#and so to have it make sense for louis armstrong to be there

[ritahayworrth]

anyway grace kelly in high society (1956) is actually good. while as far as she is from being a Comedienne™, she totally could have become one if she had had the chance to. like isolating her performance, her tracy is charming and funny, and i think her spin on tracy works and she is able to make it her own especially when you consider that tracy was originally written specifically with kate in mind. its just totally undermined by the fact that when unavoidably you compare the film as a whole to the 1940 version, the film is just not as good because the pacing of high society is horrible, and really just feels like they just cut and pasted the quippiest lines from the original and added some cole porter songs in between. and then of course there is bing crosby...........

[citrus-wall-paint]

CHAT IDK HOW TO PUT POSTS UNDER A CUT SO IM SORRY IF THIS DEVOURS UR SCREEN BUT heres some "deleted" scenes from my fma fix it au!! (nothing really needs fixed (exept for Greed's death) But its really just more self indulgent stuff 4 me) Basically just 2 one shots based fully only the FMAB timeline but inspired by some 03 events :3 OKAY ENJOY I HOPE THAT MAKES SENSE

------------------------------------------------------------

Ishval, Summer of 1900

“Why am I here?” she echoed, a bit shocked at the blunt question. That was something she couldn’t truly answer. Simply, she was here to get insight. To stir conflict in this region that was soon to be wiped out. But of course, she couldn't tell him that, besides, that job… that job was over. So why did she keep coming back? “Why do you let me in?”

He laughed, running a hand through his white hair. My, he was gorgeous, but that was not a thought that she was supposed to have. At least, not one that she should let affect her so deeply.

“I guess you’ve bewitched me.” he answered in a soft whisper, softer than anyone’s ever spoken to Lust. she was taken aback. She hated this feeling. This stretching pain in her chest, the ache in her entire body, the pounding in her head. But she couldn’t get rid of it. And yet she couldn’t get enough. She was addicted to it. To him. And yet she was disgusted by him. That he was so foolish to let her get close. She could cut his throat right now, and he very well may still smile at her. And why? “I suppose that was a foolish thing to say” he added sheepishly after her long stretch of silence.

“Not at all” she hummed, a pang of disgust ringing in her heart when she heard the softness in her own voice. Yes… yes, that was all. She was using him. This was manipulation. She’s done this for two hundred years, why would she ever hesitate now? This man followed her like a dog ever since she came to Ishval, and she entertained it. She’d been entertaining it for months now. Now, even after Envy had started the war, she kept coming. Because… she had to, right? She needed his research… yes. That was it. As useless as it likely was, that's why she was here. It had to be. “I have to thank you. Not many of your people would look at someone like me so kindly.”

“Nonsense.” he hummed, closing the book he was absentmindedly skimming through. His research could wait. He had time. If this got bad, if he had to make sacrifices, if he was lost to this… Well, it was inevitable that she would stop coming to Ishval eventually due to the danger, so he had to use his time with her as well as he could. “You’re not the one going around killing my people. I have no reason to be angry with you. There are violent Amestrians just as well as there are dangerous Ishvallans, we can't start discourse among friends during this struggle.”

God, he was an idealist, wasn't he. He had no idea how much hell he was truly about to endure, how Lust would be the one watching from the shadows, unscathed, smiling. Normally, that idea would make her smile. But right then, she felt ill. Before she could even think to respond, he rested a hand on her upper arm. “Don't be afraid. We’ll make it through”

As he moved in, she met him in the middle, gently resting her forehead against hers. What was wrong with her? In a horrible instant, she thought of her brother. They were created together, born from the same desire… was she destined to be just as pitiful as him? She opened her mouth to say something, anything, but just as her lips parted, she felt his against them, and she lost herself.

He hoped he hadn’t made a mistake. But the idea that Solaris may very well be gone tomorrow nearly made him lose his mind. He loved her so much. Honestly, he wanted her to get out, to run as far away as she could… though, selfishly, he wanted to go with her. But he couldn’t. He had to take care of his brother, he had to finish this research, to make sure his alchemy could help people, even if he died in this war. He only hoped Solaris would understand.

She understood him perfectly well. What she didn’t understand was why she didn’t cut him. Why didn’t she skin him and hang him for his entire family to see just for touching her? But… How long could she lie to herself? How long could she deny that these disgusting feelings were coming from the truest pits of her heart. And the fact that she relaxed into his embrace, that she pulled him in and let him hold her… she was just as pathetic as her brother. At least she knew he would die soon. She would never have to give in again, never have to feel so grossly human. Once he was gone, she could be herself. She could refocus. But she couldnt be the one to kill him.

And she didn’t have to. The war in Ishval raged on, and since that night, Lust hadn’t dared to have gone back. There was no reason to. She knew he was gone. That part of her life was over, now it was time to forget about it.

------------------------------------------------------------

Armstrong Residence, Autumn of 1914, to summer of 1915

The light pouring in from the outside gently kissed her cheeks, barely filtered by the white drapes covering the open window on the opposite end of the room. Martel groaned, shifting uncomfortably. Every inch of her body was in searing pain. It seemed like an eternity before she cracked her eyes open, only to be met by a brilliantly lit, extravagantly decorated bedroom. However, her eyes only landed on the machine next to her, the sun’s light reflecting off the metal as it beeped. It took an embarrassingly long time for her to realize she was hooked up to it, even more so that this… wasn’t a hospital. It couldn’t be. What was going on? Her mind was so foggy she could hardly manage to panic as she carefully turned her head to the other side of the room. Expensive sheets, expensive drapes, expensive ceiling, ex- Jesus!

Catherine giggled as Martel finally turned to face her, her tired eyes now wide with shock.

“Who- who are you? Where-” Martel started, but Cathrine put a gentle finger up to her lips. After all, she didn’t even know who this was - just that Alex was helping her.

“I’ll get my brother” she said, almost too cheerily considering Martel’s state before disappearing.

She let out a sharp sigh when she was alone again, only now fully realizing what had happened. Roa… Dolcetto… Greed… everyone was gone. She should be dead too. If she wasn’t so badly injured, she’d think this was some weird waiting room in heaven - even then, it was a stretch to assume she’d have a peaceful afterlife. But it was clear that she wasn’t there yet. What was becoming clear, however, was the fact that her arm was gone. From the stub where her arm was, there was a deep scar that cut across her chest and down to her opposite hip. Did Bradley miss on purpose? Or did she really move away just in time? The idea that he didn’t stab to kill, that he kept her alive just to die of an infection while mourning her friends… It made her sick.

However, she wasn’t going to die of an infection, or at all, for that matter. No, the Armstrong family has had the most reputable team of doctors for generations, and Alex ensured that she received the utmost care. After all, Alex felt… responsible for her. How could he not? These were his war buddies, his brothers and sisters, and he had to stand by and let Bradley slaughter them all. He knew they weren’t bad people. They couldn’t be. He was just grateful that given the responsibility to take care of Martel’s body, that he realized there was still life within her, and was given a chance to save her.

Now, he threw open the door, nearly giving the poor girl a heart attack. “You’re awake!” he beamed, and he just barely kept himself from giving her a big, comforting, muscular hug, but only because she was still recovering. He did, however, grab her remaining hand and grasp it tightly. “And you’re warming up! Very good! How are you feeling? Let me fetch some food!”

As Alex rambled, going in about 50 different directions, Martel blinked plainly up at him. This was… the guy from the devils nest. Yeah, Roa used to know him… so was this safe? She wasn’t sure, he was with the military after all, and she wasn’t about to be an experiment again.

However, he could see the unease and defensiveness on her face, and he stopped in his tracks, grabbing her hand once more, his face deadly serious. “I am not going to hurt you. What Bradley did was wrong. Unjust. You’ll be safe here.”

His sudden vow took her off guard, but it did ease her mind, if only a bit. “Yeah.” was all she could mutter, her eyes now downcast. She couldn't get those images out of her head. Dolcetto and Roa, cut in pieces just before her eyes… and Greed… killed and tortured until he couldn’t stand. Was he still alive?

Suddenly, Alex was holding out tissues to her, and only then did she realize she was crying. Sheesh, Dolcetto would give her so much trouble for crying over him… but it was hard to deny the fact that the overwhelming loss and guilt was too much to handle. She felt useless. And yet… Greed could be alive. He had to be, nothing could keep him down - right? Even if he wasn’t, even if it was a one in a million chance, she had to hold onto that. She had to find him. She couldn’t imagine he was having much more luck with this loss.

-

She spent six months with the Armstrongs, and yet it felt like absolutely no time at all. Granted, the whole time she was recovering - she had lost limbs before, sure, but she’d never had automail, and man, it was tough. She had already had it for nearly 5 months and she could still hardly move that arm, her shoulder constantly ached. Not to mention, every time she saw herself in the mirror, she saw that scar. That damn scar… it would always remind her of her loss, but it also reminded her of what she needed; her brother. She needed to find Greed, whenever he was. That goal kept her going, kept her motivated and sane. It made the pain of her surgeries worth it, the recovery and strenuous training, all so that she could be reunited with her family, if only a part of it.

She was applying some salve to her cut, hopefully to ease the sting even if just a bit, when she heard a crash downstairs. Her heart jumped, and she stood still for a moment. Did something fall? Was someone breaking in? She didn’t know if Alex was home yet, but she quietly grabbed her pocket knife and made her way downstairs. SHe happened to look out the window at the bottom of the staircase to see that the rest of the Armstrongs were… leaving? What the hell was happening? Another crash and a yell, and now Martel was running towards the noise, only to find Alex… totally beaten on the floor, a terrifying woman looming over him.

“Oh hell no” she muttered, slowly backing away, but the woman pointed a finger at her, stopping her dead in her tracks. “Who the hell are you, and why are you in my house?”

“Oh! No Olivier it’s okay sh-”

“Shut the Hell up Alex I didn’t ask you!”

Oh hell no. What the hell was happening? And that name… oh my god! This is his other Sister! What the hell, she’s nothing like the rest of them! This is insane, these people are so weird!

“I- i’m Martel, your brother and I are war buddies” she said quickly, trying to save herself and get Alex out of that death grip.

“Hah! That’s cheap, Alex hardly gets to call himself a soldier.” though, she did get off of him, taking a few steps towards Martel. “Pleasantries are over. This is my mansion now. Get out.”

“Woah, hold on! I-”

“You are in my house, you have no place staying!”

“Olivier, please, she has nowhere to go.” he insisted as he stood, but Olivier had no interest until he spoke up again. “She may have important insight on the homunculi.”

Martel’s eyes widened a bit as Alex just outed her like that, and Olivier’s glare didn’t get any warmer. However, she suddenly turned to leave. “You two, living room, now.”

-

Martel didn’t have much choice. She told her everything she knew, and then everything Bradley did to them.she managed to stay put together though, she’s spent enough tears on this - it was time to stand up. “It must be hard to hear that your Fuhrer is corrupt”

“Please, I already knew that. It makes no difference, he was always just another worm in my way.”

“Ohhhkay.”

“So, Olivier? What do you make of this?” Alex asked, a bit uneasy.

“Well,” she sighed, finally breaking eye contact with Martel for the first time since they met. “I knew Bradley was powerful, but killing a homunculus all on his own takes a different kind of strength.” she mused before turning back to Martel. “I'm not worried. However, when the time comes that I need to call on you, you will answer, understood? You may stay in this house for now, but if you shy away when it all comes crashing, I will not hesitate to kill you for your cowardice.”

“I will die if it means seeing Bradly fall from grace.”

“Very well.” she sighed once more, standing up. “Now, Alex, get out.”

