#Piano Vortex

[jazzdailyblog]

Matthew Shipp: Redefining Jazz's Boundaries

Introduction: Few musicians have shaped contemporary jazz’s avant-garde landscape as profoundly as Matthew Shipp. As a pianist, composer, and visionary, Shipp has spent his career pushing the limits of jazz’s structure and redefining the genre’s possibilities. From his explorations of free improvisation to his grounding in jazz’s rich traditions, Shipp’s body of work is as diverse as it is…

[forgetmenomore]

Eventually, I only managed to play 20 seconds of "Vortex" on my piano. The wall and my head are now injured. Ik I didn't play it completely properly (shhhh), but hey at least I played the song Cheng Xiaoshi drowned to

Also ik that isn't the most entertaining so here's a little smth:

Nom nom

[paradisi]

OLTRE I MURI E I MARI In uscita il 24 febbraio. #ep #vetus #oltreimurieimari #electronicmusic #piano #analogsynth #analogsynthesizer #drone #ambient #ambientmusic #preorder #respiri #exploration #mirror #vortex #dream #notavailableinyourcountry https://www.instagram.com/p/Cnr86IJKiiH/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[ao3fujoshevik]

barely makes the top ten of songs from this series (for me personally), but it's really growing on me w relistens. i might just be enjoying the new villain reveals and the scooby doo mystery incorporated production on the drop lol

im still not over link click producing a full album w mvs just to feed us before the next season

[crepesuzette2023]

Before I forget: Paul live in Paris, Dec 4, 2024

At some point, there was real life and having to take care of 1001 things in order to come here, but I can't remember. The Stadium is enormous, the view clear, the sound sublime. As the venue fills, a DJ creates a set of deep cuts and remixes from Paul, Beatles, & Wings that paints a broad but incomplete mural of the man's music. On the screens, an endless building scrolls past: a castle or a tower, inhabited by all these friends and lovers—only to culminate in the birthing of two Höfner basses from—flowerbuds? Star nurseries? I don't remember. Anyway, it's appropriately lusty Gemini symbolism. Earlier, my seat neighbor @i-am-the-oyster spots an angry skull in the QR code innocently leading to Sir Paul's website. Also with us are @packyourromanticmind, @s-l-martin a little further away, @crumblingcookies down on the floor, and next to me Mr. Suzette.

Can't Buy Me Love. We're underway. It's over almost before it begins. More more more. • Junior's Farm. My God, that figure down there is really him. These delicate wrists, bright white shirt, but also — these hands on the strings? Above all, a musician. • Letting Go. Red Lights, throbbing beat, sleazy bassline thrumming. I bet this is a personal favorite of his. • Drive My Car. The thrill of singing Beep Beep M Beep Beep Yeah in sync with thousands. • Got to Get You Into My Life. Damn, his voice his soaring. • Come On to Me. What? My fiction brain supplies so many "everyone comes on Paul, and Paul returns the favor"-scenarios. • Let Me Roll It. The first taste of actual ecstasy. Paul switches to guitar. Too far below me, a sea of people is swaying and singing. He gave me loving in the palm of my hand.

Getting Better. How dare he jump from the churning vortex of Let Me Roll It into the happy, skipping optimism of...this? Of course it works, and he sings it well. • My loudest scream of the night goes to Brother Michael in Let 'Em In. This one feels like a sibling of Getting Better—that relentless, easy rhythm, stripped of Lennon's edge. • My Valentine. Elle est ici. This one's for you, Nance. Dark, old, honest love song in black and red, with the voice just this side of breaking on this love of mine. • Still behind the piano, Sir Paul feels the need to bounce on it, and does so with Nineteen Hundred and Eighty Five, no holds barred. • Since we're going insane, why fight it? Maybe I'm Amazed, absolutely a highlight so far—the piano, the shredding guitar. The screams and falsettos.

And then he's suddenly standing in front of the stage singing I've Just Seen A Face. Infuriating. • In Spite of All the Danger. This holds up, lifting the entire stadium with its gentle melody—until it's time to lose it when Paul plays George's guitar solo. McCartney—Harrison. • Love Me Do. George Martin name drop! No more audition nerves; this is a now a singalong tune. Excellent harmonica playing by Wix Wickens. • Michelle. In Paris! Makes me think of Ivan Vaughan's wife, who helped with the French. So much history in this room, in this work. The I Love You's are for everyone present. • Dance Tonight. That's right, get up and shake it! Palate cleanser.

Blackbird. I know: a forever song. The simplicity of him with a guitar. His hands. This is still that body. • Here Today. His voice is more firm singing this than it was in the past, not as close to tears—but if anything, it makes the line I Love You even better: strong, sure. Let's hear it for John. (Applause.) (Demanding gaze.) (More, louder applause.) That's right. • Now And Then. I miss John's voice. The vibes of this song are: It was beautiful, now it's over. Oof. Thank you, John, for giving us the beautiful song.

Enough of this. Sir Paul escapes behind the colorful piano. Lady Madonna time! • And right into Jet. Why not? A bit jarring, but hey. Triumphant fucking song, and just what we need now. • Being for the Benefit of Mr. Kite! At this point you're just fucking with us, Paul, and we let you. Disturbing to discover the lyrics to this song reside in the same brain that seems to be incapable of remembering actually crucial information with real life consequences. • Something. And like that, the heart is pierced again. It's just Paul and the ukulele at first, and thousands of voices singing for George. The man was loved. And the song is genius.

Me, before the concert: I could do without Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da. Me, during the song: goes nuts. • Band on the Run is a cool song, and it makes you feel good inside. It's time we all admit this. • Ram it home Paul, we want it: Get Back. What a song to play live. Gift of the gods.

Another change of pace as Paul sings Let It Be, surrounded by glowing wish balloons and the stars of the audience phone lights. Incredibly gorgeous and cathartic. My mother's second name was Mary and she died much too young; don't expect me to be normal about this song. • Live and Let Die. Okay then. Time to just surrender to the insanity of it all. I had *heard* of the fire show, seen it on small screens. I am not prepared. Not to mention the musical...orgy. • Hey Jude. This is my chance to come down a bit. What a peaceful melody. And then he screams and hollers during the ad lib section like the One Hand Clapping sprite he is...!

Encore: I've Got A Feeling. Paul and John sound crisp together. John looks so, so beautiful. Also, Paul still has the energy to almost scream in tune at this point. • Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band Reprise. Nooo, don't go! Also, Sgt. MF Pepper's exists because of this man and his bandmates. And it's just one song of the encore. Have to make choices, right. • Time to pull all the stops, and there's so much left. Helter Skelter. No, we will not take it down a notch. • Golden Slumbers. Damn you, Paul. • Carry That Weight. The first signs of the voice possibly being done for the night, but who cares when everyone sings along? • The End. The guitar solos! All this man wants to do is make music, either alone or in a good band. Both are fine with him, really.

When he's done, he's pretending to be humbled by the applause while actually soaking it up, and leaves the stage with a spring in his step, waving coquettishly at the camera that follows him for a bit. Is he kissing the camera? I forget. I think I remember the end. We see it all on the big screens: that lithe, white-haired figure, weaving past others until he's truly gone. Touch Me. Not a chance.

