#but the violin is high pitched and frantic

[audioandart]

Have you considered doing an analysis on Aqua’s Theme in Kingdom Hearts? (If you haven’t already) First playing BBS it’s almost shocking how dismal her theme can be until you know her story, I’d be interested to see how you discuss it

oh my god! Oh my god! My first request! wormthejay I would be ECSTATIC to do an analysis on Aqua's Theme. The BBS version 🫡

Also, normally these analysis wouldn't delve super deep into this sort of thing, but you're right about the shock value of her theme. Ventus sounds sad, but you know from the start of the game he's had a rough time of it. Terra sounds determined, which he is the entire game. Then you get to the end of the game and their theme is suddenly a double meaning. Ventus' theme always sounded sleepy (like a lullaby). Terra's theme always sounded a little desperate, but then there's Aqua. The entire game her theme doesn't really seem to make sense, as it either doesn't fit or it implies Aqua is that sad the entire game (which the novel actually implies she is, but we're focusing on the game rn.) Then you get to the end of the game and boom. Everything makes sense completely. Anyway I'm supposed to be doing music lol I got carried away 😅

Aqua's theme is very sad, like we said. It starts with this piano melody in the F Major scale, that, if you remember back to Dearly Beloved (KH1) edition, with the higher pitch, makes for a sad sounding song. (The more flats in a scale, the more sad it'll usually sound. F Major has 1 flat.) This piano carries through the whole song, and starts as the main melody but very quickly turns into the background melody once the violins (and likely other assorted strings) come in. The violin starts similar to the piano, a high sad sounding melody of it's own. Both the violin and piano sound a bit frantic with the speed of their notes, all quicker and adding a sense of desperation, (however it is different from Terra's. When I eventually get to his theme I'll explain.) However, the violin eventually switches to a slower note series, calmer, and it's lower now as well. This could be seen as Aqua's resignation at being in the Realm of Darkness, but in terms of the song it sounds like the desperation has taken a back seat (as the piano is still there in the background) to the feelings of the piece. Sadness is being focused on completely now. And yet, starting with the switch to a slower violin, there is a brass section in the background that occasionally plays a few notes. Brass is often used for triumphant, heroic, or determined music. In this case, the brass is very much a determined instrument. It plays what could be thought of as a musical cherry on top, a piece of determined (perhaps even hopeful, though it doesn't quite reach that level) strength on top of the sad sundae. It also joins the background melody on occasion, much softer than it's usual playing. There is an undercurrent of determination with the desperation. And then it repeats, as video game soundtracks often do.

This piece sounds like Aqua's journey in BBS start to finish. She starts desperate and sad, she's chasing after Terra and having to convince Ventus to go home, and neither are listening. She's worried Terra is falling to darkness. Etc etc Aqua had a real terrible time. Suddenly, final battle and she loses both of them. Still very desperate, looking for how to get them back. She fights Xehanort while he's possessing Terra, ends up in the Realm of Darkness. She realizes she can't get out and so, resigns herself to her fate. That is where the slower violin comes in. And now she has all the time in the world to focus on how she feels and how much she misses home (in a place made of darkness which very much pulls out all your worst feelings. Yikes.) But even with all that has happened, she feels determined to get home and get back to her friends. She walks on for a decade, fighting, to return to what is essentially her family. No matter what happens, she moves forward.

Also, if we're gonna include the novel here, (just as a little treat,) she feels inadequate of the title of Master. She feels some imposter syndrome. There's where part of the sadness in the beginning is coming from as well. Great theme! It conveys SO much with THREE INSTRUMENTS. (Technically, the violin is actually the whole string section, but you get the gist.) Dearly Beloved did well with the few it had as well, but Aqua's Theme conveyed a whole arc. Praise be to Yoko Shimomura!

[apotheosis-part-1]

Chapter 4

No. No! NO! It couldn't be Him! He's dead! I killed Him! Nononononono no, no, NO! Fuck fuck fuck!

-You heard me. Don't make me force you to.

I'm sorry, creator! I... I! I...

He started lifting his spear off of the ground.

I'm sorry im sorry imsorry!

-Fine. Please do not resist.

In a panic I scrambled for a dodge.

I looked death in the eyes when I flew over His accelerating spear. While I was landing I noticed that the exit was left unguarded! I rushed there.

-I said do not resist. Nevertheless, don't think I won't find you.

Just run. Just run! JUST RUN!

Eyes started opening around me in the overly long hall I was running through - Seer's eyes. Fuck, he was here as well.

As I was about to reach the end I heard a door open, THE door, the one behind me. And then - loud stomping of His tentacles. They were hitting fast, too fast. RUNRUNRUN.

I opened the door at the end of the hallway. What I saw would put an evil grin on my nonexistent face at any other time - The Library. But now is not the time. I NEED to hide.

I hid in between two bookshelves on the second floor. The light didn't reach that much in here.

-Don't try and hide. I know you're here. 10.

Shit! H-Here He is!

-9.

M-M-Maybe I should switch spots!

-8.

I can be sneaky while I'm doing it!

-7.

But what if He sees me?!

-6.

T-That would be b-bad!

-5.

Fuckfuckfuck!

-4.

What should I do?!

-3.

I can't hide from Him!

-2.

He may be a sinner, b-but-

-1. Кто не спрятался я не виноват!~ ("I'm not the one to blame if you didn't hide!~" in russian. Children say this when they stop counting and start seeking in hide and seek)

I tried to become one with the wall and not make any sound. He started searching the first floor.

I heard my own heartbeat. It was fast and loud, not ideal for the situation at hand. Calm down. Calm Down. CALM DOWN!

I heard loud thumping against the stairs to the second floor.

He. Was. Here.

Fuck!

My frantic attempts to fuse with the wall continued.

The natural light coming in from the windows dimmed to a point I couldn't see and an eerie faint red glow started coming in from the direction of the stairs. A quiet and high-pitched sound filled the air. Other than that it was awfully silent. No tentacles, no spear, only my panicked breaths and heartbeat. The glow was increasing in intensity, soon painting the entire room in an eerie red. My heartbeat sped up and became louder. The noise wasn't so much a noise anymore, but a scrambled and fast paced, although still legible, piano and violin melody. One of His tentacles wrapped around the bookshelf I was hiding at. And then the full body came into view. It was glowing red with lines of tension coming off of it and onto the floor and walls. Red eyes started appearing all around me. He looked at me.

HE LOOKED AT ME!

-I said that you couldn't hide so why did you even try?

His voice was twisted and broken, but it is not the time to focus on that! I flew over Him. He just laughed. His laugh echoed and boomed all throughout The Library. I flew towards the exit. Landed. Locked. FUCK!

I looked behind me. He descended unnaturally fast from the second floor. His body seemingly grew and took up most of the artificial hallway created by the bookshelves. His tentacles were stomping over to me too fast. His spear was pointed right at me.

This is the End, isn't it?

In a desperate attempt I lifted my hand up and-

...

...

...

When I opened my eyes the Shadelord was frozen. Along with most of the Library. This is why I came here isn't it? Destroy the books that hurt. Haha- It seems to work out in the end~

...

I started to lose my footing and tried to lean on the door. It opened, causing me to fall. I laughed. And laughed and laughed. With a laugh that could come out only from somebody who has just committed patricide twice.

hahahahahahahahahHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

[lunarscaled]

WISDOM SAVE, DC 13: 4 ( CRITICAL FAILURE ) ( 1 + 3 )

-> They've been avoiding the dance floor all night, because they don't know how to dance and they don't want to. They have closed their ears off to the music, their eyes on the floor away from the lights, and if they had stood there on the corner of some random stone building for however long this charade seemed to go on for until everything returned to normal in the city, it would have been stubbornly fine by them. But there is the sharp sting of a violin that draws them---not because it is particularly melodic or ominous, but simply because it is a high pitched sound that towers over everything else, and they are only human. They are only Orpheus at the mouth of the underworld, standing in the light, turning his head a little too soon for Eurydice's escape: there is only one version of this story.

-> They catch just a glimpse of it---of him. Older than he was, gangly teenage limbs slightly out of place under an embellished and patterned coat decorated with silver, his hair grown out in curls that stop near his shoulders, shorter than their own. But they still look the same as they ever did: twins, different but alike, the shape of his nose and his green eyes a little too yellow to feel like anything but a freshly sprouted leaf. And they move towards the ballroom without thinking about it; they rush, almost, if they hadn't to be so mindful of walking in these shoes. But they are in the crowd of the dance, eyes frantic, breath still in their throat because he can't be here, he can't. They suck in a sharp breath that barely makes it all the way to their lungs and the music is starting again, the next dance ( and they have to dance. they have to, to see if it's really him, if they can find him. if everything has been a terrible dream this whole time and they've left home for nothing, lost in a dragon's curse. )

-> When they turn, hands groping blindly for any available dance partner, someone has already reached for their trembling hands. Their head is the last thing to go, and their weary eyes are filled with as much trepidation as if they were walking head first to their own death. But the face there is one they recognize; it makes their cracked voice stable enough to speak.

"Vlos---"

-> Their friend. A demon, yes, but their dearest friend.

"I saw him---he's there, my brother, he can't be---"

[911described]

[Image description: 9-1-1 season 7 teaser trailer (30 seconds long)

Gang of Youths' cover of David Bowie's Heroes plays throughout. We hear the high-pitched staccato violin introduction as Athena ducks slightly while she walks alongside her patrol car, looking concerned as she reaches back to take out her gun (the footage is from the 617 proposal emergency)

Athena delivers the voiceover. She says, “life is a whirlwind” as Bobby and Buck exit the truck, wearing turnout gear and squinting against the haze (the footage is from the 608 bee emergency).

A man sings “I've” over a shot of the LA skyline, with “abc Thursday March 14” written in red.

Buck and Eddie wear open turnout coats as they walk away from a smoking car. Buck carries a halligan over his shoulder and has purple discolouration under both eyes. Eddie looks down with a slight grimace as he walks, beside Buck but a little distance away.

At a indoors rescue, Chim looks up at Eddie, who is in the foreground but blurred out. Chim looks concerned, eyes wide with expectation.

A man sings “I wish I could swim” as Hen strides confidently through the firehouse bay, away from a departing ambulance. She wears new large rounded glasses with black half-frames.

Athena says “when there’s” as the firehouse alarm rings and the ladder truck drives out. She continues “disaster to deal with” as Chim holds open the truck door for Eddie, who grabs the side of the door and swings himself up into the truck, behind Buck.

The firehouse alarm continues and Athena asks “who are we” as the ladder truck, engine and ambulance drive down a street at night, lights flashing.

Bold red text on the screen reads “comes to abc” as we hear the dispatch ringing sound and see someone from the back, sitting at their desk. We see Maddie ask “9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”, and she has longer hair slightly curled around her face.

There’s a large loud explosion in the hull of the cruise ship, which rocks the boat on the choppy ocean.

A man yells, “let’s go, let’s go” and Buck and Eddie turn from facing each other in the firehouse bay, Buck looking upwards in mild annoyance as Eddie runs away. Hen shuts the passenger door of a Los Angeles Fire Department helicopter behind her.

A man sings “we can be heroes” as we see the helicopter from underneath, flying on a night sky, the cruise ship tilting into the sea, and then Hen in the helicopter. She goes from looking out the window to quickly turning to a person behind her, waving her hand frantically as she says “that’s it, go back.” We hear her repeating “go back, go back!” as we see the partially capsized ship, items on the deck sliding into the water. The singing continues “just for one day” as the water rushes up to submerge the ship.