[olderthannetfic]

Hi, I wasn't that anon but I have a PhD in music history and these responses to that Spotify post (much as I don't understand why that was sent to you) are hurting me. All I'm going to say is that if you're responding with "why is it always black people?" please take a history of popular music class if you genuinely do not understand why it is black people who get the focus when it comes to POPULAR MUSIC. (to be clear, this in this sense does not mean just "pop," but any genre that is not classical music or traditional folk music - so, rock, country, metal, R&B, hip hop, jazz all fall here, too)

Anon's whole point was that this is not a typical "minority representation" discussion, but one where the minority in question has always been dominant in this particular art form, in these particular genres, including being the majority in some of the ones Tumblr as a whole (maybe not the readership here specifically) really likes. You can't just import what you'd say about representation in any other medium. "Great black popular music artists" is not like, say, "great black filmmakers," it's more like "great female romance novelists." I don't even have to go out of my way to include black artists when I teach about American or British popular music, the way I do somewhat when I'm teaching about classical music. Yes, even from eras where the US popular music industry did their best to segregate them - you still had black artists who were influential and popular enough that they had lots of white audiences. Louis Armstrong and Nat King Cole come to mind.

I agree that just looking at people's Spotify Wrapped is not the greatest metric - as you said, what if someone was just listening to songs on there by a few artists. I use my Spotify mostly for playlists for my college classes I teach, so this particular year I was teaching a lot of Japanese popular music courses, and so they ended up being disproportionately Japanese. (I still had some black artists I was listening to in other contexts, though.) So my results tend to be odd and not very representative of their point. But I think I agree with the general point of why Black Tumblr users do this. Regardless, when people are responding to this with the same old discourse they use for every other discussion like this with something where black people (or whichever group) are UNDERrepresented, then they need to know that they missed the central point.

--

I get it, but truly, the number of weird nerds who don't listen to popular music from the Anglophone world in any kind of normal pattern is really, really high, and the amount that people get attacked even when it doesn't make sense is also very high. I know you and others are like "Well, we weren't talking about you", but when it comes to getting yelled at, they're quite right in thinking it is about them. That is how this nonsense always plays out, and it isn't necessarily black users spearheading it either.

This is US centrism wank boiling over, among other factors. The number of fans from outside the anglophone world coming at fandom from an all Asian media all the time place was high on my tumblr even during the years when I was completely out of Asian media fandoms. Now that I'm back in an Asian media phase, it's even higher. And that's just one cultural group that's going to be pissed about this kind of topic.

A couple of people have made stupidass comments, including about rap (quelle surprise), but the anger at being expected to know or care who Kendrick Lamar et al. are is not surprising.

Nobody should be looking at spotify wrapped this way in the first place.

In fact, nobody should be looking at spotify wrapped this year at all.

The real conversation should be about firing programmers and replacing them with incompetent AI.

[d-apperc-adaver]

PART I

warnings: n/a, no there will be no smut, but spicy things will HEAVILY will be hinted at. sorta

plot: this chapter is more of a buildup. frustrated hopelessly in love gn reader :)

Thinking about Beetlejuice’s love life made you filled to the brim with rage. This havoc created by Delores and thinking about his past with her…lit your fuse.

It was quite obvious. You were tapping your finger obnoxiously on the table thinking about it.

And now he also has the nerve to say that Lydia was the love of his life?!! Damn that man! Damn him! Eternally!

Superficial deals for his own benefit. Or so at least you tried to convince yourself.

He was outright ridiculous at this point. The Beetlejuice you knew would’ve moved on already. And you know Beetlejuice.

You saw the man have an Elvis phase, get a fixation on speology, teach you medieval languages, lie that his middle name was Pete because he lost his shit when he heard Louis Armstrong sing Cuban Pete.

You always stayed. Just to be seemingly made out of cellophane when you tried to talk to him about anything relationship related thing. Didn’t matter whose problems were. If it weren’t about something he did in the past, a rendezvous, he would avoid it like a devil running away from holy water.

Everything made you internally explode.

He drove you crazy.

And you kept tap tapping at the surface of your table, the poor thing might just get a dent.

But the thing is, why did you even care about his poor “love choices”. Why did you put up with this then organise a mental pity party, “it should’ve been me! ME!” for yourself?

Fair enough he talked a good chunk about them and about how what a catch he is, but still. You accepted his way of being when you took the commitment of being his friend. A gross, perverted, ridiculous in every capacity and disgustingly charming ghost.

And you loved it. You were in absolute awe with his way of being.

You don’t quite remember when you started to fancy him. But in moments like this you sure do wonder why the feelings remained.

You really wished he would have seen more in you but unfortunately you seem to not have bewitchingly cursed enough eyes or some other bullshit.

But with the sound of your thoughts growing louder and louder and getting thrown off by your own feelings that you wanted gone and substantial amount of jealousy, you got back to work.

I mean. Doing him a favour. Sorting leftover business flyers..yeahhhh.

Ironically enough this was the fuel to all of your fire.

If you could say so.

“Looking for a…

LOVE CONNECTION?”

“DEAD-ICATED TO FINDING YOUR MATCH?”

It’s as if you could smell the cheap candles, satin robes and rose petals right in your face.

Makes sense to get angry at a lovey dovey flyer he planned on sending to any woman, VERY MUCH preferably a breather he would have to “woo” to do that weird wedding ritual, in his close proximity. I mean he already went ahead and conjured one for Lydia. But the worst part of this is that he seemed to have more of a romantic obsession with her now rather than his just do it for his own freedom. Ew.

So while doing that. You tried your best to keep your mind quiet from the suppressed feelings for Beetlejuice out of all ghosts, and moved to the normal classic good ol “TROUBLE WITH THE LIVING” flyers. You packed them up neatly in boxes, hell even put labels on them.

You got up from the table with a loud sigh of relief of finally getting away from things that reminded you of your adoration for the demon (oh how you’d love to just staareee all day into those big blue eyes) and rising your head up you were met with a horrifying:

“What’s got your panties in a twist hun?”

———————————————————

Hope u enjoyed the fanfic ♡´･ᴗ･`♡ thx for reading through

I’m cooking up a part two…

EDIT: THE TAGS!! How could I forget the tags… gee. I’m stuid :P

[mothtoaflamee]

Alastor x Parental!reader GN (platonic)

☆*:.｡. .｡.:*☆ ☆*:.｡. .｡.:*☆ ☆*:.｡. .｡.:*☆

You had been staying at the hotel for about a month now, getting acquainted with the other tenants and hotel staff, a few in particular catching your eye.

Charlie was one of the first to greet you upon your arrival. Cheery and optimistic compared to the woman next to her, who Charlie introduced as Vaggie. With an attempt to have you both shake hands in greeting, you were met with a spear pointed at you, which if you count that as a warm welcome, is exactly what you received. Charlie had to assure Vaggie that you didn't pose a threat. You didn't think much of it afterward. The next person to greet you was what you first assumed to be a child but was in fact not; her name was Nifty, who sort of introduced herself, excitedly running around you, quickly leaving before you even had the chance to respond to her endless questions. Husker and Angel were the next two people Charlie introduced to you too. They were chatting at the bar, with Husker looking annoyed and giving you a wave before cleaning a glass. Angel didn't seem too interested in talking to you, but he did try. And finally, Alastor appeared, introducing himself loudly as the hotelier. His personality and overall stature interested you, so you two ended up talking for a very long time.

Which now leads you to the present time. You were known to be parental around the hotel, not in an annoying, nagging way. Though it may seem like it, you only had the best intentions when it came to your protective nature towards others. Even though all of them were older than you and died before you, you still felt protective over everyone.

Despite everything, you weren't pushed away for this; it was welcomed, giving off a found-family vibe. It was early in the morning, and you smelled a pleasant smell of food downstairs, which woke you up. Yawing, you got up and out of bed, stretching before changing into your day clothes before heading out the door and going downstairs.

https://open.spotify.com/track/0Yj7WP1MbAqQVQA5Na4I7E?si=6-ipc1ipSiK2l94K1rbaWQ

As you walked to the kitchen you could hear the pleasant soft sound of old jazz, knowing it must mean Alastor was the one cooking something, he was the only one known to do this, it was common for him to wake up (assuming he even slept in the first place, you’ve never seen him sleep) to make breakfast. Finally making it to the kitchen, you found Alastor making what looked to be beignets, grits, with red beans and rice. Then you looked over to where the kitchen table was where a cup of coffee with chicory sat. You stood there for a moment taking in the scene before you. Alastor hummed to the tune of the old jazz, his movements fluid and graceful as he stirred the red beans and rice. A small fire danced in the pan as he added a bit of spice to the mix, the scent of cinnamon and sugar wafting through the air as he flipped the beignets. He looked over his shoulder at you, a wide grin on his face as he continued to cook.

"Ah! Hello, Mon cher. I see you've come to join me for some breakfast. I must say, the jazz is quite fitting, wouldn't you agree? It's a shame we can't have a dance to it, but I suppose we'll have to make do with the cooking."

He flipped the beignet once more, using his demonic magic to create a small, harmless flame to caramelize the sugar on top. He then plated the food, setting it on the table with a flourish before pouring you a cup of coffee as well, something he’d commonly do when he was alive for his mother, in a way being around you gave him a tiny sense of nostalgia. The human part of him.

"Please, have a seat. I'm sure you're famished, and I would hate for our guest to leave hungry."

You nodded, walking over to the seat he pointed towards. Sitting down and watching him as he cooked, humming along with the jazz tunes, you wondered what he was thinking about behind his signature smile. Out of everyone in the hotel, he was the hardest to read, and surprisingly, the most protective you felt over him, a compelling feeling to protect him despite knowing he was much, much more powerful than you’d ever be.

“Thanks Al, I appreciate it, I smelt the food and just had to go down, it looks delicious by the way.”

You complimented him, you did mean it, the smell was homey and sweet like sugar. Alastor grinned, a satisfied look on his face as he took his own seat across from you. He picked up his spoon, dipping it into the grits bringing it to his lips. A small, contented hum escaped him as he chewed, his eyes closing for a moment before he opened them again.

"Oh, I'm glad to hear it. I've always enjoyed cooking. It's a way for me to unwind, to put my mind at ease. Though, it's always better when I have company to share it with."

He took a sip of his coffee, the chicory adding a bittersweet taste to the brew. He leaned back in his chair, his grin never faltering as he looked at you.

"So, how are you finding your new home? I must say, I'm quite proud of Charlie for starting this hotel. I've always enjoyed a bit of chaos, but it's nice to see some order to it all."

You hummed, taking a sip of the bitter-sweet coffee, it wasn’t too hot nor too cold, the perfect blend, you thought about your time at the hotel, it was nice, not sure if redemption was possible but still willing to try if it made Charlie happy, growing attached to everyone in the hotel especially Alastor in particular.

“It’s nice here, I care about you all dearly, though I may not believe in redemption I’m willing to stay around and try, plus you guys aren’t all that bad to be around.”

You nodded at Alastors statement, it was oddly quiet but calm today, even though it was probably only because it was early in the morning, everything felt calmer. Alastor chuckled, waving his hand as if to dismiss your words.

"Oh, pish-posh. You're too kind. But I must say, I'm glad to hear it."

You watched as his eyes scanned the room, taking in the silence other than the smooth jazz playing in the background. He took another sip of his coffee.

"Yes, it is rather quiet today. Perhaps the other residents are still asleep. I'm sure they'll be up soon enough, bringing their own brand of chaos to the hotel. It's always a delight to see."

