#and yes i knew it had orchestral instruments already but but but it’s music right

[autism-disco]

i’m so incredibly regular and normal about music you wouldn’t even believe

[sadquickchristmassnowman]

i watched iasip. once again, thank you for the long post. you really sold me on it, and i'm glad you did. i don't have anyone to share my thoughts to, so i thought i'd come back here.

(just for the record, i watched from season 5-16, because i struggle to get into shows if they start off slow. after i write this, i'm going to go back and watch season 1-4)

my first thoughts were, i'm surprised how much of the soundtrack i know. the background music and intro go so hard, don't get me wrong, but i was shocked how much of it i've already heard from youtube videos and stuff.

my seconds thoughts were. woah i hate everyone yet i care for them?? now that is good writing. but also i've never gasped or said "oh no" aloud so much while watching a show. again, good writing.

surprisingly, several of the episodes like, hit me hard and got me genuinely feeling like shit. cough the suburban house episode cough.

i was also surprised at the out right gayness. normally from these types of sitcoms, i've grown to accept the odd gay joke and gay-coded characters. but a canonically gay character that's sexuality is brought up often and isn't just stereotypes ontop of stereotypes? that (sadly) really shocked me.

i also found myself able to predict the way the episodes were gonna go, not for all of them but for quite a few. my brain would just assume the worst, and then it would happen. which, i think added to the atmosphere if anything. the dramatic irony and the dread i would feel as the episode progressed really just hooked me. i knew it was all going to shit, i hated it was all going to shit, but i couldn't stop watching.

overall, a very enjoyable show. i think i might like it a little less when i watch the earlier 4 seasons, because i'm assuming it'll be physically painful to watch. but again, thank you! you've created an iasip fan!

I'm really glad you liked it! thanks for the update bro 👍 (and are you saying you literally watched the entirety of seasons 5-16? if so that was SPEEDY as hell dude that's awesome)

and yep! a lot of the soundtrack, including the title sequence song, are just from an unlicensed free music library online lmfao, so a lot of youtubers and stuff use it when they need music that won't get them demonetized for improper copyrighting etc. this is because they started the show with such a small budget lmao, and they decided to just stick with it. it's a funny bit tbh. here's the pieces they use for score if you were wondering, I listen to them a lot lmfao it's genuinely good music (coming from a music major who listens to instrumental orchestral shit a lot lmao)

and YES it's so awesome how terrible the characters are as people, yet you're still captivated by them and genuinely care about them. that's storytelling baybee!!! some people don't really vibe with that aspect of the show and it puts them off so I’m glad you liked it.

the suburbs episode LMAO that one's a classic. something I had a bit of trouble with at the beginning was being able to separate myself from the characters and just appreciate the comedy and story from an objective standpoint. I just really tend to put myself in the characters' positions or immediately find any way I can to empathize with the scenario. but this show becomes so painful to watch if you try to do that the whole time, so learning to take myself out of the story and just really not take any of it seriously at all has been interesting to say the least. this isn't to say you shouldn't have emotional responses to the show or connect with the characters, not at all, just that I had to learn to really not take the jokes and scenarios seriously. I hope that somewhat made sense

and yes!!! canon gay representation!!! even though rob mcelhenney (guy who plays mac) isn't gay, his mom is gay and he has two gay brothers, so he has been surrounded by the queer community his entire life. he's one of the few straight men who I think are truly qualified to play a gay character, and he does it very respectfully and mindfully, while not compromising the spirit and humor of the show itself. I really respect him for that, and it's one of the things that makes this show really special to me.

(p.s. idk if you've seen mythic quest? that's another one with great gay rep. I think I remember you mentioning you'd seen it but I thought I’d put that in here just in case you haven’t)

you saying that you would predict what was going to happen next because you just thought "what's the worst way this could go," and then it did indeed follow that worst case scenario, made me laugh lmao. I have a similar experience watching. it's exactly like you said: you know it's going to shit, you hate that it's going to shit, but you just can't stop watching regardless.

and, I don't know if you’ve already watched seasons 1-4 by the time I post this, but they're really not bad at all. in fact, seasons 2 and 4 are in my top 6 seasons of the show overall, and the season 4 finale is one of the most iconic episodes in the entire series. I just meant that season 5 is a good place to start because it immediately gets going, it makes sense without too much context, and it's a good way to gauge whether you'd be into the rest of it or not. but that's awesome that you just immediately watched all the way to the present.

anyway! yippee!!! welcome to the club! I’m a pretty new fan too tbh I started watching this august, but I’m really glad I was able to recommend you something that I love, and that you really enjoy as well. lmk what you think of seasons 1-4 or if you ever want to talk more about the show, as you can see I am always down to yap about my favorite sitcoms lmao (sorry about the unnecessarily long response) happy honda days 💯

p.s. here's a picture of the sunny cast at la pride :)

[airiat]

Boy with the Sun Song (VIII.)

iorveth/f!oc | m | friends to lovers, tooth-rotting fluff, hurt/comfort | no warnings apply

vesta aep maghenn knows iorveth (iorveth aep mirbrach, to her) in a way that no one else can claim: they grew up together in the blue mountains and have been the closest of friends ever since. when iorveth’s unit is wiped out in an ambush by a powerful but unknown  adversary, he seeks shelter with vesta until it’s safe for him to rebuild.

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven | part eight

[read on ao3]

A storm had blown in from the South. The rain pelted against the windows, wind shrieking bedlam through the trees. Every so often, thunder would rattle the walls and lightning would streak across the dark skies. 

Iorveth and I had spent the whole day indoors--this was fine for me, but a less than ideal situation for him. 

He’d been restless and irritable, though I told him he could still work on the bow, just in the kitchen. It didn’t seem to help much. His energy crackled like the electricity of the storm outside, set even me on edge. I couldn’t get much writing done today because of it, not as if he would have even sat for that in the first place.

So, we’d taken to drinking. I had a few dusty old bottles of vodka in my larder that had been met with great joy from Iorveth when I’d produced one. It sat half-full between us where we lounged on the floor in front of the fireplace, backs resting against the chairs behind us.

Iorveth strummed some soft, mournful melody on my lute, the notes coming out crisp and smooth despite his drunkenness. It had been a gift from a friend, and I once had every intention of learning how to play, but it became quite apparent that the instrument was really meant for his hands. 

He’d always something of an affinity for music. Aside from his flute, which had been weaponized into something threatening--it was the last thing many people heard before they died--this was something little known about him, probably by his own design. Nothing good in revealing any bit of gentleness he might have.

I looked at him for a moment, took in the dark brown hair that brushed against his sharp jaw, his long fingers moving deftly over the lute’s strings, the curve of his shoulder dipping into the music. Closing my eyes, I tipped my head back against the seat of the chair.

“Do you ever think about how life could be different?” I asked.

“I do,” Iorveth answered. “A world without dh’oine in it.”

I shook my head, smiling at the tickle of my curls against my cheek. 

So maybe it hadn’t been just vodka. Iorveth had an herb blend he liked to smoke and that night I’d tried it. The effects were mesmerizing: I could see the slow swim of time passing around me, the brilliance of every flickering flame, and soft, so soft, was every brush of anything against my skin.

“No, not like that,” I said. “I mean for you...for us.”

He seemed to falter for a moment, one discordant note rising above the other perfect ones before he collected himself again.

“What about us?”

“You could have come to Oxenfurt with me,” I said. “We could have gone to the academy together.”

“Mmm,” he hummed. “Two problems with that, though.”

“They’re so much more open-minded there,” I say. “No one ever cared that I was Aen Seidhe. All they cared about was my willingness to learn.”

“Then, the second problem.”

“Music, obviously,” I answered, looking over to grin at him.“You’re very good at it.”

Iorveth glanced up to meet my eyes for just a moment. “And you’re very idealistic.”

“Don’t try to pretend like you aren’t, too. Your entire life has been spent chasing an ideal.”

He sighed, turning back to the lute. “Mine isn’t frivolous.”

There was a slight pang of hurt in my chest at that, but I understood what he meant by it. I often felt the same way about the way my own life had panned out. There was guilt, even, over the way that I had always seemed to avoid any of the pitfalls that came with being an Aen Seidhe. That I had gotten everything I wanted in life.

Almost everything.

“Just imagine for a minute that your life could be anything you wanted. Nothing is off-limits,” I said. “What would it look like?”

Iorveth opened his mouth to speak. Too quickly.

“Nothing about dh’oine,” I interrupted.

“Fine,” he said. He feigned annoyance, but there was laughter on his tongue. “Why don’t you tell me your version, instead? Seeing as how you seem to know so much.”

I nodded, the story already ready to spring forth from my lips.

“We’d have to go far back: a hundred and twenty-six years ago,” I began.

With a sharp twang of the lute, Iorveth once more stumbled in his playing. But he picked back up, quickly, as though nothing had even happened.

“There are no dh’oine in the woods that night or any night. Your parents, your sister, are all still alive.”

That time, he did stop playing. There was a quiet anger bubbling up within him, but it was overtaken by a long-held sadness. “I thought this was meant to be your fairytale life.”

“You are inextricably part of that life, Iorveth,” I responded. “Just listen.”

That quelled his volatile emotions, washing them away like waves in the sea. He looked back down at the lute and began strumming again, but the melody that time was different. It tasted like lavender flowers, foggy mornings, and deep, rich earth. Like the old pine forests of the Blue Mountains. Like home.

“You’ve never known loss, never felt that particular kind of brutal, savage pain, so you never become angry or vengeful. You resent dh’oine an average amount, about as much as the rest of us do.”

He snorted softly with bitter mirth, but his playing remained uninterrupted.

I continued. “Maybe you join the Blue Mountain commando for a while if you still feel that spark for battle, but you never, ever join the Scoia’tael.”

“Oh, so I get to keep my eye in this timeline too, then?” Iorveth asked. “Vesta, you spoil me.”

“Nothing but the best for you, my friend,” I responded.

“Hm, it would be nice,” he murmured. “Relearning how to shoot with only one eye was a pain in the ploughing ass.”

I laughed, but the sound was forced. I knew what the next brushstroke was in this picture that I was painting. It was a ragged red that slashed over everything else, marring the perfection of the rest of the piece, but still beautiful in its own raw, vulnerable way. My throat tightened at the pain that began to well up inside me, something that I’d long kept hidden from him. I tipped my head forward and closed my eyes again. 

Bloede herbs, bloede vodka.

“You don’t join the Scoia’tael and I don’t spend every waking moment of my life fearing for yours, wondering if the next time I see you will be the last,” I said, taking a shaky breath, tears already leaking past my squeezed-shut eyes. “This is my fairytale: you are safe, happy, and whole.”

At that, his music ceased completely. All was still and quiet aside from my deep breaths as I tried to stop myself from truly crying. But soon came the sound of Iorveth setting down the lute, a faint rustling, and then the warmth of him as he sat next to me, an arm around my shoulders that nestled me into his side. Without me asking it to, my head found the comfortable space in the crook of his neck. 

His concern floated high above all other emotions, like the sun in the sky.

“Surely that’s not all there is,” he murmured. “You can have anything you want, remember?”

I sniffed, wiping away the tears that had tracked down my cheeks. “There’s more, yes, but it’d be so greedy to ask for anything else.”

“Greed doesn’t find a place in this fairytale,” he insisted. “You can have everything you want.”

I took one more deep breath. “You come to Oxenfurt with me. It doesn’t have to be for music. If you still wanted to champion our rights, through diplomatic means, I would support you in any way I could.”

“Me in a doublet,” Iorveth remarked. “Now that would be a sight.”

I gave a short, hiccuping laugh. “A sight for sore eyes, indeed.”

“Is that all?” he asked. “What about the rest of our lives?”

“After we finish at Oxenfurt, we spend a few decades traveling the Continent,” I said. “There are so many places I’d love to visit, but I’ve always been too afraid to go.”

His answering laugh rumbled against me. “Ah, I see now. So, it’s all just your master plan to have me as your bodyguard.”

I nudged him with my shoulder. “Don’t be ridiculous. If I only wanted a bodyguard, I could have hired one a long time ago. I want to see these places with you.”

“They say Touissant is like a living fairytale. Would be a sight to behold.”

I let my mind be swept away by thoughts of whiling away our time on the banks of the river Blessure, wine glasses in hand, so blessedly alone with each other, our only company the birds and their sweet song. We would never have that, would we?

“And then, once we’ve seen beauty we didn’t even know was possible, we would go home and we’d grow old together. And I think...that’s everything I could possibly want.”

Iorveth and I were silent for a long stretch of time. There was comfort in how his body was warm against mine, solace in the weight of his arm around my shoulders. I wanted to take this feeling and write ballads of it until I exhausted every word I knew so that I would not forget it. For one day all too soon this moment would become nothing more than a precious memory. While he was out orchestrating battle amongst the trees, blood on his hands, throat raw with the words of his command, I would be here in my home with only those memories to fill the shape of my solitude.

“You know, it’s not too late for the second half of that,” Iorveth said after a while.

I stiffened in his hold, fending off the temptation I had to let myself be taken by the fantasy. 

“What about the Scoia’tael?” I asked without fanfare, a reminder of reality as cruel as an arrow right to the heart. For him and for me.

Iorveth winced as if struck. “I could just decide not to rebuild,” he answered, but the words were without conviction.

“You wouldn’t do that. You couldn’t do that. Your fight’s not over yet.”

He sighed his defeat. “I know.”

I looked up at him with a sad smile. “A fairytale is just a fairytale. I would know. I write them.”

“Will you write this one?”

“If I knew I could do it justice.”

“You could. You better than anyone else.”

I paused, let the force of his certainty wash over me. I could. I could do anything so long as he believed in me.

“What would it be called?”

Iorveth thought for a moment then replied, “A Perfect and Necessary Darkness.” 

“Why that?”

He shook his head, smiled. “That’s for you to discover.”

[seafleece]

“I have feelings for Figueroth— Fig. Your friend. Your best friend. Mine too, transitively. Romantic ones. What do you think about that?”

It takes a second. It always does, when she gets like this. Garthy says that she always says the things she needs to, that’s not the problem, just that they end up in a different order than people are expecting. 

(A different order, like being the mother of your friend, and then being looked after by them. She wonders how that Ayda managed, how she’s supposed to ever navigate the feelings that the version of her that came before felt for this person, how they’re the same and how they aren’t. Then, she remembers writing the contract.

She started writing it on Leviathan, is the part she won’t tell Fig. The no inferences part— that had been the first thing. She wasn’t sure what exactly it was she would be telling Fig, just that it was something that needed to exist outside of herself. 

There was a girl who used to come to the library— she had long hair, dark and silky, and she kept needing the books Ayda was reading. We can read them together, she’d said, and that wasn’t how Ayda understood books to be, but something about the funny color in that girl’s eyes made her want to say yes.

She’d felt this roaring thing in her chest all at once when they’d both reached to turn the page at once and their fingers had brushed. Her hand was so cold it hurt to touch, but she found herself wanting to feel it again. She’d never felt that before, wanting to lean towards pain. It was strange, anomalous, she knew; she drew her hand back and let the girl turn the page. Her eyes tracked all over the next words, and didn’t take in a single one.

It occurred later that she might have hurt that girl, as well. That it might have been the reason she didn’t come back to the library again, or perhaps that she found another girl to read with, maybe one who understood the idea of reading together— she still doesn’t, you see. Or maybe she died. It was a pirate island.

(She’d had to read the whole book again— nothing had permeated beyond that feeling. A previous Ayda would have called the venture a waste.)

She’d never gotten to ask about the roaring. The sound it made, in her ears— blood, probably, or fire, or both, a previous Ayda said her body didn’t much differentiate between the two— is just like the feedback of Fig’s bass when she casts something. That's how she decides that she’ll tell her, because the thrum of the note Fig plays passes through her like the chill of another’s cold hand, and when it’s over she realizes it’s the same sound as in her head. It means something, she’s sure. She wants it so badly to mean something. She needs it to exist so badly she wishes she was a conjurer, just for a moment.)

It takes a moment. She waits.

“Well,” Adaine says, and schools her eyebrows back to a more reasonable level above her eyes, “at least you’re not a middle-aged man.”

“No, I am not,” she says. “Should I be? I do not want to be. Is that what she wants?”

“No, no,” Adaine waves her hand through the air almost desperately. “It was a joke.” Adaine Abernant is a kind soul— she looks at her after a moment, earnest and open, not like the Elven Oracle or even the Oracle for all of Spyre, but like a friend. “I don’t think she’s really thought about what she wants, but I hope when she does she finds out it’s you. You’re a good person to want.”

“Oh.”

She bursts into tears, of course.

“And you’re made of fire, too! Fig likes fire.”

“Yes.” She presses the back of her hand to her cheek. “That is very fortunate.”

(Fig’s hand slips into hers and squeezes, and she starts crying again. There's something to be said for reveling in a difference of temperature, but Fig isn’t cold, in the lattice of their fingers, and the relief she feels at it surprises her, both in presence and intensity.

“Huh,” Fig says. She’s close to unconsciousness— Fig hasn’t said anything about it, but she thinks they are entering the phase of the sleepover where the actual sleep is done.

“What is it?”

“I’ve never— your hand isn’t colder than mine. People’s always are.”

Her heart beats a rising tattoo against her ribs. “Is that bad?”

Fig smiles. Her head falls further against the pillow. “No, it’s— really nice, actually. One of those things you don’t even know you like, or want, until you have it, you know?”

“Yes,” she whispers, and feels hope building in her in this quiet sort of frenzy. “I do know.”)

—

“Do you know about the double bass?”

“Like, the instrument?”

“Yes.”

“Uh, yeah— I think they have a few at Aguefort, in the music department.”

Ayda rolls over to look at her. “I’m sorry.”

Their conversations are like this a lot— Ayda starts from the outside, sometimes. The things she says seem to exist entirely apart from another, and it’s not until Fig responds a few times that she starts to see where they spiral inward, towards something of more singular intention. In her mind’s eye, she starts to wind a thread between them. “For what?”

“You apologized for scrying on me, in the forest.”

There are too many things to envision, in that moment. Ayda, seeing the moment the marilith split from her. Confusing them. Ayda reaching out, in her mind, and finding Fig reaching back, and being afraid. Like looking into a mirror, and finding another reflected in its surface, over and over again, an unending volley of fear and confusion. She tries— she refuses, in that moment, to be lost to it. They’d wished for the same thing, believed the same thing. She chooses to believe it now, to trust.

“Yeah, I did.”

“Did you know there is copper? In your earrings?”

She blinks. Another point to wind the thread around. “No.”

“There were a lot of spells I tried to cast, while I was in the gallery. Divination spells are— well, they’re easier for me. And for detect thoughts, all you need is—”

“Copper.”

“Yes. I did not think it would work, but maybe it’s that you were reaching out to me, and that it was the last thing I tried to cast before you freed me.”

“So, you, uh—” She reaches up, suddenly shy, to scratch at her neck. Tries not to avert her eyes, and fails. “What’d you hear?”

“It’s—” Ayda’s hair flares a bit brighter, in the way she’s learned to read as embarrassment. “Fig, I believe you when you say you want to kiss me. Especially because, you know, you usually do after you say it. I just— I had never heard it like that. People think different things than they say, and it’s terrifying to think about, because I cannot— it’s already so hard to tell, when people talk to me. I don’t particularly like that spell, I don’t think I will use it again unless I have to, especially because Adaine gave me a much better one, but knowing you were thinking the same things that you say, the same things that you do, it is. Hard to explain, how it made me feel.”

She hazards a guess. “Incredible?”

“Yes,” Ayda says, immediately. “Incredible. Cool. Tight.”

She leans forward to kiss her— never sparing in intensity. Fig was never a religious kid— watching Kristen go through her whole thing sort of gave her the experience in miniature, and she hasn’t even begun to broach the idea that an archdevil is something people could believe in, that Hell is a metaphysical thing as much as a place. But, she thinks, as best as she knows, that Ayda kisses like prayer. Fervent, quiet, focused. All the things she believes, and hopes, brought to the forefront.

Her hands curl in Fig’s shirt and loosen again, and Fig wraps her fingers lazily along the curve of Ayda’s neck.

“What about the double bass?”

“Oh,” Ayda says, “Yes. I think it was something from earlier, from when you were— in the forest, but you said something about bass, and solos.”

Her throat closes a bit. The thread winds. “Right.”

“Every time you play at a concert venue, there are more people in the room than I have ever met in my life. All in the same place, for you. I do not know how much help it is— to hear it from me, that is, even if we are paramours— but I think the bass is a very good solo instrument.”

“Oh.”

“I don’t know how to describe it— it sounds like, like something inside of me. it sounds like how I feel.”

It’s hard to keep hold of the thread, when Ayda says things like that. “God, uh, okay. Cool.”

“Yes.” Ayda nods, head shifting along the pillow. “Cool. Tight.”

“So,” and she reminds herself that a spiral circles itself, to reach the center. “The double bass.”

“The double bass,” Ayda says, voice shifting into the flat, confident tone of Research Ayda, conveying information diligently collected. “Is like another version of the bass guitar— the predecessor, actually. It's used in orchestral settings, and sometimes jazz. It’s much larger, and has a different tone, but is tuned the same way. It would not be so difficult, to switch between them, though it seems that bow technique can take a long time to learn, and there are different styles of even holding it— the Fallinel bow style is the more widely accepted version, though I suppose that is reason enough not to use it—”

“You think I should play the double bass instead?”

“Oh,” Ayda says. “I see. I have led you to a misconception. I think you should do exactly what you want, Fig. I just— I wanted to find solos, for the bass, for you. Or, at least, proof that people want to hear them, enough to write them. People that aren’t just me.”

And just like that, the thread reaches the center. Fig smiles, and ties it off, crowds a little further into Ayda’s space so her wing reflexively curls out and across her. “You know what’s funny?”

“What is funny?”

“The thing that got me to leave the van so Aelwyn could escape, it was hearing you were upset. Because those stupid Kei Lumennura kids told you I, uh, I got around, because I was a rock star, or whatever.”

“Oh,” Ayda blinks. “That seems plausible, actually, I did not fully understand what it meant. If I heard that you were with other people, a lot, before I finished drafting up the contract, I think it would have upset me quite a bit.”

“It’s not a tour,” Fig says, “things need to settle down, but if you want to watch me practice, when we get home or even today, I think that would be cool.”

“This is not something you would normally do?”

“No, I always— I learned how to play by myself, in my room, because I didn’t want to see anyone and things were getting— bad, all around me. Even when I practice with Gorgug and everyone, it’s after I finish writing the songs, after I know I can play them.”

“I see.”

“Practicing takes a long time, it’s not as fun, and it kinda hurts, sometimes. But it’s real. Most of music is learning how to do it, performing is just— like a celebration, of all the work. I never really wanted someone to see that part, before, but if you want to, I think I want that.”

Then, they have to take a minute to smother the pillow where it’s caught fire— or rather, Fig does, and Ayda stands and tries to stop her tears from falling on anything else flammable.

“I think—“ Ayda says, thumbing under her eyes and coming away with only sparks. “I think I would like that. I think it would be incredible.”

“Great,” and Fig pulls her down onto the mattress, now pillow-less and covered only with those fancy Kei Lumennura sheets Fabian swears can’t catch fire. Really, they should’ve only had those the whole time. “Cool.”

“Tight,” Ayda supplies, and kisses her again.

[secretradiobrooklyn]

Secret Radio | 7.24.21, 8.7.21 & etc.

“Better, Better, Back” Secret Radio | 7.24.21, 8.7.21 & etc. | Hear it here.

- Mort Garson - “Plantasia”

1. Jean-Pierre Djeukam - “Africa Iyo” - “Cameroon Garage Funk”

The main musician I think of from Cameroon is Beti-Beti, and this is a whole different thing. Endless props to Analog Africa for providing fiery track after track. This is the sweat from their newest collection!

2. Eyedress - “Jealous”

Paige hears something in this and when I unfocus my eyes I do too. (Literal?) high school skate kids gettin in their shallow feels. I will admit that the chorus “time-time” is killer.

3. Nahid Akthar & Tafo - “Takra We Gutt Bhar Le” (I think)

Nahid Akthar’s voice is so completely bewitching that the amazing arrangements almost sneak by. Tafo is the producer of this track I believe, and the narrative structure of the music is just so confident and encompassing. But then also: man, that VOICE. She’s right up there with Ros Serey Sothea in expressiveness and character.

4. Oruã - “Escola das Roas” - “Sem Bênção / Sem Crença”

My thanks to you, Marc, for pointing this band to us. I have fallen in love with this particular recording, it just gets more thoroughly better with every listen. Calvin Johnson mentioned this band in a recent K newsletter — they’re a Brazilian band who corresponded with Doug Martsch as mutual fans until at some point Doug decided his own band needed replacing and he brought them out as Built to Spill and also as Oruã. This track also has shades of Sonic Youth’s “Master-Dik,” one of my all-time ultra faves. It really hits me in the ’90s, and I rilly want to see how some of this music is performed live.

5. Jacques Dutronc - “Le Responsable”

I’m so thankful to have Jacques Dutronc in my life. His rock songs knock me into gear like nothing else — and the whole band has its own very specific flavor. It kicks!

6. Sleepy Kitty - “Alceste in Silverlake”

At very long last, there is a new Sleepy Kitty album on the way! It’s in line at the record plant as I type this. And this is a song from the perspective of a musician-seeking drummer in LA, crossed with the most brutally honest man in all of France.

7. Sakuran Zensen - “錯乱前戦 ロッキンロール” (I Wanna Rock & Roll)

We only knew one song by this band (that we’ve played here) because the video was rad, but I looked to see what else was there and this song is just freakin great with me. The chords are really cool and his vocal delivery is just so over the top it’s impossible not to love. And the guitar solo is basically a full-on tonefest, which I appreciate more than a bunch of flying fingers. The video helps fill in the picture nicely too, I think, though I like the song while not looking at it even more.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YPCqT3e89SU

- Mort Garson - “Concerto for Philodendron & Pothos”

8. Clothilde - “Fallait pas ècraser la queue du chat”

All hail the French instinct for chamber music instruments as pop instruments, and then as a kind of technicolor weirdness. The orchestration of this song is a work of art in itself, and that doesn’t even account for her self-harmonizing melody. If you haven’t already, picture a brunette bob and deep mascara.

