#and arguably my cello teacher

[obstinatecondolement]

Jazzed up the Google Sheet I use as a music practice log a bit while I was setting it up for December. I actually understand the syntax of the formula I stole off Reddit from someone else's practice spreadsheet now.

[talesofesther]

I told the moon about you

Wednesday Addams x OC/Reader

Summary: Wednesday finds herself enchanted by the black wolf who always watches her play the cello in the dead of night.

A/N: This was written for a request sent by @roleplayfandom and I combined it with an idea of mine that I've had for a while, hope you don't mind and can still enjoy it. Arguably one of the most important stories I've written, because this oc has been my baby for so long, and I'm so happy to finally have the opportunity to include her in one of my stories; just hope I was able to do her justice with this. <3

Word count: 6,4k (sorry)

Masterlist

There was a drizzle in the air, the wind carried it around easily; tiny droplets of rain landed on the strings of Wednesday's cello that shook with each note she played.

Past the thin rain and clouds, the brightness of the full moon was nothing but a faded blur, casting a silver glow over the Addams girl and serving as the only witness to her spectacle.

The strong melody traveled with the wind same as the rain did, reaching the deepest parts of Nevermore and undoubtedly waking up a few students from their slumber. It only served as incentive — Wednesday could feel the burn on her fingertips as her song reached its momentum. The pain was welcomed, embraced.

When she released the strings, a soft sigh was let out as well. She blinked up at the moon above her, silently thanking it for its loyalty in keeping her most vulnerable moments a secret.

With uncanny delicacy, Wednesday lowered her cello, closing the case with a soft click.

The rain looked like it was starting to pick up, bigger droplets started to kiss Wednesday's cheeks, making their way down to her chin. The sky was darkening, with the moon fighting for a chance at a last goodbye to the one responsible for her favorite lullabies.

Wednesday walked up to the railings, her hands leaning against the wet concrete there. Save for the howling wind, it was strangely quiet.

But there was something different with today. Wednesday could feel it. She could feel the weight of a mysterious presence nearby.

As expected, her instincts never failed. It was dark, pitch black, the shape of trees blending together with one another in the distance.

But in the middle of the darkness, a pair of caramel eyes were spotted. They belonged to what appeared to be a black wolf; big in its size, ears pointy and tail long, fur a little spiked as it glinted from the raindrops that fell on it, almost resembling a starry night sky. It was just sitting there, on the grass of the gardens outside. Its golden eyes fixed intently all the way up to the balcony where Wednesday was standing.

The Addams girl expressed no reaction other than angling her chin up with furrowed brows, a dare; and the wolf understood, because it slowly stood up, its ears resting back against its head before it trotted out of sight and into the woods.

Wednesday remained under the rain until she could feel the wetness of it seeping into her clothes. Her hands held onto the railings tightly.

Turns out the moon wasn't the only witness tonight.

—

Those same golden eyes followed Wednesday in her dreams, and she woke up frustrated for not knowing who they belonged to.

Was it just a wild animal passing by or a student braving the woods past curfew?

The thought of the wolf being a student seemed… unlikely, because it looked much different from Enid when compared to her 'wolfed out' form. The black wolf was simply that, a wolf — albeit a tad bigger. Yet Wednesday didn't discard the possibility of it being someone. Someone who was watching her.

She tried pushing the thought out of her mind during the day for the sake of her grades.

"Miss Addams?"

Wednesday snapped her head up, only to see her anatomy teacher and the whole entirety of the class with their heads turned her way, eyes expectant as they waited for something to happen.

A scowl came to Wednesday's face at the unwanted attention. She rested both hands on her table, briefly realizing that the board had three extra paragraphs of lessons written on it that weren't in her notebook yet.

"I made you a question," the teacher continued, one of her hands coming to rest on her waist, "for how long can a gorgon stone a person?"

Wednesday gulped, her lips hovering open as she searched her mind for the useless information yet came empty-handed.

The teacher was annoying, one of the least liked by the Addams girl. She was old and wore long and colorful skirts, with obnoxiously large glasses resting atop her nose.

"It depends on the gorgon," a familiar voice suddenly said, "but usually from two to four hours."

Wednesday glanced beside her to where the owner of said voice sat, and was met with a smirk being directed at her. She huffed in annoyance, visibly rolling her eyes.

You had transferred to Nevermore a little over two months ago — adorning a pair of dark sunglasses you never took off and dressed in all black, save for the light pink pendant of your necklace — instantly getting into Wednesday's nerves the moment you stepped foot into the school and called her 'sweetheart'.

"Very well." The teacher looked between you and Wednesday, not entirely pleased that Wednesday wasn't the one who answered but deciding to let it pass, and turned around to write on the board again.

Wednesday didn't know what your deal was, no one did. No one knew who your family was, what were your abilities, or the reason you enrolled in Nevermore; not even Enid knew, and she was the gossip queen. Despite the ever-present sunglasses, one thing Wednesday knew for a fact was that you weren't a vampire, just by the way you scrunched your nose at the mere sight of blood; but that's about everything she knows so far.

Too smug for your own good, you leaned back on your chair. Wednesday could feel your gaze roaming up and down her body, before you said, quietly; "you're welcome-"

There was sunlight coming through the dusty windows. Wednesday could see her reflection in your glasses. "Shut up."

"Sweetheart," you finished with a grin.

The pencil that was thrown in your direction missed you only by an inch.

—

When Wednesday walked out onto the balcony of her dorm the next night, the wolf was already there.

She got a little taken aback by it, halting in her steps and gripping tighter onto the case of her cello. Wednesday immediately discarded the possibility of it being a coincidence or just a wild animal passing by. The wolf was there for her.

Those caramel eyes held a staring contest with Wednesday, and they eventually won. Satisfied, the wolf then lay down on the grass… and waited.

Long beats passed by until Wednesday finally sat down on her chair and adjusted her cello to be played. Her movements slow and calculated, all too aware of the heavy stare on her.

The moon was bright in the night sky, and Wednesday briefly glanced up at it, partly searching for some kind of reassurance but only finding that it wasn't a night of full moon.

When her gaze found the wolf again, she saw it looking up at the moon as well. The sharp silhouette of its muzzle being highlighted by the silver glow, fur flowing like silk with the wind.

Wolves sing for the moon, maybe that's why this one took a liking to the Addams girl.

There was hesitance on the way Wednesday's fingers hovered over the strings. Save for the occasional twitch of its tail, the wolf was unmoving on the grass, patiently watching.

Wednesday could tell the wolf to leave again, part of her knew it would obey. She didn't. She only closed her eyes, and started playing.

—

The next day, Wednesday made a trip to the school's library. She dug up every single book about werewolves and lycanthropy that she could find — some of them old, pages fragile to the touch and covered in a thick layer of dust.

The place was mostly deserted as per usual, and Wednesday saw no harm in staying. A table waited for her in the middle of the tall bookshelves, the only one hidden from sunlight.

She would be lying if she said she wasn't at least a little thrilled at the prospect of a new mystery. Things have been dull at school without an evil pilgrim trying to destroy it.

Though she was able to read in peaceful silence for all of ten minutes.

"What's with the sudden interest in furs?"

A heavy sigh left Wednesday's lips when she heard your voice. She sat straighter on her chair and chose to ignore you, pointedly turning the page of her book and focusing on it.

You hopped up on the table, sitting there cross-legged so you could face Wednesday, "you know your roommate is one, right? I bet she'd be happy to answer your questions."

See, there's a reason why Wednesday is bothered by your presence. Every time you're near, every time she can hear nothing but your voice or feel nothing but the warmth radiating from your body; Wednesday's little black heart gains a burst of color that should never exist, it picks up a faster rhythm and makes her skin crawl uncomfortably. It's a feeling that's been there once before, fleetingly, much smaller than it is now. But she's no stranger to what comes with it.

"I don't remember asking for your advice," Wednesday said, still refusing to look at you, her bangs hiding her eyes from you.

"Ouch," you mumbled, leaning back on your hands, "was just trying to help."

No one else but you could make Wednesday feel the slightest bit of remorse for snapping. And it's not like she paid attention to the last three lines she just read in the book anyway. Begrudgingly, Wednesday glanced up at you, and the moment her eyes found you, she knew it'd be a whole challenge in itself to look away again; the dim golden light of the table lamp framed your profile and the way your hair fell over your shoulder — for a second, it reminded Wednesday of her wolf.

Her wolf. The thought jolted her back to reality and she cleared her throat, heat rising to her cheeks as if you'd be able to read her thoughts.

"When are you gonna stop chasing after me like a lost puppy?" Wednesday didn't sound half as confident as she should for those words.

You raised an eyebrow at that, almost as if you wanted to be challenged. You leaned forward, bracing your elbows on your knees, so you could cast over every twitch on Wednesday's expression, your personal space shy of mingling with hers. "When you ask me to," you whispered.

The air felt electric, there was something enticing about the way you refused to back down sometimes. Wednesday felt the hair at the back of her neck rising with a shiver. If looks could kill, you'd be six feet under already — or at least fighting for air between her and this damn table. Wednesday couldn't decide which outcome she liked best.

Wood scratched against the floor as she suddenly pulled back the chair beside hers; "sit down properly, stay quiet," without looking at you, she shoved one of the books in your direction, "we're looking for a werewolf who can transform without a full moon."

—

Nothing. There was nothing in any of the books.

Wednesday walked back to her dorm without having learned a single thing. None of the books in the school had anything remotely close to the creature she saw the past two nights. Frustration was eating at her insides because she was running out of leads to follow, a dead end steadily approaching.

She went up the stairs of Ophelia Hall in a haste, pushing the door to her room out of the way and causing a loud thump that got Enid jumping on her bed, almost throwing her cell phone to Wednesday's side of the room.

"Jesus Wednesday, what did the door do to you?" Enid grumbled, sitting up on her bed.

Wednesday didn't respond, she threw her black backpack by the feet of her bed and came to stand in front of Enid. "What do you know of werewolves that can transform without a full moon?"

Slowly, a frown came to Enid's features. She turned off her phone when Wednesday kept glaring at it. "Nothing? Werewolves don't usually change without a full moon," Enid explained, confusion evident in her tone.

"And what if they did?"

"Then they're most likely not a werewolf."

Wednesday clenched her jaw in annoyance, she tugged at the tie around her neck, taking it off and messing up her hair in the process.