His grin never faltered, but his voice held an underlying softness to it, as if Alastor truly cared for your well-being.

“Indeed it is, I wonder what Charlie has in store for us today, hopefully something fun, wouldn’t you agree?”

Perhaps hell wasn’t all that awful with a company as wonderful as the hotel residents, hoping for better days to come in the future, more experiences, and more memories.

(End)

(Sorry if there are some grammar mistakes in here, I haven’t written something like this is years though I’m happy to be back! Have a wonderful day <3) -strawberry

[peachiejeongin]

The Phantoms Part 9: Unsaid Emily | Bang Chan

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 (You Are Here) | Part 10

Synopsis: Chan finally musters up the courage to tell y/n about Seungmin and the band's unfinished business; meanwhile, y/n meets Chan's parents and sister, and shows them the song they never got to hear.

Genre: 3RACHA/Julie and the Phantoms AU, Angst, Crack, Fluff

Pairing: phantom!Bang Chan x fem!reader [Occurs in this chapter], Minsung if you squint

Warnings: Mentions of death, mentions of anxiety

Notice: PART NINE ALREADY?! My loves, I am so sad to be nearing the end of this series :( Nevertheless, as you all know, I do not own any rights to 'Julie and the Phantoms,' nor do I believe Han is gay in real life! Also, I know Chan's mother's name is Jessica in real life, but it has been changed to fit the story! I do not think 'Unsaid Jessica' has a rhythm to it, lol! Enjoy the chapter!

Han sat alone in the empty Orpheum, the quiet hum of the vacant space pressing against his ears. His drumsticks twirled idly between his fingers as his gaze fixed ahead, unfocused. He was not entirely sure what he hoped to find here—maybe he wanted to recapture the life from the night 3RACHA was meant to perform, or perhaps he sought to picture how the performance could have gone—should have gone.

Whatever it was, Han found his gaze glued to the empty stage ahead, its soft blue glow painting a melancholy scene that mirrored the weight in his chest. He thought back to the fateful night of his demise, replaying Chan's words in his head like a cursed mantra.

"This is awesome, you guys! We're playing the Orpheum! I can't even count how many artists have played here and become legends of their time. Louis Armstrong, The Bee Gees, the list goes on, mates. We're going to be legends!"

The last words Chan had spoken while he was still alive stood out most vividly in Han's mind. They carried the weight of everything they had built together—their shared dreams of sold-out stadiums, the albums they were destined to release, and the future they had envisioned as a band—all of it shattered in an span of seconds.

They should have been legends.

Han felt a familiar ache in his chest, a lump catching briskly in his throat as he felt his eyes well up with dejection; before he could fall too deep into his lone reminiscence of the life he deserved to have, he sensed a presence beside him.

"Is this seat taken?" Minho spoke somberly, softly looking in Han's direction. Han flicked his head towards Minho, making brief eye contact with the ghost before he turned his head back to the stage; he shook his head no, an invitation for Minho to join him.

Even after Minho's apology last night, even after the explanation of Seungmin's antics, Han's chest still burned with the sharp edge of betrayal; a chasm had opened between the two that Han felt could not be easily bridged.

The vicinity was silent, filled with a thick sense of tension as the two boys sat together; Han kept his focus entirely on the front-facing stage, while Minho opted to look at the ground, reminents of guilt etched onto his drooped eyebrows and pouted lips.

"This whole thing really sucks." After the silence grew too heavy to endure, Han spoke, his words trembling and finally giving way to the flow of unspoken emotions. Minho responded with a sorrowful nod, his lips pressing into a thin line; he tilted his stare upward, focusing on the ceiling as though it held all the answers. In truth, it was a futile attempt to keep himself from crying.

"Yeah, I messed up," Minho confessed, his voice quivering in despair.

"No, it's like you said: you didn't have much of a choice. I mean, he owns your soul." Han reassured the older, his manner softening as he looked back to face Minho. To Han's surprise, Minho shook his head in repressed denial.

"I still know what he's capable of, and I brought you guys right to him," Minho despondently acknowledged, his voice breaking with each syllable he spoke. "When you guys asked me about talking to lifers, I should have just skated away."

"I would have still followed you." Han leaned closer to Minho, his admission infusing the solitude of the taut room with something deeper, something meaningful.

His admirable words earned a doe-eyed gape from Minho, his expression softening as if the weight of Han’s confession had completely disarmed him. For a moment, the saddened glint in his eyes dulled, replaced by a look of pure surprise and admiration. His lips parted slightly, as if trying to find the right words, but all that escaped was a breathless divulgence.

"You don't know what I would give to take back what I got you into."

Minho's words were sincere, yet Han could not linger on the commendable demeanor for too long, as another sharp jolt rang throughout his body, this one stronger and more agonizing than the previous ones. Han's hand instinctively reached up to rub at his side while Minho scooted closer, resting a comforting grasp upon Han's shoulder as he recovered from the shock wave's intensity.

"I am so sorry," Minho sighed, his tone filled with regret as his words stumbled. "Did...Did you guys at least figure out what your unfinished business is?"

"We have to play here," Han explained, his gaze sweeping over the empty arena, a mix of nostalgia and doubt in his eyes. "Not like it's actually going to happen, though." He punctuated his words with a scoff, the impossibility of getting the chance to perform at the Orpheum again settling heavily in his chest.

"The...The Orpheum?" Minho repeated Han's words in disbelief, in order to confirm that he had heard correctly.

"Yeah, I mean we were hours away from getting on that stage the night we died." Han pointed at the performance area he had been engrossed in for the duration of his stay.

"You guys were gonna be legends," Minho murmured, his tone and gaze coated in awe. The words made Han hang his head mournfully; he nodded his head before straightening his posture to look at Minho, answering him quietly yet assuredly.

"Yeah, we were."

---

"I don't know why you guys want these, but okay!"

You had stopped with two students in the middle of the hallway; they had insisted upon taking photos with you after last night's astonishing performance. You had become some sort of celebrity at your high school following the revelation of the band. Whispers followed you in the hallways, and eyes lingered a little longer whenever you passed by. Some students even tried to strike up conversations with you, eager to know how you had perfected the "holograms."

The two photographers made their exit, mumbling quick thank yous to you, to which you reciprocated with appreciative nods. Upon their leave, another entered.

"Can I get a selfie too?" Felix asked cheekily, beaming as he approached you.

"I have to check with security," you responded in the same playful demeanor; you turned your body to the left, then to the right, acting as if you were checking with invisible bodyguards. "You're all clear, Lix!"

"Yeah, you're laughing, but after last night's performance, I think it's clear that you guys are going to blow up," Felix remarked, his tone genuine as he recalled the incredible production of the previous evening.

"Please," you derided, rolling your eyes at the perceived exaggeration of the comment. "It was just a garage party. Don't get your hopes up."

"Sure," Felix smirked in response, shooting a playful wink your way. The gesture felt different, however. Felix's playful winks used to make you heart race, a flutter of excitement you could not ignore. Yet, it was not having the same effect as of late. The once thrilling gesture felt more like a habit, a familiar routine that no longer sparked those familiar butterflies.

Instead, your thoughts were consumed by Chan—his smiles, his quiet confidence, the way he made you feel like you were the only person in the room, every miniscule detail about him. Flynn's prior advice about avoiding the ghostly boy had faded into background music as he took center stage in your mind. Thus, the lingering feelings still present for Felix were beginning to dissapate as well, becoming back-up vocals in the harmonious melody you and Chan were crafting together.

"Sorry I couldn't stay for the whole performance, by the way," Felix continued, his brief apology positioning you back into reality. "I had a lot of homework to do." Felix smiled, but this one was not legitimate; it was imposterous, almost as if he was trying to hide something from you.

Which he indeed was.

He could not deny that seeing the ending of your performance—with you and Chan inches away from one another as you locked eyes in a romantic demeanor— had hurt him slightly. He thought you were into him, and that thought gave him the smallest amount of hope to keep talking to you; however, last night's events had shattered his ere of confidence.

You, however, were oblivious to this fact.

"Oh, it's no problem!" you responded, sensing nothing wrong with the boy. "Thanks for coming anyways!"

"Thanks for inviting me," Felix replied, his deep tone soft, yet laced with a hint of nervousness. You nodded your head, glancing at the floor briefly before speaking again.

"See you around!"

"Hey, wait," Felix called as you turned to walk away. "I was actually wondering, since we're such a good team when it comes to dance class, and since you have an A in history if there was any chance we could be study partners?"

You blinked in surprise, a subtle unease settling in your gut as you realized the boy you had started to lose interest in was now suddenly captivated by your presence.

"I would love to!" you eventually stuttered out. "But, y'know, with the band and every thing else, I don't think I'll have free time to help you study." You tried to dismiss the question, anxiety bubbling in your throat as you scanned Felix's face for any sign of disappointment.

"Oh, yeah, I should've expected that. No worries!" Felix replied, sounding slightly dejected. "I'll just ask you this then." You tilted your head at the boy curiously as he took in a deep breath, seemingly to relieve his nerves.

"Any chance you could find time to go on a date with me?"

A wave of dread washed over you as Felix's question hung in the air. You could feel the weight of his words, a pang of guilt tightening your chest. For years, this was what you had dreamed of; you wanted this very moment for so long, and the mere thought of rejecting Felix made you ache, especially knowing how much courage it had taken for him to speak up.

Why did this have to happen when you had already decided upon giving your heart to Chan?

"Wow, Felix Lee wants to take me on a date," you quietly realized as your gaze went to the floor. When you looked back up at Felix, his brows were furrowed and a playful yet confused smile was playing at his face.

"Well, obviously, you know that! Because you are Felix Lee!"

"That I am," Felix chuckled out, shaking his head at your response.

"I am flattered," you stated breathily, speaking through a forced smile. "Truly! You are a great guy! A really great guy!" You ended your ramble with a string of nervous giggles, prompting Felix to reciprocate the coerced grin.

"That doesn't really sound like a yes." You did not reply verbally to Felix, instead opting to let out a loud sigh you were unaware was caught in your vocal cords; you hang your head, unable to look at him due to the weight of your guilt.

"You," Felix let out his own sigh, this one filled with disappointment. "You like someone else, don't you?"

"Yeah." You nodded your head regretfully, looking up to make hesitant, dejected eye contact with Felix. "Kind of."

"I guess I uh, missed my chance," Felix revelled, his tone mixed between sadness and understanding. "Oh well. Still dance partners, right?" You could not help but laugh at Felix's question, still having a mild fondness for your former crush.

"Absolutely."

"Sweet," he replied, his toothy grin returning. "Alright, well, I'm going to make a super awkward exit, and I'll see you later!" He snapped his fingers, turning them into playful pointers, then slowly and awkwardly shuffled away from you.

"Well that wasn't just a what's up!"

You jerked your head back around from watching Felix leave, being met face-to-face with Flynn, who had, unknowingly to you, watched the entire interaction.

"Felix asked me on a date," you muttered, your voice barely above a whisper, the revelation of the confession making Flynn's eyes widen in surprise.

"And I rejected him." The remorse in your tone was unmistakable, which caused the bright, excited beam on Flynn's face to falter. Her expression shifted, her brows knitting together in utter bewilderment, as if trying to comprehend the words that had just left your lips.

"What?!"

"Flynn, you're right," you told her before she could spiral into a ramble. "This Chan thing is not going away any time soon, if ever. I'm not going to waste Felix's time while I'm thinking about another guy."