[mcflymemes]

PROMPTS FROM SHREK THE THIRD *  assorted dialogue from the 2007 film, adjust as necessary

let's just say some things are better left unsaid.

if there's something you want to do, or someone you really want to be, then the only one standing in your way... is you.

well, my stomach's aching and my palms just got sweaty. must be a high school.

it wouldn't be inaccurate to assume that i couldn't exactly not say that it is or isn't almost partially incorrect.

so you do know where he is!

all right people, let's do this thing!

i thought we agreed we'd go by the name "team super cool."

from henceforth, we're all to be known as "team alpha super awesome cool dynamite wolf squadron."

right! assume the position!

what are you doing?

i can't believe i'm going to be a father.

how did this happen?

allow me to explain.

when a man falls in love with a woman, he is overcome with powerful urges...

how can you be a receiver of the wedgies when you are clearly not a wearer of the underpants?

somebody help! i've been kidnapped by a monster who's trying to relate to me!

greetings, cosmic children of the universe. welcome to my serenity circle.

please leave all bad vibes outside the healing vortex.

i knew i should have got that warranty.

i'm sorry, but this isn't working for me.

it's not like your attitude is helping.

let go of your petty complaints and let's work together.

someone had better be dying.

if he were real, could i do this?

that's quite enough, boys!

look out! they got a piano!

you really need to get yourself a pair of pants.

some people just don't understand boundaries.

it's just so hard, you know?

come on, take it easy!

there's a mean person doing mean things to good people.

i'll go and get my things.

we realy need your help.

sorry, i don't do that stuff anymore.

how about a hug? that's the best kind of magic there is.

jealous much?

where's the baby?

you just need to do a little less yelling and use more soap.

the soap is because you stink. really bad.

i will never forget you. you are the love of my life.

that's easy for you to say!

it's not easy to come by honest work when the whole world is against you.

those are some nice leotards though.

do they have those in men's sizes?

all right, don't overdo it.

break a leg. on second thought, let me break it for you.

i haven't had a trip that bad since college.

please don't eat me.

i've always wanted to play the flute.

i'd rather get the black plague and lock myself in an iron maiden than go out with him.

try to be reasonable.

i don't know you, but i'd like to.

can i interest anyone in a snack or beverage?

that information is on a need to know basis.

what do you want, [name]?

i love you too, honey!

you're going to be a father.

from here on out, we're gonna take care of business ourselves.

this isn't a rehearsal.

i know i made many mistakes with you.

won't you please open mine first?

can you please just try to grin and bear it?

i got you the biggest one because i love you the most.

now you'll have plenty time to work on your marriage.

excuse me. old lady coming through.

just stay out of this!

oh, this place is filthy.

everybody stay calm. we're all gonna die!

[an-idyllic-novelist]

A Brilliant Color From A Voiceless Völundr

[Jack The Ripper x Nezuko!reader] [platonic]

Warnings: violence, hurt/comfort, ooc, spoilers for season 2

Special thanks to @onecantsimply​ ​ for providing feedback/edits to make this best possible fic it can be. 

The battle was over.  Another victory for humanity, and another god swallowed by their opponent’s malice. 

But was the outcome worth it all in the end? 

Jack the Ripper would remain despised as a psychotic serial killer who sent Heracles’ soul to Niflhel. A sentiment that both human and godly spectators shared when they slandered him in the arena, screaming to give their beloved hero back to them. When one rock bludgeoned Jack across the temple, more of them followed in a steady shower. The crimson vortex of the audience’s emotions only grew stronger, much bigger, when he bowed to them with a wide grin stretched across his bloodied mouth. 

Just when a rotten tomato then hurled towards him, a clawed hand caught it in midair. He blinked in surprise, seeing a young lady standing near him protectively and growling through her bamboo muzzle, [Hair Color] locks and [Favorite Color] kimono covered with just as much sweat and blood as him. 

[First Name]. His Völundr. 

Although he had been informed by Brunhilde that his partner for the fight against Heracles was to be a young lady by the name of Hlokk, certain…circumstances had happened. In short, the aforementioned Valkyrie refused to bond with him because of his reputation even when the existence - or annihilation - of humans was at stake in this Ragnarok. Although Brunhilde struggled with this sticky situation at the last minute when her younger sisters also refused under the same excuse, she found a willing volunteer in [First Name]. Thurd tried to argue with Brunhilde, protesting that their sibling’s mental state was still delicate, yet the latter refused to compromise further. 

She knew [First Name] was much stronger than the other Valkyries gave her credit for. Brunhilde could never forgive the gods for the unspeakable crime they had committed against [First Name]….but if that malice can be harnessed as a weapon, then so be it. The healer who had overlooked her sister’s mental conditioning assured her that the hypnosis was perfected. 

Her enemies were the gods who acted high and mighty. [First Name] would protect the humans as if they were her family. But if a human acted maliciously against her, cripple but do not kill them. 

Dropping the fruit, [First Name] swiveled around and stood in front of Jack, her small back facing him. Before he had a chance to speak to her, she leaned down and hooked his legs around her middle, keeping a steady grip as she stood up at her full height, dashing towards the arena’s exit, carrying him as if he were a small child and not a gentleman with his arms around her shoulders just so he wouldn’t fall backwards. Jack felt a small twinge of embarrassment at their current situation…though how could he have the heart to tell [First Name] otherwise when she was so earnest in doing this?

“Much obliged for your assistance, young lady.” 

[First Name] did not say anything and just kept running down the marbled corridor towards the medical wing. If it weren’t for the slight squeeze of his legs, Jack would have thought that she was ignoring him. 

“I am aware that you cannot speak, given your current…situation, though would you allow me to express my gratitude?” Another squeeze prompted Jack to continue. “Thank you. Firstly, I did not expect such…support from you in the fight, young lady.  ‘Tis one thing to allow me to change anything into a weapon against the gods, but to also harness the power of fire with my piano wire and knives as a conduit? Quite brilliant against a god of immeasurable strength.” Jack frowned. “Yet with this victory…I’ll never see that color of his ever again, will I? It’s funny, really. I reveled in seeing that beautiful color when life was being drained from the people I’ve killed, yet now…all I feel is remorse for extinguishing that light from Heracles. Fate is a funny thing, isn’t it?”

Silence fell between the human and his Völundr for the rest of the way to the medical bay. Nurses were already standing by the double doors, prepped to heal humanity’s representative immediately. When [First Name] lowered him to the ground, he almost expected her to leave and go about her business. But just when he followed the medical personnel inside, the Valkyrie stood in front of him. 

Standing on her tiptoes, [First Name] carefully pulled Jack down to her height before her clawed hands stretched forward to cup his face. She stared at him long and hard, [Eye Color] orbs reflecting neither malice, exhaustion, or grief. Instead, they shined with pride and concern as her fingers gently caressed the bloodied, bruised skin. 

Like a loving parent would act towards their child. 

Although her actions made him speechless, it shocked Jack even more to see the bright and warm yellow light circulating around [First Name]’s body. The very same color Heracles possessed right up to his untimely demise by Dear God. How was this even possible?

“You -”

“There you are!” A voice boomed before [First Name] was suddenly lifted up in the air by two large hands coiled around her waist. The culprit was an enormous green-eyed woman with reddish-orange hair pulled back in a braid and fitted crimson armor. Although his Völundr wiggled around her grasp she did not try to harm the stranger. Instead, she appeared…annoyed? 

