in the logbook. Come back in a few weeks for another check up.” After a simple wish to recover well, the nurse takes their leave once more and Yuta looks at you awkwardly. Unbothered, you stand up and approach the male. “Do you need help walking, Yuta?”

With pursed lips, he tries to stand up on his own, albeit with difficulty brought about by the pain. You immediately rush to his side to support him, arms wrapped around him in aid. “If it’s alright with you, I may need help on the way to my dorm…” You nod in response, offering to take some of his other things in your hold, but Yuta denies your offer. He gently takes your hands off his body to trudge towards the front desk to sign as requested. Once he’s ready to leave, with you by his side, you help him out of the infirmary and walk back to Yuta’s dorm.

The trip is silent. Yuta can’t bring himself to say anything, especially since he’s sure that you heard the nurse’s remark. The last thing he’d ever want is to make you uncomfortable, and he’s worried that you might be a bit wary of being around him because of it. Yuta turns his head to look at you, whose eyes were trained forward.

Despite your position, you can feel Yuta’s eyes on you. Without much thought, you let yourself speak. “Don’t worry about anything, Yuta.”

“I’m not worried about anything.”

“Yes you are. I can practically feel you brooding, anyone could tell from a kilometer away.” You loosen your arm around his waist to give him a flick on his back. You ignore Yuta’s tiny “ow”, and continue without waiting for a reply. “I know you’re probably hung up on a broken relationship, and it definitely sucks that this injury had to happen. But you know, things will only be better if you let time pass.”

Yuta feels your hand patting the area you flicked earlier, and you finally turn your head to look at him. “Your feelings right now are valid. But there are things that are out of your control, and trying to fix those will stress you even more. Like I said, try not to worry too much and focus on healing. Everything will arrive in its own time, and the rest of the world will be waiting for you to recover.”

Unable to give a coherent reply, Yuta mumbles a word of gratitude to you and lets your words sink in. You take it as a signal to leave him in his own headspace, and you do your best to keep the atmosphere calm.

Yuta’s train of thought halts when he hears you humming again. It reminds him of the first time he’s initiated a friendly conversation with you, except this time you’re humming a song of love. He’s only heard All Mine by One OK Rock in passing, and normally he’d just skip it. Unlike most of the band’s music, this song is much slower. Yuta isn’t exactly fond of the soulful tone of the cello, and he can’t seem to relate to the words that Taka sings in the track. So simply put, the song isn’t to his taste. However, hearing you hum along to the music suddenly convinces Yuta that the song is worth listening to, especially with you recreating the melody for him.

As if he was listening to it by himself, Yuta follows you by citing the lyrics in his head. He can tell that you’re already at the pre-chorus, and he listens to you attentively. The words easily manifest in his mind, as smooth as the tune that reverberates from the back of your throat. It blends perfectly with rustling leaves; it’s a harmonious duet with the birds that chirp, accompanied by the distant chatter from the classrooms in the next building. It’s picturesque, it’s enough to let anyone unwind and forget their worries. Yuta is about to let himself relish in the feeling of contentment, but he’s shocked when he hears you singing the chorus instead.

It’s the first time he’s heard you sing, considering that it’s usually him singing for the both of you. Your voice is a little shaky since you’re singing just slightly above a whisper, but with the way you’re stuck together, he can hear it well.

Just wanna be with you, only you, always you… You're so beautiful to me it's true, amazed by you, I think I'm falling...

Although you can’t hold a note as long as Taka could, Yuta finds your singing very endearing. If he weren’t in such a vulnerable state, he would be teasing you right now. All in light fun, he assures, considering that this is the first time you’ve ever felt comfortable singing around him. Yuta might even admit that your voice is beautiful, and that it’s enough to drive his worries away. In fact, just this tranquil moment with you has helped him feel better. Yuta’s mind is clearer, though he still can’t help but look back at your previous conversations. The flowery lyrics of the band’s song can’t seem to compare to those kind words of yours. You think so highly of him, and he can’t forget the way you looked at him when you told him that.

Eyes shining with conviction, it took him back to the times you would take your stand during class discourse in the previous semester. And even today, he couldn’t help but be amazed by you. All of a sudden, he wished that he could see you shine like that more often. Everything only seemed right when you were here to support him, and Yuta knew that things would definitely be better if he could be the one you would lean onto.

When he realizes where his thoughts are leading to, he’s suddenly hyper-aware of your proximity to him. The hands that support his arm and waist are bringing warmth at the points of contact, and he can no longer discern if this heavy feeling is from his beating heart or his labored breathing. Yuta feels the warmth blossoming across his cheeks, and he desperately finds a way to ensure you won’t see him vulnerable like this. More so when you’re practically attached to him right now.

He thinks he’s falling, and suddenly he understands that maybe the world was waiting for him to realize that it was you all along. All this time, he was just waiting to understand that he just wanted to be with you. Not just as a friend, but as something potentially more than that. Yuta honestly isn’t sure yet, but at this point, he can only hope that you were waiting for him too.

「愛してる」— aishiteru; you are likely to see this phrase used in various media platforms, but not everyone uses this to express love in japanese society. It’s not used for first-time confession either since it holds deeper affection compared to the previous examples.

Only today did Yuta learn that falling in love was different than being in love.

After being in a relationship with you for almost four years, it amazes him that he only realized that now. Yuta feels like it was just yesterday when he finally made his confession to you, and everything that followed happened so fast. Transitioning from being friends to lovers proved to be difficult, but Yuta couldn’t be any happier without you.

To him, it felt like being on a roller coaster ride. He was nervous at first; anything could go wrong at that point and he was afraid of making a mistake. Though as time passed, just as the roller coaster would slowly elevate to the peak, he felt the anxiety dissipate into a newfound feeling of exhilaration. When everything began to fall into place, every day became an adventure to Yuta and the adrenaline rush kept on following him wherever he went.

Just seeing a glimpse of you got his heart racing, and every late night date around the city was full of excitement. Without a care in the world, you ran around the empty streets and he would carry you up high in the middle of the solemn streets. Sneaking out to visit the nearest convenience store and talking all night; those were the exciting days during the earliest parts of your relationship.

However, all the excitement will eventually find its end. Similar to a roller coaster finally slowing down on the track, your relationship with Yuta started to transition to something calmer. The fast cadence of his heart mellowed down, and no longer can he hear his own heartbeat ringing in his ears. Instead of the late-night getaways, Yuta would start spending his time cuddling with you under the covers. Tranquil nights became the norm for the two of you, and he relished in the feeling of his heart beating in his chest while he held you tight. Coffee shop dates conducted in the silence of each others’ presence gave him a different type of indescribable joy, and he couldn’t even begin to explain how much he enjoyed domestic dates with you.

His relationship with you felt like a getaway to an unknown destination, yet at the same time it was like a calm, warm evening huddled together in each others’ presence. Falling in love felt like being trapped in a bustling metropolis, but being in love felt like being at home. However, he’s disappointed in himself that he only realized this now. He’s beginning to regret his decisions, especially when he’s outside the airport about to fly back to Japan and leave you here in South Korea.

“Hey, what did I tell you about worrying?” You frown when you notice how furrowed his eyebrows were. From your position beside him, you force him to stop moving by blocking his path ahead. Yuta’s eyes shift from the concrete to your unwavering gaze. “You can tell me anything, you know.”

Yuta doesn’t say anything, instead choosing to abandon his grip on his luggage to step forward and intertwine his hands with yours. He does his best to show you a comforting smile in an attempt to ease you from your worries. However, he knows that you can read him like an open book, so he humors you with the truth.

“I’m not so sure anymore about going back…”

“Why not?”

Yuta bites his lower lip in contemplation, and you can feel his thumb finding its way on top of your hand out of habit. “I’m a bit scared, to be honest.” He laughs, but you urge him to continue. “In hindsight, I could always take my higher studies here in South Korea. Communication and Gender studies as a graduate degree is available here too.”

At his remark, your confusion becomes evident to him. “Why not?” You ask Yuta. “Osaka University is a great school for your graduate studies AND it’s nearest to your hometown, is it not? I remember you told me how you wanted to study gender issues there, why would you do that here?”

“I’m not sure I’m ready to be apart from you.”

You take your time internalizing his words, and the atmosphere feels tense. You look pensive, even as you swing Yuta’s arms around to ease his nerves. With all the people around walking past you two, Yuta is beginning to feel uneasy. It feels like all eyes are on him, it’s a scene straight off from a movie and it’s so cliche to be honest. It’s cliche for him to suddenly spout this nonsense, especially when he’s by the gate, with about two hours or so before he flies from Incheon to Itami.

You clear your throat. “So… You’re not ready for a long-distance relationship? Are you scared of long distance?” He knows there isn’t any malice in your tone, and that you’re genuinely asking him out of curiosity. Yuta sighs. “Not exactly…”

“No, I’d understand if you think that way. Is it okay if you let me finish?” Yuta nods, and you try your best to smile at him. “More than being your lover, I’m your best friend Yuta. I want what’s best for you.” You look at him for confirmation, and he gives you a single nod. “And I’m sure you know that no matter what happens, I really, really want you to accomplish your graduate studies in Japan. Not only because that’s what I think is best for you, but because this is your dream. I don’t want to be the one to stop you from reaching it, so if…”

A shaky sigh escapes your lips, and you shut your eyes briefly. Before you speak up, your lips shut tight and you look at Yuta once more. “If it means having to let our relationship rest for a moment, it’s definitely alright with me. No matter what happens, I’ll always be supporting you right?”

At your inquiry, Yuta realizes that he’s been holding his breath all this time. His eyes drop down to look at the way his hands fit in yours, and he’s holding back his tears. Ever so gently, his hands untangle from yours so he can take one hand in his grasp. Yuta slowly brings your right hand close to his face, and he places a soft kiss on your knuckles. “Will-- Are you…” He hesitates for a moment, but he gathers his courage to look at you. “Are you breaking up with me?”

There’s a somber expression across your features as you watch him express his affection. “It’s your call, Yuta. Like I said, I want what is best for you. And that’s not my decision to make.”

Why did you have to make it harder for me… Yuta licks his lips as he tries to gather himself. His hands never leave yours, and his thumb continues to graze over the skin that his lips softly touched. The expanse of skin still feels warm from his kiss, and it brings him a bit of joy in this trying time. With his eyes still on the concrete, he speaks up after being silent for minutes.

“Will it be selfish of me to say that I’m not ready to let you go, (Y/N)? I don’t want to break up with you.” He raises his head up to look at you. “And… Even if I know I’ll be home in Japan, I think I’ll still be homesick thinking about you.” There’s a bitter aftertaste that lingers at the tip of his tongue as he whispers those words to you. It’s a bitter feeling that somehow compliments how cheesy his words truly were. It’s enough to elicit a laugh from you, and he smiles when he sees you closing the gap between the both of you.

You encase him in your arms for a hug, and you bury your head close to him. “Yuta…” You quietly whisper. “I’m always here for you, and I’ll continue to be even if we’re far apart from each other. I’m always a call away, okay? I love you so much.”

Yuta can no longer hold himself together, and he lets himself unravel in your hold. His arms snake around your waist and he buries his head at the crook of your neck, not before he presses one more kiss on the top of your head. “I’ll miss you, (Y/N). I love you. I really, really love you.”

“Me too, Yuta.” Your hands lovingly pat his back when you feel his breathing becoming uneven. “Two years will be long, but I’ll be waiting for you.”

It’s the last time he’ll ever feel at home in your embrace, Yuta realizes. This will be the last time in a few years that he’ll hold you tight like this. He relishes in the feeling of your warm embrace, and he lets a few tears drop down along his cheek as his eyes shut close. It’s a bittersweet farewell, one that’s quite terribly cliche. Yet just like any other cliche, he’ll be waiting for the day he could come back home to you once again.

「恋してる」— koishiteru; originating from the verb that refers to “want” and “longing”, this could be used to express a yearning heart. it is perhaps the strongest form of expression, and is best used for someone you want to spend the rest of your life with.

“Stop closing your eyes, Nakamoto Yuta.” You flick his arm. “Everyone is going to think you’re sleeping, it won’t look good in the pictures.”

Yuta smirks at your remark, and opens his eyes to look at you. “I can do whatever I want, Nakamoto (Y/N).” He grins at you. “I’m free to look back at our relationship and daydream about what will happen tonight--” He snickers when he feels your elbow jab at his side, especially when you scold him for being indecent and greasy.

“Oh my god, shut up Yuta.” You groan, burying your face into the bouquet of flowers in your hands. “You’re so disgusting, our families are right in front of us.”

“So are our friends.” He pouts. “You know that Ten is worse than me.”

“But I’m sure that he knows public decency more than you do.” You glare at each other, but Yuta cracks first and chuckles. He brings his hand up to poke at your nose, and you laugh at the endearing gesture. Both of you remain in your own world, basking in each others’ presence with gleeful expressions. There’s a mischievous glint in your eyes as you raise your own finger to poke at his nose, but with Yuta’s rapid movements you miscalculate your trajectory and end up bringing your finger up his nose.

And a flash of a camera stuns the both of you. You watch the wedding photographer walk away with a horrified expression, while Yuta’s eyes were wide in confusion.

“Hey Yuta, (Y/N)!” Sicheng calls you two with the microphone in his hand, and you’re quick to jerk your hand away from his nostril. “I was hoping you guys were going to listen to my best man’s speech, but knowing Yuta I think he’s too busy thinking about your honeymoon!”

“Well, you aren’t wrong...” Yuta trails off, and makes eye contact with you. He delivers a wink toward you, and you retaliate with a smack to his chest with your bouquet. You look absolutely scandalized and flustered, but his remark elicits a laugh from everyone in the reception hall. It’s only then that you realize that there’s something odd on the tip of your finger, and you desperately try to wipe off any remnant of Yuta’s snot on his sleeve.

“I can’t believe it, we’re going to have a copy of my finger up your nose in our wedding album…” You mumble to yourself. “Someone probably recorded what you said too! We’re so embarrassing, our children are going to look back at our pictures and think we’re weird--”

“Children?”

“Ah.” You cover your mouth in shock. Unable to handle reciprocating his gaze, your eyes focus on the table decorations instead. “Well, if you want kids that is. Or a child.”

Yuta lets a gentle smile unravel. “You want a family with me?” You feel his hand enveloping yours. Yuta has your hand in a firm grip, but his thumb grazes the top of your hand gently and lovingly. From the table top, your focus shifts toward Yuta’s hand on top of yours. Mirroring his own smile, you beam at him and put your bouquet aside to cage his hand in between yours. This time, you’re the one gently caressing his hand and you shine a radiant smile towards him. “Only if you want to. We could have a dog, a cat, a turtle-- honestly, any is fine. As long as you’re still around, that’s the best I can ever want and need.”

Yuta simply grins at you, and he shifts his attention back to his best man. You let go of his hand to give Sicheng your undivided attention, settling with fumbling around with your bouquet from time to time.

Looking at everyone in the venue, especially to his best man, Yuta can’t help but look back to how his journey came to be. From mere acquaintances, to close friends, and then to lovers. From having shared interests, to a moment of realization, to a confession, and a lifetime of expressed affection. Your relationship was rocky from that point onward, and he can vividly recall his struggles as he balanced his graduate studies and his relationship with you. It was the most difficult point of his life, but nothing could compare to the feeling of being with you once again. Especially now that you’re practically bound together by marriage.

The thought of being with you for the rest of his life brings a tender feeling in his heart, and he can’t resist smiling to himself. He loves you. He loves you so much that words can no longer explain it. Yuta may have a lot of languages he’s capable of speaking in, but none of them could truly encompass all the fondness and sentiment he has towards you.

In fact, there are four ways to express your love in the Japanese language, and these would vary depending on usage and to whom you’re addressing. Back then, Yuta didn’t understand why it was so necessary to have so many variants of it. However, meeting you has convinced him that expressing his love meant having to deal with the intricacies of his mother tongue. He's more than thankful that you gave him these opportunities to use every form of profession on you, even if mere words could never truly capture his love for you.

Yuta can’t hide his joy, even as Sicheng ends his speech smoothly. Everyone in the reception hall applauds him, including the both of you. He’s cheering for his best friend enthusiastically and coupled with the applause, what would seem to be like bell chimes begin to ring in his ears. And upon scanning the crowd, Yuta laughs at the sight of Johnny tapping the wine bottle with the bread knife along with his other close friends with their wine glasses. Everyone else begins to follow suit, starting with your own close friends and then to your families. Everyone is hollering for a kiss, and all he can do is grin cheekily at the people in front of him.

Yuta can hear you click your tongue, and he whips his head back to laugh at the situation. There’s yet another rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins, but his heart feels as calm as the water streaming on a riverbed. Yuta, with his head hanging off of the chair, turns to look at you. He snickers when he sees you frowning at the crowd, and he moves closer to you. Yuta fixes his posture and as he turns to face you, his vacant hand moving to grasp to your chin. Even with half-lidded eyes staring right at your lips, he asks you tenderly.

“... May I?”

It’s a hushed whisper, as if he didn’t want anyone else to hear the two of you. The world seems to have stopped revolving as you briefly locked your eyes with his. You can’t help but glance at his own lips, and as your eyelids drop down to close your eyes, you whisper back to him softly. “You may.”

Yuta can hear the cheers of his family and peers as he slowly closes the gap between the two of you. Just as he shuts his eyes, he mumbles a gentle profession of his love before he brings your lips together. Joined with a promise to be with you forever and to love you through every possible way, he molds his lips to the shape of yours, sharing blissful smiles as he gradually applies pressure.

“I love you, (Y/N).”

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jazzicology · 3 years

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JAZZPRING!

This will seem topsy-turvy to those of you in the Northern hemisphere - but in New Zealand, Spring is just around the corner. And here at Jazzicology headquarters in Queenstown, we’re busy preparing for our Spring jazz gigs. Putting together a set on a specific theme is a great incentive to search for and learn new material. Here’s our ‘Jazzpring’ setlist with some notes on each. We’ve aimed for a mix of tempos and contrasting jazz styles. In amongst some old standards are some quirky additions: possibly the only song written from the perspective of a frightened tomato (Hang on Little Tomato); and a wonderful number that perfectly sets Shakespeare’s ‘It was a lover and his lass’ to a catchy melody and jazz chords – it deserves to be in everyone’s Spring set list. I was amazed how many jazz songs there are on topics relating to Spring – far too many to include in just one gig!

Joyspring. 1954 composition by Clifford Brown, jazz trumpeter and a key figure in the Hard Bop movement. The lyrics I use are by Jezra Kay. This is a super-fast-paced, up-beat tune. I discovered, rather too late for this gig, that there are also some wonderfully poetic lyrics by Jon Hendricks, a leading jazz lyricist who is responsible for the lyrics for many well-known jazz songs composed as instrumentals. You can read about Hendrick’s lyrics for JoySpring here.

