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essenceofelegance · 2 months

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City of Stars (part three of Poseidon’s)

Luke Castellan x poseidon!reader, Percy Jackson x halfsister! reader

pt. 1, pt. 2

warnings: ANGST

disclaimer‼️‼️‼️: this is sort of a part three to a fic I did called Poseidon’s, but this can also be s standalone

You and Luke cuddled up under the stars with 'City Of Stars' playing on your CD player, at an ungodly hour, somewhere far enough away from camp so nobody would hear you, a routine the both of you had already gotten used to.

City of stars, Are you shining just for me?

"You know, we could move out of camp right now, we could get a house in the middle of nowhere, somewhere close to a lake. We could live with Percy and Annie. Doesn't that sound good?" you whispered as you sat up.

City of stars, There's so much that i can't see.

Who knows, I felt it from the first embrace I shared with you...

"We could be our own little family in a way," you whispered with a smile, voice filled with hope, playing with Luke's hand.

"And listen you and Percy to fight over everything everyday? Yeah, sounds good." Luke whispered with a smile as he sat up too.

That now Our dreams, They've finally come true.

City of stars, Just one thing everybody wants.

"We actually could do it, you know." you closed your eyes, savouring the moment.

"To a bright future," Luke said, pretending to make a toast.

"To a bright future," you smiled, also pretending to toast.

(Luke said the same thing to you found out about his betrayal, right as he was about to jump into the portal.)

"To love," you said with a giggle as Luke pulled you into his arms.

"To love," Luke said, as you both stared at each other adoringly.

Though there was something unusual in his eyes, but you couldn't really decipher it yet.

(It was guilt, you realised, too late.)

There in the bars, and through the smokescreen of the crowded restaurants,

It's love,

Yes, all we're looking for is love From someone else...

(A rush, A glance, A touch, A dance,)

Luke stared down at you, trying to take in and remember every detail of your face, looking at you as if it was his last time.

(He wasn’t that far off.)

To look in somebody's eyes,

To light up the skies,

"You're everything to me," you whispered, "I can't afford to loose you."

To open the world and send it reeling

"And you won't. Never. I promise." Luke whispered back.

A lie.

A voice that says, "I'll be here" And "you'll be alright".

You really love this boy, you thought.

(I don't care if I know Just where I will go,

'Cause all that I need is this crazy feeling

A rat-tat-tat on my heart.)

You leaned into him for a soft kiss, one not of pleasure, but of feeling, of love. A different kind of intimacy.

Ironic, isn't it?

I think I want it to stay.

"Luke.?" you croaked. You couldn't believe what you'd heard.

You voice was one of pure heartbreak.

"Y/n- it's not what it looks like-" Luke panicked.

Seeing your eyes filled with blind rage and agony, instead of just pure love and adoration directly at him like you once did-

City of stars, Are you shining just for me?

“But isn’t it?-” your voice breaks. “I knew something was going on with you- I could see it-“

“Come with me. Please. You know the Gods never cared. You hate them too-” Luke said in a rush,

“And betray my brother? Camp? My family?-” you were cut off by Percy’s pained grunt.

Luke swung his sword at him, Percy dodged and swung back, accidentally wounding him.

“I’m sorry-” Percy said.

Luke swung his sword one more time, but you jumped in front of Percy and held up your own sword at your lover.

You looked into the eyes you once loved. The ones that once brought you comfort.

Luke gulped,

“I’m not going with you. I-” you were cut off once again,

Luke ran towards the portal.

“I rea-” you were cut off for the nth time, which was probably a good thing because you felt like you were about to fall apart.

"To a bright future," Luke turned back and whispered.

Then jumped into the portal.

He really thought you would join him, he really did. He really believed you would help him accomplish his goal, help him create the future and world of his desires, one without the Gods.

He never wanted to do this- anything without you. He really thought you’d be on his side.

He loved you.

City of stars,

And you did too.

That was the last time you saw the love of your life.

You never shined so brightly.

author: 😀

Please do not re-upload my work on any platforms without permission.

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kirkirk · 23 days

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Merch lines that might be plot relevant for Azusa (Part 1)

I love DL's lore, especially Azusa's, I think it's so complex and well-written so I thought this could be fun. I'm still playing the 5th game and I'm avoiding spoilers like the plague so my knowledge is just based on my 1829934738 Azusa theories. Please remember to be kind and take this as a fun resource/thought exercise if I'm blatantly wrong with any of my takes.

These are in no particular order, also I might do another part because there's no way I'm fitting every single plot reference here.

1. Vampire Lab Azusa

I'm starting with this one because it's one of the most obvious. They were absolutely crazy for doing it. Ignoring all of the franchise's references to human experimentation, him being the only one actually strapped (Yuma also has a straight jacket but his is open) is really interesting. Especially since the description for this set mentions 医者に反抗的な態度をとる者、(Those who show a rebellious attitude towards doctors). I can't help but think they're referencing Azusa and that's why he's strapped. Still, it could always be a reference to his struggle with mental health. The interpretation you choose is up to you.

2. Yammy Yamme X Bad Blood Azusa

He and Kanato became the family models for this one. If that isn't a big alert sign I don't know what it is. This set is themed around gamers/gamer aesthetic. What is the players' stand-in in DL? A pink bunny. What is his backpack? A pink bunny. His cap also has droopy ears that could be another reference to bunnies. If interpreted very loosely, this could mean that "Azusa carries the player on his back" and that's so freaking funny because true. Of course, I think its meaning is deeper than that.

3. Vandead Carnival LE/tokuten chibi (?)

If the player is a pink bunny I wonder what an extremely sad blue bunny would mean...

I had to do it I'm so sorry, I will die on the Azusa is a trapped player hill. (No spoilers about whether this is confirmed or refuted please 😘)

I found this one in Vandead Carnival's visual book but I don't know if it's exclusive from it or it came from elsewhere.

4. Secret Display Azusa

God I love this one so much. The sad expression, the accessories, the pins, the color scheme it's peak Azusacore on their behalf. This set is about butterfly taxidermy and that's basically a direct @ to ZERO Azusa which follows the same theme. Despite having a personal interpretation for this, I have yet to listen to ZERO Azusa's CD so I will keep it to myself. Any interpretation you give to ZERO Azusa might be reinforced/ related to this set.

5. Secret Memories Azusa

WHERE ARE YOU GOING WITH 5 BOOKS.

Hidden gifted kid Azusa is my Roman empire, I love that so much for him. It's true that you could attribute his disgusted expression to not wanting anything to do with those books, but I interpret it as him disliking being SEEN with them since he's looking at the camera and not at the books, like come on what are you doing with that many books.

I could talk about this for hours (and I have) but for now I'll be stopping here since I don't know if anyone is even remotely interested. I have enough for a few more parts so maybe I'll turn it into a YouTube video so it's more enjoyable to watch. If you have any questions or want me to expand on any of these ideas please feel free to send Asks. Just keep it spoiler free for content after Lunatic Parade please I'll be very very sad if you don't :)

#azusa mukami #diabolik lovers #diabolik lovers azusa #dialovers #diahell

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lady-assnali · 11 months

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Tiny Things (Crygi)

(I haven’t posted anything in ages! I’ve had a huge mental block, but I’m hoping we’re in the clear for a little while now at least!) Please listen to “Tiny Things” by Tiny Habits, as it’s the loose inspiration for this fic and I love that band with my whole heart. So here’s some baby, newly found friends Crygi)

———

The thing Gigi can most clearly recall from her childhood is the feeling of the kitchen counter underneath her as her mother sat her down on it. In most of these memories she’s nothing but a bean pole child; all arms and legs and a tiny little body, always with some form of bruise or scrape on it. She hadn’t been a tree-climber, or an adventurer. She never accepted the invitations from the neighbor kids to play baseball or street hockey, preferring to stay by her mother’s side and help her with her sewing by completing the little tasks she set out for her.

There’s a stack of hand-sewn cotton squares to prove it, scraps her mother had turned into rudimentary projects Gigi had poured her heart into while reveling in the sound of her mother signing along to the radio and the smell of her very modest floral perfume. She’d listen to the hum of the machine between them for hours, content to be quiet in the comfort of it all, tiny fingers running along the vast landscapes of the varying fabrics draped around the room. Sometimes, she’d ask questions; what her mother was making, where it would go when it was done. She’d sit with big eyes and eager ears as her mother turned people into magic, ordinary lives into something worth retelling over and over again.

So she spent most of her time in the sewing room. Sometimes, however, she’d be on the counter.

Gigi would sit and wail, eyes welled up with tears and head turned away from whatever little scrape or bruise she’d acquired. And then, she’d cross her arms over her chest. Her mom always kissed her scrapes and gave her two tiny chocolate candies, scooping her off of the counter and into her arms, everything right in the world once more.

As she got older, the bruises and scrapes turned into emotional upheaval. Gigi would come home from school and toss her backpack on the floor before sitting on the counter while her mother started to work on dinner.

She’d always know when something was eating away at Gigi, no matter how hard she tried to hide things. Her boo-boo kissing, magical storytelling mother held the ability to take one look at her and know exactly what to do. Sometimes, she’d wordlessly pass over a spoonful of her work in progress. Gigi would hum in delight at the taste of her cooking, occasionally reaching in the cabinet over her head to pass over a spice for the sake of suggestion. Other times, Gigi’s mom would leave the stove to turn on a CD. They’d bond over “Like a Prayer” or “Papa Don’t Preach,” singing the lyrics into spatulas and wiggling around the kitchen in a ridiculous dance of uncoordinated limbs and raucous laughter.

Sometimes, she’d sit on that counter and the words wouldn’t come out fast enough; she was being bullied. Her friends had all made newer friends and had left her behind. She’d come out, and while she was ready for the change there were a lot of people who just weren’t. But in that kitchen, with her mother’s arms around her and the taste of her cooking, the silly dancing, the chocolate candies turned over into her palm…the world was less of a challenge there.

Moving away from home had been the most terrifying experience Gigi had encountered in her entire life.