"Uh- my mother used to tell me about people who could shift into wolves at will, when I was younger," Enid kept going, wondering if that's what Wednesday was after.

The tie fell to her feet and Wednesday came to sit beside Enid; "tell me."

"Well, I don't know much about it, just that they're technically not werewolves. At least not like me," Enid shrugged, her colorful nails tapping her knee as she searched her brain for the stories she heard as a kid. "Oh, people used to call them hellhounds… pretty creepy if you ask me," she grimaced momentarily, "because they could change form whenever they pleased, and their… looks didn't help either, it made others scared of them. Most of the hellhounds succumbed to the fame and lived up to the name back in the 1850s I think, from what I know."

Wednesday narrowed her eyes, "lived up to the name?"

"Killers," Enid gulped, "or hunters, as they'd call it. My mother always told me they were no good, so I guess the bad rep still follows," she shrugged, "maybe that's why no one has seen one for the past twenty years or so."

—

Wednesday didn't sleep that night. She kept staring at her ceiling and going over everything that Enid had told her. And the only other thought on her mind was you. It was inevitable, too fitting for it to be a coincidence.

Every time she's seen that wolf she felt the exact same tug on her heart that you so inconveniently brought. It couldn't be a coincidence.

For a week straight, Wednesday waited for the wolf to appear every night so she could start playing her cello. And every night without fail, the wolf was there; same place, same time. It would lay down, watch her, and then leave.

—

On the tenth night, Wednesday wasn't on the balcony of her dorm. She decided to break the pattern.

There was no moon in the sky tonight, it almost looked like a storm was brewing. The air was frigid outside, the grass already coated with a thin layer of ice. Wednesday enjoyed the cold, but even she was reprimanding herself for having only one coat on.

Glancing down at her phone, Wednesday saw that it was already five minutes past the usual time the wolf showed up. She wondered if it saw the empty balcony and left. Or maybe it wasn't going to show up at all tonight. She felt strangely disappointed at the thought.

A twig snapped behind Wednesday, causing her to hastily turn around with a gasp lingering on her tongue. The trees stood tall in front of her, creating a blanket of pure darkness between them, nothing could be seen. Nothing, except a pair of golden eyes. For a moment, they looked like they were floating on nothing, intently watching the girl in front of them as if she was prey.

For several beats, Wednesday waited. And then, one paw stepped out of the woods and into the grass, causing a chill to run down her back — not from fear, at least not only fear.

The name hellhound has never seemed more fitting. One paw in front of the other, white air huffing from its nose with each breath, fiery eyes, and fur as black as the night. It was almost as if darkness became alive.

Admittedly, it was bewitching.

The wolf, even on all fours, was almost as tall as Wednesday; and still, it kept its distance. If she didn't know any better, Wednesday would say it was afraid of her.

The night was suddenly calm, with not a single soul around to witness. Wednesday had come all the way down here tonight to put an end to things, discover who this wolf was and the reason behind all this… stalking?

Yet any words had died on her tongue and she found herself taking a step closer. The moment felt strangely delicate. When the wolf didn't move, she took two more steps.

Wednesday was reaching out before realizing it. The wolf's ears twitched, caramel eyes following her every move until her hand was barely grazing the dark fur. It was silky, engulfing her hand in a blanket of darkness as it sunk into the wolf's cheek.

Wednesday didn't dare breathe, trapped in a moment that felt unreal. But her attention was soon caught by a glint of color, dangling from the wolf's neck.

The wolf backed away as soon as Wednesday tried to take a closer look, bright eyes looking at her one last time before it bolted away into the woods.

—

The next night, her wolf didn't show up. And Wednesday sat on the balcony of her dorm in silence, waiting for something she knew wouldn't happen. She didn't play. Loneliness clawed at her heart.

A loneliness that shouldn't be there, but it was.

Wednesday found herself slipping away when the moon was highest in the sky, her bare feet feeling the cold of the wooden floor as she walked the empty hallways of Ophelia Hall. Maybe a walk out in the cold would take her mind of off foolish matters.

She walked until she eventually reached the main doors that led outside, stopping short of crossing the threshold. There was a figure sitting on the grass just ahead, cross-legged and looking up at the moon.

Wednesday would recognize you anywhere. She wondered why, for a fleeting second. "What are you doing?"

You tensed when you heard her voice. You had heard her coming, you heard the soft pattern of her steps down the stairs. You just weren't expecting her to talk. You didn't turn around to face her when you spoke; "admiring the moon."

Subconsciously, Wednesday's gaze shifted to the natural satellite in the sky, before settling back on you. She could barely make out the silhouette of your nose and cheeks, but she could tell you were smiling. Foolish. She thought to herself.

Why would you look at the moon as if it held your heart's affection?

Why would look at the moon like that, when Wednesday was standing right there?

The Addams girl let out an indignant scoff at her own inner thought, reprimanding herself for even coming up with it. She couldn't possibly be feeling jealous of a floating rock.

"What are you doing up?" You eventually asked, your voice gentle into the night.

If you turned around, you'd see Wednesday chewing at the inside of her cheek as she tried to chase away the mess of feelings swimming in her stomach. You'd see her take half a step toward you before deciding against it, and instead rushing back inside without giving you an answer.

But you didn't need one. Part of you already knew why she was there. It was the same for you, and it was bittersweet that you ended up meeting in the middle anyway, even if for a moment. Part of you wanted to run after her and just tell her.

—

You weren't sure why you did it.

On the first night, it was mere curiosity. You could remember the coldness of the grass beneath your paws, announcing the inevitable arrival of winter. You could remember the howling wind, causing your ears to twitch as the fur there felt sensitive to the force of it. You could remember the first drops of rain hitting your nose as you walked and how that's when you heard the first note of her song.

You followed it easily, soon finding yourself in the gardens that her balcony overlooked. And even seeing her all the way from down there, she was nothing short of entrancing. It was like you could feel her emotions through the music.

You never meant for Wednesday to see you though, even if all she'd see was a black wolf. But it happened, and yet you kept coming back, night after night; you couldn't help yourself. You started missing her. Because listening to her play felt like an escape from your unfortunate reality. It put you at ease.

But you should've known Wednesday would not settle for so little, you should've known from the moment you found her in the library, already digging up every last bit of information on anything regarding werewolves. You should've stopped then.

You didn't. Instead, you allowed her even closer, close enough to touch. On that night, part of you knew she'd already figured it all out.

—

It was a gray day outside. Fitting, you thought to yourself; as it was also your most dreaded day of the year. There was no more dodging it, you could fake sickness or an injury only so many times until it gets too obvious.

From your dorm's window, you could already see the familiar car pulling up in the parking lot. There was a bitter taste on your tongue, a suffocating feeling weighing down on your chest for what was to come. It felt like drowning.

It's tradition. That was what your father always told you. It's keeping the memory of our ancestors alive. As if they were anything worth remembering.

You couldn't care less. Part of you wanted to yell at him to stop living in the past, but you'd probably lose your tongue for that. Literally. He had called you yesterday to let you know he'd be coming, as if you weren't stressing over it for a whole week already.

There was a chilly air outside, you could feel it even before walking out the doors that led to the quad; and it was right as you were making your way out, that she bumped into you. A quiet grunt left her lips at the impact, and she only didn't fall to the ground because your hands steadied her; your hold warm on her waist, keeping her body the closer she's ever been to you.

Now, you never intended to fall for the resident Addams of the school. It just happened. Maybe it was your incredible bad luck; or those dark eyes that sometimes put the midnight sky to shame with their beauty. The teasing came with the package of your growing feelings for her, it was your natural defense mechanism whenever your heartbeat skyrocketed at the mere smell of her perfume. Though you could swear that, sometimes, you managed to get her cheeks a tad rosier than normal. It got you wondering if it was wishful thinking to consider the small possibility of her returning your affections.

"You good?" You asked, subconsciously squeezing her waist.

Wednesday stumbled back when she realized that if she leaned forward just a tad more it would result in her nose brushing yours. She blinked multiple times to focus back on you, yet the first thing her eyes found was the light pink pendant of your necklace, the very same she saw on the wolf the other night.

For someone who's always so hard to read, she let the facade slip pretty easily this time. Wednesday's features did something complicated, as if she wasn't sure what she should be feeling.

"You're my wolf," the words rolled off her tongue against her volition, her wide eyes darting from your necklace to the dark sunglasses resting on top of your nose.

An awkward chuckle escaped you. You felt a lot more timid than you thought you would, "what?"

Wednesday clenched her jaw, she felt anger but wasn't sure towards what; "you're the wolf I see every night, aren't you?"

Your lips hovered yet no words came out, you took a step away from her. If it where any other time, you'd be happy to bounce arguments off of her until inevitably confirming her idea; but her timing wasn't ideal, "W-Wednesday, now is not a good time-"

"Why did you hide it-"

"What part of 'hurry up' did you not understand?" A gruff voice interrupted both you and Wednesday. You only gulped and looked down at your feet, while Wednesday turned her head to see a tall man walking towards you. He wore a dark red suit and had the same golden eyes Wednesday saw on her wolf every night, though his held a much darker undertone to them. The man's gloved hand closed around your arm with a tight grip. "We don't have all day."

"I'm sorry, father," you mumbled as he dragged you away and you tried to keep up with his steps. You turned around to give Wednesday a last tight-lipped smile, "see you later, Wednesday."

—

The sun was nowhere to be seen when your father dropped you back at school again.

You had brushed your teeth three times already, but it still felt like the taste lingered, making you nauseous.

Part of you was grateful to have come back late, Nevermore's hallways were mostly empty at this hour already so you didn't have to explain your looks. It's not like you couldn't have freshened up at your family's cabin, you just didn't want to stay a minute longer than necessary.

So you hurried into the first bathroom you found, not really considering the fact it was a communal one and anyone could walk in on you.

—

Wednesday wouldn't call herself obsessive, more like committed. She had pending matters with you, and she was going to get to the bottom of them.

So of course she kept an eye out for when you'd return to school. She saw the car drop you off by the gates, following after you as soon as you walked inside.

When Wednesday pushed open the bathroom door, you were standing in front of the mirror, damp paper towels in your hand as you tried to clean a rather nasty cut on your cheek. Your sunglasses rested atop the sink, giving Wednesday a clear view of your eyes; they were a shade of caramel she was all too familiar with, the same ones that have been keeping her company at night.

You tensed up when you noticed her, your hand freezing midair as you were about to throw the paper into the trash can.