The singer repeats “just for one day” as a helicopter approaches the ship on its side. The music cuts out with a bang as Maddie stands in the dispatch centre, talking into her personal phone as she calmly enunciates “I’m right here with you.”

There’s brighter twinkling background music over the lyrics “we can be heroes, just for one day”, which accompanies a view of the LA skyline at dawn and the text “9-1-1, season premiere, Thurs Mar 14” and a dusky sky with the abc logo and “stream on hulu”

/end ID]

[3d-fps-project-jb]

Emotional Impact In Games

Music is not just a way to make a game less boring, but it can also help further push an emotion, like fast-paced, high-pitched music will make the listener more frantic, or slow, calm music will... well... make the listener calm.

For Example, Outlast's main menu song uses harsh and unnatural sounds, alongside slow violins (I think), this all on top of it slowly feeling like it's getting faster and higher makes it feel suspenseful, and that is why it works so well in a horror game.

Something much different would be some of Nintendo's music, which is all based on being family friendly and happy sounding, even the music for enemies is cartoony, making it perfect for playing together with family or friends and having fun (I think that's what they say).

And finally, we have the music in games based around adventure, this music is often either heroic or ambient, depending entirely on whether the player is going to be fighting hordes of enemies or simply exploring a world, a great example would be Minecraft's soundtrack, which, instead of playing constantly, plays at random points, even making it so you don't even notice its playing sometimes. The soundtrack is so well known and so iconic that, even if you've never played the game, you know exactly where the music is from.

[nitrosodiumepicfps]

Emotional Impact in Games

Music is a key part of the emotive experience in any audio-visual form of media. Because it is more interpretive than sight, it can be used to convey a subliminal message or reinforce a feeling that cannot be delivered on through visuals alone. I once recall seeing a spoof of the Alien (1979) trailer that removed the tense music and reused clips in different ways, putting cheerful music over the whole thing and narrating it as if it was a comedy movie. It really shows how much music can make a difference, but I need a video game comparison.

Here is the Prison level from Amnesia: The Dark Descent, one of the scariest parts of that game in my opinion. (I haven't made it past the Sewer, so there could be a more unnerving part after that.) When you enter the level, you're greeted by mournful, distant sounds of an organ, while you reminisce about the elevator crash you just barely survived. As you hear a monster in an unseen room seemingly tear a man to pieces, the music swells into the shrill chords of a violin, finally subsiding as the sounds of the creature quieten. The drearier organ sounds return as you explore the various cells, looking for helpful supplies or a way out. While climbing a dark staircase, something growls from the shadows, and the music changes to a deep, growling track supported by the foreboding rumbling of drums. Then, as the grunts of the monster subside, the organ returns with new context. The deep sounds of the tension track are actually scientifically conducted to invoke your fight-or-flight. Deep, reverberating sounds remind our ape brains of growling predators, while in conjunction, high-pitched shrieks remind our brains of crying babies. Both are used in horror games, but to truly make you feel scared for your own safety, the deep growling is the way to go. Amnesia utilities this very well, especially in the swirling, screaming "Terror" effect that plays when an enemy is watching you.

Now, let's look at another game where you play as a person in a castle being used for evil. Return to Castle Wolfenstein.

This could have easily been framed as a grim, oppressive experience where you must fight tooth and nail to escape an Axis-controlled bastion, but instead, they lean hard into action. When you first make it out of your cell with a knife and a Luger, there are some wailing chords that sound straight out of Amnesia again. However, as you get through the castle, drums get added to the music. Then, once the alarm gets sounded, the music sheds its tense trappings and becomes this pumping orchestral militaristic rhythm, fitting perfectly with the WW2 theme and frantic action that follows.

[ozzymoon]

Chaotic - Ellise (A Retrospective)

The debut album sets the tone for a discography - and here 'Chaotic' certainly has. 'Chaotic' is a confessional, understated, and deeply varied project, yet it works. The album is possibly best described to be like a dice- offering several faces, a different number on each, yet together it makes a whole. No 'roll' is out of place - with one possible exception, being '911', a ubiquitous addition to Ellise's discography re-released from 2018 Halloween extended play 'Can You Keep a Secret?'. While at first, I was surprised to see it make the tracklist, its place is well earnt, not only for its impressive streams, but for its so quintessentially dark-pop sound and honest subject matter- while it follows the horror movie theming of 'Can You Keep a Secret?', it does so in a way that blends seamlessly into the melancholic musings of 'Chaotic', taking a focal point in the story of the album.

While the album's story is not the most streamlined, overall it follows the rise and fall of a toxic relationship, and the variety of experiences within - as well as detailing Ellise's own mental health struggles on the journey. It would be amiss to talk about the album without talking about its stunning opening track, 'Fatal Flaw' (self written by Ellise, as with the rest of the album, along with Annie Schindel and Dan Farber - who is responsible for the production of the song too). 'Fatal Flaw' depicts the honeymoon stage of a relationship touching on infatuation, sneaking away together, and complete overwhelming obsession. The song begins with a synth that one could only imagine was recorded from the middle of a cloud softly droning in before it is joined by Ellise's equally soft vocals and a harsher, more industrial bass. It contrasts, but it works. 'Chaotic' is an album of many such subtle contrasts in production (such as in 'Zipperlips!' where we see both the use of an overdriven synth bass line and strictly timed violins in the same song). While its somewhat minimalist production has been criticised (a note Ellise seems to have taken on, given more recent work's slightly more maximalist production), the minimalist take works and 'Fatal Flaw' is one of the best examples. Before the explosive chorus, another synth fizzles into place and a drum beat leads into the chorus, before the bass returns stronger than ever. Simple, but effective. And also a moment that marked the summer of 2021, for myself and many other followers of her music alike.

Another notable track is 'Feeling Something Bad...', the album's second single (following 'Bubblegum Brain', a song of great lyrical and sonic contrast that introduced the sound of the album and its trademark "high-energy high-agony" sound). Ellise has described before her process while making an album. One song becomes a template, the spearpoint of the creative direction for the album, and for 'Chaotic' it was 'Feeling Something Bad...'. It jolts between two sides; one with pitched vocals, sparkling resounding piano, and effervescent synth strings (the nervous side); and the other with warbling synth, bass hits, and a four to the floor drum pattern (the frantic side). Another point of contrasts, but again - it works. The song is reflected in many others, such as the piano verses being much like those of the title track (although 'Chaotic' (the song)'s connote a twisted ballroom dance, accompanied by violins and a 3/4 time signature), and the contrast of sparkling verses and electronic choruses (seen in 'Reality', and perhaps used to even greater effect there, breaking the listener's heart first and then dragging it through the dirt). 'Chaotic' simply would not be the same without 'Feeling Something Bad...'.

One thing yet to be touched on is the lyricism of the work. The more minimalist production gives space for the lyrics (and the seventy million vocal layers accompanying them at times, although it must be acknowledged that they are seventy million of the reasons the album resonates as strongly as it does) to be put to the front. So often, a song will open with lyrics that instantly stick, such as "Black holes where his eyes should be / Little windows straight to his soul / I could see everything" and "Black and blue / I'm on the edge / Forgave you with your hands around my neck" in 'Take Me to Safety' and 'Bruises' respectively - both painting lurid lucid pictures of the dark tales the songs go on to depict. Ellise's lyricism is uniquely visual (the production and actual visuals for the album only highlighting this further), adding to the overall feeling the album creates of 'Chaotic' as a world. Ellise takes this constructed world and destroys it in 'Reality', the vocalising at the end sounding like a last cry out for help, to the void enclosing this world, accompanied by the mournful lyrics earlier in the song ("We kissed so soft under stars / Now it seems like you're even farther than they are") to close the album on a perfectly cold and weak note. When I first heard it, I had to pause for a minute, and stare at a wall. I'm not going to lie- this is very much still the case.

While it stands strong as its own body of work, where it perhaps excels most of all is to set up a future of Ellise's discography. Its more minimalistic alternative pop sound has since laid the foundations and been expanded upon in more recent works - it cannot be said that the sparkling darkness, almost anthemic in its construction, of 'Bruises' is not reflected in her later 2021 Halloween project 'Letting the Wolf In', nor can it be said that the synthetically soft and sunset golden guitar tones of 'Heaven' (along with their interspersing bass synth notes) are not laying out the groundwork for the sombre foggy 2022 single 'Did It Hurt?'. The list could go on and on.

'Chaotic' walked (and 'Can You Keep a Secret', 'Under My Bed', and other early works crawled) so that her future works could run. It's an inevitability that more of the seeds sown in 'Chaotic' bloom into something new we could never have imagined in whatever is to come. Watch this space.

[magnumversumplus]

Marandi

Written By Joseph M.

Edited By: Emmanuel M. (He is my brother–he suggested an improvement by using the word "bow" in the metaphor with the violin!)

There was an old blue shipping container aboard the S.S. Cavaluge. This was the exact shipping container the wolves of the Marandi wolf pack were searching for, the rusty, navy blue cargo crate that would take them from Marandi–a large industrial metropolis in India with big neon lights strung along the skyscrapers, big riverways with ships ferrying people to and fro the peninsula and the place from which their name was derived–to the large, gas-filled city of New York.

It wasn’t an improvement, and their stay was only temporary. They were traveling there to negotiate a treaty with another wolf faction; then, they would return back to Marandi, back to their home in the less populated areas of the city. They knew the ship captain very well, a man named Arun who made round trips from Marandi to New York City regularly. He was willing to board them onto his ship–and he ferried them to New York proudly.

The wolves of Marandi boarded the S.S. Cavaluge, a shiny silver ship running on a steam-powered engine. The Cavaluge splashed up and down as it powered through big, ocean waves. Whilst the captain was in his quarters, the wolves seeked refuge and guarded the cargo in the back. Arun was helping them get from country to country–helping him do his job was the least he could do.

As the Cavaluge sailed across the ocean, one of the wolves sat on the front of the ship, allowing the waves to crash into his face, letting the drops of salt water rest on his tongue. His eyes pried apart the waves, searching for people who would dare enter his human friend Arun’s ship.

His name was Ravado Bava, and he had always felt particularly obliged to help Arun. He patrolled the perimeter of the Cavaluge, careful not to scratch the deck or any of the cargo crates. He was the leader of the Marandi wolf faction, and his tall but gentle stature and warm persona made him a fitting leader to these wolves.

Whilst patrolling the deck, he and another wolf, Rahina, noticed a small boat with a flag and two tattered, triangular sails off in the distance. The flag was ripped apart, muddy, smelled like sweat from a pirate’s beard when observed up close and most prominently, its design featured a milk white skull. This was a pirate ship, and they were about the be boarded.

As the pirate ship got closer, Ravado muttered, “Get the rest of the wolves. Let’s put up a fight.” Ravado and Rahina parted ways, their tails intertwining, entangling as they split up.

The pirates docked onto the ship whilst they were split, and a man with one charred leg, a black-and-white-striped sleeveless vest, pale skin, a hook hand, a gruff voice and matté black hair and a long gray beard boarded the ship. Whilst the pirates’ vessel flanked the ship from the front, Arun ran out and quickly ducked behind Ravado, observing the pirates quietly as they searched Arun’s ship.

The first pirate’s name was Ibara, and he was one of the meanest of the bunch. He had a strict personality, an unusual distaste for alcohol and a strict ban on drugs on his ship. “Search the vessel. Get me some treasure, mateys.”

