#i just play the songs on mute in my laptop and listen the actual music on yt on my phone lmao

[sotiriabellou]

now spotify puts two!!!Two unskippable adds after just two songs this app is such a fucking joke oh my god.at this point im just using it bc i like getting psychoanalysed by spotify wrapped every year its like a uquiz 2 me.and im sure thats why most people are using bc there is no way anyone would put up w this bs otherwise

[mikauzoran]

Lukadrien: Your Hands Hold Home: Chapter Twenty-One

@lukadrien-june

Read it on AO3: Your Hands Hold Home: Chapter Twenty-One: Heartbreak

Adrien hadn’t intended to eavesdrop.

His only aim in coming above deck was to ask Luka what he wanted to make for dinner, since it was their turn to cook for the family.

In the upstairs living room, he found Luka and Xavier-Yves, curled up conspiratorially on the couch and looking like they were having a serious discussion.

Not wanting to interrupt, Adrien turned to go, but, just then, he caught XY saying, “I wrote a song about you”. Adrien froze, interest piqued.

“Er…actually, about us. Our relationship,” XY revised sheepishly. “Would you wanna hear it?”

Adrien certainly did.

He mentally kicked himself for never thinking to serenade Luka before as he began to fret over what his love rival had come up with.

“You wrote a song about us?” Luka chuckled, wide-eyed with delight and looking thoroughly touched at XY’s romantic gesture. “That’s so awesome, Xavier-Yves. Of course I want to hear it.”

XY perked up, a goofy grin spreading across his face. “Yeah?”

Luka nodded. “Yeah.”

That was all the encouragement Xavier-Yves needed. He whipped out his laptop and cued up the song.

Adrien hadn’t listened to XY’s music much over the years. Chloé had a fondness for it, so he’d heard some when he was in his early teens, but after XY and Bob Roth’s stunt of stealing Kitty Section’s song, Adrien had made a point to avoid XY’s music when at all possible.

The song Xavier-Yves played for Luka now didn’t really resemble what Adrien remembered. It was still electronic, synthesized music, but it was nothing like the brain-rotting drivel Adrien had listened to with Chloé five years previously.

It was still repetitive, but instead of being relentless and grating, it put Adrien more in mind of the work of Philip Glass. There was a point to the repetition. It grew and changed subtly, building on what had come before and evolving with each layer XY added.

It was amazing to witness how transformed XY’s music was from what Adrien had heard previously, and the debt Xavier-Yves owed to Luka’s influence was obvious. With Luka’s guidance, XY’s music had become complex and sophisticated even.

The song started with a tense passage in the strings with percussion striking like thunder and flutes playing slippery, serpentine melodies reminiscent of lightning fliting across the sky.

“This is when we first met,” XY narrated, nervously watching Luka’s face, tracking his reactions.

The storm in the music quickly abated and took on a bouncing quality as a new theme was introduced.

“And this is us becoming friends,” Xavier-Yves informed, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

The passage kind of reminded Adrien of the chorus of Sweet’s Fox on the Run. It was an odd shift, but XY’s song was filled with weird juxtapositions of genres and styles like that that somehow managed to blend together and work to tell the story XY wanted.

Adrien tensed as an electric violin played a leitmotif that sounded exactly like Luka’s laugh.

Luka recognized it too and, caught off guard, started to laugh, only highlighting how exactly XY had captured the sound in his song.

“That’s brilliant, Prune. You got it just right,” Luka praised, clapping XY on the back.

Adrien tried to quell the spike of jealousy that shot through him, but it was so hard to fight the negative feelings when it felt like XY’s success was at Adrien’s expense.

The melody gradually morphed again, slowing down and taking on an achingly vulnerable pining quality.

A light crease developed between Luka’s brows as he struggled to place the emotion in the music and then tie it to something in his relationship with XY.

Adrien recognized the emotion right away, though. It was soul-baring longing so raw and honest that Adrien couldn’t help but be moved by it.

He wished he could be so honest with Luka about his own feelings.

Before Luka could puzzle out what that part of the song meant, the music changed again.

A shimmering, breathtaking piano solo emerged from the pining theme and took off at a run, its heart so full of hope that it brought tears to Adrien’s eyes.

The melody broke free and soared triumphantly until it disappeared over the horizon, sparkling out of existence with a graceful flourish.