9. Public Service Broadcasting - “Spitfire”

I can’t remember now how I found this music, though I think it might’ve been from Josh’s playlist? This is from 2012, but they have a new album coming out almost exactly a month from now. In Bound Stems Tim and I got really into interlacing snatches of other people’s words into the music we were making, and this is very congruent with that interest. I feel like this song passes tests as it goes.

10. Shocking Blue - “Send Me a Postcard”

I first heard of this band when I was learning everything I could about Nirvana, and I’d heard both versions of “Love Buzz” and knew they were both great, but we only recently caught this track. It’s the bridge between “White Rabbit” and “Territorial Pissings.” 

11. Metak - “Tetrapak”

Our favorite Croatian band! Everything about this song is delightful. I feel like if this song was in English I’d probably cringe at the lyrics, but in this format I can only hear how much fun the song is to play. I am one-quarter Croatian, which means I can’t understand any of the lyrics either but I do see little ghosts of myself in the pictures of the band somehow. It’s weird.

12. Katerine - “Louxor J’adore”

-Anything I could say about this song is eclipsed by this excerpt:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uD7QuV6f_MA

The performance to the cemetery knocks me out

13. Erkin Koray - “Seni Her Gördügümde”

Whenever we’re listening to Anatolian psych, the songs with the most creative ideas and satisfying riffs and great vocal passages are always Erkin Koray. The four-piece arrangements are so good, and then he doesn’t hesitate to step up with his guitar to narrate a passage. Also, I really like how Turkish rock sounds so Indian and also Arabic and also French.

14. WITCH - “Chifundo”

Zambian prog rock! I haven’t heard anything like this track anywhere else in Africa yet. The thing is, this version of prog includes the exact flavor that Yes totally lacks, and thus I really love listening to this track in a way most prog rock doesn’t hit me. The time switches and the lead part over the top are just so smooth!

15. Ezra Furman - “Psalm 151”

We’ve been listening to a lot of Ezra Furman’s music lately, and it’s only getting better and more engrossing with every listen. We toured with Ezra Furman’s band about 5 years ago and every night was a pleasure. They’re finishing up a new album, which makes this a great time to listen to the others. This entire album, “Transangelic Exodus,” is a masterpiece as far as we’re concerned, and I find myself thinking the whole time too about Tim Sandusky’s production. Tim’s such a home town for us, and to hear his full attention on this album is just such a pleasure.

16. Ralph Stanley - “White Light, White Heat”

It was one of my favorite musical influence moments ever when my dad’s bluegrass band, The Prozac Mtn Boys, played VU’s “What Goes On.” Knowing that there is a recording of one of my dad’s true banjo heroes playing “White Light White Heat” is just an endless blessing. And actually hearing it is even better.

17. Kim Jung Mi - “Ganadaramabasa”

I know basically nothing about this track except that she’s Korean and this is from 1973. She’s got a real Diana Ross thing going on, and her band has a real Supremes vibe too… but it doesn’t sound like one of their songs.

18. Penny Penny - “Yogo Yogo”

We just got this record recently, and based on this track I wouldn’t’ve necessarily pictured the remarkable-looking guy who actually made this music. This is from the album “Shaka Bundu.” I’m sure it’s been cranked up and sent through some great house remixes — how could this not be? — but I like how this tempo operates at its own pace. It’s so truly and thoroughly ’80s, very 20th century. In the 21st century this tempo is practically cerebral.

19. Baris Manço - “Binboganin Kizi”

More Anatolian action. It’s really interesting to me how Turkish stuff was always associated with psych music but I didn’t really know how except for the opium thing, and I now understand that it’s in the chord relationships, well, and a lot of the vocal melody and delivery. In that way, Turkish rock pretty much defines what psych music sounds like. Wow. And check out that keyboard solo, so next level!

20. The Velvet Underground - “Countess from Hong Kong”

People are always asking Beatles or Stones and the answer is Velvet Underground. (And the Beatles, and the Stones.) They were just operating along a different balance beam than those other guys — performing different tricks for a different audience. While the Beatles were defining pop music, the VU were destroying it… but then later, they reveal their deep affinity for Western music, even as they never drop in to the blues-centric reading of it. It’s truly punk. I guess they are to punk what the Beatles are to pop — the definition of pop is whatever flows to or from the Beatles; punk is whatever flows to or from the Velvet Underground. Certainly more than any single band in 1976 or 7 or whatever.

21. Bella Bellow - “Denyigban”

The piano phrase that kicks this song off is surprisingly close to the opening of Bound Stems’ “Appreciation Night.” We got that phrase from the demo mode of Radz’s keyboard, and it’s surreal to hear a high-overlap version in a song from Togo. Her voice is so clean in tone and pitch, and what’s strangest to me is that I register the instrumentation in an almost Disney mode — but then realize that’s because Disney will draw on Caribbean and African elements at times as they establish characters and settings. Such an elegant song though!

22. Rail Band - “Mouodilo”

One of the first insights that got us into WBFF was the realization that James Brown had even more fundamental influence on the music of the world than the Beatles did — certainly in Africa. Hearing how his delivery interrelates with so many bands from all across Africa is such a revelation. This track just keeps winding around you til you can’t hardly live without it.

- Asha Bhosle - “Salma Jarir Jhalak”

All I know about this is that it’s in Bangla and it’s from a movie.

23. Unknown - “Chemirocha” - from “Love Is Love”

Several years ago, when African records looked interesting but we literally didn’t know anything about them, we bought a record called Love Is Love, in part because it was a beautiful cover and in part because the music seemed mysterious and full of possibility. Now, when I go to look for it online, I see no sign — I think it’s just a really small pressing from a… pirate group, I guess one could say? But really I think just hardcore music lovers. Anyway, it has this song “Chemirocha” on it, and there’s a story about this song that is really probably just best to link to because it’s so amazing. I guarantee you will find the information in this article worth your read:

https://www.atlasobscura.com/articles/chemirocha-how-an-american-country-singer-became-a-kenyan-star

24. Sparks - “Do-Re-Mi”

We’ve known about Sparks, but we’re late to a close listen. We’ve been listening a lot in anticipation of — not the band bio pic but “Annette,” the new film by Carax, one of our favorite directors ever. For that matter: make sure to watch “Holy Motors” by Carax. It’s probably best if you watch “Lovers on a Bridge” before that, but if you have to go straight to “Holy Motors,” dive right in. It’s amazing.

Meanwhile: This take on the Mary Poppins classic is TOO MUCH — I can’t stop smiling at the end, when the bells start tolling over the crashing drums and crescendoing vocal waves as their third finale fades away. How can anyone make this song, the very definition of not-rock, rock so fully?

- Mort Garson - “Ode to an African Violet”

25. Bob Reuter’s Alley Ghost - “She Brought Me to the Wire”

I will forever be glad that we not only landed in a city where we could find out about the person and the works of Bob Reuter, but that we got to know and work with him. Bob Reuter was one of the definitions of St. Louis to us, and when he passed, so did some of that city. But also, he left music and photos and stories in Eleven and chapbooks that I truly hope last forever. He was the hard-living romantic that you hope lives in the heart of every hard-luck case… and in his one instance, it was true. Bless your soul, Bob Reuter.

photos by Bob Reuter from The Pageant and El Leñador

[werewolfpropaganda]

Sébastien - Male Werewolf x Male Reader

not sfw. 4886 words. you meet and fall in love with werewolf and busker, sébastien.

You missed seeing the stars. 

You missed seeing the stars deeply — a horribly indescribable feeling you felt deep in your core everytime you looked up at the night sky — because Manhattan had no stars. It hadn’t had stars for a long time, and it probably never would. 

Growing up in rural suburbia had few pluses, but at the very least there was space. Between the lack of restaurants, idealistic white picket fences, and families with two-and-a-half children, there were glimpses of beauty: picturesque forests, a wide open sky, and the stars. You used to go stargazing just about every week with your father well into adolescence (and partly into adulthood), until he died and left you with this mess. You moved to the city, and, well, here you are.

You looked out onto your balcony. It would have been a good spot for stargazing. Only 22 and you were living the American Dream: renting an apartment with an okay view of the adjacent building and a shittily constructed fire escape. You felt like it could collapse at any moment and you would get to recreate “Fire on Marlborough Street.” Truly the American Dream.

It was time for your daily walk. Despite the fact that you lived in Manhattan, you never left your apartment except for work and this walk. You had no real friends and Upper Manhattan was basically just banks and pharmacies, anyway. 

You lived within walking distance of the park, so your routine was partially through there. You put on a jacket and left, not completely sure that you locked the door. 

There was a guy playing the violin about six feet from where you were sitting, and he looked to be about your age. He was really good at what he did, playing a song that sounded nothing like the Suzuki viola books you played from as a child. You never learned the names of any classical composers so you guessed. Debussy? Bach? Vivaldi? Who knows?

He had an open case next to his boots, with about 20 dollars in various amounts. There was also a small card linking to his social media. You pulled up his Instagram, and, well, you hated to admit it, but he was really attractive. In all the pictures, his hair was styled into a wavy bun, although in real life his hair was down. He was currently wearing a bomber jacket and black jeans, and he was fit. Not fit enough to be gross, but in a casual way where you pretend to not care about how you look but you really do.

You dropped five bucks into his case. He looked at you and smiled a cute smile. You smiled back, and then tried to hide it by speaking. “That’s so beautiful. How long have you been playing the violin?” you asked.

“This is a viola,” He stated back, ceasing the music and holding his viola out. He ran his hand down the back of it like that meant anything to you.

“Shit,” You recalled when you played viola as a teenager. Anger was the only emotion you could feel when people called the instrument the wrong name, even though it was a pretty benign mistake. For a split second, you considered telling this to him, but doing that felt like it would make the situation about you and, subsequently, worse. You decided on a simple: “I’m sorry. Fuck.”

“Hey hey hey, you’re fine, darling,” He responded warmly. No one had called you a pet name in a long time. “Most people don’t apologize. Some people argue with me, as if, no, Sébastien, you’ve lost it and you’re actually playing a violin,” You laughed. “I’m Sébastien, by the way.”

French. That was a gross first thought you had, but he was indeed French. You told him your name.

“Oh, I love that. I’m going to apologize for snapping.”

“Sébastien, it’s so totally fine. I know the feeling of people assuming the instrument you play,” Apparently you were going to tell him. Okay. 

“I must say, it’s always violinists,” Sébastien said. 

“Oh my god, I so fucking know!” You unconsciously stamped your feet into the dirt to let out the emotion you were feeling.

“I hate violinists.”

“Hate ‘em. So stuck up.”

“I know. I actually used to play the violin religiously, but then my teacher told me I would have better luck finding a job if I played viola because there were so many violinists. Guess what, I can’t get an orchestral job anyway,” You both laughed. “I do think viola jokes are funny though.”

“Wait,” You said with a bit too much excitement. “What's the difference between a viola and a coffin?”

You could tell Sébastien knew the joke about halfway through, because he smiled and tried to hide it. “The coffin has the dead person on the inside. I love that one.” He laughed. 

You talked for what felt like an hour — about your musical experiences and upbringings and hobbies and pretty much everything — although it was realistically a lot longer. Sébastien was born in France and moved here when he was young, and has been trying to do music ever since. It was still midday when you went out to walk and it was dark now. You stared at him illuminated by a streetlight that didn’t particularly flatter his face, but he still looked good. 

“Would you…” Sébastien hesitated and spoke quietly. “Would you want to get coffee with me?” 

You smiled. “Hell yes, dude!” Your mind flooded with first date spots. “There’s this really cute place by my apartment we can stop by now and then we could probably go starga-” You abruptly stopped and looked at him. Sébastien’s lips were pursed. Fuck. There aren’t any stars in Manhattan. 

“Sure, darling!” He got down and put the money from his case into his bag. He started to put his viola away. “I’ve been busking for a while now and believe it or not fingerless gloves don’t warm you up all that much.” Sébastien paused. “Although maybe no stargazing.”

You felt the smile on your face start to lower. You hadn’t even noticed you were smiling until now. “Not even for the fuck of looking at an empty night sky except for the moon and the beeps of a satellite?”

“It’s like a metaphor.” He picked the case up and looked up at the sky for slightly too long. “Alright, I’m just gonna say it.” He’s a murderer. He’s already murdered you and you’re a ghost. This is the afterlife: talking to a conventionally attractive viola player.

“Yeah?” you asked.

“I’m a werewolf.” He didn’t necessarily look ashamed but you could tell he wasn’t exactly confident in what he was saying.

You had never actually met a werewolf, because the suburbs had no diversity and you never left your apartment. You actually did quite like werewolf porn, but admitting that you had both never seen a werewolf in real life and fetishized their existence would make you look really weird. “Nice.” You were excited. 

You had been seeing Sébastien for about a week now, and were about to go through with your promise of coffee and shitty stargazing. The coffee place had been closed the first time because it was too late, so you tried again earlier. You deliberately planned this for the full moon, and, although you told yourself you wanted to feel guilty about setting up the date for werewolf sex, you didn’t. You could feel guilty after he pumped his jizz into you for the first time.

“Hey, Yasmeen,” you said. “I love your new hijab.” You really did. Yasmeen’s hijab was eggshell white with small gold stars. 

“Thanks, love. You’re paying for it. Literally. You’re buying my coffee and thus paying my salary.” She chuckled and motioned to Sébastien. “Who’s the piece of ass?”

“Aren’t you in a relationship? And gay?”

“I’m like an illiterate nun, love.”

“Right…?”

“I can look at the menu, I just can’t order.” 

“God, Yasmeen.” She laughed at herself again. “Anyway, I’ll have a black coffee and one of those stupid little sandwiches, and Sébastien’s gonna have a pumpkin spice latte.”

“Sébastien? French.”

“I know, right?” You said this a little bit louder than you should have.

“He has some audacity asking for a pumpkin spice latte in early January, especially since this isn’t a Starbucks.”

“Just make it for him.”

“Alright, love.” She put her hands up to indicate innocence. “You’re not normally this snappy.”

“He’s hot. And interesting.”

“Fair enough.” Yasmeen got to work making your drinks, and you sat down across from Sébastien. It was a communal style table, which felt strange for such a small place, and the lighting was slightly too yellow to be flattering. You and Sébastien were probably the last customers. He was typing into a document when you sat down, and promptly put his phone away. 

“Do you know them?” Sébastien asked. 

“Yeah, actually,” you responded. “Yasmeen used to live in the apartment above me and we met like it was La Bohème. I actually used to call her Mimi until she eventually told me she didn’t like it.”

“Huh. Did she need to light a candle?”

“You know it.”

Sébastien gazed down to your chest for a second, before reinstating eye contact. “Wait, am I just being used as cannon fodder to boost the popularity of your friend’s cafe? Do you take men and force them to pay 10 dollars for coffee and a sandwich? Daily? Shame, darling, shame.”

“You aren’t the first man to realize that, Sébastien, although you are the first man to realize that on the third date.”

“And you just tell them when they find out? You must get a lot of wrong numbers.” He laughed a gross laugh — hearty, somehow accented with French, and you felt the vibrations of it just by touching the table — but you enjoyed it nonetheless. 

Yasmeen walked over. “Here is your black coffee,” She said, placing the drinks down. “And here’s your pumpkin latte, love. The sandwich will be out in a bit.” Sébastien looked at you with an empty, but seemingly loving stare, his lips pursed, before turning and thanking Yasmeen. Yasmeen walked away mouthing something to you. You assumed this was her approval, but assuming doesn’t get anyone anywhere. 

“Thank you so much for ordering the coffee, darling,” he said with a smile. The way he said “darling” felt less like a filler pet name tacked on at the end of the sentence and more like a deliberate choice. 

“Hell yeah, dude! It’s payback for the photos you sent me. Also because I love you.” Sébastien had sent you a few pictures of him in his werewolf form before your date with the attached message “I love you!!” That was the first love confession you had received in a while. He used more exclamation marks then you expected, but it was really cute. 

The first thing you noticed when you opened the picture was his sense of aesthetic — sensible, if not a bit too minimalist. The second thing you noticed were his eyes, which were far more yellow than his human form. His fangs protruded out far further than most of the werewolves you’ve seen, his fur was mostly gray except for his white chest and tummy, and he was fluffy as shit. The only thing he didn’t show you was his cock, which you asked him to save for today.

“I love you too,” he said in a soft and light tone, which made you feel one too many emotions. 

“I swear,” You said with a whisper and a lack of inhibition. “When I got to the last photo, the mirror selfie, I literally had to put my phone down because I was just like… that’s so hot.” He was wearing a pair of black boxer-briefs that didn’t do a great job of hiding his erection in the photo. “I saw your bed in the background and it shocked me how huge you were compared to it.”

“I’m not actually that tall in werewolf form, despite being 6 foot in real life. Most werewolves are, say, a foot larger.”

“Really?”

“I… I feel like that’s kinda common knowledge.”

You took a sip of your coffee. It was disgusting. You erred on the side of caution as you said: “What do you mean?”

“Have… have you never seen a werewolf before?”

You laughed, not because anything was particularly funny, or awkward, or even to relieve anxiety. You just laughed to have the noise out there. “Um..”

“Oh, God.”

“No.”

“WHAT.” Sébastien laughed, not deliriously or angrily but in pity. That isn’t what you were expecting. “How have you not… you did go to a shitty public school, huh?”

You were drinking coffee just to do something, and took a large gulp before speaking again. “I will not blame my upbringing on my ignorance, but yes.”

“Question, when do werewolves come out?”

“The full moon.”

“Really, darling?” He pitied you. “Were you born in the 1800s? How much funding did your health class get?”

“I didn’t have a health class.”

“Okay…” He rubbed his temples light-heartedly, you hoped. “Do you know what a period is?”

“Like… blood?”

“No, a werewolf period.”

“Explain.”

“This is common knowledge. This is what you learn when the kid you’re babysitting turns into a werewolf and you don’t realize so you call the hospital.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s my duty to explain this to you. Your information about what werewolves are is really wrong. You’re getting it from, like… fringe articles about the Dendera light bulb. People become werewolves for a few days a month.”

“Okay…?”

“Like a period cycle.”

You smiled, because you found a way to turn your anti-werewolf slight into horrible flirting. “I don’t think I understand. I might need hands-on experience. With a werewolf.”

Sébastien raised one eyebrow. “...Oh, thank fucking god, you’re just flirting.”

“Yeah. Definitely.”

“Yeah, of course I’ll show you, darling. I’ll do anything if you don’t scare me like that again.”

The full moon was going to come out, but it’s not like that mattered, because apparently werewolves aren’t controlled by the moon. Okay. Whatever. The sky had nothing else to offer you, anyway.

Sébastien put his viola case at the base of your bed and sat down. “I love your place, by the way,” he said. “You have a fire escape?”

“Those things are death traps,” you responded, laughing and putting your black coffee in the fridge. You would never end up drinking it and only through it out 2 months later to make place for Thai food. “I’m way too anxious about it to step on it.”

“You’re not that high up,” Sébastien said with an abrupt pause. He pursed his lips. “Not suggesting you risk your safety if you don’t want to. Just-”

“Nah, I get you.” You sat down next to him and took his hand. “God, I love you.”

“I love you too.” He breathed in a breath deeper than necessary, and stared at the ground. Uh-oh. “...Are we a thing, darling?”

“We’re multiple things: Human beings. Lovers. A French violist werewolf and a poor 1893 poet.” Sébastien glanced at you with an empty stare. “Hell yeah!”

“Nice.”

“Just gotta consummate it first,” you said.

“You’re a loser, darling.” 

“Are we not gonna consummate it?”

“No, we will, you’re just a loser that’s bad at flirting.”

“I’ll take it.”

“That’s not the only thing you’ll take.”

“Oh, fuck you.”

Sébastien fell backwards onto the bed with his wonderful, beautiful, gross laugh, feet slightly dangled off. His tank top rose slightly and exposed his navel. “Alright, let me get these off and you can climb on, darling.” Sébastien put his thumbs into the hem of his sweatpants and pulled them to his feet. You were sad to see them go because they did particularly flatter him, but this sadness was replaced with a fluster when you saw his thighs. 

His hips protruded out from his midriff with a strong curve, and his thighs were massive. Sébastien’s thigh and calf muscles were defined in a natural way, from time spent outside and on his feet. Almost his entire thigh was exposed by the short, black briefs he was wearing, and he had a nice amount of hair which grew in thickness as it got closer to the inner of his thigh. You could imagine the feeling of running your hands against it, and it was pure bliss. His bulge was nice and hefty and you just wanted to shove your face into it.

“Alright!” He said. You moved and adjusted yourself to be sitting on his thighs. This was the highest above him you had actually ever been, and you briefly pondered what you looked like from his perspective. 

You reached to grab his hand, but before you could he had already taken your hand and placed it underneath his bulge. You lifted your hand and felt his balls as if trying to determine the weight of a bag of fruit, which was a weird comparison but was also the only thought in your head the entire time, besides: “fuck me.” 

“You like that, huh?”

“It’s like I’m at a farmer’s market,” you said without thinking. He laughed.

“Oh, shut up. You are SUCH a loser.”

He placed his right hand onto the small of your back. You could feel his cock harden in your hand, the tip underneath his balls and lying against your palm. His cock began to stretch out the fabric of his underwear. He began to grind his dick against your hand and it grew even more, to what you estimated to be about eight inches. “Good. Good, good boy,” he said with a gruff voice.

Sébastien fixated his eyes onto yours and used his free hand to pull your head closer to his. “Wait,” he said. You felt Sébastien’s body stiffen and his grinding stop. “Oh, god, this is such a stereotype.” 

You snorted. “What’s happening, dude?”

“I’m transforming.” He looked up at the ceiling and sighed. “I swear to God, darling, most werewolves don’t transform on the full moon. My cycle just happened to line up with it.” “I trust you, dude,” you responded back.

Sébastien smiled and pulled you in for a kiss. You closed your eyes and let him do his job. He pushed you down into the bed and climbed on top of you, maintaining a kiss the whole time. You put your hand down the back of his tank top and stroked, feeling the fur of a wolf grow in at a rapid pace. Your heart fluttered and you were almost too in awe of what you were feeling to do anything. It was soft and lovely to touch.

You felt the lips you were kissing become more furry and his tongue longer. His fangs grew in and pushed against the meat of your mouth, which was a foreign, but not painful experience. It became less kissing and more him licking at your mouth and face with a strong passion. You couldn’t even begin to imagine how it felt for him right now. A mixture of both of your spits ran down your face, and you could feel a cock far different from the one you felt before hitting against your midriff. 

Opening your eyes, you saw a werewolf before you. He was much, much larger than you expected, and you didn’t just want to be fucked by this creature, but rather straddled and used as his personal cum dump. Sébastien pulled away from the kiss and you caught a glimpse of his dick, bright red and huge. Just one sight of his knot made you want to scream. 

“How am I?” he said with a gross amount of confidence.

“Sébastien, fuck me.”

He was moving his ass left and right and his cock followed, the tip running against your midriff. His tail was straight in the air, although from where you were you could only see the tip of it. He took his hand, or rather, at this point, paw, and began to unbuckle your belt, careful to not destroy any fabric with his claws. He took your jeans and underwear off with one motion.

You could see his intentions without thought. The tip of his cock was leaking a clear fluid and already at the base of your asshole, just begging to push in and destroy you.

“Ready?” he asked.

“You did NOT lube me up, dude.”

“I- Well.” He stuck his tongue out, and it reached far further down than you expected. “Fine.” He bent down and licked your hole vigorously, lapping in and out as if he were drinking water from a bowl. Sébastien made a mess of spit down there, and you were ready.

The noise you made as he pushed his cock into you was both disgusting and ungodly.

“Are you-”

“Shut up and fuck me.”

He barked, and somehow there was a tinge of French in it. “Don’t talk to me like that.”

“Or what?”

Sébastien responded by pushing his cock a few inches further into you, stretching you out even further and rendering you unable to speak. He licked your nose and woofed. “Good boy.”

Sébastien went at you for the next few minutes, grunting the whole time. He held you down into the bed with his paws and pushed his doggy cock in and out of you, in and out, in and out. You could feel his knot slam against the base of your asshole, and you knew you wouldn’t be able to take it.

His pace quickened and his grunts started to turn into whimpers — desperate whimpers. He needed to dump his load into you and it needed to happen now. Your entire body had turned to nothing and you wouldn’t be able to move for the next several days, but you tried gripping the bed sheets anyway. It didn’t work. 

You heard him howl and you felt his cum enter you. The neighbors would not like that. 

He knotted you and you saw stars. Not in a positive sense, though. You didn’t see the literal stars you saw stargazing growing up, the stars that Manhattan didn’t have and that you so desperately wanted to see. You didn’t see Sirius, or Proxima Centauri, or the Pisces constellation. What you did see was your vision clouding from the pleasure of feeling his jizz fill you, the pain of his knot, and every other emotion humanly imaginable before you passed out. 

You woke up to a tap from a claw and the horrible sensation of Sébastien pulling himself out of you. “Dklfhsdkfshj,” Sébastien said.

“What?” you responded.

“DKLFHSDKFSHJ.” Sure. Whatever. You were barely awake and didn’t care, and somehow managed to take a pillow and bury your face in it. You could feel a wetness on the inner parts of your thighs and the bedsheets below you, as well as your own on your stomach. 

Sébastien took a fabric you were decently sure was his tank top and wiped up the seed he had left on you. It felt good, being pampered. Just the sensation of the touch of a human, or werewolf for that matter, could send you into a frenzy, so you were living the dream right now. 