As he walked through the cargo ship, Ibara kept his hook hand close to his hairy chest. He had a feeling that he was being watched, but he couldn’t tell who exactly he was being watched by. He heard a high-pitch screech–it must’ve been a bow being pulled along the strings of a violin by someone with a violent musical ineptness.

Ibara’s charred leg seemed to still fester with the embers from when he had originally sustained those injuries, as he felt a burning sensation in his feet and the back of his mind. He drew his cutlass from his scabbard and waved it around frantically, his hoarse voice breathing heavily.

There was something following him–maybe multiple things–and whatever was following him didn’t seem to stop. He found himself pinned to the floor, suddenly staring down the jaws of a big, burly wolf named Lakova.

Lakova growled, “You’re in the wrong place, pirate. Leave the ship now.”

Ibara screamed for his fellow mates, trying to wrestle the wolf off him. Unbeknownst to him, the other pirates had been tied up to the poop deck and their mouths had been duct-taped shut in the time he had taken to search some of the ship. Ibara’s cutlass–the saber that had been wrestled away from him in the encounter–almost entered his hand again, but another wolf kicked it away.

This wolf was Ralun, the gray-eyed concierge to Ravado. Ralun, compared to Ravado, had a much less serious personality, a shrill voice, buffer leg strength and a bigger smile. Ralun cried, “You’re under arrest, matey! Arrgh!”

Another wolf leapt into the complications, springing into the fight as Ibara managed to break free of Ravado’s hold. This wolf was Rahandra, one of the supersoldiers of the group. His fur color and tangy personality earned him the name “Cinnamon Bun.” “Party’s over, pirate man!”

Arun emerged from the back of the vessel, wielding a cutlass taken from one of the pirates. He walked towards the pirate Ibara and began asking questions. “What is the name of your pirate crew?”

Ibara answered, “That’s not something I have to say!” He moved Ravado’s front paws away from his throat and stammered, “T–that’s not for anyone to know!”

Arun continued to press Ibara, putting his left boot on the pirate’s stomach and repeating himself in a rhetorical tone. “The name of your pirate crew. I’m not asking, and I’m not saying this again.”

All of the wolves pouncing at him and Arun’s questions were starting to break Ibara. The questions battered him until he shattered under the pressure, spitting out the details of his pirate crew in a fit of frustration and begging the Marandi wolves to release him.

They agreed to not arrest these pirates, but on one condition: Ibara needed to promise that him and his pirates would never plunder, loot or steal from any vessel or building, otherwise Arun and the Marandi wolves would return and ensure that Ibara and his crew–The Tavernfolk–would surely face justice for their crimes.

[ilet-ylet-ilit]

I- I didn’t-! I never meant t- I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry- I never meant for this- this wasn’t how it was supposed to go!

they buried their face in their hands, on the brink of tears. their mask changes to one of tragedy, with tear streaks painted running from the eyeholes. the music of the room was loud and frantic, like someone scrambling to reach a wounded loved one. the violin of the piece played a high pitched tremolo while low, mournful bass notes lurked in the background. it fell over the other two in the room, making horrible memories surface and come to life.

@fishyfiles

I wish the Silurian period was real.

[certifiedskywalker]

Sometimes, Love Means Leaving - Klaus Hargreeves

Anonymous said: Hello.... may I please request a Klaus Hargreeves x Reader? Your writing is beautiful and I cant stop reading your Klaus posts! I was thinking maybe the reader and klaus have been together for a long time and when she passes away in an accident klaus stays clean enough to conjure her to try to keep her around and be able to physically touch her again? (like he did with ben) i hope this makes sense.... thank you :)

fabimgc said: Hii, could you do a one shot Klaus x reader, where the reader has powers but died in a mission saving Klaus and Klaus is trying to see her but cant? Like Angst with a fluff ending if you can thankss❤️

AN: this story takes place BEFORE Season One of The Umbrella Academy. I hope you like this!

He felt awful; worse than the day you left. Worse because, when Klaus closed his eyes, he could see your face. You were so close to him, painfully so, and yet he couldn’t quite reach you. The aching in his stomach pulled him back to reality every time. 

“C’mon, Klaus, there are better ways to do this.”

“Shh, jus’ shhh,” Klaus whimpered, opening his eyes just enough to glance at the phantom visage of his brother. In his mostly-sober state, Ben appeared more in focus. Light and shadow seemed to meld around him in a way that was more natural. For a moment, Klaus thought his long dead brother was really, truly, there. 

“You should have stayed in re-”

“O-oh shit! Peanut gallery,” Klaus groaned, “you need to shhh!” Weak and stumbling, Klaus moved to stand. He pressed his shoulder to the wall, the plaster cooling his searing, sweaty skin. The sharp contrast was shocking to him at first but when he rested his throbbing temple against the wall, he sighed in relief. “Oh, yes. That’s better.”

Klaus let his eyes close to savor the feeling. In the dark behind his eyelids, he was weightless. Then he heard it again. Only sirens at first, high-pitched and ringing in his ears. His heart began to pound as he was thrust back into the memory. Seconds pass and the sirens turned to faint beeping, then a dull, enduring tone. Finally, mournful tune. Violins, piano, he couldn’t tell. Klaus only knew the melody from your funeral. 

With a gasp, Klaus opened his eyes and crumpled to the floor of the hotel room he had rented for the evening. The carpet was rough against his skin but he could have cared less. Klaus was too busy trying to calm his breathing, still his heaving chest. 

“Klaus,” Ben whispered, kneeling down beside his brother. For a moment, he thought Ben was going to reach out and stroke his hair. It something you used to do when Klaus, in an attempt to avoid the ghosts, went too far on a bender. But, Ben seemed to back down, sit back on his knees and watch him with worry in his eyes. His pity stung.

“Please go,” Klaus wheezed, letting his eyes close.

“I’m only here to-”

“Ben. Go.” Klaus opened his eyes again, “you’re not who I want here.”

Hurt washed over Ben’s face but he stood up nonetheless. “I know you’re grieving, that you’re in pain, but that doesn’t mean you get to be a dick to the people who care about you.”

Before Klaus could snap a witty comeback or apologize, he wasn’t sure what he wanted to say really, Ben was gone. Klaus was alone again, in pain again, and he could feel familiar tears well up in his eyes. All he wanted was you but you were gone and he was, seemingly, still too high to conjure you presence. His head ached with longing and withdrawal.

Frantic for comfort, Klaus thought of you and the last time he tried to get sober. It had all been in an attempt to get you to stop worrying about him. You had come home to Klaus passed out, slouched over the toilet bowl, barely moving. It had scared you so much. Klaus didn’t want to scare you so he tried to get clean. 

It was a long stretch of days. Nights were spent in bed or sprawled out on the bathroom floor with blankets strew around your bodies. You would stroke his hair, read to him, in the hopes of luring him to sleep. Klaus could still feel your fingers working the knots in his curls; every some often your fingertips would brush along his hairline.

In the mornings, you would make breakfast together. Klaus would insist on everything greasy and too-sweet pastries from the local bakery. Most times, you would compromise with eggs or toast or fruits. On the mornings after a good night, when Klaus felt most sober and you were happy, you would walk, hand-in-hand and make a day of going to the cafe. Those day-long dates felt so distant now, so muddled by drugs and the passage of time. 

“Y/N….” Even your name, falling from his lips, felt different. He screwed his eyes shut to keep the tears at bay.  “I miss you. Please...”

Silence greeted his plea. Deafening, heartbreaking silence, and then...

“Miss me? I’m always here.”

Klaus’ eyes flew open at the sound of your voice. There you were, crouching down at his side, eyes meeting his the moment they opened. You smiled and Klaus scrambled to sit up. He let out an almost crazed laugh. He had finally done it.

“Y/N,” Klaus reached out, but stopped himself. He didn’t want his hands to go through you like they did with Ben. It would be another reminder that you weren’t truly here. “I-I…”

“You did it,” you gleamed, “you got sober.”

“Y-yeah,” Klaus was grinning now, “I did. It only took like four ye-”

“Hey, no. Be kind to yourself, this is a process. Especially when you’re doing it by yourself like you had, have been.” Klaus could see the warning in your eyes before you continued to speak. He raised his hands and shook his head.

“I don’t want to waste time with a lecture. I know I need help but right now I,” he met your eyes, “I just want to be with you.”

“Klaus,” your voice was low and your hand shifted to rest on the floor between the two of you. So close yet still so terribly far away. “If you die, we won’t get more time like this.”

He fell quiet at that. You were right, he knew that much, and it made his chest ache. After your death, all Klaus wanted was to see you again. He hadn’t thought about anything else, save for what he would say to you if he ever got sober enough to conjure. 

“I love you, Y/N.” He met your gaze and felt his heart lurch in his chest. There, he saw the soft smile he had missed spread along your perfect lips, lips he craved to kiss but couldn’t. 

“I love you too, Klaus. That’s why you need to take care of yourself. I want to keep loving you, even if I’m not really here.” You leaned closer to him, “you still have to live your life.”

“I can conjure you now, whenever, like Ben and I-Ben. Did you hear what I…”

“I did,” you admit. “You know he was just trying to help.” Klaus nodded and let his eyes fall to the floor where your hand was still. Small but there, flecks of blood stood out against your skin as evidence of your accident. He swallowed hard before looking back up at you.

“You’re not staying are you? Not like him?” You curled your lips together and shook your head. Klaus nodded again, bitterly this time, and let his tears fall freely.

“I can’t,” you whispered, “not if you’re going to move on. You deserve to move on, Klaus, to live. I can’t, not really, not anymore.”

“But you love me,” Klaus whimpered. There was no use in hiding his tears anymore.

“I do,” you replied, “so much, Klaus, and this hurts me. I don’t want to see you like this.”

“When you love someone you stay with them. Why aren’t you staying?” Klaus was desperate, his hands moved up to his hair where his fingers pulled on the dark strands. 

“I already left this...plane,” you gesture to the room around you both, “but I never left you, Klaus. Not for a second.” You scoot along the carpet before you’re sitting before him. You’re so tantalizing close that Klaus swore he could feel your body heat for a second, smell your shampoo. Though that could not be true. “I’ve always been, and always will be, right here.”

Suddenly, Klaus feels a warmth spread through his chest. When he looked down, he finds your hand there, right above his heart. Your fingertips glow in a way he had never seen a ghost’s fingers glow before. At first, it scares him. 

Then your free head reaches up, strokes his hair and brushes along his scalp. A calm, a peace he hadn’t felt in a long time washed over him.

It was the peace Klaus felt walking with you to the bakery down the street from where you lived in the city. The same one he felt listening to you talk about your family, about school, about work; he felt it in your voice. Peace came with kissing you, holding you after he was released from the hospital after that first close call. How happy he had been to hold you again.

How happy he was to be holding you again, now. Klaus lunged towards you, wiry arms wrapping over your shoulders and pulling you close. The embrace was tight and Klaus felt everything he had been holding in go; like how he would have to let you go.

“I’m so sorry, so sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Klaus,” you said, clutching the back of his shirt. Suddenly, your fingers slipped through the material and you began to pull away. The light in your hands was beginning to fade and, as you sat back, Klaus watched, terrified.

“I love you, please don’t…”

“I love you too, Klaus. You were my unfinished business,” you leaned towards him as the light worked its way through your form. “I’ll always be here.”