You must believe in Spring. Composed by Michel LeGrand (1964), this song shares some features with his other, better-known compositions (Windmills of Your Mind; What Are You Doing For The Rest of Your Life). The chords and melody strike a reflective and melancholy, yet hopeful, mood. It is a truly beautiful number that I had not previously been aware of. I have been listening to Bill Evans’s instrumental version of it – it just incredible - and this vocal performance by Sarah McKenzie. It was originally called La Chanson de Maxence and was written for the French film ‘Les Demoiselles de Rochefort’. Looking at the original French lyrics, it is clear the English lyrics are not a translation; the song’s theme of Spring is entirely attributable to the authors of the English language lyricists Bergman and Bergman. Indeed, these lyrics are so well crafted that it is difficult to believe the phrase ‘You Must Believe in Spring’ wasn’t originally in Le Grand’s mind when he wrote it! Listening to various vocal recordings over the last few weeks, I discovered some additional lyrics that, as far as I can tell, appear only in a recording by Barbra Streisand. I don’t know who wrote them (possibly Streisand), but they seem apt for a troubled world, so here they are for other singers who may be interested in using them:

When angry voices drown the music of the spheres

And children face a world that’s far beyond their years

Above the darkest skies, The far horizons lie

With all the reasons why you must believe in Spring.

Spring can really hang you up the most. Composer Tommy Wolf (1955), lyrics Fran Landesman. Spring isn’t all rainbows and daffodils – like all fun times of year, for those who are down or lonely it can serve to underline your own misery. The title of the song is a jazz twist on the opening line of T.S. Eliot's The Waste Land: "April is the cruellest month". My favourite version of this song is by Carmen McCrae – it’s like a masterclass in jazz vocals. I was surprised how difficult this song was to learn – and was relieved to find an entire blog written about it, claiming that the obscene number of verses and lyrics, and wide vocal range and unusual phrasings are clearly the work of someone who hates singers! Fortunately, I love a challenge.

Blue Skies. Irving Berlin (1926). Blue Skies is probably the best-known and certainly the oldest song in this set. Thelonious Monk wrote a Be-Bop number, ‘Suddenly in Walked Bud’, based on the chord progressions in Blue Skies, as a tribute to his friend, the jazz pianist, Bud Powell. The lyrics are a virtual who’s-who list of jazz greats from that time. Monk’s ‘In Walked Bud’ is an example of a jazz ‘contrafact’: where a new melody is laid over existing chords (in this case, Blue Skies). There are lots of examples of this in Bop from the 1940s, because it was a way for jazz musicians to create new pieces “for performance and recording on which they could immediately improvise, without having to seek permission or pay publisher fees for copyrighted materials (while melodies can be copyrighted, the underlying harmonic structure cannot be)”. Since the lyrics and melody for ‘In Walked Bud’ work perfectly well over the chords for ‘Blue Skies’ (apart from the bridge) I’ll incorporate elements of them into our performance.

It might as well be Spring. Composed by Rodgers and Hammerstein (1945) for the movie State Fair, for which it won an Academy Award for best original song. Many people have recorded this, but I’ve been listening to Ella Fitzerald and this lovely French version by (the aptly Spring-named) Blossom Dearie.

They say its Spring. Composers Bob Haymes and Marty Clark (1950s). With a melody and lyrics that are as light and floaty as a feather, this is a quintessential Spring song about being in love. Blossom Dearie appears to have been the first to record it, in 1957.

Nature Boy/Nardis. Composed by Eden Ahbez (1947). Nature boy is on Jazzicology’s set list – but with a twist! We will perform it using the principal motif from Miles Davis’ Nardis in both the Intro and coda. This was an idea developed by me and UK jazz pianist Sid Thomas, and you can listen to Sid and I performing it here. The ‘back story’ to Nature Boy is pretty interesting in its own right and can be found in a previous Jazzicology blog penned by Sid, ‘The one hit wonders of jazz’.

I love Paris in the Springtime. Cole Porter (1954). A classic recording of this by Ella Fitzgerald. However, I very much like this version, which has a Parisian café feel. This is a relatively simple melody to learn, with the chief challenge for the vocalist being the wide vocal range needed to change register.

Timeless Place. Composed by Jimmy Rowles in the 1970s as an instrumental (‘The Peacocks’) and recorded by him and sax legend Stan Getz in the 1975 album of the same name. The wonderful, reflective lyrics were added much later by UK jazz vocalist, Norma Winstone, and included on her 1993 album Well Kept Secret. This song is technically very challenging for a vocalist: the melody over the ‘bridge’ is a little non-intuitive and sits outside the harmony – it creates a tension which resolves into the main refrain. The word Spring appears nowhere in the song, but I’m going to justify its inclusion here because the lyrics include a beautiful formal garden with flowers and trees.

Double Rainbow. Composed by Brazilian jazz maestro, Antonio Jobim in 1970. This is one of his lesser-known numbers. It perfectly captures a spring garden, after a sudden rain-shower, with rainbows, puddles and a little robin hopping about. Actually, because the song is written in Portugese, the little bird in the song is a chico-chico, so robin is used as the equivalent in the English translation (maybe I should use a bellbird instead?). In Portugese, the title is Chovendo na Roseira (the rain is falling on the roses) and I perform it using first the Portugese and then the English lyrics – both are lovely, and the different languages each lend a slightly different feel to song.

Hang on Little Tomato. Music and lyrics by Patrick Abbey, China Forbes and Thomas Lauderdale and released on the Pink Martini album of the same name in 2004. For those who have gotten their tomato seedlings off to an early start, this the song you need to sing to them when they get planted outside. It’s a scary world out there for a little tomato. It’s a seriously cute little song, and a reminder that we all need to keep hanging on to the vine. The song title is apparently a reference to a Hunt's Ketchup ad campaign "Hang On, Little Tomato!" in a 1964 issue of Life magazine. (Is it a coincidence that Pink Martini’s named their own record label Heinz, I wonder?)

Hey Nonny No! Composed by UK jazz composer and pianist Sid Thomas, this up-beat, toe-tappin’ number captures the feel of Spring brilliantly and the melody and chords provide a fabulous setting for Shakespeare’s ‘It was a lover and his lass’ from As you Like it. You’ll be humming this one on the way home.

Seed Leaves. Another Sid Thomas composition, this one setting to music the poem ‘Seed Leaves’ by Poet Laureate and two times Pulitzer Prize winner Richard Wilbur. You can find the poem here. Anyone wishing to request the music for ‘Hey Nonny No’ or ‘Seed Leaves’ can contact Sid Thomas here.

Surrey with the Fringe on top. Rogers and Hammerstein, from Oklahoma (1946). Is it a little bit twee? Maybe, but hey – it is also very sweet. And it was a part of Miles Davis’ repertoire in the 1950s, so there’s no arguing with that!

Up Jumped Spring. Composed by US jazz trumpet player Freddie Hubbard in 1962, and included in his album Backlash. The lyrics were added later by vocalist US jazz vocalist Abbey Lincoln. This clip of the song being sung live by Audrey Silver is really worth listening to - what a confident, flawless performance.

So, there you have it: an eclectic Spring jazz set involving Shakespeare, tomatoes, rainbows, birds, toads, seedlings, melting snow, new love and a little sprinkling of melancholy. The lyrics in this set contain the words ‘isinglass’ and ‘yggdrasil’ – not words you hear every day – come to our gig on September 5th (assuming Queenstown is out of lockdown by then!) and see if you can spot them!

Other suggestions for Spring songs can be found here:

https://jazz.fm/classic-jazz-songs-about-spring/

https://www.wrti.org/post/10-jazz-tunes-remind-you-its-spring

Nance Wilson

Nance Wilson is one half of Queenstown-based jazz duo, Jazzicology, together with pianist Mark Rendall-Wilson.

Soundcloud: https://soundcloud.com/nance-wilson-trio

Facebook: Jazzicology

#jazzmusic #jazz vocals

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cadence-talle · 4 years

Text

Hang A Shining Star

Pairing: Keefe Sencen/Fitz Vacker

Wordcount: 2,667

Summary: Keefe nods, nudging Fitz’s shoulder. “Of course. I wouldn’t miss it for the world. We’re going to raise the roof!”

Fitz snorts, taking a sip of his eggnog. From the living room, a stream of chatter weaves between the lyrics of Christmas Island. The whole house is warm and smells of nutmeg.

“Yeah. Yeah, we are.”

Other notes: Here we go! The Keefitz Christmas party fic! I hope you guys enjoy it.

Taglist: @everyonehasthoughts, @clearlykeefitz, @loverofallthingssmart, @a-lonely-tatertot, @enbies-and-felonies, @molly-sencen, @lemontarto, @appalyneinstitute1, @ruewen-and-rising, @silver-snow, @linhamon-roll, @hyperlollypop, @never-ever-too-many-fandoms, @keeper-of-the-lost-queers, @impostertamsong, @vibing-in-the-void, @yeetersofthelostcities, @mistythegirlfluxmess, @diamond-dreamerr

Read it on ao3 or under the cut!

If you had to give each season a word to describe it, winter would be quiet.

Summer is light, heat waves sinking across the country and sunshine spreading its rays. Spring is growth, flowers opening and leaves unfolding. Autumn is rest, leaves dropping to the ground and blowing away on the wind.

And winter is quiet. It’s something in the air- something about nature pausing, holding its breath, something about the way the snow muffles any semblance of sound. Winter is a time for introspection, a time to catch your breath. It’s peace.

Right now, though, the house is anything but quiet and peaceful.

Even from two floors up, Fitz can still hear the finishing chords of Mariah Carey’s All I Want For Christmas Is You, Biana humming along. He’s supposed to be retrieving the decorations from the attic, but he doesn’t want to leave the relative safety of his Justin Bieber-less space.

“Fitz?” Livvy pokes her head into the room, garishly-patterned Christmas sweater seeming to glow in the dim light. “Everything okay up here?”

“Yeah,” Fitz grimaces as Santa Claus Is Coming To Town starts up. “Just trying to save my ears.”

Livvy laughs, sitting down on a box labeled China Tea Set- DO NOT TOUCH. “Yeah, I get that. I love Dell to death, but her music taste is terrible.”

Fitz nods. “And it’s Christmas songs. How do you mess up Christmas songs?”

“Not sure, but they’ve managed to do it.” Livvy springs to her feet and picks up a fake wreath the size of her torso. “We should probably get this stuff downstairs.”

“Yeah.” Fitz picks up a box that just says X-mas shit and rests it on his hip. “All right. Into the beast’s mouth we go.”

“Maybe we can steal the aux cord and change the music to something good.”

Biana and Della do not, unfortunately, relinquish the music. They do change it to Ella Fitzgerald’s Christmas album, though, so Fitz counts that as a win.

Winter Wonderland is crooned through the speakers as they start to unpack the boxes, sparkling glass ornaments hung on the tree next to a horrifying glue-and-yarn monstrosity Fitz made in first grade. Biana pulls a tiny tissue-wrapped package out of a box and holds it up with a shout.

“I found her! The mermaid!”

Livvy whoops as they all gather around to watch as Biana hangs the ornament on a pine branch. The mermaid is vaguely misshapen, facial features in the wrong places and tail twisted in on itself. It’s a Vacker family tradition- Fitz and Keefe bought it at a gas station at 3 am once when they were fifteen and they’ve never looked back.

“Perfect,” Della says, stepping back to look at the tree. “All we have to do is put the lights on the house, then.”

Everyone groans. Having a huge house is nice for some things; parties, for example, or having sock-sliding races, but hanging lights is always a pain. It takes multiple people just to hang a single string- Keefe usually comes over to help.

“Where is Keefe, anyway?” Livvy asks like she can read Fitz’s mind. (She actually might be able to. She’s talented like that.) Biana, from where she’s seated on the sofa untangling the lights, looks up.

“Oh, he couldn’t come today. He and Marella have a date to-”

“A date?” Della interrupts, looking at Fitz. “Huh. I always thought… I mean, that is to say, I always assumed Keefe…”

Fitz flushes. “No, mom, not that kind of date. They’re just the only two people crazy enough to go sledding.”

“Tobogganing,” Biana corrects. “Marella found an old toboggan in her garage and decided to take it out. I think they’re going down a hill near here, actually.”

“Well, maybe they’ll drop in after they’re done,” Della says crisply. “Eggnog, anyone? I’ll put nutmeg in it.”

Fitz stands up to go help just as the doorbell rings. He blinks, turning towards the front hall. “I’ll get it, I guess. Maybe Marella and Keefe are already done.”

He opens the door to see two snow-covered figures standing on the porch. Fitz can’t even see their faces, covered as they are by scarves and hoods. The shorter figure shakes off her coat and resolves into the form of Marella.

“Hey, Fitz,” she says. “Can we come in?”

Fitz narrows his eyes at the two of them. “Yeah, sure, just leave all the snow on the porch. What happened to you?”

Keefe pulls the scarf off his face, dropping it in a heap at his feet. He grins at Fitz, cheeks rosy from the cold.

“You know that Calvin and Hobbes strip where Calvin drives his sled into a tree and it breaks and he falls into the snow?”

“Vaguely. Please tell me you didn’t break your toboggan.”

Marella pats his shoulder as she enters the house, the wrists of her sweater wet from melting ice. “Sorry, can’t do that. It’s a pile of wood now.” She shrugs. “It was kinda a shitty sled anyway.”

Fitz rolls his eyes as they walk into the living room. Biana’s head snaps up and she pushes the Christmas lights onto the floor.

“Marella! Hey!”

Marella smiles, pulling her into a hug. “Hey, Bi. What’s up?”

Biana gestures toward the lights on the floor, which are only marginally less tangled. “Oh, you know. Just… fixing up the lights. Want to help?”

The two settle down on the couch, and Fitz and Keefe share a long look before slipping off to the kitchen. Keefe waves at Della.

“Hi, hon,” she calls, serving out the eggnog. “How was tobogganing?”

Keefe lifts one shoulder and takes the offered cup. “Okay. Better at the beginning, that’s for sure. How’s your composition going?”

Della grins, one of those huge, bright ones that Livvy swears could light up the whole world. “Well! We’re going to see if the orchestra can perform it next weekend. Speaking of which- Fitz invited you to the party, right?”

Keefe nods, nudging Fitz’s shoulder. “Of course. I wouldn’t miss it for the world. We’re going to raise the roof!”

Fitz snorts, taking a sip of his eggnog. From the living room, a stream of chatter weaves between the lyrics of Christmas Island. The whole house is warm and smells of nutmeg.

“Yeah. Yeah, we are.”

-/-

Fitz stares at his reflection, hands anxiously tapping the table in front of him. Jingle Bell Rock is playing on the radio on his dresser, the upbeat music floating through the windows and into the darkening sky. Della and Livvy are out for the night, so he and Biana have the house to themselves for their party.

It’s not a huge affair- it never is. Just them and their friends; Sophie and Dex, Tam and Linh, Marella and Maruca and Wylie. Keefe.

Keefe, of course, presents a problem.

Fitz isn’t stupid. He’s known what he’s feeling since it started four years ago. He’s known exactly what the clenching in his gut was, why his skin felt hot whenever Keefe brushed his hand.

He’s not stupid, so he’s not going to do anything about his feelings.

The music on the radio changes into something slower, sadder. Imogen Heap’s voice seems to echo in the room, as she repeats just for now, just for now. Fitz closes his eyes and takes a few deep breaths, trying to prepare himself.

A soft ‘psh’ comes from the doorway. Biana moves into the room, switching off the radio and giving him a sharp look.

“Really? Tonight’s a celebration, Fitz, not a pity party. You can be sad later.”

“I’m not sad,” Fitz protests. “I’m just getting ready!”

“Mmm.” Biana perches herself on the bed, green dress crinkling slightly. “You will be okay, though, right?” She asks, tone softer. Fitz nods.

“I’m fine. I promise.”

“Okay. But I’m here if you ever want to talk.” Biana stands up and ruffles his hair. “Now come on, I need your help with the cheese platter before everyone arrives.”

As if on cue, the doorbell rings.

“Too late for that,” Fitz says dryly as Bi darts downstairs. He glances in the mirror one more time before moving towards the stairs. “Here we go.”

Sophie, Dex and Marella burst in as soon as he opens the door, throwing their coats on the floor and attack-hugging him. Tam, Linh, Maruca and Wylie trail after them, calling “Merry Christmas!” as they kick off their shoes. Fitz tries to wave from underneath his hug pile.

“Merry Christmas,” he manages.

Finally, Keefe staggers in, covered in snow for the second time this week. Biana snorts.

“Need some help there?”

Keefe mumbles a word that might be “No” as Biana brushes some of the snow off of his shoulder.

“Come on, I think you might have an extra suit upstairs. Fitz, can you get everything cleaned up down here?”

“Sure,” he says, turning to the others and picking up discarded coats. “So did you all walk over here together?”

“Yup,” Maruca affirms, hanging her coat on a hanger. “Sorry about Keefe, by the way.”

“He fell into a snowdrift and had to change,” Marella explains. “I think he keeps an extra suit here?”

Sophie snorts. “He ‘fell’ into a snowdrift,” she says with exaggerated air quotes. “And by that, I mean Mare pushed him.”

“In my defense-” Marella holds up a finger- “his face was annoying me.”

“Right,” Fitz says, holding back a laugh. “Well, as soon as Keefe gets changed, we can-” A creak on the stairs interrupts him, and Fitz spins around to see Keefe standing there in a clean suit.

His suit.

“Sorry,” Biana says with a smirk that implies she is anything but sorry. “It turns out Keefe doesn’t have an extra suit here after all. And this one is too big for you, right?.”

“Y-yeah.” Fitz attempts to remember how to speak. “Yeah, no, that’s fine. That’s- fine. Good. Great. Yeah, it’s fine.”

He hears giggling behind him and turns towards the living room, resolutely not looking at anything else. “Anyway. Who wants food?”

-/-

“And that is why we don’t write personalized messages on bouquets anymore,” Maruca finishes, taking a delicate bite of a meatball. “Although there was also the guy who wanted me to write his ex a note that just said Hey Jane, fuck you and your fucking poodle. So, you know, it might have been more than one thing.”

Keefe snorts, leaning forward to grab another cookie. His shoulder brushes Fitz’s and Fitz stiffens before forcing himself to relax. He’s fine. This is fine.

“So, how about some music?” Marella says, plugging her phone into the speaker. The opening notes of Let It Go trail through the air and Dex boos.

“No Frozen!” Linh calls. Fitz blinks.

“Wait, I thought you loved Frozen.”

“Not anymore,” Linh says, settling back into the sofa cushions. Marella sighs and skips to the next song, cutting Elsa off in the middle of her line. Pentatonix’s Joy To The World starts up and she flops onto the floor.”

“You’re all homophobic.”

Biana laughs, sliding off the couch to sit next to her. She hands the smaller girl a mug of hot chocolate. “Here. Drown your sorrows in this.”

“Is it alcoholic?” Marella squints at it and takes a sip. She makes a face. “No.”

Patting her on the back, Biana turns to the rest of them. “Want to watch a movie? I think we have It’s A Wonderful Life-”

“No way,” Wylie cuts her off. Keefe nods.

“It’s Charlie Brown or nothing.”

Biana rolls her eyes and grabs the tv remote, clicking her way to A Charlie Brown Christmas. Next to him, Fitz feels Keefe stretch his legs out before curling up on the corner of the couch. He leans his head on Fitz’s shoulder, and Fitz takes a deep breath.

Yeah. This is fine.

Onscreen, Lucy tells Charlie Brown to direct the Christmas play. Keefe smiles and snuggles closer to Fitz, wrapping one arm around him. Fitz glances down at him, but the other man is completely engrossed by the movie. Maybe he’s just cold.

He must be really cold, then, because by the movie’s end, they’re practically pressed together. When the lights come back on, Fitz expects Keefe to move away, but he doesn’t. They stay snuggled on the couch all throughout Tam and Marella arguing the merits of The Polar Express and Linh’s terrible rendition of That’s Christmas To Me. (Fitz loves her, but the woman can’t sing to save her life.) Keefe only moves when someone mentions Silent Night, turning to Fitz with an excited look. Fitz stares back.