Sébastien reached over and took the pillow off of your face. “Oh, you did such a good job, darling. You’re such a good boy.”

You groggily smiled. The sun was just about to set and the lighting was actually beautiful for once in your life. An orange and pink glow emanated from Sébastien’s fur. He was still naked, although substantially less horny. The fur on his chest was so thick and furry that you just wanted to shove your face into it. 

More of his nut left your body and he quickly wiped it up. “Yeah,” he said. “That’s not going to be fun.”

“How… how much did you...” you tried to ask.

“I’ve been pent up, alright?”

“I can tell.”

“Do you happen to have some spare… like… everything in my size?”

“You don’t prepare for changing size as a werewolf?”

“I wear elastic clothing before I become a werewolf, because I’m not a loser. Like you.”

“Hey.”

“I mean like underwear. And a tank top.”

“You just came so much, huh?”

“Do you want to have to wear clothes covered in massive amounts of dried wolf nut?”

“Fair point.”

You moved your hands to prop your body up, and while you expected to have a difficult time getting up you didn’t expect to yell from the pain.

“Sorry.” Sébastien pretended to be humble.

“You’re proud of this.”

“Yeah,” he snorted. “I know.”

Sébastien wrapped the blanket around you and adjusted you upright. You touched your hand to the bottom of his muzzle, pulled him in, and kissed him.

“I’m going to reheat my coffee from earlier. You want yours, darling?”

“No thanks.”

Sébastien bent over to take his coffee from the fridge, and the one benefit of living in a studio apartment was that you could see his ass as he did it. You couldn’t tell if he was deliberately moving in a promiscuous manner, but the sight of the lighter fur below his tail was wonderful. He put the coffee in the microwave and leaned against the counter, and for the first time you saw just how big he was. Sébastien crossed his arms and stared wistfully at you.

After a moment with only the sound of the microwave, he spoke. “Y’know what, darling, let’s go sit on the fire escape.”

“It’s almost dark. And it’s cold.”

“We can watch the moon come out, and I’m a giant fluffy werewolf if you don’t remember. We can take the blanket out if you want.”

“Oh, god, Sébastien, that would be so nice.”

Sébastien took his coffee out the microwave and picked you up, the blanket wrapped around you, and carried you over to the window. You were surprised by how easy this was for him, considering he was holding a hot coffee as well. 

“You’re not even gonna cover your ass?” you asked. 

“You’ll be covering up anything I can’t show to the public.”

“What if the people below us decide to have a nice, romantic evening on their fire escape, and they look up and see giant wolf butt?”

“If anything, that would be even more romantic.” You both laughed. “Fine.” He took the blanket and wrapped it around himself.

Sébastien opened the window and you felt a cold rush of air on your face. He climbed out, carrying both you and his coffee, and sat down on the ledge. You sat on his lap and could feel his soft member against you, although you definitely were not in the mood to take it. You told yourself you wouldn’t be able to take anybody ever again, although you knew that was a lie. Sébastien wrapped his arms around you, and you felt warmth everywhere except for your face. He put his paw onto the top of your head and started to pet.

“Are you cold, darling?” he asked. You could feel his bottom jaw hit the top of your head as he spoke.

“Nope!” You marveled at the sky in front of you. It was vast and empty except for the tops of buildings, and the sun was just about to go down. You sat in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, taking in the environment and general feeling of love.

Sébastien moved his paw from your head to your thigh, and continued petting. You broke the silence. 

“Teach me some French.”

“In school, you’d start with the pronouns, so, I guess, ‘Je’ means ‘I.’ ‘Je.’” He said ‘Je’ with such a strong intent. 

“No,” You laughed. “I mean like romantic things.” 

“You don’t know ‘I love you’ already? ‘Je t’aime’?

“Je t’aime.” You spoke. You somehow couldn’t pronounce it correctly. “Je t’aime.”

“I love you too, darling, but the vowel in ‘Je’ is a schwa.” He demonstrated. You tried again and still pronounced it wrong. “You’ll get the hang of it eventually.”

You laughed and stroked your hand against his thigh, just to get to feel his fur even more. You felt him press his chest into your back.

Sébastien woofed a small woof and then you returned to your comfortable silence, watching the sun fall beneath the horizon. You realized you wouldn’t actually be able to see the moon rise if you were currently watching the sun set, but you didn’t want to say this out loud and break the atmosphere.

“I just realized we’re not gonna be able to see the moon.” Thank god Sébastien said it before you did. 

“Hm.” You pushed your head back to be closer to Sébastien. He wrapped his arms around your chest.

“We can still look at the sky, even if it isn’t stargazing, per se.” He adjusted you slightly. “Like, look at the beep of the light on top of that tower. It’s beautiful in it’s own way.” “Yeah.” It really was. You smiled, overwhelmed by everything that was happening. “I love you.” “I love you too, darling.”

[zenonaa]

Fandom: Dangan Ronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc, Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Fukawa Touko/Togami Byakuya Characters: Fukawa Touko, Togami Byakuya Additional Tags: plus the rest of the cast post chapter 3, togafukaweek2020 Series: Part 1 of TogaFuka Week 2020

Comments: Day 1 for TogaFuka Week! I tried to hit both prompts with this (Pining and Enclosed Spaces). Enjoy! :-)

***

‘Stir-crazy’ is an informal term referring to when a person becomes restless or distraught due to prolonged confinement or routine. For example, to use the term in a sentence, ‘being trapped in Hope’s Peak made several students go stir-crazy’.

Alternatively, ‘Celes went stir-crazy because she couldn’t stand having the same routine every day, so she orchestrated the murders of two of her classmates’.

And, for a final example, ‘Byakuya was absolutely not going stir-crazy, but that would explain some thoughts he began to have’.

After the third trial, the fourth floor of the school opened up, which one would have thought would help. Maybe not the classrooms, not without actual lessons going on, but the chemistry lab proved a little more interesting, offering vitamins to make one healthy and chemicals to make one dead. Potted flowers sat on desks in the faculty room where computers used to be - Monobear once quipped ‘plants are way better examples of how to grow up than computers’ - and the music room housed a stage, a piano and other instruments Byakuya knew how to play.

Makoto even found a strange photograph of three of their deceased friends messing about with a camera. Yet, those pieces of excitement didn’t stop the strange, intrusive thoughts scratching at the walls of Byakuya’s mind.

In the faculty room, Byakuya rubbed a silky petal of a sunflower between his thumb and forefinger, a shadow carved into his brow in thought. The flowers seemed out of place. No, they were out of place, and not just because of their location. No matter how many times he came here, they didn’t blend into their grey surroundings. They stood out. Seemed perky. Bright. Healthy.

Did they regularly get exposed to sunlight...?

He released the petal. Within seconds, a chill pattered down his neck. When he turned around, a solitary figure in the doorway confronted his view. His lips pursed.

“Fukawa,” he acknowledged in monotone.

By now, he had become accustomed to her following him like his shadow, to the point where he thought he could sense her whenever she lurked nearby. Touko jolted and stood to attention. The blank look in her eyes cleared, an invisible hand smearing away the condensation in her clouded gaze.

“Y-Yes, Byakuya-sama?” she said, licking her lips and prompting him to grimace. She had been drooling.

His mouth remained condensed as he watched Touko’s tongue sweep over her lips, lips that caressed each other, and when she gulped, sheening saliva, a weight in his gut was knocked out of place, like the lights in a dark room suddenly flicked on.

When they first became acquainted with each other, he nearly always sent Touko on her way after exchanging only a few sentences, but more recently, Byakuya permitted Touko to be in his presence for greater lengths of time, so long as she was on standby in case he wanted something, or at least didn’t disturb him too much. They even had sane conversations sometimes. Interesting ones, in fact. Byakuya even let her feed him candy once at his bedside while he read.

However, that had been then, and even more recently than that, just her existence crept onto his nerves. Inevitable, what with them all having to spend so much time around each other. Inevitable, what with her doing things like this in front of him.

Like now, that stupid grin of hers had returned to her face, and he had to clench his fists to distract heat away from his face. He adjusted his glasses. Stuck up his chin. Pushed his shoulders back.

“Instead of loitering, why don’t you make yourself useful?” he asked her in an authoritative tone. She stirred.

“Use... ful?” repeated Touko, still partly submerged in whatever thoughts had her entranced.

“Yes, the word, not a random noise that sounds like it,” he said. He placed one hand on his hip and slightly jutted out his hips to that side. “There might be something lying around the school that could prove beneficial to me. Who knows, maybe you’ll prove yourself useful.”

For many, his remark would have got under the recipient’s skin, or pierced them in the eye and caused it to twitch, but Touko nodded and clasped her hands together. Her twitching didn’t stem from annoyance. Something quite the opposite.

“Of course!” she said, and her lips stretched out to create a nauseating-sized crescent. She cupped her cheeks with both hands. “I won’t disappoint you. I’ll prove I’m not a piece of coal, but a diamond in the rough. I’ll-”

As she spoke, her lips sprung from one extreme to another, from wide like the wingspan of a bird of prey to puckered together like a rose and back again, and Byakuya felt motion sick just watching her. Like he was losing his balance, like the ground would slip from underneath him and he might lean forward, fall into her, land his hands on her shoulders, land his chest against hers and land his mouth on her chapped pink petals of lips, even though he was standing very, very still.

Suddenly, one of his feet lurched forward, but he stopped himself from overbalancing. Something akin to pain shot up that leg to his chest. He tore his eyes off her writhing mouth and glared. Apparently, she hadn’t noticed the flicker in his demeanour, continuing to gush at him.

“Today, preferably!” he demanded, with a slight crack halfway through that he hoped she wouldn’t notice.

Touko squawked, and after a bow, she sped out of the room. Byakuya strode over to the door. He could no longer see her, and as he shut it, he let out a breath he hadn’t realised he had been holding.

Honestly, that girl was a pest. Creeping on his nerves like that...

The next time he saw Touko in the cafeteria at dinnertime. For a while, he had avoided joining the other students to eat, and though he ate with them more regularly now, he didn’t do so because he felt any sense of camaraderie with them, but so he could check on the remaining competition.

Sakura wasn’t in the cafeteria, to his approval. Monobear had recently outed her as his mole, and Byakuya had no interest in spending time around her. Whenever he was outside of his room, he had to keep checking the map on his Electronic Student ID Card to make sure she wasn’t too close by.

Aoi, Sakura’s close friend, was in the cafeteria though, and when Byakuya entered, she glared but said nothing. He needed to monitor her too, someone so easily swayed by emotion, but with the others present, she couldn’t do anything he needed to worry about. Makoto and Kyouko offered glances at him that he rebuffed, Yasuhiro chirped his name, which he ignored, and the gloomy cloud over Touko’s face parted as her smile beamed through.

Byakuya didn’t greet any of them, obtaining his dinner from the kitchen and walking straight back into the cafeteria where he seated himself at a neighbouring table to the others.

“Togami-chi!” Yasuhiro called out, even though they weren’t that far apart. “Back me up here.”

When Byakuya just continued to frown, Makoto spoke instead, raising a crooked finger.

“Hagakure-kun, I don’t think your idea will work. You’re more likely to harm yourself than corrode through anything.”

“Yeah,” went Aoi, her brows knitted together. “Why would Monobear leave us chemicals that can help us escape?”

“Because he doesn’t know the makeup of certain corrosives,” replied Yasuhiro, flapping his hand. “The mastermind probably thinks it’s not possible, ‘right? But if we get the right chemicals, we can melt through the plates covering the windows and escape.”

Touko glowered. “If you really believed that, why haven’t you already done it?”

Byakuya’s attention drifted over to Touko. Her eyes were narrowed, but he could still catch their colour - grey, tinged with violet. As she gestured with her hands, her head bobbed about, and light bounced off the lenses of her glasses, sometimes hiding her eyes from view for a moment. For such a mopey girl, she sure could flaunt a range of expressions in such a small amount of time. Then there were the times she didn’t mope. When she was with Byakuya. Those smiles. Those blushes. Those laughs, like nails down a chalkboard.

“Anyway, I looked at the contents myself,” said Touko. She wrinkled her nose. “There are supplements and poisons, none that can damage thick sheets of metal. Of course, you’re entitled to try...”

“Aw, thanks, Fukawa-chi!” said Yasuhiro brightly. Aoi growled, but it sounded a lot like a whine.

“Don’t thank her!” Aoi scolded. She angled herself toward Touko, looking annoyed. “As usual, Fukawa-chan, you’re being a big downer. At least Hagakure’s trying to help.”

Yasuhiro’s grin wavered. He hesitated. “... Um... Am I supposed to thank you, Asahina-chi?”

Touko snorted.

“Thank you?” Touko repeated with scorn.

“Wait, you’re thanking me now? Okay, I’m officially confused,” mumbled Yasuhiro, scratching his head.

“Hagakure wants praise for having this idea but doesn’t have the balls to try it,” she explained. She rolled her eyes and shifted her weight on her chair. “In fact, could it be he’s discussing it here where there are surveillance cameras because he desperately wants Monobear to overhear and stop it? Then he can think to himself, ‘my idea would have worked’ and no one would be able to dispute it.”

Everyone considered what she suggested. Touko finished up her rant by shooting a chilly look at Yasuhiro, who cowered.

Kyouko inclined her head, resting her chin in her hand. “I’ve also browsed the stock in the chemistry lab and though I’m not a scientist, I don’t think there is anything that can help us there. If anything, Monobear would want us to try for its own amusement.”

Up to this point, Byakuya had stayed out of the conversation, but now he turned his gaze to Kyouko.

“You say that, but none of us know what you are,” he said. No one knew her title. For all they knew, she could have been another mole. Kyouko glanced at him and gave a vague shrug.

After that, the conversation seemed to draw to a close. Yasuhiro pouted and resumed eating, deflated. The rest of the group followed suit. Touko huffed, and Byakuya’s eyes drifted back over to her again. She picked up her chopsticks but rather than pick at any of the rice, she twitched them in her grip, staring into space. Byakuya, holding his own chopsticks, pinched a tofu block, but he didn’t eat it, hovering it in front of his mouth while his other hand propped up his cheek. Instead of eating it, he surveyed Touko’s features. Rather than investigate what she might have been looking at for himself, he tried to figure out what she was stewing over by looking at her.

Not out of concern, of course. Curiosity. And he had a good reason for it. When he first met Touko, he dismissed her as a stuttering high school girl with a persecution complex, who wrote frivolous romance novels that many people lapped up. But there was more to her. She had an alter called Genocider Syo, who murdered various men without getting caught, but even then there was more. Much more. Despite her strange ramblings, Touko was intelligent and could even be insightful, and he had to admit she had to have talent - her novels could and did make society fall in love with fishermen, for one thing. Not everyone could create a trend like that with written words.

“Togami-chi?” said Yasuhiro.

Touko picked up a piece of tofu with her chopsticks, popped it between her lips, and returned her chopsticks to her bowl. Today, dinner was mapo tofu, a simple dish to make that could be served in one bowl. She chewed, unfocused. The sight wasn’t a pleasant one - he reasoned that was why his stomach knotted the more he studied Touko. Her lips rubbed together, her cheeks bulged and caved in at intervals, and she didn’t always close her mouth completely.

“Togami-kun?” said Makoto.

It was a disgusting sight. Disgusting, from her mole to her fluttering lashes around her grey eyes, to the grain of rice abandoned next to her lips, to -

“Togami-kun?” said Makoto again, and this time, Byakuya tensed. He looked around.

Everyone else in the cafeteria stared at him, includingTouko.

“What?” said Byakuya. 

Yasuhiro draped his hand across the back of his neck.

“I think you zoned out there,” remarked Yasuhiro with a lop-sided smile as he scratched at his neck. “We were asking if you’ve been through the chemistry lab yet.”

“Is something on your mind?” Kyouko chimed in, flashing a smirk.

Heat rose to Byakuya’s face. He gritted his teeth, told them he was trying to tune out their idiocy, and resumed his dinner, contributing no more to any conversation.

Though Byakuya had Sakura and to a lesser extent Aoi to be aware of, if he hid in his room all the time, they would think they scared him and consider him an easy target. If he showed them he wasn’t afraid, then they would be wary that he was prepared for an attack.

In theory.

Byakuya planned to spend the rest of the evening in the library, but first, he took a cold shower to rejuvenate himself after getting so distracted during dinner. When he arrived at the library, he saw Touko at one of the desks. Both were avid readers, so her presence didn’t surprise him, but he paused for a few seconds.

She seemed not to have noticed him, focused on the notebook she was writing fervently in. He shut the door quietly behind himself and walked over to a bookcase, careful of his footfalls, and soon found the book he had started on his last visit, the back half of the dust jacket tucked between the pages to mark where he had last read up to. Taking it off the shelf, he seated himself at a different table where Touko lay just outside his field of vision.

However, even though he positioned himself to hide her from his view, that didn’t mean he couldn’t hear her.

One would think Touko of all people would know how to behave in a library, but she mumbled unintelligibly under her breath. Her mutterings would warble, in pitch, or volume, or both, grating like the squeak of fingers down a window. He tried to concentrate on the shallow detective novel in his possession, but his mind kept resurfacing. Peppered in were coughs, and as time wore on, each noise throbbed in the back of his head. Sometimes, she sniffed or gulped and he could visualise her lips twisting, see her stubby-nailed hand nudging up her glasses and her face scrunching up for seconds at a time.

At one point, she panted, and his mind conjured an image of Touko, pink and sweaty, licking her lips before leaning over the desk toward him, their eyes shutting slowly...

Byakuya set down his book. With his shoulders slightly slouched forward, he wiped the heel of his palm up his forehead, trying to scrape off the mental image manifesting in his mind. Touko released a whine, low, bubbling. Bubbling in her throat, bubbling in his chest. The noise coiled around him. Gripped his neck and tightened, and then he realised his thighs were clenched together. Had been. Still were.

He soared to his feet. His chair rasped and fell backward. She shrieked and popped into view.

“B-Byakuya-sama!” she said, a pen clasped tightly in her fist. Fear dissolved into elation. “I t-thought I smelled you...!”

“You obviously knew I was here,” he snapped. “That’s why you were making those disgusting noises.”

She clapped her hands over her mouth. Whacked herself in the face with her pen by doing so. “I-If I’d known you were here, I would have controlled myself!”

Byakuya jutted out his chin. The back of his eyes burned.

“You knew what you were doing the whole time. I’m telling you, you won’t get to me so... so just give up!” he snarled.

And with that, he trounced out of the library. Trying to concentrate in such a dusty, dim environment was hard enough without her spluttering and snivelling too. Those noises disgusted him. Still did. As they should.

As he approached his room, he slowed down. Almost stopped halfway down the last corridor.

Touko’s noises hadn’t always provoked such vivid imagery.

For the next few days, Byakuya did his best to avoid her, but that proved difficult with everyone forced to share the same facility, the same space. The only places he could be sure to avoid her were in his dorm and in the male changing room, but he could only spend so long sitting on his bed or a wooden bench in a tiled room. Therefore, every day, they both bumped into each other in the same dining room, where she contorted her face and slurped on her own saliva, they met in the same classrooms where she cooed his name and drooled, and they sat in the same library, where she licked her lips and giggled to herself. Him getting distracted by her was bad enough, but the situation worsened when she realised he was watching her. When that happened, she would set her eyes on him and grin widely and babble and squeeze her hands together.

One night, he went to the sauna to unwind after finishing a book in his room, but when he passed through the noren and emerged into the locker room, feeling sure he would be alone here, he halted and lost all thought.

Across the room stood Touko, her hair freed from her practical braids, now a dark, shimmering sheet hugging her skinny frame.  

Her hair, right now, was not straw-like, not wild or tamed into braids, but smooth and unrestrained. He could run his fingers through them with ease. Curl a lock around his finger, if he wanted.

The room was properly lit, and he stiffened as he noticed Touko was in just a towel. Touko lacked her glasses and seemed to squint as she fiddled with the top of the towel that covered her chest. He stared, frozen, silent. Blank.

She lifted her head a smidgen, though she still didn’t appear to have perceived him despite her previous boasts about her sense of smell, and the movement, to his horror, made her towel shift. Drop slightly. Thankfully, not enough to show anything.

Byakuya swallowed. Correction. All this was mostly to his horror. To a certain part of his body, it seemed to be to the opposite of that. Horror.

He backed out. All throughout this, she didn’t indicate that she had detected him, and he wanted to keep it that way. On his way back to his room, striding as fast as he could without running, he didn’t cross paths with anyone, and he closed the door behind himself as soon as he got inside.

At least now he could be by himself. Be somewhere she couldn’t get to. Byakuya took his glasses off and lay down on the bed, facing upward, not bothering to change out of his uniform. He shut his eyes. His chest heaved like the sea before a storm.

Here, in the dark, alone, he could rid himself of Touko. Touko... with her long, mahogany hair, styled in twin braids that together with her owl-eye glasses and dark purple sailor uniform, was entirely fitting for someone enrolled at the school with the title of Super High School Level Literary Girl. Not only that, but she smelled like an old, damp book too, now that he was thinking about it. He had found her stench putrid at first, and his insistence that she washed herself was not unjustified, but, he thought, he had since become used to her aroma, a consequence of them being in close quarters for so long. One had to adapt to survive.

So while before he spurned her smell, though it still made him wince, he could stand it. Even if it was still just as disgusting, musty...!

Byakuya paused. Her trip to the sauna would have stripped that smell from Touko’s body, and as he lay in bed, he thought about her standing in the locker room, clad only in a... a towel. Even now, he could see her, with her furrowed brow and trembling lips. Could see her hair cascade forward, pile either side of him. See her face light up as her gaze fell on him, as she drank in his presence. He reached up but his hands phased through where she was, because she wasn’t there. The apparition of her relaxed and smirked, straddling him, and stooped her head.

The towel slipped. Byakuya flinched.

Too much. He imagined her back in her uniform. Even slapped on her braids. And yet, that didn’t deter her. Him. She smiled coyly, drawing a circle on his chest. Smiled that disgusting smile of hers, that oozed saliva, and laughed a low and throaty laugh.

Byakuya swallowed. Shivered. She glided her hand lower.

With a sigh, he pushed the back of his head deeper into his pillow, then froze. The saliva from Touko’s ghost receded from his face and she disappeared from over him. Byakuya jerked his hand away from his crotch. Revulsion dug its claws into the back of his throat. He stumbled out of bed and went to the adjoined bathroom where he splashed water on his face.

This couldn’t go on. Something had to be done. Byakuya couldn’t let himself fall victim to any more of her ploys.

Even after he gulped in air and steadied himself, grasping the edge of the sink, his heart still hammered away. And because he was locked up inside this place, he couldn’t go out for fresh air or even open a window.

He tried the corridor, but it felt almost as oppressive as his room.

Everyone would probably be in their rooms now. Byakuya decided to prepare himself a cup of tea. That would at least give him something to focus on, if only temporarily. The cafeteria was shut, but he knew there were tea bags in the storage room. His footsteps echoed a bit, but he didn’t falter. Kept his eyes forward.

When he arrived outside of the storage room, he squared his shoulders, trying to flake off the tension in his body, and opened the door.

Any hopes of distracting himself were quashed when his gaze fell on Touko.

Fortunately, she was fully dressed in her sailor uniform.

She rose sharply out of her crouched form and turned toward the door, eyes wide. Frightened. Relief flooded through her features as she realised who had made the door creak.

“Byakuya-sama?” she said, some surprise still lingering on her face. Apparently, she wasn’t completely put at ease.

Of all the spots she could have stood in, she had stationed herself at the shelving unit where he recalled there to be boxes of rose hip tea bags. His eyes stayed on her as he sauntered over. Touko didn’t retreat, dodge to the side or cower, watching him just as closely, even as he stopped in front of her. She tipped back her head to fit his face in her vision. Had the audacity to blush.

“It’s late, isn’t it?” she said, loosening up enough for a smirk. “Everyone else will be asleep... unaware of what transpires here...”

He breathed in. Her usual smell of books was gone. Of course it was. Touko had been at the public bath. In its place, he picked up a faint scent of lilac, mixed with a creamy, vanilla and almond-like fragrance.

Now, in theory this should have been an improvement. People preferred a fresh, floral smell to an old, worn book left out on a rainy day. Yet, when her new smell wafted up his nose, it felt acidic. Wrong.

“Are you okay, Byakuya-sama?” she asked, losing the smirk. She kneaded her fingers. “Y-Your face... You look unwell...! Do I need to nurse you?”

The double entendre must have been intended because her lips squirmed with pleasure, curling up at the ends. Byakuya’s face tensed. Touko always had some quip or remark ready for him that often left him at a loss for words. Also, she was in no position to comment on his face when she had hers, with wide, bulging eyes, chapped lips and a twitching nose. She even had the nerve to chuckle and continue twiddling her fingers.

“What about your face?” he sneered. “Your wide, bulging eyes... chapped lips... and twitching nose.”

That knocked her grin off. Concern troubled her features now.

“S-Should I get plastic surgery?” she asked, fidgeting more.

“It’s not just your face, it’s your personality too.” Byakuya raised his voice slightly. “You think you’re clever, trying to seduce me. And stop playing with your fingers like that!”

He grabbed her wrists. Touko jumped. The skin under her wide eyes was stained the colour of milk tea, shadows that stood out on her pale face. His hold on her arms slackened, but she didn’t even attempt to shake him off. A shred of teeth peeked out between her lips, and that familiar sensation of nausea rolled in the pit of his stomach. Fogged his head. Made his nerves vibrate with electricity.

She was disgusting. Vile. Sickening, and absolutely irresistible.

Acting on impulse, he leaned in.

Byakuya led with his tongue and slipped it into her mouth, and it was perhaps luck that she didn’t bite down in surprise. Touko gasped. The inside of her mouth tasted sour: her tongue, her teeth and her hot breath, yet though he shuddered, he didn’t withdraw. She didn’t shy away either despite the painfully amateur kiss, rooted in place.