"Awe," Flynn cooed, her voice soft with an almost teasing sweetness, catching you completely off guard. "My baby's all grown up!" She placed a delicate hand on your arm, her fingers warm against your skin, and smiled fondly as though reminiscing about something long past. Her tone shifted slightly as she continued, a playful edge creeping in. "She's in love with someone who doesn’t exist, but hey, she's grown up!"

"He does exist," you corrected. "He's just not alive. And yeah, he's a ghost, but we connect in so many ways."

"You are the most alluring duet I've ever seen," Flynn cheekily agreed, causing you to smile fondly.

"It's not just singing, Flynn," you explained. "It's like when we write, we draw from the same pain. After all, we both know what it's like to lose our moms. Chan's hurting so much, and I want to help him. I just don't know how to."

As you spoke, your mind drifted back to what you had witnessed a few days earlier. You could still picture Chan, slumped against the edge of his family’s kitchen counter, his shoulders trembling with quiet sobs as he watched his family celebrate his birthday without him. The sight of him, so vulnerable and distant, left a hollow ache in your chest. The flicker of sadness in his eyes, the helpless way he wiped at his tears as if he did not want to be seen, only made the moment heavier. It broke your heart to think of him carrying that loneliness in silence. Desperation clawed at your thoughts, searching for something, anything, that might ease his pain.

"You could always write him a song," Flynn suggested, grounding; suddenly, a moment of realization hit.

You did not necessarily have to write him a song, but you could show someone else a song he had written.

"Flynn, you're a genius!" you nearly screamed, excitement coursing through your body as the idea peeked in your mind. You ran towards the opposite end of the hallway with every intention to enact the action right then and there.

"Y/n! You still have class!" Flynn called after you as a reminder. You ineptly spun around, walking back in Flynn's direction in order to head to your next block.

"Right! Like I said, genius!"

---

You approached the brick house cautiously, each step on the cement stairs dragging you deeper into the knot of anxiety coiling in your chest. Your movements felt sluggish, as though the air itself was thickening with every hesitant step. The folded piece of paper nestled in your back pocket, its edges digging slightly into your skin beneath the cozy magenta knit of your sweater. You exhaled sharply, the breath shaky but determined, as you neared the door. Your fingers hovered over the doorbell, ready to press, when a sudden whooshing sound sliced through the air beside you, startling you into stillness as you jerked your head towards the source of noise.

"Channie?"

"What are you doing here?" he softly asked, confusion etched upon his features.

"Okay, look." You held up your hands defensively, as if Chan would pounce on you at any moment. "I wanted to know more about you. I was really curious, so I...I came here last week on your birthday."

"You were spying on me, y/n?" Chan inquired, crossing his arms as he took a few, dragging steps towards you. "After all of your speeches about boundaries, you decided to spy on me?

"Yeah," you nodded, your gaze dropping to the floor as the tension sank in. Chan scoffed in frustration, the sound sharp and laced with a mix of disbelief. You could feel the heat of his gaze even though you kept your head lowered, unable to meet his eyes. "I know it was invasive and wrong, and I'm really sorry. I'm just worried about you."

"You don't have to worry about me," Chan reassured, although his words felt more like cuts than comfort. His stare flicked up and down at you before he moved to lean on the edge of the porch.

"I get it," you suddenly stated, taking a place next to him on the railing. "I know what it's like to want to speak to someone you love but you can't. I feel that pain every day." Your tone was laced with warmth, each word wrapping around Chan like a comforting blanket on a cold night. The gentle cadence of your voice seemed to settle the tension in his chest, soothing him in ways he could not quite articulate. It was as though you had the ability to speak directly to the parts of him that were often too complicated for words. Yet, despite the sense of ease your words brought, he found himself shaking his head, a small but determined motion. It was not directed at you, but rather a silent reprimand for misinterpreting the simple kindness you offered.

"I don't even know what I would say to her, even if she could hear me," Chan admitted, looking at you woefully, tears threatening to prick at the corners of his eyes.

"Yes, you do," you retorted, your tone remaining steady and understanding as you corrected Chan. "You've already said it." Chan's perplexed, yet amorous gaze bore into your own as he searched his mind for what you could be referring to. Upon his confused expression, you reached into your back pocket, pulling out the piece of paper. On one side of the paper, bold pen marks spelled out a title:

"Unsaid Emily."

"Do you trust me?" you asked Chan, observing how his stare had softened as he took in the song you had kept hidden away. His lips curved into a faint, closed-mouth smile, though his eyes carried a touch of quiet sorrow. Without answering, he slowly stepped toward the doorbell, gathering his resolve before pressing it. He then stepped behind you, wishing in that moment he could muster up the energy to take your hand in his, or at least make some sort of physical contact with you to relieve his nerves.

You felt just as anxious, your hands shaking slightly as Chan's father opened the door.

"Hi, Honey. Can I help you?" the older male asked, looking slightly bemused. Chan stood frozen, his body tense with a palpable anxiety that seemed to hang in the air. His gaze fixated on every crease and contour of his father's face, tracing the lines that told stories of time and experience. A heavy knot twisted in his chest, squeezing tighter with each passing second, as the weight of all the lost years between them settled deep into his bones.

"Hi, I'm y/n," you quiety introduced yourself, struggling to keep contact with Chan's father. "I believe you had a son named Chan?"

"Well, yes, that's right," his father nodded solemnly, his own reminiscence creeping up on him as he pictured his son mentally, unaware that the boy was right in front of him. "And you are again?"

"Y/n l/n," you replied. "Your son's band used to play in my family's garage?" Chan kept his gaze fixated on you with every word you spoke; he felt a whirlwind of emotion, from dejection, to nervousness, even to admiration of your courage to do this for him.

"I came across this song he wrote, and I figured you might be interested?"

"Um." Chan's father’s eyes lingered on the paper you held out, his gaze sharp and focused, before a flicker of surprise softened his expression, giving way to a gentle sense of wonder. "Well, yes! Please, come in." He stepped aside, creating just enough space in the doorway for you to enter. His voice carried warmth as he introduced himself, "Jack."

You stepped forward, gesturing for Chan to follow. He did so quickly, though with a hint of hesitation, as the two of you trailed behind Jack into the living room. Your gaze immediately landed on an embroidered picture frame. The photo inside captured a young Chan playing outside, covered in mud and grass. Despite his much younger age, the cheeky grin on his face remained unchanged, a perfect reflection of the person he was now.

"Is this him?" you asked Jack, picking up the photo and tracing your finger across the frame.

"Yep!" Jack's father confirmed, his tone laced in a sense of vague pride. "That's my boy." You shot a swift glance at Chan, who was mirroring the smile the young child displayed in the photograph.

"Did I hear the doorbell?" Chan’s mother’s voice cut through the moment, her gentle steps approaching the living room. Her arm, warm and reassuring, wrapped around her husband's shoulders. His sister trailed behind, her smile bright and sincere as she moved to stand just behind their mother, mirroring the closeness between the two. The sight of his entire family, gathered so casually around you, set off a flutter of apprehensiveness in Chan’s chest. His pulse quickened, and the room suddenly felt too small, the air too thick. For a fleeting moment, he wished he could just teleport out, to vanish from the scene and escape.

But he knew he could not.

He knew he had to face his demons, if not for himself then for you.

"Hi, Sweetheart," Jack greeted his wife with a brief forehead kiss. "This is y/n."

"Hi there, y/n," Chan's mother, Emily, warmly welcomed you, her voice smooth and sweet like honey; his sister, who you knew as Hannah, gave a small wave, her lips upturned in a soft smile. "I absolutely love that sweater."

"Thanks," you responded appreciatively, absentmindedly rubbing at one of the arm sleeves. "It was my mom's."

"Y/n lives in the house where Chan and the boys rehearsed," Jack explained to Emily and Hannah. "She was just telling me she found a song that Chan had wrote."

Tears had already begun to well up in Chan’s eyes, his chest tightening as he watched you, the girl he had grown so deeply fond of, interact with his family—those very people he had never made amends with while he was alive. The weight of regret sat heavily in his heart, but there was also a quiet comfort nestled in the ache. As he watched them turn to you with rapt attention at the mention of the song, a flicker of hope sparked within him. Through your words and gestures, his parents and sister could finally see the person he had always longed to be—his talent, his passion, all brought to life through you.

"It's a song about a girl named Emily?" you told them, phrasing your statement like a question in order to prompt Emily to come forth.

"I'm Emily," Chan's mother replied, slowly reaching her hands out in order to take the paper from your hands.

"Then, I think Chan may have written this song for you."

You handed her the song, watching as she, Jack, and Hannah huddled together to read the lyrics, all three of them sniffling as memories of the guitarist resurfaced. Chan took a deep, anxious breath, softly singing the lyrics to himself while his family carefully scanned the paper.

"First things first We start the scene in reverse All of the lines rehearsed Disappeared from my mind When things got loud One of us running out I should've turned around But I had too much pride"

As Chan sang the first verse, his mind flashed back to 29 years ago, on the fateful night in which he ran away.

He could still hear the sharp edge of his mother's voice that Christmas weekend, her words rising in volume with every second, each one a protest against his dreams. The argument had escalated quickly, Emily's disapproval pouring out in waves as she questioned every decision he had made, every path he had chosen that did not align with her vision of his future.

"You can’t do this! It’s not practical, it’s not safe!" she had cried, her eyes wide with desperation. But Chan had already made up his mind. With a heavy heart but a determined spirit, he shoved a few clothes into a bag, his movements quick and final. He had not said a word in response, his silence only deepening the rift. Grabbing his bike, he pedaled away from the house, the wind whipping past his face as he sped down the road. Behind him, the sound of his mother's sobs echoed in his ears, growing fainter with every mile. He refused to turn back, his pride overtaking his senses.

"No time for goodbyes Didn't get to apologize Pieces of a clock that lies broken

"If I could take us back, if I could just do that And write in every empty space the words "I love you" in replace Then maybe time would not erase me If you could only know I never let you go And the words I most regret Are the ones I never meant to leave"

The next memory that flickered in Chan's mind was vivid and raw. He recalled sitting in the corner of the garage, guitar in hand. His mind had been heavy with words unsaid, the apology to his mother that he could not bring himself to voice. So, instead, he decided to speak through the music, hoping that one day, she would hear it and forgive him. The room was still, the only sound the soft strumming of his guitar as he labored over the lyrics, each word carefully chosen, yet none feeling quite right. He poured over the verses again and again. And then, in that silent moment of desperation, the words began to take shape. The final verse, the perfect ending, appeared before him like a sudden, sharp revelation:

"Unsaid Emily."

"Silent days, mysteries and mistakes Who'd be the first to break? I guess we're alike that way He said, she said conversations in my head And that's just where they're gonna stay forever"

Chan remembered how he had spent days perfecting the song, rehearsing it alone and with the band, layering harmonies, background vocals, and crescendos to capture the raw, despairing emotion it represented.

He had tried to bring himself to come home one night to play the song, the lyrics and his guitar in his tight grasp as he thought out his plan; he would walk in, and once his parents and sister were done with the, "we were worried sick!" speech, he would sit down in the recliner and play the song for them, hoping to end it with an apologetic note.

Yet, none of that ever happened; Chan cowardly ran away the moment his parents had noticed him hiding behind the trees.

'Another time,' he figured.

Though, the "other time" never arrived once Chan's time was cut short. As his family skimmed over the final chorus, they remembered the horrific night all too well; Emily was crocheting, Jack was reading, and Hannah was watching the television when their home was suddenly illuminated by red and blue lights, the noise of Hannah's cartoon enveloped by the piercing roar of sirens. At an instant, all three of them knew.