“No,” he says. Keefe pouts.

“Please?”

Fitz sighs, standing up. “Fine. Let me get my cello.”

Playing music, even the worst, most religious Christmas songs, always calms him down. He and Keefe used to do this a lot, play together when they were sad or worried or stressed. Dragging his bow along the strings as piano notes lift into the air is familiar, easy.

They get through Silent Night, Carol Of The Bells, and Hallelujah before Keefe just slams his hands on the keyboard and shatters any semblance of peace they’d had. Fitz can’t bring himself to care, though, not when Keefe is laughing.

Livvy always says that Della’s laughs are the most beautiful thing in the world. Looking at Keefe, Fitz understands that.

Biana plugs her phone into the speaker and Bing Crosby starts to sing about how it looks like Christmas. Laughing, everyone stands up and starts to dance. None of them are very good, and they’re all slightly drunk, but it’s nice.

And they must be playing some sort of Bing Crosby album, because White Christmas comes on next. Almost immediately, everyone pairs up, swaying back and forth. Fitz looks at Keefe, blinking slightly.

Keefe smiles and puts his hands on Fitz’s hips. They move around the room slowly, taking tiny steps in time to the music and finally dancing right out onto the front porch.

The sun has set by now, and the frost on the lawn seems to glitter in the soft moonlight. Snow is still falling, and it seems almost magical when the next song to come on is the Nutcracker Ballet’s Waltz of the Snowflakes.

“I used to love this song,” Fitz says quietly, sitting on the top of the porch steps. “We went to see the ballet in the city when I was a little kid, and I thought it was the most amazing thing ever.”

“Huh.” Keefe sits down next to him, staring out at the silent greenery. “I never saw it,” he offers. Fitz snorts.

“I know. Your dad wasn’t really big on theater.”

“Yeah.” Keefe gives him a small smile. Fitz turns to look at him, biting his lip.

“Are you- happier? Now?”

Keefe takes his hand, running his thumb over Fitz’s knuckles. “I’m happier than I’ve ever been,” he says. “With all our friends, and your mom and Liv, and…” he glances up for a moment. “With you.”

“What-.” Fitz looks up, too, to see a spinning green bundle of plants hanging above them. Mistletoe. “Oh.”

He looks back down, straight into Keefe’s eyes. The other man is smiling, and Fitz thinks that’s where he gets the courage from.

Carefully, he leans forward and presses their lips together.

It’s short and sweet, and when they pull back they’re both blushing. Keefe scratches the back of his neck. “So, uh,” he starts.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” Fitz blurts. Keefe blinks. “Sorry, I just- I needed to-”

“Uh. Me too,” Keefe says, snorting a little. Fitz stares at him, a smile spreading across his face.

“Well. Good.”

“Yeah,” Keefe laughs, leaning in again. “Good.”

Winter is quiet. But even now, with music and laughter spilling out of his house and his best friend (boyfriend?) smiling on the stairs next to him, Fitz is at peace.

Winter is quiet, but sometimes it’s nice to make some noise.

#lynn rambles #my writing #keefe sencen #fitz vacker #keefitz #biana vacker #kotlc #kotlc fanfiction

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quirofiliac · 3 years

Text

mageshot said: plots please ヾ(๑・ᆺ・๑)ヾ

@mageshot ／ plot theorycrafting／ accepting.

i’ve been tinkering around with the potential of kira adding an “independent variable” into their partnership-- this... equation. someone lyric’s close to or close enough with that there’s some amount of history; haru comes to mind for this, but it could be anyone! he essentially uses their well-being and threats of it in order to ensure lyric’s full obedience. all in broad daylight, too. he starts the interaction with a jovial tone (says something along the lines of, “care to take a walk with me? i’d like to show you something.”) and, after getting their compliance, leading them down a walk that seems, otherwise, innocent. they talk about whatever comes to mind, though of course it’s pretty one-sided considering it’d be kira doing most of the talking-- enough of a distraction to keep them from taking in their surroundings, essentially. then they both come to a stop, he gestures for them to come closer, and he redirects their attention towards the building they’re standing in front of. it’s haru’s home, and he keeps a tight grip on lyric’s shoulder as he says, “it’d be a shame if she died, don’t you think? her family would be crushed... that is, if they’re not caught up in it, too.”

obviously, though, this can be anyone! he doesn’t do this to appeal to lyric’s humanity or their empathy (though, that’d just be a neat little bonus if it did.) but, rather, does it to appeal to their natural, built-in survival instincts. just who would it be traced back to if haru (or another person of interest.) was found dead-- a man that barely said all of three words to her or a coworker that comes off as “troubled”?

the general idea of lyric snapping back at kira... appeals to me more than it should, but it’s a Delicious Image. he prods and prods to, usually, little to no avail-- this is something he both likes (because, when they do react, it’s... “gentle” in his opinion. easier for him to get more and more aggressive.) and dislikes (but they do fight back, anyway. just because they don’t raise their voice and resort to screaming immediately doesn’t mean their will is weak.) for several reasons. but this time they snap back in that trademarked, patented lyric way; a sort of rage that’s like a grave dug up with zero care, left out in the open to explode and spray dirt, bone, and assorted gore. and kira’s left to attend to them because he’s the reason it happened.

in addition, i feel like this could be an opportune moment for kira to slap bites the dust on a poor pedestrian and using them as a stepping stone in order to flee from lyric. could be, perhaps, the first time they see him using this ability, too......

a simple idea but one that’s full of potential psychological bullshit i think: lyric gets caught in the act of a petty crime or something of similar significance. maybe it’s expected that they’ll just get away one way or another or that they’ll get bailed out by a good samaritan. and i’m here to say that, maybe... just maybe, that good samaritan doing their good act of the day would be kira. he steps in, in complete control, and plays whatever part he needs to for this situation-- and he does it well. if lyric needs a guardian figure? he acts almost like a well-to-do father. if lyric needs a stranger with a solid witness account? he does a play-by-play of what he himself saw, and it has to be true because he’s sooo confident.

he weasels lyric out of it relatively unscathed. offers to drive them home. should they take him up on his offer, they drive home in relative silence up until they reach their complex. bonus if he keeps the doors locked, turns to look at them, smiles casually, and goes, “don’t let that happen again. you worry me, lyric.” before letting them out. (,:

#mageshot #thank u for sending one in mwah mwah i love love love lyric and kira's dynamic so damn much dude :weary:#＊ 💥 返事：answered.#＊ 💥 摘発：out of character.

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nyxi-styx · 4 years

Text

No Air

Fandom: Sanders Sides Ship: M/M, Prinxiety, AKA: Virgil/Roman Words: 2,300 Rating: E for everyone Warnings: hanahaki, body horror? maybe?, blood, difficulty breathing, angst but like... softly. Gently. Tags: unrequited love, but not really, fluff, happy ending, very Princely Roman but also like insecure Roman, Logan and Patton are fatherly and heckin’ concerned Characters: Virgil Sanders, Roman Sanders, Logan Sanders, Patton Sanders, and very briefly, Thomas Sanders A/N: This is my first ever (and maybe only but idk) Sanders Sides fanfic. I hope you all enjoy it. I usually don’t like the hanahaki trope but thanks to a fic by @xpouii, I had an idea that I just needed to get out. So it goes without saying that this was entirely new territory to me both in the hanahaki aspect and the Sanders Sides aspect. Please enjoy! :)

The moment they’d sunk back into the mindscape after discussing the hidden dark sides of Disney films with Thomas, Virgil’s chest felt tight. This wasn’t the typical fearful, anxious tightness he was accustomed to. No, now he was wheezing. Like he couldn’t take in enough air. He sat down on his bed and took a few slow, calculated breaths. It helped some, but it didn’t go away entirely. What was wrong with him? The odd condition seemed to continue to plague Virgil with increasing intensity over the next several months. Each time Thomas summoned him, he kept his words few and his answers brief to avoid gasping in front of him and alerting him to his condition. It wasn’t possible for him to develop severe asthma… right? No. And it wasn’t some standard respiratory illness. Thomas was fine. He felt like he was going crazy. Maybe that was the lack of oxygen to his brain. It seemed that every time Virgil interacted with Roman directly it became harder to breathe. Figures. Of course that pompous idiot is going to be the death of me. The next time Thomas had gathered the four of them for a video, Roman had actually complimented him in front of everyone. Virgil coughed violently and felt something in his mouth. His eyes widened as he closed his lips firmly. It wasn’t bile. It wasn’t saliva. What was it? It filled his mouth and throat, drying both out entirely. Unfortunately, he’d drawn the attention of the other four. “Virge? You okay, buddy,” Thomas asked gently. Virgil nodded and gave a thumbs up gesture before turning his back to the group. He spit whatever was in his mouth into his hand, seeing for the first time that it was a cluster of vibrant red flower petals. He gave a panicked wheeze and immediately sank back into the mindscape away from everyone else. What the hell?! I have to be going crazy. This doesn’t just happen! Flower petals?!

Out of concern, Patton had followed Virgil into the mindscape. “You sure you’re okay there, kiddo?” The father figure reached out and touched Virgil’s shoulder, causing the other to abruptly jerk away from him. It took a moment for Virgil to be able to form the words, the illness making his mouth dry. “Yes,” he snapped at last. “I… I said I’m fine!” Startled, but no less concerned, Patton relented and backed off, returning to Thomas and the others where he was still needed. The flower petals dissolved in Virgil’s hand and he curled up on his bed, pulling his hoodie up as a comfort measure as he continued to struggle to breathe. __

Roman complimented him again and, as if the coughing and flower petals weren’t bad enough, there came a sharp pain. Like hundreds of little needles poking his lungs from the inside out. Virgil was convinced he was going to die. And this was a miserable way to go. How could he even die? He was part of Thomas. Thomas was alive and well… and so were the others. But here he was… miserable every day. The pain and discomfort he was undergoing was clearly visible to everyone else despite his best efforts to hide it. They never pushed his boundaries, however, allowing him space to approach them if he desired.

“Logan, I’m concerned about Virgil,” Patton confided, catching up with the other in the mindscape when neither Roman nor Virgil could hear them.

“Of course you are,” Logan confirmed. “We all are. There is clearly something troubling at hand and either due to his nature or whatever the issue is, he’s hiding his discomfort away from the rest of us. The problem is that without him being willing to open up- unless we are able to see the symptoms for ourselves- we have no way of knowing what it is or how to help him.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Patton fretted, wringing his hands. “I don’t like it. Can we go check on him? Please. I… I know it may be a long shot. But. He needs our help.” Together, they phased through into Virgil’s room, both expecting to hear a snarky and sharp-tongued “Don’t either of you know how to knock?” but instead they heard more aggressive coughing and arrived just in time to watch Virgil stare in horror at the blood-soaked flower petals in his cupped hands.

“Oh my goodness gracious,” Patton exclaimed, causing Virgil to look up at him with wide, terrified eyes. “Oh, kiddo,” he tutted sadly. “I think you’ve got yourself a love sickness. Unrequited love sickness.”

“Wh-what?”

“Specifically, Hanahaki disease,” Logan explained. “It’s a disease caused by unrequited love and pining. Typically, it begins when the patient realizes their affections for another and believes it to be unrequited or one-sided. As it goes unaddressed and untreated, it naturally progresses and worsens. Luckily, you’re not in the final stages yet, though you are in a dire situation. There is hope. The color and/or type of petal can be an indicator of the object of your affections: either their favorite flower or their favorite color. May I?” He approached Virgil tentatively and picked up one of the flower petals, wiping away the blood to confirm that the petal itself was red and not merely stained that way from the blood. “Given that there is blood, I’d guess your lungs and heart may be filled with thorns. These are definitely rose petals, though I think the color alone tells us everything we need to know. I don’t suppose you’ve spoken to Roman about this at all?”

Virgil ignored Patton’s soft, wistful gasp and aggressively shook his head. “No,” he wheezed. “No and please… don’t…” He paused to cough. “...don’t tell him. I… I think it’s a… mistake.” He coughed again, letting petals fall to the floor, rosebuds tumbling after them. “We.... don’t get along. It’s… it can’t be.” “You know sometimes when we like someone, we don’t know how to express that. So… we cover up our emotions by… calling them nicknames or… teasing them. It’s not the nicest or healthiest way to express fondness, but it’s very normal,” Patton explained calmly. “So what your… well, anxiety… might be telling you is the two of you not getting along and Roman not liking you, might really just be a normal case of… playground pigtail-pulling.”

“Apt, Patton. Thank you,” Logan complimented. “We can’t force you to do anything, Virgil, and we certainly don’t want to make you emotionally uncomfortable on top of your physical pain and discomfort, but I do believe you should think it over before it’s too late. If Roman returns your feelings, you can be cured. The other options are to die- you can’t- or suffer for the rest of time. And Thomas will notice something is wrong. You can’t perform your basic function and protect him if you’re entirely incapacitated. We will leave you with that and allow you your privacy.” “You know where we are if you need us, Virgil,” Patton assured him. “And… well, we care about you, darn it! So please… do what’s best for yourself.”

No. No, it just couldn’t be the truth. They had to be mistaken. He didn’t love Roman. And even if he did, Roman most certainly didn’t love him back. There would be no cure for this. He would just have to get used to the feeling of sharp thorns digging into his heart and pressing against the insides of his lungs. He curled up and turned The Nightmare Before Christmas on his TV. It was always a comfort. He pulled his hood up, wheezing as he stifled another cough and tried to just focus on the movie. As always, the movie was comforting… until Sally was wandering the town and the lyrics ‘and does he notice/my feelings for him/when will he see/how much he means to me/I think it’s not to be’ caused poor Virgil’s heart to thump painfully against the vine of thorns in his chest. He wheezed again in panic and coughed up more rosebuds, petals and blood. He’d heard this song scores of times. Why now did it seem so significant?

‘And will we ever/end up together/no I think not/it’s never to become/for I am not the one…’ Virgil’s chest tightened again and he couldn’t stop the tears that slipped down his cheeks, carrying black eye shadow with them. Fuck. They were right. Of course, they’re right. He really was in love with Roman. Against his better judgement, against the odds of everything they’d been through together… his heart belonged to the over-the-top, dramatic, pompous… wonderful, bright, creative, uncertain, dazzling… prince.

Virgil drew his legs up to his chest and put his forehead on his knees, letting the tears fall freely. He felt hopeless. He was going to be stuck this way forever. Once again, he coughed violently. This time, however, he had to manually remove the large obstruction protruding from his mouth. A full rose blossom. This must have been what Logan said was ‘the final stages’. His breaths became shallower. He constantly felt like he was suffocating, breathing through layers of fabric. And mostly, that was true, thought there was nothing over his face. His own feelings were suffocating him, manifesting in painful roses.

Moving became agony within another day, so Virgil elected to lie down and suffer in relative peace. Each breath was labor and the carpet quickly became littered with discarded rose blossoms and buds that he plucked from his mouth with shaking hands and allowed to tumble to the floor. Eventually, he gave up pulling them away. Another always replaced it within moments.

Patton had been stewing ever since they left Virgil after finding out about his condition. He could no longer sit idly by while someone he cared about was suffering. Virgil could be upset all he wanted, but it was the right thing to do. He had to tell Roman. He was certain the prince returned Virgil’s affections anyway. Determined, he set off to tell Roman, taking a very reluctant Logan along with him to explain. “Roman! You need to save Virgil. He’s got the honey-hockey disease and you’re the only one who can cure him!” “Um, that’s Hanahaki, Patton,” Logan corrected gently, only to be met with a confused look from Roman. He sighed, cleared his throat, drew a deep breath, and explained yet again.

“So, what you’re saying is that our grumpy, frumpy little rain cloud is cursed and can only be saved by the kiss of true love from a prince?!” Roman’s face lit up exuberantly at the idea. He was made for this. “A worthy quest. It will be done!”

“Well, not- not really,” Logan de-escalated while Patton shouted, “Exactly!” Logan sighed again, adjusting his glasses with a light air of annoyance. “Your overall idea is not incorrect, Roman, however, it has to be true and genuine romantic love. Unfortunately, friendship is not enough to save him.”

“Worry not,” Roman assured them. “I will save him! With true love’s first kiss!” Valiantly, he strode away from Patton and Logan to go and rescue Virgil; however, as soon as they were out of sight, his knightly facade faded and his insecurity had a vice grip around his stomach. Why? He knew already that Virgil loved him. That much was obvious from the illness Logan and Patton told him of. What if he rejects me anyway? What if he would rather suffer? What if he doesn’t believe me?! He took a moment to himself. He had to put all of that aside. It wasn’t about him. This was bigger than him. Virgil needed his help, consequences be damned.

Roman took a deep breath and pushed on, entering Virgil’s room to find him lying on his back, a large rose blossom grotesquely blooming from his forced open mouth. What a pitiful state to find him in: barely breathing at all, cheeks streaked black from tears redistributing his makeup. The prince approached carefully, reaching deep to find his nerve again. “Virgil,” he called quietly before crouching beside him. As soon as Virgil opened his eyes and made eye contact with Roman, he looked away again, clearly embarrassed at his current state and the fact that Patton had obviously told Roman what was happening.

Undeterred, Roman took Virgil’s hand gently between both of his own. “Oh… my darling raindrop. Such a silly thing to go and get ill over. Of course… of course, I love you too. You are charming in your own strange way. You bring a smile to my face more often than you believe and we make a harmonious and powerful team when needed.” Virgil looked at Roman again, his eyes full of unspoken emotion. Roman smiled at him and softly sang, “For it is plain/as anyone can see... We’re simply meant to be.” He held out the notes on the last two words with a flourish- he couldn’t help himself- and reached up with his free hand, delicately pulling the rose from Virgil’s mouth. He tossed it to the floor and used his thumb to wipe away a trail of blood on the other’s chin. He leaned in and caught Virgil’s lips with his own, softly but earnestly. He kissed him with all of the longing and hidden affection of months past, feeling like he had a lot to make up for. It was his own fault, clearly, that Virgil ended up in such a poorly state to begin with.

The moment Roman pulled away, smiling bright as the sun, Virgil could breathe openly and clearly for the first time in months. The pain of the thorns vanished, no more petals, no more flowers. Only love.

#prinxiety #hanahaki #fluff #fanfic #virgil sanders #roman sanders #sanders sides #mild angst #logan sanders #patton sanders #cw: blood

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jckelly · 3 years

Text

how easy it is to pretend / para

goes with this playlist

& this one (for jack’s relationship w his brother

Piece things back up for me, it’s hysterical to think that it’s almost a year to the day.

Maybe the lyrics aren’t meant in the way Jack is hearing them at all. They could be a love song, an ode to a long-lasting relationship. Or a friendship, because does everything really have to be about sex? Or perhaps he’s not hearing them right anyway, it’s often the case when his mind is elsewhere, the words blur into something else entirely. Maybe they’re just about drugs and shit. Fuck knows he’s never been good at analysis. But right now, the words he thinks he heard are hitting a little too close to home.

Home, which is six thousand miles away, and yet today he can’t quite feel the distance because there’s a bungee chord screwed right into his heart, yanking his feelings until they crash right back into a rainy morning in a church, the last time Jack set foot in a place of worship, probably the only time. He’s never been one for spirituality. Even that morning, the one he tries so hard to keep from reentering his mind, the presence of God is noticeably absent. The only comfort he recalls is the feeling of his brother’s hand in his, a gesture of solidarity in the face of death. I’m here.