New York City called her name so fiercely that she had to go-had to see for herself what the prestige of a school thought it could teach her that her own mother couldn’t. She thought she needed a degree in fashion to pursue her goals, or at least the connections the school would allow her. She cried every night for the first week after moving, walking class to class with books in her tote and a tightening in her chest. The faces here weren’t mean, but they certainly weren’t rushing to make friends with her. So she went through the motions, kept herself strong the way her mom would want her to. When she called, she tried to make sure she always had at least one good thing to mention. And if that one thing was “I drank enough water today” or “I’m glad to be back from class now.,” they both moved on to conversations busy enough to distract Gigi from her gnawing homesickness. Sometimes, her mother would wield another one of her fairytales about a client and Gigi would sit with her head against the headboard, eyes closed, picturing herself back in that sewing room again.

“I made a friend.” She’d told her mom this a few weeks into school as she walked from one class to the next, wiggling a borrowed pen between her fingers with a fond smile. “Her name is Crystal, she seems nice.”

The daily one good thing to mention was transformed from one sentence to multiple, morphed into stories told with a lightness in her voice that made her mother let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. She stopped calling as frequently, rather updated with little texts throughout the day until their allotted time to talk came through. She was joined more often by a polite girl with a wide smile and a curly mullet who’d taken to also sharing one good thing that happened to her during the day. Often, the girl’s stories overlapped with hers. They’d cut each other off, adding on where the other forgot something until the point was lost between giggling attempts to answer Gigi’s mom’s questions.

Crystal embellished things.

The things she wove into their stories often involved long-winded explanations of the little things; this man was wearing a suit with a silly tie, which means he probably had a child that gave it to him and maybe that’s why he was sprinting down the street near them. The little kids who’d stopped to jump in muddy puddles by the park were city kids who’d grown up there their whole lives, had never seen a lake like the ones in Missouri but got to grow up spending their allowances on street pretzels. (Most of the stories involved street pretzels, to be fair…Crystal had grown so fond of them that they’d get one every day after their shared class.)

Crystal could make a popcorn scavenging pigeon into a feature length screenplay while they walked around the city. It made Gigi smile in ways she hadn’t since she’d moved to school. They’d walk from class to one of their homes and live in these fantasy worlds when they didn’t want to live anywhere else; when class was too stressful, or Gigi was struggling with a project, or they were arguing with their roommates.

She was still a quiet stressor when things got really bad.

On her second major project of the semester, Gigi felt herself floundering under the pressure. She’d called her mom twice for advice, holding up a long strip of the most delicate silk to the screen with big, wet eyes that reminded her mom of childhood and bandages and chocolate candies. She’d talked her through it, coaching as best as she could from the opposite side of the country, and Gigi had to start over and redesign the entire garment.

There was a knock on the open door of the school’s little studio somewhere between her consideration between ripping a seam or ripping her own hair out, and while the loud noise made her jump her whole body felt relief upon seeing Crystal standing there.

“You weren’t on your bench today.” The girl noted, her eyes appraising the chaos of strewn about fabrics and markers and papers torn from her sketch pad. And then there was Gigi in the center of it all, the slouched slope of her spine and the mess of it all enough to confirm her exhaustion.

“This dress is killing me.” She admitted, tipping her head back and ruffling her hair. She’d been on the verge of tears again, stifling her words against her hand and shaking her head. “I don’t know what to do.”

Crystal waited a moment before approaching, closing the door carefully behind her. She tiptoed over the mess, picking up only the things she’d been sure Gigi hadn’t strategically placed around the room. (which, to be fair, isn’t a lot. In the time she’s known her, Crystal’s learned that the redhead surprisingly leans more toward her own organized chaos when it comes to her thought patterns, and that trying to help tidy things up isn’t always the best idea.)

She slid herself on the stool next to Gigi and rifled through the bag slung over her shoulder. Then, Crystal tapped the back of her hands, using her fingers to delicately turn them over so they would be palm up. A pile of tiny, candy-coated chocolates tumbled into Gigi’s outstretched hands and the light returned as her face brightened into a wide-stretched, brilliant grin.

“I called your mom,” She admitted, placing the bag of candies between them and taking a few for herself. “She said these are your favorite.”

It’s all Gigi could handle to let a sigh of a thank you leave her lips before she started crying again, pushing herself into the brunette’s arms for a tight-squeezed hug. They stayed there for a while, the candies melting where they were still kept safe in Gigi’s grip.

“What can I do to help?”

Then, Gigi’s energy was channeled into teaching Crystal how to carefully rip the seam of the dress. The tears stopped completely as she showed off her redesigned sketch. Between her delicate ripping and Gigi’s renewed zeal at the helm of the machine, they spent the afternoon laughing and lamenting over Crystal’s fabrication of an imaginary, very needy client who had clearly begged Gigi to rework the dress anyway.

And when her grade was marked as an A, she took Crystal down to the park for a celebratory pretzel.

#Crygi #The baby model au #Mahattan au #but it can be read as a standalone #i adore tiny habits they’re so so so good

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musiconanironingboard · 1 year

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22 March 2023: Bad Ideas (3-CD edition), Babybird. (self-released, 2023)

I’ve posted here a handful of times about the prolific Stephen Jones’s output as Babybird, a name he has employed since the mid-’90s through a series of acclaimed lo-fi bedsit albums on through a major-label career, a handful of hits and widespread exposure, and then back on through into the current days where he releases a punishing regimen of music (punishing for him and for his fans’ wallets). After a long stretch of time in which the British Royal Mail had an onslaught of problems and international mail was apparently prohibited (!), Jones was able to send out packages that people had ordered several months prior. This is the first of three things I received from him during a multi-week window. (You can see on the package above that he’d optimistically labeled it “November 2022,” though it didn’t materialized in my mailbox until four months later.)

All the way back on the day after Thanksgiving, I ordered his latest triple album of new material. As you can see on some prior Babybird posts here, with new albums Jones often offers a single disc edition (which I presume is what he considers the “official” album), a two-disc edition, and a three-disc. It can be difficult to tell what’s going on even when you have them in your hands, but I’ve come to conclude those second and third discs are simply bonus tracks or outtakes, but in the end it doesn’t really matter. Babybird fans who are this dedicated seem to just like his general gestalt and I don’t get too fussed about what’s going on with all of these very long releases that tend to run in the 3 to 4 hour range. I’ve had to devise an entirely new methodology for listening just to his releases; otherwise, they’d overwhelm my new-release schedule.

Jones tends to devise creative packages for his triple-disc releases. Even with his single or two-disc affairs he tends to customize the artwork, often drawing cartoons, personalizing them with your name, and so on. The packaging of Bad Ideas is the most fragile, destined-to-get-destroyed that I’ve seen since I started buying his bespoke releases, and you can see it beginning with the photo above. The three discs come tightly squeezed into an envelope made of very thin paper, and it’s sealed with a sticker that you can see bears the title and that doomed original release date. There’s absolutely no peeling that sticker off in a way that keeps it intact. I really need to buy a new X-Acto knife and keep it close by, for I just impatiently decided to rip that label to get to the CDs. (I’d spent far too long trying to peel it off in a museum-quality way and then just got frustrated.)

Once you do open that up, you see another fragile party-favor type of envelope (or maybe the kind of thing french fries would come in, but the them here seems to be party favors). Keeping with Jones’s undying cynicism, it features a wedding graphic along with the sweetly-scripted album moniker Bad Ideas. Here you see he’s changed the date, once again optimistically, to January 2023. This is shown below.

There’s yet another party-favor bag inside that one, which he calls “Babybird’s Sickly Candy Bag,” again featuring that January 2023 release date.

The Sickly Candy Bag includes a plastic piece of candy with my name on it, and a faux-corporate booklet (for undetermined products; I might’ve made it to represent a terrible wedding planner) that includes the song titles for the three discs.

Then you have the three discs themselves, found folded up loose inside that booklet. I’ve since slipped them inside some protective sleeves.

Packages like this are fun to see and maybe fun for him to make, and with each release it’s a hoot wondering what you’re going to receive, but storage is complicated. One day I’m going to wind up with an entire box of his odd-shaped, fragile packages. Fortunately, they occasionally arrive in the exact shape and size of a regular CD digipak and I can slip it all inside of a single protective sleeve like I use for regular digipaks (well, maybe not that piece of candy). Now that I’ve got everything out of that first fragile envelope you see at the very top of this post, it’s never going back in.

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be-good-be-safe-be-kind · 6 months

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journal

today's been… okay, i guess. had to do another ptsd eval as a check-up/update for insurance, one of those 'on a scale of zero to four, rank these things' which is never fun because while i can figure out the 'never's and 'every day's, it's the bits in between that are harder to place. and also the wording of rank how these things impacted 'you' in the past month. kinda hard when 'you' is somehow a constant presence and absence at the same time. and then there's also the nuances of each question, which i had to ask therapist for clarification and we couldn't really settle things. like how often are you impacted by memories of event vs impacted by body sensations of shakes and things like that and it's like what do you mean memories don't always have visceral physical reactions? then we briefly discussed the upcoming chag and how that's probably gonna shake some things loose up here -taps forehead- and not looking forward to that. with or without the weather being cold, or actively participating in holiday things, winter is winter, and it's a hate/love thing. managed to go to the grocery store after and tried tuning out the christmas carols and blocking out the holiday stuff everywhere, but then i still had to walk back to the house and pass up decorations on every storefront and every other lawn (shout out to the house with a giant inflatable pink unicorn, no tinsel or cheesy slogan or anything else up) and it fucking sucks. not the decorations themselves, those are mostly cool (see ^) but that i can't exist for more than a few hours at most because everything is a fucking trigger and i'm exhausted after a day of not even doing much.