Jack blinked, seeing a pair of pristine wings jutting out from the woman’s back. Ah, she must be one of the Valkyries. What was her name again? Hrist? No, that was the samurai’s Völundr. Then who…

“Lady Thrud!” A nurse squeaked. 

The Valkyrie hummed in acknowledgement before she turned her attention to [First Name], a frown stretched across her face. 

“You were fearless in the match, my dear sister. I am proud of you.  But there is a difference between being brave and needlessly reckless!”  A whine emitted from [First Name]’s muzzle as she began to wiggle again in Thrud’s grasp, only to have the older woman tighten her grip ever so slightly on the Ripper’s Völundr. “Don’t you dare say that you are fine! I was in the arena when you were carrying him out, and I know your side is still bleeding! We might be able to heal ourselves, sister, but we are not invincible. Which is why you are coming with me to for a medical checkup, now.” 

[First Name] mewled pitifully in response, stubbornly trying to pry herself free until a pained groan spewed from her muzzle. Thrud looked down and huffed. “See? This is what happens when you do not listen to your elders.” 

Jack could only watch in slight amusement and worry as the Valkyries bickered for a bit longer till [First Name] finally agreed to be taken away to a separate section in the human’s area to be healed. It was obvious that she wanted to stay with him. Although he was touched with her concern, he wanted his Völundr to get some proper rest. She needed to, should they ever be summoned again to fight for humanity’s sake. 

As Thrud walked away from the medical wing with [First Name] in her arms, she peeked over the giantess’ shoulder and waved at him enthusiastically, her voice muffled by the muzzle before she winced, earning another scolding from Thrud.

Jack chuckled and waved back, watching the two figures grow smaller as they traveled further down the corridor before he walked inside the hospital wing. Who would have thought that a black-hearted monster like him would kill a god, and yet be saved by the loving touch of a voiceless Valkyrie? He certainly did not deserve it. Perhaps…this is the ultimate punishment bestowed upon him by God.

Bonus Content:

Once he was healed, Jack took it upon himself to bake a homemade apple pie to share with [First Name]. It took him plus Hrist and Kojiro to persuade the terrified Valkyrie that it was not Brunhilde’s specially made pies. 

[First Name] was allowed to eat and drink without her muzzle so long as she was not within the vicinity of the gods or else she would (possibly) go berserk upon seeing them. 

taglist:

@recreationalfanfics

@nyxthehunterxdblog

@onecantsimply

@rukia-writes

@radioactivesweet

[xxsycamore]

𝐍𝐚𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐨𝐧 𝐆𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐃𝐚𝐭𝐞

↬ 👖 Napoleon has a little problem dressing up for a date in the 21st Century. Luckily, the mansion's residents are there to give him fashion advice, divided into team Sexy, team Defense, and team Cute.

Napoleon Bonaparte x MC, ft. all residents ( Leonardo, Mozart, Arthur, Isaac, Dazai, Comte, Sebastian, Jean, Theo, Vincent, Shakespeare) • rating: G • tags: Humor; Crack; Dress Up • wordcount: 1,797 • masterlist

a/n: An early celebration for Napoleon's upcoming birthday, with the prompt Napo Style from my Napoleon Birthday Celebration 2023 event! Enjoy the chaos!

Thanks to The Door at Comte's mansion being fixed and thus allowing a safe trip through the time and space continuum, newer and cooler dating spots are now available for the mansion's lovebirds, Napoleon and MC! How exciting is that? The latter is especially enthusiastic about strolling the streets of 21st-century Paris and showing off her lover…

The former is currently losing his mind.

Because there is an hour left until they step into the vortex of time-traveling, and Napoleon has no idea how people in the future dress for a date. At all.

"This is a problem." Napoleon muses out loud as he paces back and forth in the mansion's lounge room. Of course, he's not alone there, in this house you never get a moment of privacy no matter where you are. Currently he shares his air with… Leonardo, Mozart, Arthur, Isaac, Dazai, Comte, Sebastian, Jean, Theo, Vincent, Shakespeare… wait, why are all of them here?! Even Shakespeare? Could it be that his worries are so prominently written on his face that the residents' gossip-meter was able to track it, and now they're bursting with curiosity?!

"Everything alright, Naps?" Arthur tests the waters, taking a noisy sip from his coffee.

"Yeah, you can always tell us if you have problems with your dating life. That's what friends are for."  Theo chimes in, folding his arms in front of his chest.

"Problems with my dating life? No, it's just… I don't know how to dress up for the date. I thought that maybe I could just go with these clothes…?" Napoleon shrugs, fixing the lapels of his jacket.

"I strongly suggest you don't." Joins Mozart, closing the piano he was pretending to play as he listened in.

"Then what do I put on? MC will be ready in just a moment and she'll no doubt be stunning. Gods… Can any of you help me out?"

"We can."

"Alright old chap, come out whenever you're ready. Too bad that our team's idea is first and therefore it will put an early end to this fashion show." Arthur boasts confidently as he takes his place on the left along with his other team members, part of the Sexy team. As the curtain is dramatically swooshed to reveal Napoleon, the audience livens up in a cacophony of different murmurs…

Napoleon has no idea why the bunch targeted his favorite red curtain-- erm, cape, as the first thing to be removed from the outfit, but in a flash Napoleon sees it hanging from the staircase's railing and he understands. The small space behind the stairs becomes a makeshift changing booth… he does live with the smartest men in history after all. From there on, the smart ideas keep on coming as he steps behind the curtain and braces himself for accepting the various articles of clothing being handed to him to try on.

Napoleon poses awkwardly while trying to hide his attributes, the small cloth hiding his crouch area making it difficult as his pants have been reduced to just that, a loincloth that his trademark big belt holds together. His shirt too has suffered a massive reduction in length and now barely covers his chest, leaving his abs and stomach exposed, a similar thing done to his sleeves so the shirt now reminds more of a tank top of sorts. The golden epaulets from his jacket remain. His boots are untouched, at least. His look is completed with ruffled hair for a messier, sexier hairstyle.

"Ahem. As you may know, the 21st century is vastly different from our times in terms of dressing to impress… so to say, the meaning of that phrase is turned upside down!"

"Undress to impress!" With a finger in the air and a smile on his face, the most unlikely member of team Sexy, Vincent, hurries to add. Before Theo can collapse, Vincent backs up his (unbeknownst to him) scandalous vision with a little bit of his wisdom. "How nice that is, a world that celebrates the body instead of hiding it. Napoleon has a body that many would put on a canvas, and he should celebrate it!"

"Thank you, Vincent."

"Sebastian, why are YOU on this team?" Someone in the crowd asks.

Despite Arthur's confidence in winning this "competition", the other teams are more than eager to have their go in an attempt to beat his idea of modern fashion. After another round of handing stuff to the haphazardly changing behind the curtain Napoleon, a group of four residents get ready to present their idea.

With a perfect little nod, Sebastian says matter-of-factly, "Master Napoleon has a body that many would put on a canvas, and he should celebrate it."

With difficulty, a man in a knight's heavy full armor (that normally can be found in one of the hallways as a decoration) steps in front of the audience's eyes, who they can only assume is Napoleon, due to not a tad of his identity being visible underneath this "outfit".