There was a silence that stretched uncomfortably as none of you seemed to know what to do next. You were shifting on your stance, breathing unsteadily and Wednesday feared you might run away, again.

She took a single step in your direction and asked the one thing she came for; "why have you been stalking me?"

As if breaking from a trance, you looked down and away from her; allowing your hair to fall from behind your ear and hide your profile. "I wasn't stalking you."

"What would you call standing outside my window at late hours of the night only to watch me play the cello?" Wednesday raised her eyebrow pointedly.

You chuckled humourlessly, "now you make me seem like a creep." You felt small under her piercing gaze, embarrassment twirling inside your stomach. Sure, when she said it like that, it sounded weird. But you were just enjoying good music, right?

You slowly turned around to face her, your hands gripping tightly onto the sink's edge behind you. "You never told me to leave," you said quietly.

Any words Wednesday might have thought of died on her tongue. She felt uncharacteristically shy knowing that it was you who'd been witnessing her late-night lullabies. Yet she was also glad that it was you, and not someone else.

You shrugged weakly, focusing your gaze on your feet, "I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable, I just- I heard you one night and-" you glanced up at her with a bittersweet smile, fragility still lingering on your heart and making your vision blur over. Even under the cheap artificial light of the bathroom, she was the most beautiful person you'd ever seen; alabaster skin contrasting with soft dark hair, sharp eyes, and burgundy lips — she had your heart on a leash.

"And I was blown away," you continued quietly as your feelings escaped you, "it was like I could feel what you were feeling through the music, and it was so freeing… I had to come back to it."

There was a distant ache in Wednesday's lungs, because she refused to breathe. Her heart was thundering against her ribcage as she took in each of your words. No one has ever made her feel as if she was a piece of art, worthy of a display at the most renowned museum, like you just did.

"I'm sorry if it seemed like I was stalking you," you breathed.

"Why keep it a secret?" She asked then.

Her sudden gentleness startled you. You've never heard her voice so soft. "I feared you might hate me." It went beyond just late-night encounters with a wolf Wednesday didn't know was you; you feared she'd hate what you could turn into; you feared she might see you as the thing you least want to be if she ever found out what you try to hide behind sunglasses and a snarky attitude.

It's because of the way your voice breaks at the end, that Wednesday finally looks at you. And she sees the tiny splatters of blood on your cheek, a cut running from your lip to near your ear, scrapes and bruises in your hands — you're nothing short of a mess.

And you weren't hers. Wednesday knew you weren't hers to worry about, to care for, to protect. Yet she had the annoying urge to do it all anyway.

She wordlessly closed the distance between you, the sound of her boots loud against the bathroom tiles. Taking a few paper towels, Wednesday dampened their edge under the running water of the sink. She hesitated before coming closer, it felt like crossing a line, walking down a road with no way back. Her eyes never left you as she came to stand in front of you.

Your grip on the sink's edge was bruising, knuckles white. You were so quiet, so on edge, so shaky; your eyes had a darkness around them, your lips quivering. It felt all wrong. Wednesday hated seeing you like this, without your usual light.

She raised her hand slowly, stopping short of reaching your cheek, "may I?"

You nodded, feeling a warmth rushing to your heart at the delicacy you didn't know she was capable of. A barrier had fallen between you. When you leaned against her touch, Wednesday started gently cleaning the few places still stained with blood on your skin.

"Did he do this to you?" Wednesday couldn't hold the question back anymore. A different kind of anger bubbled in her chest — one that was mixed with an unusual sense of protectiveness. "Your father?"

"Not him," you choked out, unable to look her in the eyes — not wanting to, "not directly."

Wednesday frowned at that, her eyes tried to chase after yours but you avoided her.

"He makes me do it." A tear rolled down your cheek, you bit into your lip to contain a sob, "he always makes me do it."

Wednesday would never dare call herself an empathetic person, but her chest clenched in pain to see you hurt. One of your tears fell on her thumb that rested on your cheek, and she wanted to take all the pain to herself.

"But I hate it, Wednesday," you told her fiercely, desperate for her to believe you, a new batch of tears coming to your eyes when you finally looked up at her, "I hate the killing."

The moon was high in the sky when Wednesday walked out of the bathroom, with you close by her side. The darkness of the night easily hid the way her hand was holding onto yours.

And as you walked through the gardens together, Wednesday could feel the shift in the air. You had told her about the 'stupid tradition', how your family gets together once a year for the hunt, and how you felt dirty, disgusted at the feeling of sinking your canines into the white fur of the rabbit. Yet they still make you do it.

The door to her dorm came before yours. You stopped in front of it with her, nothing but the dim yellow light hanging from the ceiling to make you company. The moment felt more intimate than it should be. Wednesday didn't look like the girl who threw pencils at you in class — there was a faint blush to her cheeks and her pupils were blown wide — she looked like someone you could love.

"Why don't you ever take it off?" Wednesday asked, shooting a brief glance at the necklace hanging from your neck.

You take the light pink pendant between your fingers, tracing the nooks and crannies in it, "it was my mom's," you said softly, "she was the only person who ever told me I didn't need to be what others said I was. That I didn't have to carry the sins of my forbearers."

Wednesday nodded softly, glancing up at you before she turned around. Her hand left yours and she instantly missed the warmth there, it made her think of how lonely the nights started to feel when her wolf wasn't there.

Her fingers hesitated on the doorknob, she looked at you from over her shoulder, "if you wish to see me play, stop lurking around," she pushed the words out quickly, "Enid is out until nine most nights."

And with that, Wednesday closed the door in your face, not giving you an opportunity to ask about the abrupt invitation.

On what was usually the worst day of the year for you, Wednesday managed to make you go to sleep with a smile.

—

There was suddenly an unspoken thing in the air.

Wednesday went about her day as per usual, following her routine precisely. But there was something making her feel as if spiders were crawling around inside her stomach; it happened each time she walked into a room hoping to find you there, each time she'd feel you looking her way and doing a poor job of pretending otherwise, each time she found herself checking the time on the clock to see how long was left for the sun to set, and especially, each time Enid pointed out her looking at you.

When night came, Wednesday had her cello already set up outside, and she sat on her bed with her eyes fixed on the door. She felt a little silly, waiting on you like this even if you hadn't given her the slightest hint you'd be coming at all.

But she hoped you would.

It was two minutes past the usual time she'd go out to play her songs, that Wednesday heard three knocks on her door. She opened it to reveal you on the other side, looking as nervous as she felt.

"Hi," you greeted with an awkward smile.

"Hello," she bit back a smile of her own.

You followed after her when Wednesday quietly made her way outside. You felt a little out of place, up here instead of down there on the grass. But when Wednesday played the first note on her cello, it was as if the whole rest of the world went quiet, and it was just you and her.

You figured you'd never be able to settle on watching her from a distance anymore. Not when you'd just had a taste of listening to her music so loud and clear, of watching her up close, following each small movement of her fingers on the strings and the twitches on her expression as she immersed herself in the melody. She captivated you in a way no other soul ever did.

Wednesday had her eyes closed the whole time, she knew she'd stumble on the notes if she blinked them open and saw the way you were looking at her — she could feel it though, the weight of your gaze; it was enough.

Only when the last note stretched out, that she did look back at you. And sure enough, the song ended with abruptness as she lost her focus.

Because Wednesday realized that you were looking at her the same way you looked at the moon. Maybe you always have been, for all of those nights you laid outside in the cold only to watch her play. She wondered for a moment if that is what love looked like.

And maybe that's the reason why, before even getting up, she decided she'd take that gamble.

"You are so amazing," you breathed out, your lips hovering as you gestured around in search of words good enough to describe your feelings.

Wednesday put her cello aside, getting up from her chair to take the few steps that separated you.

"I mean, every time that I hear you play I'm just-" you choked on your words, your eyes finding hers when you realized that with each beat of your frantic heart, she was coming closer, closer.

"I'm just in love," you told her in nothing but a whisper.

Wednesday had taken a hold of your jacket, and she halted only for a second when the word love left your lips. She didn't say it, but the way she was looking at you with the softest of eyes held a lot of love too.

The kiss she pulled you into might have been long overdue, given both of your eagerness. You were quick to grasp her waist and pull her body as close to yours as humanly possible.

Wednesday cupped your cheeks, holding you in place as her nose bumped yours and she gave a gentle nip on your lower lip.

She kept her lips on yours until her lungs screamed for air, pulling away slowly, feeling each one of your deep breaths grazing her lips. Wednesday felt your nails gently pressing against her spine, she felt you trace a path from her jaw to right below her ear where you chose to place a lingering kiss.

And she knew, right then and there, that she'd never be able to look up at the moon again and not think of her wolf.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

A/N: This is a storyline I'm definitely willing to expand, so if you have any requests regarding Wednesday and her wolf, feel free to send them in.

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keep me motivated to continue posting here, so I’d appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment if you want. <3

Wednesday’s taglist: @milkiane @heelaechan @imagine-reblog @sakurarukas @bluetreecloud20 @the-night-owl-blr @imlike-so-gaydude @jjsmaybank20 @dreifhraniquo29 @emeraldevan @simp4nat @boobabietch @impossibleliv1031 @deadpool-in-a-snood @rainbow-love4ever @pompompuri @halleest @wandaromanova @marveloussimp @rainbow-hedgehog @left-and-right-up-and-down @get-the-fuck-outta-here @awolfcsworld @elduster @alexkolax @georgi-salva @imdumbhi @youralphawolf72 @reginassweetheart @justyourwritter69 @yangsroboarmm @8e-h-e8 @irish-piece-of-trash @femalehomosexual666 @wol-fica @wednesdays-woes @vorsdany @v1ci0us @the-nightshades-library @tundra1029 @aahdiieb @greyscxle-is-taken

[justforbooks]

Fleetwood Mac were Brit-rock stalwarts when, in 1974, they hit on the idea of pepping up their lineup. They invited a folky Californian, Lindsey Buckingham, to join, but he refused to come without his girlfriend, Stevie Nicks. The band agreed, on one condition: their sole female member, Christine McVie, had to feel comfortable with Nicks.

They met over dinner in Los Angeles, and McVie, finding Nicks “funny and nice, but also, there was no competition”, waved her through. That decision led to the enlarged band becoming the sultans of soft rock, underlining McVie’s status as the quiet pillar of the Mac apparatus. (And she was right; Nicks complemented rather than competed. She was the ethereal conjuror, McVie the “very, very, very English” – in Nicks’s appraisal – countermeasure, and neither ever upstaged the other.)