speaking of memories. i went looking on youtube for something to listen to while working on nanowrimo, and stumbled upon a full set of a sort of reunion tour set from what might be my favorite band. put earbuds in instead of quietly using the laptop's speakers because i could tell there were going to be 'dial it up to eleven' moments, and also because i needed to drown out the holiday music. and it's nice, real energetic and familiar but also it's hard to listen to. not from a musical perspective, exactly, (there's maybe one song on piano and the stage banter is all right) but because of how many memories it's bringing up and things i didn't even realize were things. like i'm ten now, with a secondhand cd player and headphones with crackling foam snuck under my pillow, keeping the volume on minimum to keep one ear on the door and another on the baby in case we had to move. that's wild, man. not entirely unsurprising, especially considering mentioned other sounds as negative triggers while doing the eval, so why does it seems shocking that there are kinda positive sounds as well? not that hypervigilance is exactly happy, and some of the specific songs are associated with specific places less warm than a couple coats on a mattress, but some are also with the bittersweet shit. humming along with the records to shush the baby. letting the lyrics wash over me, wanting to be optimistic of there being a possibility of a great escape and knowing even as a kid that it's just a high school fantasy.

i'm fourteen now and doing sit-ups in the dingy school gym to avoid lunch, tiny ipod in my hoodie sleeve, rolling my eyes at the irony of listening to a song about running from jesus while hiding in the corner of orthodox school. i'm eighteen and rather than writing my tehillim final about which chapter and specific verses i'd recite every day or which one always gives me hope, i pick the final track off the album with the bleeding heart and, in typical emo kid fashion, say that if i did have to select a psalm it would be lines 2-3 of 22 ('my god, why have you forsaken me…'). sure, i knew as well as i knew at ten that just go is easier said than done, that you shouldn't spend your whole life holding on, but i also knew no one was listening to me, anyway, so i might as well doodle around some lyrics and call it a day. i also had absolutely no vocabulary or concept of trauma (aside from having shoah survivors visit our classrooms since kindergarten, and i obviously didn't experience anything like that, so there's nothing for me to complain about), and by extension, the words to say that i can't simply go because everything means something to me and fucks with my head. i'm twentysomething and sitting on a park swing, music on my phone, kicking leaves and mentally kicking myself for ever thinking there's a possibility of being anything other than stuck in the middle.

i'm sitting here today, all of these things flowing in and out of my head and through my body during the course of an hour and forty-five minutes. i've felt more in the past day than i have in a while, and i don't know how to feel about that.

#📝

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ntriani · 3 months

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OQM Playlist: Life during quarantine #25

Nick Triani after Riitta Supperi With the latest Life during quarantine playlist, Nick Triani celebrates the return of Janne Lehtinen and his musical project Mummypowder

The comeback This week saw the return of Mummypowder, Janne Lehtinen‘s vehicle for delivering his passionate and melodic music. For me, Janne is as good as songwriting gets, at least as far as ‘man with a guitar and a bunch of other instruments’ go. On this week’s playlist you’ll find ‘Sara’s Song’, typical of all the attributes that set Janne apart from the rest.

My musical relationship with Janne runs deep. He’s played with me in various projects I’ve concocted over the years, his versatility apparent with him playing drums in one project and bass in another, whilst always adding angelic backing vocals on any given tune. Mummypowder’s debut album, The Heavyweight Champions, was the first record I produced in Finland in 1998. Janne was in fact the first person (not counting my then partner) I met on arriving in Finland. He watched me unpack. I quickly got the Mummypowder album gig after that meeting.

A sawmill at -25 celcius I think it’s been recounted on a few occasions how I met Aleksi Pahkala in Austin Texas at the South By Southwest festival in 1998, six months before I moved to Finland. It was a chance meeting, I’d missed my plane from Houston to Austin and arrived by Greyhound bus many hours later. It was nighttime and I was walking down a crowded Sixth Street. This person who I didn’t know was filming me and said he was from a Swedish TV channel. He told me to check his band Mummypowder playing the following night. I did. Aleksi was that cameraman.

Due to the chance encounter, a Mummypowder CD was unpacked six months later in an apartment in Helsinki and a few months after that I decamped with the band to a recording studio in Jokela. Or that’s what I was told it was. In fact, it was a space with a few rooms off it in a warehouse building. There was a mixing desk, some mikes and other random recording paraphernalia. The biggest problem was that the neighbouring space was a sawmill. The ‘control room’ (I use the term loosely), was separated from said sawmill with black bin bags as the dividing wall. That high pitched sound of saw cutting through timbre is audible on the album.

That winter was the coldest I’ve experienced in my many years living in Finland, temperatures going as low as -25 or -30 celcius. I’d just moved to Finland, and although extremely cold weather was a novel experience, I hadn’t quite expected the atmospheric pressure to induce pain. There was no central heating in the concrete space where we were recording. You could see your breath as you spoke, hanging like vapour clouds in the studio. The fingers of the band members quickly became frozen icicles as they tried to play their instruments. We did try playing guitars with gloves on, but it wasn’t happening.

The sight of me sitting at the mixing desk in a sleeping bag, wooly hat and gloves on was regular. It was an ice cave. I was told by the label guy it was “the best studio in Finland”. I was worried. If this was the best studio in Finland, I’d hate to think what the worst was. I’d have to seriously reconsider what I was going to do if these were the kinds of environments for making recorded music in my new home.

Somehow we persevered. It went on for a few months. Me and Janne mixed the record together in the same freezing space. Microwave pizzas were the diet and cold coffee the beverages. Everything was freezing. We listened to Elliott Smith‘s Either/Or, Love‘s Forever Changes, REM‘s Monster for reference. We only had a soundcraft desk, a quadraverb and a compressor as our mixing tools (some would say what else do you need?). The snare drum had serious hi-hat spill that caused consternation. I blamed the open hi-hat used heavily on The Posies Frosting On The Beater album (another reference.) Still, we survived.

Don’t let me be misunderstood When the album was released in 1999, it was relatively well received. Some people didn’t get the fucked up sound, extreme panning, low vocal mix, a plethora of distorted sounds and liberal use of the most extreme quadraverb soundscapes. What people did get was Janne’s undeniably great songwriting. However much we experimented with sound, the songs were tough enough to take it. I loved the relaxed and loose playing performance from the band (my favourite Mummypowder lineup), incredible considering the recording conditions. I still remain fond and proud of that record, and listening to the songs as I write this, I can attest to it still sounding fresh in 2020.

Aleksi became my best buddy. Janne too. Those first relationships have endured. Both Janne and Aleksi have been there for me on so many levels and so many times. Personally, it adds extra importance to what we did when we made that album together. Those were special times that created special bonds. Aleksi is now releasing Mummypowder on his new label All That Plazz. Full circle.

#life during quarantine #OQM #Mummypowder #Janne lehtinen #all that plazz #nick triani #playlist

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queerasforks · 9 months

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Allow me to set the scene for you:

Edward and Bella are driving down the road in one of their stupidly expensive cars.

They’ve been alive for far too long, and are really starting to feel the grates of being married for all eternity, at the ages of 17 and 18 respectively, very acutely.

Because they’re vampires, and as such, have no capacity to change their brain chemistry anymore, they still engage in what would be considered immature or childish spats.

These could last anywhere from a few hours, to a few months, a couple of years if the severity of hurt feelings calls for it.

Bella, much to Edward’s chagrin, is driving, along a winding wooded backroad. The radio has been playing what are currently considered “classics” though by their standards had once been contemporary, and it had given Bella a lot of nostalgia for the early days of their relationship.

She’s been quietly reminiscing with him, occasionally even showing him things, memories associated with the songs. Singing to bubblegum pop in the car with Renee on one of their many road trips. Bopping along to the divorced dad rock that Charlie and Billy had always been so fond of. Soft, emotionally charged songs Jacob had showed her while they hunched together over a CD player in a dimly lit record shop in Seattle.

She suddenly gets very excited about the opening piano chord of a song, murmuring “I loved this one too,” before turning the volume to an ear-splitting decibel.

Edward is transfixed; the music is beautiful, and Bella is reaching down deep, tapping into her rawest emotions as she sings along. Her thumbs drum along to the beat, and she really starts to dig in and belt the words. The music warps from simplistic piano into something a little more produced and electronic but Bella seems no less invested, and the car rattles with the reverb. Bella seems to think it’s amusing, that he’s so enamored with her like this, that she splits into a wide grin and laughs at him.

he’s missing the joke, she thinks, turning down the fade out instrumentals. “Get it?”

“Get what?”

“The song. It’s funny.”

“I thought it was beautiful,” He admits, a little sheepish that he had been so captivated by her that he hadn’t stopped to consider what it was she had been singing. She laughs at him again, and promises to have their daughter play it for him some time. She says they had acquired a vinyl pressing of the album, when Nes had wanted to attend a festival the artist was a part of.

It was one Edward had insisted was too dangerous for them to go, seeing as it had been in broad daylight. Bella had argued that their supernatural skin condition wouldn’t be noticed among the human festival goers, as most of them were some level of intoxicated, and the rest would simply assume it was their attire, as it had been standard at the time to douse yourself in sparkling glitters to attend these things. Eventually Edward had relented, and they had gone into the city, and come back a few days later covered in dirt and traces of loose glitter with merchandise bags in tow. They had managed to find a little something for everyone on that trip, and they had even surprised Edward with a silly little t shirt, with the pegboard game he was so fond of on the front, that had said something on the back to the effect of “i got pegged at Cracker Barrel Old Country Store”

(He hadn’t gotten this joke, either. He was just happy they had thought of him in the midst of their fun.)

They continue on their trip, and Edward forgets about the song, but keeps the memory of watching his wife look so thrilled to be alive tucked safely to his chest.

Eventually, he does get around to asking Nes about the song, when he finds his coveted Cracker Barrel shirt packed away in a box when they return to an old home.

(He can’t deduce for the life of him why Emmett always asks about how his ass feels when he wears it. It’s a shirt, not pants, Emmett, his ass is fine.)

Nes plays the song for him. He listens intently to the lyrics this time, and comes away feeling scraped raw by the sheer emotion Bella had exhibited in the car that day. This song had clearly affected her in a deep way. He asks what it is, and Nes laughs at him.

Vampire by Olivia Rodrigo.

Edward locks himself in his study to cry and doesn’t talk to Bella for six months, during which she plays the song over the surround sound speakers, and reminds him vehemently that she wouldn’t have felt that way if he had simply stayed with her after the birthday party incident.