Their glasses unceremoniously clacked together and remained askew afterwards. He wrapped an arm around her, pulling her closer and knocking their glasses even more out of place. From the onset of the kiss, his skin crawled at how bits of plaque fell loose from her teeth, how already too much saliva crashed together in their mouths and how everything was warm and moist, but rather than deter him, he melted into her. She hugged him back, breathing noisily. For a third time, their glasses got in the way, but this time, Byakuya had enough sense to remove his glasses, then hers, placing them on a shelf while maintaining the kiss, and he eagerly returned his hands to her body.

Touko adjusted her angle. Her nose bumped against his but they took it in stride. Panting, she shifted more, pulling back a little to give them a second to breathe. His tongue receded from her mouth.

A second was all that both allowed.

Their lips reunited within moments, slobbering over each other. Revolting. Incredible. He could only taste saliva. A lot of it. As they kissed harder, they grew clumsy, and their lips fell in and out of place. At one point, some of her hair slipped between them. To remove it, he licked and scratched lightly at her face with his hand, all while continuing to kiss her, and once he could no longer feel it tangling on his tongue, he pushed his lips more firmly into hers.

Touko’s lips stayed shut, and his tongue remained in his mouth. This way seemed to work better, without the tongue. Both of them groaned, clinging to the other. He opened his eyes briefly, but he couldn’t see anything in particular, just her face within a haze, so he shut them again. Besides, he didn’t need to use his eyes for this. His eyes being closed didn’t prevent him from feeling her hands slither up and cup his cheeks. Didn’t stop him from rolling his lips over hers.

They stood still, barely moving, just breathing, existing, with Touko’s back pressing against the shelving unit behind her, but after a while, the buildup of saliva became too much and he withdrew. He rather ungraciously released her and swallowed without thinking, cringing immediately at all the saliva.

Opposite him, Touko placed her fingers lightly against her lips.

“What...?” she mumbled, dazed.

Byakuya’s breaths racked through his body, and he wanted to say that he had slipped and fallen for her. Into her. Fallen into her.

He really needed to get some sleep.

“There. Are you satisfied now?” he asked curtly, and he grabbed his glasses off the shelf. Then he seized a box of tea bags. “That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”

His footfalls barked as he stomped away. The door creaked as he opened it.

“W-Well...” Touko went, and he made the mistake of hesitating. “If... I wanted to just kiss you... I’d have asked, got rejected and picked up the pieces… or j-just stayed in my room and imagined it. B-But I just want to be with you... really... even if we don’t kiss...”

Byakuya shuddered. She just had to go say something gross like that.

“Shut up,” he said, and he left.

He kept a kettle in his room and after half a cup of tea, he lay on his bed again, staring at the ceiling in thought. After getting all of that out of the way, he had thought he would be satisfied. That maybe the uneasy feelings in him would subside.

But after a sleepless night, he realised his feelings had just got worse.

[tearsofgrace]

The Tchaikovsky Drop (a twoset fic)

30 minutes. 30 minutes and they were going live. 30 minutes until he would have to play for at least a thousand people, most likely more. There were no redos and that meant there were no mistakes. No memory slips, no starting over. 

Brett ran a nervous hand through his hair and glanced up at Eddy. They had already set up the camera, framed their shot (or at least tried to), and checked their sound. Everything was ready, except him. 

Eddy gave him a small half smile. He looked totally relaxed, confident. 

He has to play to, Brett reminded himself. How can he look so composed, it’s not fair. How can he look so… perfect?

Brett shook his head sharply. Nope, now was not the time.

“You ready, man?”

Brett glanced up again. Eddy had moved to stand next to him, and concern was visible on his face. He gently pried the violin out of Brett’s hand and set it down carefully next to them. 

“Hey, you’re ready for this,” Eddy said with a smile. “Besides, whatever you do, they’ll love it. They just want to hear you play it, it doesn’t need to be perfect.”

Brett turned away quickly, exhaling.

“Yes, it does,” he muttered.

“What was that?”

“Yes, it does. It has to be perfect. I owe it to them. I mean, two million, Eddy! Two million subscribers. I never thought we’d make it this far, and this is how we’re celebrating it. If I screw this up…”

He trailed off, ignoring the concern filling his best friend’s face. Ignoring the cute way his eyes closed and he leaned in closer to Brett to try to read him. Ignoring the warmth the rose to his cheeks when he met his eyes. Ignoring-- 

Nope, still not the time.

“You don’t have to play it perfectly for it to be perfect, Brett.” Eddy said softly.

Brett turned away, shrugging off the hug Eddy tried to pull him into, even though he wanted desperately to collapse into his arms. 

“I’ll go make some coffee,” Eddy said, giving Brett some space. “We still have time, okay? Just try to relax.” He flashed a smile before disappearing into the kitchen.

Brett fought with his thoughts. Why did Eddy have to be so cute, so caring, on today of all days? He needed to be focused on the task in front of him. Playing this piece of music he had grown to love. It had become so much a part of him that sharing it with these fans felt like sharing a part of his soul. And he wasn’t sure he was ready for that.

He hummed the first few notes, trailing off as his already high anxiety started to build. He just had 20 minutes left. 

Eddy walked back into the room and handed him a hot mug of coffee. He wrapped his hands around it, the warmth melting some of the stress. A few minutes passed in silence while Brett stared into his mug, absorbed in his thoughts, feeling he was finally entering the mindset he’d been struggling to achieve all day. 

Without looking up, he muttered, “A lot of great soloists, violinists way better than I could ever even dream of being, have played and recorded this. Why would they want to hear me?”

He glanced up and saw Eddy’s eyes fixed on him. His face was dead serious, which was odd. Eddy’s face usually looked carefree, like he was only seconds away from laughter. It only really got serious when he was discussing music, when he was playing, or when there was something wrong. 

“I-- Listen, this really isn’t the time, but…” he started, trailing off.

Brett didn’t reply, but simply waited.

“Look, I don’t want to throw you off or anything. But, I know you’re going to do amazing, and nothing I say will stop that. So I have to tell you something right now.”

Brett looked at him curiously, but still didn’t answer.

The silence didn’t discourage Eddy, and he continued after a breath, “I think, I think I might be in love with you.”

Brett’s mind started racing. Was Eddy saying this to help him perform better? Because his own feelings were so obvious and he didn’t want Brett to be in pain? Was he actually in love… no it wasn’t possible. 

Thoughts swirled through his head, and he realized after a moment that he hadn’t responded to Eddy. He hadn’t even reacted, his trademark deadpan was the only answer Eddy had received. 

“Eddy, I… you’re… me? I’m… I’m nothing.”

“Nothing? Are you kidding me? Brett you are one of the most genuine people I’ve ever met. You’re caring, you’re accepting, you give me someone to fall back on. I trust you with everything I have because I know you will never let me down. You’re clever and witty and you come up with things, perfect things, on the spot. And um, you’re kind of adorable. But it’s not just that. You’re incredibly talented. You may not be a world-famous soloist, but you put your heart into your music. You play with so much passion. So, Brett, you ask why they would want to hear your recording. You ask ‘why me?’ Because they want to know your heart. I want to know it too.”

Brett stared at him speechless, grasping for words, grasping for a response (a skill he was apparently quite talented in). He had stopped shaking, and all the anxiety had left him, at least the anxiety about playing.

It didn’t have to be perfect, and he could share his heart with the fans, they deserved it. Eddy deserved it. He owed it to them, and he owed it to himself. 

He opened his mouth to respond, but an alarm on his phone and on Eddy’s phone went off. 

“We have to start. Listen, if you don’t want to think about what I said, don’t think about it. You’re going to crush this, alright?”

Brett nodded, wishing he could say more. They walked over in front of the camera, took a deep breath, and started the live stream.

“Hey guys, how’s it going?” Eddy started, “As you all know, Brett promised us--”

“Actually you promised them. I didn’t say anything.” Brett said with a small laugh.

“Fine, okay,” Eddy laughed along, glad his friend was more at ease. “I promised you that when we hit 2 million subscribers, Brett would drop his recording of the Tchaikovsky violin concerto. Well, thanks to our amazing fans, we hit 2 million!”

“Thank you all so much for your support,” Brett added, holding a hand to his heart, “you guys make this all worth it. We love you all!”

“So, without further ado, let’s get started,” Eddy glanced at Brett trying to gauge his anxiety levels. He looked okay, more relaxed then he had been all day. “So, I will be playing the orchestral accompaniment, or at least parts of it, and Brett of course will be playing the solo violin part. We hope you guys enjoy!”

Brett nodded at Eddy, and watched as his friend put his violin on his shoulder, checked the tuning briefly, and then closed his eyes. 

The first lines of orchestral accompaniment flew by, and before Brett knew it, his instrument was on his shoulder, his bow was on the string, and his left hand rested in position. With only measures before his entrance, his throat had started to close up again. He closed his eyes, and pictured Eddy. His beautiful eyes, his confident smile, his steadiness. 

His words echoed in his head, I think, I think I might be in love with you… they want to know your heart, I want to know it too.

His mouth curved into a smile involuntarily, and he sunk gracefully into the first notes of the beautiful concerto. 

The 40 minutes flew by. He was completely immersed in the music, pouring every heartache, every joy, every fear into his playing. He didn’t play perfectly. He missed notes, he added accents where he didn’t want them, he shifted slightly too high. But it didn’t matter. He had never played with such passion, with such emotion. And as he and Eddy’s bows flew off the strings for the final note, an emotion he rarely felt overtook him. Pride. He could say without any reservations that he was proud of what he had just given the fans. Of what he had just given Eddy.

After letting the final note hang in the air, letting the music settle for a few moments, Eddy turned and faced the camera. 

“Well, there you have it. Brett Yang’s performance of the Tchaikovsky violin concerto! Thank you all so much for watching, and thank you again for your support. We could not have done this without all of you.” Eddy turned to Brett to see if he wanted to add anything, but he saw Brett’s emotion hiding in the eyes of his deadpan face. They both waved to the camera, Brett breaking into a smile, and then Eddy stopped the livestream. 

Brett walked over to his case, slowly packing up his violin. Eddy set his own instrument down and went to stand behind him. 

“I told you you’d be amazing,” he smiled.

Brett closed the case and looked up at him.

“Did you mean it?”

Eddy paused for a moment, looking into his best friend’s eyes. “Every word,” he said, speaking almost in a whisper.

Brett took a slow step forward, leaving only inches between him and Eddy. He put his hands on the taller man’s shoulders, his heart racing. Slowly raising himself onto his tiptoes, he pressed his lips against Eddy’s. Softly, sweetly, but with passion. 

Eddy melted into the kiss, wrapping his arms around Brett as Brett’s hands moved slowly into his hair. 

Their kisses grew rapid and hungry. They pulled apart, locking eyes with each other.

“I think, I think I might love you back.”

[haberdashing]

Biting Your Own Neck (4/?)

Mid-season 2, Jon’s life is abruptly upended by the intrusion of two unexpected and eerily familiar visitors.

on AO3

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4

“You want to talk about trust, about sharing things with each other?” Jon stood up from his seat--Sasha’s seat, a place he never should have had to occupy, a place he never would have occupied if it weren’t for the intruders in their midst--and looked right at Not-Jon (and Not-Martin, by proxy, since the two were standing side by side, nearly touching now). “Fine. You go first. Why are you here?”

“We’re from-” Not-Jon began, but Jon cut him off.

“The future, or a dimension that’s essentially the future? Yes, I got that much already, thank you. Why did you come here from there?”

“We didn’t mean to.” Not-Martin said.

“Martin!”

Jon looked over at Martin when he heard his own voice call Martin’s name; Martin, for his part, was looking right back at him with an expression that seemed somewhere between surprised and terrified, but it was Not-Martin that spoke up.

“Look, Jon, I’m not going to just- just lie to them about what happened-”

“I didn’t say that, did I? I just meant-”

Even before he looked over, Jon could feel Tim and Martin’s gazes darting between him and the actual speakers, Not-Jon and Not-Martin, who apparently also used the names Jon and Martin for one another as well as having the same voices that the actual Jon and Martin did...

“Can we start by having you two pick different names? We’re-” Jon waved his arm in a sweeping gesture to indicate that he was including Martin in particular. “-already using Jon and Martin at the moment, as it happens.”

“I’m not going to stop calling him-” Not-Jon gestured towards Not-Martin, and Jon noted with a sinking stomach that the gesture was eerily similar to the one he himself had just made. “-Martin. That’s his name.”

“Fine, then, you two can call each other whatever, but we need something for the rest of us to call you, unless you want me to just keep thinking of you as Not-Me and Not-Martin for as long as you’re here.”

Not-Jon and Not-Martin both paled visibly at the words; Jon wondered, idly, what their own experiences with Not-Sasha were, if they really were from the future, presumably one where she hadn’t been so suddenly unmasked by another duo of imposters. Probably not terribly pleasant, judging from the grimaces on both their faces.

Not-Jon nodded once. “Fair enough. Perhaps just a variation of your name that you don’t normally use would work--Sims, perhaps, or Jonathan...”

Jon shook his head. “No. Those are still my name, and you’re still not getting any part of my identity out of this.”

Not-Martin let out a soft sigh and a slight shrug of the shoulders. “Did you have something in mind, then? I mean, it is your plan and all...”

“Er...”

Jon had not in fact had anything in particular in mind, had only a nebulous idea of what he didn’t want these doppelgangers going by, but as he thought about it, an idea came to mind.

“You want a version of my name that badly? You can be Jonny. Nobody’s called me that for some time now, so there should be no chance of confusion.”

Not-Jon--no, Jonny let out a rough laugh. “Fine by me, though don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing there. But if you insist, I will be Jonny D’Ville,” Jonny leaned forward in an exaggerated bow. “Your humble captain.”

Jon could feel his face heating up, which only intensified as he heard Tim call out “First mate!” from his seat nearby.

Jon was only able to stammer out a soft “That works” before Tim spoke up again, this time looking Jon’s way as he spoke.

“Hang on, since when do you know about the Mechanisms? Don’t tell me you only get won over by my musical tastes in the future-”

Jonny replied with a quick “No” before Jon could bring himself to do the same.

“So what’s the story, then? You said you weren’t into them!”

Jon let out a sigh before responding. “Technically, what I said was I wasn’t in the habit of listening to their CDs.”

“Close enough. Did you just change your mind, or what?”

Jon looked away from Tim, only to see Jonny was gazing his way as well.

“You might as well tell him.” Jonny was grinning and looked a bit like he was trying to stifle a laugh.

“Tell me what?”

He wasn’t getting out of this one, now, was he?

Jon pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes briefly. “I’m pretty sure most musicians aren’t in the habit of listening to CDs of their own work, Tim.”

“You’re... you’re saying you were in the Mechanisms.” Tim’s gaze darted between Jon and Jonny. “You’re saying you’re Jonny fucking D’Ville?”

“...yes.”

Tim raised an eyebrow. “Prove it, then.”

Jon did his best to mimic the gesture as he looked back at Tim. “Why would I lie about this?”

“I mean, either you were lying then or you’re lying now, so...”

“It wasn’t technically...” Jon let his speech trail off as he realized that fighting over the point was probably detrimental to the whole trust thing Jonny was trying to encourage in them. (Had he predicted this happening, or even somehow orchestrated the whole thing?)

“Alright. Alright, I’ll prove it.”

And then Jon began to chant. It was the first thing that came to mind that would serve as proper proof, not just something that would show his vocal talents but something that even most fans of the band wouldn’t have bothered to memorize...

“Y'AI 'NG'NGAH, YOG-SOTHOTH H'EE-L'GEB F'AI THRODOG UAAAH-”

Jon was pretty sure he heard somebody quietly laughing in the background, though he couldn’t recognize the laugh by sound alone and didn’t want to look around, didn’t want to see all the strange expressions that must be on everybody’s faces just to know who the culprit was.

“-OGTHROD AI'F GEB'L-EE'H YOG-SOTHOTH 'NGAH'NG AI'Y ZHRO-”

Jon did, however, glance over at Jonny briefly, only to see that not only was he not the one laughing, he was either mouthing or singing along to the chant. (It was hard to say which, especially when Jon knew well enough that Jonny’s voice would sound the same as his own, so he couldn’t just listen for a different voice joining in.)

Jon went on for another line or two of chanting before trailing off, looking over at a dumbfounded Tim with a half-suppressed grin on his face.

“Is that proof enough for you?”

There was silence for a moment before Martin spoke up. “...what kind of band is this, exactly?”

Jon looked over at Jonny, though he couldn’t say exactly why, but Jonny just shook his head. “Think you can handle this one on your own.”

“It’s a, a band of immortal space pirates that all live on the same spaceship, Jonny D’Ville being the lead singer and, and also the first mate, they tell stories based on folklore and mythology but all adapted for a science fiction setting...”

“God, you’re talented.”

Jon glanced at Not-Martin first before finding the actual source of the words in Martin, whose face was rapidly reddening as he added, “Well, I mean, I, I knew that already of course, but... Musically. I didn’t know you were so musically talented.”

Jon let out a harsh laugh. “If you think I’m talented, you should meet Morgan. He played four different instruments for the band--four! All I can do is sing and work the harmonica a bit.”

“Still...”

“Why didn’t you just tell me about all this when it came out before?” Tim interrupted. “You knew I liked the band, after all, so why not just take the credit?”

“I, uh.” Jon could feel his face heating up again. “It, it was shortly after I got promoted, and I just, I didn’t think-”

“Oh, I see. You didn’t think being part of an awesome band of space pirates fit the image you were going for as ‘Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London’, is that it?”

Jon wasn’t sure what to focus on--the truth of Tim’s accusation and how petty and simple those worries about his professional image seemed now, how eerily accurate Tim’s impression of how Jon started every statement tape was, how he could hear his own voice softly laughing as Jonny quietly cracked up...

Jon settled for resting his face in his own hands such that he could avoid looking at anyone.

“So we’ve got my name settled, then.” Jonny said, the voice enough to get Jon to look up again. “But what about Martin--my Martin, I mean?”

Was there something weirdly possessive in the way Jonny said my Martin, like they were a unit, two halves of a whole, or was Jon imagining it?

“Er.”

“Um.”

The two Martins stared at least other for a long moment, neither one rushing to give a response, and Jon couldn’t help but laugh at the sight of it. If their story was a lie, if this other Martin was just an imitation of the real thing, Jon had to admit that it was an awfully good imitation.

“Kay?”

It took Jon a moment to recognize that Not-Martin hadn’t just abbreviated the word “okay” there, was in fact proposing Kay as a name for himself. Kay as in the letter, presumably, as in the middle initial in Martin K. Blackwood that Jon still didn’t know the full version of, even though he’d done rather a lot of research into his coworkers in the last few months...

Martin hesitated for a moment before tersely nodding. “Yeah, Kay, that works for me if it works for you.”

“I wouldn’t have suggested it if it didn’t work for me, would I?”

“...fair point.”

“Sounds like we’ve got that settled then. I’m Jonny, and he’s Kay, at least as far as you lot are concerned.”

“Who are you calling ‘you lot’?” Tim asked. “And why don’t I get a freaky supernatural future double like you two do, anyway?”

Jonny and Kay exchanged a glance before the latter spoke up.

“...I think we’d better save that particular story for a bit later on.”

[songbird-musing]

Virtuoso: Chapter One - Exposition

Enjolras is Saint-Michel Academy's brightest young composer. He runs the orchestra, the Musician's Rights board, chairs the scholarship program, teaches free classical music to children, and is in the middle of his dissertation. He has never been anything less than a prodigy, until his teacher forces him to write a pop song.

Enter the effortlessly cool Grantaire, with his smudged eyeliner and lovely guitar-playing fingers. He really digs Enjolras' "vibe," whatever that means.

Exposition

“Got a light?”

Enjolras blinked, staring at his own hands. He had three flutes in his left, two violins in his right, and a cello strapped precariously to his back.

“Um,” he answered, arching an eyebrow, “I don’t smoke.”

The stranger half-smiled, rolling his unlit cigarette between long fingers. Good fingers to play piano with, Enjolras noted.

Enjolras half-smiled back, pressing his lips together, hoisting his cello strap, he glanced up to the heights of the campus building.  

“Hang on... you’re that third year that conducted that concert last Friday, right?”

He faltered, and re-examined the boy in front of him. A sketchy mess of ink-black curls and inked arms. He was a dark smudge against the dazzling marble school. Enjolras had been to a lot of classical concerts, and people that looked like the stranger in front of him did not tend to frequent them. With the shadowy smear of eyeliner around wild eyes, and a glint of metal pierced through his nose, the boy looked like he belonged at the underground concert of a band no one had heard of. Enjolras smiled.

“That’s right. I’m Enjolras.”

“I really dig your...” the boy made a vague swishing motion with his hands, “vibe.”

Enjolras didn’t know how to react.

What was his vibe?

“I’m Grantaire. Second year.”

Enjolras’ gaze traced the trajectory of a gemstone looped around Grantaire’s neck and the stark, sharp lines of tattoo ink, which bled into the collar of his shirt.

“Well, thank you very much, Grantaire.” Enjolras looked unhurriedly into the eyes across from him, a little taken aback by their returned steadfastness. He smiled widely. “I appreciate the stroke to the ego.”

Grantaire grinned and kicked one ankle over the other. “See you around,” he said, oozing with easy grace. His vibe was pretty enviable, to Enjolras’ tightly wound, deeply engrained stiffened etiquette.

Enjolras smiled his rehearsed showman’s smile and strode into Paris’ finest institution of the arts: Saint-Michel Academy.  

~*~

“Courf,” Enjolras called, not allowing the figure sneaking up the edge of the grand staircase to escape.

The boy turned deliberately slowly, resting an arm on the banister. “Enjolras!” he beamed, “My dearest, dearest friend.”

“Your dearest, dearest luggage rack,” Enjolras said, blue eyes narrowing. “I bought your flute and your violin.”

“And my trombone?” Courfeyrac asked hopefully. Enjolras fixed him with a dead stare. “See, if you were my dearest, dearest luggage rack you would have bought my trombone. Combeferre is much better trained than you.”

“I’ll bring you a set of spare clothes, next time, as well, because you’re still wearing yesterday’s.” Enjolras retorted, offloading two instruments into his friend’s hands.

Courfeyrac didn’t look bashful in the slightest. Enjolras didn’t expect him to. He winked scandalously, the action seductive and over-dramatic. “Did you miss me last night?”

“Do you even still live with us?” Enjolras laughed, “Combeferre’s getting moody because you keep missing movie night.”

“I’m not going to be twenty-one forever; gotta get the most use out of this flesh prison as I can.”

Enjolras grimaced. “Please never recount your sexual exploits as getting use out of your flesh prison again.”

“Enjolras, my man,” Courf grinned, “That is how I will exclusively refer to it now. Laters!”

“You’re in my lecture now.”  

“Uh... Tell Johnny-boy I’m tuning up. Gotta have a quick smoke,” he mimed taking a drag of a cigarette and bounced down a couple of stairs.

“Are you high?” Enjolras asked mildly, looking past Courfeyrac’s morning-after scruffiness to his blown pupils.

“A teeny, tiny bit,” he laughed, holding two fingers together, “Last night hasn’t quite worn off, but, hey, don’t tell Johnny-boy that.”

“Every time you call him that I die a little inside,” Enjolras said drily.

“Love you!” Courfeyrac dashed away, leaving Enjolras to go into Jean Valjean’s theory lecture alone.

~*~

“Ah, Enjolras, good morning!” the professor said, glancing up from his laptop. “I said it at the time, but well done again for Friday. The faculty couldn’t have chosen anyone better for the role.”

Jean Valjean wasn’t a man quick to praise, but he had always liked Enjolras. Secretly, all the professors hoped for Enjolras on their register, longing for his ambition and determinedness and his almost prodigal writing.  

“Thanks sir,” he said, making his way to his unassigned seat in the front row. He couldn’t help but blister with pride.

A few minutes passed. Valjean looked around at the half dozen students and sighed through his nose. “Where is the rest of the class on this delightful Monday morning?”

“Still in bed?” offered a voice.

“Still in bed when they could be learning about the delights of atonal counterpoint?” Valjean tutted, turning on the projector.

“Courf is tuning up,” Enjolras said.

“Well text him to hurry, if he’s not in the room in two and a half minutes I’m locking the doors,” Valjean said.

Courfeyrac had been on the wrong side of a locked door a few too many times.

Enjolras hastily texted his roommate.

After a couple of hours of relentless note taking, the class broke apart, each student working on their own personal projects, buried in manuscript paper and notation software.

“Oh, Enjolras,” said Valjean after listening to the orchestral piece he had composed through the night.

“What?” Enjolras panicked, noticing the slight quirk to his professor’s eyebrows. He looked at the score and saw nothing out of place, “What’s wrong?”

The professor took too long to respond.

“It’s perfectly fine,” Valjean said.

Enjolras frowned, the usual marble finesse of his forehead tarnished with worry. “What’s wrong with it?” he repeated, fingers clawing into his palms.

“No, Enjolras, it’s fine. It’s lovely. It’s as proficient and melodically satisfying as your works always are. You have your unwavering grasp of harmony and you’ve handled all the instruments with your usual precision.”

“But...?”

“But...” Valjean echoed, “You’ve shown this kind of work consistently recently...”

“I know. I’ve been trying to focus on a post-Classical, pre-Romantic period to truly master it. I could compose in a more Bach-style arrangement if you want,” he said, words tripping over themselves in their haste to be known. Enjolras had never really had much criticism in any field; a slither of it sent him reeling.

“I’d actually be more interested to hear more modern influences.”

“I could use some 20th Century techniques, yes,” Enjolras nodded seriously.

“No, no... I want to see you write a pop-song,” Valjean suddenly smiled widely. “Yes, that’s what you need to do. I want a pop song.”

Enjolras’ toes curled.  

“And true commercial pop,” Valjean’s eyes were alight, and Enjolras knew he would not be dissuaded. “None of the jazz pop I know you’re already planning to write.”