They knew Chan would never be coming home.

They stood up, falling into each other;s embraces at the realization, tears streaming down their face as they began to mourn the loss of their son and brother.

As Chan quiety mumbled the last, "Unsaid Emily," to finish out the song, Emily clutched the piece of paper to her chest, tears rolling down her cheeks as Jack and Hannah gripped onto her shoulders, their eyes just as pooled with sadness.

"Thank you," she sobbed out. "Thank you so much."

"You have no idea how much this means to us," Jack warmly, yet sadly added on.

"We never knew he was so talented," Hannah commented, her voice trembling with emotion. Despite your own tears beginning to form, you gave them a soft, sincere smile. You did not know it, but Chan's bloodshot gaze was focused on you, a smile beaming across his lips as he took in the weight of your gesture, of the care you had for him.

"I write music in the same room he did," you explained to Chan's family. "I can tell you that music, specifically the songs he wrote, is magical. It connects with people in ways words simply can't." Emily smiled brightly at your words, sniffling slightly as she gripped onto Hannah and Jack's hands.

"That's so wonderful to know," Jack answered, a fond smirk present upon his own face.

"I know he was only seventeen," you continued, your demeanor quivering as Chan wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his tan, plaid jacket, "but he lived doing what he was destined to do. Not many people find that, but Chan did. He was lucky."

The emotion hanging in the air became too much to bear for Chan; with one final smile your way and a quick rub of his eyes to rid the tears, he teleported away, leaving just you and his family.

The four people he adored more than anything.

"It was so nice to meet you," Emily choked out through broken sobs.

"it was nice to meet you guys, too," you genuinely replied in a comforting manner. Before you left, they thanked you one last time.

"Thank you for showing us that Chan didn't die for nothing."

---

Your breaths were steady as you walked up the stone pathway to your house, the sunset overtaking the air of the evening. You felt a sense of accomplishment after the day's events; although, the pride was punctuated also by a feeling of worry.

After Chan had warped out of his family's home, you had not seen him, causing a deep, dreadful feeling to settle in your gut.

Thankfully, the fear vanquished as you made it home, catching sight of the boy leaning against one of the pillars structuring the porch. His eyes lit up the moment he noticed you, and he muttered a quiet, "Hey," your way. You gave a shy smile, approaching him without a hurry.

"I'm sorry if I overstepped back there," you apologized, noting the way he had so swiftly vanished.

"No, it wasn't you," he corrected. "I had to leave. It was-"

"You don't have to say anything," you interjected, making soft, warm eye contact with the boy. You felt the familiar heat rush to your cheeks as your gaze met his, and he, too, felt his pulse quicken as he took in your presence.

"Yes, I do," Chan retaliated, swallowing hard. "I didn't have many regrets in life except for running out on my family, especially my mom so...thank you for showing them my life actually meant something." His expression was stoic, but his words carried all of the passion that needed to be expressed in that moment.

"Well, you made me feel more connected to my mom," you responded, your doe eyes brightening as you spoke to him in a playful yet admirable manner. "I wanted to do the same thing for you."

"That was perfect," Chan complimented, his hand absentmindedly reaching for yours. Your eyes glanced down, attempting to mirror his actions; however, all you were met with was your hand passing through his ghostly stance. You let out a dejected sigh, turning around to face the opposite way out of awkward despondence.

"This is an interesting little relationship you and I have, Love," Chan commented, turning around so you were both facing the same way. You flicked your head in his direction, trying to look warning; however, your amiable smile, as well as the red tint on your cheeks, gave you away. "Don't try and pretend you don't like me. I know you do."

"So what if I do?" you retorted, your tone playful yet shy. "It's not like you don't like me." Your words caused Chan to bite his lip, nodding impressed.

"Never denied it. I was just wondering how long it would take before you figured it out." Chan was smirking now, a teasing glint present in his eyes as he leaned back against the pillar. You shook your head in utter disbelief, the joyous sparkle in your gaze still present.

"Oh hey, before I forget," you exclaimedly changed the subject, "my dad said that the video we made is trending on YouTube!" Chan's brows knitted together, and he bobbled his head, urging you to elaborate further.

"That's a good thing. It means we'll definitely be getting calls from managers!"

The heat on Chan's face suddenly washed away as his bright features faded from his face. With everything that had been happening to him, Changbin, and Han, he did not even know if he was going to exist long enough for the band to get a record deal.

Thus, he had to tell you before optimism clouded reality.

"About that," he stuttered out, his voice clouded with reluctancy. "I have to tell you something." You widened your eyes, raising your eyebrows in order to motion for him to continue.

"We found that we have unfinished business," Chan admitted. "That's why we came back as ghosts."

"Oh," you stoically replied, not yet aware of the gravity of the situation. "What is it?"

"We have to play the Orpheum. Y'know, the show we never got to play," Chan elaborated. Before you could respond, a flickering jolt rushed through Chan's body, catapulting him backwards into the opposite structure beam.

They were getting worse, more intense, more painful.

"We don't have a lot of time," Chan further prompted, clutching his torso in hopes to relieve the discomfort.

"What was that?!" you interrogated, your voice coated with worry as you ran to Chan's side. "Are you okay?"

"The night of the dance," Chan started, "we met this ghost and he put some sort of curse on us. Now, if we don't do what he says, these jolts will destroy us."

"Then do what he says!" you commanded, your octave heightening as you feared for the existance of the boy in front of you. "What does he want?"

"He wants us to be in his house band for eternity," Chan answered. "But if we can play the Orpheum soon, we can cross-over and not have to worry about that."

"Cross over?" you repeated, your tone shifting to one of uncertainty. "What, like go to Heaven?"

"I mean, that's the plan," Chan dejectedly. You shook your head, your lips pursed in bewilderment.

"So, either you cross-over, join a deranged ghost's house band, or be destroyed?" you inquired, your voice raising to the pitch of a yell; when Chan nodded, albeit depressingly, you threw your hands down in frustration. "Cool, so I lose you either way. That's just perfect."

You did not give Chan a moment to respond before stepping into the house, the door slamming shut with a force that rattled the walls. His voice reached you just as the door thudded against the frame, calling your name in a tone tinged with desperation. Chan stood frozen for a moment, staring at the spot where you had just been, his chest tight. A deep, frustrated sigh escaped him, one that seemed to carry the weight of everything unsaid between you. His mind replayed the words you had thrown at him, the ones that cut deeper than any insult or argument he had ever been in: 

"I lose you no matter what happens."

The impact of those words hit him like a physical blow, his heart aching as if something inside him had cracked wide open. He could not shake the image of losing you, the thought settling in the pit of his stomach, heavy and cold.

He could not lose the love of his life.

---

You sat on your comforter, doodling on a random piece of paper as you heard a rapping sound at your door.

"I got your text," Flynn softly elucidated, approaching your saddened, slouched position.

"Don't come too close," you warned. "Everyone I seem to care about disappears."

"Well, I'm not going anywhere," Flynn rejected. "I'm like the Gorilla Glue of besties."

"I just don't get it," you began, pushing her comment aside. "Just when life seems to be going okay; great friends, great band, great guy, then BAM!" Upon your notion, you turned the piece of sketch paper around, revealing an explosion you had drawn with your name right in the crossfire.

"I seriously don't know why all of this is happening to you, but that is going to make an awesome album cover one day!" Flynn remarked, her playful tone grounding you slightly as you let out a gentle chuckle. In a flash, Flynn's attention seemed fixated on something else; her eye had caught ahold of something in your mom's chest.

"Wait," Flynn suddenly said as he bent down, scowering through the countless memorabilia in the box until she grabbed what she had noticed. "Did you know this was in here?"

What Flynn had snagged was a white band t-shirt that your mom had bedazzled herself with a plethora of sequins, jewels, and other glamour. The band's name was centered on the article of clothing, bold, black, curvy letters spelling out the name:

3RACHA.

"What the..." your voice trailed off as you took in the sight of the tee, your eyes furrowing in perplexation. "No way. The guys said they didn't know my mom. Why would they lie?"

"Maybe they didn't," Flynn stated, standing up after a moment of thinking. "Maybe she knew them! Maybe your mom was a fan of 3RACHA!"

"I mean, it does check out," you shrugged your shoulders upon the comprehension. "3RACHA was playing the Hollywood club scene around then."

"You could be right, y'know!" Flynn outbursted, making you tilt your head in confusion. "Maybe the band is connected to your mom, through music and whatnot!"

"You're coming to this conclusion all because she bought their t-shirt?" you questioned your best friend, playful disbelief present in your tone.

"Think about it!" Flynn screeched in excitement. "They were the ones who made you want to play music again! Maybe she knew they could help you!

"So, you mean to tell me that my mother is out there planning all of this somehow?" you inquired, unable to believe what Flynn was trying to convince you of. "If she wanted me to play music again, why wouldn't she just tell me herself?"

"Maybe she can't," Flynn quickly responded. "Maybe she has to do it in a different way! You know, through signs? Come on, you've been through your mom's chest how many times and haven't found this shirt? Why now? Y/n, it's not over!"

"Signs? Seriously?"

"You're in a ghost band," Flynn rebuttaled sassily. "It's a crazy world." You rolled your eyes, annoyed at the potentiality of Flynn's ramble; however, your actions only elicited a continuation.

"Look, y/n, you're gonna lose the boys no matter what happens, and it is going to suck. But they brought you back to life! Now, it's your turn to help them. Crossing over is the only way to save them." The next three words Flynn uttered shattered you, but also made you see the reality to the situation at hand.

"Let them go."

Flynn had been right, and deep down, you knew it. The guys were going to leave; nothing could stop it, no matter how the next few days unfolded. You could feel the weight of inevitability pressing down on you, but there was still a shred of control left. The least you could do now was take Flynn’s advice to heart. You would help them go, even if it was painful, even if it cut deeper than you cared to admit. If this was the end, you would make it as gentle as you could, easing them out with as much dignity as possible, offering them a quiet exit from the storm that was about to crash down.

---

You strutted into the studio, your hopes high with a new plan to help the band; however, the sight you met was far from buoyant.

Changbin sat in a chair, laying his head against his bass as he dejectedly plucked at the strings, the resulting melody sounding broken. Chan was sitting on the floor, his head leaned against the bottom of the coffee table as he whistled into the wind. Han laid on the couch, attempting to balance one of his drumsticks on his eyes.

The depressing sight enraged you in ways you could not explain; you were not letting your best friends go out like this.

"Snap out of it!" you screamed, causing Changbin and Chan to jump back and Han to fall off the couch in startlement.

"Congrats, y/n, you broke Han," Changbin dismally noted as Chan helped the squirrel-esque boy back onto the furniture.

"Do you guys want to cross over or what?" you questioned, ignoring Changbin's remark. No response came from the three downers, which made you clap your hands together in an attention-grabbing fashion.

"Get! It! Together!"

"They're not going to let us play the Orpheum, Love," Chan depressedly responded to your antics.

"Yeah, we're nobodies," Han added on.

"We're less than nobodies," Changbin emphasized. "We have no bodies." His quip earned a snap and a point from Chan, signifying his agreeance with the younger.

"Someone once told me that you don't ask for permission. You book gigs by doing." Your recallation of Chan's statements earlier in the month caused the boy to chuckle lightly, a fondness present in his eyes as he felt his heart warm.

"That was me," Changbin credited himself, incorrectly yet pridefully.

"No it wasn't," you and Chan told him in sync, making the boy sink into his seat as a pout washed over his face.

"Yes, it was."

"This isn't over," you continued, optimism lacing your words. "We were brought together for a reason, and that reason is to help each other!"