Luka was left speechless as a single tear trickled down his cheek.

XY smiled tentatively. “…So…what did you think?”

“Xavier-Yves…” Luka breathed, “…that was truly beautiful.”

XY’s hesitant smile bloomed into a wide grin of pride and delight. “Yeah? You thought so?”

Luka nodded emphatically. “I loved it. I just… What was…what was that last part? What came after the part about us becoming friends? I’m not sure if I…”

He bit his lip, trailing off as he searched XY’s face.

Xavier-Yves’s grin softened, and a warm look came into his eyes. “That was me falling in love with you.”

Luka’s breath caught in his throat.

“I really like you, you know?” XY explained, reaching up to cup Luka’s cheek.

Adrien willed his feet to move and his voice to come unglued from where it was stuck in his throat, but he found himself mute and fixed in place like a decorative sculpture.

“People don’t really treat me so good,” XY elaborated earnestly. “I mean, I know I’m kind of dumb and obnoxious, but…but you’ve always been kind and patient.”

“Xavier-Yves…” Luka whispered, still dazed at this revelation and trying to sort out everything he was feeling.

“You believed in me and told me I could amount to something when my dad said I was useless and stupid and talentless,” XY stressed passionately. “You made me think there was something good about me after all…so I don’t think it’s weird, me falling in love with you.”

Luka’s eyes zeroed in on Xavier-Yves’s lips as their faces slowly drew nearer and nearer.

Adrien watched as Luka’s eyes slipped shut and he closed the distance between them.

Adrien felt something crack inside of his chest. It was a lot like being impaled.

Silently, he backed away and slipped back below deck. He made a beeline for his cabin, deaf to Plagg’s attempts at comfort as he buried his face in his pillow and sobbed.

It had been hard enough to accept that there was no future for him and Marinette. Being star-crossed a second time felt too cruel. He didn’t think he had it in him to put himself back together and fall in love a third time.

His shattered heart couldn’t take it.

 Luka was just about to deepen the kiss when his brain caught up with his body.

He pulled back with a gasp.

“Sorry. Did I do something wrong? I’ve never done this before,” Xavier-Yves hastily rushed to explain.

Luka shook his head, mentally cursing himself for screwing everything up. “No. No, you’re a great kisser. That was awesome. I just…”

He winced. “I’m sorry. I can’t do this. There’s a part of me that wants to. I mean, I really do like you, but… It’s complicated,” Luka finished with a groan, looking up, ashamed, at XY, his eyes pleading for forgiveness. “I think we should just stay friends. I’m sorry.”

A wry smile curled up the corners of XY’s mouth. “Because of Adrien?”

Luka’s whole face went red, but he forced himself to look Xavier-Yves in the eyes as he nodded. “Not for the reason you think, though.”

XY quirked an eyebrow, settling back against the couch cushions. “Oh, yeah? Are you going to try to tell me that you’re not in love with him? Because, if you’re gonna turn me down, Six Strings, I’d like you to be honest about it.”

Luka’s face scrunched up in a grimace. “No. I wasn’t going to lie. I do have feelings for Adrien. I have for a long time, and, I mean…I do get the sense that he might be starting to reciprocate at least a little, but that’s not the reason I’m saying no to you. I’m not picking him over you. It’s not like that.”

XY nodded, seeing that Luka truly believed what he was saying. “Okay. So? What is it like?”

“Adrien’s been kind of rough lately with everything that’s happened. He’s in no shape to be in a relationship anyway, even if I did tell him how I feel and he felt the same,” Luka explained. “Adrien doesn’t have a whole lot of people he feels like he can count on in his life, so I really need to focus on being there for him. I can’t date right now, Prune. Not anyone.”

XY hummed thoughtfully. “Well, I mean…it’s kind of messed up to put your whole life on hold for someone like that, but…I get it.”

Luka blinked, surprised that this conversation was going so well. “Wait. What? You do?”

XY nodded. “I know how you are. You always put yourself last when someone you care about needs you. You’d do the same if it was me having the meltdown or one of your sisters or your ex, Jacob, or whoever, you know? You’re just like that.”

A sheepish smile gradually made itself at home on Luka’s lips. “I do have a bit of a martyr complex, don’t I?”