He extends his study-stay another six months until Bella agrees to stop poking fun at him.

#Bella swan #Edward Cullen #twilight #twilight renewal #twilight renaissance #shitpost

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you-can-be-what-you-want-to-be · 11 months

Note

{{ Fun ask meme you made: Everything with a 4 in it! (4, 14, 24, 34, 40, 41, 42, 43, 44, 45.)

oh that’s a very fun way to do it! I already did 40 but I’ll give you the rest. Thank you for giving me so many!

4: if you had to loose one of your senses or physical abilities, which one and why?

im a chatter box but I’d loose the ability to speak. It’s kind of selfish but speaking is one of the only abilities that’s primarily for everyone else’s experience of the world. I mean you can’t talk and share ideas as easy and some of the puns and stuff you do get limited but you still get sunsets and art museums and books and musicals and cat purrs and all that. I still get things, I just can’t give anymore.

14: preferred form of travel i know tumblr doesn’t like them but car for SURE. Used to have ten hours in it every weekend visiting my dad and like. You can sing. You can have arguments with yourself and imagined people. Go noom. Pretty sights. And I’ve had the best conversations I’ve ever had in the car, because what else are you going to do? If there are two people in a confined space and one of them can’t look at anything you can only talk and I love that it’s a wonderful feeling. And falling asleep in the back of a car while people you care about talk in the front? Being able to leave home at any time? Getting sonic at 11pm? Ough it’s so good. I get home and spend an hour in a non moving car love being in a car I am no better than a dog.

24: what is a food or experience you miss from being a child? This does not mean things like paying bills, and is more about the time period you are from.

1 burning cds

2 a lack of cool people on tv. I wasn’t the biggest fan of Napoleon Dynamite but yeah things like that. Like there is no one cool in invader zim.

3 toxic waste (candy.) I haven’t seen one in ages

4 PEANUT BUTTER TWIX.

34: name a way someone has helped you before

car got stuck on this pile gravel. It had been snowing, next to a busy highway, thirty minutes by car away from any town, and it jammed up all the way up like into the entire bottom, not just the tires. Spent like an hour by hand trying to dig the stuff out with bare hands. Some guy with a truck hooked me up and pulled my car off. I’ll never forget it

41: what’s a hobby you want to get into? Disregard whatever skills money or tools you would need, listen to your heart

I want to learn how to make music and video essays. Both of those cost money and your own private area (instrument, mic, and a place you don’t disturb people with sound). Also animation I’m a very bad artist and don’t get technology so it’s a pretty hard no but I’d love to do it someday

42: what’s an experience you’ve wanted to do or have for awhile but not been able to justify to yourself?

I want to see hadestown on broadway. Or anything on broadway really but hadestown is the dream personally

43: a part of yourself you are fond of?

I like that soft spot between your lower ribs and thumb nails

44: favorite supernatural being

I’ve always been fond of ghost, because they’re the only one just about that gets to be sad or helpful instead of just scary. The idea that you felt something so strong it outlasted your body…. Yeah that’s what emotions feel like. That’s why you can be haunted by things that aren’t there, like war or an old friendship. It’s just emotions out of place that followed you.

Sad ghosts, lost ghost stuck in a loop, ghosts that save people from similar situations as their own, ghosts that come back to love their loved ones, ghosts who taunt the person who killed them and haunt them in the literal and metaphorical sense. Idk man. Just ghosts. They’re so important to me.

45: favorite fantasy being

Fae but only the fucked up kind who like find people fascinating but mostly as entertainment and make them dance till their feet fall off or see how long it takes them to loose a deal. Idk they’re just fun.

thank you so much this was mega fun to talk about

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cureforbedbugs · 2 years

Audio

Preface: Confessions of a Bottom-Feeder

I’ve decided to throw my hat in the yearly playlist ring, just at about the time everyone is again questioning whether Spotify’s whole deal is too gross to continue abiding. I’ve decided: yeah, probably too gross, but not enough to get me off the platform yet, for reasons I’ll get into below.

I am standing on the shoulders of giant playlists, so this is the part where I link to projects by Brad Shoup and Jonathan Bogart and Centuries of Sound to name only a few. (If you click through those folks' links, you’ll find even more people doing this work.)

I'm not much of a researcher per se. My process is connected to a highly intuitive slog that I call Spotifreeganism, which I’ll describe below. That process makes it much less complete and subject to a lot of weird omissions -- but also inclusions of stuff that maybe even the artists don’t remember putting out.

But I do enjoy putting songs together onto shiny discs. This is a collection of 25 80-minute CD-R mixes that can actually be burned to one CD each. There are good clues as to whether you’ll actually want to listen to the disc, so you can skip a whole mix if you want. That mix CD format is how I’ve almost always engaged with music, and it hits a sweet spot between manageable listening and enough space for some archival curios or personal favorites. It’s exactly the amount of time you need to create a snapshot of an idea, a genre, or a vibe.

Because these are just snapshots, the goal isn’t completism. I play fast and loose with eligibility (Harvey Danger and Shania Twain put out albums in 1997 that had no impact anywhere until 1998, but Eiffel 65’s ‘98 album had no impact until 1999.) Everyone has a completism mea culpa, but I really mean it -- my research beforehand is minimal and I actively try not to include songs I genuinely don’t want to listen to. I’m happy to cancel people whose music I would otherwise include at some point in the past (Marilyn Manson, R. Kelly, and Kid Rock are all out).

I only do “research” when I’m done. I go through the lists and do some google hunting and pecking. I’ll often look up something I assumed was obscure and be astonished to learn it was a UK #1 (The Tamperer and Maya!) or something. Every song I put on the mix is something I actually want to listen to, and I intentionally left stuff off that I can’t stomach anymore (sorry Fastball), didn’t fit on a specific mix due to the 80-minute time limit (sorry Soulwax), or seems like it tips the balance too far to the “archive” column and not to the “mix” column -- 6’s that I can’t pretend are 7’s.

So, Spotifreeganism. I’ve always been a music economy bottom-feeder. In the record shop ecosystem I’m the guy hoovering up dollar bin CDs. Most of my box sets have been acquired as big chains go out of business. I recently came into possession of a giant gray tub full of CDs from 1988-2008 and gleefully scavenged every last find from it. It’s the way I prefer to take in music anyway -- sifting huge, indiscriminate piles of shit through the industrial sieve of my brain. It’s probably not a great look ethical consumption-wise; I find it hard not to think of music purchasing as a form of charitable giving, and I mostly give to people I actually know.

For the last four years, my music listening to current music has followed this process: I pull in curated lists of Spotify New Music Fridays (and a few other updated-weekly playlists by genre) from about 60 different countries, regions, and genres. Spotify’s interface eliminates most duplicates as I combine them into one list, taking something like 7,000 total tracks and whittling them down to 1,500 each week. I listen to those tracks for as little as 5 seonds and as long as two minutes while I do the dishes, putz around online at night, or fold the laundry. It’s about 3 hours of listening a week, spread out in increments in which I can multitask. If I find something that rings a bell, whether in five seconds or two minutes (and I don’t overthink it), I put it on a separate list that I revisit once a month, cutting that down to about 90 minutes of music per month.

I’ve discovered that this is what my ears were built for -- taking in enormous streams of musical data and churning out a listenable mix of the stuff I like. This is always how I’ve listened, whether I was on torrent sites as a college student or buying old teen pop CDs for the cost of shipping when it was wildly unfashionable (some of us kept our CD collections through the mid-aughts!). But Spotify has centralized the process and dramatically increased the amount of information I can take in from places I wouldn’t think to look. The vast majority of music that gets heralded in critical conversations falls through the cracks this way. But my old habits also haven’t changed: I spend a lot of time reading about music on the internet. I just listen to less of it, until it comes more urgently to my attention. So over the course of the year I not only have a working knowledge of what happened according to most music critic types, but also a huge list of music that very few people have even mentioned in the places I tend to hang out.

So I wondered if I could apply this workflow to a year and come up with a kind of shadow playlist of 1998 songs that very few people have ever heard of. This initial idea fell by the wayside almost immediately, as even a quick glance at top songs of the year led to maybe 50 songs I genuinely love and would want to include. But I also didn’t want to do a ton of leg-work, just wanted lots of music to wash over me. I am incredibly absent-minded and formal research practices activate deep resistance in my “attentional-issues” brain. Because I can’t direct my hyperfocus to the task, I am almost useless for any kind of rigorous historiography. But I have really good ears, and I pick stuff out really quickly.

The question was how to replicate the data stream itself without having to do the research. The answer was to use various filters in the Discogs library of music to create a list of about 13,000 albums originally released in 1998. (I only made it through 10,000 before I got a weird error message.) Only 1 in 5 of those albums is available on Spotify, and I would guess that for about three quarters, at least one song is available on YouTube. I always checked Spotify but only followed up with YouTube if my interest was piqued, which got less common the longer I slogged through the list. (There’s still a bonus disc of non-Spotify tracks.)

I started with a baseline list of album releases culled from Acclaimed, Billboard, and a couple of critics I follow (especially Fast n Bulbous and Chuck Eddy’s recent “150 Albums” lists). As I went through the lists, I tried to pull at least one song from each available album into the master list of possible tracks.

And then I dove in to the Discogs list. I picked albums out of the master list in a way that is utterly arbitrary, copying and pasting titles into Spotify if the title struck my fancy, if the picture was interesting, if the picture was particularly uninteresting, if I recognized the record label, or if I want to hear more from the country of origin. If it was in Cyrillic, Japanese, Greek, Arabic, or Turkish script, I’d see if it was on Spotify. I tried to focus on a few of my blind spots -- especially metal, of which after several attempts I included just about 0% across 25 mixes (I really can’t stand to listen to almost any of it, though I had much more luck when I did a lighter version of this process for 1987 a few months ago).