Enjolras gulped, the litter of extended chords that had crept into his mind, dispelled.

“Don’t look so terrified,” Valjean said with a laugh.

“But that’s going to be so horribly boring!”

“It doesn’t have to be boring; I just want you out of your comfort zone.” Valjean kindly tapped the top of Enjolras’ laptop. “Brilliant work, as always, but let’s see something different next week, alright?”

“Alright, sir,” Enjolras said, holding back a groan.

Approximately two seconds later, he received a Facebook message from Courfeyrac. Courfeyrac always commanded words so succinctly, and had sent a gif of someone laughing hysterically. Enjolras turned to scowl at his friend, who was sniggering over his scrawled sheet of manuscript paper.  

Throughout the next hour, he composed an extremely angry 20th Century piece, full to the brim of staccato, discords and intense crescendo. He tried not to be elitist, but...pop music! The hazy glow of Valjean’s compliments had quickly worn off.  

The next class held no respite.  

“Typical Johnny-boy!” cawed Combeferre upon hearing the news, his glasses knocked from the bridge of his nose.

“Ugh,” Enjolras said, “Don’t call him that.”

Jehan was an explosion of colour in the room: vividly patterned cloth trousers, a clashing equally ornate shirt, a jumble of too much jewellery, and slowly dying fresh flowers in their dreadlocks. “Are you going to write the lyrics?” they asked, voice lovely and mellow with the notes of laughter still ringing there.

Enjolras died a little more inside. “I’ve only written lyrics in Italian before... And besides! Lyrics are an easy way out. A good composer should be able to convey every story without explaining it needlessly with words.”

“You’re gonna need to write lyrics, mate.” Combeferre snorted, “Oh god, I didn’t realise how much I needed this news today. My skin has cleared, my student debts have been paid off.”

“Just wondering... do either of you know of anyone interested in joining the orchestra?” Enjolras asked, scowling. “I have two new positions to fill. Two ex-members just got expelled for being terrible friends.”

Jehan tried to look sympathetic, rolling a bead across their palm. “Oh!” they exclaimed, “Have you met Grantaire?”

“No,” said Enjolras, bottom lip exaggeratedly pouted. An image of the smoker on the steps of the university wafted into his consciousness. “Wait... does he have black hair... and like...” Enjolras gestured to his face, “A crooked nose?”

“Oh man,” Jehan beamed with a nod, “He is such a cool guy. What a character! He has this energy that is just so eclectic –”

“And?” Enjolras interrupted, sharing a glance with Combeferre, who snorted. Jehan’s ramblings on energies had been timed to last hours.

“He has this really awesome vibe going on, like, he’s been writing this indie-pop stuff built on classical conventions. It’s actually amazing... I could try and hook you up... he’s like the only one I know here who writes pop...” Jehan pondered, eyes drifting away from the conversation, “Oh Enj, are you coming to that gig tonight?”

“What gig?” Enjolras unloaded his notepad from his bag and scribbled ‘music historical context’ across the top of the sheet.

“Enjolras only goes to concerts not gigs, darling,” Combeferre said in an over-dramatically refined voice.

“You totally should come. It’s this student band I’m totally into at the moment. It’s like this psychedelic, contemplative, indie, punky folk music.” Prouvaire said, “R will be there, he’s roommates with the singer. They’re both really chill. You can discuss the pop thing with him. It’s at the Musain.”

“Oh, the Musain is cool,” Enjolras said tiredly. “That’s a good venue.”

“Yeah, well, they’re really good. Just get there for about eightish.” They smiled, long eyelashes curling across their cheeks, in a lazy sort of bliss that only Jehan could achieve. “I’d offer to help with lyrics but I’ve challenged myself to only write in abstract Latin for a month, so...”

The fact that this news didn’t faze Combeferre or Enjolras in the slightest summed up Jehan Prouvaire perfectly.

~*~

“Enjolras!” Jehan cheered, looking even more luxuriated than usual. “You made it!”

The Musain was a good venue, but Enjolras hadn’t seen it much in the dark. He had usually spent afternoons there, drowning in sheet music and coffee.

“Jehan Prouvaire!” Courfeyrac whooped, embracing Jehan, in his usual, all-encompassing style.

“Are you alright after last night?” Jehan questioned, glint in their eye, “You looked absolutely out of it.”

“Yeah, I was.” Courfeyrac laughed wildly, “I’m being well-behaved tonight, though...” he paused for, what Enjolras knew to be, a well-practised dramatic effect, “No Class A’s, at least.”  

Jehan turned their gaze to Enjolras and crushed an arm around his tall frame. “R is hanging out with Éponine at the front, I’ll introduce you later.” Enjolras couldn’t see Grantaire amidst the mass of swaying heads. “The band playing now is called Chakrafied and they’re really deep,” Jehan said, letting their shoulders drift in time to the spacey sound.“ Don’t look so horrified, Enjolras, I’ve lured you over to the hippie side. Listen to Chakrafied and enjoy it!”

And Enjolras actually, kind of, did.  

~*~

The second band was made up of five members: four imposing gentlemen and an even scarier looking girl with eyeliner smeared across her face.

“I’m Éponine and we’re Patron-Minette,” she purred into the microphone, basking in the onstage lights, “We’re the scoundrels and ruffians of the Musain tonight.” Her smile was vicious. She nodded to her drummer, who sped into a series of counter rhythms that Enjolras was entirely not expecting.

Their music was wild and aggressive but threaded with a lull of tender despair at the world’s injustice. It was surprisingly melodic and Enjolras, who was a master of piano, still found himself drawn to the keyboardists techniques, which were messily executed by tattooed fingers adorned with a clatter of rings, but with a bit of refinement, could fit into a Saint-Michel’s classroom with ease.  

Courfeyrac was already in a bit of a state, giggly and flushed, dancing erratically. “Dance with me, Enjolras!” he said and Enjolras obliged. “Drink with me!”

And once more Enjolras obliged.  

When Enjolras drank, which was a very rare occasion, the usual tight coil of his body unwound into a loose end; he blushed a lot and for once stopped mentally composing symphonies.

Prouvaire reappeared when the music finished, looping long arms around Enjolras and Courfeyrac’s necks, “My boys!” they said over the hubbub, “Wanna hang in the dressing room? That’s where the real party is!”

The four walls of the dressing room were packed with limbs, the sound of loud celebrations and smoke.

“Hey, dude, quit it,” snapped a voice, “You’re going to get us thrown out.” The keys player stubbed out the drummers cigarette with his thumb. The drummer rolled his eyes and exhaled his breath of smoke into the other man’s face.

“Chill out, ‘Parnasse,” the drummer laughed, his voice far more velvety than expected. “I’m the bodyguard’s dealer, he won’t say anything.”

“Just smoke outside the fire exit door,” ‘Parnasse commanded, kicking the door open with a boot, allowing a rush of cold air into the room.

“Yeah, get out, G,” Éponine said mildly, fixing her tangle of hair in the mirror.

“Éponine!” Prouvaire said loudly, almost knocking the singer off her feet with a hug.

“Prouvaire, my dear! I didn’t know you were here!”

“Of course I was. I wouldn’t miss you guys for the world!”

Éponine preened at Jehan’s response and threw her head back in laughter. “You sweetheart,” she said, “What’s your next gig?”

“I have a poetry slam next week but the poems are read syllabically to the sound of Bach. It’s this new project I’m working on at the moment.”

“Sounds weird,” Éponine said, “I’d love to come!”

“These are my friends Courfeyrac and Enjolras,” Jehan introduced, smiling fondly at the gangly pair, “From Saint-Michel’s... this is Éponine, Montparnasse, Babet, the bassist... The weirdo in the mask is Claquesous and Gueulemer just got kicked out.”

Éponine hugged them both, much smaller in person than she had appeared onstage. Montparnasse gave a flutter of his ringed fingers. Enjolras was usually aware how much taller he was than a room full of people, but even Montparnasse towered above him. Built like a ballerina, the keyboardist was slender and wraith-like, expression not unfriendly, but not particularly inviting either: as though rearranging his face into a smile would take too much effort.  

Babet was also tall and unhealthily pale. “Nice to meet you, but I have places to be,” he said mysteriously, translucent eyes flicking quickly across the room. “Text me the next rehearsal dates, Ép. See you.”

Claquesous, or ‘the weirdo in the mask’, didn’t say anything, but huddled over his guitar, fingers dancing over the fret boards effortlessly.

“Are you alright, darling?” Éponine asked Enjolras a while later when they were all lounging on the few sofas, the sounds of other bands dancing through the walls. Her brash accent was so unlike the silken tones of her singing voice.

“Huh?” Enjolras replied, blushing, because he was a little bit drunk.

“This isn’t usually Enj’s scene,” Jehan interjected, “He doesn’t usually enter an establishment unless it has a guaranteed string quartet, at the very least.”

Éponine laughed, and ruffled Enjolras’ hair, which was a very bold move. Enjolras’ hair had never been ruffled before. “Bless your Saint-Michel heart. What do you play? Wait – let me guess...Harp?”

“Yes, actually,” said Enjolras.

“Oh, I bet you get minted doing corporate gigs... How many weddings want a pretty boy harpist? What a genius career move...” Éponine mused aloud.

“He doesn’t just play harp,” Courfeyrac added, “I haven’t found an instrument that Enjolras can’t play...” Courf snorted into his drink, eyes lost in memory. “Actually, you’re terrible at standard pop drumming, like horrifically bad,” he said, resting his head on Enjolras’ shoulder. “Sorry,” he added.

Jehan suddenly sat upright, looking around the room comically. “Where’s R?” they asked.

“Uh,” Éponine smirked and looked at Montparnasse, “Was that girl coming tonight?”

“No,” said Montparnasse fixing an eyebrow. “But I saw him talking to a different blonde girl by the side of the stage.”

“Oh,” said Éponine, looking to Jehan, “He’ll be busy, then.”

“The boy has more game than me and he isn’t even in a band,” Gueulemer complained, “That was the only reason I learned guitar.”

“Grantaire’s uglier than you, by far, and he still has more game than you,” Montparnasse said with an amused sneer.

“I should give being bisexual a try,” Guelulemer laughed.

“Not funny,” Éponine flicked her drummer’s upper arm. “Also, don’t be awful ‘Parnasse. You pride yourself on being the hottest in the band and you still don’t get laid as much as R.”

Montparnasse scowled and gestured rudely at his band mate.

~*~

When Grantaire arrived into the dressing room a while later, he appeared smudged, ruffled, and incredibly smug: the image of an utter rock star. Enjolras had to remind himself that Grantaire went to Saint-Michel’s, which made him, in at least some degree, an enormous classical music nerd.

He received a chorus of catcalls and cheers as he walked through and merely shot a wink before collapsing beside Éponine.

“You rocked it, as always,” he said, bumping shoulders with her. “Oh!” he looked at Enjolras and beamed, “Composer boy! I didn’t picture you as an avid Patron-Minette fan!”

“It’s Enjolras,” Enjolras said, ears tinged pink.

“We’re gonna get kicked out soon,” Éponine interrupted, “It’s nearly curfew. After party at ours?”

“I have class tomorrow,” Grantaire sighed.

“Go to bed then,” Éponine said, sounding bored, as she collected some leads and equipment. “Come on squad, we should get going.”

~*~

When they were outside, huddling under the lip of the building to shelter from rain, Courfeyrac passed his lighter around, minute flickers of deep orange lighting up the night.

“Are you coming to the after party?” Courf asked Enjolras, curled around his cigarette as if it would warm him up.

“I have 9am class,” Enjolras said, though he probably wouldn’t have gone anyway.

“That is such a Combeferre thing to say,” Jehan piped up, “You’ve been hanging out too much.”

“We are roommates,” Enjolras laughed, increasingly awkward without a matching cigarette in hand. “Anyway, he’s probably getting worried; I don’t usually stay out past midnight.”

“Oh, god!” Courfeyrac suddenly exclaimed, “I think he said he had something really important to discuss with you about Bach and maths or something.”

“Yeah that sounds like ‘Ferre,” Enjolras smiled, “I should head off. Nice show, everyone. See you around.”

Éponine pulled him into a hug because she was closest, and the boy sculpted from marble and gold weaved his way into the night, leaving the bubble of chatter far behind him.

A/N:

Hey yall this is a fic from my ao3 account, it’s a long one! If you want to see enjolras and grantaire bond over classical music then this is the fic for you! probs one of my favourite things I’ve ever written, so hope you enjoy! let me know what ya think! I’m songbird-musing on ao3 too so give me a shout!

[a-damson-in-distress]

The Protégé 4

Pairing: MadaSaku

Plot: In search of a new cellist for his prestigious orchestra, an infamously feared maestro stumbles upon a young rising star.

The Protégé 1

The Protégé 2

The Protégé 3

Edit: I almost forgot to add this super important note: A thousand thank yous to my regulars who have followed this story from the get-go. There are a few of you who never fail to show their appreciation and never forget to leave an encouraging comment. Don’t think I don’t notice you, you stalkers ;). I am immensly thankful for your feedback and your comments, they keep me so motivated and give me a sense of validation, like this isn’t just some sort of private thing that I only create for myself and nobody else gives a shit about it. If five hundred people read my story without leaving a comment or anything and I’ve only got the few reviews from you guys, it’s still enough to show me that my work is appreciated. So thank you!

Note: For those of you who are as confused about orchestral stage etiquette as I am and have no idea what’s going on with the whole handshake thing in this chapter, here’s what I found out about it while doing research for chapter four: The first violinist in an orchestra is also called the concert master, he represents the entire orchestra and functions as a sort of “team captain” if you will. So whenever the maestro invites a soloist, the soloist is supposed to shake hands with the maestro (thanking him for the invitation basically) as well as the concert master (though there are variations to this, some only shake hands before the performance, some before and after, etc.). By shaking the CM’s hand, the soloist essentially thanks all of the other musicians for their collaboration as solo concertos are usually a group effort, and you know the soloist can’t go around shaking the hands of a hundred people so they usually only shake hands with the CM *gasp* wow that was a long explanation. Aaaaaaanyway, here’s a video of the concerto Sakura is performing in this chapter: Camille Saint-Saën’s Cello Concerto No.1 in A minor. 

Enjoy, have fun reading, let me know if you liked it, leave a comment, send a carrier pigeon, send a smoke signal, you know whatever floats your boat. You know the drill. 

                                                               ---------

“A little to the left. Chin up. Perfect, stay that way.”

Sakura had trouble not squinting her eyes when the photographer unleashed another onslaught of camera flashes upon her. She was currently in his studio doing a photo shoot for the orchestra’s and the theatre’s official websites. Her probation period was over, and they were only a week away from kicking off their tour after their first performance at home, so now the New National Theatre was going to officially announce her as the principal cellist of Maestro Uchiha’s ensemble complete with interviews, articles, videos of her rehearsals, and ridiculously over-the-top photographs.

The nickname the press had given her after her solo in Sapporo spread like wildfire, and the orchestra’s publicist decided to capitalise on her image as the Imperatrix Furiosa. So they put her in a majestic velvet evening gown dyed in a scandalous scarlet with a skirt wide enough to allow her to spread her legs to accommodate her cello on the throne-like chair she was currently sitting in. Her hair was tied up into an overly dramatic and intricate updo and fastened with fancy kanzashi hair pins that were sticking out in such a manner they made it look like she was wearing a crown.

The dress and accessories paired with the red lipstick and dramatic eye make-up made her look every bit the Furious Empress and the enticing femme fatale of Japan’s classical music scene the publicist wanted her to portray.

And Sakura hated every second of it.

“Do you think you have enough pictures now?” the young cellist asked tentatively while trying to hold her unnatural pose.

Deidara, the orchestra’s publicist, looked up from the laptop where her photographs appeared right after being snapped. “Just a few more, sweety. You’re doing great, though.” He gave her an encouraging thumbs-up and shot her an apologetic smile. Great, Sakura mused silently, she must have looked more uncomfortable than she thought. And here she was thinking she was good at hiding it.

“Seriously, though, we need to wrap this up. She’s got rehearsal in an hour, and Madara will chop off my head if his MVP is late,” Sakura heard the blonde publicist explain to the photographer. She sincerely hoped the heavy make-up was covering the deep blush she could feel spreading across her cheeks at his remark. Did her Maestro really tell the publicist she was his most valuable musician?

“No grinning, please,” came the photographer’s command from behind his lens.

Right. Stop daydreaming, Sakura reminded herself.

Straightening her back and schooling her features, the pink-haired cellist remained motionless on her make-shift throne. After a few more minutes of clicking, snapping, repositioning, and flashing, Sakura was finally free to get out of her dress and wash off all that make-up. She undid her complicated updo and gathered her hair into a high puffy ponytail. Putting on her pastel green boat neck dress with box pleats and slipping into her simple white ballerinas, she immediately felt more comfortable, like her young and goofy self and not the mature and seductive diva the photographer wanted her to be.

“Chop-chop, darling. Maestro Menacing is waiting for you.” Sakura was torn from her thoughts at the sound of Deidara calling out from the other side of the closed door. The young musician had to supress a smirk at the sound of the nickname she knew the publicist secretly used for her Maestro. He wasn’t entirely wrong, Mr Uchiha really could come across as menacing and unapproachable. But Sakura had gotten to know another side of him over the last weeks as well. There was a gentleness to him he only rarely showed, tiny little smiles of satisfaction and subtle gestures of encouragement. As much as she appreciated his constructive criticism, she loved his nods of approval and his well done, Ms Haruno’s even more.

And she couldn’t wait to prove herself to her Maestro during the upcoming tour and hope for a bit more of his praise she so selfishly craved.

After Deidara and Sakura left the photographer’s studio, they immediately headed back to the theatre where the rest of Maestro Uchiha’s ensemble was already preparing themselves for one of their last rehearsals before kicking off their tour. Sakura took her usual seat to the right of the conductor’s music stand. She was so busy tuning her cello, she didn’t even notice her Maestro approach his podium.

“Ms Haruno.” A deep voice made her look up in surprise and she was met with the sight of the raven-haired conductor casually leaning on the rail of his podium with his strong arms crossed in front of his broad chest, clad in a meticulous three-piece suit sans the jacket.

The young cellist prayed to God her blush wasn’t as visible as she thought it was.

“Yes, Maestro?” she answered in a small voice.

“How was the photoshoot?”

Sakura gave him a weak smile and chuckled softly. “Honestly? It was horrible. They dressed me up in this heavy, floor-length gown and backcombed my hair so much it looked like I had a bird’s nest on my head in the end. And I had so much make-up on I could literally feel my pores dying a horrible death by asphyxiation. Please don’t look at the photos once they upload them.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t that bad. But if it makes you feel any better, I will not go actively looking for your pictures. Though I have to admit, I would love to see a pink bird’s nest.” Her Maestro’s teasing grin made her giggle, and Sakura looked up at the raven-haired conductor with a huge smile on her face.

Just in that moment, she could hear the sound of a camera shutter from her left. Both her Maestro and Sakura turned around in surprise and spotted Deidara standing in the middle of the countless rows of seats with a camera in his hand.

“Finally. Do you know how difficult it is to get a photo of two people together who both hate to pose for pictures? You two are a publicist’s nightmare, but you’re lucky you’re so goddamn photogenic.”

Sakura turned to Maestro Uchiha and looked at him questioningly. With an annoyed eye roll, he explained, “Deidara said he needed a picture of the two of us together for our countless social media profiles. He wants to make a post about me welcoming you to the ensemble or whatever, and apparently, I cannot officially welcome you without a picture.”

His obvious annoyance with the blonde publicist elicited another laugh from the young cellist. Sakura watched her conductor narrow his eyes at her before his own lips spread into a tiny amused grin.

“Alright, that’s enough giggling now, Ms Haruno. If you keep enjoying my jokes like that, the other members of my orchestra might start to think I actually have a heart.”

Biting on her bottom lip to keep herself from chuckling at his quip and again hoping that her blush wouldn’t betray her, the young cellist focused her gaze on her sheet music and readied her instrument for the rehearsal. The other musicians took their seats as well, filling up the vacant space around Sakura, and fixed their eyes on the conductor.

Maestro Uchiha gave his final orders, raised his baton, and the musicians started playing.

                                                            ---------

“I finally got Naruto to accept my karaoke challenge. He’s going to do Leona Lewis’ Bleeding Love at the bar tonight, you gotta come with us!”  

The pink-haired cellist looked up from her sheet music and was met with the face of her new roommate Ino, the principal clarinet of their ensemble. After her first rehearsal with the Tokyo Metropolitan Symphony Orchestra, Temari had introduced her to some people she claimed were the only tolerable ones, and Sakura immediately hit it off with the blonde musician. Not long after getting to know each other, Ino offered her to move in with her after her previous roommate accepted another job in a different city. Though some of her newly found friends in the orchestra, who had all known Ino for a long time now, jokingly advised her against it with the explanation that she’s bi and you’re annoyingly adorable and totally her type, she’ll eat you up and spit you out, Sakura hadn’t regretted a single second of being the roommate of the exuberant and feisty clarinet player.

“Sure, I’ll be there. I just need a minute to talk to the Maestro,” Sakura answered with an amused grin.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Ino bounce up and down with excitement. “Yay, it’s gonna be so great. We always go out the night before our first performance, without any alcohol of course,” the blonde musician added in a loud voice, pointedly looking in Maestro Uchiha’s direction before continuing, “but still, you’re gonna have so much fun with us. I’ll see you at home. And don’t be late, missy, I still need to do your makeup.”

Sakura was met with the end of Ino’s perfectly manicured index finger pointed accusingly at her face before the blonde turned on her heel and strutted off the stage as if it were her own personal catwalk.

Gathering her things, the pink-haired cellist made her way to the Maestro, who was currently busy berating his principal percussionist Naruto for goofing around with his timpani sticks during a break and pretending to have a swordfight with his fellow players. She decided to wait for them to finish and came to a halt in the middle of the string section when she realised that their orchestra’s concert master Kabuto was seemingly also waiting for a word with their conductor.

The grey-haired violinist was one of the musicians who hadn’t even spared her a glance on her first day. But while most of them seemed to have come around in the meantime or have at least started greeting their newest member, Kabuto was still adamantly giving her the cold shoulder. Whenever she tried talking to him, Sakura was met with nothing but haughty looks and condescending remarks. Though she had to admit, the moments of interaction between them were few and far between, because Sakura tried to keep them to a minimum. Their concert master was clearly of the highly competitive sort, and Sakura had no intention of letting him drag her into a musical pissing contest.

And still, manners were manners, so the cellist forced a tight smile and greeted him.

“Hey, Kabuto. Excited for our first concert tomorrow?”

The grey-haired violinist slowly turned his head and looked down his nose at her. He studied her for a second with narrowed eyes, as if trying to discern whether or not she was worthy of an answer, before opening his mouth, “I’m sure you are.”

Supressing the urge to roll her eyes at his usual cryptic answer, Sakura instead ignored his remark and cleared her throat. “So um, every CM seems to be handling stage etiquette a bit differently, so I wanted to ask you how you want to do the handshake tomorrow? Before and after, or just after or do you –“

“Honestly, Haruno, I couldn’t care less about the handshake or your solo. But if this really is so confusing to you, why don’t you go ask Daddy for help? It’s not like our Maestro has anything better to do than take his new little girl by the hand and show her how things work around here.”

What the hell was that supposed to mean?

Sakura could feel her cheeks heating up at his embarrassing remark, and she stared at him open-mouthed, stunned into silence. Luckily, she didn’t have to come up with an answer, since Kabuto was approached by another violinist in that moment, asking him whether he wanted to go out tonight.

“No thanks, I’ll be staying at the theatre for a while longer. I’ve got other plans for later,” the concert master explained with a devious grin.

After the violinist left, Kabuto made no attempt to address Sakura again, and Maestro Uchiha was still not done chewing out Naruto. Since she felt so incredibly uncomfortable in Kabuto’s presence, the young musician decided to grab her cello case and leave. Not even the prospect of talking to Maestro Uchiha for a few minutes was worth it, if it meant she had to spend another second in awkward silence with the concert master who seemed to hate her guts.

                                                              ---------

There was a ritual Madara had long formed a habit of going through before every concert he was going to conduct. It consisted of him mumbling every single articulation in chronological order of every piece of that night’s programme while he re-arranged the seats of his musicians on stage. Even though the stage crew of every theatre he ever worked at never failed to position everything correctly, the conductor still felt more at east when he could move every chair and every music stand to just the perfect spot.

Madara was currently contemplating whether to push a sax player’s seat half a centimetre to the left or to the right when he heard a commotion from backstage. He followed the noise to the labyrinth of dressing rooms where his eyes caught sight of three blonde musicians rushing from one room to the next, frantically looking for something.

“What do you mean, she can’t find it. It must be there!” Temari came rushing past him with a handbag before she promptly dumped its content on a table and started digging through it.

“I don’t know. When we got home last night, I asked her if all of her stuff was ready in the dressing room. She told me she checked everything three times, even tried on the shoes just to be safe, because she was afraid they gave her the wrong size.”

Madara watched his principal clarinet go through the countless makeup bags before she turned to another person in the hall. “Naruto, did you check the clothing racks in all the dressing rooms?” Madara’s gaze landed on the blonde percussionist who just entered the room with an apologetic shake of his head.

Clearing his throat to get their attention, the raven-haired conductor leaned against the door frame and let his gaze wander around the dressing room in which the three musicians were currently bustling about.

“Our concert starts in half an hour. I sincerely hope you’ll find whatever you’re so desperately looking for.”

Madara’s accusatory gaze met the desperate look of the blonde clarinet player before she approached him, grabbing his arm and tugging him down the hall.

“Maestro, you need to help us. It’s an emergency.”

Ino came to a halt in front of the closed door of another dressing room and knocked twice before letting herself in. Madara stayed behind, still unsure of what was really going on.

“Oh God, Ino, please tell me you have it, please! I need to be ready before anyone finds out, or before he finds out. Please, we need to hurry, Maestro Uchiha absolutely can’t know about this, or I’m screwed!”