XY held up his thumb and pointer finger, bringing them so that they were only a few centimeters apart. “Just a teeny, weenie bit…but I’d put my life on hold for you too, so…I get how you feel about Adrien, even if I don’t like it.”

Luka winced again as guilt weighed down on him. “Prune, I’m so sorry. I—”

XY held up a hand. “Just answer me this: could you love me, do you think?”

Luka bit his lip, not wanting to lead his friend on but not wanting to lie either. “Xavier-Yves, I don’t want you waiting around for me.”

XY shrugged. “Tough. Sometimes you don’t get what you want. Isn’t that what you taught me? Just answer the question.”

Luka sighed. “Oh, all right. Yes, but please don’t wait around for me.”

“I do what I want,” XY snickered. “I know you’re picking Adrien, but there’s no telling when he could screw it up and give me a chance to sweep you off your feet.”

“Xavier-Yves,” Luka groaned.

XY tussled Luka’s hair with an affectionate smile. “All joking aside, I hope you change your mind about me, but I just want you to be happy, Six Strings. Okay?”

Luka’s eyes narrowed as he tried to discern any hint of deceit.

He found none.

“For real?” he asked in amazement.

Xavier-Yves nodded. “For real. So…can we still be friends? How does this work?”

“Absolutely,” Luka assured vehemently. “I never want to lose what we have, Prune. If we could just go on like we have been…?”

XY nodded in agreement. “I’d be down with that. Besides, who knows? Maybe one day I’ll get lucky and you and Adrien and me can be a threesome. The kid’s kind of cute when he’s not being a brat.”

Luka burst out laughing.

He shook his head and clicked his tongue. “Adrien’s cute especially when he’s being a brat.”

“You can have him when he’s in brat mode, then,” XY snorted, starting to pack up his things. “But I should skedaddle. I’ve got to meet up with my dad to talk about my next album. Want me to text you when I’m done?”

“Please,” Luka responded, leaning in to press a whisper of a kiss to XY’s cheek. “Thanks, Prune.”

Xavier-Yves grinned, winking as he got to his feet. “Sure thing, Six Strings. Check ya later.”

“Later,” Luka echoed, waving after XY as he went.

As XY disappeared from view, Luka took a deep breath and closed his eyes, trying to process everything that had just happened.

He sat for a few minutes, waiting until he felt more grounded to get up and head for his room. He needed an instrument to help him sort through everything. Maybe his guitar or violin. He always processed best through those.

He stopped in the narrow hallway just outside his door when he thought he heard something.

Frowning, he listened hard, and it wasn’t long before he heard the muffled, choked sound again.

He took a few steps and stopped outside of Adrien’s cabin door to listen again.

It was now more apparent that the strangled sobs were coming from within.

“Adrien?” He knocked perfunctorily before opening the door and finding Adrien curled up in a ball around his pillow, bawling his eyes out.

“Adrien,” he breathed, rushing to his beloved’s side. “Hey, what’s the matter? What happened?”

Adrien gasped, sitting up and gawking at Luka in horror.

“N-Nothing. I—Nothing,” he insisted even as he gritted his teeth in his effort to stop the tears.

His lip trembled, unable to help itself in Adrien’s distress.

“Oh, P5,” Luka muttered, kicking his shoes off and climbing up onto the bed with Adrien. “Come here.”

He pulled Adrien onto his lap and squeezed him tightly, cooing, “It’s okay. Whatever it is, it’s okay. Just let it out.”

To both of their surprise, Adrien did.

He clung to Luka as a fresh wave of grief washed over him.

Dutifully, Luka held him, rocking him from side to side and making reassuring noises. He didn’t let go until Adrien had worn himself out.

Adrien didn’t have the strength to fight as Luka gently cleaned up his face for him afterwards. He also found himself unable to protest when Luka tugged him into the main cabin and snuggled up on the couch with him.

It barely registered when Luka started Castle in the Sky, and Adrien remained nearly catatonic through dinner.

The fog of misery only cleared at bedtime when Luka tried to herd Adrien into his own cabin, saying, “Why don’t you come sleep in my room tonight?”

“I want to be alone,” Adrien insisted petulantly, trying to pull away.

Luka’s grip on him tightened. “I don’t think that’s the best idea right now.”

“I said I want to be alone,” Adrien growled, finding the strength within him to break away.