As a leader of Team Defense, Jean turns to the audience to explain. "The modern world is filled with dangers we're unaware of. Napoleon should prioritize his safety," he eyes his teammate, Shakespeare, who is ready to take the word next: "As well as the safety of his beloved. Thus he clothes in steal and prepares a heavy blade, or a dozen; if the chance arises, he shall defeath all that's on his path, in the name of her!"

As Napoleon hears the signal, he demonstratively takes out a spear, a chain mace, a war hammer, a longsword…! The audience takes a step back.

"They're right. You never know what's out there. There might be cats." Theo nods approvingly, slapping Napoleon's armor as if to test its durability. The last member of team Defense, Mozart, is ready with his own argument.

"Everything there must be dirty. This will protect him from exposure."

Still, this can't end without the final third team showcasing their own unique idea of dressing up Napoleon. And besides, the mansion's daddy, Comte, being a leader of this team is enough to make everyone quiet down and pay attention.

It's a shockingly good argument.

"And finally, team Cute. Because you, my dears, are forgetting a key element of what our fashion show is about, and that is helping our Napoleon win his girl's heart all over again, in a different time, in a different world. We must look from the eyes of MC. And a lady like her, oh her heart surely sings at the sight of everything that can be called cute. She'll swoon and melt as she witnesses Napoleon embracing his inner adorableness; that is for sure!"

Without further ado, Napoleon steps forward, revealing his outfit that for some reason troubles his walking more than the armor from before… the reason might be the tight corset Comte put him in, one made for men nonetheless, but still making it hard for the soldier to act naturally wearing. Especially combined with those high-heeled boots! There's not a trace of any dark colors anywhere to be seen, from frilly innocent whites to sunny yellows to baby pinks, he's dolled up like a little prince from a fairytale. His hair which is the only color out of place, is densely covered in small hairclips, that are not exactly Comte's style, so there might be put there by…

"Napo-chan is so kawaii with the little hair accessories I put on him. I'm convinced MC won't resist kissing you all over."

"Why am I on this team?!" Laments Isaac, whose contribution is narrowed down to an apple he found laying around… surprisingly, posing with the apple does add cute points to Napoleon's look, as much as the physicist hates to admit. He's only on this team because he refused to join in the absurdity of the other two…

"They're right, Naps." Leonardo agrees with a hand on his chin. "I've heard cara-mia gush all over you being cute when you make a slip-up from your mister perfect persona. Be a little clumsier and clueless. She'll find it charming."

Napoleon hums and looks at the palms of his glove-clad hands, a little lost. "I'm, uhhh… not so sure what you mean."

"That's it, just like that."

"Okay, that's all, which team won?" Arthur asks impatiently, not very amused about the fact that his coffee mug is now empty.

"That's for Napoleon to decide. What do you think, Napoleon?"

Napoleon takes a look at all the faces lit up in expectation, and makes a "wait" gesture as he disappeared behind the curtain again. A few seconds later he is out, dressed in what appears to be an untouched replica of his original outfit, but almost hidden beneath various items that each of the teams can recognize as their own.

"You all joined forces to help me, so the answer can only be a combination of your efforts. With this, I'm confident about covering all bases necessary for a successful date with my Nunuche. Thank you."

"Spoken like a true leader!" Dazai cheers, instantly approving the idea.

The door swings open as MC walks in at a fast pace, hurrying to collect Napoleon's hand and take him away. She's dressed in a simple sundress and wearing her light pink bag over a shoulder with the little Mousette charm hanging from it.

"There you are Napoleon, we're going to be late for our date…! What are you wearing?"

Napoleon makes a troubled humming noise as he shakes off item after item, throwing them in different directions as they clatter against the floor and roll off somewhere. He's back in his day-to-day outfit.

"Nothing much. Nunuche, the truth is… you're stunning. I didn't want to disappoint you. I'm sorry but I couldn't find anything to dress up for our date."

"Oh? What are you talking about, we're going to get you dressed up right now! As soon as we step out of the door we'll go to my friend Mai's boutique and you can have a full Comtherapy!"

"…I…What's a Comtherapy?"

"A Comte-therapy! A shopping therapy, dummy! He even gave me money to dress you up this morning! Thank you, daddy Comte!"

"You're welcome, ma cherie."

"COMTE? WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL US?" a bunch of voices speak up at the same time.

"Why, my dearest residents and I were having so much fun. Who am I to spoil it?"

Amidst the chaos, Napoleon and MC begin to laugh, their hands still intertwined because of MC's earlier attempt to sneak Napoleon out of the rowdy room. Napoleon smirks and takes the lead, leaving the residents to their wits.

"Come on, Nunuche. Let's go on our date."

MC swoons and gawks, following right after.

"Gods Napoleon, you're so charming!"

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[celestialsun123]

Vortex Piano Cover - Melody Only

Look what I can do :D

Uh, don't mind the angle. You're staring at my piano, and the weird little clacking noise is my little charms that are on my phone.

[projazznet]

Keith Jarrett – Life Between the Exit Signs

Life Between the Exit Signs is the first jazz album by pianist Keith Jarrett as a leader. It was recorded on May 4, 1967 at Atlantic Recording Studios, in New York City and released on April 1, 1968, under the record label Vortex, a subsidiary label of Atlantic Records. It is the first session featuring Jarrett, bassist Charlie Haden and drummer Paul Motian together.

Keith Jarrett – piano

Charlie Haden – double-bass

Paul Motian – drums

[abbygrabska]

Human Nature

The central console of the Tardis is sparking crazily as we pick ourselves off the floor.

“Did they see either of you?!” The Doctor shouts.

“I don’t know, I was too busy running!” I tell him.

“Girls, it’s important… Did they see your face?”

Martha shakes her head, “No, they couldn’t have!” The Doctor runs around the console and starts playing with the controls, “Off we go!”

We stand next to him as he watches the time rotor intently.

A warning beep cuts in, symbols appearing on the console screen.

“Ahh!” He grabs the console screen and reads it, “They’re following us.” He goes back to the controls.

“How can they do that, you’ve got a time machine.” Martha points out.

“Stolen technology, they’ve got a Time Agent’s vortex manipulator. They can follow us wherever we go, right across the universe…” He pauses, “They’re never going to stop.” He runs a hand through his hair nervously, staring off before he speaks quietly, “Unless… I’ll have to do it…” He stares at us, “Girls, you trust me don’t you?” “With my life.” I say.

“Of course I do.”

“Cause it all depends on you two.” He dives below the console to retrieve something.

“What does? What are we supposed to do?” I ask.

He comes up, holding an ornate pocket watch, “Take this watch, ‘cause my life depends on it. Girls, this watch is me.” I take it from his hands as he runs around the console.

“Those creatures are hunters, they can sniff out anyone - and me being a Time Lord; well, I’m unique. They can track me down across the whole of time and space. They can smell me, they haven’t seen me. And their life’s bound to be running out, so, we hide, wait for them to die.” “But they can track us down.” I say.

He looks at me, “That’s why I’ve got to do it. I have to stop being a Time Lord. I’m gonna become human.” He looks up at a strange headset hanging from a cable, lowering it into his reach, “Never thought I’d use this. All the times I’ve wondered.” “What does it do?” I ask.