Madara’s heart suddenly lurched in his chest at the sound of Sakura’s distraught voice so close to tears. He took a step forward and entered the room where he was met with the sight of his principal cellist dressed up in her concert outfit, a dark-green fitted pant suit, black patent leather Oxford’s, and a white blouse fully buttoned up – and missing a bow tie.

“Ms Haruno, what’s going on?”

She fixed her scared, wide eyes on him, and Madara was immediately hit with the urge to envelop her in his arms and assure her he’ll make everything right for her again.

The conductor couldn’t help but let his gaze be drawn to her beautiful mouth, invited by the sight of her teeth chewing on her bottom lip before releasing it to speak.

“Maestro, I’m so so sorry, but I … I can’t seem to find my bow tie. But I swear to God it was here. After the rehearsal and before I left the theatre yesterday, I checked if all of my stuff was ready like you told us and I swear to God my outfit was complete, I know I saw the bow tie with the rest of my clothes. But now it’s gone and we looked everywhere and I don’t know what to do. God, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry to disappoint you.” Her voice was shaky and on the verge of tears and Madara had to consciously restrain the urge in his feet to run to her.

He was just about to say something to comfort the distraught young cellist when he heard more voices approaching the dressing room. The maestro turned around to see a small crowd gathered outside the door, all asking and wondering what was going on with their youngest member.

“Nothing to see here, alright? Just looking for a lost bow tie. We’ll be ready any second now, so scram, got it?” The blonde clarinet player fixed the crowd with a stern gaze and waved her hands in front of her to signal the other musicians to disperse.

“Maybe we should help look? I’m sure we’ll find it faster that way. Then we can all get back to our preparations in peace.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Madara could see Sakura’s head shoot up and her eyes widen in surprise at the sound of his concert master’s suggestion. But before anybody could say anything, Kabuto had already turned around and left.

“I’m sorry for troubling you with this, Maestro. We actually promised Sakura not to tell you anything, but we really couldn’t find it anywhere after looking for so long, and now we’re kind of lost.” Ino’s apologetic gaze was shooting back and forth between the conductor and his principal cellist.

“It’s quite alright, Ms Yamanaka. I’m glad you told me. Now I can get to the bottom of this myself.”

When he saw Sakura’s worried expression turn even more desperate, Madara felt like slapping himself. That came out way more threatening than he intended it to. He was just about to clarify his statement when he heard a knock on the open door which made all their heads turn around.

Kabuto was standing in the doorway with his right hand raised, a bow tie dangling from the edge of his middle finger. “You’ll never guess where I found this,” he said in a casual tone, a barely visible smirk gracing his features.

Madara watched his principal clarinet cross her arms in front of her chest. “Oh I’m sure I will.”

Kabuto ignored her, instead stepping into the dressing room and approaching Sakura. “Somehow, it landed in a drawer of one of the dressing tables.” He slipped the bow tie off his middle finger, and Sakura barely had enough time to catch it. “Lucky for you I’m so thorough at everything I do.” He gave her what was probably meant to be a half-baked attempt at a sincere smile and then turned to face Madara, his fake grin widening, before he left the room.

The maestro’s eyes landed on the young cellist in front of him again, who was still staring after the concert master with a look of confusion. He glanced at his watch and cleared his throat.

“Everybody out. I need a minute with Ms Haruno.”

After her friends hesitantly left the room and closed the door behind them, Madara let his gaze rest on Sakura’s downcast head. It was then the maestro realised she was playing with the bow tie in her hand, tugging at it and turning it around between her fingers. She was nervous.

“Ms Haruno, look at me.”

At the sound of his soft command, Sakura slowly raised her head to meet his gaze. Madara had to supress a groan at the sight of her teeth chewing on her bottom lip again.

“Please don’t be mad at me,” her whispering voice pleaded with him.

“I’m not mad, Ms Haruno. I know none of this was your fault, trust me.” He closed his hands over her fidgeting ones and took the bow tie.

“Chin up.”

The young cellist just stared at him for a second, jade-green eyes wide with confusion.

Madara took a step closer to her, put a finger beneath her chin and forced her head up. He then proceeded to turn up her collar and fasten the bow tie around her neck.

“You’re not going to allow this incident to rattle you, you’re better than this and we both know it. Once I call you up on stage, you’re going to walk up there like you own the place, play your solo to perfection, and blow everyone away.” He gave her bow tie a final tug.

“Have I made myself understood, Ms Haruno?” Madara looked down at her with a strict gaze and a tiny amused smirk gracing his lips.

“Yes, Maestro,” Sakura nodded enthusiastically while smiling up at him with a look of pure determination.

“Good.” Madara grabbed her chin between his fingers and leaned closer to her face before murmuring, “I wouldn’t expect anything less form my protégé.”

He watched with satisfaction as a deep blush spread across her cheeks and her jade-green eyes widened in surprise, staring up at him with that look of wonder, reverence, and gratification she only seemed to have reserved for him, as if his praise was the only thing in the world giving her life meaning.

Unable to resist, Madara allowed his gaze to rest on her inviting lips for a split second before letting go off her chin and forcing himself to leave her dressing room.

His thoughts kept swirling around the young cellist even as he stepped onto the stage amidst tumultuous applause. The conductor had to admit that it was a good decision not to have Sakura join the ensemble for the entire programme but only for her solo in the last half hour; he probably wouldn’t have been able to keep his eyes from her. Though that wasn’t the original reason for not having her on stage for the entire performance. What Madara was really hoping to achieve with the late entrance of his principal cellist was to give her the grand introduction deserving of a musician of her calibre. After all, the Tokyo Metropolitan Symphony Orchestra was one of the most prestigious ensembles in the world of classical music, and Sakura Haruno wasn’t just anybody. And a good maestro knows to save the best for last.

Despite his mind being distracted with the image of her inviting lips only centimetres away from his own, Madara was still able to focus on the musicians in front of him as he led his orchestra through the concert’s programme. After they finished their second to last piece and when it was time for Sakura’s solo, he signalled his ensemble to quiet down, turned around on his podium to face the audience and grabbed a microphone.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, as you may have heard the Tokyo Metropolitan Symphony Orchestra has signed on a new member. As of this April, our vacant spot of principal cellist was filled with an immensely talented young musician from Kyoto. Though she doesn’t need an introduction, she’s going to get one anyway. She is an award-winning cello prodigy who was the youngest ever recipient of the first Grand Prize at the Rostropovitch Cello Competition at the age of sixteen. She studied under Takanori Nakano, Stjepan Hauser, and Steven Isserlis, to mention but a few. After establishing herself as a world-renowned cellist in her previous orchestras, she will now join us for our tour as the newest and youngest member of my ensemble. Ladies and Gentlemen, you will now hear Camille Saint-Saëns’ Cello Concerto number 1 in A minor with our new principal cellist Sakura Haruno as the soloist.”

Madara put down the microphone, stepped off his podium, and walked off the stage to where Sakura was waiting for him.

“Ready?” he asked with an encouraging smile.

She answered with a determined nod as her lips spread into an excited grin. “As I’ll ever be.”

The maestro signalled her to lead the way. As the cellist stepped onto the stage with her instrument in hand, the audience erupted into thunderous applause. Madara followed after her, clapping his hands like the rest of the guests and the musicians of his ensemble. He watched her bow deeply to the audience before turning to Kabuto and shaking his hand with a smug grin plastered on her face. She waited for Madara to step onto his podium before shaking his hand as well.

“Give ‘em hell, Ms Haruno.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see another one of her blushes he liked so much taint her cheeks as she took a seat and readied herself with a subtle, sincere smile gracing her lips.

Madara raised his baton while Sakura steadied her bow above the strings of her cello. They shared one last look, the cellist looking up at her maestro for guidance and the maestro giving her a tiny smile of approval. He nodded to his entire ensemble.

As the music enveloped the large concert hall, Madara could see Sakura sway in her seat, eyes closed and completely surrendering herself to her instrument. He knew in that moment that she was gone now, transporting her mind into whatever utopia she conjured up whenever she let go and allowed her music to simply take her away.

As easy as it was for him to get and hold her attention, the maestro had to begrudgingly admit that music still seemed to be the only thing able to ensnare her in a way he could not. He was going to have to change that soon enough, he decided.

But for the time being, Madara let her be. His protégé was lost to the world now, anyway.

[artemisegeria]

Love by Design (Chapter 10/11)

Title: Love by Design (Chapter 10/11)

Rating: T

Word count: 3130

Warnings: None for this chapter.  

Summary: Vision makes elaborate foam art as a barista at the coffee shop that his brother owns. One day a new customer comes in, and he completely loses his cool. As she keeps coming back, they grow closer. A casual acquaintance becomes something much more.

Chapter Summary: Wanda and the others complete their surprise for Vision. Wanda plays in her recital.

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16272371

Chapter 1  | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 

“Wanda, Wanda.” A gentle shake of her shoulder brought her back to the present. She was in her own bed, an increasingly familiar warmth curved around her back. They had begun to stay together at least three to four nights a week. Despite the nightmare, she still thought it funny that they spent more time together now that Vision had his own place. His concerned face led her back to the moment. “You seemed to be having a nightmare.”

Wanda rolled over to face him as she nodded and shuddered slightly. Vision let his hand travel from her shoulder to her jaw. “Was I saying anything out loud? Pietro always says I talk in my sleep.”

“You were apologizing.”

“Oh.” She was tempted to leave it at that and change the subject, but looking at Vision’s sympathetic frown encouraged her to go on. He pulled her closer, placing a hand on her back and softly massaging her. “It was my parents and my brother. They were saying that it was my fault they got sick. I had cursed them, and that was why I was the only one who didn’t get sick.”

“I’m sure none of them ever thought that.” Vision continued to rub soothing patterns over her back, and she let herself sink into the comfort he was offering. “I’ve heard the stories you’ve told of your family and I saw the way you were with your brother. I cannot imagine that any of them would begrudge your not getting sick; they would be happy that you were spared that pain.”

She leaned into his shoulder. He wrapped one arm around her shoulder and he brought his other hand up to cup her cheek. He kissed her forehead while brushing away the remnants of her tears. She leaned into him further.

He kissed her gently, touching his lips to the corner of her mouth.

“It’s always worst when I’m worried about something.”

“Is it the recital?”

She nodded. “It’s been so long.”

“You’ve been practicing hard. You’ll be ready.”

“Thanks.” She was finally able to smile weakly at him. He brushed the remaining tears from her cheeks with his thumbs and placed a soft kiss on her forehead. “Can we stay like this for a while?”

“Yes, it’s early.”

Wanda relaxed further into his embrace, taking the opportunity to let her pain and worries float away.

***

On the morning of the last rehearsal, the day before the actual recital, Wanda was glad for an excuse to get out of the apartment. Vision had already left his place to go to the library for the day, according to his early morning text, and she had asked him to stay at hers that night to distract her from her nerves. It was true that she was nervous. Preserving the surprise they had planned was only a bonus.

They had already planned to have their friends come to Vision’s place after her recital. They had been urging him to give them the full tour. But as far as Vision knew, it was only a simple dinner together. She hoped he would appreciate the far more elaborate plans they had.

She walked around the corner to where Scott’s van was parked. Everyone else was already inside. She put on her seatbelt, and they drove to Vision’s apartment.

They tried to unload all the boxes as quickly as possible. Once they were done, they arranged everything. Wanda orchestrated the placement of all the items, glad that there was still an empty bookshelf against the wall of the main living room.

As a finishing touch, Wanda placed the model ship she had retrieved on top of the bookshelf. She truly hoped Vision would focus on more on the happy early memories he had of his brother, rather than recent events.

***

Vision arrived at the community center an hour early to save seats for all of his and Wanda’s friends. He needn’t have worried because there were only a scattering of people in the hall, but he wanted to be sure.

Natasha arrived first. She sat next to Vision with a smile. “Everyone else should be here in a bit. Nice flowers.” She gestured to the bouquet of peonies he was resting in his lap.

“Thank you. They’re her favorite.” He remembered the last time he gave Wanda flowers. Though there was still a bitter pit in his stomach about Ultron’s betrayal, he was relieved that he would not ruin this moment.

Vision watched the musicians set up. Wanda gave him a small wave. She looked calm and unruffled, much to his relief. She had only grown more nervous over the last week. Seeing her begin to warm up showed him that this was her natural element. It was different from the times she had casually played piano for him. Here, she was focused, intent, in control of every movement.

Vision tried not to stare to hard. Natasha’s gaze always seemed uncomfortably probing when he and Wanda were in the same room. They were both convinced that no one knew about their relationship, but Vision privately thought Natasha might suspect. So he turned his attention to the other audience members.

When Clint, Sam, Steve, Bucky, Tony, Scott, Hope, Mantis, and Nebula trickled in, he shared conversation about their preparations for the upcoming school year until an announcement was made that the recital would begin in five minutes. Wanda gave him one more glance, and he shot her a brief thumbs up. He fancied that she looked more comfortable when she turned back to the cello.

***

Wanda accepted his bouquet was huge smile on her face. It was so much better than the last time he had given her flowers, with no interruptions. She fought the urge to kiss him on the cheek in thanks. They had not yet discussed when and how they would reveal their relationship to the group.

So she settled for a simple “Thanks, Vizh.”

“You are very welcome.”

Everyone else clapped her on the back and offered congratulations. The recital had gone as well as she could have imagined.

Natasha shot her a glance when Vision was turned away from them, gathering up his things. When he turned back to her, Wanda sniffed the bouquet appreciatively. “Hey, Vizh, could you do me a huge favor and help us pick up?”

“I would be happy to.”

Natasha walked up between them. “I’ll take your keys if you don’t mind. We can set up the food and drinks while you’re helping Wanda.”

Vision pulled his keys out of his pocket. “Here you are, Natasha.”

She winked at Wanda as she ushered the others toward the doors. Wanda drew him toward the rest of the musicians, introducing him around. They cleaned up all the instruments. Vision carried her cello toward her car. She stalled for as long as was reasonable.

She leaned toward him over the center console. “So…What did you think, really?”

“I admit I don’t have much comparison, but I thought you all played wonderfully.”

“And you’re not just saying that to be nice?”

“Not at all. I love your music. It’s an integral part of you.”

“Thanks.” Wanda could feel herself blushing, but she pushed the butterflies aside. She moved closer to him, tugging on his lapel. She fluttered her eyelashes at him. Vision’s eyes darted around, but upon noticing that the parking lot was almost empty already, refocused on her. “Care to give me a kiss before we’re surrounded by nosey friends?”

“I would.” He reached up to cup her face in his hands. Wanda still wasn’t used to the feeling of his tender caresses. They filled her with joy. Vision pressed his lips against her and pulled back. Wanda leaned forward to close the gap. They took turns kissing each other until Vision finally straightened up with every appearance of reluctance. “Loath as I am to cut this short, should we not join our friends?”

“I guess.” She trusted she had given them enough time. She buckled her seatbelt and Vision followed suit. “Let’s go.”

It was a short drive to his apartment followed by a short walk up the stairs to his floor. Wanda stood directly behind Vision when he opened the door. “Surprise!” they all shouted in unison. Vision was absolutely frozen, his mouth open helplessly. A banner proclaiming, “Welcome Home!” hung above Vision’s kitchen table. Balloons were also scattered around. A cake decorated with a set of keys and a cello sat on the table, while packages were piled on a side table.

Vision’s eyes flickered all around the room, from his now full bookcase to his laptop sitting on his desk. Wanda was beginning to think he was upset when he did not smile, but when he finally turned to her there were tears in his eyes, but he did not look displeased. “How?” he asked simply, voice coming out as a bare whisper.

“Well, Scott and Natasha had the idea to liberate your things from Ultron’s buyers. Then, we all got together to collect it. That’s why I asked for a key, so we could bring your stuff here as a surprise. And before you argue, we didn’t touch a thing that wasn’t rightfully yours, and they won’t go after us.”

“I-I wasn’t going to argue.” Vision still seemed mystified. She noted his eyes land on the model ship before he turned back to her.

“Sorry about that. I know things with your brother are hard right now, but I thought-.”

Wanda could not finish her thought before Vision softly gripped her shoulders and his mouth descended upon hers. She could barely think as his lips roved over hers. She returned the kiss eagerly.

He pulled away abruptly. “Oh, I-I didn’t mean…” His eyes moved from Wanda to the friends who are were all grinning smugly at them.

Cheers broke the silence that had fallen around them. “Finally,” Natasha sighed.

“It was about time,” muttered Tony.

Wanda looked at them sharply. “You knew?”

“Of course. We all did. Didn’t you notice that we stopped trying to matchmake as much. We figured it would be redundant.”

Sam chimed in, “Don’t look so horrified, Wanda. We’re happy for you and Vision.”

“I’m not horrified. I just thought we were being careful.”

Clint laughed. “Yeah, staring at each other and fighting not to cuddle every time you sat next to each other during game night was real subtle.” Wanda glared at him, but her eyes shifted to Vision. He had remained quiet throughout all this. He was still looking guilty and downtrodden, though their friends had clearly known for a long time before his public kiss.

She slid her arm around his waist. His lips began to form a smile in response. He put an arm around her shoulder.

They were interrupted again when Tony said, “Okay, okay, we really are happy for you guys, but I think we’ve seen enough PDA for the day. Let’s get this party started.” Wanda stuck her tongue out at him, but she accepted a plate from him.

It was nice not to having to hide from her friends any longer. Despite Tony’s complaint, she took full advantage of the revelation to stay by Vision’s side all night. They sat close together, holding hands or giving each other small pecks when their friends’ attention was elsewhere.

When Vision began opening his housewarming gifts, he thanked everyone profusely. Wanda was glad she was able to help everyone choose the items he really needed. Most of the gifts were décor that would liven up his apartment and turn it into a true home. Wanda made sure he saved the best for last, which they had all contributed to. Vision gave everyone a full-bodied grin when he opened the fancy coffee maker that rivaled any professional set up. “I cannot thank you all enough.”

Scott patted him on the back. “That’s what friends are for.” Their friends all murmured agreement, and Wanda squeezed his hand.

The rest of the night passed in laughter and fun, with games and copious amounts of teasing.

***

Vision woke up before Wanda on her first day of teaching. He was glad that he had awoken first because he had grown so used to late mornings since he no longer had to open the coffeeshop. The freelance tutoring and editing he had taken up in recent weeks to make ends meet allowed him enough freedom in his schedule to let his day be overly unstructured.

He rose and gathered the ingredients to make Wanda a proper breakfast, as opposed to the single coffee drink she usually opted for. Wanda’s alarm blared at seven a.m. sharp. Vision waited five minutes, but the alarm was still playing and no other sounds could be heard from her room.

He found her, face down in the pillow, mouth open and still sound asleep. Vision grinned a bit. He hated to wake her because she so seldom found refuge in deep sleep, but she would not want to be late for her first day.

He turned off her alarm and gently shook her shoulder. “Wanda, it’s time to get up.”

He was met with only a groan. “I have breakfast ready for you.” She groaned again. “Your students will be waiting for you.” Wanda buried her head deeper in the pillows. Vision found his lips curving up unconsciously. He would always take this sort of reaction over the last time he had to wake her up after a nightmare.

He shifted to rub her neck. “Wanda, I apologize, but you must wake up. I will be forced to resort to drastic measures soon if you do not get out of bed.” This threat also brought no response. With a sigh, he pulled all the covers off her.

She sat upright instantly, glaring at him. He thought some of the emotion might even be genuine. “Was that really necessary?”

“I think so. You were not responding.”

“I would have gotten up in a minute.”

Vision couldn’t stop a dry remark. “Yes, you looked like you were ready to spring out of bed.”

She tossed a pillow at him, which he caught easily. “Fine, I’m up now.” Her expression softened. “Did I hear you say you made breakfast?” A pleading tone entered her sleep-roughened voice.

“Yes, it will be ready for you whenever you are.”

“Thank you.” She finally rose and kissed his cheek. “I’ll be out soon. I just need to take a quick shower.”

“I will see you then.”

As promised, it was only about ten minutes before she came out to her kitchen. They sat down together, passing easy chatter about their upcoming days back and forth. When it was time for Wanda to walk to school, Vision gave her a brief kiss on the lips and wished her well.

***

The first couple of weeks in the new school year passed in a blur. Vision was spending every spare moment preparing for his presentation and Wanda was staging try outs for the Fall musical.

The day for Vision to leave for his conference arrived with a last burst of summer heat. Wanda crept out of bed early, impressed that she had woken before Vision for once. The first thing she saw when she exited the bedroom was his bag laid neatly by the door. She grinned to herself, always prepared early.

She heard the shower begin running, so she started putting breakfast together. Vision was still the better cook, but she had learned a thing or two over the past months. He took such good care of her that making breakfast was the least she could do for him.

Vision’s smile fell on her like the sun when he eventually emerged in a suit and tie. “Good morning, Wanda.”

“Morning, Vizh.” She took a moment to straighten his tie unnecessarily and wipe nonexistent lint off his shoulders. “All ready, I see.”

“Yes. And thank you for breakfast. It smells wonderful.”

“You’re welcome. Eat up while I do the dishes. Then, we can get going.”

Vision ate his omelette quickly, fingers of one hand unconsciously tapping against his knee under the table. Wanda reached for his hand to still it. He looked up at her with wide eyes, and she smiled soothingly at him.

“You’ll be great.” He shook his head slightly, and she squeezed his hand. “I’m going to tell you what you told me last month. You’ve been getting ready for this for months. You’ve done the presentation for me multiple times. You’re prepared.”

“Thank you.”

Vision leaned his forehead against her shoulder, and she wrapped her arms around his torso.

“Of course. Now I’ll clean up while you take care of the final details.” Wanda shooed him away, smiling at the look of abject gratefulness he sent her. She would still have to work on that.

A few minutes later, Vision returned. Wanda had already set the dishes to soak and was standing in the middle of the room. He approached her, reaching for her hands. “Just let me put my shoes on.”

She went to the bedroom, slipping into her shoes and grabbing her bag. Once she came out, she pulled him with her down the stairs, straight to her car. The drive to the airport was pleasant and uneventful; very little traffic got in their way.

Wanda parked at the curb. She got out, but kept the car running, mindful of the glare of the attendant who was on alert for anyone who tried to park in the unloading zone. “Have a safe trip, Vizh.”

“I am certain it will be well. I will let you know when I land.”

“You better.” She leaned up to kiss him once more. It was not as satisfying a kiss as she might have wished, but she was still aware of the audience of travelers coming and going. Wanda brushed her lips over his one last time before pulling away.

Vision intertwined their fingers. “I will miss you, Wanda.”

“I’ll miss you, too. But we can talk or text whenever we want. Let me know if you need a little pep talk.” She reached into her bag to pull out the box she had hidden inside. “And open this before your talk.”

His eyes lit up with curiosity. “Thank you. I will. I am certain that I will need encouragement before the actual presentation.”

Wanda caught the eyes of the attendant again. “I have to go, but I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Goodbye, Wanda. Have a good day at school.”

He waved at her one last time as he walked through the automatic double doors. She watched him go wistfully before getting back in her car and driving away.

[hylukotranslations]

FOOL'S MATE - May 2005 Album: Juusankai wa gekkou (13th floor with moonshine)

Hisashi Imai (Guitar) x Hidehiko Hoshino (Guitar) Interview by Yumiko Kakoi

I think it's the first time that an album of Buck-Tick is realized entirely on one theme. And the result is of a very high quality.

Hisashi : I think the result is practically the image or the conception of the world I had at the beginning.

Hidehiko : This time, with this concept, we realized a solid album and I think it's a good thing.

Since there is a great number of songs, haven't you payed careful attention to the structure and movement of the whole ?

Hisashi : This plagued us. We quarelled about it to the end (laughs). The melodies of the songs and also the lyrics are conceptual, so basing ourselves on their movement and in order not to bore, we thought about many things. I think this album's type is different from our previous ones like "Mona Lisa Overdrive". It's not like the sensation of having stirring songs, I thought above all about the total aspect.

In this meaning, the SE (note : sound effects ?) are really efficient. Interludes take place at each important point, this way the listener can go to the next scene naturally, like the movies and plays which progress changing the scenes.

Hisashi : At the beginning, I hadn't planned that there would be so many pieces. I thought there would be around 11 or 12 songs, and once the songs achieved it seemed it would be severe to just line them up. By introducing SE, I thought there would be more smoothness in the continuity. At first there were 2 SE made, and when it was about to decide on the order of the songs, I thought that if the last ended by an instrumental, it would be like a telop running in the end of a movie. So I hurriedly broke up a phrase to add one piece.

While composing, what points did you take care about in particular ?

Hisashi : I eliminated the sounds and phrases which were too refined to use vulgar ones, what wasn't what we call rock. And this time, we didn't include spacy noises coming from keyboards and synthesizers which seem to fly in all directions.

Hoshino-san, was there some particularity about composing for this album ?

Hidehiko : For example, in "Cabaret" the piano is the main instrument, in other songs we used orchestral sounds as theme, so we used this kind of classical feeling.

Clown, demon, doll, ghost, various characters take place. Did you make any suggestion for the content of these characters and lyrics ?

Hisashi : No, except for "Diabolo -Lucifer-", for the others there wasn't any kind of order. But it happened that some songs which had a temporary title kept the same title.

From the introduction "Enter clown" to around the 5th song, the world which is presented is very dense.

Hisashi : That what it became. I thought there was a right order, but from the 3rd song the opinions were divided. At the beginning we quarelled considerably. After a while I was bothered and didn't participate to the debate (laughs).

Then until "Doukeshi A (Clown A)" was chosen, all the members were getting heated ?

Hisashi : We wondered, so you have so many opinions men ? (laughs) Hide wanted to move immediately on to serious matters with "Gesshoku", while I said "Alive" would be better. At that moment there were already total differences, so I decided to look from above for a moment. Moreover, we were discussing drinking sake so it was impossible to reach a decision (laughs).