McVie, who has died aged 79, was co-lead singer, keyboardist and author of many of the group’s canonical tunes, including Say You Love Me, Over My Head and You Make Loving Fun. Understatement shaped her identity, with Rolling Stone magazine rather insultingly calling her “the epitome of rock’n’roll sanity”. That kind of thing riled her: “I was probably the most restrained, but I was no angel,” she protested, claiming that one of her most acclaimed compositions, Songbird, owed its existence to “a couple of toots of cocaine and a half-bottle of champagne”.

Nevertheless, she avoided the spotlight, often literally. At gigs her domain was a relatively modest keyboard set-up at the side, safely away from stage centre, and despite her talent – “the finest blueswoman and piano player in all of England,” the drummer, Mick Fleetwood, maintained – she was self-deprecating about her abilities.

Deeply melodic love songs, burnished by her warm alto, were McVie’s stock in trade, but she could address her unhappy ex-husband, John McVie, with equal tenderness. The 1977 Top 3 hit Don’t Stop, later used as the theme tune for Bill Clinton’s first presidential campaign, did just that. Written during sessions for the landmark Rumours album, when relations between the pair were at their worst, it sunnily encouraged John, the band’s bassist, to look forward rather than brood about the past. (She blamed their periodic break-ups, culminating in divorce in 1976, on the stress of being in the same group, and her husband’s heavy drinking: “John is not the most pleasant of people when he’s drunk,” she said in 2003. “I was seeing more Hyde than Jekyll.”)

She didn’t deliberately write commercial songs, she insisted; they just came out that way. Which was just as well – in 1975, as the group were grinding through an American tour, their US label chose Over My Head to soundtrack a radio campaign for their self-titled new album. The LP duly became their first real smash, selling more than 9m copies. For that matter, the 1977 behemoth Rumours arguably owed a good chunk of its 45m sales to the two McVie tracks released as singles, Don’t Stop and You Make Loving Fun, which remain soft-rock touchstones to this day.

The younger child of Cyril Perfect, a music teacher, and his wife, Beatrice (nee Reece), Christine was born in Bouth, then part of Lancashire and now in Cumbria, and raised in Bearwood, West Midlands. Her mother’s avocation was spirituality and Christine was uncomfortable around her circle of faith-healer friends, but an even heavier burden was being saddled with the name Christine Perfect. “Teachers would say: ‘I hope you live up to your name, Christine.’ So, yes, it was tough.” She so disliked it that after her divorce she kept her married name.

As a child, she studied classical piano and cello, only becoming interested in rock at 15, when her brother left Fats Domino sheet music on the household piano. She was an instant convert to the blues, developing a driving, boogie-woogie left-hand piano style, but music became secondary to her other consuming interest, art. Five years at Birmingham Art College yielded a sculpture degree, but she emerged with a revived passion for music, thanks to having spent her university time busking with her friend Spencer Davis and playing bass in a band called Sounds of Blue, led by Stan Webb.

Listlessly working as a window dresser at Dickins & Jones department store in London after graduation, Christine was delighted to be asked to join Webb’s new outfit, Chicken Shack, as keyboardist and vocalist. One of the only women in the mid-1960s British blues scene to both sing and play an instrument, she got noticed. Though she later dismissed Chicken Shack as a “mediocre sort of white blues band”, she sang lead on their only Top 20 song, a dreamy cover of Etta James’s I’d Rather Go Blind, and was voted Melody Maker’s top female vocalist of 1969 (she won the same award in 1970, after releasing a solo album entitled Christine Perfect).

She fancied the guitarist Peter Green of the rival blues act Fleetwood Mac, but it was John McVie who asked her out. “It was Peter Green I had a bit of an eye on,” she said during a Desert Island Discs broadcast in 2017. “I started talking to John and fell head over heels with him.” They married in 1968, and a few months later, deciding she was not seeing enough of her husband, she left Chicken Shack with the intention of being a housewife. It lasted only until her manager persuaded her to make the solo LP, an “immature” effort she later preferred to forget. The next step was joining Fleetwood Mac as a permanent member in 1970, having already played uncredited on several studio sessions.

She was dubious about the band’s decision to relocate to Los Angeles in 1974, but reconciled herself to Californian rock-star life, buying Anthony Newley’s old house and a pair of Mercedes-Benzes with her lhasa apso dogs’ names on the number plates. While making the follow-up to Rumours, Tusk, she dated the Beach Boy Dennis Wilson, but her next significant relationship, with the Portuguese keyboardist Eddy Quintela, was happier and more productive. He played on her second solo album, Christine McVie (1984), and after their marriage in 1986 the pair wrote one of Mac’s biggest hits of the 80s, Little Lies. The marriage foundered, however, when McVie found herself craving a quiet life in England; she quit the band in 1998 and bought a Tudor house in Wickhambreaux, Kent.

Fifteen years of “this country life with the welly boots and the dogs and the Range Rover” proved enough, and matters definitively came to a head when she fell down a flight of stairs and became dependent on prescription painkillers. It was, she said, a bleak time, not least because another attempt at a solo career had failed to launch. She had made the album In the Meantime with her nephew, Dan Perfect, in 2004, purposely veering away from Fleetwood Mac’s big-ticket lushness. But without it, the relaxed, mid-tempo songs had little zing; moreover, a fear of flying kept her from travelling to promote it. Innately a team player, after therapy to overcome her phobia she rejoined Mac permanently in 2014.

Reaction to her return was roaringly positive, both from fans and the band themselves; to Mick Fleetwood, it made the group “complete” again. In the same year, she received an Ivor Novello lifetime achievement award. McVie’s last recording was a self-titled joint album with Buckingham, a Top 5 British hit in 2017. It caught her in a reflective mood but her gift for melody was undimmed. Her final public performance was at a tribute show for Green in London in February 2020.

In June this year, a solo compilation, Songbird, was released, but McVie was adamant that she wouldn’t tour again. “I don’t feel physically up for it. I’m in quite bad health. I’ve got a chronic back problem, which debilitates me. I stand up to play the piano, so I don’t know if I could actually physically do it.”

She and Quintela divorced in 2003. Her brother, John, and nephew survive her.

🔔 Anne Christine McVie, musician, born 12 July 1943; died 30 November 2022

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at http://justforbooks.tumblr.com

[offbeatcappuccino]

I’ll Go to You When the Weather is Nice ( aka When The Weather is Fine) Final Review

 Cast: Park Min Young, Seo Kang Joon, Lee Jae Wook, Moon Jeong Hee, Jin Hee Kyung, Kim Hwan Hee, and Nam Ji-Ae 

Year: 2020

Channel: JTBC 

Streaming Platform : Rakuten Viki ( all the episodes are free) 

Rating: 9.7/10 

Trigger Warnings : Intimate Partner Violence, Suicide 

Synopsis :

I’ll Go To You When the Weather is Nice is based on the book of the same name and the focus of the show is a fictional community that lives in Bookhyun Village, a small rural community located within Gangwon Province. The protagonist of this show is Mok Hae Won, a cellist, who quits her teaching  job in Seoul and moves back to Bookhyun to live with her aunt. Hae Won is a scarred and broken individual, who has spent much of her life feeling lonely and unloved. She is neglected by her mother, who went to jail for seven years for killing her husband and Hae Won’s father. Her aunt who has taken care of her since she was in high school is cold, distant, and aloof. Additionally, her time in Seoul, was marked by an emotionally abusive boss, who constantly berated her abilities as a cello teacher by claiming that she was not likable enough to teach the students. When Hae Won returns to Bookhyun, she is arguably experiencing one of the lowest points in her life. However, Hae-Won starts to see the light at the end of the tunnel , when she reunites with her former high school classmate, Im Eun Soeb, the owner of “Goodnight Bookstore” . Eun Soeb has also had a crush on Hae Won since they were in high school and is also a man as broken as Hae Won is by the difficult life he has held. What forms the crux is not only whether Hae Won or Eun Soeb will fall in love with each other, but also their own personal healing journeys as they try to overcome past trauma and insecurities. Additionally, the show also focuses extensively on the stories of supporting characters as well, most importantly Hae Won’s aunt and mother, two women who are left to navigate the same pain that Hae Won faces in their own lives. 

Review:

This review is probably one of the hottest takes I’ve ever made because so many of the viewers of the show dismissed the show as boring for its slow pace. While I agree that the pace of the show is fairly slow, I would argue that this show is anything but boring, especially when you consider the fact that I managed to binge-watch 16 episodes of this show over a course of a weekend, where I had to prepare for two presentations, turn in a problem set, write a ten page lab report, and work a nine hour shift for my internship.Clearly, this is proof that this drama is so intriguing that the actual work I had to do felt secondary in importance. 

Regardless, for those who embrace this drama, this drama invokes the same feeling that you have on a cold winter night, where you are wrapped in a blanket and sipping hot cocoa, while you are watching snowflakes fall to the ground one by one as they cover your entire front yard in snow. This is a drama that unashamedly embraces nostalgia and you see virtually every character in this show getting back together with someone they cared for in high school and there is something oh so satisfying about two grown adults choosing to embrace the love they had for each other when they were teenagers and see them embark on a path to continue that story. Hae Won’s and Eun Soeb’s relationship is so beautiful and heartwarming on so many levels. The way that Eun Soeb fixes the streetlight, so Hae Won can safely go back to her home,or even how Hae Won along with Eun Soeb’s mother, is the only person in the  whole town who seem to be genuinely concerned about Eun Soeb venturing out into the mountain alone. These two truly embrace fluff, but the way they do so is eloquent and cute all at the same time. Their hugs and kisses convey so much meaning in every scene. Park Min Young and Seo Kang Joon have earth shattering chemistry with each other in this series and for the love between their characters to be truly felt, you don’t feel the need to define their relationship as husband and wife or boyfriend and girlfriend. These two love for simply the sake of loving.

Underlying these layers of romance and unrequited love is also a telling story about the journey of three women ( Hae Won, her mother, and her aunt) nursing the wounds of toxic masculinity. A major focus of the show is Intimate Partner Violence and how complex the feelings of victims can be. Once, I volunteered at a domestic violence shelter, where one of the volunteers told me that abusive partners can also be the most loving and that many victims struggle to reconcile their love for their partner with the clear endangerment this person has on their very ability to live. We see Hae Won’s mother and her aunt reconcile these feelings of extreme guilt over the accidental murder of Hae Won’s father with the abuse that they have faced. The two trying to move on from a complicated and traumatic past is one of the most profound narratives that this show has chosen to focus on. The only place where this drama falters is how Hae Won confronts this issue as it is not entirely made clear by the writers whether she was aware of what was happening in her family, or if she truly was oblivious to everything because both her mother and aunt have chosen to be be distant to her. 