With one final movement, you pressed your lips to Klaus’ and he felt his whole body go numb. He felt as if he were floating, made of the same light that was whisking you away to the next plane. Klaus knew, in those precious seconds before he opened his eyes again, that he would see you once more. He would, but not yet.

When Klaus opened his eyes, you were gone. Last, fluttering speck of light had taken your place. Stinging tears flowed from his eyes but his shoulders didn’t feel as heavy. Withdrawals had run the course or perhaps the disappearance of his full-body ache was your doing. He would never know for certain. 

Slightly breathless, Klaus pressed his back against the wall. His head fell back and, with a dull thud, it hit the wall as well. His skin, his lips seemed to tingle from your ghostly touch. It was the first time that had happened before. Perhaps dear-old-dad had been right: there was more to his powers than he realized. But, in that moment, Klaus was too overwhelmed to think any further on the subject.  

“You alright?” Klaus looked up and locked eyes with his brother. Ben, all dressed in black, looked down at him worried. 

“I’m sorry, Ben,” Klaus murmured. Ben nodded and walked over. His slid down the wall to sit next to his sweat-drenched, chest heaving brother. 

“I’m sorry too.”

Klaus smiled then and, for the first time in a while, he felt like happiness was possible. His chest swelled at the feeling and, for a split second, Klaus swore he could feel your hand run through his hand one last time. 

[princess-of-the-worlds]

would you shout it from the rooftops?

For Day 1 of @arwenfest

Prompt: Of Sunlight and Violins | Kisses

Beta’d by the lovely @dinodina and title by @searching-for-arcadia! 

***

ao3 link: here

word count: 1064

summary: Arthur and Gwen have been pining for each other forever. Then Arthur decides to serenade her. In public. With Merlin watching.

***

Gwen’s busy studying for her exam, head buried in her textbook, when she hears a faint thud. Too focused on the biological terms swimming before her, she dismisses the noise as one of her neighbors knocking something over in their room — their housing accommodations have very thin walls — except then there’s a second thud. 

She turns just in time to watch a rock fall away from her window, and her eyebrows rise of their own accord. Who’s throwing rocks at the window of her hall of residence so late in the evening?

“Gwen! Gwen!” comes a familiar voice. “Guinevere Thomas!”

As it turns out, it’s Arthur Pendragon, except now he’s yelling up at her window as well. Gwen shoves the window open, wincing slightly when it screeches, the lock worn and stubborn, and pokes her head out, finding the tall footballer standing in the garden outside the hall. Just visible at the edge of the garden is a lanky, dark-haired boy who keeps anxiously looking over his shoulder. So it seems Arthur dragged Merlin along as well. 

“What? What is it, Arthur?” she calls back, and at the sound of her voice, he glances up, eyes widening. 

Then he beams, his smile bright and only amplifying his loveliness. He steps forward, catching the fading light of the sun just so, and his golden hair gleams, the crooked nose that Gwen won’t admit that she adores illuminated perfectly. Under the light, coupled with his smile, he looks something akin to a sun deity. Gwen’s heart goes up in flutters, still slightly stunned that this Arthur is the same boy who spilled his drink over the floor and Gwen’s textbooks when they first met and then refused to help clean them up.

The reverence lasts only a few beautiful brief moments because Arthur pulls his smartphone from the pocket of his tight jeans and presses something on it. Lovely violins and piano notes float up to Gwen’s window, and Arthur begins to sing. 

As charming, attractive, smart, untraditionally kind and caring, and brave as Arthur Pendragon is, he is… clearly no singer. That is the kindest way Gwen can put it while she knots her fingers together tightly, hoping that her ears have not begun bleeding. And that her neighbors can’t hear him, although judging by the windows across her level that begin to slide open, bewildered heads poking out, this is unlikely. 

Sounding low and dreadfully off-tune, Arthur sings of roses and kissing under bright sunlight in a meadow of flowers, his eyes wide and hopeful as they remain fixed on Gwen. It’s a love song by a semi-famous pop singer who Gwen suddenly remembers she once mentioned liking.

They were grabbing lunch in-between classes, and the small greasy spoon they were at was playing one of the singer’s songs. While dabbing dripping sauce from her burger, Gwen off-handedly recalled going to a concert by the singer. When she glanced up, Arthur’s eyes were bright and thoughtful, but then he asked her for the hot sauce. 

She’d forgotten about the moment.

Clearly, Arthur hadn’t.

Gwen leans her head on her hand as she listens to Arthur continue to sing. Despite his lack of talent — and skill — she’s still flattered that he likes her enough to try and serenade her. She sighs, her gaze remaining focused on Arthur, although she notices Merlin waving frantically in her peripheral vision.

Finally, the soundtrack comes to an end with a grand flourish of violins. Arthur’s voice warbles, reaching a high pitch that makes him sound like a cat screeching, and Gwen has to duck her head to hide her wince. She thinks she can faintly hear racoons rattling in the garbage bins that line the corner of the building.

When he finally finishes, there’s a polite smattering of applause from the few on-lookers who remained as most of her neighbors retreated back inside their rooms, likely slipping on headphones and cranking their own music to drown out Arthur. Thankfully, no one has their phone out to record Arthur; he is an incredibly private person making a rare grand gesture, and it would be mean-spirited to have this plastered all over social media. 

“Guinevere!” Arthur shouts, and she peers back out again, offering him a soft smile, “I like you! I really, really like you!”

“I like you as well, Arthur Pendragon!” Gwen shouts back.

His bright smile returns, and if possible, it grows wider. “Would you like to go on a date with me, Guinevere?”

“Of course!” she replies, her cheeks burning. “I would love—”

“Arthur!” calls Merlin loudly, cutting her off. “Arthur!”

Arthur’s face becomes blotchy and red with rage. “What is it, Merlin?” he snaps, glancing back at his best friend.

“Arthur, we need to go—”

“Just wait a minute. You cut Guinevere off.” He turns back to Gwen, glancing up at her hopefully. “You were saying?”

But Gwen is no longer at her window, and his expression becomes bewildered. (Gwen is frantically racing down the stairs, grateful she lives on the third floor instead of the seventh.) He whips on his heel, glaring at an approaching Merlin. He is smiling nervously.

“You got a parking ticket, Arthur,” Merlin says, and Arthur blinks, staring at him uncomprehendingly.

“Pardon?”

“You got a parking ticket,” Merlin repeats, his tone irritated.

“How?” demands Arthur, his grip tightening on his phone.

Merlin throws his hands in the air. “Maybe because you double-parked and left me, the one with no license, to watch over it, clotpole!” 

“You had one job, Merlin! One job!”

“I’m not your servant, Pendragon!”

Gwen chooses that moment to burst out of her hall’s front door, her hair a disarray as curls escape from her ponytail, her feet hastily stuffed into bunny slippers. Arthur smiles at her.

“Yes!” she says, her eyes frantic. 

“Yes?” echoes Arthur in bewilderment, and she smiles fondly, shaking her head, before she steps toward him. Her arms wind around his neck, and she has to stretch on her tiptoes, but then their lips meet, and although there are no violins and the sky has pretty much gone dark, it’s still a wonderful moment, a wonderful kiss.

When she steps back, tucking stray curls behind her ears, she glances up at Arthur’s wonderstruck face and tells him, “Yes, I’ll go on that date with you.”

Then she leans in and kisses him once more.

[honalele]

Barriers

The cold steel of Phil’s sword slid smoothly through Wilbur’s chest like his skin was made of melted butter. He felt his heart stop and everything below the neck go completely numb. He tried to speak, but instead of words, his lungs poured warm streaks of blood out from the corners of his lips. The light started to dim around him and the world became a soft blur of color and noise as he felt himself slip away from his father’s cradling arms. His head rolled back towards the sky and fireworks flooded his deteriorating vision. His soul tried to strip itself from his body, but he grew panicked and afraid. Instant fear and regret crawled under his skin and up into his brain. His mind tried to save him, but the blood wouldn’t stop spilling.

Then, he began to hear a chorus of instruments start to play over the desperate screams of war in the distance. A symphony. A song just for him. This was it. This was the part where he died and became the martyr for all those ignorant revolutionaries. The war would continue without him. He could finally let himself float on the soft vibrato of warm strings and low tones of vibrant brass. A strange sense of serenity swept over him as his soul slid into the music’s comfortable embrace. Death’s dark wings fell like a heavy curtain over his eyes and the orchestra drifted into the decrescendo of its final note. The long awaited conclusion had finally arrived. The symphony was finished.

Wilbur waited for the release of the last note, but the orchestra continued to play long passed anything musical. The note swirled in place like a loose piece of string caught in the wind of a quiet mountain range. Then it started to rise in volume. The violins pressed the hairs of their bows hard into strings of steel and the trumpets blared over the loud tuba dissonance. The piccolos started screaming in sharps as the trombones rolled in harsh flats. The music boiled over, mixing itself into a terribly brash noise that cut through the air like wind through a tunnel.

Wilbur’s disoriented soul fell apart like tulle and then wound itself as tight as a spring board. He was being pulled apart at the seams and stitched back together over and over in rhythmic disarray. The noise continued to echo all around him as his senses began to collect themselves in the aftershocks of afterlife. Florescent lights flashed quickly across his otherwise blind eyes and he felt himself being pushed against some centripetal force. There was a loud thumping in his ears and a deep sickening pain in his chest. He couldn’t decide whether to scream or vomit. The noise grew louder and louder until Will was finally able to open his eyes.

The first thing he saw was a stream of grey concrete rushing past a glossy rendition of his own bug-eyed reflection. He was sitting in a polished silver seat at one end of what appeared to be an empty underground train car. The smell of grime and polisher woke him from any leftover sleepiness, but he remained frozen in place. His limbs felt like gelatin and his chest was weighted as if it had just caved in on itself. He sat there for god knows how long just watching the concrete walls flood along. The sound of the train screamed in lengthy breaths that faded in and out with high-pitched squeals.

After a while of traveling, the tunnel that the train was speeding down opened to a wide empty station. Wilbur flailed for the railing of the seat in front of him as he was lurched forward due to the train’s screeching halt. All was quiet for a few moments, then Wilbur jumped at the hissing sound of pressurized doors opening. He stayed in his seat for a while, fully confused. Perhaps this was all some sort of strange dream one might have before the neurons in their brain stop firing and they died for good. He didn’t have long to wonder about it as a disembodied voice came on to the loudspeaker. The only words he could make out were “get off”, and the rest were nothing but indistinguishable radio chatter.

Wilbur obeyed the voice. What else could he do? Stay on the train? He clung to the seat in front of him for support as he stood up in a dizzy haze. His body felt thin like paper. He had to look down at the floor to make sure his feet were grounded, otherwise he might assume he’d been floating. Wilbur made his way to the double doors, frantically clinging to each seat along the way as if he would get swept away like sand in the wind if he didn’t. When he finally made it to the doors, he paused to take one final look around the train car. There was absolutely nothing here. Wilbur swallowed in uncertainty which only made him realize how dry his throat had become. He turned around and peeked his head out just beyond the barrier doors. It seemed same as the train with nothing out there, completely abandoned. He took a cautions step forward, like a fawn venturing out into a questionable field. He would’ve kept one foot on the train, but the doors closed as soon as Wilbur was far enough out.