(laughs) Then maybe it's difficult to make a general image from the beginning. It's like to streghten to a certain point with parts and adjusting after.

Hisashi : Yes, like this one and this one form a set. This piece and this one have some parts which resemble somewhere so we moved them away from each other. We were proceeding like this, but it was difficult to find the right stuff among all that.

But thank to that, you obtained a structure in relief. With a clown as guide, there is the birth of the demons, a scene where music is played in a cabaret, we have a real impression of decadence.

Hisashi : I think that kind of story stands out.

The songs of Hoshino-san have a coolness which reminds me Bauhaus.

Hidehiko : About "Cabaret", I expected there wouldn't be speedy pieces in the album, so I wanted to do a song with a tempo which would be quite fast. "Ijin no yoru (Night of the stranger)" is a piece I had since before, but I changed it quite a lot to include it in the album. I added for example strings instruments.

At the 6th piece, the instrumental "Clown loves senorita" takes place and the atmosphere changes again.

Hisashi : For this piece, there was by chance an old pedaling organ at the studio and it suited quite well, so I made it with the manipulator Yoko(yama)-chan. I think we hear somewhere the grating noise of the organ.

The next songs "Goblin" and "Alive" are the most dynamic ones in the album, then after another SE we have "Doll". This song is the most gothic one to the highest degree.

Hisashi : The melody has a weird modulation and we had many difficulties for this one. This was I think the 4th time we transformed it. The drums pattern of the verse A became more solid and complicated. We had many difficulties during the recording. At the moment of introducing the guitar, I realized that I couldn't adjust the tempo to anything. I worry about the lives (laughs).

The next song "Passion" radiates I would say a very solemn image.

Hidehiko : For me this song is about something like the "crying".

The "Passion" has two meanings, one is about "feeling, ardour" and the other one "the Passion of the Christ".

Hidehiko : I was thinking about the first one.

Hisashi : What, really ? I thought it was "the Passion of the Christ".

Hidehiko : Then I change it into this one.

Hisashi : What's this then (laughs).

There is also the movie "Passion".

Hisashi : I've always thought it was that one.

Which kind of image had you at the origin ?

Hidehiko : I was thinking about a not too much heavy impression. It's majestic, but there is more humanity.

Hisashi : I knew there would be this kind of introduction.

Hidehiko : It's long isn't it. It became involuntary long (laughs).

The next one is, I would say a surprise, at the 13th piece we have a silence during 13 seconds. I thought : "I've been had !"

Hisashi : I did it at the very end. I wasn't aware it was the 13th piece, but I thought, after all why not letting a silence. But well, I took the idea from John Cage.

Didn't you have the intention to do one day a John Cage piece ?

Hisashi : Not at all. I thought that 13 seconds would be long, but when I listened to it at the mastering, I thought : "finally 13 seconds are quite short", so my mind was at ease.

Since I was convinced the previous song was "the Passion of the Christ", I thought this silence of 13 seconds was suggesting the death, I imagined many things.

Hisashi : I don't like this sinister impression (laughs). I hope nothing will happen.

I think the fact this album is completely fictional gives you the possibility to play with the figures this way. After the piece "13 seconds" comes the single "Romance -Incubo-". By the way, what means Incubo ?

Hisashi : It's the Spanish reading of Incubus. A title for the album version was needed, and since a title like something mix didn't suit, I thought a name of a demon would be good. So I looked in a kind of an encyclopedia of demons and thought Incubus would fit the best.

So you have an encyclopedia of demons. Have you consulted any books related to gothic for this album ?

Hisashi : No, I bought this encyclopedia a long time ago, and it's a book of a game, not a specialized book about demons.

Do you like evil stuff ?

Hisashi : No no (laughs). It's just interesting.

With this album, aren't you asked : "so you like gothic ?"

Hisashi : Yes, I realized that people surprisingly didn't see me like this. I could show I also have this kind of drawer, though I never opened it.

The previous month I said that at your beginnings you had dark and gothic oriented songs, but you seemed to more and more move away from this kind of world. So I was quite surprised.

Hisashi : That's was also what I was feeling.

So once more I ask you : "why now ?"

Hisashi : Well, the need of doing it came out spontaneously. I wanted to know how it will be to do seriously something gothic and theatrical now.

If we inverse, you would say : "it's now that we can do it".

Hisashi : Yes, so that I could see if we can work skillfully aiming this point.

Did you also have the self-confidence that with the current band's ability you could realize an album with a considerable quality ?

Hisashi : Yes. I think that before, we had some quite disjointed aspects.

I think that a world which is very imaginary can, if the worst comes to the worst, have the risk of becoming false, but when it's that in-depth, it's simply great.

Hisashi : Maybe the ones who don't like this kind of world won't be able to listen to it. They would feel ill at ease.

Hoshino-san, did you feel confused about making a gothic album ?

Hidehiko : Not at all. I thought it was interesting, and once into it, it was rather easy to work.

On which points ?

Hidehiko : It's something I had originally in me, and since there was a concept I could go straight forward.

It's true that for the young bands it would be difficult to do that. The next song is "Muma -The nightmare-"

Hisashi : I didn't expect the lyrics would look like this, I mean "the tundra" (laughs). At the origine this song had an image of a four-four time one, and it's the one on this album which is the nearest to "Mona Lisa-". I wanted it to be a solemn and grandiose piece. While I was trying various stuff, I obtained this synthe-bass pattern. I wanted this song to be exaggeratedly imposing.

And the end is concluded by "Diabolo -Lucifer-" and the instrumental "Who's clown ?"

Hisashi : At first, there was the inverse pattern of "Muma -The nightmare-" and "Diabolo -Lucifer-". I absolutely didn't want that it ends by "Muma -The nightmare-". I wished to avoid what looked like an ending. I thought it would be more scary if I inversed them. Talking about movies, it would look like a scene in "The omen" : "what, he is still alive ?"

Indeed, when it ends by "Diabolo -Lucifer-" we have the impression that all the characters come back to life in the end.

Hisashi : Like if all was going back to the start.

Personally, this song reminded me Tom Waits.

Hisashi : Ah, exactly. As an image or presence, it's Tom Waits.

I realized again your capacity to asemble under one concept so many various songs.

Hisashi : But I didn't expect it would become like this. So, I think it would have been impossible without this number of pieces.

I'm impatient to see your live. I wonder if you'll reproduce this or if you'll reconstruct everything differently from the album.

Hisashi : Yes, maybe we'll change the order of the songs and construct the live quarelling again (laughs). But it's from now that we'll do meetings and others for the lives.

This year correponds to the 20th anniversary of the formation of Buck-Tick. Do you feel any emotion about it ?

Hisashi : No, nothing at all. I thought, it's again that. There are two types of anniversaries, such years since the band is formed, such others since our debut, so I wish they chose just one. There are so often, it's not Winter Olympics (laughs).

Maybe the concerned artists don't care that much about it. Were these 20 years like a short moment or was it long ?

Hisashi : I didn't feel at all it was long. Just a banal : "is that so ?"

(laughs). And you, Hoshino-san ?

Hidehiko : About the 20 years ? I didn't feel any particular emotion. When I was told it I thought : "ah, that's true". I have the impression it was short. "So much time already ?" would be my honest impression.

--fin

translation: hyluko [livejournal] scans: tigerpal [livejournal]

NOTE: these translations are not mine also might not be very accurate. i took them from hyluko’s site using the wayback machine. thought they’re great to share. if the owner is around and wants me to take them down i will!

[doomedandstoned]

What Weird Tales We Weave!

During a particularly long and vicious Pacific Northwest winter, I developed a strange affinity for a band called WEIRD TALES. The doom trio of Dima (guitars, vox), Kriss (bass, vox), and Kava (drums) emerged three or four years ago from a part of the world that gets cold, miserable weather ten times as worse as mine. I was never quite sure what to make of the Warsaw band's warped, sloggy sound, made all the more odd with its imposing Gothic vocals and pernicious earworms. All I knew was that Weird Tales had some bad, bad medicine to offer during a time in life when I'd grown pretty jaded and disillusioned. It was, as the well-worn saying goes, just what the doctor ordered.

Before us is the latest and most ambitious effort to date from Weird Tales and I must say it's showing me a brave new side to the band. As 'Hell Services Cost A Lot' (2019) opens, we hear an orchestral crescendo of screeching feedback. Dogs are barking in the background, perhaps to warn lurkers of dangers just beyond the shadows. The band responds with a vicious beating of guitar, bass, and drums. It's an attack we're not used to hearing on doom records and I find it refreshing to break away from the gloom for a chance to vent some good old fashioned aggression. This instrumental preamble eventually gives way to the first words of "Madness" and the record is off to take care of its mischief.

Hell services cost a Lot by Weird Tales

I don’t know just who I am I don’t know who is that man He looks on me from the fucking mirror Stares at me and laughs, waiting for you

Voices in my skull come louder and louder Push me to that edge, there's no return Where I put them bones on bloody altar Drinking wine, dancing, waiting for the end

Hey Get out from my brain I don’t need you there Get out from my brain I don’t need you there, I don’t want you there

Hell services cost a Lot by Weird Tales

"Crawling Pain" is next and I can't get over just how much the band's style has shaken off that hazy, bummed-out strangeness. Seriously, their first two EPs (both dropped in 2017) are like tripping out on cough syrup. I wanted to review them (really I did), but I struggled with what to even say. You don't talk about the Golden Age of Weird Tales; you live it, man. With Hell Services, it's like the boys woke up after an all-night bender, seized by a sudden rush of early morning adrenaline, grabbed the carpe diem of the day and exclaimed, "You lazy, no good son of a bitch, give me my goddamn money!" I swear, I almost thought I was listening to a different band, like there’d been some big personnel change or something, so different was the state of things. Put another way, if Weird Tales and Shiny Void were a dextromethorphan-soaked dream, Hell Services is like a PCP-fueled nightmare.

Hell services cost a Lot by Weird Tales

Here's another thing I didn't expect to hear on a Weird Tales record: the harmonica. I mean it works, but WTF. "LIE" shakes me loose from my comfort zone. I've heard enough doom metal to pretty much know the tricks, the tropes, the whole shebang. I trust Weird Tales have, too, so I'm pretty sure they're pissed off by the whole thing, so they upset the stage coach just enough to keep us guessing (and hanging on for dear life) for the duration of the record. Whether it's for our benefit or theirs, anything's better than boredom, right?

Hell services cost a Lot by Weird Tales

By far, my favorite song of the album is "Nightmare." It is indeed a frightening song (my chest seized up a little when I listened to it in complete darkness -- yes, sometimes I do these crazy things just because). I smirked when I read the lyrics sometime later, realizing the band's sardonic humor has not disappeared.

Nasty hands inside the walls They will get you when you are alone Mom and dad can erase your fear Anyway they will not hear your scream

A heavy blanket covers your eyes Every time you see something wrong The world you made seems so pure Seems so pure that you can’t even breathe

Living the nightmare Live in the nightmare

Hell services cost a Lot by Weird Tales

Maniacal laughter transitions us from the rabid savagery of "Bitchcrusher" into "Warnings" where Weird Tales really get their "Slomatics" on. I do believe this is the loudest and the largest I've heard them. If I heard this echoing out of my window in the dead of night, I would swear that the pit of hell had been open and Satan's demons were being loosed to troll the hell out of mankind.

Hell services cost a Lot by Weird Tales

It’s not until the record’s wild ride comes to a head that we pick up hints of the Weird Tales of old. “Dead Man” is this final number. No wonder. It’s the perfect vehicle to bring a return to sluggish form, though not for long because madness never takes a vacation. Hell Services concludes on a high note with the same bang-up, rip-torn, kick-ass note it started on.

Hell services cost a Lot by Weird Tales

A colleague of mine who deals in more new doom than even I do remarked some weeks back that Hell Services is the best album of the year so far. I'd given it a cursory listen at the time, but hadn't revisited it for months. I swear, my thinking was so cluttered from the traffic jam of new releases from big names and heavy hitters in 2018 that I didn't give as many lesser known bands a fair, focused listen. Good music does not depend on the PR cycle, and thank Christ for that.

All that to say this: the full-length debut from Weird Tales is indeed a good album. No, more than that, it is a great one -- especially when you know how distinguished the Poland scene is with the likes of Dopelord, Major Kong, sunnata, Spaceslug, 71TONMAN, Weedpecker, and BelzebonG. Weird Tales have risen to the occasion with the obstinacy of a punk crew driving a tricked-out Sherman tank.

Hell Services Cost A Lot is an acid-seeped wonder to join the likes of Satori Junk's Golden Dwarf, Three Eyes Left's The Cult of Ashtoreth, Shepherds Crook's Evil Magician, Magmakammer's Mindtripper and other far-out fever dreams.

☠

A Walk on the Weird Side with    Mad Men Dima, Kriss, and Kava

Photographs by Beata Wiśniowska  

Alright, let's do start with a little round of Who's Who?

DIMA:

Okay, there's Kava, our drummer. He had played in Luna Negra, one of the first Polish stoner bands, since 2008. You can find their records on YouTube. A couple tracks still have more viewers than Weird Tales. (laughs)

Next is Kriss, the bassist, who also provides backing vocals. Kriss played in the stoner band Sun Frenzy previously. You should check them out on Bandcamp.

I, of course, am Dima. I’d never played stoner music before -- and thank the gods for that.

How did you guys get together to begin with?

DIMA:

One day, I lost my job for drinking beer on a break and sniffing drugs on my office table -- in official documents they mentioned only liquor. (laughs) So my first thought, besides getting more cheap beers, was to start a doom band. The only right choice, isn't it? The same day, I came to a jam session in order to meet some people to play doom with and in the next couple days met Kava at our first rehearsal. I already had some ideas and riffs, just didn’t have desire to work on it and make structured tracks. I needed like-minded people to share ideas and work on it with others. You know, like in every art. When you're alone, it’s like jerking off. Definitely enjoyable while doing it, but without any sense. With Kava, we smoked couple of bowls while listening Ufomammut and agreed about the direction we should go as a band.

Kriss came later. Actually, he’s our fourth bassist. He is a crazy motherfucker! And he was our biggest fan in a town. (laughs) Visited all our gigs. When his band broke up, we were looking for a new bassist, so offered him a tryout. After a couple of rehearsals, we knew that he was exactly what we were looking for. It’s really easy to play with a guy who likes your music and knows what it's all about. So we found a common language really quick. He's got a really cool groove. Have I mentioned yet that he’s a crazy motherfucker? We rehearsed a couple of old and new songs, then headed right out on tour.

Kriss and Kava, what got the two of you into this kind of music?

KRISS:

It has to be Satan, I guess, but I don't believe in Satan -- and that’s weird.

KAVA:

The Devil, alcohol, drugs, good fun, girls.

Fair enough. What it's like to live and grow up in your neck of the woods?

KRISS:

I grew up like a long time ago and it was nothing like “growing up today.” Back in the day, we had stationary phones and not so much surveillance cameras. So you can guess it was easier to get away with some stupid ideas, as they were executed. I don't envy all that stuff kids have now. They have to cope with a lot more control. And about growing up in Poland as a country? Hmm, I guess it's like growing up every elsewhere. Every country have it pros and cons. The important thing is “who you are, not where you grew up.”

KAVA:

I live in small town near Warsaw. Nothing to do. You need to support yourself or work in fabric -- or you can just drink and smoke. One day, I met some crazy guys and tried to do the band. Of course, it was more alcohol and fun in the beginning.

I'm curious about some of the things that have shaped you both as musicians and humans.

KRISS:

I guess we don't have time for like a biography here, so I'll make it simple. Life and music are all tied up in each other for me, in the little things that drive a person into doing it over and over again. You just try to stay busy with a lot of different things so that you don’t get caught up in boredom. I guess it’s the best way of sizing up both my life and my music.

KAVA:

I pay some heavy shit for the devil and, of course, some old girlfriends, old movies, Black Sabbath albums, and shitty albums, too.

What's the significance of your name, Weird Tales?

DIMA:

Come on, man. That would be too easy! Often people ask us, "Is it from H.P. Lovecraft?" No. Actually, I don’t know where it came from! I always write down some ideas and phrases that I like on a paper. I got a lot of notes strewn all over my apartment. I can’t find anything I need in this chaos, but sometimes find something better than I was looking for. So one of the phrases I happened upon in this mess was "Weird Tales" and it fit the best.

The other most frequent question we get: "Did you take your name from the Electric Wizard song called 'Weird Tales'?" To which I say: I don’t know and fuck you for those stupid questions. It doesn’t matter. I just found it on a little piece of paper in my house and was never interested in where it came from.

We had some songs ready and they were about surreal stuff when you can't distinguish real life from a bad trip. Those songs have an interesting structure, unusual riffs changes. Each one was different and the name Weird Tales was good from every point of view. Lyrically and musically, we like when a song has a plot, and in the future we will continue writing songs that tell strange stories about strange shit happening. Thus, Weird Tales. Ironically, our English is pretty sucky and we can’t even properly pronounce "Weird Tales." (laughs)

Not to ramble, but I'm curious about the difference stylistically between your first two EP's and the LP. The early stuff seems quite blithe and depressive, makes me feel like I do when I have "medicine head." The new stuff is another beast entirely, like someone who has just snapped out of a weeklong bender on rubies.

KRISS:

And that I guess is my fault -- not all, of course, but I like to think that I had some serious influence, especially on this one. Those first two EPs were recorded with another bassist. I was invited to a band just before they planned to record their first album. I've seen these guys perform like a lot times before and I saw something “special” about their music, something -- as I was constantly repeating when I met them after their gigs -- “that no one wants to do in their bands, but so interesting that it’s not supposed to be lost at any point.” So when we finally got together, I tried not to change “their way,” but to “commemorate” it and add as much power and passion into it as only I was able to do. And, of course, Dima is the first one who supposed to answer this question, because he is mostly responsible for those sick-minded sounds. (laughs) Nobody knows what he's got on his mind next, when comes to writing music.

DIMA:

You know, when you write music you don't think much about the kind of style you're going write, except you do not assume from the beginning that you want to write another stoner-doom album about witches. You don't want to be another one to vomit on the music map, just to show that you are represented in a theme. So I just write and play what I want now, which feels like a more natural process. I want to play these kind of sounds now, because it has its place to be here and now in that shape. Of course, it’s coming from life experience, as a way to share your emotions and feelings which have internal roots and act in response to external factors. I'm trying to share that shit in a metaphorical and allegorical way.

Weird Tales (EP) by Weird Tales

I fucking like your interpretation of our EPs and this stylistic difference between them and the LP. You got the point of the message. I like to read the opinions of people who have really found something in our music. Then I compare it to what's been sitting in my head -- stuff I couldn't wrap into words, so I made music to say it. (laughs) It's like reverse feedback to me. I can better understand myself, as a result.

I interpret the changes between our EPs and this album similarly to how you articulated it. It's like you are on acid and have a bad trip. When the bad trip is at its peak, your ego dies and you have this apathetic feeling -- the Weird Tales EP -- and when your bad trip starts to calm down, you have so much energy and feel so good that this shit is over. You understand that this experience will stay with you 'till you die, but for now you have returned to a planet that did you not hope for. So you starting having fun, drinking vodka, and sniffing speed 'till that psychedelic vibe smoothly slides away from you skin and is replaced with a pleasant fire. That is the feeling associated with Hell Services Cost A Lot for me. Sad songs played with a lot of fun.

And your second EP, 'Shiny Void'?

DIMA:

Oh, it’s similar to first one, but this time the bad trip is not coming unexpected. You involve it with full understanding of what will happen now, in order to dive into this madness, hoping to find something there.

Shiny Void (EP) by Weird Tales

What is the background of the new album and how does it fit with your overall evolution as a band?

DIMA:

Nothing special. Some old stories about doing drugs that leaves a trail on your mind, as every honorable man has done a time or two. Also, other mental issues that we probably should tell to psychiatrists, instead of a music journalist.

From musical composition side of things, it was really fun. After we finished our second EP, we already had drafts of a couple songs. The songwriting process was quick as ever. I brought riffs and ideas to a rehearsal and we jammed and quickly agreed with the way a track should go. Even uncommon ideas were quickly accepted by everyone.

We changed bassists while writing this album. Surprisingly, it didn’t slow down the process, because Kriss is a really good fit for Weird Tales. Also we tried to play with a second guitar, because we heard richer arrangements. We even did a tour together with an additional guitarist. But anyway, now we are a trio again. You can hear those second guitar arrangements on Hell Services Cost a Lot -- most of them I now playing alone. It complicates the process a little, but not critically. The most important thing that we three feel great together and have a lot of fun while playing loud and heavy. We share that energy while on stage with audience.

Walk us through each of the songs on the new album and please share anything you can about their meaning.

DIMA:

It’s simple. We've got six tracks about Satan and one about the sea. (laughs) Seriously, though, I’m glad you ask, because it’s a concept album. You absolutely can receive it as you like, it’s cool. But directly or indirectly, the album tells the story of one poor fool. And this guy is a crazy fuck! He definitely needs help, 'cause his mind is drooling without stopping. He has visions and hallucinations, bipolar all the way. And this guy feels that pain all the time. That kills him from deep inside, and the thing is that he doesn’t know is this pain real or not. But it doesn’t matter at all, 'cause he feels it burns him like fire. Of course, this guy has some problems with drugs.

"Nightmare" shows us that his troubles are deeper than it maybe seems. He is still being persecuted by the shit from childhood. He tries to escape from it and makes his own safe reality that certainly will collapse. So that crazy fuck is a poor fool who certainly needs help, though most of his troubles actually come from his own decisions. No...no. Actually, he crossed the line a long time ago. This fuck slays women behind the garbage bins. And in parks, too. Crushes those bitches all the time. Then he fucks their cold bodies -- or not? If you want, he could. So he does all those disgusting kills and slays for the Gods of Death. Making altars from the limbs and trying to find a blessing and freedom from his pain.

The surrealistic pressure in the album grows the most in "Warnings”. He doesn’t understand entirely what is going on. He's tunneled right through to the other side, seeking to fall even further.

On the last track, “Dead Man,” he's killed himself. Only good decisions for such scum like him. He drowned himself in water. And remember that it’s just six tracks about Satan and one about the sea.

No classic Milton or Dante references in your doom, I take it?

DIMA:

There are none. We think film and literature references just suck. And we actually have one track on our 2nd EP that has its lyrics based on a movie, so we suck. (laughs) But again, if seriously, it’s okay if you got some idea from a movie and interpret it in your own way. It’s applicable in art, but it sucks when you straight retell the plot of a movie or book.

Every song on Hell Services Cost a Lot could be taken in a few different ways. Everyone is god. You could receive every track separately or like a part of complex story. There are a couple of true stories about self-issues and shit from real life, mixed up with some fictional stories and told in a way that contain some thoughts, deep or not really. (laughs) We like when there is something more besides straight storytelling -- something that fucking voice in your head tells you to desire.

What's the strangest or darkly funny thing that you've witnessed while gigging?

KRISS:

There are a lot of things that happen at concerts and events. I don't even know where to start, so I’d rather tell you about what are, in my opinion, some of the funniest misconceptions about playing music live. Everybody that I know, who doesn't really have an idea about what it looks like to play concerts or to go touring, thinks it's like something out of a movie. You know, doing cocaine from groupies' asses in a big tour bus, chugging on a bottle of JD or vodka from morning 'till evermore. They don't know that it's like all waiting. You’re on your way to a place and you’re waiting in an overstuffed car. When you finally get there, you’re waiting for the sound engineer, waiting for your time to soundcheck, then waiting for the event to start, waiting for your turn to take the stage, etcetera, etcetera.

Concert Footage by Viktor Chaikovskyi

You can, of course, fill those time gaps with some buzz or other “stuff,” but not too much or it will ruin your show. And when you finish your gig, it's time to pack your stuff back up and more waiting ahead as you get on the road again. Maybe “bigger bands” would have more things to do, but at this point for me it's all waiting. (laughs) And as like-to-be-busy man like me, boring is the most dangerous thing 'cause a lot of stupid ideas come to my mind -- especially under influence.

KAVA:

Our merch table is very funny. You can get some fresh fish or vegetables! We have some new ideas for the shows, but it's secret and too crazy for now. (laughs)

You all seem to have a pretty irreverent attitude and dark sense humor.

KRISS:

Oh shit, you got me! (laughs) But take a look around. If anybody takes this world seriously, I really start to feel pity for him. If he's taking life dead seriously, it begins to even get scary. If you look from a good distance at all the stuff that happens around us, it looks ridiculous and doesn't seem to matter at all. A bunch of pretty primitive creatures jumping around, fighting for better resources to get more mating opportunities.

It's as basic as it's always been, but people seem to turn that basic lifestyle into an “all-meaningful soap opera.” As they try to cover their animal-based foundation, it getting funnier and funnier. It's not like I want to see people walking around like caveman-style dudes, but developing serious issues from “not getting enough attention on internet” or taking a loan to buy the newest version of a mobile phone? Man, that's sick. And I'm I don't even know where to begin with religion: just leave it. At some point in our lives, everybody dies and the point to it is supposed to be hanging the bar higher for those that come after us. With that said, let's not get caught up into it too seriously, I guess.

KAVA:

Yeah, people sometimes don't get it, especially when you talk about somebody's mother-sister wet dreams

Finally, what do you like to do for work and hobbies when you're not involved in Weird Tales?

KRISS:

I do a lot of stuff. I have to be busy all the time. Like all the time, man. Otherwise, I freefall into a black hole of nothingness and self-hatred for wasting “time given me on this earth.” So I draw, paint, cook, do handmade-DIY-style-stuff, and music above all of that. And somewhere on the bottom of the list, there is “work” to pay for all of those hobbies. I would like music to pay my bills eventually, but we're not living in a dream world. (laughs) Maybe someday.

KAVA:

All day I try to figure out rhythms for Dima’s new riffs and cook some fresh meat.