Finn’s not here now, though, and maybe it’s harsh of Jack to see his silent statement back at the funeral as an abject lie now that he sits alone, devoid of the presence of his brother, but it’s not like he can quite help his emotions, or the thoughts that split in his head into fragments, pieces of each other. If a vase breaks, which shard is the original piece? Which thought came first, the thought that Finn had been there for him or the thought that Finn is a liar? (It’s not usually in Jack’s nature to be so philosophical. Maybe he should be cursing the fifth can of cider his palm curves around instead of his brother, who’s nine hours behind and therefore probably unaware even of the anniversary. His brother is rarely to blame, as much as he blames him all the same. In most cases it’s Jack’s fault. Most things are.)

Inhale, exhale, smoke travels through his lungs, swells his airways, the beginnings of a tar clogged artery, perhaps a touch of lung cancer. Self destruction is often so aesthetic. He thinks back to the girls back home, in a line outside the club puffing on ciggies, like a line to the slaughterhouse waiting to be picked up by a guy like Jack, a guy as destructive as the nicotine they’re inhaling. He’d been happy to play along back then, take his pick for the night and take her home, bodies push together into socially expected sex, more out of habit than desire. He didn’t have much desire for anyone back home. He’d never really desired a connection.

Back then, it had been a mark of pride amongst the boys he knew to fuck girls and never call back. Walk them back to the bus stop in the morning, like an empty gesture of nonexistent chivalry, mouths sour with the aftertaste of the night before’s vodka. He’d mastered the system at sixteen, understood the unspoken rules of fucking and leaving and hurting. Attachments had never been his forte at any rate, the questionable morals of secondary school played only to his strengths. He only fucks up once the fucking ends and the feelings begin, once the words he says begin to be taken seriously and suddenly he has to think about them, question the contents of his mouth before it spews out into a mushroom cloud, an atomic bomb of emotional destruction. As much as he pretends otherwise, Jack doesn’t always intent it that way. The hurt is more accidental than he lets on.

The rooftop is cold, and the skyline is unfamiliar. They’ve been in Japan for barely a month at most, he still gets lost every other time he ventures off campus. He’d just gotten past the feeling of unfamiliarity in America when they announced the travel program, and now he gets to be a stranger in a city every month, once again covering the anxious feeling in his stomach with shards of dry wit. Jack’s never been a big fan of change. He’s had too much of that.

Teenagers in Sheffield change quicker, he’s noticed. Or maybe it’s true that when your privilege is lessened, you’re given less time to be a child. They can’t afford to fuck around for their whole lives, or maybe they simply mature quicker in the context of living in a city which never quite seems to wake up on the surface, eternal slumber leading to them finding different occupations for their beds. He’s reminded every time he goes home of his relative immaturity. How dare he exist without responsibility at 19? What has he done to deserve to be different? It’s something Jack has yet to figure out. Possibly, he never will. He’s not sure he actually does deserve to be different. He’s not shown it through his actions yet.

And yet it seems to him as if Finn has always risen above whatever the others had been doing. Known before they had come to the realisation years later that their methods of amusement would never pay off in the real world, known to prepare for things other than just fucking with other people. Maturity. It’s a trait Jack has never managed to acquire, no matter the fact that he’s nineteen now, an adult. A man, people like to remind him on occasion, people like Claire and George and whatever other adult influence he’s managed to come across, despite his best efforts. No, while Finn seems to be aware of social rules and all the things Jack can’t quite crack, Jack stays internally delayed. Maybe it’s a genetic thing. The influence of his mother never moving on, staying in the same place from the moment he was born to the moment he lost her. Passed out on the couch, needle marks staining her arms. A state of arrested development she never quite overcame. Maybe Jack will never overcome either.

It’s hysterical to think that it’s almost a year to the day. The lyrics are churning around his brain, still. It is hysterical. Although he’s not quite sure what’s more hysterical, the fact that he lost her or the fact that it still comes as a surprise to this day when he catches himself reminiscing and is struck again and again, nearly a year later, by the realisation that she’s gone. Shouldn’t he have expected this? Known that she would leave? (Everyone in Jack’s life leaves eventually. It’s a truth, rather than a comment founded in melodrama. Perhaps it’s for the best that his mother doing what everyone before her had chosen to do was not out of her own decision. And then the fact that he’s just felt it was a good thing that his own mother died makes him feel sick to his stomach, the cider tipping back and forth through his intestines. Suddenly, he’s not a nice level of drunk anymore. He’s just sad and tipsy and tired. Tired more than anything else.)

As much as he doesn’t want to admit it, there’s a trap door in Jackson Kelly Fielding’s mind. Whenever it opens - and it’s rarely because he opened it, more often because it forces its way up - he falls back into a pit of memory, hitting each stair of trauma on the way down until he’s lying at the bottom and the world around him is barely a tiny dot of light a hundred and fifty feet above. Then the stupid fucking cinema opens and the curtains draw back, and he’s stuck for hours, reliving every minute, every opportunity he had to save her. Was there a moment? A minute when if he had said one less word, or one more, it would have changed things? Was there a turning point that Jack was too oblivious to see? (He hasn’t found it yet. But he remains certain that he will.)

Tokyo, Japan is eight hours ahead of Sheffield, United Kingdom. Jack’s googled it. It’s one in the morning here, on April 1. In Sheffield, it will be April 1 in seven hours. In seven hours it will be the one year anniversary of his mother shooting up in her flat, alone. Of a sad, solitary death. And it feels so unfair to Jack that in seven hours, as with the year before, the rest of the world will continue living their lives without a thought to someone who lies cold in the ground. It feels so fucking unfair that the sun will rise and rain will fall in some countries and snow in others and people will be laughing and getting engaged and having children, that people will be playing practical fucking jokes on each other and that the event which has torn Jack in two will have had no impact on anyone. It feels damn unfair to Jack that everyone else is allowed a life. That some people are even allowed a mother. He’s allowed neither. His life revolves around his mother, and his mother doesn’t exist.

(And the thought of his mother lying alone in her flat waiting to be found really feels like a punch to the gut. Was she cold? Did it hurt? He could spend endless hours googling if heroin overdoses are painful. If there was any chance she could feel as she slowly ceased to breathe. How long it would have taken before the arms which held him went cold and stiff. And the worst thought of all, the thought of her screaming and screaming inside her coffin underneath the piles upon piles of dirt and Jack being too far away to hear as she suffocated and swallowed the worms. He’s had nightmares of her coming back, her lips curled into an eternal scream as a beetle crawls out and drips onto his bed.) (Maybe this is why they never let Jack see the body. He’s always had an overactive imagination.)

Jack knows Finn doesn’t struggle in this way. Or at least, he assumes so from the brief conversations he has with his brother, held across oceans over the phone or on video call, the blurry impression he gets of his face. Then again, Finn’s maturity just makes it clearer to Jack that there is little of their mother in him. Jack admires the ability to be someone different, in part because it’s something he lacks. He himself is barely more than the sum of his parts: an absent father and a mother who perhaps should have been absent. He often thinks that if their places were swapped and it was Jack laying cold in the ground, the impact on the world would be similar. Or more likely even less. Maybe it would be a day of celebration, since all he ever creates is damage. Damage on those around him, damage to those who dare to show him the slightest bit of affection. Damage to Balo, who has never deserved anything but love. Yes, he thinks the world would be better off without Hurricane Jack. He is an explosion of a person, and the only lasting impact he can hope to leave is the debris of those unfortunate enough to know him.

Inhale, exhale. The smoke is clearer now that the sky is becoming lighter, and he wonders how long he’s been on the roof. Or if it even matters anymore. It’s not like waking up early for lectures and going to class and doing his exams will make much of a difference, because he is still Jack and he’s long since lost hope that he can reinvent himself beyond a name change. He casts his mind back to the teenagers in Sheffield that had held his attention before - and he almost laughs at the idea that he had thought about them with such disdain. How could he? Their bad decisions seem to just create a life which goes a different way, and in Jack’s head nothing they do with that life could ever be as bad as what he has done to the people around him. And what he has done to his own mother. Psychic matricide. Or maybe he just sucked all of her traits from her until there was nothing left to sustain life. It would explain why he has taken on her entire personality. Naturally, he’s too empty to come up with his own, with his own taste in music, with his own appearance, with anything. Originality would require some sort of positive trait.

The sun is starting to rise above the unfamiliar skyline. Another day, and yet it can’t just be another day because it’s still some sick anniversary. One year of his mother being gone. One year of sunrises she hasn’t seen, one year of days she has not checked off of her calendar. One year of mornings in which she hasn’t been able to wake up. For once, when he looks across the view, Jack doesn’t feel the pang of homesickness which usually hits him. Why would he? There is nothing to go back to in Sheffield but memories he’d rather suppress and people he’d mess up even further.

He realises with a jolt that he’s had the same song on loop, without even realising. The last lyrics float into the air: nearly every other word that comes from your mouth keeps me hanging on.

Apt. Even in death, every word that his mother ever said to him rings in his ears as if she’s just saying it now. And every single one is accompanied by a fresh stab of guilt. He’s not familiar with the song, but he makes a mental note to remove it from his playlist regardless. It’s hitting far too close to home.

#self para #musings #drugs tw #death tw #minor gore tw #corpse tw #suicide thoughts tw

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syncogon · 4 years

Text

[QZGS meta] what’s in an OP? dawning glory (pt 2)

(a continuation of part 1 here) (part 3 here)

{The King’s Avatar Season 2 premieres in less than 12 hours!}

Last time we covered just up to around the halfway point of this OP. We’re picking up again right at the start of the second verse, where a new singing voice kicks in.

After reminiscing on the past, we come to Ye Xiu again as he puts on his headphones - he’s smiling, he’s doing what he loves, he’s ready to go forward. His smile here is an act of defiance against those who tell him that he should be stopping in his tracks.

The change of singer here is very noticeable, as they have very different-sounding voices. However, this is something we’ll talk about more later.

In this section, we cut smoothly between the real and the virtual worlds. Lord Grim, too, faces forward resolutely, despite the naysayers referenced in the lyrics - “they say I shouldn’t go forward, they say I should just say goodbye, they say there’s no tomorrow, only night.”

Again, we focus on his hands - his left hand positioning on the keyboard in the real world, his right hand in the game world hoisting his weapon. They both extend from the upper left side of the screen, which allows our brains to follow the visual connection easily without being too overt about the parallel. Ye Xiu’s preparations for his comeback help to build our anticipation for the action that’s to come.

The red palette used for these in-game shots in this segment is an interesting stylistic choice. It’s a more nuanced version of the red-palette style used for the entirety of the OVA OP. Red is the color most commonly associated with Ye Xiu, it’s the color of both Team Happy and Team Excellent Era, it’s Lord Grim’s main color due to his scarf, and of course it’s associated with things like passion, fire, blood, etc. The red is also a nice contrast to the darkened, navy-blue setting of the real-world internet cafe - the lighting makes it seem like it’s nighttime again - and the red of Ye Xiu’s hoodie serves as a nice visual bridge between worlds.

Because this segment of the OP cuts between the game and real worlds so quickly, I think it’s good that they distinguish the game world here with these colors, as it makes the jumps easier to follow and understand.

“They say there is no tomorrow, only night,” as reflected light flashes across the umbrella. Maybe it’s night in the internet cafe right now, but certainly not for long. And even if it’s night for Su Muqiu, his creation will see the light of day.

“Crossing the frozen finish line” - Lord Grim steps out in a wide, battle-ready stance, emphasizing the sense of motion inherent to the word “crossing.” In the background of the music, you can hear the growing sound of what sounds like rushing wind, in time with the wind whipping Lord Grim’s scarf about, and it continues to build up the energy of this scene.

The “frozen finish line” here refers to his unwilling retirement on that snowy night; it’s an ending that he was forced into, not the goal that he was striving for. But the point that the lyrics make here is that this unwilling end merely becomes the new starting point for his dream.

The animators are really milking his windswept bangs, but honestly the animation looks good, so I can’t complain.

As Lord Grim narrows his (vibrantly red) eyes and tenses in preparation, we fade to Ye Xiu making the same motion, once again emphasizing the real-virtual parallel. Just this small motion is enough to make us, too, brace ourselves in anticipation. And as we mentioned earlier, you can really see here how the red hood of his sweatshirt is a nice connection to Lord Grim’s scarf, standing out against the colors of the rest of the image.

The music feels like it’s going to crest at its peak here, but it’s actually a fakeout - accompanied by a key change in the music, the intensity suddenly backs off. Instead of the climax we’re expecting, we’re instead shown a montage of mostly-still images.

This is actually a good demonstration of how this OP follows the effective “interest curve” fairly well. You can’t continuously build hype throughout a piece, because that quickly becomes exhausting and boring for the audience. Instead, you have to have your peaks and valleys. At the very beginning of the OP, we started off with a crescendo to the first peak where the beat kicks in. We had a fairly upbeat instrumental section, then we dropped off as we entered verse 1. The Happy player segment is relatively chill overall, with its own small ebbs and flows. Then when we enter verse 2 with the second voice, the excitement level is a step up from what it was before. The second half of this segment gradually builds up in intensity until suddenly, here, we drop off. We’ll come back to this curve later to see the fuller picture.

So we have this montage of the major pros, Ye Xiu’s closest friends and toughest opponents (note the first half of the lyric here is “even if it’s dangerous”). Although these are just still images, they still efficiently reveal information about the characters and teams in question - both when you consider them individually, and when you look at the patterns as a whole. Let’s take a look.

In all of these shots, the captain is the largest figure, and always on the center-right side of the screen. Even the last shot of Ye Xiu’s face before this montage places him at the center-right, giving us the exact starting-off point we need. This means that our eyes don’t have to do much work - we naturally trace a path to follow the most prominent figure in every image.

Tyranny’s Han Wenqing, of course, strikes the most intimidating pose. Just from how they’re positioned, you can get a sense of how the two of them work together as partners - Han Wenqing in front, aggressive, Zhang Xinjie only a step behind, more defensive. They appear to be the pair that’s second-closest to each other in terms of physical distance, as they have a fairly balanced partnership. They’re angled toward each other, implicitly acknowledging each other without actually overlapping.

Blue Rain is famed for their dual-core, and this image makes it abundantly clear, with captain and vice-captain featured equally prominently, standing right next to each other, back to back, almost the same size on screen. Looking closely, you can see that the two of them are moving together in the same direction as a unit. This is in contrast to the other teams’ characters, who are all sliding across the screen at slightly different speeds and directions from each other. Yu Wenzhou holds his clipboard, an instant clue toward his tactician style. Huang Shaotian is at a side profile, reflecting his unconventional, opportunistic, assassin-like style. And with his casual gesture and a wide grin, you can immediately get a sense of his personality.

In Tiny Herb, Wang Jiexi is king (pun intended). Out of all the team pictures, he is the largest figure. This reflects how he is the sole pillar of Tiny Herb as of now, and it hints at just how (unsustainably) deep the team’s reliance upon him runs. Behind Wang Jiexi, we see his successor Gao Yingjie. Although Gao Yingjie is smaller for now, the angle of the shot makes it seem as though he is rising above Wang Jiexi - and this, of course, is exactly what the captain is trying to make happen.

Behind these two is a third figure. At first I’d assumed it was Liu Xiaobie, but he doesn’t have the trademark headphones, so I think it makes more sense that this is actually Qiao Yifan, still in the team. With how he’s half-hidden in Gao Yingjie’s shadow and not even looking at the camera, you get the sense that even in this little picture, he doesn’t quite have a place here.

Samsara features Zhou Zekai and Jiang Botao. When these images were initially previewed during the live ED performance, there was a lot of backlash because a) Jiang Botao’s design had changed, b) their jackets spelled “samsaea”, and c) there was a coloring error on the collar of Zhou Zekai’s shirt. Fortunately, it seems all of these flaws were addressed.

Zhou Zekai is the second-largest out of all the featured characters, reflecting how Glory’s number one player always dominates the battlefield. Jiang Botao’s design here sweeps more hair out of his eyes, which suits his character well by giving him a more open, friendly, approachable appearance. Although he’s positioned far back from the camera relative to Zhou Zekai, he seems content where he is - he has a perfectly fine view of the camera and surroundings, and here he can serve as the tether connecting the powerful Zhou Zekai to the unseen rest of the team.

Next we see Thunderclap - I was actually somewhat surprised to see them featured now, but I suppose we need to establish Xiao Shiqin early on. I’m also surprised that they have four members here… I don’t think I could name four Season 8 Thunderclap members off the top of my head, I’m sorry ahaha. We have Xiao Shiqin and Dai Yanqi obviously, I assume the third is Fang Xuecai, but I don’t know who the player with his back turned is supposed to be. Maybe they included a lot of team members to emphasize how, more so than any other team, Thunderclap’s strength is when they’re playing together as a team. You can also see this in how, unlike all the other teams except Blue Rain, all four of the characters are sliding across the screen in the same direction (right), although the parallax makes their speeds appear slightly different.

That being said, with the hand adjusting his glasses and his thoughtful look to the side, Xiao Shiqin very much gives off the studious tactician vibe. Still, his smile is warm, not cold and calculating. Behind him, Dai Yanqi is just adorable.

Finally, we have Hundred Blossoms. Coming off of Xiao Shiqin’s smile, Zhang Jiale’s shadowed half-frown stands in sharp contrast, even though the viewer has only a fraction of a second to take it in. Angled at a full 90 degrees from the camera, Zhang Jiale stares at his right hand, a sort of frozen sadness on his face. What could he be thinking about? Reflecting on his continued inability to take the final step to the championship? Reflecting on the hand injury that tore his closest friend and partner away from him, leaving him to shoulder the burden alone? In this image, it seems as though it’s the Hundred Blossoms’ shining logo itself that is casting his face into shadow. He undoubtedly has many conflicted feelings about the team he gave six years of his life to, and ultimately abandoned.

Visually, Zhang Jiale appears to be facing a deep blackness; the design places no decorative accents on that corner of the screen. Perhaps he sees no way forward. Perhaps he sees the way forward, through to the team with black as its color, and the betrayal that choice would mean.

Behind him is Sun Zheping. Interestingly, he’s fully illuminated by the light of the Hundred Blossoms logo. In Zhang Jiale’s mind, perhaps he still is that light, a light now lost to him. Although Sun Zheping is also looking away, his body is angled more forward toward the camera, reflecting how he has a better sense than Zhang Jiale does of what it means to cast off doubts and charge forward into the future.

In a sharp contrast to every other team picture, note that neither person in this image is looking at the camera. Whereas the other teams are unified and focused in their pursuit of the championship, both Zhang Jiale and Sun Zheping are lost. In fact, neither is even currently a member of this team that they founded together. And, of course, there’s a distance between them, as they look off in opposite directions, and this distance only grows as Zhang Jiale slides toward the right and Sun Zheping toward the left. Overall, the mood this final team image conveys is drastically different from the rest.

I also found it interesting to note here that, although all of the teams’ uniforms got redesigned in the donghua (for instance, official novel art always portrayed them with collared polos, not t-shirts), the Hundred Blossoms uniform here appears to be unchanged from the original.

As a final thought, I do love the background designs in each of these shots, working in the team colors and the motifs of the logos. I wish they’d release these as desktop wallpapers, they’re really nice.