"Yeah, but like Chan said," Han countered, "people don't just play the Orpheum because they want to." His words made you cross your arms, smirking as you came up with a plan.

"People don't. But ghosts sure do."

---

Taglist: @velvetmoonlght (If you would like to be added to the taglist, please let me know!)

[mitch-the-silly]

GUYS LOOK AT MY ALASTOR REDESIGN!!!

I’m obsessed with this-

Now, I was determined that justice be brought to Alastor. So I did him right by giving his his black features AND I shifted the focus of his demon form the voodoo symbols to the glitching and the Wendigo aesthetic. I like to think that the eye on his speaker is an extension of his power, so when he goes crazy it’s the eye where all the tentacles and things of the sort come from.

I made him look more like a deer because it had to be done!!!

Now, here’s some lore for my Alastor:

His little microphone/staff is an extension of his power. So instead of Voodoo symbols needing to show up on the screen when he starts tweakin, he just needs the eye on his microphone. The eye summons the tentacles and such, and I took off the voodoo elements because

1). I’m not capacitated to be speaking on Voodoo

2.) I’m not drawing them symbols because my grandma taught me better than to mess with forces I don’t understand

3.) His true form leans closer to the appearance of a Wendigo, so I wanted to focus of that.

So Alastor, having died in the forest, it makes sense his demon for ends up being a Wendigo. He was a serial killer and had to stalk to kill his victims, very much like a Wendigo. If we stick to some of the legends that depict the Wendigo, one may argue that his murders were done due to being possessed by one. I’d like to say that for my Alastor, he was indeed a Wendigo victim.

As for the Alastor being a mama’s boy allegations (it’s canon, but I wanted to say it this way lol), he’s not beating them. One of the traits that I love the most about canon Alastor is his love for his mom! I think it’s a good trait in him that explains why he’s very disdainful towards men, but very tolerant towards women. I’d like to build upon that trait with his character.

As mentioned by Mimzy, Alastor was a huge dancer and a hard social drinker. I just know this man can handle his weight in alcohol if he so desired- I’m sure he was the life of the party when he had the chance to go out after work. Also, some part of me just knows he was a huge Louis Armstrong and Cab Calloway fan. Which brings me to say that my Alastor has a Cajun accent. YOU’RE WELCOME-

BUT ENOUGH ABOUT LIVING ALASTOR

Due to how nice Lucifer is, Alastor in hell is exactly what people mean when they say “the devil himself”. He’s as always merciless and charismatic; the perfect mix for an overlord. He ruled “peacefully” from the late 30’s to the early 50’s (when Vox appeared). Him and Vox got along quite well at first, but when Vox started leaning towards those pesky innovations, Alastor showed his disagreement and denied a spot in the Vees when Valentino joined the hierarchy of Hell.

[wanderinginksplot-writes]

Clone Trooper Rambles

Because everything is a little more interesting with imaginary clone troopers hanging around.

Warnings: Frustration about post-surgery recovery (long-term).

---

Singing Again

“Thanks for listening! We’ll see you guys next time.”

The podcast ended and flipped immediately to the next song on the playlist. Rex eyed me from the passenger seat. 

It had been months since the surgery. I could speak normally again - as long as I wasn’t talking for an extended period of time - but singing was still out of my reach. I had been fixating on this podcast when I was driving or doing mindless work around the house. 

But that day, I hadn’t loaded another episode of the podcast to play. I didn’t like messing with my phone overly much while I drove, especially to do something as involved as finding the right episode and adding it to my queue. And the weather had decided to go from sunny to a torrential downpour in the last few minutes, so my concentration was firmly fixed on the road. 

And so I let the song play. It was Ella Fitzgerald’s Dream a Little Dream of Me, a song I had loved for as long as I could remember. I had a similar vocal range as Ella in that particular song, and it always gave me chills to hear her beautiful voice dance up and down the notes.

We drove in a cocoon of quiet - Louis Armstrong’s trumpet and Ella Fitzgerald’s voice filling the car as the rain drummed on the roof and windows. Rex’s attention was on the road ahead. Boss was watching the scenery fly by from the back seat and Trapper seemed to be nodding off in beside him.

���But in your dreams, whatever they be, dream a little dream of me.”

The words had burst from me in a uncontainable stream and I was horrified… until I realized that I sounded okay. Not just okay; I had actually hit the correct notes!

I laughed delightedly as the troopers swiveled their attention to me. As Louis and Ella scatted back and forth in the background, I asked, “Did you guys hear that? I think my voice is back!”

“We heard,” Boss told me. 

Rex nodded. “That sounded great.”

Trapper waved me on. “Keep going!” 

“Sweet dreams… til sunbeams find you, keep dreaming

Leave the worries behind you

But in your dreams, whatever they be

You’ve gotta make me a promise

Promise to me

You’ll dream

Dream a little dream of me”

The song ended, fading into nothingness. My smile was so wide that my cheeks were starting to ache, but I couldn’t have been happier. 

“How do you feel?” Rex asked. 

“Light,” I answered without thinking. Then, when I realized that didn’t make a lot of sense, I added, “I feel like I could fly the rest of the way home.” 

“You look like it, too,” Boss said. “Happy for you, kid.” 

I kept smiling as Trapper leaned forward to pat me on the shoulder. I felt so good that I wasn’t even going to object to being called ‘kid’.

---

Previous | Next | Masterlist

Author's Note - As a reminder, I write these a long time before I ever post them. This moment happened quite a few months ago, but it was a delight to revisit. Thank you for reading!

[ask-the-four-lords]

This is a question for each of the four lords. It’s not one I’ve ever seen asked before. Though I feel it can tell you a lot about a person.

What is the earliest memory you have? For example, I remember visiting a waterfall with my family. It can be super vague, as those memories usually are.

Thank you!

- 🦇

Blog auth here; I know this is a lot I just really liked this question. I know it's mostly HC but I hope it suffices. I also ended up only doing their earliest clear-as-day, perfectly intact memories because I felt like they'd be more interesting than the vague ones even if the vague ones were earlier, so presume there are earlier memories but these are the first really clear, solidified, intact ones.

Salvatore Moreau: M-my first mem-glugkg-memory *acid in mouth, swallowed after about 30 sec* was the day I went out on the wadder for the firrrsst time. The smell ah' the lake... there-there was nothing like it... 'st-still isn't. I n-never spent more than three deys without going oud' on the water after that, even if I' *gags* I'll never smel it straight again, I'll never forget the exac' smell of that afternoon. *he cries softly at the memory of his long since departed father and his dulled sense of smell since implantation*

Donna Beneviento: *she pauses, building the courage, sniffling at the thoughts* My earliest memory was the day my dad gave me Angie... I felt ever so safe with her. I couldn't sleep that night. I took Angie with me, snuck out of the manor and went to watch the waterfall... it was ever so beautiful... they... they, it was only *breaks down crying* a week later, they, they did... no, please. *manages to push the thoughts down* But it was like Angie spoke to me, like a friend, the other kids all thought I was a freak, they said I was sick, broken. Then, then my eye, after the Cadou it was so much worse! *quietly* I hate me. Evil, repulsive, freak! Monster! *cries, hits self although lightly* But out by the waterfall Angie seemed to come alive and she seemed to care. I'm so grateful I got make her come alive for real, and it's been a little better since, my only friend, they thought she was sooo weird but she was and is... a friend. I don't ever want her to leave me, I-I don't know what I'd do. *holds onto Angie, with desperation*

Alcina Dimitrescu: I was only ten, maybe eleven, I can't remember exactly, poor girl that I was. I had never really gotten to leave home due to that *with vitriol* miserable illness that ruined my old life, all of it. They had sat me in bed, it had been so long... it blended together, many months at a time usually. But mother brought me so many books, always enough, I never ran out. I loved them. They were all I had. All the distractions in bed never made it any better in truth, but I remember losing myself in the stories. More than anything, most importantly, I remember *in spellbound awe* hearing the jazz, Louis Armstrong, his crooked croon, gave things a color that they hadn't had before. Mother brought the albums in, all the masters, the greats, I always knew I'd end taking my place among them, and I did. Mother, she had been something of a socialite in those days, after jazz made it to Europe, she was hooked, and thus, so was I.

Karl Heisenberg: Old uncle Heisenberg... that fuck raised me, after my parents kicked the ol' bucket. He was a mechanist, 'damn good one too. He taught me the tricks of tha trade, how to wield a wrench, how to hit something in the right places 'till it *sarcastically aggressive* fucking worked, how to weld, the tools, the method, all of it. The dirty bastard wanted me to be a mechanic, mechanist, whatever, when I grew up, 'guess I was in the end. He was a scurvy old motherfucker, but 'e loved me in 'is own way, he was a drunk too. *scoffs a little, amused* But anyways, *back to point* my earliest memory, clear-as-day memory that is, I still got a lotta vague shit alongside it, was me and Uncle Heisenberg, I smelled like motor oil, I'd smell like motor oil there on out. He said I was old enough, passed a smoke and a whiskey. 'Whole day we'd been workin' on one of 'is projects, one of the less stupid ones, it was right when we said we'd go to sleep and then didn't, he ran into me when we both went to hit the workshop. He believed in me, at least more than the others ever would. That night, the smoke wafted from the cigar, he passed it. I took a drag. It felt right, and more or less felt alright. He said I was a "man now" who knows whatever the fuck that means but it meant somethin' to me, always will. *Laughs* If he knew I mainly called him a scurvy old bastard, he'd be proud, he was a asshole, drunk, and all-around sonofabitch, but he was a damn good man, 'loved 'im.

[thee-horny-thicky]

The 141’s Music Taste

A/N: The genres and artists I’ve selected were chosen through the lenses of a Black American, and I have no clue how popular they are in the U.K. However, given that these men have traveled the world, I doubt that really matters. Anyway, enjoy :)

Captain John Price:

Now, I know he’s canonically only in his late 30s, but I imagine him loving oldies. And when I say oldies, I mean songs older than him. Blues, jazz, and classic rock have his heart. After a mission, he loves nothing more than to kick back with a cigar and whiskey, with some Ray Charles or Louis Armstrong playing in the background.

The only modern genre he really likes is R&B, largely due to how much the aforementioned genres influenced it. And by modern, I mean the stuff around during the early 2000s.

Also, despite his love for old music, he cannot stand classical. It gives him a headache and irritates him to high-heaven.

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley:

I see a lot of people headcanon that Ghost is a metalhead. It’s an obvious choice and honestly makes sense. However, given his past, I believe that he’d have an aversion to metal. He might not be opposed to the classic rock ‘n roll sound, but metal? That’s a no-go.

I imagine him loving music that centers around self-expression and conveying what the artist has gone through. It grounds him and helps him feel a little more human. Thus, I think that he’d love blues and rap above all genres.

He especially loves 2Pac because of how often he talked about the social issues around him, even if Ghost himself can’t relate to the bulk of them. He just likes that 2Pac used his fame to talk about what his community was going through, and he loves his versatility.

R&B is another genre he regularly listens to, and I can even see him dabbling in pop. And by pop, I mean Lana Del Rey esc music. Also, as odd as it may seem, I can see him really liking Melanie Martinez.

Johnny ‘Soap’ McTavish:

Soap’s the metalhead of the bunch. He can give you an in-depth critique of all the famous bands and has a list of underground metal artists he adores. Due to being a part of an elite task force, he rarely gets a chance to see his favorites, so when he does, he buys a ludicrous amount of merchandise to commemorate the show.