I would guess that I ended up actually testing 1 in 3 of 10,000 albums, of which maybe 1 in 3 of those hits an available album. That means I “engaged with” somewhere between a thousand and two thousand albums, almost certainly less than a percentage point of music actually released in 1998. When I find something in Spotify, I see if there was a “hit” according to Spotify’s listen count, which usually means something was popular in its particular region, or that it was chosen for a Spotify playlist at some point and cumulative advantage did its thing. I play that track for 5 seconds, and if I recoil, I try two or three other tracks until I’m satisfied that something can go on the long list. If there’s no obvious standout, I start from track one and skip around.

For 1998, I ended up with a total of 1,200 songs I figured I might put on a list. I ended up with 535 songs across 25 80-minute CD-Rs. (Brad Shoup describes his first 500+ track playlists as charmingly tiny at this point, so I hope that someday he will just throw everything I found into his playlist grinder and triple the song count.) To make the mixes, I formed rough ideas around moods, genres, and a few higher-concept ideas to get a rough idea of what the mix might be – I have mixes called “vibes” and “unstoppable” and “indee” and “booty” – and I carved away everything that wasn’t an elephant.

I don’t know how much interest this whole process is to anyone, but I do think identifying my own corner in the playlist environment has been useful in a self-reflective sort of way. I’m the guy who’s going to have a handful of songs you’ve never heard of that you love, and they won’t be the same handful anyone else will love, and if you ask me I won’t be able to tell you almost anything about them, except that they are good and deserve to be on a mix about 1998, and probably defined someone’s 1998. And you’ll know almost instantly whether a mix will interest you, so you can skip by 20’s, which I think is a plus, since you probably have lots of important things to do with your time.

I'll share each mix with a few words of explanation separately over the course of the next couple of weeks. You can follow the #98mixes tag to see them as they get posted here.

#98mixes

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vendettaparker · 3 years

Text

Dancing With Your Ghost [P.P]

Summary: Every night you’re visited by a ghost from the past.

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: ANGST TO THE MAX, smoking, alcohol, swearing

a/n: this is probably the most depressing thing i’ve written. it’s just all sad, no happy ending, no fluff, sorry! :/ loosely based off the song “Dancing with your Ghost” by Sasha Sloan, which was like my fav song for a whole ass month. it’s a really good song, highly recommend :)

•───⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

11:47. Fuck. You’re going to be late. You waved down the bartender and held up two fingers, signaling for two more beers. It’s fine, you could surely be late just this once. He’d forgive you, right? He always did. You finished the last few sips of your previous beer just as the bartender came to you with two more clutched in his hands. You dropped a $50 in front of him and started leisurely sipping your next beer, slowly feeling your sense of reality fade away.

Another half hour and you’d finished both beers. Stumbling slightly, you got up and started your trek back to your dingy Queens apartment. You only lived a few blocks from the bar so you made in home what seemed like record time, but who could really tell when you were two shots away from blacking out. The smell of weed, smoke, and old books filled your nose when you entered your apartment. The old book smell had always been a part of you. You were supposed to be an english major, in fact, this would have been your second year of your bachelors. What a fucking waste. Guess whatever talent you had in english didn’t do you any good. The weed and smoke were new scents that always seemed to follow you. After the incident you couldn’t just talk about your feelings like everyone else had. That didn’t nearly calm the throbbing in your chest or the screaming in your head. You needed something more. Something to make the world go quiet.

You walked around piles of laundry and old take out containers to make your way to your room, no doubt where the smell was the strongest. You walked into the room and closed the door behind you, pushing a towel in the crack between the door and the floor to prevent any draft from getting in. You then went to your window and locked it, doing the same with smaller dish rags. No drafts. That’s the only way to know that it’s real. That he’s really there.

You scrambled around the room a bit more in your drunken haze and found the disk for your old favorite song. His favorite song too. You put it in the CD player and let the album play a few songs while you searched in the mess of books and dust for a pack of cigarettes. You found a half empty pack just as the song you were waiting for started to play. The soft jazz melody floated through the air and you lit a cigarette, breathing it in slowly, feeling your nerves slightly calm. Talking to him always made you nervous, even when you both could practically feel the love you had for one another, he still made your stomach do somersaults.

Just as the first line of the song was echoing through the room, you felt it. The light breeze encompassing your body. He was here.

You sat on the bed and waited for him to give you a sign again. It only took a few moments for a slight dip in your bed to appear beside you. Any other person would’ve never even noticed the change, but not you, you were too attentive, too desperate to believe he was there. The temperature in the room had dropped significantly and you held your knees to your chest to preserve body heat, all while looking at the little dip in the comforter.

“Peter,” you sighed, smiling softly at the empty space where he would be. “Sorry, I know I’m late.”

Your words into the void were only met with silence, they always were though. You sniffled and took another drag from your cigarette. “Just been real hard, y’know? I can’t seem to sleep without a drink or two. I just don’t like how loud everything is.” You shrugged, once again only met with silence. The dip in the bed remained, not wavering in the slightest.

You sighed, once again feeling defeated not being able to hear his voice or words of encouragement. “You never let me say goodbye y’know.” You said, casually. “I came to the hospital three times that week. Stayed for over four hours each time. I didn’t—I didn’t know you had already left. Nobody told me jack shit.” Tears of frustration and anguish welled up in your eyes. Still, you were only met with silence. The song that sifted through the room had stopped and the album continued on.

“I know I shouldn’t say this, but, why’d you do it? Huh? Why couldn’t you have just saved yourself? Just this once.” You sniffled. “I know, it’s selfish to say that. But I just—” you huffed out a short sob, “love is a selfish thing, I suppose. Cus’ you know I’d do anything to have you back. Anything.”

You wallowed in the silence for the next couple of minutes, taking a drag of your cigarette here and there.

“I think I’m going insane.” You finally said. “I mean, I’m talking to myself, thinking that you’re really here listening.” You wiped your tired eyes and looked at the dip in the bed more intently. “But you are here, aren’t you? You’d never disappoint me by not showing up, right?”

You shifted around on the bed, finally settling on laying on your back, head turned to continue to stare at the dip.

“Even if I am crazy and I’m talking to myself right now, can you blame me? I was finally happy and it only lasted a few months. Of course I’d be off the rails by now.” You stated, trying to think logically if all these ‘encounters’ with Peter had only been in your head.

“Doesn’t matter anyways. It’s better tricking myself into believing you’re here than knowing you’re not.” Your eyes started to droop no matter how desperately you wanted to keep them opened to continue your conversation.

“Peter, I’m so tired.” You sighed, closing your eyes, sticky with tears. “If I go to sleep, promise you’ll visit again?”

Your mind started falling, slowly plummeting into a deep state of unconsciousness. You hummed out more unintelligible nonsense in a feeble attempt to stay awake. Just before the lights in your mind went completely out, you heard a soft, barely there voice come for the dip in the bed,

“Promise.”

#peter parker #peter parker fic #peter parker x reader #peter parker angst #spiderman x reader #spiderman angst #peter parker fanfiction #spiderman x y/n #spiderman fandom #peter parker imagine #spiderman fic #peter parker smut #tom holland spiderman #tom holland peter parker

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waywardnerd67 · 3 years

Text

Star Crossed: Shining Star

Summary: Between filming and conventions, Jensen Ackles hardly has a moment to himself. During a panel one weekend he learns that his favorite band’s lead singer is a fan of his. Encouraged by his best friend, Jensen steps out of his comfort zone and reaches out to her on social media. That one decision throws his entire world into a whirlwind adventure. Pairing: No Pairing Rating: E - Everyone Warnings: Fluff Word Count: 1595 A/N: None

Check out: Star Crossed Masterlist

Jensen Ackles walked into his apartment kicking off his shoes by the door. Thankful to be done filming for the week and looking forward to not having to travel too far for the convention this weekend. He loved meeting fans and performing on Saturday nights. There were some weeks where he wished he could relax in his apartment and not have to worry about traveling.

Deciding a night of Netflix and pizza was in order, Jensen took a quick shower then put on some sweats with a t-shirt. He had settled in with his pizza with The Witcher series pulled up to watch when his phone started buzzing.

“No Jared, I don’t want to come out.”

Laughter came ringing through the speaker, “Jackles, it’s only a few crew and myself chilling at our normal spot. Come out for a little while.”

“What part of no don’t you understand? The N or the O?” Jensen rubbed his forehead hearing everyone behind Jared chanting his name, “Buddy, I’m showered and in for the evening. I’ll make it up to y’all tomorrow night.”

“Fine old man, see you tomorrow.”

He groaned, ending the call and no longer interested in the show on Netflix. Turning off the tv, he walked over to his record player turning on the band he had been listening to on repeat. He discovered Wayward Stars a few years ago when a fan gifted him their cd. They were a hard rock, alternative metal band with lyrics that spoke to the soul. Also, the lead singer was drop dead gorgeous.

There had been late night shoots he would turn on one of their albums listening to (Y/N) (Y/L/N)’s voice letting it seep into the far reaches of his mind. As he sat in his apartment alone, he allowed his mind to wander of singing with her on stage one day. Making a mental note to talk with Creation and Rob Benedict about getting her to come to Vegas for SNS. For now, he let the music flow over him well into the night.

The next day, Jensen slept in until he heard Clif knocking on his door. Twenty minutes later, he was walking down to the lobby where Jared was sitting with his eyes closed.

“Hey Jared!” He yelled.

Jared jumped falling off the chair he was on. Jensen and Clif started laughing as he mumbled curses under his breath getting off the floor.

“Not funny and I will get you back.” Jared’s eyes narrowed on him.

“I’m sure you will, big guy. Now, can we get on with our day?”

They had a few interviews at the studio and some meetings before they had to get ready for the concert that night. Since the convention was in Vancouver and there was no traveling, Jensen had agreed to sing that night. He was excited to perform new songs and to be in front of the fans. As they pulled into the studio parking lot, he sighed knowing it was going to be a long day ahead of him.

It was near six o’clock when Jensen arrived back at his apartment to get ready for the night. Once again, he turned on his favorite Wayward Stars song, A Light in the Dark. It was a slower song with beautiful lyrics and then a killer riff in the end. He was in his room, singing when he heard his door open. Only two people had a key to his place and he only needed one guest to know who was walking in.