So that’s enough words about these three seconds of the opening. Let’s (finally) keep going.

This is a good place in the OP to insert a reminder of the final goal we’re working toward - the championship. “As always we charge forward, we’ll ultimately be crowned,” here at the summit of glory.

Something about the faded filter over these two shots gives it an almost mystical, imaginative quality. Or maybe it’s the feeling of a memory long past. This stage, this place of legends, it’s still a ways off for our protagonists for now. But they’ll find their way here in the end.

Team Happy! When it comes to illustrating Happy’s in-game characters in an action group picture, this sort of composition - side view, all of them leaping into action toward one direction - is fairly common, even just in official art. Still, it never gets old, and it’s nice to see it here, especially as the music crests. The lyric “we’ll be crowned,” which bridges us from verse 2 to the chorus, is timed with the very first large group picture we get in this OP. It’s a proud and triumphant declaration as we see our protagonists finally united for the first time, arrayed for battle.

With that, just before we enter the chorus section, we’ll pause here for now. Part 3, which will cover the last 20 seconds or so, will probably go up after the episode premieres. I’m also interested to see how they’ll work the credits into this OP; hopefully they do something interesting, or at least make it look nice.

Thanks for reading!

(part 1) (part 3)

#quan zhi gao shou #qzgs #the king's avatar #tka #全职高手 #qzgs commentary #mine #synco talks

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boymeetsweevil · 5 years

Text

Breathe you in

Grouping: Popstar!Reader x Non-Idol!Taehyung

Word Count: ~7.8k

Warnings/Themes: Shotgunning (so thats recreational drug use), Rough face fucking, face-sitting (fm receiving), some background angst, not too scary lol

Summary: Can I pls request an ex lovers trope with taehyung where you broke up with him , but he shows you he loves you and was never over you and wants to be together again? Thanks!

A/N: This is part of the BTS Smut Club Anniversary fic exchange! Thanks for the prompt!

It’s nearing 10pm when the town car arrives in front of your apartment complex. The driver pulls up in the back entrance used primarily for allowing the higher profile residents to discreetly enter the building when needed. Normally the back entrance is littered with snapping cameras or fans who are trying their hand at stalking. Tonight none of those people are there for you because your mini-tour ended a day early, allowing you to return from Amsterdam a day before what’s scheduled on your website.

“Don’t forget,” your publicist sits across from you on the opposite leather upholstered bench of the car, “You’re close to reaching another follower milestone, so you need to do one last Instagram live before bed.” You release a deep sigh that sounds like it came from your bones.

“Shit. Bee, I’m really tired.”

“Language,” Bee admonishes while scrolling one iPhone in one hand before switching to the one in her other hand.

“Can’t it fucking wait,” you hiss, petty from exhaustion.

She pins you with a look that tells you she’s not playing this game with you and continues typing away. “You’ll sleep soon enough once we go through the checklist for today and tomorrow.”

Bee’s phone pings and you watch the set of her mouth grow infinitely more tense before her eyes dart to you. Rarely does hesitation temper her gaze like it does in this moment. You let out a sigh. She’s about to mention your ex.

“Also, Oh! News wants to bring you in some time this week to address statements Nick made about the breakup.”

“Of course they do,” you sigh again.

“I’ve been trying to push the date back but they’re not taking no for an answer. Plus, it might be better to go out and put an end to it so it can become old news.”

You massage your temples. “Yeah, no, I’ll do it. I’ll do it.”

Bee watches the gears in your head turn as you think about the whirlwind that was the breakup. With your departure to Europe only a few days after the PG-13 video of him with another actress blew up, there was naturally a lot of speculation. Most of it hateful and directed at you, surprisingly enough. Having just starred in a movie aimed at 12-17 year olds, Nick seemingly had all of the world’s young girl population locked and loaded at you. Your relative silence while on tour for two months in the Netherlands only fueled the outrage.

“Alright, alright,” she opens the door on your side and pushes your purse into your limp arms. “I had them take your luggage up before you. Do what I told you and then...go get some sleep, Sweets.”

“Thanks, Bee.”

Your penthouse apartment is as pristine as you left it when you push open the door, your luggage waiting neatly by your shoe closet. While you unpack your bags in your bedroom, you take note of the outfit laid out for your on your bed. It’s a pair of leggings that have sequins sewn up the sides and a matching off the shoulder top that will definitely require you to keep your bra on. It’s for the Instagram broadcast, so you won’t have to wear it long. But you want to crawl out of your skin and finally be able to turn off your public figure voice more than anything else. You suppose you can handle waiting a little while longer, though.

When you’re dressed and have your hair out of your face, you take your phone with you to the bathroom before waking up your speaker to play some mood music. A little tripod setup waits for you on the sleek countertop. Once your phone is plugged in and you’ve pulled up Instagram, you begin your livestream and your camera smile is on.

“Hey, everybody,” you greet the viewers already watching.

There’s a little more than 800,000 people are currently watching, more than normal this early in a live video. You attribute it to the tweet Bee sent from your Twitter a few minutes prior that broke your 2 month long internet silence.

“I’m sorry I’ve been gone so long,” you talk a little louder over the music you have playing. “I was so busy in Amsterdam and when I did have some down time, I wanted to really unplug. So I didn’t use social media while I was there. I’ll definitely be uploading the pictures I took, though. I saw some really amazing stuff.”

You begin pumping an oil cleanser into the palms of your hands while stopping to read the comments as they come up on the screen. Some of them you ignore because they’re comments from Nick’s fan accounts. Others welcome you back and some are fans of the artist you were touring with.

“How was touring with Nana,” you echo the fan’s question while rubbing your makeup off. “She was so wonderful, oh my god. I think she’s got such a beautiful point of view when it comes to her lyrics about getting older and dealing with the pressures of being a woman in the spotlight. Also her fashion sense is incredible.”

A few more questions about the products you’re using and what you did on your off time come up. Some people ask if you’re working on a new album yourself and you talk about that as much as you can without breaking any promises, keeping the essentials a secret. Another person asks you to sing a few bars from your verse on the song you did with Nana and you do. By the time you’re tapping moisturizer onto your face, you’ve almost made it through the broadcast unscathed. But then you see a comment that has you breaking character for a second, your muscles freezing.

douknowbt$: OMG Nick is watching the live.

Hopefully no one notices your 2 seconds of panic, but you can’t be sure until someone else blogs about it. You dismiss the comment and finish up with a few pumps of hand cream, rubbing your hands a bit manically as the comments about Nick begin to grow in number. In that moment, you sign off and quickly move to end the live. But with your haste and slippery fingers, you don’t realize you missed the button and the recording was still going.

A few of the viewers try to send messages letting you know that the live hasn’t ended, but you don’t check your phone again after throwing it onto your covers and climbing into bed. With the camera facing up, you’re seen pulling up your laptop and putting on some classical music using the surround sound speakers in your bedroom. From the screen, all the viewers can see you sitting stiffly on your bed, eyes closed for a few minutes in what looks like meditation as the adagio that’s playing washed over you. After a few deep breaths, you open your eyes and reach for your phone.

“Oh sh—,” you keep yourself from cursing at the last second when you discover the livestream didn’t end. “I’m sorry, guys. I was so tired I guess I didn’t realize I forgot to end the video. I’m signing off for real now. Yes, yes, I’m okay. Just tired. I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

You triple check to make sure the video is off before throwing your phone across the bed. The day didn’t seem like it could get worse after your long flight and even longer wait at the airport when it seemed like your luggage was lost. Not to mention that you were bone tired and hungry but couldn’t have any of the foods you were craving because of a stupid photo shoot coming up in a few weeks. In that moment, the intercom rings, signaling that the front desk is trying to reach you, but you remain in bed and hope that it’ll stop. It does, for a moment, before starting up again. You groan before getting up and heading to the front door.

“Yes?”

“Hello Miss,” says the cheerful older man who runs the front desk during nights. “I trust you’re having a delightful evening.”

“Hello, Sir.”

“We just wanted to alert you that the delivery person with your order is currently on the 15th floor and should be at your suite shortly. Please anticipate your food’s arrival in the next few minutes and have a pleasant rest of the evening.” The call ends just like that, not leaving you any room to protest and say that you didn’t order food.

You figure it’s just that Bee saw what a huge shitshow your livestream was and she wants to send you something to make you feel better. And no doubt if it was something that came with a delivery person, it was good food. If she came herself, she would definitely have brought something like a salad bowl or a sushi plate. If you eat another vegetarian sushi plate, you're certain you'll die. Not from Mercury poisoning—like your mother always warns you about—but from sadness.

A tentative knock on the door sounds and you open it with a plasticky smile. Sometimes they send people who get a little star struck. Most times you’re amenable to just being subdued but friendly so that they just ask for a selfie or a quick autograph on a take out napkin and don't try to linger or say you were a bitch later on.

Tonight you're not really in the mood for too much friendliness tonight, though. In the drawer next to the door, you dig around for the wad of cash you keep hidden there and pull an obscene tip out.

“Hi, thank you,” you keep your head down and blindly reach for the white paper bag in the person's hand. “Have a good—excuse me, asshole!”

“That’s not my name.”

The hand yanks the bag out of your reach at the last second, lifting high above your head. You’re not at all in the mood for dealing with a pissy delivery boy who wants to knock you down a few pegs. Putting your hands on your hips, you’re about to give him the verbal lashing he deserves, PR consequences be damned, when you a good look at his face stops you.

“Taehyung?”

“In the flesh,” he shoots back at you.

The man in front of you gives you a muted, smug smile before shouldering his way past you and into your apartment. He stands tall in the foyer of your apartment like he belongs there and has been there a thousand times. You can’t help but drink in the image of your ex-boyfriend from half a decade ago despite the fact that he’s technically intruding. There’s still a whisper of the boy you started dating when you were in your last year of high school, but much of that is overpowered by the man he is now. He’s broader in the jaw and the shoulders than he was before, and there must have been some growth spurts since you last saw him.

“This is real nice,” he lets out a low whistle as he takes in the large open floor-plan of your apartment. You follow closely behind as he starts walking around, head cocked forward with purpose.

“What are you looking for?”

“The kitchen,” he says casually.

“It’s that way,” you gesture before realizing that you need to get your priorities straight. “What are you doing in my house?”

“I came to bring you food.”

The bag he raises gives off a pleasant savory smell and you clench your fist to keep yourself from excusing his sudden appearance.

“I didn’t ask for food. And I certainly didn’t ask you for food.”

“Touchy,” he turns back to pin you with an amused grin. “But you didn’t have to ask. I knew you needed it.”

“You knew I needed it?” You raise an incredulous eyebrow, eager to hear his explanation. “How did you know I needed it?”

He places the bag on the countertop in your kitchen, standing on the opposite side of the counter.

“Because,” he sighs, “I saw your Instagram live and you were playing Elgar. You never play Elgar unless something’s really wrong.”

“I—that’s,” he pushes the bag toward you while you try to come up with a reason while he’s wrong, when he’s not.

You’ve had a habit of playing classical music when you were near your breaking point. It’s been a habit that you’ve had since you were 10, but concealed long before you started your time in the spotlight. While you were dating Taehyung, you were a depressed teenager and he was present for some of the worst times of your life. Several times he’d found you in your room or your parents’ car blasting tragic symphonies as accompaniment for bawling your eyes out. But that was years ago.

“You can eat it. I’m not hungry,” you finally say. He looks at you like he can tell you’re lying, but plays along and shrugs.

“Fine.” He opens the bag and pulls out some smaller plastic containers of food and a spoon.

“I didn’t mean here!”

He chuckles at your outburst, mumbling something about fame not changing you, before ambling out of the kitchen and through the rooms until he arrives at your bedroom. You find him about to sit on your bed and rush over.

“If you took the subway here, don’t even think about sitting on that bed.”

“What? Suddenly my subway clothes are too dirty for your bed?”

“Yes,” you huff. “The sheets alone cost me more than half a grand.”

“What the hell,” he jumps up like he’s been shocked. “Why would you spend that much on sheets?”

“They’re highly rated,” you admit with a small voice. “And they’re used by many foreign diplomats.”

“That’s ridiculous. You’re so prissy.”

“We can’t all be members of a practical startup.” When his eyes widen in surprise, you curse yourself for letting him know you still keep tabs on him. “Besides. You used to like prissy.”

“Still do,” he gives you with a molten look that has you moving away from him and fluffing pillows to hide your flustered state.

“Why are you still here?”

“Because you’re hurting.”

“Maybe,” you throw your hands up. “But that’s not your job anymore.”

He runs a hand through his dark hair, parting the shiny waves carelessly. He’s not sure how to admit that he’s been making sure fame doesn’t eat you alive ever since you broke up with him to pursue your singing career. The memory of that day rings clear in his head even after five years of being split up.

Cliche as it sounds, it was a rainy night. You were at a meeting with Bee a few days before the entertainment label you were flirting with was going to give you the final version of your contract to sign.

Bee was never a huge fan of his, so Taehyung waited outside her office instead of interrupting the meeting to let you know he was there. But with the office door cracked, he could still hear the sounds of your conversation and the soft sounds of your sobs.

His blood grew cold when he heard what Bee was telling you. She told you starting this career with a relationship would hurt your numbers by making it impossible for your male fanbase to project their fantasies onto you because of the presence of another guy in your life. She told you if you were going to make it, you’d need to play up the role of sexy girlfriend to the audience members for the first album at least and that wouldn’t be possible if they got wind of Taehyung.

He covered his own mouth, barely fighting tears from welling up, listening as you tried to plead with Bee. Your voice was watery as you tried to convince her that you could make it without the girlfriend role. That you had enough work ethic and talent to do it. And when she didn’t budge, you said that you loved him and threatened to walk out right then if you had to break up with him. He listened to Bee tell you that you were being naive and that you’d be stupid to throw away all your opportunities for a boy.

And Bee was right.

So when you came outside minutes later with puffy eyes and a white knuckled grip on the sleeves of your sweater, he’d accepted his fate. He’d even accepted the lie you told him about having another guy on the side. Though you couldn’t produce a name when he asked who it was. Though you looked up at him like you wanted to take it all back. Though you leaned your forehead on his chest like you were in the greatest amount of pain. He accepted it all and walked away.

That is, if walking away meant that he created fake social media accounts so he could comment positive things on your first few interview videos and bought tickets to as many concerts he could when you were in the area. He never tried to make his presence known, just stood there and drank in how vibrant you looked when you were on stage and singing your heart out. It took a while for the jealousy to stop rearing its ugly head whenever he looked at how other people would show their adoration for you. By the time Nick came around, he was convinced he was content with how things were. But after seeing the way Nick’s cheating affected you, he had a hard time sitting still.

“Well, I’m not leaving until you feel better. So, you better start talking.”

“What is there to even say?”

“I don’t know. You tell me.”

You sigh and ignore him in favor of walking over to the large sofa in the corner of your room and collapsing on the large sofa face first. A dip in the cushions near you tells you he’s followed you and sat down. When you finally reveal your face, he’s peering down at you with a sad look in his eyes. The sad, sympathetic look that would always get you spilling your guts when you were still together. So you tell him everything.

It's almost embarrassing to tell him that you thought you loved Nick. At their best, things with Nick were comfortable and sometimes passionate, but it wasn’t anything close to love. Nothing close to what you had with Taehyung. And how could it have been when the reason you got together in the first place was because Bee thought you could ‘scratch each other’s backs’? Nick was not only handsome with the clean image Bee wanted for you, but you were writing and singing the theme song for the blockbuster movie he was to star in. It all seemed to work at first.

It only took one tabloid story suggesting that he was seeing some other younger and bustier actress behind your back to make you see that nothing you had with him was substantial. You brought the story up as a joke, thinking you could laugh about the way tabloids would do anything for story—even lie. As soon as you mentioned it to him, he denied it hastily and made a snide comment about not believing everything you see just because it’s technically press. After that, it was like a switch had been flipped and suddenly you couldn’t be in the same room together for more than 10 minutes without going at each other’s throats. The cheating rumors kept flaring up until they reached a peak a little more than 2 months ago, when someone anonymously submitted a video of him groping and kissing the same actress outside of a bakery in your hometown in broad daylight.

After watching the video about 15 times on the plane to Amsterdam, you concluded that even though he had long since established himself as a grade-A asshole in your mind, he was in mushy-love with this girl. You could tell from the sweet way he cradled her face while kissing her and how he took the extra step to block any potential cameras before giving her impressive rack a squeeze. Lucky for you, the video didn’t really evoke any messy emotions like jealousy. Instead there was just some satisfaction at having your suspicions confirmed and knowing he’d have to clean up this mess. You felt bad for the other actress, though. She was just starting out with mainly B movie roles and there was no telling whether the public would fillet her or ignore her altogether.

Taehyung has to sit on his hands to keep from rubbing your back you as you pour out all the things that had been stressing you out. What startles him is how stoic you are the whole time. When he first met you, you cried at the drop of a hat. It was endearing back then, but there’s no trace of it now. You sniffle a little when you talk about some of the vicious hate mail you received while in Amsterdam, but besides the shining eyes, that’s it. He clenches his jaw and wonders what you must have gone through in the last five years to have lost that quality.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles when the lull in the conversation is longer than he expected.

“It’s fine, I just,” you sniff again, wipe your eyes carefully. “I was really hoping that once the dating clause in my contract expired, things wouldn’t blow up in my face like this. And now I can’t go anywhere without people shoving mentions of Nick in my face. I just—it sucks. I just want to do what I want and I thought I’d earned that right but I guess not.”

“I don’t know. I think you’ve earned it. You’re grammy nominated this year, and you visited 13 countries this year alone.”

“What are you? President of my fan club?”

“Do I look like a 14 year old girl to you?”

You squint like you’re giving it some thought and he squawks.

“I’m just kidding,” you duck your head. “You’re, what, 226?” He laughs at the extra two centuries you’ve tacked on.

“You remember my birthday,” he smiles widely.

“Of course I do.” The way he looks at you makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up so you change the subject. “Alright. I’ve done enough talking. Where’s my compensation?”

“You literally haven’t changed at all,” he says while fishing in the pockets of his dark wash denim jacket. It takes a few seconds and he has to pull a few balled up receipts and earphones out of the pockets but he eventually pulls out a fat blunt and brandishes it like a huge check.

Nose wrinkling, you push his hand out of your face. “Weed?”

“Yeah! You said you wanted a pick-me-up, right? And I just got this yesterday from a dispensary. This is the good, strong shit. Probably could compete with the stuff they have in Amsterdam.”

“Well, I wouldn’t be able to tell.”

“Huh,” he furrows his brow while hunting for a lighter.

“I’ve never smoked so I wouldn’t know.”

“You mean you were in Amsterdam and you didn’t even try to smoke?”

“It’s bad for my voice,” you whine at his judgmental glare.

“Bullshit.”

“It smells like armpit,” you try again.

“There’s the prissy princess. Well, you should know that the only stuff that smells like that is the shit broke evil dealers peddle to broke college students.”

You roll your eyes, but sit up on your heels so you can pay closer attention. Taehyung flicks his lighter to life and lights up the end of the blunt. He takes a deep inhale before letting out a thick cloud of smoke. He gestures for you to take it, but you shake your head nervously.

“What’s the matter now?”

“I don’t know how to do it. What if I burn my lips?”

He squints at you, wondering how you can be such a baby. “The cherry’s not even on the side you put your mouth on.”

“Whatever! I’m still scared.”