“Chameleon Arch. Re-writes my biology. Literally changes every single cell in my body. I’ve set it to human.” He takes the pocket watch from my hands, fitting it into a section of the headset, “Now, the Tardis will take care of everything. Invent a life story for me, find me a setting, and integrate me. Can’t do the same for you two… you’ll just have to improvise. I should have just enough residual awareness to let you in.”

“But… hold on, if you’re going to rewrite every single cell, isn’t it going to hurt?” Martha asks.

“Oh, yeah. It hurts.”

Two months later…

Martha enters the Tardis, the console room is barely lit up.

I am sitting on the stairs, “Anything yet?”

She nods, “There was a meteor, a shooting star. Did the video say anything about that?”

I sigh, “No. Trust me, I’ve watched it what feels like a million times.”

She frowns, “Are you okay?” “As okay as I can be, it’s been two months of him not knowing I exist.” She hesitates to respond, “I think that the Matron is interested in John.” I nod slowly, “Okay.” “Is it?”

“Yeah, of course it is. It’s not like he knows who I am anymore.” I wipe the tears from my eyes.

“I think he does though.” She whispers.

“What do you mean?”

“He’s been dreaming of The Doctor, he keeps mentioning you, though I’m sure he thinks you’re just a figment of his imagination.” She tells me, “That’s why he hasn’t responded much to the Matron’s advances. I bet if you showed up, he’d fall in love with you all over again.” I stare off into the dimly lit center console, “Maybe you’re right.”

“There’s an opening for a maid at the school.” She smiles at me.

I smile back at her, “I’ll get changed.”

Martha rides back to the school. I go into the village dressed in Edwardian fashion.

I spot John and who I assume is the Matron. They seem entranced with one another.

I walk quietly, looking around, there’s a woman and a perambulator coming around the corner. The rope sling holding the piano aloft outside the shop is breaking. The two men holding it are trying desperately to steady it. A young boy is tossing a cricket ball up and down in his hand. I look from the ball to the rope, the piano lurches alarmingly.

I grab the cricket bat from the boy, throwing it at a bundle of spare scaffolding pieces standing outside the ironmongers. The poles fall, hitting a plank of wood with a brick on the end. The brick flies into the air, up and over the piano - just as the rope snaps and it starts hurtling to the ground. The brick hits a milk churn on a cart, sending it falling into the path of the perambulator and stopping it in it’s tracks. The woman screams and the piano hits the ground, smashing to pieces.

The baby starts crying, the two workmen rush over to see if the woman is alright.

I can see John staring at me from the reflection in the shop window, seemingly entranced, before he blinks rapidly, “Abby?”

I turn, smiling, “Yes?”

“Do you two know each other?” Matron asks, looking between us.

I shake my head, “I’ve never met this man before. I’m not sure how he knows my name.” “Sorry, it’s just… you look so much like the woman in my dreams.” He says. I flush, “Well, I’ve certainly never heard that line before.”

He seems to realize what he said, “Oh, I just meant I’ve had dreams of a woman who looks like you and is also apparently named Abby.” 

“How interesting.” I smile, “Do either of you know the way to the Farrigham School for Boys? My friend mentioned they had an open position as a maid.”

“Oh, we both work there. Me and the Matron. We can walk you there.”

She looks at him, slightly upset.

“Well, I’d love that. But if you could tell me your name, that would be lovely, seeing as you already seem to know mine.” I suggest. “Right, I’m John, John Smith.” He offers his hand. “It’s lovely to meet you, John Smith. I’m Abigail Grabska, though I just prefer Abby.” I place my hand in his.

To my surprise, he doesn’t shake my hand but brings it up and presses a kiss to it.

“These dreams you spoke about, you said there’s a woman who looks like me in them?”

“Yes, same name, same beautiful freckles.” He grins at me, “In fact, I’m positive I could find some constellations in them.”

I blush, “Well, I’ve never had someone compliment me like that.”

He frowns, “Anyone who looks like you should get compliments every day.”

“Well, if I get the job, I’ll expect them.” I grin at him.

He notices something, “That scarecrow’s all skewed.” “Well then, we better fix it.” I hike up my dress and cross the furrow.

I  climb the post to move its arms across the frame, “All better now.”

I turn and glance back at them, John is looking at me fondly, the Matron, not so much.

I jump off the post and cross the furrow again.

We head back onto the road.

Later in the day, I get changed into my new maid uniform and knock on the open door to John’s study.

He looks up from his book and smiles, “Abby, hello.”

“Hello.” I motion to the room, “May I come in?”

“Of course.” He motions to the sofa across from him.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Just going over my journal of dreams.” “Am I in it?” I ask jokingly.

“Yes, actually. You pop up quite a lot.” He speaks seriously. He gets up and sits next to me on the sofa, holding the journal open for me to see. 

There are dozens of sketches of him and me on the open pages.

The day we first met, the wedding we went to, our first kiss. All of my favorite moments.

“They’re lovely.” I whisper, stroking the pages.

“Yes, you are.” He murmurs, before realizing what he said, “I mean, the sketches, not that you aren’t lovely.”

“I think you’re lovely too John.” I smile.

“We barely know each other.” He whispers, leaning in slowly until our noses touch.

I lean in further, connecting our lips.

“I’ve never, um…” He runs out of words, choosing to kiss me again.

The door rattles and we pull apart.

“Martha, what have I told you about entering unannounced?”

She scurries back out and closes the door behind her.

He turns back to me, “Sorry about that.”

I smile lightly, “It’s alright.”

He takes my hand in his, “Would you like to go to the village dance this evening? As my guest?”

“I’d love to.” I smile.

I enter his study again, this time in a dress similar to what Rose wore on the Titanic. “You look amazing.”

I smile, “Thank you.”

The door bursts open and a breathless Martha runs in, “They’ve found us.”

“Martha, I’ve warned you.”

“They’ve found us, and I’ve seen them. They look like people, like us, like normal. I’m sorry, but you’ve got to open the watch.” She looks at the mantlepiece, “Where is it?” She shuffles through the things on the mantlepiece, “Oh my god, where’s it gone? Where’s the watch?”

“What are you talking about?” John asks.

“You had a watch, a fob watch. Right there!” “Did I? I don’t remember.”

“But we need it… oh my god, Doctor, we’re hiding from aliens, and they’ve got Jenny and they’ve possessed her or copied her or something and you’ve got to tell me, where’s the watch?” “Oh, I see…” He leans in to whisper to me, “Cultural differences.” I clench my jaw as he picks up his journal.

“It must be so confusing for you. Martha, this is what we call a story.”

I glare at him, “Enough! John, I will talk to her, you get ready for the dance.”

I grab Martha’s arm and pull her out of the room, slamming the door shut behind us.

I lower my voice to a whisper, “Find the watch, or make him remember, somehow. I’ll keep him distracted.”

She nods.

We arrive at the village hall for the dance.

“Spare a penny for the veterans of Crimea, sir?” A man asks.

“Yes, of course.” John digs through his pockets, pulling out a couple of coins, “There you are.”

Inside, people are milling about, getting drinks from a beer keg.

“Ladies and gentlemen! Please take your partners for a waltz.”