“Really? Wayward Stars again?” Jared flopped down on his couch.

“I can’t help it that you have horrible taste in music.” He chuckled.

“I like the band… just not 24/7 like you.”

He rolled his eyes, shutting off his record player, “Don’t judge me. Now come on and let’s go hang out with the fam.”

Saturday Night Special was exactly that, special. Especially when they were in Vancouver. The cast and crew seemed to cut loose a little more backstage. He was catching up with Matt Cohen when they called him to get ready to go on stage. Jared and Misha were standing by the stage to watch as Rob called him up on stage.

There was nothing more exhilarating than being hit with a roar of an audience. An electric current steady ran down his body over the next fifteen minutes as he performed. When he walked off stage, as promised, he celebrated with Jared, Misha and others until the early hours of morning.

Their early morning panel was rough as the coffee worked through knocking out the whiskey from his system. The last question of their morning panel came from a young lady wearing a Wayward Stars shirt.

“Love your shirt.” Jensen smiled.

“We get it Ackles, you’re their biggest fan.” Jared jokes.

The fan laughed, “Actually my question is about them. SPN family loves this band since they are fans of the show. Wondering if you ever had a chance to meet them or if they could be invited to a SNS show?”

“Go on fanboy…”

Jensen rolled his eyes, “I would love to meet them one day and have them come perform during Saturday Night Special. I’m forever thankful to the fan who gave me their cd a couple of years ago. Many, many a night their music has kept me sane during shooting. So yeah, definitely would love to meet them.”

“I would love for Jensen to meet them so I can film it and post it on social media for everyone to see him fanboy all over (Y/N).”

The crowd ohhh as Jensen glared at Jared, “Alright, alright… I think we have to get going now. We will see y’all later.”

Waving as they walked off the stage. As soon as they were on the stairs, Jensen punched his friend in the shoulder.

“Ow!”

“You deserve that.” Jensen could hear Jared laughing all the way to the green room.

The rest of the convention went without a hitch. Monday morning brought a whole new week of filming. Jensen was in his trailer when his phone buzzed seeing a text from Jared.

He pulled up his app, seeing a few friends tagging him in a post from a girl named Addy. Clicking on the YouTube link surprised to see (Y/N) watching him sing from SNS.

“I can’t help it. He’s gorgeous and talented and the perfect man.” She threw her arm over her eyes dramatically pretending to faint.

Text flashed on the screen, “#1 Jensen Ackles Fangirl”

He sat there stunned for a moment watching the video again. He could not wrap his mind around that she was a big fan of his. He knew the band liked the show, but to think he was perfect? His heart thumped against his chest as his shaking hands typed a message back to Jared.

Jensen took a few deep breaths before typing a Tweet then deleting it. He typed another one and deleted it. The third time he hit post and immediately regretted it, sounding like an idiot. Within minutes he received a notification from (Y/N) on Twitter.

Before he could reply, Jared was calling him, “Are you freaking out?”

“N-No… maybe, yes.” He stammered.

Jared’s laughter filled his ear, “Oh my god I wish I could see your face right now. This is your chance to make all your dreams come true.”

“I’m hanging up now, Jerk.”

“See you in an hour, Bitch.” Jared was still laughing as Jensen ended the call.

He watched the video a few more times and sent another Tweet out to (Y/N) after following her page. He went on all his social media making sure he was following her before realization hit that it seemed stalkerish.

“Jay, calm your roll.” He muttered to himself.

Putting his phone down, he tried to go over his lines for the next scene they were shooting. When he could not concentrate then he buckled, putting in his earbuds and turning on Wayward Stars. His hands were still trembling as he tried to control his fan moment.

Over the next several weeks, Jensen and (Y/N) were chatting all over social media. He posted a picture on Instagram tagging her in holding up her vinyl record.

Finally, he gathered the courage to ask for her number in a DM to chat with her more in private. Since their fans were going nuts over their new friendship. Now they would text each other everyday like they had known each other forever. She would tell him about her shows and cities she was in. He would chat about filming without spoiling anything for her. The only thing he wished could happen was their schedules to sync up so they could meet.

That thought ran through his mind everyday especially when he was at conventions like the upcoming weekend in his hometown. Thursday night, he was on a plane heading to Dallas when a notification popped up on his phone from (Y/N) posting on Twitter.

“Not next to me.” He mumbled snapping a picture of himself before replying to her Tweet.

He knew where she was off too after they had talked earlier in the day. They were still a thousand miles apart but closer than they had ever been since their friendship had begun. Settling back into his seat, he enjoyed listening to Wayward Stars newest song released that week.

If you enjoyed this story then check out my Masterlist!

For updates please follow #waywardnerd67fics

Taglist: @waywardbaby @ladywinchester1967 @akshi8278 @dean-winchesters-bacon @carryonmywaywardcaptain @destiel745 @carribear31 @whimsicalrobots @adoptdontshoppets @mrswhozeewhatsis @bella-ca @drakelover78 @imascio08 @mannls @time-travel-bouqet @myinconnelly1 @maddiepants @tumbler-tidbits @sandlee44 @destielhoneybee @jerkbitchidjitassbutt @thefaithfulwriter @stoneyggirl @emoryhemsworth @atc74 @cosicas-cuquis @mimaria420

#waywardnerd67fics #star crossed series #jensen ackles fanfiction #jensen ackles fanfic #jensen ackles #reader insert #rpf #fluff

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natromanxoff · 3 years

Text

22 - Cars & Queenie Days

Hi there Queenie people.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Crystal

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

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saiki-k-innie · 3 years

Text

Your boyfriend, Denki Kaminari, is the UA traitor

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Anime: My Hero Academia Character(s): Denki Kaminari Legend (y/n = your name): gender neutral reader, quirk not mentioned, y/n is a gamer (not a major plot point) Word Count: 2.1k Warnings: (very) minor angst, invasion of privacy Notes: I wrote this while listening to (this) playlist, originally in the comment section of the video. I decided to refine it and post it here, because why not?

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

when you first found out, you were devastated.

Denki? Your little Pikachu? The UA traitor? preposterous. it was almost laughable. almost.

You were chilling in his room, playing on his PlayStation while he was out training with Kirishima and some others when you discovered his secret.

It was pretty common to see you in his room without him or vice versa. You two completely trusted each other with everything. There was nothing to hide from each other, or so you thought.

When you were about to claim a win in Overwatch, (you were KILLING IT as Widowmaker), Denki's monitor went black. No response from the controller or the console. Sighing, you pushed yourself back in his chair and ducked your head under the desk.

"oh my god" you breathed as you laid eyes on the rat's nest of wires tangled beneath his desk. It was absolutely insane. You couldn't tell one cable from another in the gordian knot of cords. You quickly identified the problem (the plug for the PlayStation had come loose) and fixed it. You cringed at the loss of your game progress but you had another problem at hand.

You powered off all of his consoles and settled down to solve the tangle of cables. Laughing, you didn't know why you expected anything more of Denki. He was so lucky that you loved solving puzzles, and knots were your specialty.

Looking closer, you saw that he had taken the wall socket apart and messed around with it to accommodate his quirk and gamer lifestyle. You were surprised that it hadn't started a fire, but decided not to mess with that because you were genuinely afraid of what would happen if you grabbed the wrong cable.

After a bit of untangling, you finally had the cords separated. You identified and tagged all of the cords at the speed of a professional, but one cord that ran straight into the wall remained. You couldn't find what it plugged into or where it went, and it was driving you crazy.

Temporarily abandoning your original task, you swiftly ran your nimble fingers along the mystery cable. It snaked along the base of Denki's desk into the back of one of his drawers through a clearly handmade hole. You wondered why this cable was so concealed while the rest were once so tangled and what it led to.

Extracting yourself from under Denki's desk, you took a deep breath and stretched our your back. You easily identified the drawer it was supposed to go to and opened it up. The drawer was surprisingly organized, containing game cases for games that you hadn't seen him play before, but you definitely recognized the titles. There was still no sign of what the cable led to.

You weren't going to give up so soon, though. If he thought this would satisfy your curiosity, he was dead wrong. Smirking at the feeble deterrent, you promptly removed all of the cases to see what they were covering up.

"Huh," you vocalized as you stared at the empty drawer. Something wasn't adding up. Peering at the back of the drawer, you could see the cable lead... underneath the drawer? No, you were sure that it was this drawer.

Inspecting the drawer carefully, you realized that the depth of the drawer didn't match the depth of the space allotted for it. You were starting to get excited. Remembering what Light did to hide his Death Note, you realized that the bottom of the drawer was probably a fake. Smiling fondly, you remembered how Death Note was the first anime you two watched together.

Ducking your head under the drawer, you saw the hole for the ink cartridge from a ballpoint pen that would reveal the secrets. You shook your head. How did Denki think he could hide something from his weeb s/o??? You swiftly disassembled a pen and poked it into the hole.

Success! the faux bottom popped up.

Nearly vibrating from the excitement of discovery, you carefully removed the thin wooden facade from the drawer.

What- What is this? There were several circuits and wires winding around the drawer, all carefully placed and put together so they covered the bottom of the drawer snugly. You saw a button, a switchboard, a headphone jack, and what looked like a place for a cd to sit in the area closest to you. The switchboard had three buttons labeled "play" "pause" and "record". The button off of the switchboard had no label, but it was significantly bigger than the others, so it had to have some significance.

The excitement slid off of your face and was replaced with a look of pure confusion and disappointment. You didn't know what you were expecting, but it certainly wasn't this.

Well, the puzzle certainly got a lot more complex but that wasn't going to stop you either. You stared at the labyrinth of lines and wires, like little highways connecting on the circuits and different components. You had completely forgotten your original objective of cable management.

Thinking for a second, you picked up one of the game cases that you took out of the drawer. The title read "Halo 3: ODST". Popping it open with the finesse of a pro gamer, you peeked inside, expecting to see the matching blue disk, but instead saw a grey cd with "021" scribbled on it in Denki's signature scrawl.