“Do you want to try it, though?��

You gnaw at your lip thoughtfully and decide that you need to take your mind off everything for a while. “Y-yeah, I guess. I don’t have a studio session tomorrow.”

“Okay.” He scoots forward on the couch until your knees are just barely brushing. “I’ll shotgun it to you.”

“What’s that?”

“You’ll see.”

He takes another drag, this time a little smaller, and holds the smoke in his mouth. Turning to you, he leans in until you can feel his bangs brush your forehead as he tilts his head to get the angle right. There’s about an inch of space between your mouths when he starts to let the smoke billow out of his mouth. You get the gist and try to inhale it as best as possible, but you’re new to it and he’s too far away for you to get the smoke.

“I’m not getting any,” your tone is petulant as the smoke floats up around your face.

Taehyung, on the other hand, is already feeling the effects of the strong blend he bought. He scoots forward once more and then turns to the side so he can take another drag. This next time, he grabs your jaw and brings you forward to meet him. Thumbing at your bottom lip, he coaxes your mouth open and slack before slotting his lips over yours. You feel the brush of the supple skin of his lips and it distracts you a bit, but this time you do manage to inhale most of the fumes. Your eyes drop closed as you hold the smoke in for as long as possible before letting your breath out.

“How was that,” Taehyung asks lowly. His lids have drooped to match his relaxed state. With the high slowly creeping over him, he ogles you unabashedly.

“It was okay. Do it again.”

He nods and quickly burns through the rest of the blunt, giving you the larger hits when he shotguns to you and taking slightly smaller drags for himself. To keep you nearby, his hand comes to rest heavily on the small of your back. You, still on your haunches, somehow end up straddling one of his thighs to stay close. Near the end of the blunt, you’re feeling a bit floaty and like the heat from the blunt transferred to your belly. Taehyung’s gaze feels tangible on you, like a firm-handed caress across all parts of you as he looks you over. Like smoke on your skin. You recognize the feeling as one you haven’t felt in a while and move to sit more properly in his lap.

“I want the last one,” you whisper while tugging on the collar of his jacket. The ends of his long hair tickle your fingers.

He nods and moves slowly to suck the roach dry. Once he’s close enough, you wait patiently. His nose grazes your cheek for a few long seconds before he finally turns to pass the smoke to you. You take it obediently and exhale but then grab him by the lapels to press your lips to his. His hands come up immediately to cup your face and pull you closer. You work your lips over his, drawing low groans from him as your tongue teases his.

“You smell good,” he says groggily between kisses.

“Thanks,” you roll your eyes.

His eyes flutter shut when you begin to press kisses to the column of his throat, your hands moving to unbutton the dress shirt he’s wearing underneath. He tries his best to keep up with you, but he gets slow when he’s high. So he settles for you being in charge, but does let his hands roam over your body.

A lot has changed since he last felt you like this. The strict gym regimen you employ to compliment choreography for songs has given you an amazing ass that he thought could only gaze at in pictures. And he had done quite a lot of that. Though he’s not sure how you would feel if he confessed to jerking off to some of your sexier music videos. He marvels at the feel of you and you’re pleasantly surprised when his hands come down heavy on your hips to grind you down onto his lap. A pleased hum leaves you and you reward him with kisses migrating lower, across the path of his now exposed torso. You leave the couch to sit between his spread knees on the floor. The button of his jeans is your last major obstacle and you still your hands over the waistband patiently.

“You get where I’m going with this, right?”

He nods his head, tongue coming out unconsciously to wet his lips at he takes in the sight of you on your knees in front of him.

“Do want you want me to...” you trail off, suddenly feeling a bit embarrassed at asking your ex if you could blow him.

“Do you? Want to?” His hand reaches out to cup your cheek, thumb brushing over you cheekbone.

“Yeah?”

“Then, yeah.”

You move quickly to unbutton his pants and slide them down his thighs once he lifts his butt to assist you. He’s wearing boxers, which is a relief because you don’t want his bare ass on your very expensive couch, and the crotch opening provides easy access. With one hand, you smooth the wrinkles in his boxers over, noting the tent in the fabric and the dark stain where his head must be dribbling pre-cum. Your mouth is watering as you pull him out and test his girth and weight in your hand. Just the sight of his dick in your hand makes you want to swallow him down.

Before he can say anything else, you’re wetting his shaft with broad licks from root to tip. He grits his teeth and lets out a satisfied grunt at the way it feels when you tongue at his slit. You take him in until you just barely wrap your lips around the head, and he lets out a low moan at finally being enveloped in the wet, silken heat of your mouth.

“Can you do me a favor,” he manages to ask you despite the fact that stars are forming in the corner of his vision when you take him against the inside of your cheek.

“Hmm,” you hum around him, causing his hips to jolt up the tiniest amount.

“Can you spit on it?”

You smile in a way that can only be described as predatory and pull him out of your mouth. You spit like he asks, letting some drool pool on him as well, while he moans again and his hand comes out to smooth over your hairline. He’s more vocal than you remember and it gets you wet quickly. Before you stain anything, you kick off your stupid bedazzled leggings so you can return them to Bee in the morning.

“Shit,” he hisses when you start bobbing your head to a fast and unforgiving rhythm. You’re playing with him, you want to wring an orgasm out of him, and he can sense this. “Why don’t we take this s-slow?”

You pull off briefly. “Tae, I want you to fuck my face. That’s not well-suited to slow.”

“Isn’t that bad for your voice,” he mimics your tone from earlier.

You give him a pinch on his thigh before taking him into your mouth again and resuming your ministrations. Since you’re so focused on getting what you want, he decides to try and level the playing field and keeps his hip movements to a minimum and opts to talk through the head instead. He’s determined to get some clarity with you

“I’ve missed you,” he breathes deeply through the feeling of your saliva starting to trickle over him. The slide is getting slicker as you continue, making him lose his train of thought briefly. “So much.”

Instead of replying back with words, you just give a little acknowledging noise that’s too neutral to be a dissenting or affirming noise. He takes it in stride and continues.

“I still think about you all the time. And I—fuck—I’ve tried to date other people, but it’s just never felt quite the same way. You were the only one who understood me so well and who didn’t try to change me.”

His words wash over you and a wave of fondness hits you in a way that has you almost shy. You haven’t been shy in a long while because you couldn’t afford to be in your line of work. People were always trying to capture parts of you, and a great deal of them were trying to capture the uglier sides. There was no room to actually fear that for the last five years of your life because it was inevitable to a certain degree. But as you work over Taehyung, his words make you feel stripped down. You feel bare and small despite the fact that his words have nothing but good in them really.

“If I’m being honest,” he says and you slow your rhythm to stare at him, wondering what he could have to confess. “You might be even further out of my league than when we first met.” You sigh and pull off of him.

“Tae, come on. Give yourself some slack.”

“No, I mean it,” he sits up slowly, tongue heavy with earnestness as he tries to talk through the high. “It seems like you’ve only become more comfortable with yourself since you started singing and the way you move—it’s like you’re from another planet.”

“Oh my god,” your cheeks heat up when he looks at you like you have a halo and wings. “Stop, you’re being so unnecessary right now.”

“I still love you,” he says. The words fall from his mouth like he’s been dying to say them. “And I know you didn’t cheat on me when we were younger.”

Your mouth drops open in shock. To this day you still regretted lying to him like that. But deep down you knew that there was something off about his reaction. He didn’t seem shocked or nearly disappointed as you thought someone might be when they hear they’re being left for another person. Instead, he had just nodded and insisted on driving you home until Bee had to come out and promise him that she’d do it herself. The fact that he didn’t block you on social media or try to drag your name through the mud immediately after your debut made you wonder if he saw through your lie.

“How did you know?”

“I came early to pick you up that day. And I heard Bee tell you what to say to me. How to break up with me.”

“Tae, I’m so—”

He shushes you with a tender kiss to the cheek that’s so soft you’re rendered momentarily speechless.

“I know. It’s not your fault, they didn’t give you a choice.”

“I would have picked you if I could,” you mumble into the space between you. His hands feel like anchors on either side of your face and you cling to them in the hopes that you won’t cry. “I really would have. You don’t know how much I missed you.”

“I feel the same way. It killed me to see you with that Nick asshole.”

You smirk a little at the mention of Nick. “Aw. Were you jealous, Tae?”

He looks down at you for a second, reading your face carefully, before dropping one hand down from your cheeks to the nape of your neck. The weight of it reads as possessive on your skin and you lean forward unconsciously until you’re able to smell the faintly sweet smell of smoke on his clothes.

“You’d like it if I was, right?” His gaze hardens, setting your heartbeat into a rabbit-quick pace. “Hmm? You like me being jealous of him?”

“I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do. Answer me.”

“Okay, fine. Maybe I do,” you nuzzle into his neck to hide the excited smile splitting your lips.

“I knew it. It’s pretty on-brand for you.”

He nudges your bare thigh to signal you need to get up and so you do. You’re about to ask him what the hell ‘on brand’ means for you when he bends down to throw you over his shoulder with a low grunt.

“Tae, what the hell!”

Your raised voice gets you a harsh tweak to the perky globe of your ass and immediately quiets you down. He walks with you to the bed before throwing you down. Not rough enough to hurt but just rough enough to surprise you and give a doe-eyed look to your face. When you look up at him, his charade has fallen a bit, eyes returning to their original sleepy softness.

“Is this how you want it,” he asks you.

His voice is deep and gentle, and it evokes a different but equally visceral reaction. You nod and then shuffle over to the edge of the bed and sit at the edge of the mattress, waiting to see where he’ll take the situation. He smiles darkly at you once more before placing a hand on the back of your head to lead to his crotch.

His erection stands taller than it did before on the couch and he digs his fingers into your hair when you plant sweet kisses on the juncture where his thigh meets groin. You look sweet like this—playful, even—as you mouth along his length with kitten licks interspersed. When you’re about to take him into your mouth once more, he fists your hair and pulls you off him. With your head angled up to look into his eyes, you see a new emotion in them.

“Look,” he sighs. “If we’re going to do this, we’re going to do the whole thing.”

“What, like sex?”

“No, I mean you and me. I want to be with you. I’ve made my peace with what happened between us, but I know I still love you. So, I’m asking you to decide if you’re willing to do that, to be with me. Because I can’t—”

“Yes.”

“What?” His eyes grow wider and take on an awestruck quality. Like he’s not sure he wants to believe what he heard from you. “Really?”

“I want to try again,” you curl your hands around his hips. Bringing him forward into a hug around his pelvis, you lean your chin on his lower abdomen and try to infuse as much reassurance as you can into your smile.

“You won’t get in trouble with your agency?”

You shake your head and curl your arms around his hips, bringing him into an awkward hug as you lean your chin on his lower abdomen and look up at him. “Nick was an exception because he and I were arranged by our respective agencies, but my dating clause expired last year. I can date who I want. Within reason.”

He throws his head back with the realization that he’ll get a second chance with you. The hand he has on the back of your head softly caresses the skin of your neck.

“God, I love you,” he breathes with eyes drifting closed in contentedness.

“Good. Now can we get back to this? You were being fun earlier.”

“Yeah?” His tone turns gravelly and coy as he coaxes you back towards his dick. “Are you ready to choke?”

You can only nod as you take him in gradually, only for him to wait until you get halfway and push your head further down. You gag around him at the sudden pressure at the back of your throat, but shift your breathing through your nose to get a better handle on it. He pulls you by the hair until you’re at the tip again before slamming you back down, your nose nearly brushing the skin of his abdomen. You gag and the sound causes him to thicken in your mouth and a rush of arousal to trickle down into your panties.

“You feel so good around my cock,” he moans as he begins thrusting shallowly into your mouth. You can tell he��s close from how irregular the rhythm is. “Can you try to deep throat me?”

After you give an affirmative hum and relax your throat as best you can, he takes your face in both hands and starts to pull you up and down his length, going further each time until he knows he’s in your throat from the sudden tightness of you swallowing and the increase in gagging. Saliva is now dripping from your mouth, coating him and your chin, but you don’t care. Your eyes tear up at the burning sensation, but you can also feel your arousal trickle down your leg as he fucks your mouth more intensely. Right as you press two fingers to your clothed center for some relief, he gives you a tapped warning on your neck and his orgasm spills into your mouth.

He quickly pulls off his jacket and shirt, handing the latter to you to wipe your eyes and mouth with. Once your face is dry, he tucks himself back in and climbs around you into the bed. You turn to watch him fold back your blankets and throw the pillows you have all to the foot of the bed, leaving the space by the headboard. Taehyung then lies down, head where your pillows once were.

“Going to sleep already?” Your voice comes out in a sultry croak that has him laughing a little.

“No, I’m getting ready for you to sit on my face,” he says simply.

When you don’t budge, he sits up and pulls you by the arms toward him. You try to escape him, but his grip just tightens the more you protest.

“Tae, wait, I’m not—”

“You’re not what?”

“I’m not...presentable. Down there.” You avert your eyes as you explain to him that it's been a since you were last at a spa to get waxed. You figured since you weren’t seeing Nick anymore and you were mandated by your PR crew to wait at least 4 months after a breakup, there was no need to keep up with such a strict...landscaping routine. He rolls his eyes and moves to pull on the waistband of your panties to peek in and see what you mean, but you shove him away.

“Do you think I actually care?”

“Do you really not?”

“No? Unless you have some disease or infection, what’s the issue?”

“I’m clean,” you pout.

“Good,” he says before placing a kiss on your lips.

While you’re distracted by the kissing, he maneuvers you into straddling his waist before pulling back. Reluctantly, you shuffle up to hover over his ribcage and shyly grab the headboard. He huffs.

“You know I can’t reach you from there. It’s called sitting on someone’s face for a reason.”

He nudges your butt until the seat of your panties lines up with his jaw. He sees a few errant curls peeking out from the leg holes of your panties, so he uses a finger to push your underwear to the side to get a better look. What’s unsurprising is that it still looks like a vagina, though it had been a while since his last non-bald encounter. He doesn’t care, though, and cups your butt in his hands to move you the rest of the way.

The broad strip he licks up from your entrance to your clit takes you by surprise and because you were wound up so tight from a combination of nerves and horniness from blowing him, you let out a high keening sound. Taehyung chuckles beneath you before using his full lips to kiss at the apex of your thighs, sucking your clit into his mouth. The tip of his tongue scrubs figure eights against the bundle of nerve endings and has you squirming over him. More arousal leaks from you and he shifts to drink from you, humming and slurping obscenely. He then starts to lick at you in earnest, tracing strategic shapes across your lips and sucking with varying pressures and paces until you start rocking over him on your own accord.

“That’s my girl,” he praises you from below. “Now, ride my face,” he says before flattening his tongue and pressing up to meet your tentative grinding thrusts.

The combination of saliva and your arousal makes the glide smoother than you expected and it feels so good that one of your hands leaves the headboard to fist in his thick hair. He moans a little at the faint sting and wraps his hands around the backs of your thighs to press you against him harder. His tongue dips into your entrance occasionally, chasing the flavor of your arousal, trying not to let any of your juices go to waste. You bite your lip to trap the wanton moans trying to escape you, but Taehyung realizes what you’re doing and gives you another sharp swat to the bottom to coax them out, mumbling against the inside of your thigh not to hide from him anymore.

As you start to move more desperately above him, he attempts to fuck you more purposefully with his tongue. It’s just enough that in a dozen more swivels of your hips, you’re cumming all over his face, soaking his cheeks with a glistening varnish. You try to move as quickly as possible, but he stops you with a tight hold on your hips and licks you clean. You squirm away, partly because you’re sensitive and partly because he’s so enthusiastic about it that you’re a little bashful.

Finally he lets you get off him, but he doesn’t let you get too far. He follows you and almost makes it into the en suite with you, but you close the door at the last moment. You pee and clean up and when you come out, you feel like a weight has been lifted. Taehyung looks infinitely more sober lying in the middle of your bed in just his boxers, eyes bright and hair messy as he tries to figure out which remote will turn on your speakers.

You stand by the bed and watch him for a while. He turns to you innocently and holds the remotes in his two hands with confusion.

“What?”

“Nothing,” you approach your closet and take off your borrowed sweatshirt before looking for your favorite well-worn sweatsuit. “You’re just so pretty.”

“You’re prettier,” he shouts over to you. He can’t see you inside your closet, but you’re smiling like an idiot.

When you’re fully changed, you go to the bed and lean over him to kiss him. He still smells like you and you tell him so, to which he responds with a grin and subtly licking his lips.

“So when do you want me to tell the public about you?”

“Whenever you want,” he shrugs.

“Really? Because there’s a good chance you won’t be able to live your life the same way you have been once I do that.”

“Then it’ll just change. I would expect it to if you’re coming back into my life again.”

“Oh my god, you’re so—”, you’re at a loss for words.

You decide to crawl into his space and pepper kisses into his skin. He smells like a strange blend of you and him, but the smell is reassuring in some way unknown to you. You sit there for the rest of the night, breathing him in like smoke

#bscproject #bangtan bookclub #bttnetwork #95line.net #kimtaehyung.net #bts scenarios #bts imagines #bts smut #bts fanfic #taehyung scenarios #taehyung imagine #taehyung fanfic

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leejihoonownsmyheart · 5 years

Text

One Letter at a Time

Word Count: 3k+ Words

University AU

Jihoon x Reader

Idol!Jihoon Carat!Reader

You sat at your desk mind lost as you tried to figure out how exactly to approach this particular situation.

You didn’t generally like to let yourself fantasize over things that you knew had no realm of possibility in your life. But you still couldn’t help but wonder why Woozi chose to use those specific words. You found yourself nibbling on your bottom lip as you considered them quietly.

They probably weren’t even the exact words you used... You didn’t keep a log of every letter you wrote Woozi, it was entirely possible that you had muddled the words in your head.

Entirely possible if it weren’t for the fact that you had written that sentence down on a sticky note and placed it on your bedpost because you had liked it so much, thought that it was so poetic that you wanted to remember that you had written it.

Your eyes nervously rose to the line of post-it’s until they found the one that you wanted. Pink, worn and wrinkled. You cursed just slightly under your breath.

It was the same. Word for word, it was exactly the same as the sentence in the song.

“What a coincidence,” you murmured, but you couldn’t stop staring at the lyrics in front of you. Even though you weren’t sure what they all meant, you felt like the words were important somehow.

You knew it was a love song, not only from the one English sentence but because you recognized the use of a handful of words that were only used in a love song context. And of course, it would be hard to ignore the use of the word “saranghaeyo”.

You wrinkled your nose and closed the small lyric book in your hands whilst taking a deep breath.

The song isn’t for me, you remind yourself, trying to stay rational. The idea that Woozi would fall in love with you was ridiculous in itself, but it was even more ridiculous to entertain the idea that he wrote a song for you.

You turned your phone off, coming to terms with the fact that you wouldn’t be able to get this stupid song or boy out of your head unless you did so.

You tried to distract yourself with meaningless tasks as the days wear on, and you decided ultimately that maybe it was best if you took a small break from Kpop. Your dance group wasn’t up to anything recently, or anything in general in the relative future so you just stopped attending the random hangouts they put on, and instead stayed home to study. You stopped frequenting the group chat and you went back to listening to your writing playlist that had no kpop on it whatsoever.

You knew that something was going on in the community because your notifications kept going off incessantly, but you stubbornly refused to read the headlines or anything to avoid feeling the empty excited feeling that had recently consumed you when you thought too much about kpop... About him. You tried to convince yourself that the break from all of Kpop was warranted but you knew reasonably it wasn’t. If anything, you should only be taking a break from one group. One boy, really.