John takes my hand and we start to dance.

The song ends and John says he’s going to get us drinks so I sit down.

Martha approaches me quickly.

“Did you find the watch?” I ask.

“No.” She shakes her head, “But I got his sonic. That should jog something right?” She pulls out his sonic, handing it to me.

John walks over, not happy to see Martha, “Oh, Now really, Martha. This is getting out of hand. I must insist that you leave.”

I hold out the sonic, “Do you know what this is? Name it. Go on, name it.”

He stares at me, “Not you too.”

“Take it.”

He sighs, slowly takes it and turns it over in his hands.

“You’re not John Smith. You’re called the Doctor. The man in your journal, he’s real. He’s you.”

A man strides in, knocking over a hat stand. People shriek and move away.

“There will be silence! All of you!” Scarecrows file in after a schoolboy and a maid I assume to be Jenny.

“I said silence!”

“Mr. Clarke! What’s going on?”

Clarke turns and fires at the announcer, dissolving him into nothing.

I turn to John, “Forget everything I just said! Don’t say anything.” “We asked for silence! Now then. We have a few questions for Mr. Smith.”

“No, better than that.” A little girl joins the schoolboy and Mr. Clarke, “The teacher. He’s the Doctor. I heard them talking.” 

“You took human form.” “Of course I’m human, I was born human! As were you, Baines. And Jenny, and you, Mr. Clarke! What is going on, this is madness!” “And a human brain, too! Simple, thick, and dull.” “He’s no good like this.” Jenny says. “We need a Time Lord.” “Easily done.” Baines steps forward, raising his gun and aiming at John.

Everyone gasps and he recoils backward.

“Change back!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “Change back!”

He shouts, “I literally do not know…” Jenny grabs Martha and holds a gun to her head, “She’s your friend, isn’t she? Doesn’t this scare you enough to change back?” “I don’t know what you mean!” “Wait a minute…” Jenny says, “The maid told me about Smith and the new one… that woman, there!” “Let’s have you!” Clarke grabs me, holding me hostage like Martha.

“Have you enjoyed it, Doctor? Being human? Has it taught you wonderful things? Are you better, richer, wiser? Then let’s see you answer this. Which one of them do you want us to kill? Your friend, or your lover? Your choice.”

[forgetmenomore]

Vortex on piano (again because I only got theougn 17 seconds last time)! Only like- 34 seconds because I suck at this oh my gosh. I didn't lift the pedal because I wanted to cover the background noise. I messed up a lot, ofc. Sorry

Since this post isn't very entertaining (I just really wanted to play Vortex), have this:

[nohugsgiven]

got tagged by @blastdamage (:

The Rules™: pick a song for every letter in your URL and then tag that many people

nacreous snowmelt by Camellia [j-core]

out of my mind by Gyrofield [dnb]

hype invader by Kobaryo [uk hardcore/electrocore]

uninvited guest by Mitsukiyo [piano]

girls by Masakatsu Takagi [piano]

skin-deep by Multy Tabs [easycore/pop punk]

games by Kraus [noiserock]

it's our destiny (Imanu self remix) by Imanu [dnb]

vortex by YZYX [chiptune] (not the full name but cmon man i don't know any songs starting with V <'3)

effection (part 2) by weyheyhey !! [breakcore]

new canaan by Bill Wurtz [country folk]

i'd love to hear from @lost-in-a-meadow @oediex @ouroya @juiches-blog @androidenkaetzchen @peachypixxie @lucid-lefty @budpuppy @tobeflyhigh @snowbleat @soft-raining and anyone who sees this and feels like doing it! i picked super randomly 💛 edit: tumblr is a fuck and won't let me tag the rest of the people hhh. sorry about sending the rest manually & bothering yall sfsfgd

[seamgel]

rating LS members by how i think they'd feel, taste, smell and sound like !!! [i only watch like a few of them so some may be inaccurate, it's all /lh btw]

4C: he feels like jelly ofc, prob tastes sour-sweet, smells of daisies and sounds like soft wind 3/4 [i hate sour things ckdjskdn]

Rek: tastes like syrup, feels like sorta airy and soft, defo smells like fresh air and he sounds like birds chirping 4/4 :3

Terrain: he smells of leaves and mint [is mint leaves ???], he tastes like make-up, sounds like a piano and feels like a mossy rock 2/4 [mmm make-up is blegh and i do not like the smell of purely mint]

Zam: smells like petrichor [the highest of compliments], sounds like soft sheep bahs, he feels like quick sand and tastes like a strawberry lolipop 4/4 !!!

Jaron: he feels smooth and silky, tastes of caramel, def smells like sticky notes and sounds like a creaking swing 4/4 :]

Planet: sounds like the rumbling of inside a car [driving home at night after a long day !!!], tastes like cotton, smells like a lemon and feels like butterfly wings 2/4 [cotton blegh, and the smell of lemons<<<]

Bacon: smells of lavender candles, feels kinda like a rough rock, tastes like hot chocolate [ik i could've said bacon but he does NOT taste like bacon !!! /lh] and sounds like laughing children 3/4 [lavender candles kinda smell not like lavender yk ??]

Red: he tastes of steak, smells like dry wall, feels like magma and sounds kinda like the quiet of night 3/4 [ouch magma]

Vi: sounds like echoed screaming [like with a heavenly voice tho-], defo tastes like whipped cream, he feels like a rough carpet and smells like actual lavender 2/4 [rough carpet bad :[ i fucking hate whipped cream who the fuck likes whipped cream]

Subz: smells of shrubbery, tastes like paper, sounds like angry bass [the instrument not an angry bass cksjdkn] and he feels like fur 4/4 :D<

Mapicc: smells like make-up, he defo tastes like mint [fuck yea slay king], sounds like rubble crashing and feels like metal 4/4 :]

Ro: tastes bitter like paint, sounds high pitched idk how to explain it, feels like a fluffy gown and smells like water 2/4 [mmm paint, high pitch hurts my ears :<]

Parrot: feels like scratchy fabric, smells like salt water, sounds like snow yk ?? and tastes like coffee 2/4 [coffe and scratcht fabric<<<]

Spoke: he sounds like a screaching car [i'm sorry king], tastes like gummies, feels airy and cold and smells like a fresh book 3/4 [i'm so sorry king]

Poafa: smells like air spray [idk what it's called cksnkd], sounds like the chatter of a cafe, tastes vv faint but vv funky and feels like grass 4/4 :>

Mid: she feels like cardboard ?? smells like smoke, sounds like howling wind and tastes like spicy ramen 3/4 [do not like the smell of smoke ty]

Branzy: tastes like rubber, rlly smells like metal, he sounds like Potential Breakup Song by Aly & AJ i'm not joking, feels like tree bark 2/4 [bah rubber and metal :P]

Clutch: he feels like fire, tastes like blood, sounds like soft knife sharpening and smells like a restaurant [look i was listening to And everything around us burns i'm sorry pdiejd] 4/4 !!!

Cube: tastes like plastic [rubix cube head], smells like a city, feels like a sunset and sounds like a loud, low rumbling 3/4 [plastic is super blegh !!]