He turned on his heel and fled to his cabin, taking refuge under his covers from the world.

His solitude only lasted a matter of minutes.

Luka entered and silently made up a sleeping bag on the floor as Adrien glared him down.

“…I’m sorry,” Luka finally sighed, taking a seat on top of his blankets and meeting Adrien’s hostile gaze. “I won’t talk to you or anything, so just pretend I’m not here.”

“What do you want from me?” Adrien demanded half testily, half sulkily.

Luka shook his head. “Nothing. I just want to make sure you’re all right. I’m really worried about you, Adrien.” He hesitated before adding, “Whatever’s going on, I’m here, okay? I love you. I hope you know that.”

It was too much.

Tears spilled freely down Adrien’s cheeks, and he quickly absconded back under the covers.

Half an hour passed in relative silence as Adrien struggled to get his emotions under control and Luka stared up at the ceiling, feeling helpless.

“…Orpheus?” Adrien called, voice raw and plaintive as he peeked out from under the covers.

Luka sat up. “Yeah? What is it? Are you okay?”

Adrien swallowed audibly. “…Could you come up here and just…just hold me, please?”

Luka breathed out a sigh of relief, smiling indulgently as he climbed over Adrien to take his place by the wall.

“Happy to help,” he assured, slipping under the covers and pulling Adrien close.

Adrien wrapped himself around Luka like a vine, burying his face in Luka’s neck. “Sorry. And sorry about the way I’m acting. I’m not being fair. It’s not your fault, and I shouldn’t be taking it out on you.”

“It’s okay,” Luka replied reassuringly. “Thank you for the apology, though. I appreciate it…. Do you maybe want to talk about it?”

Adrien shook his head definitively. “No. Thank you.”

“Okay,” Luka agreed, backing off the issue.

In the morning, if Adrien still didn’t want to talk, Luka would encourage him to go see Nino or Marinette or check with Doctor Katsuragi to see if she had an opening for them to discuss Adrien’s sudden turn for the worse.

“…I…I love you too,” Adrien hiccupped.

Luka squeezed him tighter, giving his hair a nuzzle. “I know. Don’t worry, Angel. I’m not going anywhere. We’re going to get through this together, all right?”

Adrien nodded, but his tears started to fall faster.

[islazyabird]

Messy Table

If my mom were to enter my room right now, she would be mortified by the miserable state of it. It’s almost as if I can hear her through my door, but the door never opens unlike the past. See, I wasn’t really a clean freak back in my hometown, but people expect changes. However, I can’t really guarantee one in this short period of time. My mom always said I like to live like a rat and I probably look like that too. And honestly, I left the act of caring about it years ago. So what do I care about?

You can see my face crumble like a piece of paper every time I ask myself about it. Yeah, I ask such deep, quirky stuff to myself and I wholeheartedly state that I am the only one who is extremely curious about my own personality. You might think, why would I even think about stuff like that when I don’t even bother documenting it? Honestly, if I was that smart, I would be in a much better place right now. Also, I started writing this because I was tired of filling the job application, no, actually I am not tired of filling applications; I am tired of refreshing Indeed because there are no new jobs left that I qualify for.

Is there anything that I qualify for?

Well, there might be something, right? I have heard that there is something or someone for everyone in this world, but the last time I checked, the world’s population was nearly 8 billion. So what’s the possibility that everyone gets a fair share or even gets the bare share of acknowledgment? I don’t think there’s any possibility unless some of us have like a sack of unfortunate events stacked for us as a prize, which I don’t think there is. Or maybe I am the wrong one here. However, if I am the wrong one here, whoever made this system of handling karma, You better run bitch.

Anyway, if you are even moderately interested, do you wanna know what stuff are present around me right now? Okay, I am typing on my laptop right now that I bought three days ago. This wasn’t the one I wanted, but I kinda like it. I have always wanted one since I was 14 and no one told me it is much easier to type here than on a phone. I like the little keyboard sound it makes while typing. It feels as if I am writing something exceptional. My phone is playing some music on YouTube right now and listen, I always wondered why people bought premiums, but now I understand. Back in my country, I never got ads at this frequency. Now, I get three ads before the song officially starts. Behind my laptop, there’s a cookie box and on the side of it lies what we call “Haldiraam bhujiya”. They are the only snacks I have left now. And on its side, there’s a box of vitamin D tablets and a stack of resumes that I printed a week ago. So this is a very busy scenario, unlike my life. In addition to this, there’s also a calculator, a table lamp, a water bottle, my charger and power bank which I haven’t used ever since I bought it. I am a very messy person in the sense that most people think I can easily arrange these all within a span of minutes, but the thought of remembering places I kept them is daunting. Also, these are the things that I hold dear to me, so I just keep them within my eye reach.