You didn’t think about it too much.

You were minding your own business, fiddling with your phone because if you had to avoid one more stupid r/kpop notification on your phone, you were actually gonna lose it. You boarded the bus as usual, happy to see that it was a long bus and despite the large crowd you were able to find a seat. You pulled your bag into your lap and stared wordlessly at the small charm on your bag that was the only real clue to anyone that you were a kpop fan. And even Kpop fans didn’t seem to recognize the small stuffed figurine that hung from your backpack. You didn’t pay it too much mind in general for the most part but the charm was making you wonder if you could get a charm like that for this particular person, then maybe you could get one for a whole other bias and…

You sighed and shut your eyes tightly, scrunching your face up as you did.

“What a fucking kboo,” you couldn’t help but mumble to yourself. You opened your eyes when someone took a seat next to you, but it wasn’t them who really grabbed your attention. Your confidence faltered as you realized that a boy across the small bus aisle was… staring at you.

That in itself would be nerve-wracking enough but it was who he looked like that really cemented the worry.

He looked like a copy of Lee Jihoon.

Your immediate reaction was to look absolutely mortified. You knew that your whole body flinched back, and you knew that your eyes grew wide in terror, and you knew that this boy didn’t miss those motions. That reaction.

His eyes didn’t leave your body, and you really wished they would. Or at least that they would grow more resentful or something and not look so… So… thoughtful?

You risked a glance back up at the boy, hoping that maybe eye contact would make him look away. It didn’t do anything to deter him. He maintained the eye contact without any issue and quirked an eyebrow towards you. The silent question was easy to receive for some reason, and it freaked you out even more. He knew something. Did he know who he looked like? And more importantly, did he know how much you liked who he looked like?

You tried not to think about it. Even you didn’t know how much you liked who he looked like.

The bus lurched to a stop and you looked up. You were still pretty far from your destination, but you weren’t in any rush. You could definitely find ways to get to your destination on time without staying on that bus.

The boys’ eyes still hadn’t left you, and now your body was reacting even more outwardly to it. You tried to lift your hand and subtly check how hard you were shaking. The boy noticed immediately. You scrunched your face slightly and shoved your hand under your leg, but it was no use. When you raised your eyes back to the boy, he looked a little softer. Less teasing, more concerned.

The bus stopped. He got off with it.

You tried to shake thoughts of him out of your head, but it was hard to when he looked so much like Woozi. Was the stupid Seventeen member just stuck in your head or had that guy really looked that much like Woozi?

You don’t think about it for long.

“What are you doing?!” You got startled off of your phone by the very loud and sudden appearance of another human being conversing with you. Outside of your dance group you didn’t tend to converse with many people, so it was odd to be on the receiving end of a comment. Still, extremely relieving as you had honestly missed talking to the person before you. You smiled at Ashley, despite her sudden appearance.

“What are you doing?” You countered back softly. Even as you did you stood up to hug your friend. You had forgotten how nice it was to talk to someone, even more so to hug someone.

“You haven’t been on the group chat or coming to meetings-” Ashley’s lips dropped into a mild pout. “I missed you.”

You laughed softly and mimicked her look playfully.

“I missed you too. I’ve just been…” You couldn’t tell her the truth without sounding like an incapable freak so instead you opted for a believable lie. “Busy catching up with homework and sleep.”

You could tell that Ashely didn’t quite take the lie, but she seemed to accept it for the time being.

“I was literally about to go to your dorm and find you. You do know right?” She asked excitedly. Your happiness to see her morphed into confusion.

“Know?” You questioned. Her eyes bulged almost comically.

“Oh my god, you don’t.”

She grabbed your wrist and began to drag you; you yelped a protest, but she wouldn’t have it.

“You’re putting on your carat shirt and we are going to Bubble to meet the others. He’s here y/n.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

“What?”

“Woozi is here,” she repeated to you, but you only frowned.

“Here as in the US? You know I can’t afford a tour ticket.”

“Here as in this city. Here as in our University.”

Your heart stopped. It stopped for so long that for a moment you were sure that on that day, that moment, that exact time you were going to die. Your mind immediately returned to the boy on the bus as Ashely explained to you the situation, but your brain couldn’t seem to get past it all.

There was no way that Woozi was on the bus. No way that he saw you and had recognized you. No way that Lee Jihoon had come all the way to your hometown just to see you, no way.

Your feet became bricks and you pulled both you and Ashely to a stop. She looked back at you bewildered, excited, and utterly genuine.

“What are you doing?” She exclaimed. “Come on!”

“Stop,” is all you could manage to say. “Don’t do this to me Ash. This has to be a joke.”

The look you received in return was borderline scary.

“I would never lie to you about Lee Jihoon.”

Before you could protest further you were dragged forward by Ashley.

You’ve done the math in your head a million times since that day and despite how bad you truly are at it you know that the amount of time in which it took for you to arrive at Bubble was impossibly fast but it was all such a blur that you couldn’t really remember everything right other than what was most important.

You burst into the room full of people and it took you only moments to locate Jihoon. He was sitting on the counter of the small bubble tea place, nursing a drink in his hands. He was halfway through it and surrounded by a number of girls who he was politely speaking to.

It all stopped however when his eyes fell on you. His already soft smile became more relaxed and natural, and even though you looked away from him almost immediately you could still feel his eyes on you.

Your heart thumped in your chest, and you felt a slight tremble taking over your body. You swallowed thickly.

“I-I should go. What are we even doing here, he has so many fans-”

Ashley didn’t even let you finish she just rolled her eyes and grabbed your wrist.

“Stop being so nervous. He’s your últ! This is a once in a lifetime opportunity! I won’t let you waste it!”

She began to pull you forward and for a scary moment you thought she was taking you towards him. Luckily, she was just pulling you over to the counter of the shop.

“Medium strawberry milk tea for the nervous lady,” she ordered for you. She gave you a toothy smile which you returned weakly. It was hard to relax when you knew how close he was, when you knew that he was thoughtfully watching you.

You were still shaking when your very pink drink was set on the counter. You noted that the drink in Jihoon’s hands were the same shade, which made you stop for a moment in wonder.

You remembered mentioning this place in your letters to him before. You told him your favorite drink to get, and you told him what drink you thought he might like based on your limited knowledge. If he had indeed read those, and your knowledge of the menu was accurate, the drink you had suggested was blue. Your favorite drink was the only pink one on the menu, which of course meant…

You risked another glance in his direction and noticed that he was still watching you. You smiled at him nervously and focused in on the drink in his hands. It wasn’t the drink you had suggested, it was the one that was your favorite.

“Oh god,” you breathed giving Ashley a strained look. She looked back at you, a little confused, a little concerned. “I’m not strong enough for this.”

She looked like she was about to respond when suddenly her eyes widened.

“He’s coming over here!”

Your heart dropped.

“What?!” You blurted. “Who’s he? You mean Tony or something right?”

“Don’t be stupid,” Ashely chided. “It’s Jihoon!”

To be honest, you considered running.

Like very seriously considered running.

It seemed like both Ashley and Jihoon could sense that you had that urge however because there was only a moment before Ashley had her arms out preventing you to move, and when you turned around to entertain running out that way Jihoon was utilizing his small stature in the perfect way to prevent you from running past. Your expression turned weak.

“Jihoon!” You cheered miserably. Jihoon laughed.

“That is the least excited a fan has ever been to see me,” he responded. You were a little stunned, partly by his English, partly by his presence at all. Oddly enough the silence seemed to make him a little nervous as he wrinkled his eyebrows together and coughed into his fist.

“Sorry, sorry, it’s just I never really thought I’d meet you,” you said, stumbling over your words just to get that meaningless sentence out.

You considered momentarily mentioning the letters, and after a short while you decided to do just that. You pulled your arms close into your body, tightly clutching your tea to your chest.

“I think I’ve mentioned it before in a letter,” you added unsurely. “But you probably don’t read those, you must get a lot.”

“So, you think this is a coincidence?” Jihoon responded immediately.

“Wh-what?”

“You think I came all the way from Korea to coincidentally see you on the bus that you ride at the same time every day and then to once again coincidentally hold a fan meet at one of your favorite hangout spots, drinking your favorite beverage, and just happen to come over and say hi,” he stated. Your jaw dropped.

“You came here for me,” you murmured in Korean. Jihoon’s cheeks flushed pink.

“I came here for you,” he repeated in English.

You just stared at him blankly, unsure of how to react to what he had said. To be entirely honest he seemed to become nervous by that again.

“You know when I read those letters, I couldn’t help but constantly wonder what it would be like to finally meet you,” he admitted. “You talked about my smile a lot, and I’ve always really wanted to see yours.”

His eyes kept flinting away from you every once in a while, like he was worried with how you would perceive him. It only ever lasted briefly however, because after moments he would look back at you, his eyes shining at the opportunity to look at you.

You had always figured that you would know that someone loved you, simply by the way that they looked at you, and this in itself proved that you had been right. The smile on Jihoon’s lips, the way he couldn’t take his eyes off of you, the pure warm look he was radiating.

That alone made a small smile riddle across your face.

“Shut up, I thought you didn’t like being cheesy,” you mumbled. He took a step closer to you, and it made your breath hitch.

“I’ll make an exception for you,” he replied. “I know you love it when I get a little... sappy.”

Your cheeks reddened, which he took as an invitation to get even closer to you. He cleared his throat after a moment.

“Was everything that you wrote true?” He asked you, his voice so quiet that you could barely hear it, and to be entirely honest, if hearing hadn’t already been an issue, understanding what he said was another one. He switched back to Korean to ask you the question and if you hadn’t taken minimal Korean, you never would have figured out how to respond to him.

“Of course it was,” you replied as soon as you could remember that right words to say to him. He looked up at you, forcing you to meet his firm gaze.

“Was it though? Every thought you described, ever word you chose, every scenario that you made me picture,” he stated. “You were so deliberate in the way you wrote. Whether you were writing in English or Korean it was clear that you chose what you said carefully. How do I know you weren’t baiting me?”

“Baiting you?” You asked.

He shuffled his feet.

“It was weird... Like every thought and concern that you shared about your feelings for me. They matched what I had always thought I would feel for someone when I fell in love. You illustrated yourself loving me for all of the reasons that I wanted someone to love me for. It was surreal.”

“So surreal that you came,” you mumbled. Jihoon rolled his eyes.

“It was Seungkwan and Seokmin at first. They were always looking over my shoulder or reading your letters to me before I got the chance to myself,” he admitted softly. “They told me that I had to go meet you. Eventually, they had everyone in our group excited to hear what you had to say next. Minghao looked you up and started showing me pictures of you. It only ballooned from there.”

You giggled softly into your hand, unable to do anything but relax when he was being so vulnerable with you. You knew that it had to be hard for him to be so honest with someone he had never met. You knew it was hard for you to be honest with him the way you were, and you hadn’t ever had to do it face to face to him.

“Funny,” you mumbled. “That’s a lot like the way that I first started to like you.”

He smiled, his lips quirking upwards slightly.

“After all the times I’ve read those words in your handwriting, and imagined you saying it to me,” he mumbled. “I never imagined actually hearing it would feel so good.”

Your cheeks reddened slightly.

“Did you really write that song for me?” You mumbled. “The one on the new album. The only words in English, they’re mine, aren’t they?”

He nodded slowly.

“I... I couldn’t get that phrase out of my head,” he mumbled. “It’s probably one of the most beautiful things anyone has ever said to me.”

Now it was your turn to roll your eyes.

“It wasn’t that good,” you replied.

“It really was,” he said back. “I wanted to write you something half as beautiful as the words you always give me, so I wrote that song for you.”

You were taken aback by his words. Your letters had been thoughtful sure, but they were nowhere near as beautiful and poetic as his songs always were. His music alone had brought you to tears before, which was likely more then anyone could say for your silly little letters.

“I…” You trailed off uncertainly, not sure what you could possibly say to him after hearing that. You weren’t shaking anymore. Being around him was actually quite comforting after you got past the whole it’s Lee Jihoon thing. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Well, why don’t you do instead,” he mumbled shyly. He scratched the back of his neck. “You told me once after all, about your dream date here.”

Your lips began to form a teasing smile, your eyes actually shining when you thought about the fact that he was being shy because of the way that he liked you.

Your heart skipped a beat at that thought.

Was it really possible that he liked you?

“Thought that stuff would be a bit too cheesy for you,” you admitted softly. “I mean I painted the most cliché date that I could possibly-”

You stopped yourself when you realized what you had said. That specific word choice, making Jihoon look up at you suddenly, his eyes wide and attentive.

“You-”

“I didn’t-”

He interrupted you with a small laugh.

“It sounds cliché, I know it does, but when I look at you, I swear I don’t care. I love you in a way that I have never loved before, and the me of yesterday, today, and tomorrow are all better people on that principle alone,” he mumbled softly. You groaned and buried your face into your hands.

“It’s really not that good,” you muttered. Jihoon’s laughter grew quieter, and when you peeked at him from between your fingers you found him looking at you warmly.

“It was enough to make me fly all the way to Korea, just to see you,” he stated. “That alone makes it something incredible.”

You laughed, because despite it all. You knew that you couldn’t argue with that logic.

“So, uhm, about when do you think this fan meet is going to be over?” You asked. “I think we can manage that date before it gets too late… If you want that is.”

Jihoon’s cheeks pinkened brightly.

“Consider the fan meet over.”

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angrylizardjacket · 5 years

Text

people change {Vince Neil}

@champagneandspice asked: hey! I adore your writing!!! could u please do a one shot but in the form of an article ? you’d be writing it as if you worked for people magazine or something like that. could u pls write ab the “speculated rumors” ab vince and I dating are true?? u could insert pictures or whatever u like. thank u <3

A/N: 2065 words. I love!! This style!! Of Writing!! also probably not what you were asking for, but i had fun and i hope you do too. i really sort of like this world/reader persona i’ve built?? i even added a few pictures for effect lmao. hope it’s enjoyable. i don’t usually do tags for one-shots but @cosmicsskies and @crazylittlethingcalledobsession asked and im too giddy to refuse.

WHAT THE F*** DO YOU THINK? - Mötley Crüe singer Vince Neil and Joan Jett & The Blackhearts newest guitarist Y/N Y/L/N spotted getting cosy after Crüe’s Atlanta show last Saturday? Does this hint at a collaboration between two bands, or is this more personal than professional? [Read more on Page 10...]

“What the f*** do you think?”

If you’re a woman working in or around the rock and roll music scene in the past half a decade, you’ve probably heard these words, or some variation of them, if you’ve come within a ten foot radius of the glam metal juggernauts Mötley Crüe; Nikki Sixx, Tommy Lee, Mick Mars, and their blonde, boyish singer Vince Neil. They’re crass by reputation, however this is unsurprisingly true to life, though if you were interested in reading an expose regarding the number of gigs they’ve done while high, or how many hotel rooms they’ve set fire to, there’s innumerable gossip rags and magazines covering those particular scandals, including at least two Rolling Stone articles in the past two years, and we’re not here to retell old stories.

When attending their concert in Atlanta last week, which I highly recommend; if given the opportunity, and you enjoy their music, see Mötley Crüe live, they give an almost unparalleled live performance, in my humble opinion as a music journalist of almost a decade, I was fortunately privy to the moment that sparked debate and controversy within the rock music gossip sphere. After the show, while I was made to wait at the stage door, their manager Doc Mcghee was kind enough to invite me to the afterparty. There, at the stage door, restless fans were held at bay, young men in black leather pants, emulating their idols, young women in barely anything at all, there to catch attention and garner the same invitation that I had received, and when the band themselves appear, it’s as if the gates of Hell had opened; the screaming I heard, ladies and gentleman.

First through the doors is Mars, already looking like he needs a shot or a nap, and he dodges more than one bra thrown his way, giving me a longsuffering look as he passes. To be that exhausted by fame is on a level I can’t even begin to comprehend. He’s on the tour bus which will take us to the hotel bar for drinks almost before anyone else is even out of the building.

Next comes what the fans have affectionately dubbed ‘The Terror Twins’, Sixx and Lee, both carrying a beer each, followed by several very pretty women who head to the bus whilst the musicians take the time to say high to their fans, signing various body parts and generally taking the time to interact with the more hardcore of their following who were waiting in the cold night air. They’re enough of a distraction that one might have missed the final band member, Vince Neil, laying uncharacteristically low, and who had actually been preceded by a surprising figure; Y/N Y/L/N, the most recent addition to Joan Jett & The Blackhearts as their rhythm guitarist.

And this, dear readers, is the moment I decide to write the first gossip piece of my life.

As someone who regularly set fire to the copies of Hollywood Star my then-housemate had been getting delivered to our apartment back when I first began my journalistic career, the idea of writing an article based on speculation about the sexual conduct of celebrities was an idea I rejected out of hand. I’d told myself I had integrity.

But then my proto-punk loving heart betrayed me, as I recalled Y/L/N’s lyrics from my favourite song of her’s, Sucker Punch, ‘speculate / scream my name / my heart, my love, baby it’s a game / they call me heartless, fancy-free / as if anyone’s meant something to a girl like me’. Y/L/N has been credited as the sole writer for the single, under her band at the time, Nuclear Patricide, who had garnered a cult following that has been credited as an idol for Joan Jett herself. After the Nuclear Patricide’s split in early ‘83, it’s been relative radio silence from the writer and lead guitarist until Joan Jett & The Blackhearts announce her as their newest addition, and she’s been with them for almost two years since.

[ID: Stills from Nuclear Patricide’s music video for Sucker Punch, 1980, known for the appearance of then-break out star Jamie Lee-Curtis. Editor’s Note: Y/L/N did not appear in the music video herself.]

So, upon seeing Y/L/N trying to keep a low profile whilst exiting a gig she clearly was not playing at, without any of her own bandmates to keep her company, I must confess I began to wonder, to speculate about the nature of her relationship with Mötley Crüe. She’s adamantly and publicly denounced romantic relationships in her work and in her public appearances up until her split from her original band, so has anything changed in the past few years?

Back at the hotel, I find myself weaving in amongst groupies and fanboys. My dark jeans and leather jacket act as a camouflage in this den of debauchery; I’ve worn professional clothing to this kind of thing before, and it usually doesn’t go over well; if the band sees a reporter there’s a sense of immediate hostility in what’s meant to be a safe space, relatively speaking, however, I’ve found that blending in, and making it clear I’m not on the offensive makes them drop their guard enough that they’ll give an honest interview.

At least until a pretty girl walks past.

Neil and Y/L/N are nowhere to be spotted as I finally take a seat with a table that has neither cocaine nor a woman on it, and once I’ve ordered a drink and looked over my notes, someone actually joins me of their own accord. It’s Tommy Lee, who, to my surprise, recognises me from the last time Crüe had played in town.

He talks about the tour, about how exciting it’s been and how he loves Atlanta, but he’s losing focus very quickly, not surprisingly since his name is being called by other tables every few moments, and there’s a faint dusting of telltale white powder around his nose. He promises ‘see you ‘round’ [sic] and then he’s off again. However, it’s as he leaves that I spot Y/N coming from a room by the back of the bar, and I make my move.

Mars has, as I’ve been told, already retired for the night, Lee is up to his eyes in cocaine, Sixx already has his dick out under his table judging by the look of him, and Neil is surprisingly MIA, so Y/L/N is easy to spot as the odd one out.