Minutech: sounds like the sounds of the galaxy, feels warm like soup, tastes like ice and smells like chemicals 3/4 [mmm tasty chemicals]

Jumper: tastes like flowers, smells like dust, sounds french [idk either hon] and feels sorta like playdough 3/4 [dust is unpleasent]

Clown: tastes like cotton candy, sounds like gears creaking, feels like cold tiles and smells like toxins 2/4 [toxins are p self explanatory tbh and cold tiles<<]

Pangi: smells like sand, sounds like a banjo [what a funky dude], feels like thorns ans tastes like tacos 4/4 :3

Vortex: feels warm, sounds like laughter, tastes sour and smells like a forest 3/4 [sourrr]

Leo: tastes like ink, smells like lemons, feels like fur and sounds like bangs 1/4 [shit that's the lowest score, i'm so sorry, the only good thing is fur,,,,,,]

Woogie: sounds like an electric guitar, feels like snow, tastes like milk tea and smells like plastic 3/4 [plastic does not smell good, it barely has a smell but it's bad]

Ash: tastes vv much like soup, smells like daisies, sounds like Dark Beach by Pastel Ghost and feels like rushing water 4/4 :D<

i am so sleepy i spent an hour and half on this (, ,｡)

[burlveneer-music]

Laura Jurd & Paul Dunmall - Fanfares and Freedom

A live recording from a piece premiered at the 2023 Cheltenham Jazz Festival, and later recorded at The Vortex. Laura Jurd was commissioned to write this piece for scored ensemble plus improvising quartet, and the resulting piece balances the composed and improvised elements beautifully in the fast moving 45 minute work which is very much in the tradition of the best British jazz. "I don’t think I’ll ever forget hearing Paul Dunmall play for the first time. Whilst aware of his gravitas as an improviser, I hadn’t been in the same room as him playing the saxophone until the first rehearsal of this music. His utterly courageous and no-holds-barred engagement with the present is something to behold. This album was recorded live at the Vortex Jazz Club in London. In an effort to capture the music at it’s best, we performed the same set of music twice, the resultant recording being the second set (bar one short improvisation from the first). Paul’s energy and dynamism was unwavering and I have no doubt that he had a third set in him also - a true ‘tour-de-force’. When commissioned to write this music, I was immediately excited and in some ways, joyfully daunted by the challenge. Aware of the dynamic magic of his quartet, it was immediately clear that the only role for Paul in the work was one of complete freedom. The question at that point, was how to make this the work of a ‘composer’ and put my artistic stamp on the whole affair? Whilst there are many composers interested in the blur between the written and the improvised, I wanted to give the listener a satisfyingly coherent sense of when they were listening to improvisation and when they were listening to conventional notation - the written music for the most part, fairly brazen in it’s stylistic identity. I’ve long been excited by the prospect of composing music for a chamber ensemble of brass players - all at equally home reading notation, improvising freely and in more of a typical jazz context . And there it began - a musical dialogue between the Paul Dunmall Quartet and Brass Quintet, both parties summoning, reacting to, propelling, welcoming, daring and disrupting the other. This was an album I never expected to make, which in itself feels like a celebration of spontaneity and the unexpected. I hope you enjoy listening." - Laura Jurd, May 2024  Paul Dunmall - tenor & sopranino saxophones Liam Noble - piano Caius Williams - double bass Miles Levin - drums Laura Jurd - trumpet Chris Batchelor - trumpet Alex Paxton - trombone Raphael Clarkson - trombone Oren Marshall - tuba

[myloveforhergoeson]

ch 32 proof of life post

Princess Diana may have popularized the revenge dress, but Roxy theorized women had been using clothing as a means of retribution for ages because as she stared at the outfit she’d put together in the mirror of the Rocque Record’s wash room, she could hardly believe she owned such a deadly combination of items. 

Dressing with James in mind was one thing. Dressing to piss James off was something else entirely. 

The clothing was, at its core, armor… Or that’s what Roxy told herself when she slid on her oversized Hole t-shirt that morning and paired it with the shortest pair of shorts she owned. When it skirted a few inches down her thighs, it hardly looked like she was wearing anything underneath, save for the fishnets she was sure to add underneath her bottoms. 

Whenever they hung out in her room, it was easy to catch his eyes wandering to the hundreds of magazine cut out posters plastered across her boring beige bedroom walls. His gaze lingering on images of Avril Lavigne or Pete Wentz spoke volumes to his girlfriend, even if he’d turn right around and talk about more conventional celebrities. 

In addition to the clothes, she popped on her chunkiest gold earrings and bracelets, leaving her charm necklace dangling around the cut top of the shirt sliding off one of her shoulders, a pair of black boots from the back of her closet, and braided a purple bandana into her hair. Pairing it all with the smokiest eyeshadow and sharpest eyeliner she could, Roxy had felt confident enough to leave her apartment and walk to work alone, iPod shuffled on her Riot Grrrl playlist. After everything that had occurred last night, she wanted James to know exactly what he was missing out on until he wised up and apologized to her. 

But of course, this plan required them to be in the same room, which sounded less than appealing to the girl, who was almost sure she might break into tears at the sight of him again as she remembered all the horrible things they’d said to each other at the party the night before. 

It’s not like she’d been a saint to her friends either. The entire party had been a swirling vortex of bad vibes across the board. Roxy didn’t think any one of them had made it out of there feeling any better than they had before they’d attended. 

But, if her friends wanted her to be the bad guy - Take the fall for trying to heal her past pain and make nice with those who had hurt her - that was fine. She could be the bad guy. None of them had any clue how contentious she could be; The punk look might have been an act she put on playing shows with Brand New Day, but the attitude was something she’d learned over many, many years. 

An attitude she displayed openly, throwing the doors to recording room A open and strolling inside. There, she found Kelly and the boys looking through the glass into the studio, while Gustavo sat on one of the plush couches in the back of the room, brows furrowed and arms crossed tightly over his chest. The red paint on the walls matched the color growing on his face.

None of the boys spared her a glance as she moved to stand beside Kelly, though Kendall very obviously checked the black watch fastened around his wrist. Their assistant was over 20 minutes late to work. 

God, he’s so fucking annoying.

“Try a ‘G,’” she heard over the speakers, accompanied by some piano chords, and she realized there were more people present - Two men in the middle of the studio, one in casual clothing borrowing one of the many acoustic guitars Gustavo had on hand and the other in a royal blue suit sat at the large, grand piano. 

“Did you rent out the studio again?” Roxy asked, turning to face Kelly, who was sat behind the controls, as she popped her large, star-shaped sunglasses on her head and wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Because I’ve got some songs to work on and I really hate strangers in my workspace.” 

Maybe she could avoid working with the band all together if her words were cuttng enough.

She didn’t respond before the man in the suit countered, “No, how about no ‘G?’” over the speakers.

Messing with a few of the buttons in front of her, Kelly didn’t bother to look up as she shared, “That is Daryl and Jam Box. Rocque Records’ new songwriters.”

The assistant’s blood ran cold, goosebumps shooting up her arms. “Excuse me?”

Now it made a little more sense why her boss was sulking in the corner like a kid in time out.

The world of professional songwriters was vast, especially in one of the major music capitals of the world, and off the top of her head, Roxy could think of at least five songs the duo had written that had hit number one across various different music charts. Right now, Daryl and Jam Box were some of the best composers money could buy… As long as they stopped fighting long enough to bounce ideas off of each other. 