However, though he’s a metalhead first and foremost, he can vibe with any music he can dance to. Beyonce’s Renaissance? He had it on repeat, playing it so much, that his bunkmates were too annoyed to even tease him. And after a particularly rough mission, I imagine he’d turn to a softer-sounding genre like R&B.

But don’t play anything too slow around him, because he will complain. And opera? It makes him murderous.

Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick:

Gaz was the only one to willingly listen to Renaissance with poor Johnny. I don’t know why, but I can picture him being a big Bey fan, his love for her going all the way back to her Destiny Child days when she was his celebrity crush. Play any Beyonce song, and he’ll be able to tell you the name of it within 2.3 seconds. And since he grew up during their domination, he’s also partial to the Spice Girls.

Prince and Michael Jackson are two more of his favorites, and he even managed to get Sosp hooked on them.

Now, he does also enjoy more ‘masculine’ music, the primary example being ‘90s gangsta rap. However, I imagine him preferring genres like R&B, pop, melodic rap, and neo-soul. And unlike Ghost, his pop music doesn’t need to have a sad girl or sad-core lilt. No, he’ll be fine jamming to Britney Spears, Dojo Cat, and Dua Lipa.

If you can’t tell by now, R&B is basically the only genre the 141 can agree on. Rhythm and Blues is a very versatile genre, allowing every member to enjoy it despite their varied music tastes. And honestly, I’m kinda obsessed with them blasting it during missions.

[ohblahdo]

The thing about Skywriting By Word of Mouth is that I don't think the whole thing is about Paul or that there's one single decoder ring you can use to make it all make sense, but I'm also incapable of not raising an eyebrow at passages like

’Way down yonder in New Orleans over backwards to accommodate line u.s. a.) you’re adorable b.) you’re so beautiful of himself.

Way Down Yonder in New Orleans is Bing Crosby and Louis Armstrong, and A - You're Adorable is Perry Como (among others), and then you've got a 'leans over backwards' pun, a 'date line/dateline USA' pun, and a 'full of himself' pun. But if you step back... who invited John to New Orleans shortly before he would have been writing this? Who might he think was both adorable and full of himself? (The next line of that song is "C, you're a cutie full of charm".)

What it means, I don't know, but the one thing I'm reasonably sure of is that Yoko wouldn't have known either - if this mishmash of wordplay and song lyrics from John's childhood is baffling to most of us, imagine how it would read to a non-native English speaker who grew up in Japan. And given that we know Yoko read John's journals and listened in on his phone calls, that strikes me as interesting in and of itself: he wanted her to be that possessive, but he also liked playing mind games and maybe enjoyed reminiscing about old friends in a format that only he would understand.

[vnyverse]

may i request a scenario with haerin where, they’re about to sleep facing each other and despite the darkness around them, reader still manages to see and capture haerin’s beauty. slightly touching her features to feel it and smiling at just how lucky she is to have haerin.

this is too specific but i dreamt of it and can’t get it out of my head. also just because i love haerin so much 🥲

side note: i really really really love and enjoy your work AND I AM NOT EXAGGERATING. i love the way you narrate and everything. you’re my favourite author out of everyone. keep writing wonderful works, vyny!

a/n: I’m glad you like my writing, and I hope you like my playful take on this! I'm still exploring what lenses I’d like to write through, and am currently experimenting between multiple writing styles so I apologise if my works seem to be inconsistent or have gaps! Always open for requests and criticism. I’ve personally never been attached to anyone, been in love with or crushed on anyone before, so sometimes I sort of write in my own way of how I am able to appreciate what I sense and see, sorry if its a little oddball-ish. A little embarrassing when I think of it sometimes heheh

Bts I guess but I listened to a whole christmas playlist writing this because I think christmas songs are what give me most warmth even if I don’t celebrate xmas? (Think jazz, Louis Armstrong, Billie Holiday, Ella Fitzgerald, an occasional sprinkle of Chet Baker.)

 Cold, seemingly bland spaces can be warmed up with the presence of belongings. Belongings that tell a story, or for the matter of fact reveal anything about its owner, that a homeowner may be an adult who values utility, a child that is obsessed with aeroplanes, or a teenager that likes punk music. Today, the rain’s gentle pitter patters and the ensuing cold made it as if you were a cold space in need of light and warmth. The television host of whatever gameshow was playing was so perky you wanted to give her a slap, but it did its job of holding your attention hostage till the centrepiece returned- your dearest Haerin. Just as you think of her, a knock on the walnut door is heard. 

 Her presence was made known with the little shuffles- what you knew as attempts to remove those shoes she complained were too tight. You made a mental note to get her another pair one size bigger. What you didn’t expect, however, was that she came home bare-faced, like she had conquered the day of nosy reporters and blinding camera flashes without any make-up. It was a pleasant change, and you wish it could be that way, she was in her full beauty without makeup, you always thought so, and you genuinely wished that she could do whatever she found comfortable, of course that was not to say that olive-coloured contact lenses, some lip tint amongst other beauty products had no effect of enhancing her beauty. It was just because it was simply a pity the world would never get to appreciate her in her most natural form. No, she was not a black cat, a dancer, singer or a girl group member. In the moments you spend together she is her inquisitive self, a soul deserves happiness, a young maiden that finds beauty in making sense of her surroundings. God even knows what it was that made her chuckle at her own antics sometimes, just like now, with little sounds summoned by her almost tripping over your shoes, the very corner of her pillowy cherry lips threaten to remain high up, and then she does the little thing where she bites one side of her bottom lip, leaving the side out playfully-as if it took the place of a tongue that was supposed to stick out. That’s a part of what makes her so lovely and refreshing.

 You take your time with her, as you always do. How could you not when she looks at you like that? When she looks at you like you’re her whole world. God sure took his time crafting this girl’s features. She melts into your touch as you ready her for her skincare routine by gently brushing her long, dusty ash coloured hair, before tying it together in a neat bun. You think to yourself how everyone else can always be classified as a colour, but Haerin in essence would never be so one dimensional that she simply falls under any one specific colour. She could be a sky blue if she wanted, or maybe a lilac purple, hell, the girl could even be a dark maroon if she desired so. Now she was all ready for bed, and you could not resist tracing your fingers through her features, what she responded with was a curt nod coupled with unmistakably happy orbs, what you’ve deciphered to be simultaneously  a green light and a yes please. 

 You’ve thought for long how exactly to piece together her beauty to Haerin herself in words, the best you can and without thinking you muster up something between nothing and everything, a coughed out ball of adjectives you somehow managed to deliver. You could, as cliche as it sounded, and did in fact exaggerate that you would have a video camera pan in and out of her features, edit it, and have an audience gasp at the entirety of the video, and this is how you envision it goes. You cringe at your idea now, thinking of yourself as a genius no more as you reveal your elementary idea to God’s now dozing off magnum opus. 

 You were sure every glance at her kittenish countenance would be a perpetual wonder for you. Her hair, when tied up, revealed little ears that seemed to perk up excitedly, whether out of shyness when she faced you, or if they maybe wanted to take a peek at you when your eyes weren’t on hers. How her kind, gentle brows seemed so gently slant it allowed your eyes to follow them and slowly move south like a traveller, onto large and curious almond eyes that put other honey coloured eyes to shame, not before taking a gentle descent down the slope of her nose, her shapely soft cheekbones, and perfectly deep dimples that were lethal for any pair of eyes to travel toward. The journey does not end there, of course, your eyes would then take a trip to how the area near the ends of her lip would subtly crease at whatever little observation she had that successfully demanded her attention, and how her puffy cheeks were annoyingly soft. 

 But until you are sure you can express the entirety of your absolute and spontaneous  appreciation for her, you express it through the little things. 

“Night night beautiful.”

“You too.. loveyouy/n”

 Now you pull the sheets over the girl, for your exploration could take place after abundant rest and maybe then you would find something new and equally intriguing on your next. 

___________________________

This girl is just so adorable 🥰

[grxngyalt]

Leave Luanne AU - Louisiana

metions of death, SA, abuse and suicide//proceed with caution

@sleepdeprivedsimp234

so @syn-ningsilk mentioned the idea of the states being humans in their past lives and being reincarnated as state personifications, and i had an idea for louisiana.

so, there’s a song called “leave luanne”, that’s about a woman, luanne, staying loyal in an abusive relationship with her husband, who in the song is referred to as “the bastard.”

well, the husband beats and sexually assaults his wife (as stated in the song) and luanne still remains loyal to him, starting to believe the things he tells her.

eventually she gets tires of this constant cycle and attempts to escape, cutting the rope that keeps the husband’s dog inside and then yelling “your dog’s got out!” before running out to the bog.

she then swiftly swims through the swamp near the house, attempting to escape and get back to her house on the golden coast. but, the husband beats her to the end, and then proceeds to drown her and make it look like a suicide.

it states in the song that he feels a little sad about the death of luanne, but nobody really seems to care to grieve her death.

well towards the end of the song, she comes back to haunt the bastard, and he screams about how she came back because nobody ever loved her (which nowclooking back, doesn’t seem entirely wrong~) she constantly yells and wails, becoming a “caution to the cruelest of men” as the song says.

but the sad part is that even in death, she remains loyal to her husband. and that’s also why i feel like this fits loui.

1. the person singing the song is referred to as “the cajun” in the official link for the lyrics.

2. it’s a louisiana ghost story, and you can kinda figure that out just by listening to it. hence the mentions of the setting being near a swamp.

and also, the ghost part would also make sense for him, because he can see ghosts himself and i thought that would fit especially. i also feel like with his connections to magic and spirits, he would vividly remember his past life//have a lot of nightmares about it.

there’s also a specific lyric; “louisiana wants war”, that to me feels like foreshadowing.

[scoops404]

you should make a creative writing course for everyone who didn't have that in school :D (in my country they don't want us to think creatively...) I love when you talk about it :DDD

It's interesting because "creative writing course" and "English lit class" are similar things, but fundamentally different.

At university, my degree is in English literature where we did the quintessential thing of reading novels and short stories and breaking them down, analyzing them, etc. You didn't have to take any creative writing courses in order to gradate with that degree.

However, within the English major at my university you could Emphasize in something, almost like a more focused thing within the broader degree, but as an undergrad. So a very popular one was creative writing emphasis, which is what mine is. The problem is that these courses were very hard to get into. You had to finish your first year (which, sadly, knocked a lot of people out) and then there were only 2 teachers who taught it and you had to get special permission to be enrolled in the class. It met once a week for 2 hours and you just--brought in a short story and then we took turns reading it aloud to the class and saying what worked and what didn't. Essentially, a workshop. The bigger problem with that, you are one of 20 people in the class and it takes FOREVER to get through just 1 short story for everybody. It ends up being more of a class on critiquing other people's work than it does on writing yourself.

Anyway, I took two of these classes. One was a maymester (which in my university in america was like a 3 week very intensive course where you meet for like 4 hours a day for 5 days/week). For some reason, this one was through the lens of three blues artists - Billie Holliday (no regrets, i stan her. I love her so dearly. i think she's amazing), Theolonious Monk (amazing jazz piano player with the coolest name in the world), and Louis Armstrong -- which. I dunno. I was very checked out by the time we got to him. most of these 3 weeks were us listening to different selections of their music while our professor went about lecturing about their lives and the history of the time. We read a few poems aloud about them and that time. I fell in love with Langston Hughes at this time. And then at the end of the week, we wrote poetry through the lens of them. If that makes no sense to you or isn't clear on what you're supposed to do for that, you're not alone. I didn't get it either. I was way too literal the first time. Weird class. Don't regret it. I did a lot of poetry writing for myself in this time slot and processed a lot of things that were happening in my life at the time.