If it isn’t already obvious, there are a lot of deep conversations that the characters are having in this drama and there is a sense of melancholy that permeates this drama,  but Im Hui and Lee Jang Wu, Eun Soeb’s sister and best friend respectively bring so much light heartedness and humor to this drama. Lee Jae Wook, who plays Lee Jang Wu, is an actor I’ve been closely following for a long time since his days on Extraordinary You, and he shines as an adorable quirky civil servant, who finds joy in living ordinarily despite going to Seoul National University (Korea’s Harvard).  Seeing his relationship with Eun Sil always left me with a stupid smile on my face. I’ll Go To You When the Weather is Nice is not a perfect drama maybe because it is too stuck in the past of these characters that some conflicts seem to be rooted in petty high school drama , but it’s still a drama that is beautiful even despite its cracks. If the entire drama can be summed up in one phrase, I would use the following quote uttered by Cha Yun Taek in the show, “ [Love] It’s when my cold hand touched your cold hand and we both become warm”. This drama in essence is about finding the warmth in our lives. 

[erekuri]

OK BIG BRAIN TIME! Joker Game x BABYMETAL AU

For anyone who may not know who BABYMETAL is, they are a Japanese idol group/metal band with 2 (formerly 3) members. They are popular for the way they combine Japanese idol cuteness with heavy metal, and some have dubbed their style ��kawaii metal.” Their music is amazing for real please check it out! 

BABYMETAL are loved in Japan and around the world, and they’ve met many big names in metal/rock such as Metallica, Judas Priest, and Dragonforce. They have choreography in their songs and their performances are really fun to watch :D

So, I was in the shower when this idea came to me. Since originally they had 3 members, I was thinking that the 160 cm trio of Miyoshi, Hatano, and Jitsui would be well-suited for this. BABYMETAL also consists of a band, so the other 5 spies would be in said band, and Yuuki would be the manager. So it’ll look like this:

IDOLS:

Miyoshi (center/lead vocalist)

Hatano (vocalist/rapper)

Jitsui (main vocalist)

BAND:

Kaminaga (drums/waidako)

Tazaki (keyboard/piano)

Fukumoto (lead guitar/violin)

Odagiri (bass guitar/cello/harp/acoustic)

Amari (secondary guitar/trumpet/saxophone) 

IDOLS:

By center, I mean that Miyoshi will almost always be at the center of their photos and is deemed as the ‘main member.’ (In K-pop terms, think of visuals and centers such as Yoona from Girls’ Generation or Kai from EXO.) He’s the member who will usually take the lead in interviews because he’s the oldest, though all 3 seem to have drunk from the fountain of youth lol. Jitsui is the main vocalist, so he gets the most lines as well as the high notes if the song has one. Hatano gets the least, but generally the line distribution is even enough that there are little complaints. He will also rap on occasion (think Linkin Park or Hollywood Undead) but most of their songs are singing-based. Hatano and Miyoshi will also do adlibs while Jitsui is known for his stunning vocal runs. Even though Jitsui is their main vocalist, Miyoshi is the one who gets put in the center of their dance formations more often. 

Ah right, their voices. (Since I am more familiar with K-pop rather than J-pop vocalists, they’ll be my main references here. My apologies in advance.)

Jitsui is the main vocalist. He needs a sweet voice to compliment his sweet face, but it’s also gotta be powerful. Ryeowook from Super Junior would be the perfect fit here, because it’s got this sweet tone to it but also nice and clear and the high notes would sound like a literal choir of angels. 

Miyoshi’s vocal color would be like Suho from EXO. Clear and sweet and comforting. His falsettos are the most flawless thing you’ve ever heard, and the emotion he puts into his singing is on another level. His voice is, in a word, PRETTY.

Since Hatano does both vocals and rap, I’m thinking his vocal color would be like Key from SHINee. With that higher tone he has, it suits Hatano’s appearance and personality wonderfully. Both his singing and rapping are amazing and he likes to scream sometimes to hype up the crowd lol.

(All vocalists mentioned are from SM Entertainment groups,,, damn, I really said SINGERS ONLY and I really like all 3 choices I made omg. MY MIND.)

(In the real BABYMETAL, member Su-metal sings the majority but I am not deep enough in the fandom to know how fans feel about it. I don’t mind too much since the songs slap either way lmao. And I think the balance is nice but that’s just me. However, for the 160cm trio, I had to even it up because I am someone who typically prefers more even line distributions when it comes to idol groups.)

As for their dancing, BABYMETAL’s choreography is a unique one where 1 is center and the other 2 are backup. For my AU, however, I’d make the choreo more like EXO-CBX in that it’s suited for 3 people, while also taking notes from Super Junior (for their earlier metal songs) or Dreamcatcher (for their famous ‘anime-style’ music.) 

BAND:

Because they’re a metal group, Kaminaga will almost always be on the drum kit, and by God he is good at it. The drum kit he uses is one you’ll see in most metal bands, but he also uses an auxiliary drum kit (which is electrical and has sensors and stuff) for the group’s more experimental tracks. When they want to go something more traditional or epic, he’ll bring out his wadaiko (traditional Japanese drum) and go at it. He’s also the unofficial leader of the band. 

Tazaki plays the keyboard. I personally envision Tuomas from Nightwish when I think of this position, but there are other keyboard players in metal bands out there that are fun to watch. Tazaki is generally a calm person, but when he plays he headbangs like crazy. He’ll play the piano when they do softer songs, and his pretty fingers are mesmerizing to watch. Oh yeah, and the keyboard he uses is a synthesizer due to the underlying ‘pop’ aspect in their music, considering it’s for an idol group.

Fukumoto would be the main/lead guitarist. He’d get pretty much all the solos (though Amari might join in as the secondary guitarist). He’s hailed as one of the best guitarists of all time, and he plays a major role in the musical arrangements of the songs. He’s also a prodigy when it comes to the violin, which he’ll sometimes use instead of his guitar for a more ‘symphonic’ sound. In reality, he’ll switch between them as he sees fit. 

Odagiri is the reliable bass guitar; underrated, but without them, the song just isn’t the same. As the bass player, he helps to balance out the guitars. He plays the cello when they want a jazzier theme or an orchestra kind of sound, and when they go the traditional route, in comes the harp. When the boys want to sing an acoustic version of their songs to show off their vocals, Odagiri will be the one to play the acoustic guitar to accompany them.

Amari is the secondary guitarist, and arguably the most versatile player in the band. He can not only play the electric guitar, but he can also play the trumpet and the saxophone. Their jazz songs would require them to be in the same song, but he can switch between the two easily enough, provided he’s given enough time to transition (otherwise he’ll simply use a pre-recording of one while playing the other live.) When a song requires both violin and guitar, Amari will take the role of the lead guitar while Fukumoto plays violin.

(The instruments mentioned are their main ones, though I’m sure they could all play more if they wanted to. I just don’t have the brain cells to spare for this lol. Maybe some other time I can give more thought to the band, but I’m ok with what I have for now. Besides, most metal bands will have 1 person per instrument or will bring in a whole orchestra, so what I have is farfetched ngl, and yet I like it because the D-Agency boys are just so talented at anything they try hehe)

OTHERS:

As stated earlier, Yuuki would be their manager. He is known to all as just “Yuuki.” He is the one who brought the group together, as the trio were originally part of an idol group but were mostly in the back, while the others were notable musicians who had no band to belong to. In his prime, he was an acclaimed songwriter and producer, but he’s also super happy doing what he does as a manager/producer for the 160cm trio and the band. He fought tooth and nail for the formation of this group and is more than satisfied with their explosive popularity. He will often clash with the CEO of their label, IG Productions, because he refuses to let them hold back the band’s growth. 

Now, y’all may be wondering… where is Sakuma??? 

Sakuma, Gamo Jirou, Yuriko Nogami, and Miyoko Yasuhara are all well-respected actors under the same agency (not IG but another one lol.) 

Yuriko and Miyoko are mostly in theatre, but Yuriko is a recurring favorite in J-dramas while Miyoko is popular in movies. 

Jirou is super versatile, and he’d be kinda like Robert Pattinson in the sense that he will often make fun of the stuff he’s been in. He likes to take on bizarre roles that test his limits as an actor, and his range is pretty much unmatched. He’s recognizable but people will still lose themselves in his brilliant acting. He is more often seen in movies, but sometimes he’ll star in a drama, especially one where he plays a villain/antagonist or a second-lead.

Sakuma is another J-drama favorite, and he has a legion of fangirls; as of late, those fangirls include aunties who love his clean and respectable image. He made headlines once when he shaved his head for a role as a soldier because it was such a shock that he looked as handsome as ever. He loves being in movies with a lot of angst/sad endings, and don’t get me started on how sad some of the dramas he’s in can be. And as a bonus, his characters almost always die and oof it really breaks people’s hearts. Occasionally, he’ll take on a more light-hearted role such as a friendly teacher. 

Sakuma and Gamo are both openly gay, and many fangirls will wish for them to find boyfriends because they want these actors to be happy. They have starred in movies together and their friendship off-screen can be considered ‘iconic.’ Fans ship them platonically. 

Sakuma would also be a major fanboy of the D-Agency band, and Miyoshi is easily his favorite member. He attends their concerts in disguise because he has a reputation, damn it. One time he dragged his actor friends along, and Gamo fell for Jitsui HARD. Meanwhile, Yuriko eventually starts a romance with the bassist, Odagiri, when she wanders backstage by accident on her way to the restroom. (Sakuma is jealous as fuck that she managed to get backstage but he won’t admit it.)

Alain, Marie, Jean, and Johann are all foreign celebrities, who are all wildly popular in Japan. Marie would be a popular actress who travels to Japan to participate in a film (directed by Jean, a highly-respected director) that takes place there. It’d be a collaboration project between a French studio and a Japanese one. Alain would be a famous pop artist in France, and his songs can be meaningful and uplifting or super raunchy and inappropriate as hell, no in-between. He goes to Japan because he’s interested in their newest idol/heavy metal fusion group. Johann is a talented lyricist/producer and he prefers to write songs for other people and avoid the drama that comes with being a celebrity. Alain drags him to Japan because why not?