They’d been featured in a Pop Tiger article last month; Roxy had read it out loud as she was curled in James’ lap on the orange couch in 2-J, likening them to the Gallagher brothers.  

Before anyone could offer up a better explanation at the talent scout’s confession, Griffin popped up from behind the glass, giving her friends a good scare. If she hadn’t been so worked up about being in the small space with the band after their heated exchange and trying to understand why Big Time Rush needed new songwriters, she might have laughed as they nearly jumped out of their skin.

“I’m releasing a deluxe edition of your album!” The white-haired man announced, sweeping his arms in a wide arc as a bright smile pulled at his lips. “I want the bonus track to have a fresh new sound, especially since Miss Somerset is looking into expanding her horizons at Galactic Records.”

The assistant froze, her tight grip on the plastic handle of her guitar case causing her fingers to go numb as she felt every set of eyes in the room land on her. She had planned on telling them about the offer, once she stewed in her anger long enough and worked up the courage to apologize to Logan and Carlos for what she had said last night. Now, Griffin had robbed her of the chance to share her news, giving the boys one more reason to be upset with her. 

Someone cleared their throat, James, she was pretty sure, but no one said anything, waiting for her to expand on the CEO’s statement. 

“Who told you about that?” Roxy questioned, setting her guitar down and confirming his words, but not sharing any more on the subject than she had to. The only person she’d mentioned the job offer she’d received from Chelsea Northrop to was Dani, and they certainly weren’t dialing up the businessman to gossip over the phone like teenagers at a sleepover. 

Griffin’s toothly smile remained, “Corporate espionage is only illegal if you get caught! That’s why I have a handful of operatives at every major record label in the city.”

For a moment, Roxy weighed the pros and cons of reporting her boss to the FBI. That might make her decision to continue working for Rocque Records much easier to make. 

“Oh…” Logan said after a moment, high pitch tone indicating a hint of fear in his speech. “A deluxe album… That’s, um,” His eyes shifted to the assistant like he was going to say something, but he glanced away just as quickly. “That’s why Gustavo is pouting.”

It appeared as though he was ready to breeze past what Griffin had said about his assistant, but the other three boys looked his way, narrowed eyes and furrowed brows suggesting they didn’t feel the same. 

No one had the chance to voice their opinion, however, as the black leather couch Gustavo was sitting on squeaked as he shifted uncomfortably. Arms drew tight across his chest. “I’m not pouting! You’re pouting!”

Roxy definitely wasn’t pouting, but she did sense the telltale signs of anger begin to prickle under her skin. One of her hands ran down her bandana’d braid, and she noticed James turn in the complete opposite direction, palm wiping down his face. At the very least, she knew her outfit plan was beginning to get to him, and that somewhat quelled her ire as a small ounce of satisfaction swelled in her chest. 

“Everyone uses other songwriters, you two.” Somehow Griffin was in the control room with everyone now, appearing right at Gustavo’s side as the man continued to brood on the couch. “Katy Perry… Maroon 5… and Daryl and Jam Box are the hottest songwriters out there!”

On any other day, James would have been behind his girlfriend, hand snaking around her hip, breath ghosting the shell of her ear as he murmured how hot of a songwriter she was. Instead, all he had to say was, “…Aren’t they the ones who fight a lot?” 

He jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the two men still engaging in a meaningless argument in the studio. Apparently, he didn’t have anything to say about his girlfriend’s possible new job development either.

“The song’s called ‘Wings of a Dove!’” Daryl shrieked, lifting his leg from the stool he’d been sitting on and kicking Jam Box square in the back, knocking the suit clad man off of the small black bench at the piano. 

Despite falling straight to the ground, in a matter of seconds, Jam Box was back on his feet, winding his hand back to throw a wicked right hook his partner’s way. “No, it’s called ‘Love from Above!’”

Now it was Daryl’s turn to be knocked from his seat, him and his guitar landing so hard the wooden floor the assistant could feel the impact in her bones. An empty hollow thud echoed from the guitar’s sound hole, ringing in her ears. 

At least when Gustavo and I fight, it’s about meaningful things…

“It needs more guitar!” Daryl fought back, picking up the instrument from where it had fallen off his lap. Once he regained his footing, he gripped the neck of the guitar and swung it at Jam Box’s head, sending him tumbling face down onto the ivory piano keys with an incredibly sour note, scratching at everyone’s ears. 

Back up in a flash, considering the two of them seemed to fight constantly, Jam Box lunged toward his partner, capturing him by the lapel of his jacket and threw him toward one of the red walls of the studio where Kelly had set up a nice refreshment table. “You need your morning coffee!”

With a crash, the table was broken in half, Daryl’s backside completely doused with the brown liquid and mashed breakfast pastries that had been present on the tabletop. 

As Daryl recovered, catching Jam Box around the arm and throwing him into the drum kit Gustavo had set up for the recording band, Roxy wondered if this truly was the most efficient method of songwriting with another person. She and Gustavo weren’t immune to getting into spats here and there, arguing about lyric placement or assigning parts to the boys quite often, but they hadn’t written a number-one record together quite yet. 

In fact, of the three songwriters in the room, she was the only one without a chart-topper to her name. Daryl, Jam Box, and Gustavo all seemed to wear their emotions on their sleeve, not quelling or holding anything back both inside and out of the writer's room. 

Huh… Maybe they’re on to something… The girl thought, glancing over to her friends who flinched the moment Daryl threw Jam Box’s face into the glass partition and dragged his cheek along the entire length of the window and back. 

Originally, she’d hoped to find some time to apologize to them for what she’d said last night to smooth over any hurt feelings… But that was at the expense of her own emotions as well. She was still upset with Kendall for yelling, furious with James for his insinuation that she was still into Mag. Poor Carlos and Logan had just gotten caught in the crossfire. And now at work, the company’s borderline insane CEO was trying to replace her, take away the job she’d been striving toward her entire life, all because she’d received an offer to work elsewhere. 

Maybe Griffin had expected her to start screaming her head off, pulling all her unrecorded songs out of her notebook, cramming the boys into the recording booth, and giving them a whole other b-side to their first album before the new songwriters could finish even one track. Scramble, prove her loyalty, and work twice as hard as ever before. 

Roxy had been through far too much in the last few days to play any more games. Again and again, she’d been thrown through the wringer; Going through the motions as other people’s words and actions dictated her overall mood and well-being.

Today was going to be a different story. 

I’m integral to this company. Roxy affirmed. Big Time Rush needs me. If they want me to stick around, they’ll fight for me.

Crossing her arms, mulling over her decision not to play into Griffin’s plan, she barely noticed the two songwriters roll themselves in a frenzy into the recording booth, and then, all the way into the control room. 

Roxy might have been mowed down entirely, had it not been for Carlos’ quick thinking and equally quick reflexes, allowing him to wrap his hand around her arm and jerk his assistant out of the small room as the sofa Gustavo had been taking refuge on was overturned. 

Now, with everyone out in the lounge area, the two men continued to tear each other apart, horrible sounds of crashes and bangs and booms filled their ears, leading Roxy to worry just how much she’d be expected to clean up later. 

Would Chelsea Northrop ever use me like a maid?