The second class was my senior year and our teacher was probably the coolest guy i've met in my life--long dreads, leather jackets, I think he rode his motorcycle to class, a very respected professor and just a chill dude. He absolutely knew what the fuck he was talking about. I don't think about a lot of my college classes much, but I think about that class. I wish we had met more often. The biggest problem was that the class was too popular and there were too many people in it. He really should have split us up into smaller groups or something. He also had a local author come in and talk to us and I was so inspired by her. I read her books and they're great! She's the one who got me to use Scrivener, which I love to this day.

Anyway this has turned into a long ramble, but yeah, a creative writing class online would be very fun but there's really something to being in person with someone and having another person read your work out loud, without having seen it before, to really see how it comes across to the audience. It's also really vulnerable, especially when you're new to writing. A bad teacher or experience could kill your love of writing, and that's just the worst.

[teddysgrahms]

my anderperry playlist and song explanations because I am gay

• Those magic changes by sha na na

One of my favorite songs from grease and also about the night and moment of falling in love and the blissful joy of that moment. The song has an element of angst to it but I look past it. like that is so anderperry I’m sorry? me when I fell in love to those magic changes?

• I melt with you by modern English

this song is about having s3x during a nuclear apocalypse but for my intents and purposes it’s about being with your lover at the end of the world and melting together metaphorically (and physically!) I just think they would die for each other idk

• (Feels like) heaven by fiction factory

the vibes are so excellent in this song + spending time with your lover is heaven in and of itself. they just. really like being together.

• la vie en rose by louis armstrong

this song makes me um explode I imagine them dancing poorly to this in their living room and stepping on each other’s feet and giggling and stumbling over one another and they are the most precious things ever?

• thirteen by big star

this song gives off the vibe of school age crushes and young romance and first love nerves and that’s just so them. it’s literally them your honor

• electric blue by icehouse

i think of this song as neil’s initial feelings for todd, lord of nerves and uncertainty and jitters because wow this boy is cute

• futile devices

a long-lasting love that’s become so natural it’s hard to put into words. I associate this one strongly with todd and how he handles his feelings about neil. sometimes words are not enough, and that is okay

• good old-fashioned lover boy by Queen

Neil is THE good old-fashioned loverboy and I will not hear otherwise. he’d be such a little gentleman and plan cute dates and do everything in his power to make things amazing and even when things aren’t great his effort is duly noted and appreciated

• put your head on my shoulder by Paul anka

I don’t think I need to explain myself. they enjoy a good cuddle. they’re in love. what more must i say

• dream a little dream of me by Doris day

hail Queen Doris Day this song is so adorable just the vibes alone are so anderperry core. like dream of me when you sleep tonight. we could stay up all night but you will see me in your dreams anyhow I love you <3

• i can dream, can’t i? by the andrews sisters

this one is a bit sad because the speaker is convinced they have no chance with their romantic interest. this is very todd core to me. he’d think he has no shot with neil but he can always dream (we are dreaming of tomorrow but tomorrow isn’t coming?)

• my romance by doris day

very neil coded. he doesn’t need anything special he just needs Todd and that’s good enough for him.

• time after time by iron & wine

beautiful cover by an all-time classic. they will always be there for each other, to find one another when they’re lost and catch the other when they fall

• old black train by the blasting company

the vibes are delectable. It feels like running away from home and searching for something unknown, a sort of yearning for a better life than the one you have. I imagine them running away together and being frightful and uncertain yet assured knowing they have each other. (but that lingering sense of “You can’t go back” is ever present and it’s nearly dreadful!)

• dear wormwood by the oh hellos

so. um. if u know me u know I’m a neil kinnie and uh. girlies this song is so him it actually makes me sick. I’ve put some songs in this playlist that are more specific to either Neil or todd individually and this is one of them. the self-discovery. the growth to demand better for yourself and refuse to be treated as less than by a parental figure. so fucking delicious. ugh.

• you’re the one by the vogues

adorable vibes and an overall cute song about loving your partner wholeheartedly. upbeat and catchy. I can imagine them dancing to this one also but in a more upbeat way

• thursday by asobi seksu

ngl this song changed me as a person I think ummm this just gives me todd vibes? something about losing your way, feeling lost and searching for anything to latch onto, holding on to the people closest to you out of fear they may leave at any moment….

• amoeba by clairo

the second todd song. are you a man or an amoeba? damn what if he felt more like an amoeba, like he just goes with how things are and never speaks or acts to how he feels and wants to do things? what if he was barely living?

• the book of love by the magnetic fields

This song makes me INSANE it’s so CUTE they are just so in love and they love each other and hearing the other read or sing or do anything asgghhhurufuh

• satellite by guster

they see each other almost like beacons or lifelines to look to, constants that are safe and reassuring. they are each other’s home.

• im a fool to want you by Frank Sinatra

again that idea of “I have no chance I’m stupid for liking you” but still being unable to change how you feel and just having to live with this heartbreak that has yet to occur

• it only takes a moment from hello, dolly!

Fun fact: this song got me through costume making. this song is in wall-e and aside from being one of the most beautiful songs ever in existence it is SO….I can’t even begin to describe. something about being loved enough for a whole lifetime in only a brief moment….do you think that even though the time neil and todd had together was short it was some of if not the best time of their lives?

• dancing in the moonlight by king harvest

another dancing song! I can see all the poets dancing to this truthfully. very cute song and I just adore the vibes and rhythm

• hopelessly devoted to you by olivia newton-john

this one is a bit dramatic for them but I can see Neil performing this with theatrical effort and intense dramatics

• love me as though there were no tomorrow by nat king cole

euggahhhhhhhhh love me like this is the last chance we’ll ever have……

• earth angel by the penguins

i think they both see each other as like blessings or miracles because their meeting improved both of their lives immensely and may quite possibly have been the best thing to happen to either of them

• you, my love by frank sinatra

i think this one aligns with how Todd feels about neil and how grateful he is to have him in his life. idk man they’re in love

• love letters by nat king cole

can’t remember how this one goes but I know the vibes are good and very them

• when I fall in love by Doris day

This Song is so gorgeous and ggrhehehhhaa I’m gonna break something it’s just so???? they????

• you send me by sam cooke

they both get flustered by how loving the other is and they’re just so damn adorable

• in the still of the night by the five satins

they . they’re in love.

okay that’s all thank youuuu

[eugesounds]

A Saxophonist’s Journey

I have been a full-time musician for most of my adult life. I have not gone more than a few days without playing an instrument of some sort since the summer between my junior and senior years of high school.... and that was...gulp, about 50 years ago.

I am not famous and I am not rich, but I have a lifetime of amazing memories, many fantastic friends and colleagues in the industry, and a long history of great students that I feel very fortunate to have spent time with, and have hopefully helped along on their own musical journeys.

My earliest memories are almost all related to music. My parents had an old RCA Hi-fi in our living room. It was a magical box that would come to life with a warm glow, a comforting hum, and an enticing "electronic" smell. It emitted sounds that made the whole family smile and I was a big fan of all of it. When I was 4 years old I stood in front of that console imitating Louis Armstrong. I even kept my dad's handkerchief in my front pants pocket as a prop. Hello Dolly always brought the house down for the aunts and uncles.

Growing up Italian in NJ, it's only natural that Frank Sinatra's voice became the soundtrack of my childhood. I once asked my mom if we could "turn the volume down" as Sid Mark's radio show "Friday with Frank" blared from the living room at dinner time. She looked me dead in the eye, pointed down at the floor and said "Go eat in the basement". True story, but I digress.

My mom and dad loved to dance, so their record collection was full of great LP’s from the Big Band and swing eras. I would spend hours listening to old 78’s by Benny Goodman, Count Basie, Duke Ellington and others. And if there was someone my father admired slated to be on late-night television, he would wake me up so that we could watch them together.  I can still hear my mom saying "Arnold, just let him sleep!”. Those moments were so very special and they made a huge impact on me.

I was constantly trying to make music on anything I could get my hands on, from pots and pans to toy instruments. I'd tap out melodies on glasses full of water that were left on the table after a holiday dinner, trying to imitate something I saw on Ed Sullivan no doubt. I remember watching a half-time marching band show and then seeking out an old Maxwell House coffee can with a plastic lid to drum along.

I constantly asked my parents for any sort of toy instrument they might find and they provided me with a steady supply of plastic trumpets, small keyboards, slide whistles, and harmonicas. They made the mistake of getting me a snare drum one Christmas, but later came to their senses and allowed me to order a beautiful wooden Hohner recorder with a few leftover books of Green Stamps (look it up kids). By the way, the snare drum is long gone, but I still have the recorder.

There is one event from my childhood that looms larger than any other and accounts for why I chose saxophone as my main instrument when I had the chance. When I was 7 years old my mom sent me to get a haircut at "Uncle Lou's". Lou Cipriano was my godfather and a barber by trade. I'd walk over to his shop that was about a half mile from our house and he'd cut my hair. On this particular occasion I was walking home with a "fresh do" and happened upon what must have been a Memorial Day parade. 

As I made my way closer to the marchers, a magical sound caught my ear. I inched closer to catch a glimpse and stood mesmerized as a line of army veterans wearing period fatigues, complete with the flattish, "dough-boy" helmets, and brown boots laced up to just below the knee, approached. They were playing (what I now know as) curved soprano saxophone and I still get chills remembering that moment. It was as if the Universe was saying "Oh, you like that? Well that's just fine because you will be doing that exact thing for a very long time".

The distinct sound of those horns leapt into my ears and traveled directly to my core. I vividly remember how stunning, interesting, and beautiful I thought the saxophones were, and I knew instinctively that I could play that instrument if given the chance. I'm sure I stood in awe for many minutes until the men passed out of earshot. But that sound, on that day, has stayed with me my whole life.

A few years later my family moved from New Jersey to Massachusetts and the public school there had a robust music program. So mom, dad and I visited Robinson's Music on a Saturday morning to pick out an instrument. Mr Robinson pointed out the trumpets, clarinets, French horns and his favorite "The slide

trombone!". But there was not a chance in hell that I was leaving the store, on that day, without a saxophone.

I had wonderful teachers and mentors along the way and I enjoyed my time in concert band, marching band, and jazz band. They are some of my most cherished musical memories and I remain in touch with many buddies from those days, some of whom still make music an integral part of their lives. That's a huge testament to our teachers who encouraged us at every level.

As I mentioned up front, there was a short time between my junior and senior year of high school that I just put the horn down and was unsure if I wanted to play any more. But who was I kidding? My academics were woeful (I still don't get math) and music was one constant in my life. I distinctly remember my dad taking me aside that summer and saying "You want to quit? It's up to you. But God gave you a gift." And that really struck a chord with me as I was reminded of those soldiers marching by all those years ago.

I decided to attend the Hartt School of Music at the University of Hartford where I received a Bachelor’s degree in Music Education. I never desired to teach in a school system and instead opted to teach privately and pursue a playing career. You've probably never heard of me and that's fine. I have a wonderful studio full of students and get to play with a bunch of great musicians in and around the Dallas area where I make my home. 

With all of the distractions available today, I am happy to report that people of all ages still have the desire to learn saxophone, often after experiencing a musical moment like the one I had. I have a small YouTube channel where I post videos about once a week. I don't edit or add any special effects and almost every one was done in “one-take” so you’ll hear some goof ups now and again. I simply try to present that same, pure sound that I heard when I was 7 years old outside of Uncle Lou's barber shop, with the hope that I might encourage folks on their own musical  journey.