END:

Back to the band, their debut song would be ‘Reason Triangle’. ‘Double’ would be for a J-drama collab in which Sakuma finally gets to meet his favorite group (???) idk but their discography would also include songs like:

Taking Off - ONE OK ROCK

Fukagyaku Replace - My First Story

Take Off - 2PM

Cosmic Railway - EXO

CORE PRIDE - UVERworld

Signal- TK from Ling tosite sigure

FEED THE FIRE - coldrain

Kyouran Hey Kids!! - THE ORAL CIGARETTES

And that’s all I can think of for this AU. I can’t believe I wrote so much but this idea just wouldn’t leave my head so I had to write it all down. I hope y’all enjoy my ramblings lol. 

[disoriented]

Rediscovering Bach

So, I used to be a violinist.

To be fair to violinists, it may be a stretch to call me that, as I was never really very good… I was too lazy and never practiced enough, and I didn’t practice in a very effective way when I did. I still have my violin, though I rarely touch it . Usually when I’ve been to a concert and have seen a great violinist play beautifully, if I’m inspired enough I may pick up my instrument the next day.

As a young and budding violinist, I played Bach. I played a lot of Bach. This is par for the course for violinists — you play a lot of Bach. Bach is part of the core of violin repertoire; his pieces teach and enable you to practice a lot of the fundamental techniques required to play the violin. I don’t think anybody who plays the violin (or indeed any string instrument from the violin family) would disagree that Bach is essential.

And so, after many years of playing Bach (So. Much. Bach.), I eventually came to the opinion that Bach is boring. I have ever said before that all Bach sounds the same. Don’t get me wrong, the man was a genius — and as I said previously, his music is essential to learning the violin. But all the techniques, all the variations, all the combinations — it all sounded the same. Also, the harpsichord. So. Much. Harpsichord. I know it’s the Baroque period, so there’s meant to be a lot of harpsichord, but… Sorry, harpsichord lovers. I’m just not a fan of the harpsichord.

I likely formed this opinion during my final two years of high school when I took music as a university entrance subject. I had to prepare a selection of pieces — somewhere between 3–5, I can’t quite remember how many. For exams (of which there were several throughout those two years) I would pick a piece to perform, and the examiners would pick a piece for me to perform. Of course, one of my prepared pieces was always Bach — Violin Concerto №1 in A Minor, BMV 1041: I. Allegro Moderato, to be specific. I had played the entire concerto from memory for my violin school exam in year 10 (university entrance subjects are studied in years 11 and 12), so it made sense as I was already familiar and practiced with the piece. And of course, if my chosen piece wasn’t the Bach (it was in year 11, but I switched to a Beethoven Sonata in year 12— Sonata №5, Op. 24, “Spring” F Major: I. Allegro), theirs would always be the Bach. I even had to accompany a schoolmate for one of their exam pieces… You guessed it, Bach! (Concerto for Two Violins in D Minor, BMV 1043: I. Vivace, also known as the Bach Double)

I was Bach-ed out.

Bach is great, but Baroque music in general just seemed so boring compared to the following eras… The Classical period, the Romantic period (20th Century can go take a long walk off a short pier)… How could you compare Baroque music to the majesty, the grandiosity, and the sheer emotion of the music of the Romantic period? How could the Bach A Minor or the Bach Double compare to the Mendelssohn, Beethoven, Brahms, or Bruch violin concertos? Even leaving Germany and the “four great German Romantic violin concertos” behind, once you bring in Tchaikovsky and Sibelius, you’re done! No contest!

(If it isn’t apparent, I’m more of a Romanticist than a Classicist, though Mozart has written some of my favourite violin concertos — Violin Concerto №5 in A Major, K. 219 is a particular favourite of mine.)

The one truly lasting thing that playing the violin has given me is an appreciation for classical music (the genre, as opposed to the specific period). My appreciation didn’t become fully realised until I moved to Seattle; away from the violin and Suzuki String community in Perth that I remained a part of even after I finished high school and stopped lessons with my violin teacher. One of the last things I did in Perth before I moved to Seattle was to be a part of the orchestra for one of their concerts — playing Bach, of course (the full Bach Double).

This continued appreciation of classical music has deepened my love for Romantic music, and greatly reaffirmed my dislike of 20th Century music (Gershwin gets a pass). It’s made me realise that while I used to hold Classical and Romantic music in the same regard, my actual preference is for the larger, deeper, and arguably more dramatically expressive sounds of the Romantic period. Baroque, however, has always been largely ignored. There are rarely any Baroque pieces in the concerts I go to (if anything they are an encore). Perhaps it’s because the most frequent Baroque concerts I am aware of are harpsichord concerts, which, if it wasn’t already clear, hard pass.

Until this year. Yo-Yo Ma released a new recording of Bach’s Unaccompanied Cello Suites in 2018. Suite №1 in G Major, BMV 1007: I. Prelude, is probably the most famous cello movement of all time, regardless of whether you’re a classical music fan or not. Go look it up — I guarantee you’ve heard it before. Around the same time, Hilary Hahn released a recording of Bach’s Sonatas and Partitas for Solo Violin, specifically the first two sonatas and the first partita (she had recorded the third sonata, and second and third partitas early in her career).

I bought the Unaccompanied Cello Suites (album title: Six Evolutions — Bach: Cello Suites), because I wanted to listen to how Yo-Yo Ma’s interpretation of the Cello Suites had changed over the years. I bought the Sonatas & Partitas (album title: Hilary Hahn Plays Bach: Sonatas №1 & 2; Partita №1) because Hilary Hahn is one of my favourite violinists today.

Through these recordings, I rediscovered Bach.

Perhaps it’s because I’m older, and my experiences and musical tastes have evolved. Perhaps it’s because I’ve had a long time away from playing Bach, and I’m no longer Bach-ed out. Perhaps it’s because of the solo nature of the works — no accompaniment (take that, harpsichord!), just the cello or the violin in the raw.

Raw is what it felt like. Through these recordings I experienced a rawness and depth of feeling and emotion that I never remembered experiencing when listening to or playing Bach in the past. A purity and subtle complexity of the familiar combinations and variations of techniques that I was unable to appreciate before. And it wasn’t just these works — I listened to recordings (not by me) of my old friends, the Bach A Minor and the Bach Double (and other pieces), and I found an appreciation for them beyond nostalgia that I never had before. (Harpsichord be damned!)

I remember something I once read about single malt scotch. Most people are introduced to single malt scotch through Speyside whiskies like Glenfiddich and Glenlivet. As you journey more into the single malt world, you start trying whiskies from the different regions — Highland, Campbeltown, Islay, and Lowland. Some have deeply intense flavours that are so unlike the Speyside whiskies that started you off in the first place. Some are so light and delicate, so completely opposite to the intense whiskies, that you appreciate them for their delicate nature. You leave the Speyside region behind — you find their whiskies boring; they are uninteresting as you think they lack either that intensity or that delicacy. However, if you drink scotch for long enough, and develop a better appreciation and understanding for the complexities and flavours, you eventually come back to the Speyside whiskies and truly appreciate them for what they are. There is a subtlety and complexity that you were unable to appreciate until your knowledge and experience had been widened.

I have yet to reach that level of appreciation with scotch, but maybe — just maybe — I’ve finally reached that level of appreciation with Bach.

And yes, I wrote this piece while I was listening to Bach.

Originally posted 20th July 2019 at medium.com/marcusphung.

[mark-allender]

Why I Write Songs with Nonsense Syllables, Part Two Originally posted 9 Nov 2009

In an earlier post, I revealed the spiritual side of why I like to write music with nonsense syllables for lyrics. For those too lazy to scroll down I will sum up: there are ways to communicate meaning and emotion beyond simple diction. But there is another reason that I enjoy singing these nonsensical phonemes: the sheer love of phonetics. But let me back up.

Oscar Wilde famously said in the prologue to The Picture of Dorian Grey that "from the point of view of form, the type of all the arts is the art of the musician." Or to rephrase, music is almost unique among the arts in that it doesn't have to be about something to be enjoyable. Many of the most famous musical works in western culture have numbers in place of names, and we think nothing of it -- Beethoven's Fifth Symphony, Brandenburg Concerto No. 3, et al. As western culture went through its romantic period, musicians went to great lengths to inject meaning into their music - with Berlioz even writing a text to accompany his magnum opus, Symphonie Fantastique. But I cannot help but notice that my favorite contemporary composer, Steve Reich, has reverted back to the masters in his nomenclature: Music for 18 Musicians, Eight Lines, Six Marimbas, Cello Counterpoint, etc.

I referred to music as being "almost unique." And believe me; it pains me to use the word "unique" in a non-absolute fashion. But it is interesting to note that in the wake of the two world wars nearly ALL the artists of all media began trying to take meaning OUT of their works. Kandinsky (arguably the first truly abstract painter) interestingly named many of his paintings with musical terms like "composition" or "improvisation."

Now, I had said something about phonetics?

My childhood utterances were riddled with me using the word that I thought fit phonetically better than the real word. I used the word "physique" when I meant "exquisite" for example -- it just sounded better. Once in the fourth grade, the teacher asked us to say what came to mind when we heard the word "tragedy." When it was my turn, I said I thought of "strategy" -- and the looks I got I will never forget! But DUUUHHHH -- the two words sound so alike, how could you NOT think of "strategy!?" Probably the most embarrassing example of this was when I made my own homemade kite (I was eight or nine) and I wanted to say something like "The Amazing Mark Allender" on it. But "amazing" didn't cut it. I needed to be better than amazing. The "EnDURing" Mark Allender?" No. Not that either. But I liked that "OOR" sound -- that was cool. Then I hit on the perfect word, and colored in big letters across my kite, "THE MANURE MARK ALLENDER." I was so proud and showed my mother, who tried not to burst into laughter as she explained to me what manure was.