“Wait.” He called in panic and reached his left hand into the station’s barrier doors as they closed. A deep-throated cry fell out of Wilbur’s lungs as he shouted in not only pain, but regret. He wanted to get back on the train. He wanted to go back to the war. He wanted to feel his father’s comforting embrace, even if it was only for a few seconds more; even if it meant he’d have to face the failure of his broken nation. Wilbur cried at the crushing weight of the doors on his arm. He felt his tendons pop and the bone underneath splinter apart like bits of brittle. The static voice appeared on the radio again murmuring something in the tones of a fast apology, then the doors opened just enough to free Wilbur before closing completely.

He gulped air, trying to push the pain out of his mind. He looked down at his arm, it was twisted and bleeding. Surely he couldn’t be dead, not if he could still feel pain? Wilbur’s attention was stolen by movement from the train and he watched as it promptly left the station. He tried to catch a glance at the conductor, but the gapping underground tunnel had already swallowed the front of the train down its large ominous throat. Brassy rails rattled loudly and continued to ring in the empty station chamber long after the train had fully disappeared. Wilbur turned his gaze to his reflection in the glass of the barrier doors. Though there were more important things to be concerned about at the moment, he only noticed that his clothes had been changed. He wore a long dark jacket that was buttoned by two elegant brass chains and draped over a mustard-yellow shirt. He looked down at the tattered left arm sleeve. Pain licked his wounds like fire round a log, but there wasn’t much he could do about it.

Wilbur turned around and took in his new surroundings. It was a quiet station covered in white tiles and grey concrete. There was some sort of food or ticket station on the far wall, but it was barred off with a curtain of steel netting and he couldn’t see anyone inside. The ceiling was held up with rows of grossly blue-painted support beams, and there were markers on the floor that told him to “mind the gap”. Wilbur began to wonder over to the barred off stand despite the disoriented feelings of shock swimming around his gut. As he closed in on the stand, he saw posters of food and advertisements for little trinkets. He tugged on the netting with his good hand. Fortunately, it was unlocked. He rolled the curtain up above his head and then carefully climbed his way over the polished counter.

He caught a stinging hot flash on his left arm when he accidentally grazed it on a small basket filled with various colored lighters. He clutched the poor arm with his right hand as he hopped off the counter and started searching for anything that might be useful. Whoever worked here must’ve had a first aid kit somewhere. He checked in cupboards and on top of pantries that were filled with all sorts of unhealthy snacks and goodies. He checked behind the pop machine, around the registers, and even under the coolers until he finally found that immaculate white and red box nestled sweetly between a rack of magazines and a display tree of playing cards and cigarettes. He quickly grabbed it and threw it over to the empty counter. He began digging through all of the supplies until he found the bandages he was looking for. He did his best to tie them around his sore arm, making awkward positions with his fingers and tightening the ends with his teeth. It wasn’t the most attractively wrapped wound, but it kept the bleeding down.

Then he stirred through the kit a bit longer in hopes of finding any pain killers, but fate was absolutely determined to fuck him over. He could feel the anxiety coming over him now. It almost overtook the throbbing in his arm. Wilbur shoved the emergency kit’s entrails back inside their plastic chest and slammed it shut. He tossed the box over to the magazine stand in frustration, but his aim was dreadful and he ended up knocking the whole thing over. Various articles of hot gossip and designer clothing spilled out onto the black and white tiled floor. Wilbur stared at the mess he’d made, considering whether or not to clean it up. Whether or not it mattered. Then his eye caught a glimpse at that display tree of Mayfair and Modiano.

Wilbur wasted no time, and hurried over to the tree, swiftly plucking one of its morbid fruits off its stainless-steel branches. He almost turned back to the counter before deciding that a pack of playing cards would hardly be missed, especially over a pack of smokes. He nabbed the pretty blue deck of Modiano that matched the blue-boxed Mayfairs and skipped over to the counter where he’d seen the small basket of lighters from earlier. He stuffed the cards in the right pocket of his jacket and opened the box of those tantalizing orange and white sticks, all perfectly bundled up like a freshly sharpened carton of back-to-school pencils just waiting to be used. He slid one of the sticks out before setting the box on the counter. He placed the fag between his lips and struck the lighter in one fast click, the sound filling him with that secure feeling of familiarity. He brought the flame close and held it in place until the cigarette burned and the smoke fell into his lungs.

Wilbur held in the fumes as they swirled together like heavy thunderclouds in his chest before finally breathing out a long stream smoke one might see from the smokebox of a steam train. Even though he’d been smoking for most of his life and even up to the hour of his death, that first hit was always something special. Something longed for. Something that never failed to satisfy. Wilbur stayed behind the counter and smoked away until he’d finished the entire fag, then he reached for the box and pulled out another stick. He lit that one as well and smoked until all of his nerves had quieted down and the fire in his arm cooled to a dull ache. Then, he stuffed the lighter in the right pocket of his trousers along with the Mayfairs and climbed over the counter.

He strode into the open area and spun around the steel-blue pillars like a lazy kid swinging on the monkey bars, sluggishly going from one to the next. His mind was loaded with thoughts and questions as if a dozen weighted blankets had just been dropped on his head. Had he really died? If not, then where was he? Would another train come by soon? Would it even let him on?

Then he noticed that further down the station, there was a tunnel. He leaned away from the pillar he’d been swinging round to get a better look, his right hand acting as a tether to keep him from falling. He could see stairs at the foot of the tunnel, and a sign overhead that read “way out” with an arrow pointing up. Wilbur’s heart didn’t exactly leap for joy, but he was intrigued, so he let go of the pillar and thoughtfully made his way over to the tunnel. When he reached the base of the stairs, he saw that the “way out” had been closed off with a barrier of heavy metal shutters. A part of Will stayed at the base of the stairs in pessimistic lethargy, but the other side of him hoped that the shutters would be unlocked like the netting at the food station, and that he would be capable of lifting them on his own despite the electric shocks in his left arm.

He was about to take that first step when suddenly, the thundering blast of a toilet flushing filled the station. The sound caused his heart to leap out of his chest and nearly choke on his own saliva. He turned around and searched the station for a lavatory, but was caught off guard when, from out of his periphery, a blue door swung open. Wilbur stubbled back in shock at the sight before him. The man with those distinguished ram horns that never failed to call attention to his corporate composed face walked out of the nearest toilet, completely wrapped up in wiping his hands off with a fluffy white towel. By the time the man looked up and actually noticed Wilbur, Wilbur’s ass had found a place on the floor and the cigarette was dangling from his lips as his jaw had gone lax in utter disbelief.

“Holy shit.” Was all the man could say upon seeing Wilbur. And Wilbur, though speechless, felt the same. For the man that stood before him had died only hours before he’d died himself.

“Schlatt.” Wilbur said. They stayed like that for a while. Analyzing the lines of each other’s ghostly faces. The two of them had died. Wilbur was actually dead. And they were both here. All of the questions came bubbling up in Wilbur’s mind once again about how he had gotten here and where “here” actually was. But he remained silent. Schlatt’s cold eyes burrowed into Wilbur’s and for a moment, they seemed to share a privet conversation, or rather an understanding, that all of the heartache and blood spilt in the land of the living due to their rich rivalry meant absolutely nothing. They were just two insignificant souls trapped in the same universe and destined to die for power trips and shit coke.

And then Schlatt started to laugh. Each cackle, every snort, was like the claws of a house cat digging through Wilbur’s chest in a frantic attempt to find his heart. Wilbur sat back and took it. He noticed that Schlatt’s clothes had changed as well. Instead of his normal formal wear, he was in a white tank top and gym shorts. Wilbur would have pointed and laughed as well if the situation hadn’t been so mind-boggling. He watched as tears developed in Schlatt’s eyes from laughing so hard and the man use the towel to wipe them away.

“That’s a good one.” He sighed as he pressed the towel up under his eyes. “Anyway.” Schlatt tossed the cloth at Wilbur and it plopped directly into his lap as Schlatt turned away from him and bounced up the steps. For a moment Wilbur found himself incapable of reacting, but as soon as his wits came about, he grabbed the towel and raced up the stairs to catch up to his old rival.

“Do you know what this place is?” He asked hurriedly. And when Schlatt didn’t answer, all of the questions came flooding out of Wilbur’s mouth with such force that not even the Hoover dam could’ve stopped them. “Did we actually die? Is this Hell or something else? When my arm got crushed in the barriers, why did it hurt? Why have my clothes been changed? What the hell are you wearing? When did you-”

“Get here?” Schlatt cut Will off from his waterfall of wonder without taking his eyes off the steel curtain at the ridge of the staircase. Wilbur forced himself to shut up as he climbed alongside the man in silent suspense. “Five days ago.” And then ice coursed through Wilbur’s veins, causing his legs to malfunction and his mind to glitch as the answer began to register in his brain. Schlatt kept walking. If it hadn’t been for the fear of losing track of the only other living being in the place, Will would’ve stayed frozen. Instead he raced back into step with Schlatt and tried desperately to gain eye contact with him again.

“That’s impossible. We died hours apart.”

“You still believe in the word ‘impossible’ Will?” Schlatt answered. And he had a point. Though he couldn’t seem to wrap his mind around it, Wilbur was beginning to understand that everything he thought he knew about the universe was just a bunch of old lies delicately put together like a papeir-mâché mask, and it was falling apart right in front of him, rotting at a million seconds per minute, the flakes of his prior knowledge floating away with the ghosts of his past self.

“As for the other stuff,” Schlatt spoke above the panicked screams in Wilbur’s head, “didn’t you listen to the guy on the radio? He explained everything.” Schlatt asked, finally glancing in Wilbur’s direction.

“I couldn’t make anything out.”

“That’s what growing up in the country will do to you.” Schlatt scoffed. “Allow me to translate.” He said as they reached the top of the staircase and Schlatt pulled a pair of keys out of his pocket. Wilbur watched as he bent down to the ground and unlocked the shutter door. “Basically, this is limbo. We’re stuck here until we reach our ‘second death’ whatever the fuck that’s supposed to mean. You can get hurt, but you can’t heal so be more fucking careful.” Schlatt grunted as he pulled the steel curtain up over his head. “The rest is a mystery.” He said as he stepped into the room behind the curtain.

Yes, room. Not a “way out” like the sign had promised. Wilbur peeked inside and saw various workout equipment and tastless posters decorating the place.

“What is this?” Wilbur asked. But Schlatt was already closing the shutters behind him.

“Mine.” Was the last thing he said before cutting off their conversation with a loud clang. Wilbur stood alone, looking at his warped reflection in the stainless steel door, just like he had done at the glass barriers not moments ago, only this time with more earth-shattering knowledge than before. All from the mouth of that grease ridden asshole who had probably just finished clogging the toilets with his deplorable shit.

Limbo. He had called it. Five days ago. Wilbur counted the hours in his head as he turned around and made his way down the concrete stairs in heavy contemplation and inhaled the cigarette’s sweet nectar. Was it five hours or three? Six? Maybe two? And as his boots hit the station’s floor, Wilbur came to the heartbreaking conclusion that a day on earth could quite possibly equal a month in “limbo”. He stared out at the grimy abandoned station, the dank air stale on his tongue and the quiet, screaming into his mind. This was no afterlife. This was prison.

Wilbur wondered over to the tube’s barrier doors in a hazy daze and plopped himself down next to them. He reached for the smooth glass with his right hand and pressed his fingertips against it. He gently rolled his fingers into a loose fist that gradually tightened with the knot of anger and sadness developing in his stomach. Then his cigarette fell out of his mouth as he allowed his lungs to heave one singular sob. The sound resonated so loud in his ears that he could have mistaken it for an oncoming train. The tears were trapped in his eyes, and the world became a soft blur of color and noise, absent of cradling arms. Will’s heart shattered and the universe seemed to stop spinning for a moment, as if it heard the sound like a mother’s china being carelessly knocked to the floor by her rambunctious children. There was nothing left to hold onto. He had lost everything.