Shifting your weight onto your knees, you plugged your headphones into the audio jack. You pried the disk from the case and set it down in the drawer and pressed "play".

Your ears were assaulted with a series of beeps and you instinctively ripped your headphones from your ears. What was this??? After calming down, you sighed and carefully put your headphones back on. The beeping continued, and you realized that it was in a specific pattern. You identified it easily as morse code, and you remembered that Denki had taught you it a while back, just in case you had to communicate non-verbally. You used it to share answers on tests and talk in class more than anything, and sometimes to communicate during training. Jirou was the only other person who knew morse code in class 1-A, but you seriously doubted that she knew about this.

You pressed "pause" and removed the disk from the tray. You grabbed a notepad and reassembled the pen that you had dissected to reveal the bottom of the drawer. Sitting back down, you put the CD back into the tray and played it from the beginning.

Focusing completely, you wrote down the corresponding words to the rapid beeps. After about two minutes, the high-pitched beeps ceased completely. You put down your pen and read the message you had translated.

"Monochrome to Sparks. Bi-weekly report for week 11. Recruit for new members has proved successful. Two new villains by the names “Toga” and “Dabi” have joined us. We are still planning for the next attack on UA. Void has used intel for the specific layout of UA to detect weak points in the mainframe successfully. Crusty has suggested that we wait for the current term to finish to make our next move. We may be able to kidnap students of choice if they end up going on a training trip. That is all. Please send your reply at the usual time. Over."

Your jaw went slack. What- what is this? You shakily took the cd out of the drawer and replaced it. You opened up the other game cases that you had removed. They also contained grey disks, some labeled and some blank.

You placed the labeled ones in numerical order and listened to them one by one. The notepad was filled with all of the messages from months of corrospondence. Some had pre-dated the dorm system, so you figured that Denki converted their format to match the ones that were recorded after moving into the dorms to disguise the timeline.

Looking over your work, the puzzle pieces all fell into place. Denki had been working with the LOV for months, even before he came to UA. He had tricked you and your classmates into thinking that he was training to become the next generation of heroes with his charm and jokes. It all made sense, in a twisted way. Who would be better to be the traiter than him? To stupid in school to seem like he could pull it off, but insanely smart outside of the classroom. Was his academic shortcomings a fake too? No, you had sat there with him for hours trying to help him understand logarithms to no avail. He couldn’t of faked the tears of frustration he had before you agreed to go taste all of the flavors of Monster Energy and rank them instead of studying for midterms.

No matter what he had been planning, he still was your boyfriend. He was still your little static boy. Right?

You read over all of the messages over and over until your eyes blurred from tears. You put everything back and silently organized the cables you had pulled out. Shaking, you sat on his bed, clutching the notepad in your hands, waiting for Denki to come back.

After what seemed like forever, you heard his footsteps in the hallway.

When Denki walked in, you could tell he was exhausted.

You put down the notepad and held out your arms to him. He collapsed into you and exhaled, clearly wiped from training. You love him so much it hurts. He means the world to you, and you would do anything for him without hesitation. You solemnly made up your mind.

"Denki..." you started, rubbing his hair. "Mmmmph" he replied, noise muffled by your body. When you didn't respond, he sat up and faced you, rubbing his eyes.

You smiled sadly at him.

"What is it, my little spark?" he asked, his tone strained with worry.

You sighed and handed him the notebook with the messages written on them.

You watched his expression shift from confusion, to horror, to fear, to resignation. He didn't make it through all of the messages. He knew you would find this one day. He had made it so only you would know.

His gaze slowly panned over to the cords under his desk. When he saw that they were neatly organized, he sighed and put down the notebook. "y/n... let me explain... I understand if you turn me in. I understand if you never want to speak to me again. I understand if-" his voice broke and his eyes welled up with tears.

It hurt you so badly to see him like this. You looked over his beautiful face, distorted from the tears in your own eyes.

"Denki, when were you planning to tell me?" You felt so hurt that he kept this from you, but you knew why. How could he tell you? You both were training to be heroes. How was he supposed to tell you that you were part of the League of Villians?

"I- it all happened so fast, and I wasn't supposed to make friends, let alone be in a relationship. The shit hit the fan so quickly that it felt impossible to tell you. When we moved into dorms because of the LOV attack, I knew that I would have to tell you eventually. I set it up so we would know how to communicate in morse code so that you and only you would be able to find the communicator, and so that you would feel comfortable in my room. I just- I just hoped that maybe you would never find out." As he spoke, he moved his hands around feebly, just to let them rest on his lap.

You listened to him in silence. When he was done, you gazed into his honey-colored eyes that were trained dutifully on his bedspread and smiled. "I would burn down the world for you, Pikachu. I wish you would've trusted me with this sooner." You laughed and shook your head. "You are more important to me than you could ever imagine. If you are the UA traitor, if you are part of the League of Villians, so be it. I will shake hands with the devil if it means I will be by your side."

His blonde head snapped to attention. “Y/n...?” He looked at you quizically. This... didn’t sound like you. He knew that you were determined beyond measure to become a hero, and he didn’t expect you to be swayed so easily.

"Please, please, please don't hide anything else from me. I will always be on your side. Don't ever forget that, okay sparky?"

He looked at you, surprised that you weren't telling Aizawa about him at this moment, not that he would stop you. "Okay, my little spark."

"I love you"

"I love you too"

“... do you want to play a video game?”

“you know I do.”

“okay.”

“Hey y/n?”

“yes Denki?”

“let’s burn down the world together”

#mha #bnha #mha fanfiction #mha fanfic #my hero academia fanfic #bocu no hero academia #bnha x reader #bnha fanfiction #mha imagines #mha x reader #my hero academia #denki kaminari #denki kaminari x reader #denki x reader #bnha x you

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starsuh · 4 years

Text

do re mi | myg

featuring. min yoongi x reader | 3.2k

summary. while teaching you how to play piano, min yoongi realizes that his dumbass might have feelings for you after all.

genre. fluff | f2l | roommate!au | mutual pining

warnings. a quarter-life crisis and a soft make-out scene at the end

Amongst Min Yoongi's many talents, his sixth sense of knowing when something was bothering you was the one that most oft caught you off guard. Whether it was the intensity in which you slammed a door shut, or the way in which you didn't choose to annoy the fuck out him like you did every other day of the week; he would notice each time. It was only clockwork that he tentatively wrapped his arm around your shoulders when you had collapsed against the couch with perceptible chagrin.

"What's up?" he asked, a simple question that often entailed a more than complicated answer. Peering down at your tightened features, he awkwardly patted your shoulder as if to make known that silence would be just as valid of a reply.

You ran your hands through your face. "I don't know,” you said. If you did, you would've told him, just as you told him everything. Though the pair of you had began as merely two people who happened to be roommates because there were no other affordable options, spending months watching Netflix with another person tends to lead to friendship — even best-friendship, though neither of you had established such a title. It was the kind of friendship that needn't clarification, rather it was just another unequivocal fact amongst many.

After kicking off your shoes (Yoongi would scold you for that in a less emotionally-turbulent time), you pulled your knees up to your chest and wrapped your arms around them in a ball-like manner. "It's really fucking lame but I’m just realizing some things,” he nodded, prompting you to continue. "I'm scared of the future, I think. I mean, everyone is, but when our prof was talking about internships and shit earlier I kind of freaked out then decided that hiding in the bathroom was the best option.”

In his gaze was a reassurance so intent that you had to look away lest you become ensnared in it. He oft had that effect, increasingly so throughout the past few weeks. "What about it?"

Your eyes fluttered closed as you took a deep breath. “I think I know what I want to do, but then I see other people, people like you, who are so passionate about their place on Earth that to not do that thing would be a fate worse than death. Like, I love the path that I’m on but there’s always a voice that’s telling me I’m gonna fuck something up and regret everything.” You played with the loose threads of your top, pulling at the offending stitching. You laughed. “This is so stupid. I guess I’m just realizing that I might not be cut out for it.”

His sudden silence filled the room so heavily that you began to wonder if you shouldn’t have said anything at all. Gears turned behind the messy black mop atop his head that hung over his eyes; a face similar to the one he makes when contemplating a new track he had produced, seeking for each of its flaws and corresponding solutions.

It was so sudden when he reached down to grab your hand that you almost jumped. An inch away from falling onto his chest with the sudden upwards tug, you steeled yourself. "I'll show you something," he said to which you replied with a questioning stare. "It'll just be a sec, c'mon."

You allowed him to drag you to his bedroom, though not without glaring at the back of his head and whining. "Your room smells like Cheetos and day-old boxers."

He rolled his eyes. "I cleaned it this morning, so shut up."

He pushed the door closed with his hip, never once letting go of your hand until he unceremoniously shoved you towards the left end of the keyboard bench. You wiped the accumulated hand sweat against the rough fabric of your jeans, both thankful yet forlorn that he had let go. His was a comfort rarely given and you craved his affection the way one did with a cat that ignored those around it.

He reached down to plug the extension into the socket. "Can I play you something?"

You blinked, unsure if the nervous tone laced in the question was figment or reality. “What?”

He gave you a blank stare though it didn’t distract you from the way his hands fidgeted in his lap. “I said, can I play you something? Something I wrote?”

Impatient, he didn’t give you a second glance or a moment to reply before his hands flew across the board, pulling melodies out of the nooks and crannies of its black and white keys. Through every note, he told you of emotion, of love, of heartbreak and melancholy. You don't think you had ever understood what music was until then. It was more than his expertise, though he was quite the expert; it was the way his eyes closed at certain shrills and the way his shoulders hunched at others, the way he slammed harder into the keys and at other parts softer. He played like a poet. A writer. And you refused to be someone who didn't appreciate it for what it was: a story told to you.

The slight smirk gracing his soft features told you that he found amusing the way your mouth gaped open in shock. You’d only ever heard the distant echoes of his sound from behind closed doors as you walked past.

Yoongi had never played for you before, was even shocked that he was able to now, knowing that your mere presence in close proximity provided quite the distraction.