Fast forward to 2004. I was playing in a band called The Brothel Brothers with my friends David Badagnani and John Kuegeler. We were a hot little trio - accordion, trumpet, and bass - and our shtick was that we would take songs from all over the world and transpose them for these three instruments. Some were easy -- such as our Cajun tune, "`Tit Galop Pour Mamou" or our Norwegian tune "Hopparen." Others were more challenging, such as our Iraqi tune "Zajal" or the Zulu pop song "Umfazi Omdala." But this was the first time that I found myself singing a vast number of songs in other languages, many of which had nothing to do with one another linguistically. It was hard to tell what the songs were about just from the music -- that Zulu tune for example has a joyful sounding major key progression, but the lyrics translate as "Old Woman, why are you beating that small child? I will chase you away!" But here's the kicker. No matter what the songs were about, they were FUN TO SING! And that was a big part of the cool of the Brothel Brothers -- pure phonetic joy unencumbered by semantics. Taken as a body of work, many of the tunes were like abstract paintings. Fun at the most aural level.

So this too is something that I want to explore further: the simple joy of phonetics in music. To sing with conviction about nothing. What I am discovering is that acappella music lends itself to this kind of thing very well. Since there is no guitar or piano undergirding the melody, phonetics are a fantastic way to provide musical texture - a technique explored in my songs "Glacitu" and "Demeda Seng Set" for example. Other tunes such "The Accuser" have the English verses as the texture with a glossolalia melody on the top.

It's still very much a work in progress. I am shooting to have this thing done by early spring. We'll see where it takes me!

[behindthebridgeblog]

Movies Starring the Cello

by Audrey Williams

I’m always game for a good movie with a compelling story line. While volunteering for this year’s Atlanta Film Festival, I had a conversation with one of the patrons that got me thinking about movies that feature the cello. If the cello is your thing, then below are some movies (or scenes) you might want to check out:

The Soloist (2009)

This movie is based on the book The Soloist, by Steve Lopez, which is a true story about a child prodigy cellist named Nathaniel Ayers who developed schizophrenia while attending Julliard and later became homeless. Jamie Foxx plays Nathaniel Ayers and Robert Downey Jr. plays the reporter Steve Lopez. The two men develop a profound relationship after Lopez hears Ayers playing the violin on the street and is able to get him a new cello and a cellist mentor. This is an emotionally intense movie that will make you cry and smile as you follow this tragically brilliant cellist who had the misfortune of manifesting a severe mental illness in the prime of his life.

Take the Money and Run (1969)

The cello only appears in the opening scenes of this comedy satire Woody Allen movie, but those appearances are memorable and hilarious, giving you an essential understanding of the protagonist: an inept criminal named Virgil Starkwell. Starkwell took cello lessons very seriously as a child even though his teacher never had anything good to say about him, except that he loved his cello very much.

The interview with his cello teacher was probably the worst review one could ever give a student, but it was his deadpan delivery that made the scene so funny. He said out loud what a lot of music teachers are probably thinking in their heads but would never have the nerve to say externally to students or parents. One scene shows the cello flying out of a 2nd story window of the Starkwell household. Another shows Virgil trying to keep up with the marching band. For me, that scene alone was worth the price of the download. Fair warning: the scene when the neighborhood bullies destroy Virgil’s cello is not for the faint of heart. The rest of the movie is dryly funny in that Woody Allen sort of a way.

Hillary and Jackie (1998)

And, of course, there is HILLARY AND JACKIE, which is supposed to be the story of sibling rivalry and dedication between Jacqueline du Pré (who was arguably one of the world’s greatest cellists) and her sister Hillary, who was a talented flute player. It must be mentioned that the truthfulness of this film has been vehemently challenged by Jacqueline’s teachers and others - even though it was based on conversations with her brother and sister. My cello teacher introduced me to some of Jacqueline du Pre’s recordings somewhere in the midst of my high school years. It was very inspiring to hear how great she willed herself to play even though MS had taken away most of the feeling in her fingers.

Truly, Madly, Deeply (1990)

The main character, Nina, is beside herself with grief after the passing of her boyfriend, Jamie, a cellist. While Nina is in deep despair, Jamie reappears as a cello-playing ghost and the couple is temporarily reconciled. Although Nina is ecstatic, we learn Jamie’s true intentions by the end of the film. He wanted to tarnish Nina’s idealized image of him so that she would feel free to move on. How haunting and beautiful.

Love In The Afternoon (1957)

This is an older romantic movie starring Audrey Hepburn as a young femme fatale cellist who gets caught up in some risky business while trying to prevent her eventual love interest from committing a horrible crime. Supposedly, Audrey did the basic cello playing herself.

These are just some of the movies with cello features that really piqued my interest. There are definitely others out there that I’m still planning to watch – starting with this list of recommendations below:

Gauche The Cellist, a 1934 short story by Japan’s Miyazawa Kenji

Micki and Maude (Directed by Blake Edwards, starring Dudley Moore, 1984)

If I Stay (2014)

The Living Daylights (1987)

A Song from the Heart (TV Movie, 1999)

Departures (2008)

Audrey Williams is an associate member of the Recording Academy and a blogger for Behind the Bridge.

[thederailedtrain]

The Magic Shop: Lost And Found [One]

Half a year of working at Vestibulum Venenatis and Kira was still discovering new things about it. It’s not like the shop was a terribly large building, but it held more than a few secrets. The warded off section in the store room that once held Cedric’s grimoire, the protective sigils drawn under the corners of the carpet and the first dollar Cedric made, hiding under Old Reliable. (It was a silver coin minted in the days when the city was still called New Amsterdam and it took weeks of begging before Cedric let Kira see it.)

But those were all little things. Details of the shop Cedric had purposely hidden. How Kira had missed the giant goddamn basement was beyond her.

To be fair, Kira never really had a reason to go down there. No one did. It was absolutely bare, save for a broom Cedric had apparently forgotten under the stairs back in the eighties. Actually, it bore an eerie similarity to the basement they’d found the vampire coven in on Kira’s first Otherworld mission. Then again, it also looked a lot like the basement Toni and Violet had trapped Kira and Cedric in several months ago. Maybe all basements on the lower east side looked the same and Kira just didn’t know because the basement of her building was converted into a laundry room.

Those eerie similarities only kept her distracted for so long. Magic lessons with Salazar were completely different than magic lessons with Cedric. They required so much more of her concentration. Not that Kira didn’t put forward all of her focus when she was with Cedric, it was just everything about training with Salazar required more effort. He didn’t hold back nearly as much as Cedric did, and his ability to command magical spells was a lot stronger than Cedric’s.

At one point, their sparring got so intense that Kira wondered if they’d bring the shop down on their heads. Even Toni spoke up about it. Having a Harbinger hanging around the shop was uncomfortable at first, to say the least, but Kira was surprised by how quickly she was able to accept it. Feeling that dark magic presence pop in and out of her perception still made her jump, but the anxiety didn’t linger. Maybe it was because Kira had grown so accustomed to Toni’s presence in their months of meeting across the battlefield, or maybe it was because she always knew it would come down to something like this.

Whatever the case, Toni was more or less a permanent fixture at their shop now. While Cedric seemed less than enthused by her presence, Kira was arguably dealing with her more often. Over the last few days, she’d more or less formed a one woman peanut gallery for Kira’s lessons on neutral magic.

“Well, shit, Mr. Warden,” Toni commented with a laugh, just after Kira’s face had a very close brush with one of Salazar’s spells. “Looks like you’re just as bad at holding back as you are at matching your socks.”

Salazar’s brow was knitted in concentration as he stared down at his feet. Oh, Toni was right, Kira realized brushing a speck of blood off the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand.

“Well, I suppose you’re not wrong,” Salazar shrugged. “But only about the socks. I could hold back more, I just choose not to. Where would the lesson be in that?”

“There isn’t gonna be a lesson if Kira’s, you know, dead,” Toni deadpanned, indicating to a panting Kira.

The aforementioned witch shook her head, too busy working to draw breaths to respond right away. “I’m fine,” She insisted, bouncing back and forth between her feet like a boxer stepping into the ring. Kira even motioned for another hit from Salazar to prove her point. “Come on, one more. I’ve got it this time.”

Far from being convinced, Kira’s response actually appeared to persuade Salazar more than Toni’s earlier argument. “Actually…” Salazar trailed off, hand moving to his bearded chin in thought. Then he pointed at Kira several times, stepping forwards as he spoke. “Perhaps trying to teach neutral magic by defending against neutral magic may not be the wisest method.” He turned back to Toni, now pointing at her. “You- Toni, how about you take over for me? I want to see how Kira does against some chaos magic for a change.” When both women just gaped at him - Toni in what looked like disgust and Kira in bold faced shock - Salazar changed tactics. “Please?”

The sigh Toni huffed was impressively sarcastic, even for her. “Only because you asked so kindly,” She muttered, pushing off the wall she’d been using as her front row seat to the training disaster show. By the time she made it to the spot Salazar had once occupied, the Warden was already standing behind Kira. “Alright,” Toni called. “Now what?”

Salazar placed a hand on Kira’s shoulder. “Just watch this first one, alright?” He asked. Once he got a nod from her, he called out to Toni. “Alright, hit us with your best shot and I’ll try to neutralize it. Your most chaotic magic, if you would.” And back to Kira. “But don’t watch me this time. I want you to pay attention to the way Toni casts her spell.”

Alright, seemed simple enough. Kira wasn’t sure why she was paying attention to the witch without the neutral magic, but why not?

“One chaos spell, extra chaos, coming right up,” Toni called, already beginning to sway back and forth.

Then she began to move her arms and hands together, weaving around each other as the dark smoke as purple smoke began to pour from her fingers. In an instant, all the smoke constricted to her fingertips, and suddenly she was unleashing it.

The spell sailed right for Salazar and Kira, but he was ready for it. His magic lit up the room, dissolving the smoke before it reached him and Kira. Of course, Kira was too focused on Toni to see how he’d built such an effective defense so quickly.

But before she could complain about that, Salazar cut her off. “Now, what did you notice about Toni’s spell?” He asked. “Particularly in the way she cast it?”

“I dunno,” Kira shrugged her shoulders. “Seemed kinda showy, I guess.”

“Good! And do you know why it was so, as you said, showy?” Salazar went on. When Kira shook her head, Salazar looked like he was trying to hold back a sigh. At least it wasn’t that disappointed cello teacher stare Cedric had. He looked to Toni for answers instead. “And do you know why you used those movements to build your spell?”

Toni just threw her hands up. “The hell if I know. I just kinda...do it? You know, subconsciously. I don’t really think about it.”

“Exactly!” Salazar pointed excitedly. “It’s instinctual.” His attention turned back to Kira, but she didn’t really follow. “One thing I’ve noticed about the way you cast spells is that you don’t really use the same kind of preparation other witches do. You tend to just throw your magic forwards. With a lot of purpose, mind you. That instinct hasn’t been fostered within you.”