And then Will did the only thing he knew how to do. He rolled over so that he was leaning his back on the barriers and reached into his right jacket pocket for the pack of cigarettes. However, when he pulled open the lid, the sticks were gone and they had been replaced with sleek slabs of thin plastic. He’d accidentally grabbed the playing cards. Wilbur pushed a few of them out of the box with his thumb. The first card he saw was the joker, silently cackling at him. Wilbur pulled the card out along with his brother and held both of those smiling sons of bitches between his fingers. He laid the rest of the deck on the floor and then picked up his discarded cigarette and pushed its smolder into the faces of those ugly bastards. Those fools. Those worthless, stupid, insignificant beings that thought perhaps a poetic death would endorse their suffering. Those selfish idiots that thought failure was so harsh a word, they could somehow snuff it out with the blade of their father’s sword. That perhaps beyond the stars, beyond years, beyond people, beyond time, there was something the universe had to offer them. Something the universe could give to them so that they weren’t always grasping at tobacco wrapped fucking straws or packages of red wrapped gunpowder. And then the orange and red flames enveloped them both. They curled in hot pain and eventually burned into a sad stack of ash.

Then Wilbur turned his gaze upon the living and he knew he’d done right by them.

He dumped the jokers’ family out onto the grey concrete in front of him. The diamonds glowing with purpose. The clubs sitting in silent strength. The spades clear of grime and gore. The hearts full and unbroken. And the royal court looking stoic as ever. Will pulled them all together and thought of a game to play. He shuffled the cards in his hands, ignoring the vicious pain looping his left arm. The cards had edges so soft that they trickled like rain through his fingertips. Then he laid the cards down spreading their smooth surfaces out like seamless lines of coke and his sadness seemed to soak into the intricacies of their pretty blue design. This would be his first game of solitaire. The first game out of 58,728.

[dragons-socks]

bby bumblebee chptr 6

A tall woman stood in front of Bee with an ever present scowl on her face. A handful of shoeless kids in all white clothes were practicing movements behind her. Bee turned back to Lennox and shook his head. He wasn’t going to put on pajamas and make a fool of himself. He’d rather be at the hands of Starscream.

“Too late, we’ve already paid for you to be here for a month. So you’ll have to tough it out.” Lennox shrugged.

‘That kid just fell.’ Bee watched as a kid kept tripping over his pant legs and then knocked over another kid and like a domino effect they all toppled to the ground. The woman closed her eyes as she heard the commotion and her students started to fight.

“Silence!” She yelled over the noise and the kids got back into their lines. “Jacob, I thought you said your mom got the right sized gi this time.”

“She said I’d grow into them.” The boy that was the epicenter crossed his arms. “I tried to explain it to her, but she said not to argue with her.”

“Alright, alright. Go get the spare out of my office. The rest of you continue practicing.” She turned back to Bumblebee and Lennox. “Is he deaf?” She asked.

“No, he can hear you just fine. He’s just mute.” Lennox answered.

“Ah, I understand. It’s nice to see a parent taking action to help their child’s confidence. I’ve had many kids here come in mute and leave little chatterboxes.” The woman said.

“It has to be some miracle to get Bumblebee to talk. He lost his voice in an accident when he was younger. His vocal chords are all but ripped out.” Lennox explained, motioning Bee to tilt his head up and reveal the gruesome scars around his neck. Bee didn’t really care for his scars. He came to terms with them long ago.

“That would be difficult to restore his voice, but no matter, we aren’t throat doctors and I have a harsh zero tolerance policy on any sort of bullying so rest assured your son is in a safe place.” The woman knelt down to be at the same height as Bee. “Hello, Bumblebee, I am Laura Alves. You may call me Sensei Alves or just Sensei. I’ll be your instructor until you decide to leave my classroom.”

“Alright, Bee, I’ll be back to pick you up in about -”

“We train for two hours a day.”

“Two hours, kid.” Lennox ruffled Bee’s hair and walked out. Bee slumped in defeat as he was left with the angry looking woman and about fifteen other kids.

The first thing she had Bee do was take off his shoes and socks. The floor was cool on his feet, making his toes curl. And then the woman led him into her office and handed him a box with the same white pajamas as the other kids.

“This is called a ‘gi’. It will be your uniform when you come here. It will be your responsibility to bring them back each time. I like to start each of my students with a practice match against me. Don’t be frightened, I’m not going to go all out, my young student. It’s just for me to see your capabilities. Sometimes you kids soak up some knowledge in fighting by watching television.” Laura talked almost as much as Raven. Bee nodded along and made a few clicking noises to let her know he was listening. “After that we’ll decide on the disciplines to start you out with.”

The class was surrounding the mat. A girl with a high ponytail let out a whoop and told the sensei to ‘have his ass’. Laura told the girl to stand in the corner for time out. She looked about Annabell’s age.

“Okay, are you ready, Bumblebee?” Laura asked. Bee nodded, mimicking the teacher’s pose. He took a deep breath and nodded.

Bee was a trained soldier, he wasn’t just a scout. He was the scout for Optimus Prime. Or was the scout for Optimus Prime. He wasn’t going to go down so easily, and he never has. Even when Megatron ripped out his voice box it wasn’t without a fight.

The height difference was like fighting Optimus Prime in his original form. Laura towered over him. He blocked a few blows and threw a punch of his own. This body’s muscles didn’t have the same extreme training as his old one had. This body wouldn’t listen to all of his commands like it was breathing. He hit the floor.

He hit the floor in a matter of minutes.

“That was really good, Bumblebee.” Laura held her hand out to him. He was about to ignore it, but decided not to. He wanted to be angry with the teacher for his defeat. He even wanted to be mad at himself. He couldn’t. He knew how much work and skills he had. He survived in a multi-century old war when a lot of his race was killed out. It wasn’t his fault. It was the decepticon’s fault. It was Knockout. It was Starscream. It was Megatron, who was to blame for this and any future failures of his. This was the first step in making sure he’d be able to make Megatron pay.

With a determined look, Bee threw the first punch to the air along with a group of earth children.

___________

Annabell was hiding from Sarah again and it was up to Bee to find her. It was surprisingly difficult to find one five year old in just a two story house. There were a few places he could instantly cross off his list. Lennox’s office was off limits to anyone who wasn’t ‘physically an adult, don’t argue with me, Bumblebee,’ and Annabell was terrified of the attic storage space. That left a lot of places to cover.

Sarah had started using Bumblebee as her own scout, searching out her daughter. Bee couldn’t deny the fact that he sort of enjoyed this intense version of hide-n’-go-seek. Until today when he searched up and down the normal spots and still couldn’t find Annabell. He took a long look at the office, but still didn’t dare go there first. He walked to the attic stairs, looking up the darkened path to see if he could get a glimpse of the little Lennox.

“Bee!” Annabell popped out of the shadows, giving Bee a heart attack. “Look what I found!” She held out a small violin. Bee’s music teacher had one of these hanging on his classroom walls. She strummed the strings violently. Bee waved his hands to stop her, but it wasn’t fast enough. One of the brittle stings snapped and lashed back at the girl. Her high pitched scream alerted the mother to the mess. Bee tried to see if she was seriously hurt, but Annabell kept pushing him away.

“What’s wrong?” Sarah ran into the hall, oven mitts still on.

‘She found an old violin and the string snapped.’ Bee pointed to the busted instrument he had pushed away.

“Alright, alright. Let’s see the damage.” Sarah said, her voice calming down and coaxed her daughter into moving her hand away from her face. There was a scratch across her cheek, and a little blood was coming out, but nothing that looked too serious. Sarah picked up Annabell and brought her to the bathroom to get cleaned off and a few bandaids where the bleeding was originating.

Bee went back to the hall and picked up the violin. It fit right in his hands. He didn’t touch the strings though. He used to use the lyrics of musicians on the radio for his voice. He could communicate with his team and with Sam by switching through thousands of channels and stations to construct his own thoughts. Or he’d use the radio waves and the makeshift coder Ratchet had fixed him up with. It would translate the thoughts he wanted to speak into binary code and beep it to the world, which was automatically translated by the other transformers. His music teacher keeps saying music had a voice of its own. Even the instruments and their notes could give a message to people.

Bumblebee didn’t know why, but he found himself stashing the violin under his bed. He’d get his strength back with Laura and her class. With Sign Language, he’d have his words back. But with this violin, he’d get his voice back. He’ll move waves of people if it meant crashing on a safer shore.

It wasn’t until after the three ate dinner that Lennox came home from work that day. Ironhide’s loud rumble alerting them to their arrival. The man came through, ruffling both his kid’s hairs and giving them a kiss on the cheek before going to his wife to properly greet her. It had been established after the first week that this process was to take place. Even so, Bee never really got used to the contact. It made his skin tingle and cheeks warm up. He brushed the ‘older’ man away each time.

“What happened to Bell?” Lennox asked, inspecting his daughter’s battle wound.

“She had a fight with your old violin. I told you to throw that thing away.” Sarah said. Bee’s heart started to pound in his chest. He kept his head down, but an eye on the couple.

“Well, I guess it has to go if its already got a body count.” Lennox walked to the attic before Bee could stall him. He came back down with an empty case. “Where is it?”

“Bumblebee said he put it back? Bee, where is the violin?” Sarah asked. Bee shook his head and shrugged. He tried to get his breathing under control.

“Come on, Bee. Go get it.” Lennox’s voice was stern, almost a sprinkle of disappointment could be heard. Bee couldn’t stand when the man was disappointed in him. He shuffled to his room, already uncovering his hiding spot. It hadn’t even been two hours since it was there. His declaration crumbling in his hands. Lennox was at his door, but instead of a scowl, a soft smile was on his face.

‘What?’ Bee asked, hunching his shoulders around the violin.

“Do you want to learn how to play?” Lennox smirked. “Don’t be shy to ask if you want to do something. I know I’m sort of forcing you to take self defence classes, so its only fair for you to do something you want to do.”

Bee nodded his head so fast it almost felt like it could pop off. Lennox laughed, taking the violin from Bee’s hands and walked back into the kitchen. Bee followed, his feet lighter and heart fluttering in excitement. Until it dropped when he saw the instrument in the trash. He ran to get it out, but was stopped by Lennox

“Woah, there. What’s wrong, Bee?” Lennox asked, hands solid on Bee’s shoulders

‘I thought you said I could learn how to play it?’ Bee signed frantically.

“Yeah, but Bee, that one is broken and busted. We can get you a new one.” Lennox explained. Bee shook his head. He hadn’t cried for a week, not since he ran away. And yet here he was, breaking that record.

‘I can fix it!’ He tried to push Lennox away, but again the man was stronger. ‘Please, it can be fixed. Don’t throw it away!’

Lennox made eye contact with his wife. It would be cheaper just to buy a new Violin, he’d probably have to buy a new set of every piece of equipment for it, not to mention he hasn’t touched the thing since he was fourteen, and its been sitting in his childhood treasures ever since in various attics and storage units. The repairs would be expensive. But he also had a feeling Bee was panicking about more than just a broken instrument. How could he explain to the kid that he wasn’t going to throw him away even though he was ‘broken’ when his last family all but decided to do just that?