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[putschki1969]

Wakana in Concert with the Roma Italia Symphony Orchestra – Live Report

Okay, here’s my report. This time I didn’t want to wait too long since I was scared I would forget all about the details. Without further ado, let’s get to it.

First of all I wanna say one thing: WOW! Just WOW! This was a PERFECT live. I will be honest, I had my doubts when I first heard that this concert wasn’t just about Wakana. When they announced that Ryu Masaki would be joining I was quite bummed and felt a little cheated. Then Wakana announced in her latest blogpost that Mana Ogawa would be joining the live too and I was like “eh?? Why are you doing this to me? I thought this was a Wakana concert and not an ensemble live!!“ Turns out I needn’t have worried. While Ryu Masaki got to sing a handful of songs this was most definitely Wakana’s show (I actually feel kind abad for Ryu Masaki fans who attended the live). And Mana Ogawa was more of a backup singer to be honest (and she only appeared during two songs).

Overall thoughts on Wakana’s vocals: Flawless. For me she was honestly flawless. Yes, her breathing was still there and quite noticeable at that but that’s just part of her charm I think. Fans love her breathing and I think YK likes it too or she wouldn’t keep it in the studio recordings. But aside from that Wakana really slayed. She has never sounded better in my opinion. The arrangments were slowed down quite a bit so she never was out of breath and she got the chance to really hold her notes. Her voice was so strong and pure and perfect and she hit pretty much each and every note (even during believe which has never happened as far as I can remember!). She didn’t use her airy/flimsy/breathy voice once. At times she was a bit quiet compared to the orchestra but I only really noticed it in one song and even there it wasn't too bad (Jupiter). Not sure if the orcestra was just super loud here or if Wakana wasn’t feeling confident with a new song but at any rate, she got used to it suoe quickly and then she slayed. Wakana was BORN to sing like this, with dramatic orchestral arrangements. She didn’t strain her voice once and even though she sang quite a lot of songs in a row she didn’t seem to sweat at all. She obviously had a lot of fun and you could tell that she was well-rested. I am so glad she got to take a break. It was such a pleasure to see her this refreshed and happy. Now let’s start with the live itself

First Half

01. Nuovo Cinema Paradiso Theme This was an instrumental piece and it perfectly showcased the skills of the orchestra. I had never heard of this piece before (apparently it’s from an Italian movie by famous composer Ennio Morricone) but I immediately fell in love with it. Check out this version on youtube, it’s pretty much the same arrangement that was played during the concert with the violin in the lead). Very lovely and the orchestra already conveyed an epic feeling. I couldn’t wait to hear it in combination with Wakana’s voice. After this overture Wakana came on stage. She looked absolutely gorgeous wearing a white strapless dress with black glittery details in the waist area. The material and cut were more or less the same as the second dress which she changed into in the second half of the live (the white one had a tighter/sexier fit though). The picture below doesn’t do justice to Wakana’s actual dress. Wakana’s dress had a bigger bustier part and made her boobs look huge XD The black details didn't span such a big area on Wakana’s dress, it really was mostly concentrated on the waist area. While this looks like lace, it was definitely not lacey on Wakana’s dress, it was beaded. Sorry, I can’t explain it better.

02. Oblivious They changed the arrangement a lot for this one. They left out the ahhhhhh parts (why?? that would have sounded awesome and Wakana would have ruled!) and they slowed the song down quite a bit. Wakana had three (or was it four?) chorus singers supporting her during certain parts to make the song feel more epic (and to replace Keiko’s parts). On this note I wanna say that the back-up singers did an amazing job, they didn’t intervene too much (the focus was 100% on Wakana’s voice) but they definitely elevated the performance. I think out of all songs this might have been my least favourite performance. Simply because it didn’t feel like the new arrangement made the song any better. The oomph factor was missing and it seemed like the orchestra didn't have much to do. But still, Wakana rocked the stage! Overall, one of my least favourite performances that night.

03. Kimi ga Hikari ni Kaete Iku My dreams have come true. I have been to heaven and come back. This was perfection. UTTER PERFECTION. I have honestly no words to describe it. All I know is that I can die happy now. There were no supporting singers for this one here. Just Wakana and the orchestra. It was more or less the acoustic arrangement from the re/oblivious single but better. I never liked the first half of that song because the chorus felt anti-climactic (do I make sense?) but here she sang the first half just like the second half. The strings in this one killed me. So utterly gorgeous (comparable to the Christmas Live version but so much more epic and grande! Just check out the X-Mas version and fast forward to the “mezameta asa...” line and you will know what I am talking about) And Wakana’s voice was just so rich and beautiful, I couldn’t stop crying the entire time. THANK YOU SO MUCH WAKANA FOR SINGING THIS SONG!

04. Kizuato I have never been a huge fan of this song but the orchestral arrangement made it so much better in my opinion. Especially towards the end I had goosepumps because the song just kept building up. Here Wakana was supported by back-up singers again. It’s funny how they used a male singer to replace some of Keiko’s parts XD. Also, I don’t know how to explain it. The back-up singers didn’t sing all the Hikaru/Keiko parts, they just added a bit of flare here and there. For the most part, the arrangement was changed so that Wakana was able to sing all the parts. Oh, I forgot to mention, poor Wakana forgot her lines during the second verse, there was an awkward silence for two seconds or something but then she caught on quickly and dealt with it professionally. I think it must have been one of Keiko’s lines.

Ryu Masaki Part I will say that she really amazed me. I listened to a couple of her songs before the live so I kinda knew what to expect but still, she is an amazing singer! My Heart will Go on and I don’t Wanna Miss a Thing are two of my all time favourite movie tracks and she sang them so freaking well. And then there was Shadowland from the Lion King musical. So beautiful! I didn’t know the other songs but she pretty much gained a new fan this night. Great performer!!

Second Half

05. Jupiter After Ryu Masaki had sung six songs in total there was a 20 minute break. Then Wakana appeared on stage again wearing the blue dress we have all seen on the pictures. And along with her came Mana Ogawa in the cutest pink dress ever. Together they performed one of my most loved non-Kalafina songs. Jupiter! This is originally a classical piece by Gustav Holst but Ayaka Hirahara made a song out of it. Wakana and Mana’s version wasn’t quite as epic as Ayaka’s but it is SUPER hard to reach that level of epicness. Also, I felt like in this song the voices got a bit drowned by the orchestra but only at certain times. It wasn’t bad or anything but it wasn’t perfect either. Wakana slayed throughout the entire song though. It’s HARD to sing an Ayaka Hirahara song but she nailed it. She kinda adapted Ayaka’s singing style (in a similar fashion that Keiko adapted Ayaka’s style during their performance of Kawaii Hana). I can’t really explain what’s so special about Ayaka’s singing style, she has that way of belting her lines and making her voice vibrate (ughhh, I wish had better words for it). Anyways, Wakana did a great job at using certain elements of that style and incorporated them in her own style. The result: a pretty epic sounding Wakana.  On a side note, OMG, Mana was so good too. I had no idea she was so skilled. Her voice went together so well with Wakana’s. They complemented each other in a great way.

06. Mizu no Akashi YESSSSSSS!!!!!! This is THE Wakana song! I am so freaking glad she decided to sing it. Mana joined her for this one too but she mostly did back-up singing (so nice!!) and sang a few lines. Mana harmonises so well with Wakana, it was a lovely combination. I don’t know what else to say about it. They stayed true to the original arrangment but of course they added a little oomph here and there. More strings can never hurt, right? Once again, tears everywhere. I feel like Wakana got a bit teary-eyed too for a moment but I could be wrong. I was sitting quite far away from the stage.

07. Hokage Ahhhhhhh! You probably know that I LOVE LOVE LOVE this song. I know most people don’t care for it but it is actually my favourite song on the far on the water album. And wow, they used the chorus singers in a nice way here. In the beginning, they were chanting and creating the melody with their voices. So pretty!! This song already has a gorgeous strings arrangement but once again, the added instruments made everything SO MUCH BETTER.

08. Natsu no Asa Out of all Kalafina summer songs I didn’t expect Wakana to sing this particular song but wow, I am glad she did. The first part was sung completely acaplla. Once again the back-up singers did an amazing job creating the melody. Kinda reminiscent of FictionJunction’s silent moon. In the second half of the song, the orchestra joined in and this honestly became one of the most beautiful songs of the evening. The atmosphere was perfect and the song really fits the current season. So lovely!!

09. Ashita no Keshiki Obviously I already knew this was going to be performed so it wasn’t really a surprise like all the other songs. But hey, that didn’t diminish my enjoyment of the performance one bit. Wakana sounded solid in the 9+ONE version but here she was just flawless. The kajiurago part was sung beautifully by the chorus people and all the whle Wakana was making eye-contact with as many people in the audience as possible. Her smile was blinding. This was probably one of the more reserved performances of the night where the orchestra didn’t get so much to do but still, very lovely

10. I Have a Dream If you loved their Blue Day performance then you would have loved this version even more. The strings were just so gorgeous. The Blue Day version already has a very lovely and elaborate strings arrangement that’s different to the original version but here they added a lot more grandness to it. One of my faves from this night. Utterly perfect! In the MC before the song Wakana talked about how this song is very reminiscent of a refreshing summer wind.

11. Believe I have never understood the hate that this song gets. Quite frankly I really like it and I have always been a fan of the strings in this one. I am such a sucker for the strings in the beginning and at the end. And boy, let me tell you, they really upped the ante, the strings in this version were SOOO EPIC (especially at the end)!!! It was like listening to a majestic symphonic piece. Probably my favourite orchestral arrangement of the evening. And Wakana didn’t struggle at all even though she sang literally all the parts by herself. I feel like she always struggles during this song, she also struggled quite a bit during the 9+ONE version even though that also had an acoustic arrangment (which is the reason I couldn’t enjoy it 100%) but here she knocked it out of the park. Absolutely stunning. One of my favourite performance of the night

12. Hikari no Yukue Like Mizu no Akashi I had hoped this song would make it into the setlist and YES, here it was!! I mean, if there is one song that needs to be performed by an orchestra then it is THIS ONE! And boy, this definitely didn’t disappoint. No words for the epicness of this performance.

13. Yume no Daichi While it is not my favourite RHH song, I think it was perfect for Wakana’s concert tonight. And once again, the new arrangement added so much to the song. From now on all Kalafina songs should be performed by an orchestra :P This is probably the song where I missed Keiko the most (don’t know why).

14. Musunde Hiraku She thanked the fans for always supporting her and having her back. Without us she couldn't have made it this far. This song was meant to convey her gratitude for us. Probably the most upbeat and lighthearted performance of the night. Wakana is so obviously in love with this song (check out my translation of the fotw Special Final MCs to find out her thoughts about it). Her love was strongly conveyed in this performance. She was walking back and forth on stage, waving to everyone in the audiece, showing us her radiant smile. Perfection!!

This was the last song and everyone began clapping for an encore but instead of Wakana, Ryu Masaki came back on stage to perform her final song (another solid performance!). And THEN it was time for Wakana to return! (((o(*ﾟ▽ﾟ*)o))) She thanked everyone for coming and then she announced her very first solo tour. She was all like, “you probably all wonder when it is gonna take place. Maybe next year? Nope, next MONTH actually! XD“ Then she said that her FINAL song was written by herself. She came up with the lyrics and she admitted that it was very hard. The song is called Toki wo Koeru Yoru ni which loosely translates to On a Night that Transcends Time. By the way, this also relates to the title of her upcoming tour -Toki wo Koeru/Transcending Time-

15. Toki wo Koeru Yoru ni A GORGEOUS ballad if there ever was one. My memory is already fading but I definitely loved it. I suck at understanding lyrics so I can’t tell you what the song was actually about but believe me when I say it was beautiful. It felt like an old-school ballad, something from the 90s maybe. I wish I knew how to explain it better but I can’t. Wakana actually got a standing ovation afterwards (although there were some people who refused to stand up *grumbles*).

Okay, that’s a wrap for me tonight. I can’t think straight any longer. Too tired. All in all I will say that this concert was worth EVERY penny I spent on this trip. Along with the Hikaru Birthday Event and all my trips to different places this was the BEST holiday ever. I didn’t see any cameras so I doubt there will be a DVD/BD release for this but maybe, just maybe they recorded the audio of this live. I would buy that CD in a heartbeat. Personally I think they did a great job arranging the songs in a way they are suited for a solo performer. I wonder who actually did the orchestral arrangements because damn, they were SO GOOD!!! In some cases the back-up singers provided the necessary support and in other cases the orchestra provided the different melodies that are usually sung by Hikaru/Keiko. All songs felt wholesome, I didn’t feel like anything was missing and Wakana slayed throughout the concert. She shone brigther than a star and while she was a bit awkward during the MCs she was incredibly strong and confident during her live performances.

[h-styles-babes]

Bad Habits | Part VII

Part VII my lovelies. Hopefully it gets you excited for Part VIII ;) I’d still like to hear any suggestions for future plot points if you’d like to send them in :)

Enjoy xx

Read Part VI here.

SEVEN

“Cuppa?” Harry asked, tapping lightly on the kettle already on his stove. Viv kind of loved that he was so comfortable in her home, already knowing that he was more than welcome to have whatever he pleased and knowing where everything was in her kitchen.

“Yes please,” Viv agreed, shrugging his ended coat off her shoulders and draping it over one of the kitchen table chairs. They were both still a bit tipsy, blood pleasantly buzzing with the alcohol that tinged it. Viv had kicked her heels off immediately when they walked through the door, tired of stumbling on them. Harry had slipped off his boots as well, walking around now in his black socks, his toes wiggling a little as he lit the burner on the stovetop. 

“Do yeh wanna talk now? Or would yeh like to wait?” Viv asked. She walked up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist. He was always so warm and good for a cuddle, so she pressed her front to his back and laid her cheek between his shoulder blades. 

She felt as Harry hummed in contemplation. “I guess it doesn’t really matter,” he admitted on a sigh. “Yeh know, now.”

“Should I just ask questions, then?”

Harry nodded. “Yeah, that might be better.”

“Have yeh always known yeh liked boys and girls?” It was honestly the first question that had popped into her head when Zayn had said he was Harry’s ex, and it had been the most persistent one on their car ride back to Viv’s flat. 

Harry shook his head as his hands came up to lay his hands over Viv’s where they were rested on his stomach. “No. My first few relationships were girls. I didn’t really realise I liked guys beyond their looks until I was almost finished with college.”

“Did yeh date any men besides Zayn?”

“Yeah. Dated a guy named Adam my last year of college for about six months. Then I dated a girl for a bit when I first got to uni in Manchester. Then Zayn not long after that. I dated him the longest.”

“Are yeh a serial dater, Harry Styles?” Viv teased him, making the smile in her voice clear. 

He scoffed and pinched lightly at her arm in defense. “You’re the first person I’ve dated since Zayn and I broke things off. That was a year ago.”

“Only teasin’, love.” She soothed her offense with a kiss to the space between his shoulders. He rubbed over her arms in return. 

The kettle whistled, and Harry was quick to shut the burner off. Viv helped him prepare the cups. He kissed her lightly at the temple before trailing her to her bed. Viv changed out of her clubbing outfit into a pair of shorts and a tank top. Harry stripped to his pants and joined her under the blankets. This had been a habit of theirs whenever they were at Viv’s flat. 

They sat and chatted about Harry’s first boyfriend as they sipped at their teas. Adam had been a boy who Harry had met in college and had found attractive, but he hadn’t been quite sure about his sexuality. Adam, however, was openly gay and not exactly subtle in his appreciation of Harry. As Harry said, one thing led to another, and they started dating. Adam was his first everything with a person of the same sex. Harry wasn’t a virgin at that point, but Adam’s was the first cock he’d ever been intimate with beside his own. Viv would never admit it, but hearing about Harry’s experiences was making her a little hot and bothered. She’d never want Harry to think that she had some sort of weird fetish involving seeing two men together, but she supposed it was the same as most men liking two women together. She wasn’t ashamed, per se, but she didn't want Harry to think badly of her. 

“Did yeh ever question if yeh were actually gay and not bisexual?” Viv asked once he’d finished talking about Adam. 

By this time, they’d both finished their teas, so Harry was free to scoot down on the bed and turn onto his side to face her. Viv copied his position, tucking the blanket up around the both of them. The only lights on in the flat were the two lamps that sat on either side of Viv’s bed, and they casted a soft light on the pair in bed. 

“No, I definitely knew I was very much attracted to women, too. I’d really enjoyed being with the girls I dated. Girls are delicate and soft in a way that men aren’t, typically.”

“Zayn’s very pretty,” Viv pointed out.

“He is, but he’s still a man with sharp edges. Women are smooth and soft and much more appealing than men.”

“So you’re saying you’re more attracted to women than men?”

Harry nodded. “Yeah, I’ve always found that to be the case. If yeh line up ten guys and ten girls, odds are I’d find more of the women attractive than the men. But I guess I just have different standards for each gender.”

“Girls are amazing, so it’s understandable,” Viv nodded, slightly joking, but not really. Nine times out of ten, a woman was going to be much more honest and kind than a man, and that was just a fact. 

“Very true,” Harry agreed. He reached out and wound a hand around Viv’s waist, pulling her closer to him. She draped one leg over his hips, making themselves comfortable. She wanted to be surprised at how easy it was between them after only dating for a couple weeks, but she really wasn’t. This was Harry she was with, and for some reason, this all seemed perfectly natural and normal. 

“Any other questions?” Harry asked over a yawn. It was late, and laying down in bed had suddenly made him aware of his tiredness. 

“Not right now. I’m sure I’ll think of something later.”

“I’m really surprised you haven’t asked the obvious question.”

Viv was a bit confused. “What’s the obvious question?” She thought she’d gone through all the most obvious ones. 

“Whether or not I’ve taken it up the ass.”

Viv burst out laughing, not at all having expected that to come out of Harry’s mouth. Harry had to grin a little in amusement at the way Viv was laughing, obviously caught off guard by his statement.

“It hadn’t come to mind, honestly,” Viv told him once she’d calmed enough to reply. 

“The answer is yes.”

“Figured yeh were more of a top.”

“Can’t be a top all the time, love. Where’s the fun in that?”

It’s been nearly two weeks since they all went out to the club together and Viv learned that Harry was bisexual. For how much Harry had been worried about it, nothing had changed between them at all. Viv never mentioned it, except when she had questions, which he’d promised to answer. She took it in stride just as well as she’d taken the realisation that he pretty much sold his sex tapes on the internet as a way to pay for school. At this point, he was pretty sure she was an ethereal being, because no human could be this amazing about all the shit he’d thrown at her in the month that they’d known each other. 

They hadn’t seen each other in a few days, since they were both spending any free time they had cramming for their finals. December brought along the end of term, and they only had one week left before session broke for the holiday. Harry was a little concerned about not seeing Viv for an extended period of time between his focus on his studies. They weren’t official yet, and they’d only been on one more date since the club night, so Harry thought those feelings were unfounded. Maybe the break during the holiday would be good for them. Perhaps the time apart would make them decide whether they really were prepared to give a real relationship a go, or if this was just fun for them in the moment. Harry really liked Viv, seeing as she was the most kind person he thinks he’d ever met, but maybe a relationship between them wasn’t feasible. Maybe Viv was meant to be a mate and nothing more.

It was all very confusing. 

It was a Thursday when Viv saw Harry again. She hadn’t seen him since the weekend before when they’d gone to see a movie together and out to dinner afterward. They’d texted each other off and on since, but nothing consistent. She was feeling his absence, for sure, but she’d also been busy being a good student and practicing as much as she could for her final. She had a solo piece and an orchestral performance that she had to do before she could call it done for her term. The orchestral piece she’d done multiple times before, so she wasn’t concerned with that. She had been practicing all she could for her solo performance, though. Her fingers were already thick with calluses from her years of playing, but with how much she’d been playing recently, they hurt in a way she hadn’t experienced in years. She’d been holed up in the uni’s practice rooms day and night because she didn’t want to disturb her flat neighbors with her incessant screeching at the strings. 

What she had chosen as her piece was considered one of the most difficult violin pieces ever written, and it was certainly an undertaking. She couldn’t really remember what was going through her mind when she settled on this piece. She had to have been completely off her rocker to even consider this as an option, but there she was, practicing away until she sagged with exhaustion. No one ever believed her when she said playing the violin was exhausting. It was physically taxing from the way you had to hold your body for upwards of five minutes at a time, and her fingers hurt from the plucking and fingering. She swore she got shoulder injuries from moving the bow, too. Why she’d made the violin her instrument of choice for her final was beyond her. 

She was just done with her self-allotted five minute break when she saw Harry enter the door at the end of corridor. She wasn’t sure what he was doing in the music building, but she was glad to see him al the same, even if they couldn’t really chat due to her cramming. She smiled when he spotted her, and he picked up the pace to get to her quicker, walking more with purpose than he had before. 

“Practicin’?” Harry asked, greeting her with a hug and a chaste peck to her lips.  

Vivian hummed against him before he pulled away. “Yeah, gotta get this piece down before next Wednesday.” 

Harry had never heard Vivian play before. She always talked about having to practice and a particularly difficult part of a piece she was playing, but he’d never actually heard her make music with any instrument. There was a acoustic guitar on a stand in the corner of her flat, by the area that was designated as her living room, but he’d never seen her touch it, let alone play it. There was also some black cases tucked away by it, assumedly her cello and violin, but he’d never seen them before. 

“Play for me?” Harry asked, feeling a bit bold. 

Viv was a bit taken aback by his request, immediately wanting to turn him down. Playing was intensely personal to her, and the fact that she could get up for a concert and play for people was a feat. She really didn’t know how she managed. 

But then she thought about how much of himself Harry had shared with her over the course of the last month. There were some incredibly sensitive topics he’d talked to her about, and the least she could do was offer him the same intimacy. She cared about him enough to open up this piece of herself.

“Sure,” she nodded, ushering him into the small practice space. It was empty save for a stool and Viv’s belongings, her violin propped on a provided stand. Viv insisted Harry sit in the stool, since she never sat while performing on the violin. It felt strange to her to sit when her body moved so much as she played. Harry obliged her and waited patiently as Viv took up her instrument. She took several deep breaths as she situated herself and got her fingers into position. 

Harry sat enthralled as beautiful music flowed through her fingers. She closed her eyes as she played, completely lost within the piece. Her fingers moved as if this was second nature to them; it was like she was on autopilot, completely immersed in the music. He’d never seen anything so mesmerising.

Viv sighed out at breath as she finished, letting the violin fall to her side and relieving the tension from her body from holding her position. It never bothered her in the moment, but she became painfully aware of the discomfort as soon as she was finished. 

Harry was silent for a few moments, actually speechless after what he’d just heard.

Viv shrugged. “Might’ve been shit. Need to keep practicin’.”

“Shit? The fuck are yeh talkin’ about? That was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard!” he exclaimed in the small room, the sound echoing in the space. 

Vivian bit at her bottom lip, looking down shyly at her shoes. She wasn’t quite sure how to take the compliment. She appreciated his enthusiasm, but the praise had always made her uncomfortable. She’d been told pretty much her entire life that she was a great musician, but she’d never really believed it until it got her a free ride to the school of her choice. And now that she was working her way through the program, she heard it from her peers and her professors all the time. But it was still strange to her. 

“Thank you,” she whispered. She took a deep breath and looked back up at him. “I reckon that’s enough for today.”

“Yeh wanna get something to eat?” Harry asked, figuring the best way to help relieve the awkwardness was to change the subject. 

“Aren’t yeh here to study?” Viv asked, putting her violin back in it’s case. “Yeah, but I can use a break. Come get dinner with me.” 

Viv nodded and offered him a small smile. “Alright.”

“Wait, haven’t yeh got to stream tonight?” Viv asked, suddenly remembering the day as they were sat in a local diner. It was still early, only half-five, so there was plenty of time, but Viv figured Harry had to be sat at a computer a bit early, dictating when the stream would start and who was allowed to watch and all that. Not that she’d ever asked, but one could assume. 

“Yeah,” Harry shrugged, picking at his chips. “I usually sit down about ten minutes before and just kinda pop on when it’s time.” He said it as if he’d read Viv’s mind, which kinda surprised her and freaked her out. Perhaps Harry could just read her that well, though. It had only been a month for them, but it felt like they were strangely in tune with each other. It was disconcerting and completely soothing all at the same time. 

“Ah, to be a boy,” Viv sighed dramatically. “Can yeh imagine what cam girls go through before they go live? Perfect their makeup for close to an hour. Fix up their hair, make sure they haven’t got any crease marks in their skin from sitting. Boys don’t give a shit.”

“Oi, it’s not like I’m showin’ my face,” he defended, tossing a half-eaten chip at her. “If I was, I’d get more pretty before. But as it is, there’s nothin’ much I can do about my cock.”

Viv giggled at him and threw back at him the chip he’d chucked at her. “Fair. Can’t say I ever thought your cock needed to be perked up a bit as I was watchin’ yeh.”

“Yeh gonna watch me tonight, darling?” Harry’s tone suddenly shifted, his lips quirking up in a smirk that was tempting and pointed. Viv’s lip tucked between her teeth, and she felt her breathing suddenly deepen, her chest heaving.

“P-probably,” she stuttered out.

“Why would yeh sit alone in a room and watch me on a tiny little screen when yeh could watch me in the same room, love?”

Viv choked on her own spit, but in a much less spectacular fashion than previously. She cleared her throat as her eyes widened at Harry’s offer, watching as his smirk only deepened, a certain kind of darkness clouding his usually bright eyes. It was a darkness she recognised from times they’d been intimate together. Harry was turned on, and the thought of her watching him as he cam’d for people was doing it for him. 

“Are yeh askin’ me to watch yeh?” Viv asked after she’d taken a sip of her drink to clear her throat. 

“I’d love it if yeh sat before me and watched me, pet.”

Viv took a deep breath and set her drink back down on the table. “Well how can I say no to that?”