When he stopped, the air almost rang in its silence, as if you had forgotten what the world sounded like without his music in it. The hush blanket laid across the room felt bare and vulnerable. You understood now more than ever why he locked himself within the confines of his space in all hours of the day. If you could live in his symphonies, you would.

"Wow.” Because what else could be said? "That was... Yoongi, you're amazing."

His smirk remained, though as more of a mask to hide softer feelings behind. "Must've been if you're complimenting me for once.”

"Because you already have a ginormous ego."

He began playing once more. This time, a slow and deceptively simple melody. The chords were arrows tightly strung that flew through the air in wisps of smoke. To you, its warmth was paralleled to the feeling of his own beside you, his arm occasionally brushing yours as he reached to play a few lower keys.

"I think you're taking it too seriously," he said. "The future, I mean."

Your brows furrowed. "I kind of have to, dude."

He rolled his eyes but kept playing, occasionally glancing at you as he did so. "What I mean is," he pressed softly against the keys in the left end of the piano, their tenor notes filling your ears. "You need to calm down. Like this," the already soft melody slowed. "You know what you want, don't you? Why are you hesitating?"

You stilled, the feeling of being both caught and scolded grounding you in time. Your eyes focused on his hands to avoid the feeling of his analyzing gaze on the side of your face. “There are things I want to accomplish but there’s also things I want to have,” you groaned in exasperation. “I don’t know if I should choose the former or the latter but they’re so entangled that I can’t even tell which is which anymore.”

"Some things are only difficult if you think they're difficult." He looked down at the keys. "Like playing the piano, everyone knows that learning it is hard but something like this-" he played three chords in succession. "-sounds simple, right?" He continued to play those same chords until they blended together in a single melodious breeze. "But when I was a kid, learning piano was the bane of my twelve year old existence. I hated it so much because my impatient ass wanted to be good without trying. So, in true dumbass fashion, I quit taking lessons after two weeks."

You tilted your head towards him. “How did you learn then?"

“Well, I realized I was being a huge pussy and went back." Shaking his head before the glaze of the memory could wash over, he nodded towards you. Grabbing your hand, he placed them over the keys. “Can I teach you a chord?”

Your heart spiked in one fell swoop. “What? And embarrass myself in front of the music god himself?"

He laughed and it lit up his eyes brighter than the screen of his laptop that he had forgotten to shut off, still on the League of Legends home screen. “I told you, it's only hard if you think it is."

Too flustered to argue, you could only watch as he directed your fingers towards the correct keys until three were stretched towards their respective positions. C Major. You wondered if he could hear the rapid pace of your heart through the vibrations on your skin from where his larger hand rested atop your own. You could only pray to any god who would listen that he didn’t.

Among the numerous feelings that bubbled beneath your chest, the sudden pinch of ice that struck your nerves as he lifted his palm away from yours was one that you were the most unsure of. Filing that thought away for later, you focused on the most important task at hand: avoiding looking like an idiot in front of Min Yoongi.

Before you could retreat, your hands pressed down.

A sudden burst of sound filled the silence that you hadn't realized had grown so deafening. Your eyes widened as if you hadn't expected the chord to occur despite Yoongi's administrations, like trying to guess a passcode and getting it correct in a miraculous feat of luck. The now fading sound was not like anything you were expecting, though you knew even monkeys could do what you had just done. It was an actual piece of the puzzle that was music rather than the CD case or paper bag that had come with it.

Likened to an excited pup, you looked towards him for praise or assurance that you had done it right only to catch his already grinning countenance at your widened eyes.

For the next half hour he taught you two other basic chords, never failing to correct you in such a patient manner that your heart rose and fell with each glance and soft appraisal.

"But sometimes," he grinned. "Sometimes you need to stop thinking."

Your brows furrowed, though you didn’t need more than a few seconds to understand his cryptic wording before you yelped, almost flying off your seat at the abrupt disruption of the peace.

He began smashing his hands against the piano, creating the worst orchestra your ears had ever had the pleasure to hear. Overcoming the shock, both of yours laughs bubbled out, drowned by the keyboard speakers. Without a second thought, you joined, key smashing against the lower end. Together, you created an ear-grating masterpiece of cacophonous noise and piercing melody, yet it was still one of the most beautiful things you’d ever heard.

Yoongi began cheering your name like the greatest hypeman in existence as you gave the most effortful performance of your life, hands pressing against the first keys you saw to the last. You didn't know what you were doing but it didn't matter, not when he was smiling with his gums on full display as you went with your gut for the first time in years. Yoongi, the boy whose hands crafted magic, whose words changed you, whose music moved you. Yoongi, who looked at you and saw past your forced pretensions and society-enforced perceptions.

You laughed until your lungs ached for air, having not even realized that your whole body leant against his as you tried to catch your breath.

"Oh my god, I think my ears are broken," you covered them, finally dragging your hands away from the keys.

His grin widened. “You're a quick learner."

“Is this the part where I say that it's because you're a good teacher?"

“Only if you're polite, which we know you aren't." He hadn't stopped smiling and you had never felt prouder of any accomplishment in your entire life. “Was I able to distract you?"

You laughed, bringing your hands back to your lap to fiddle with them. He's seen you wear the same ramen-stained hoodie three days in a row with hair just as ratty yet you had never more felt exposed. “I’d say yes but I think I’ve exceeded my Yoongi compliment limit for the day."

"And here I was thinking that that compliment limit was zero."

"Hey," you playfully knocked against his shoulder. "I always say your breakfast is good."

He knocked against you back, his eyes turnt to half-moons. "That's because you want to brainwash me into cooking for you everyday with half-assed compliments."

"Or maybe," you lightly leaned against his hoodie-covered shoulder. "It's because I like eating breakfast with you."

He paused, and a grin that could only be described as shy graced his features. He tapped against the keyboard but didn't press hard enough to allow a sound to be let out.

"I trust you," he said in the silence. "That you can follow your heart. Even if that sounds corny as fuck, I really believe it."

You smiled, something you've been doing more and more often with him around. "I'll try," you said, watching as he contemplated his next words with a bite of his bottom lip. Giving him time, you glanced back at the piano. "Is it really that simple?" You pressed on a key.

He finally looked up. "I think so," he played the key beside the one you had just pressed, the side of it touching yours. "Even if it doesn't sound right to other people, who's to say that random key smashing isn't music? When you think you're supposed to play a certain way, that's when you hesitate. Even when you fuck up a piece," he pressed another key. "Regretting it doesn't stop the echo."

He began to play another soft melody, leaving you just as entranced as you were the first time he did.

“I’m a hypocrite, though,” he closed his eyes, lightly scoffing. “Giving you advice that I can’t even take.”

Your voice came out in a whisper. “Why?”

“Because...” He took a deep breath, hands leaving the keyboard as he fully turned to you. “I like you," he said it like it were a fact you should've already known. “I... I like you. A lot. I can't remember when you stopped being my annoying roommate who'd hog the fridge space and became the annoying roommate who I couldn't stop writing songs about. Before I could even realize and stop myself, today’s me kept looking forward to tomorrow’s you. I’d be a hypocrite to tell you to stop hesitating about the things in your life while I spent every second of every day wondering whether I should tell you my feelings and ruin our friendship.”

For if there was anything Yoongi knew more than most was that love was fucking stupid. It caused people to be irrational, selfless, and weak-hearted, yet why did he want to forget the stupidity that came with it whenever you walked into the kitchen for breakfast, hair messy and shirt tousled?

Love was fucking stupid. But maybe he could be an idiot if it meant that you'd be stupid for him too.

“I know you don't feel the same way but I just needed to tell-" you kissed him before he could finish what was sure to be a sentence so ridiculous that even the most astute of linguists would be left baffled. He was Min Yoongi. The boy who spent all day locked in his room making music and playing games with his friends. The roommate who'd wake up early just to cook you breakfast. The friend who knew you better than you knew yourself. The man who you'd found yourself falling for with every gummy smile. Yoongi. It had always been Yoongi.

And he was kissing you back.

His lips were as warm as the hands that carefully wrapped around your hips, gently pulling you closer to him. He kissed the way he played, soft and thoughtful.

Pulling away, he whispered your name slowly, prolonging each letter as if to savor them. Never before had your name ever felt so wonderful a one. His forehead pressed against yours, eyes flickering between yours in disbelief. The hand around your waist tightened as if in fear that at any moment you might say that you hadn't meant to give him what had to be the best moment of his life -- that you had actually accidentally fallen on him and he had simply been mistaken.

"You're an idiot," you laughed. "I've liked you since the first time you've cooked me breakfast if the heart eyes I gave you each time weren't already a dead giveaway."

He shuffled in his seat. "You have low standards then," he said. "Or are in desperate search for a house-husband."

You smiled, your nose brushing against his. "Maybe, a bit of both."

He leaned away from you, eyes lit up in a euphoria that didn't hinder from his nervous cadence. "Actually, that song I played for you? Earlier?” You’d never seen him blush before. “I, maybe, composed it thinking of you.”

"A personal chef, jester, and composer? I think I'm winning."

His nose crinkled. "You know you can still back out, right?"

"You're acting as if I'd even want to."

"Stupid songs like that... I suck at love yet I still want to give you everything," he whispered, voice hoarse. "But my everything will still only amount to that."

"If that's your everything,” your hands interlocked with his. “Then your everything is more than enough."

"I like you," he murmured the confession between your lips as if it were clandestine, the urge to say it a million times more bubbling up from his chest. Though stronger than his urge to say it was his urge to hear you say it back.

Your lips met his completely. Perfectly. "I like you, too."

Pulling away once more you couldn't help but laugh at the reddened color of his cheeks and ears. Cutting away at the awkward and still unsure tension, he inched backwards with a startlingly loud clap of his hands. "Now that that's settled, can we go back to making out? This corny shit is so awkward."

"I can't believe I like you," you groaned but kissed him back anyway.

While there was nothing in your life that you could be sure of, you knew that the man whose smile could light up the entire city of Seoul would be there for you for every step, and you wouldn’t have had it any other way.

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