“Now, Bumblebee. It’s just a violin, sometimes -” Sarah began, but Lennox gave her another look. “Will, you can’t be serious. No, Will- Fine, fine.” Bee trilled happily as he fished the violin out of the trash. Sarah brought the mood down as she told him and Annabell to get ready and go to bed. Bee wanted to fight back, it wasn’t eight yet and so it wasn’t time for that. He had already lost the fight of ‘he’s not technically a child and didn’t need a bedtime’ long ago. Sarah wasn’t having any of it.

Bee was crawling into bed when he realised he had left his blanket in the living room from earlier that day. He tried to assure himself that he wasn’t a child and didn’t need that specific blanket to fall asleep. He had plenty of others he could use. He changed his mind after shifting and shuffling about his bed for half an hour. As he crept out of his room he could hear Sarah and Lennox talking about something. The closer he got to his living room the easier it was to hear.

“- but you’re taking him to his lessons.”

“That’s not fair to Bee.” Lennox shot up. “You know that I keep odd hours for tracking down decepticons. It’s my job. Even if Prime is at an unknown location, Ironhide and I still have that job to do.”

“Then find a more stable one. One that has a less possibility of getting you killed by giant robot aliens. I can’t take care of both Bee and Annabell by myself. And Annabell is our child.” Sarah’s voice was cold steel to Bee’s spine. “If I had to, I’d choose her every time.”

“Bumblebee isn’t some dog, Sarah. He’s a kid too. You wouldn’t seriously just throw him out?” Lennox wasn’t shouting, but he didn’t have too. Bumblebee could see his blanket draped across the same couch these two were having this conversation. He couldn’t bring himself to peel away from the wall’s shadows and get it.

“He’s not a kid, though. He knows it, you know it. I know it. It’s his favorite argument. He loves pointing it out.” Sarah ran a hand down her face.

“You know that isn’t completely true. Sure, Bee has more memories than most eight year olds, but he’s a kid. He’d be helpless on his own. I couldn’t just do that to him.”

“I know. But it just feels like I’m the one taking care of him, while you’re off doing god knows what. My life has been flipped upside down and you seem like none of this ever happened. You get to come home and in an hour or two he’s asleep. Do you know how hard it is to juggle a job, taking care of those two, and learning a whole new language, just so I can understand one of them. You brought Bumblebee home. I wasn’t a part of this decision.” Sarah’s voice was thick and full of tears.

“Stop talking like he’s an expendable animal, Sarah. Yeah, I was the one to decide that Bumblebee doesn’t deserve to be thrown to the dogs. But you said it was fine. You didn’t think it was such an awful idea seven months ago. You can’t turn back around and act like I twisted your arm.” Lennox stood up, pacing the length of the couch.

“I’m just asking you to switch your MOS to give you more time with your family, and make sure you have more time with family.” Sarah stressed.

“I’m not mad about that. I’m mad that you think tossing Bee aside is okay.” Lennox’s voice was like gravel at this point, but still didn’t rise in volume. Bee was choking. He couldn’t breath, his heart was beating and body was burning. He thought he was finally getting along with Sarah. They threw snacks at galra after she helped him with his homework everyday. She taught him how to make cookies last week. She was nice. And she hated him. He couldn’t even run away again, Lennox would be devastated.

“It’s not like I want to. Just make sure I don’t have to make that choice.” Sarah was outright crying now. Bee’s stomach dropped as Lennox promised his wife he’d look into changing jobs. Bee sunk back into his room, foregoing his blanket for tonight. He had others that were just fine.

He couldn’t go to sleep. The conversation ran through his head, bouncing between one ear to the next. An emotionally draining game of ping-pong. And the blue blanket was too scratchy, the green one too large, the one with trucks on it was too puffy. They all lay, kicked off, on the floor. He held his stuffed bunny tight to his chest, the soft ears positioned over his eyes to soak up his tears if they ever decided to spill.

He didn’t move as his door was cracked open. He made sure his breathing stayed even and calm. Soft footsteps approached his bed, and a familiar warmth was draped over his body. Large, rough hands tucked the blanket snuggly around him.

“I won’t let you be thrown away again, Bee. I promise.” Lennox whispered.

With tired hands, Bee found himself signing ‘good night, dad.’

“Good night, kid.”

[silentstep]

orchestral AU: The Untamed

I am legally required to do one of these for every fandom I’m ever in.  HERE WE GO.

Wei Wuxian is a violinist.  this is the EASIEST of them all, hands down.  Wei Wuxian is the HERO and the PROTAGONIST and everything he does is done with maximum drama!!!! and never not once does it ever even occur to him for a single moment that he might not be the most important actor in the room.  Something must be done and it’s up to him to do it.  with FLAIR.

(I am a violinist.  I know my own.)

Lan Wangji is a pianist.  Lan Wangji is not actually a part of this orchestra.  oh, he gets brought in a lot, because there’s plenty of orchestral works with pianos, but truly he is most comfortable in a little dark practice room playing Chopin.  (And then of course he and his soulmate play Beethoven sonatas and it’s fucking incredible.)

Lan Xichen plays the cello!  Ah, supportive, calm, diplomatic Xichen.  Never the drama queen.  Hidden depths behind that smile.  Strong and beautiful, never aggressive or overbearing.  Deeply faithful.  (Why do I always associate cellos with fidelity?  IDK but I do.  They’re like the presence of a spaniel in old paintings.)

Jiang Cheng plays the clarinet.  Extremely important, but overlooked b/c it’s not exactly glamorous.  (“nobody respects clarinets,” I said confidently to Partner, who gave me the most appalled look: “you mean you don’t respect clarinets.”  “they’re woodwinds.”  “you’re such a violinist.”)  Jiang Cheng practices hard and he shows up early to every single rehearsal and he’s part of the goddamn backbone of the orchestra but do you think that matters to anyone?  No one’s looking at him!  Wei Wuxian is showing off again!

Nie Mingjue plays the trombone.  Powerful, bold, a nice range, not commonly a solo instrument (the Nie sect is all about that well-coordinated teamwork) but not one that’s relegated to oompahs of support either.

Wen Qing plays the oboe.  Also very important.  A little high-strung (“if anyone spends all their time carving reeds, it’s her,” said Partner, and I agree).  Jiang Cheng keeps spares of her preferred reed knives & cane & stuff on his person just in case she ever needs anything.  They’re part of the same orchestra!  He’s just being responsible!  Anyone would, probably!

Wen Ning’s not in the orchestra at all.  He played Suzuki violin as a kid but his family wanted him to focus more on his studies, so he let it fall by the wayside.  (Unbeknowest to them, he’s recently started getting into fiddle.)

Lan Qiren plays viola.  Wei Wuxian has probably told viola jokes in his hearing.  They’re probably the same ones his mother told in Lan Qiren’s hearing back in the day.

Lan Sizhui plays the bass.  Strong, reliable, genuinely content out of the spotlight and in a position of support, doesn’t make a big deal out of the fact that he is very important.  Laid-back and chill.

Lan Jingyi plays the french horn.  Sweet, a little wacky.  He cackles about it every time he gets to do the horn fifths to mean cuckoldry.

The Jins are all trumpeters.  everyone hates Jin Zixun (who sucks, and is an ass) and lumps Jin Zixuan in with him, which is unfair because Zixuan is actually really really good at trumpet.  like, yeah he sure knows it, but it’s completely justified!  And he’s really very nice, just extremely shy about everything that isn’t playing music.  Mianmian plays clarinet, but she hangs out with the trumpets most of time— well, with Zixuan, anyway, who’s her friend, and listen, Zixun is 100% an amoral ass but he genuinely does care about Zixuan, and even Mianmian in a way.

Jin Guangyao solely among the Jins does not play trumpet: he plays flute.  Delicate, beautiful, ambitious (potentially murderous); the violinists of the winds.  (listen to me.  I say this as a violinist and a soprano.  the highest voices of every ensemble are the same.  high pitches are piercing!  you know you’re gonna be heard.  one of the biggest reasons for someone to choose the soprano part is because you want to be the one people are listening to whether they like it or not.)

Partner says Jiang Yanli plays the flute, which I’m actually gonna disagree with because I don’t think Jiang Yanli’s part of the orchestra, I think she’s in some sort of background managerial/support role.  I’m making her the music librarian.  She and Jin Zixuan have a very, very quiet mutual pining thing going on, where they’d both desperately like to spend time together but oh god every time they see each other their minds blank of any possible conversation topics and their hearts race and their hands get clammy and they just????  look at each other???  oh god they’re still looking.  quick.  quick say something.  shit, no, that was the wrong thing to say—

it’s excruciating.  Wei Wuxian tries to keep them apart and Mianmian tries to throw them together and Jiang Cheng is just trying to gently encourage Jiang Yanli to not be down on herself, and otherwise stays the fuck out of it.

Jin Ling plays trumpet, just like his dad.  (don’t think about the timeline.  there is no timeline.)

Su She, of course, plays the piano but isn’t as good as ~Hanguang-jun~.  (Probably he’s genuinely better at other styles, but.  That doesn’t matter, does it?)

Xiao Xingchen is a percussionist.  Song Lan’s a cellist (quietly strong, devoted, precise, hardworking, serious, confident but not egotistical).  They’re both extremely good— the orchestra was lucky to get them— but then something happened and Xiao Xingchen left and Song Lan has been frantically researching every single percussionist of every single orchestra worldwide and finding no trace of Xiao Xingchen’s career— he must be somewhere, surely, surely he hasn’t given up playing professionally altogether—!

Nope, Xiao Xingchen has joined a jazz band.  He plays drumset now.  A-Qing plays the electric guitar and Xue Yang plays saxophone.  They’re called Coffin Town.

Nie Huaisang’s a violinist.  He’s just barely hanging on in the back of the seconds; Nie Mingjue is always always on his back to just practice for fuck’s sake, there are professional standards to be upheld, but Huaisang is very committed to only ever doing the bare minimum to keep the job at all.  (What almost zero people know is that his main passion is composition.  He writes under a pseudonym, and the orchestra actually programs his work quite regularly; it’s weird but really compelling stuff.)

Wen Chao plays harp.  He makes Wen Zhuliu do all the tuning, every single time, including setting the pedals.  Wen Zhuliu’s life is very hard.

Ouyang Zizhen plays tuba.  He’s happy back there.

[audreysmusicaljourney]

Album #398: The Raincoats "The Raincoats" (1979)

I have never heard of the Raincoats. I wore one today for whatever that is worth.

This is the band that I wanted the Go-Go's to be: an incredibly talented all-female post punk band. The first track on this album "Fairytale in the Supermarket" is a really good introduction to this band, but it actually wasn't included on the original release of the album. It was their first single, and has been included on this album since 1993.

"No Side to Fall In" is the actual opening track, and it features the band's vocal harmonies over some disjointed instrumentation. Despite what seems like chaos at times, the sound really works. The track "Adventures Close to Home" takes the listener on an upbeat jaunt as the vocals go all over the place, often at the same time. My only complaint about this track is that I wish it had lasted longer than it did. (That's what she said!)

"Off Duty Trip" features a drum roll throughout most of the track over deliberate guitars and vocals. "Black and White" has a brief appearance by a saxophone that whimpers along with the other instrumentation to create what can only be referred to as a "racket." The band's cover of "Lola" by the Kinks is a good cover. It creates an interesting dynamic with female vocals. I really like the juxtaposition of the high-pitched violin over the low tone of the bass on the opening instrumentation of the track "The Void." The guitar and vocals join in to bring the sound together, but the violin continues to be the star of the track, and a somewhat haunting one at that.