Finally, I don’t know what my expectations were as an international student or whether I even held some in the first place, but it's a lot calmer. I guess muted will be the perfect word for this. This place is muted and when there’s no energy on the outside, you have to give yours to keep the balance. I think it’s the law of thermodynamics. Oh, I never imagined I would quote the laws of thermodynamics in my life, but here we are. Woah there, just looked it up, and this isn’t the law of thermodynamics. Maybe if there isn’t a law like this, I will call it the “Leech Law”. Finally, doing a favour for my relatives.

[onewaigu]

Like Magic

Genre : predebut!au

Theme : mild fluff(?)

Pairing : Bang Chan X Reader (not really)

Description : all you knew was that every time you took the no. 4419 bus back home, he would always be there, cladded in all-black, sitting exactly two rows in front of you. that was, until he no longer rode the bus.

“Right on time”, you said to yourself as your eyes followed a boy, probably a few years older than you, boarding the same no. 4419 bus.

No, you weren't a creepy stalker. No, you were simply an observant person and for some apparent reason, this boy had always caught your eyes for as long as you had been taking this bus back home from school.

How could anyone not take notice of him? The boy practically stuck out like a sore thumb. He was always wearing black everything. Except for his chains.

“Bet his wardrobe looks like an empty void”, you chuckled at the thought.

He exuded a mysterious yet intriguing aura. Something that certainly pulled you in.

Like always, his stop was a stop before yours and the bus journey usually took about half an hour to get there. Any person would've taken the opportunity to steal a quick nap but, he wasn't any person.

He would usually take out his laptop or launchpad before slipping on headphones. With the noise from outside world muted, his fingers would begin to move meticulously and rhythmically to whatever beat he was making.

You for one, somehow had missed the memo since birth of being naturally talented in music. While your family played their respective instruments, the only music you had ever made naturally would be the sound of unpleasant snoring. Despite your lack of musical consciousness, you were always interested in music.

You admired how the back of his head stood still, concentrating hard to find the right pitches.

The little curls at the nape of his neck would slightly bounce whenever the bus hit a bump. Cute.

Sometimes when he seemed to be in his zone, the music he made could be heard. You were interested in his diverse taste in music genres. You wanted to know more. Who were his favourite artists? Did he upload any of the songs he made online? Was he planning on becoming an artist? So many questions but you felt that the chances of you actually having a conversation with him was little to none.

You sighed, letting your eyes close till you reached your stop.

The next day though, was a little bit different than ordinary.

No. 4419 bus was almost packed. The bus before had broken down so the passengers transferred buses. Luckily for you, you managed to catch a seat, with an empty one beside you.

You sat there in silence, taking in the view of the busy streets of Seoul through the bus window. The day was fairly cold as the year approached its end so the windows were slightly frosted.

The kid in you convinced yourself to draw little stick figures on them as a way to pass time. You were busy perfecting the stick figures' hair when you heard someone coughed beside you. You turned your head to the sound of it, only to be staring at a pair of beautiful dark brown eyes. Oh. It's him. It's the mysterious Beethoven. He was sitting next to you. Oh.

“Nice drawing you got there”, he smiled widely. At that moment, you saw them— chin dimples. He had adorable chin dimples. You swore your heart skipped a beat. You were a sucker for dimples and him having them was just perfect.

“Uh, it's n-nothing”

“It's just..water and..science?”, you mentally face-palmed at your own dumb reply. Way to go, Y/N.

“Well water scientist, my name's Chris”

There it was. He had an accent. A nice accent at that.

“Y/N”

Then came awkward silence. You weren't a social butterfly so that would explain why you were more of the observing type. However, the silence didn't last long cause Chris decided that he wanted to share some demos he made with you. He wanted an unbiased opinion on them hence you were the perfect candidate. You didn't mind at all. Truthfully, you couldn't believe that any of this was happening. Just the day before, you were wondering about his musical preferences. The next thing you knew, you were sharing an airpod with him, listening to one of his original works. How convenient.