Instinct, right. Kira barked a single, harsh laugh. “You should meet my aunt,” She muttered, rolling her eyes. “Remember when I said I’m a shit psychic? Apparently it’s got something to do with my utter lack of intuition.”

“Oh, no, I wasn’t saying there was anything wrong with the way you cast spells,” Salazar corrected himself. “It’s just a different style is all. The style you use became popular in the western Otherworld community during the nineteenth century I believe, but you’ll have to ask Cedric the specifics on that one. That’s right around the time exhibition dueling started becoming established as a form of entertainment at high society Otherworld gatherings. Duels are frowned upon these days, but the style had some staying power.”

“So what’s the difference? That one’s faster and one’s flashier?” Kira guessed, which only led to Salazar shaking his head a second time.

“Not entirely,” He explained. “While it’s true that the western dueling style is quicker-” Salazar held up a hand, then threw it outwards, fire forming along his palm and instantly rolling outwards to strike the closest wall. “The traditional methods produce a stronger result.” This time, Salazar let his hand move through the air in a zig-zag pattern before slicing through the air. Instead of a burst of fire, this one ignited a wave the collided with the far wall enough to echo through the basement.

“Holy shit,” Kira muttered. She stared at the still burning slash in the concrete in awe. If just those five seconds of build up led to such a big difference…

“I don’t mean to state the obvious, but there’s a real obvious drawback to using this style too,” Toni cut in. Kira nearly jumped at how close she was standing. She’d been too absorbed in Salazar’s demonstration to even notice Toni walk on over. The former Harbinger looked up at Kira. “You can’t really defend while you’re charging up for these kinds of spells.”

Okay, yeah. That was definitely a problem. But it also made sense why her preferred style made a better weapon in dueling. It would make it easy to take out an opponent while they were still building their own spell.

“Toni is...not wrong. Again,” Salazar relented after a few seconds. He even sighed about it. “This style of spellcasting takes more concentration. It relies on drawing from the ambient magical energies surrounding you, which can be difficult to sense. Duel-style casting requires less concentration, but draws entirely from your own power, so it tires the witch out more quickly. There are pluses and minuses to each form.”

“Then teach me the traditional style,” Kira suggested; no, demanded. “There’s gonna be occasions where one might be better suited than the other.” Halfway through her last sentence, a realization played in Kira’s mind. Of course. “And since the traditional casting style works with ambient magical energies, then it’s better suited for neutral magic, isn’t it?”

Salazar’s lips quirked upwards and Kira found herself mirroring that grin. “Looks like Cedric had good reason to brag about you at all those Council meetings,” He said. Kira definitely didn’t miss Toni pretending to gag in the background. She just chose to ignore it. “This is the form of spell casting I want you to use for those neutral magic spells - particularly for dismantling spells that have already been put in place.”

So time to practice it was. Several minutes later, Kira found herself staring down Toni from across the basement once more. It was a challenge to remember everything Salazar had just thrown at her. First, watch Toni while she gathered her spell and try to read her movements. Those would tell her what kind of spell Toni was preparing to throw her way. Then come up with a spell to deconstruct whatever Toni came up with.

While Toni finished her casting, Kira had to begin her own. Seek out the ambient magic floating around the room and pull in in for herself. However, she had to be careful which energies she was pulling in and how much of her own magic she was using. Then she just needed to finish the casting before Toni’s spell made it to her.

This was her fourth attempt to take on the same spell - a basic blast of dark magic that the Harbingers were particularly fond of. Not usually very potent, but the chaos magic infused in it meant the effect of each spell was unique.

When this spell came flying at her, Kira was only halfway through the casting. The basement might have been longer lengthwise, but that still didn’t give Kira much time to prepare. Kira threw her hands up, shield only half-cocked. There was a split second where the smoke dissipated that Kira almost felt like she’d finally made some progress...only for tiny embers of magic made it through her flimsy spell and splatter against her skin. The only thing Kira could liken the feeling to was hundreds of fire ants crawling across her arms, biting her skin.

It took a second for Kira to react, and then she was jumping nearly a foot in the air. She pressed her lips together as she tried to suppress the stupid noise that was attempting to crawl it’s way out of her throat. She still wound up making a few muffled, pained grunts anyway. Nope, this was actually way worse than the first couple attempts, which had only knocked her off her feet.

“Are you okay?” Salazar asked immediately, alternating between glancing at Kira and glaring at Toni.

The latter only put up her hands as if to say, ‘Hey, it’s chaos magic, how was I supposed to know it would do that?’ Which, to be fair, she really didn’t.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” Kira said, relaxing her gritted jaw. The pain was already beginning to subside, and it didn’t look like the spell would be leaving any marks behind. All good signs. She looked back up at Toni and got into position. “Again.”

“Actually,” Salazar drawled, stepping in front of Kira. “This would be a good opportunity to point something out. Kira, how do you perceive your neutral magic?”

Now that was a question Kira wasn’t sure she knew the answer to. Neutral magic was neutral magic. It stopped certain magics from affecting her the way they could other people and made it easier for her to dismantle spells than it would for other witches.

“Like a barrier, I guess,” Kira shrugged, face screwing up in concentration. “A shield with a couple extra added benefits.”

“Ahh, then that’s your first misconception,” Salazar pointed at nothing in particular, like he was finally connecting the dots. “Most people I’ve come across guess that neutral magic is just the opposite of chaos magic, but that isn’t it at all.”

That was news to Kira. “It’s not?” She muttered, a little lamely. “Not like, um, chaos and order?”

Given the way the Guardians of Mixba’al and the Harbingers had been positioning themselves, she’d always assumed that there was some sort of balance there. That they were like two great opposing forces. Given the way Toni’s eyebrows were arching, her guess wasn’t so far off of Kira’s. And no matter what defenses she put up, Kira knew Toni was more invested in this discussion than she let on.

“Neutral magic is certainly not order,” Salazar gave a hearty laugh. “There is no such thing as decreasing energy in a system. Magic may defy certain laws humans have set in place, but it cannot defy the laws written into the universe. I may have just missed the definition of entropy, but I lived through enough discoveries in physics to follow them closely. For fun.” Well, Salazar definitely had a different definition of fun than Kira did.

“So if it’s not cancelling out other magic, then what is neutral magic anyway?” Kira made a face, puzzling through all this new information Salazar had just thrown at her. The science definitely wasn’t helping make this any easier.

“The simplest explanation I can come up with is that it’s the equivalent of arming yourself with a magical jackhammer,” Salazar explained. “The ability to weave your magic into preexisting magics until they break apart. Increasing the energy of the system much like chaos magic. Perhaps that’s why we’re so commonly pitted against one another; not because of how dissimilar we are, but how alike our power is instead.”

Well that certainly changed things. Not everything, but enough of it to matter. “Again,” Kira said, a new confidence in her voice.

Confidence she didn’t get the chance to prove. Before Toni could even begin prepping a spell, the sound of footsteps descending the steps made everyone come to a halt. Cedric didn’t even bother with a smile or a hello, just a nod in each witch’s direction.

“Gus is back from the lab,” He explained by way of greeting. “Meeting begins in five.”

Toni shrugged and headed for the steps while Salazar turned to place a hand on Kira’s shoulder. The way he beamed made pride begin to well in Kira’s chest. It wasn’t like the pride she felt whenever Cedric complimented her. Besides, he gave so many compliments when he was flirting with her anyway. This felt harder won, and she was all the more victorious for it.

Salazar didn’t need to say anything to let her know what that touch meant. He only had to nod and Kira pressed her lips tight to keep from showing too many teeth when she smiled back. And with that he was off, following after Toni.

That left Cedric and Kira in the basement. Together. Alone.

He was staring at her with an odd look on his face. One Kira was sure she’d seen on him before, though she wasn’t sure where. It was also the first time Cedric had looked at her directly for this long in what felt like weeks. Kira had to bite her lip with the effort it took not to mention that out loud.

Instead, she settled for a simple, droning, “What?”

“It’s nothing,” Cedric said, a little too quickly for it to really be nothing. He seemed to notice this too, his face faulting for a second before he looked up the stairs. Nope, it really was just the two of them in there. “Just...you seem to be getting along with Salazar plenty well.”

And that’s when Kira figured it out. Villa Berulia, that’s where Kira had seen this look last. It was the same look Cedric had been wearing on the way back to the bathrooms with Kira during her date with Ray.

“You’re jealous, aren’t you?” Kira asked before she could stop herself. It wasn’t really a question she needed the answer to. The answer was as plain as the panic on Cedric’s face.

“I’m not jealous of Salazar,” Cedric was doing a really poor job of not laughing in embarrassment, but to his credit, he only stumbled once in that sentence. The next one was a lot more composed. “I supposed I’m just surprised. You two have gotten close very quickly.”

Kira shook her head as she stepped up to where Cedric was waiting at the bottom step. “I’m going to stop you right there,” She looked him dead in the eye. “It’s not like that at all. We just have a lot in common and he’s a very good teacher. And I definitely don’t feel the same way about him that I-” Do about you, but those words were never going to leave Kira’s lips. Looked like they didn’t need to. Cedric’s stare was just as wide-eyed as Kira’s. Shit, she needed to cover for this quickly. “Besides, he’s gonna be married soon. And he’s, like, four times my age. That’s just weird.”

Just like that, the tension was gone. Cedric laughed and it was only then that Kira caught what she’d said. She had a pretty good guess as to what the next thing out of Cedric’s mouth was going to be. “And I’m nearly fifty times yours,” He smirked. “What do you think of me?”

Most of the time Kira nearly forgot just how old Cedric was. He played it off so well. But then there were these moments - a lot more lately, which might’ve been due to their worsening situation or the fact that Kira could just read him better now - that Kira remembered just how much he must’ve seen in his time on Earth. It was reflected back in his eyes. Now wasn’t one of those times. Cedric’s eyes were twinkling like they hadn’t in ages. It lit up his whole face in a way that burned into the space behind Kira’s lids. But she didn’t mind this image of Cedric sticking in her mind. This is how she wanted to remember his face.

And as for what she thought of him.

Oh, this was a trap and Kira knew it. There was no way she could tell him that she didn’t think he was too old for her without him taking it the wrong way. And there was no way she could tell him that he wasn’t without also telling in the truth.

So she just opted for roll of her eyes and a droll, “Alright, knock it off. Do we have a meeting or not?”