Not nearly as f***ed up or strung out as the rest of them, I watch her order a jack and coke, and down the drink mere moments after receiving it, before she turns to me. It takes her barely a second before she correctly identifies me as a reporter. I ask if she remembers meeting me, back in ‘82, she says no, but that she can pick a reporter from a mile away.

People still fawn over her, pretty girls and pretty boys alike, her aloofness drawing them in, and I’d forgotten how overwhelming it was to be this close to her. She kicks a fanboy and a groupie who are messily groping each other out of a booth and we take their seats.

This is meant to be about Mötley Crüe, and I try to tell her as such, but she just gives me a thin smile.

“Then why did you come find me?”

And she gives me that stare, you know, the one from the cover of Nuclear Patricide’s final album, Treason Is A Girl’s Best Friend. It’s that piercing stare of hers that makes you feel like she knows everything you’ve ever done wrong in your life.

I ask about her relationship with Mötley Crüe, and to my relief she looks away.

She’s candid about admitting she’s travelling with them, but not touring, right up until I ask her about her relationship with each member of the band specifically.

“Mick’s fun; he’s very talented and easily riled up. They’re all very talented of course, but Mick’s dynamic, [because] of his age and everything, is interesting within the group [sic] and I enjoy watching it all play out. He’s smacked Tommy a few times.” I’m assured that nine times out of ten he deserved it.

She’s filled with glowing praise for both Sixx and Lee in turn, and even Doc Mcghee, but Neil she is oddly silent about. He’s the first of the band she’d met; he’d seen her play a few times with The Blackhearts and has admitted to enjoying her work in previous interviews when she’s been brought up, as the pair have been spotted together before. Well, she’s been spotted with the band before. Here is where she starts, to my surprise, to get antsy. So the rumours, which I had thought to be incredibly false given her history and general attitude, have more basis than she likes to let on.

And then she gets defensive.

He’s like cocaine; everyone’s doing him, it’s just the industry; no-one’s going to judge her for a fling. She does not appear to take comfort in the sentiment.

“People change.”

I ask her what she means. She refuses to clarify and leaves. Perhaps I pushed too far, but now I feel like a detective, and like I only have one more person I need to talk to. But perhaps I should have eased myself into talking about Y/L/N to Vince himself, but I’ll have to admit, between Y/L/N leaving and finding Neil, I may have done a bit of socialising with Sixx, which I recommend recreationally, and also if you have a high tolerance for most things.

“I don’t think we’re any of your f***ing business.”

Neil does not mess around, and apparently she’d already spoken to him about our earlier meeting. I leave it be, spend the night enjoying the festivities with Sixx and Lee when I can, leaving just before the sun comes up.

Some of you may be thinking this is dissatisfying, that you came into this article wanting me to confirm or dismiss the speculated relationship between Vince Neil and Y/N Y/L/N, but I can’t. Neither of them would speak to me, and I can only leave you with a list of things I saw that night, and you can make up your own mind.

- The room Y/L/N had exited from when I first spotted her is the same room Neil left less than five minutes later as we were talking. I went to investigate later; it’s a supply closet.

- After my encounter with Neil, and I’d stayed clear of them, whenever I would spot either of them, the other was almost always within arm’s reach. Make of that what you will.

- He definitely did a line of coke off her thigh at about three in the morning.

- I asked both Sixx and Lee about it. Lee’s response was ‘loud’ with something akin to a knowing smirk, and Sixx’s was ‘he’s a lucky bastard’ and when I ask him to clarify he just says ‘flexible’ and climbs to the next booth over where they’ve been asking him to do a line; I’m not even sure what to make of it, but personally I think it’s pretty damning.

- Readers, they were all over each other, I apologise for throwing my professionalism out the window for a moment, but if I’m being honest I couldn’t look to a secluded corner of the room without there being a 40% chance of seeing Vince and Y/N. It got worse as the night went on. Believe me.

So, while I don’t believe there is set to be a collaboration between Joan Jett and Mötley Crüe, I do come baring good news for those fans who had been speculating regarding Y/L/N’s relationship with the hair metal band’s lead singer. So are they together? Are they dating? Though neither party will publicly state anything, I’ll leave you with my thoughts, my observations, and the oft spoke words of the man himself;

What the f*** do you think?

#vince neil #vince neil x reader #vince neil imagine #motley crue #the dirt #the dirt imagine #motley crue imagine #nikki sixx #tommy lee #mick mars #the angry lizard writes

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wordsturnintostories · 5 years

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show me your rosettes, baby (g)

summary: The world tour is over and the Bangtan Boys finally get their well-deserved break. When Namjoon suddenly can’t find Jimin anywhere, things take an unexpected and pretty unbelievable turn. word count: 2.8k note: part 1. finally. to be honest, I love this part so much. hope this will explain the title a little better... ✨ warnings: minor angst but fluuuff!

masterlist | moodboard masterlist

The World Tour is over. Bangtan has arrived home a couple of days ago. Namjoon still receives proud and cheerful “Well done”s whenever he checks in at the company. It’s obligatory for him and the members to come to the company every now and then even in their time off, a time that should be used for resting. It’s preventive, to avoid a crash-and-burn situation like other artists experience after a great tour. Bangtan’s health, which includes their mental health, is a priority and gives Namjoon once again reason to appreciate how the company takes care of him and the others.

So he comes in every day, spending a couple of hours in his studio, either mixing new songs or writing new lyrics or discussing concepts with the planners who already are on their marks for the next music videos and albums. Yoongi does the same. They go together, both having chosen this option that Bang Sihyuk gave them.

The other members are here and there. Seokjin, Hoseok, Taehyung, and Jungkook have chosen to travel home for a week, all equipped with a to-do checklist they have to complete and turn in diligently. Jimin is still at home, dancing on the grate that runs between being okay and being really sick. He had already been near the crash before he could fight it off.

So Namjoon returns home as soon as he can, to check up on Jimin again. Of course, Jimin is an adult, he could potentially take care of himself but Namjoon doesn’t want him to. As the leader and his hyung, he feels obligated to care for his sick dongsaeng. Also, Taehyung isn’t there, and Hoseok and Seokjin aren’t either, so Jimin will feel lonely, pathetic and pathetically lonely and he can’t have that. No member of Bangtan gets left behind, not under Namjoon’s watch.

Jimin had reported burning muscles, nausea and a feeling of a bursting skull last time he was asked, so Namjoon picks up specific painkillers and medication from the next pharmacy. The younger’s got it bad and he shouldn’t have to wait too long for relief.

Without another stop, Namjoon hurries home, hoping Jimin will feel better today without medication. It’s still relatively early, the sun’s rays just become warm on bare skin and Han River glitters under the beautiful light. If Jimin feels better, they could maybe take a walk together today. Jimin is a good companion for walks. Listening is one of his strengths, kindness is his heart’s language and he is impressionable by nature and beauty and Namjoon knows receiving gentle attention means everything to the younger. He’ll ask him later.

Namjoon’s mind is set on a lot of good and pleasant things when he enters the apartment. When he hears no sounds from anywhere, he assumes Jimin is still sleeping and decides to make some tea before waking the younger up.

However, when he enters Jimin’s bedroom, Jimin is not there. The room is all silent, just as expected, it’s even dark still with the lowered shades. The bed is empty, though, and that’s not expected. The mattress isn’t warm either, the blanket is thrown over the pillow messily and Jimin’s pajamas lie in a heap right where Jimin would have laid. As if he was in a rush.

Oh, Namjoon thinks and goes to check the bathrooms. Nothing. No Jimin. Namjoon frowns, thinking hard, calling out his name twice. Where could he be? Could he be out?

It’s unlikely. Jimin’s jackets and shoes are still in their respective spots, he hasn’t written a note (Jimin always writes notes), he’s still sick (and Jimin loves to be pampered when he is) and Namjoon knows for a fact that today, Jimin had wanted to get revenge for their last Mario Kart match even if Seokjin (their fiercest competitor) isn't home.

Namjoon walks back to Jimin’s room with attentive ears, hoping to find the missing boy or at least a clue. His eyes wander through the clean room where unpacked suitcases still sit on the floor and worn clothes are neatly stacked on Jimin’s chair. His fingers find the round container that holds the pills Jimin takes every day. It’s open and almost empty. Did he go to buy new ones?

He freezes when something begins to rumble, like a little motor that just turned on. It almost sounds like a small fan. The strange sound comes from… Jimin’s bed? Namjoon almost coos when he spots a little kitty that’s nestled between Jimin’s plushies (the two that Taehyung and Jungkook had won for Jimin in LA and New York). It’s sleeping. Namjoon had mistaken it as a plushie itself, with the way it looks so oddly still and soft. The fluffy fur looks golden with tons of dark spots on it and Namjoon can't help but notice how small the cub is in its entirety, dwarfed between the big plushies.

He smiles when he sees the animal but wonders how it got here. Jimin’s window is closed. The logical conclusion is that Jungkook must have left his window open again. So far, they’ve had two cats and one confused bird (plus a ton of big spiders) in their apartment and the common entry point had been Jungkook’s window. Sometimes the maknae is a little thoughtless when it comes to things like cleaning up behind himself.

Obviously, there’s no other option than to take a photo of the small animal. After all, Jimin loves cats and would want to see the little one as well. Namjoon sends the photo to the group chat. Found someone sleeping in your bed, Jiminie. Where are you now?

Namjoon hopes that the prospect of holding a kitty will make Jimin magically appear from wherever he’s off to (much like mentioning the Cypher will make Taehyung appear). A strange feeling spreads through his gut when a bright ding chimes right next to Namjoon. It’s Jimin’s phone. And that’s when he knows something is really wrong. Because off-stage, Jimin always has his phone on him.

The first thing he does is calling Yoongi. It's not a rare occurrence that Namjoon doesn’t know what to do but most of the time, he can resolve the problems on his own. Today, he can’t. So, since Hobi isn't present, Yoongi is his emergency contact.

It’s a possibility that Jimin had just taken off to go to the company while Namjoon was still on the way home and they had missed each other. And that he's forgotten his phone. It’s a very slim likelihood, but Namjoon has to try anyway.

“Joon-ah?” Yoongi answers with a mumble, which indicates that he is busy.

“Hyung, is Jiminie with you?”

“No. He’s at home. Where are you?”

“At home.”

A pause. Namjoon sweats. He locks eyes with the kitty. The kitty doesn’t know where Jimin is either. It looks mildly confused.

“Just call him?”

“Hyung. His phone is right here.”

“Um. Have you checked all the rooms? I mean, I can ask whether he went to the dance studios but I don’t think he checked in-“

“Please do me that favor, hyung. I really don’t know where he is. I’ll look here and you’ll check there, okay?”

“Yeah,” Yoongi says.

They both check, and they both come up with nothing at all. It’s disappointing, to say the least. Among the group and even the fans, it’s no secret that Taehyung and Jimin like to share beds with any of the members. They just need the affection, the feeling of another body close to theirs sometimes. In that sense, it would have made sense to find Jimin in someone else’s bed even if the others are out of town. When he doesn’t, Namjoon is out of ideas. However, he doesn’t fail to notice that Jungkook’s window is, in fact, not open.

He has an odd feeling of déjà-vu creeping into his bones and even the kitty on his arms (he's picked it up very, very gently, taking note of how small the thing is) can’t take the scary tingle away.

“What do we do now?” he asks it. The kitty’s tail wraps around his fingers. The small animal lets out of few meows that would be adorable and at the forefront of Namjoon’s animal-loving mind if figuring out Jimin’s disappearance wouldn’t be occupying that spot already.

“I don’t know, Namjoon,” Yoongi sighs from the other end of the phone. “Do you want me to come home?”

But Namjoon isn’t listening. The kitty has his attention now. There’s something about the way it curls up against Namjoon, the way it just rubs against him, looking up with a gaze that’s so familiar. He notices that it can't be a normal cat, not with that kind of fur coloring. But the eyes - that's what's both the most striking and the most irritating.

“Namjoon-ah?”

The leader can’t answer because his mind is running on high speed right now, like a facial recognition software almost, and more and more tiny movements match. They match. Namjoon pinches his own skin, just to see if it could be real, and then it hurts. He hisses and the kitty’s ears and eyes lock on his face with sweet concern. Immediately, the kitty licks over the reddened sliver of skin, with a crooning noise that leaves no doubt.

“Kim Namjoon!”

“Hyung.”

“Finally.”

“Hyung. How common is it for people to turn into cats?”

---

By the time Yoongi comes running through the front door, Namjoon has googled every possible combination of “human”, “cat”, “leopard” (because he is sure that this is not a random housecat-breed) and “transformation” together with random words. All he gets are leopard attacks, tons of stuff on leopard geckos, a few edits of Yoongi as a leopard (which is not a bad look, actually, who would have thought) and Taehyung as a tiger, and page after page about folklore and characters from tv shows or video games. Apparently, there is no such thing as people turning into leopards randomly, but after scrolling through seemingly endless lists of cat breeds, Namjoon confirms his initial estimation and is sure that he is indeed holding a leopard in his lap.

Because the cub is definitely too sturdy to be a domestic cat, with defined, muscular hindlegs even at this young age and a build that indicates a wild predator rather than a dainty kitty (Namjoon is aware that there are big house cats in the world - at age eight, he’d still assumed his former neighbor’s cat was a large pokemon). Although the leopard - Jimin, as weird as it sounds - is delicate in a way, resembling Jimin as a person. Several pages compare leopard breeds and if the pictures are accurate at all, he’d classify Jimin as an Asian Leopard - an almost extinct breed.

“Woah Jiminie,” he whispers, pulling his dongsaeng back when he puts his paws on the laptop’s keyboard. “Your breed is very rare.”

The cub doesn’t care, it likes the clicking of the keys. Every time Namjoon types something, the leopard’s eyes swivel and follow the clicking sounds. It’s cute. Especially when the little one starts trying to paw and attack the black keys. Namjoon wipes his face when the internet refuses to share more helpful information with him. He holds the cub in front of his face, nuzzling its belly gently. He receives a vibration against his nose and a raspy lick against his cheek. The soft tail of the leopard tickles his collarbone.

And then, Yoongi stands right in front of him, with red cheeks and wide eyes.

“What the hell!?”

The cub jumps, tail puffing up and heart pounding through his thin skin. Namjoon feels the big muscle thrum scaredly against his fingers. However, curiosity wins over and the leopard tumbles off the sofa. It lands on its side in a way that makes Namjoon want to pick it up and check for injuries, but the little ball of fluff seems to be okay. Yoongi stares at the cub nosing at his ankles. Then, looking up with something soft flowing in those brown irises, he repeats his question in a whisper.

“What the hell?”

Namjoon wants to launch into a detailed report of everything he’s found out so far, but the elder insists he can’t sit until he hasn’t checked every room himself - understandable, given the situation - and even then, he paces. While up until now, Namjoon and Jimin had interacted in a calm atmosphere, that serenity is up and out of the window by now. Yoongi brings nervous energy and even if Namjoon doesn’t blame the elder, he can’t ward off the growing irritation.

“How do you know Jimin didn’t go anywhere?”

They discuss this, back and forth, why the cat right here can’t be Jimin, where else Jimin could be, and how ridiculous this is until Namjoon refuses to argue any further. He’s a man of patience but right now, he is slowly running out of it.

“Hyung. I’m telling you, it’s Jimin.”

Yoongi at least sits down. He grabs the cat, turning it over and around to look at it from every angle. He huffs.

“It’s a boy, at least.”

“Hyung! Don’t look at his - oh my God. Just believe me when I say it’s him.”

“Why? It doesn’t make any sense,” Yoongi frowns and of course, it doesn’t make sense, that’s why it’s called magic, Namjoon thinks. Yoongi narrows his eyes.

“Are you pulling a prank on me?”

The younger rolls his eyes in exasperation. It takes every ounce of his self-control to not just - ugh.

Instead, he gently says, “Okay, first of all, you know I don’t pull pranks on you. Often. Big pranks. Stuff like this. Secondly, I came home to the same situation as you. Where would I even hide Jimin? You know he wouldn’t be able to stand still because he’d want to see your reaction so he would have to be here somewhere and you checked every room. Thirdly, who even has an excess leopard baby to hand out for a couple hours? Where would I get a leopard from, hyung? You tell me if this is a prank.”

Yoongi seems to be taken a little aback but can’t lie about the sincerity in Namjoon’s eyes.

“I’m just saying,” he mumbles, “the cub doesn’t listen to Jimin’s name. See? Jiminie,” he calls out but when the cub just keeps rolling around on the thick, feet (and cub)-swallowing carpet happily, he repeats, “Jiminie? Park Jimin. Park Jimin, look at me.”

It’s a failed attempt at best because the cub has better things in mind than to listen to his hyungs, namely to catch an annoying fly that buzzes around his ears. Just before the kitty can start the chase, Namjoon grabs his dongsaeng. He gets an angry mewl in reply. Adorable.

“Shhhhh,” he says, using his fingers to scratch Jimin’s arching back. “Hold still. I don’t know, hyung. Maybe he doesn’t realize he’s a cat.”

“How do you turn into a cat and don’t know?”

“Maybe he just has cat thoughts?”

When the leopard doesn’t stop struggling even with the fingers carding through his fur, Namjoon lets him go. He doesn’t want to be hurt any more. His arms already look horrible with all those small red streaks. And they itch.

“Like what?”

“Just… regular cat thoughts. Like, 'oh, I want to eat' or 'oh, I need to catch that fly'.” He watches the ball of fluff climb onto Yoongi. “Or 'oh, I wonder what hyung’s hand tastes like right now'.”

Yoongi yelps when tiny but sharp fangs dig into his flesh. “Ow, Jimin! Stop.”

That’s what he gets for being so rude, Namjoon thinks and tries his hardest to keep the chuckle in. He’s had his own experiences with those teeth and he knows there will be many more so he shouldn’t laugh but as long as it’s not me, right?

Jimin growls a little when Yoongi pushes him off his leg. They have a staring contest for a minute which makes Namjoon’s skin tingle. Jimin stares at his hyung with a fierce, reckless expression and the elder raises a brow at the little leopard with a mysterious look in his eyes. It’s an electric moment as if the air crackles and the birds stop chirping to indicate that something really big is happening right now. But then it’s over, Jimin’s ears fold backward against his head and Yoongi slacks, almost looking like he’s broken some kind of trance. The kitty croons and receives his hyung’s warm hand with kind licks as if nothing had happened at all.

Namjoon knows it’s probably stupid but he almost expects Yoongi to say something truly fantastical right now. To tell him what revelation he received during this moment of magically glaring into Jimin’s soul. He’s like one of those fantasy characters that had a vision, after all. When Yoongi speaks, Namjoon’s holding his breath.

“Joon-ah.”

“Yeah?”

“Jimin peed on the couch.”

It's anticlimactic, to say the least. It completely breaks whatever magical atmosphere had built and Namjoon tries to hide his disappointment as well as he can but can’t ward off the frown.

“I’ll get a towel.”

“I think we should bathe him.”

Before they decide, Namjoon and Yoongi both stiffen, eyes locked on each other. Something warm is running over their legs.

“Park Jimin!”

“I think he’s trying to mark us, hyung.”

“Maybe we should all take a bath.”

masterlist | moodboard masterlist

tags: @xmagicxshopx, @taeshuworld, @justanemptydream, @hoodmeup, @gingerpeachtae

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