Just when I think I have heard the last of the violin, it continues to dominate on the track "Life on the Line" in as orchestrated of a sound as I have ever heard on a punk rock track. There is legit plucking of the violin strings to make it sound like a fiddle halfway through this track. Whatever is going on, it is amazing! I love the tempo change in the middle of "You're a Million." "In Love" is quite an experimental post punk track with vocals over vocals over vocals. "No Looking" is a chaotic closing track for the album, with the frantic repetition of the phrase "No Looking At Me" over the wailing violin and pounding drums. And then, it ends.

Rating: 9/10

How I Listened: Spotify

Takeaway: When I read that Kurt Cobain listed this as one of his 50 favorite albums, I bought it on vinyl. This occurred halfway through the actual opening track of the album, which was the second song I had ever heard by the Raincoats. I am not disappointed that I bought it without making my way further through the track as this is a really good album. Seems like Kurt Cobain knew something about good music.

[imastrangeone98]

Lost and Found - Chapter 16: One Last Obstacle

(A/N: the ultimate showdown is beginning to make an appearance! I'm pretty excited, wby non-existent fans??)

Here's some bad nice little filler before the main event. Also wow spoiler alert: I made Gabriel a super creep and it made my skin crawl just writing it

Also wow this is the longest chapter by far I think. Beware XD

WARNING: this chapter may contain sensitive discussion on god and religion. If you're someone easily sensitive to this, then plz do not read

The trio landed on the marble floor, quickly examining their surroundings in shock.

"What the hell happened?" Lady asked, gripping tightly at the Kalina Ann.

"Is it me, or is everyone dead?" Dante chimed in, kicking at a nearby corpse.

Faith closed her eyes, and felt around her surroundings, searching for any emotion from the fallen angels- fear, pain, despair, anything- only to find absolutely nothing. "It seems that with God's purification, the angels somehow lost the source of their power, and the loss of it must have been too much for them to handle."

"Honestly, if you... purified it- Him... shouldn't they get stronger?" Her friend scratched her head in confusion. Lady always hated when something couldn't quite click in her head.

"Perhaps... the angels were never as angelic as the Bible made them out to be. And God was not the holy being that everyone believed Him to be."

The half-demon hummed. "I mean, look at His insides. That shit was black as sin."

"Yes-"

RAGEHATREDHOPEGRIEFMOURNINGLOSTFAMILYLOSTFATHERLOSTELIZABETHELIZABETHELIZABETH-

She flinched. "Dante. Lady. You need to leave now."

"What? Why?" He turned to her, reeking confusion. "They're all dead; we can go home."

"No," the nephilim corrected. Panic began to settle in her bones. "There's one left."

"How? Who?"

"The strongest of all. Gabriel." Fear made her stomach churn. She frantically pushed them towards the exit high above. "Dante, I want you to fly Lady back."

There was a soft beat of wings somewhere in the cavern.

He approaches.

"What?! No! What about you?" Lady stubbornly planted her feet on the floor. "We're not leaving without you."

"Ditto." Dante placed his hands of Faith's shoulders; they were shaking. "I'm not losing anyone else."

He's scared, she realized. He was terrified; he had lost his mother and his brother- he refused to lose any more that he cared for... Like me.

"Dante..." she tried to reassure him, holding his trembling hand. "I'll be okay-"

His hand suddenly squeezed hers painfully. "We need to go. Now."

ELIZABETH!

Faith's head ached. "Go!" She pushed at her friends, urging them to hurry. "Go!"

"Faith!"

Time stood still. The overwhelming grief that suddenly filled her was physically staggering. Images flew through her mind- images of a beautiful young woman in a flowing white dress, of her smiling at someone, of her taking a walk in a blooming meadow with a small bundle in her arms-

Of her face twisted in agony as her wings were ripped out of her shoulder blades.

Faith collapsed to the ground. Her entire body trembled. Tears spilled out of her eyes, and she squeezed them shut.

Why? Why did that hurt her so much? She didn't even know that woman, yet she could feel the pain. Her shoulders burned, as if it were her wings that were being ripped off.

"Faith!" Someone called to her. Who...? "What's wrong? Come on, we need to go!" Warm hands cradled her, and she was suddenly lifted into the air. "Hey, asshole! Leave us alone!"

A voice boomed, "GIVE HER TO ME!" It was so strong, it felt like her bones were shaking.

"FUCK YOU!" a high-pitched voice screamed.

LOSSMOURNINGGIVEHERBACKTOME!!!

Her body felt heavy, a useless weight in someone's arms. She would only slow them down.

And that was exactly the archangel's plan.

Pain rippled throughout her entire being. More images of the mysterious woman flashed behind her eyelids.

"Let me go," she croaked out. "Run."

"No!" Oh, so it was Dante. His cinnamon fragrance was familiar. How had she not recognized it earlier? "We can make it!"

"It's me he's after," she said, looking up at her companion. It hit her- this could be the last time she would see him. No doubt Gabriel had something horrendous planned for her. With some effort, she stroked his cheek. "I'll hold him off. Go home."

Something wet fell on her cheek. And she was shocked to see him cry. "I won't leave you."

He would fight. She knew this. If it meant that she'd go with them, he'd do anything. And she refused to see him die trying to do so.

"I'll be okay," she whispered, patting his arm. "Trust me."

Lady rushed to their side, tears streaming down her cheeks- no doubt it was Gabriel's handiwork. "We can't hold him off! What do we do?"

Dante was silent for a few precious seconds. Then, slowly- painfully- he set Faith on her feet.

"Dante...?" Oh, no- she suspected something.

"We need to go." His voice was brittle; the fear and heartbreak that radiated from him was almost enough to break Faith completely. Almost.

Lady stared at him, the suspicion gleaming in her eyes. "What's going-"

Instantly Triggering, he grabbed his friend's arms, hoisting her up. "No time. It's ride or die."

"Bye, Lady." Faith brushed her fingers over her cheek, one last time, embedding it to memory. "I'll see you soon."

"Wait, what-?!" She never got to finish her sentence, as she immediately started screaming when the half-demon took off, zooming through the exit above them.

They took her heart with them.

But of course, there was no time to mourn. Gabriel was upon her. And she would have to face him, whether she was ready or not.

And she turned, finding herself face to face with the archangel himself.

And archangel he was indeed. His entire form radiated power: he stood tall above her, sunlight eyes ablaze with some emotion even Faith couldn't quite explain, hair as fine as corn-silk delicately framing his face, his body rippling with pulsing energy that nearly sent her reeling.

Yet she remained standing. Her violin- pieced back together and lined with new gold- manifested in her hands. "I know who you are," she managed to say, swallowing down her fear and growing sense of deja vu. "And I'm not afraid of you."

"Nor should you be," he replied, brushing a stray hair out of her face. A gentle smile traced his face. "You have her eyes."

"Whose eyes?" she asked, beginning to wonder if talking with him any further was a good idea. Despite his smile, something sinister lurked underneath.

Something... unclean.

"Elizabeth." His eyes turned soft, like marigolds swaying in a breeze. "Your mother. I see the resemblance." A finger lovingly stroked her cheek. "You never knew her. I always regretted that."

She shuddered, the gesture leaving goosebumps on her skin. "I don't know what it is you speak of. But I know you're looking for a fight. So I'll give you one."

"Now, now. Violence is not necessary here." He circled her, occasionally poking at her sides, or tugging her hair, or taking note of her many scars. "She was very beautiful. And you are so..." He paused, a slight grimace taking over his features. "...Not."

Why was his voice so... wrong? Why did it send shivers down her spine?

"How strange, don't you think?" he mused, resting a hand on her head, ignoring the way she flinched under his touch. "Human blood taints everything it touches. So much war, so much hatred, so much death. Conflicts arise from the slightest wound of pride, divisions built over meager physical differences. It could have all been stopped, had your human weakness not gotten in the way."

"Weakness?" She gazed at her scars, traced the marks on her neck and shoulder. "Or strength?"

"Strength?" he cackled. "What strength do you have? Everyone you loved, and everyone who loved you, now exist only in your memory."

"Not everyone." Dante. Lady.

"Humanity is a weakness, my dear. All we wanted to do was save it." He stroked her neck with a brush of his hand, and she could just feel the wonder he had- the shared dream of a new heaven and a new earth, a gold-and-crystal kingdom and shining gates of pearl, all of His people equal in His eyes, filled with unabashed joy-

Nothing but joy, united under one shared mind. No memories, no talents, no blessedly unique moments shared between one another.

A white canvas. An empty note.

"You'd turn them into dolls," she realized with horror. "You'd take away everything from them. Everything that makes them who they are."

"You say that like it's a bad thing." Delicately smoothing down her hair, he continued, "There would be no more pain. No more suffering. You and your friends," he eyed her scars, "would be free."

"Just not from you. And besides..." She gazed at her scars, thought of Lady's eyes, of Dante's sharp teeth. "Differences make us unique."

Gabriel released a heaving sigh. "And here I was hoping we could still... cooperate." He slid away from her, much to her relief. His hands were much too cold. "Your blood may be tainted, but it still holds power. Why use it to protect those who are only destined to die?"

"I don't know. Why did God make us so vulnerable?"

His eyes hardened. "Do not insult Father."

"He's dead," she retorted. "And the way I see it, He's always done better when He was silent."

"You insolent-" He stopped himself and sucked in a deep breath. "You're just like your mother."

Faith froze. "What?"

"Before she died, she said the exact same thing." Rage simmered within him, just barely held back by an almost impossible amount of patience. "What a pity that you will die just the same."

With a swipe of his hand, a paintbrush manifested in his grip, and he sent a flash of gold and hatred flying towards her.

On instinct, she summoned her violin and eased a soothing note through the air. When they clashed, it was like the world itself exploded. Bodies and chunks of marble flew everywhere.

The scar on Faith's heart ached. Before she could stop it, blood leaked out of her chest, coalescing into the all too familiar form of her father.

Gabriel sneered. "So. He's decided to make an appearance. Well then..." With a few strokes of his brush, a form of a woman began to emerge- with luscious hair that tumbled off her shoulders, piercing honey eyes, and beautiful wings that shimmered with a thousand colors.

She radiated power, much like Gabriel- no, they were practically equals. And even worse...

She seemed so... familiar. Had she seen this angel before?

Whoever she was, her father seemed to know her. They seemed to be watching each other, and they radiated so many emotions it nearly sent Faith reeling- betrayal, hope, longing, love?

"아빠?" she called out quietly. "괜찮아?"

Slowly, the ghost nodded. A violin took form in his hands, and he raised it to his chin.

"A touching family reunion?" Gabriel cackled. "I suppose it's a good thing you'll join them."

She huffed; the faces of her beloved friends floated just behind her eyelids. "Well, I suppose you'll have to kill me first." As she began to play, Bach's Parita No. 2 flowing through the air, she announced, "And if you want to kill me, pray that I don't Fade you first."

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A/N: it's always the filler that's kinda boring, that's kinda the shitty part about writing stories and I'm not good at writing filler like this

But then again I'm not all that great at writing action either, especially the weird action that's gonna happen in the next chapter so

Whatever it's fine XD no one reads this anyway!

아빠? - dad?   괜찮아? - are you okay?

Edit: read chapter 17! :D