After that day, you somehow became his unofficial critic on every single bus ride. Even though you were sometimes exhausted from school, you didn't show it in front of Chris. You didn't want to ruin the look he always had whenever he talked about his passion in music. His face would lit up like Christmas lights and you would always listen intently. Seeing him in his happy place warmed your heart. Maybe a little too much.

Days gone by and the both of you were still at it with the same routine. Only difference was, Chris seemed like he had something on his mind. It might not be something necessarily bad but you wanted to make sure he was okay. But every time you tried to poke something out of him, he would shrug it off.

“You worry too much, Y/N”, his shoulder nudged yours playfully.

You could only smile at his words. You hoped that whatever he's going through, he'd be okay eventually.

You weren't okay. You were worried. For the past few weeks, you didn't see Chris boarding the usual no. 4419 bus. The first week, you thought that maybe he was ill. The second week, you thought that maybe he felt like taking the train. The weeks after, you gave up thinking of possibilities.

You sighed.

What went wrong? The moments you spent with Chris were the best moments of your 19-year-old life, even if they were as long as a bus journey back home. Chris was talented, passionate, dorky, and endearing. He made you feel things that you weren't aware of. And now he's gone.

“Poof, like magic”, you scoffed.

Was it real or just a dream? Either way, you missed it.

[a/n]

i'm sorry if this story makes no sense > < basically Chan disappeared bcos the boys were preparing for their survival show :'(

(gif credits to yunhoed)

- i'm still not sure if i credited correctly so if i didn't, pls tell me so i can give proper credits

[fourmisfitz]

Drowse (Roger Taylor x Reader)

Summary: You need a quiet space to work, so you go to your best friend Rogers. You arrive exhausted, though you try to deny it, and Roger takes it upon himself to take care of you and get you the rest you so desperately need...

Setting: Current year because smartphones and some literature references, but London, England when Smile was still together and Brian and Rog were still studying at Ealing Art College.  Imagine whichever Roger Taylor version you fancy, I just chose the Ben!Roger Borhap gif to prime you with that concerned emotion☺

Word Count: 4.6k

Requested? ✔

Warnings/Content: Just stocked up on fluff. It’s long but it’s just sweet:)

A/N: Hello lovelies! HERE IT ISSSSS, I’m totally writing this while running on 2 hours of sleep after two all-nighters in a row so, let’s hope tis good;) I was listening to ‘39 while writing the last bit, so if you wanna get in that sorta mood, like, go for it. This is my second fic posted on this account, let me know whatcha think! Something of this sort was actually requested by two followers, and I blended the requests slightly in a way that I think works well. One request was more open-ended where Roger takes care of you, and the other involved being at his place and ending up staying the night and something happens, which brings me to- no, there is no smut (because I actually have one coming out soon for that *wink wink*), but I hope it still leaves you satisfied, enjoy!

P.S. sorry it’s so long, needless to say I got carried away! ;)

And remember- feedback, feedback, feedback!  Xx, Darc

Rubbing your eye with the knuckle of your thumb you let out a muted yawn as you leaned your head against the bus window. You were on your way to your best friend Rogers for the evening to work on an important school project. You both studied at the same college, but lived about 9 miles (15km) away from each other. Though you spent a lot of time together at one or the others flats frequently, lately school had been overwhelming to say the least. You’d been nose-deep in textbooks and research papers that never seemed to end, leaving you little time for socializing besides a few phone calls. After countless waves of sirens passing in your busier side of town, you had given up trying to write your paper in your small studio apartment and asked if you could come over and work together. Roger didn’t actually have much work to do, as his prof was a little less intense with the workload, but he was more than willing to lend you a quiet space to get some work done and catch up on one another, too.

You glanced down at your phone to flip through the songs Roger had recorded with his band Smile and sent to you. Roger, Brian, and Tim had been toying with some new rhythms and riffs, and Rog always liked getting your trusted opinion on how they sounded before going out and performing them at gigs. Though he was usually pretty stubborn to changing his sound, if you suggested it he would at least try it. He’s been doing this for awhile now - sending you them, seeing as you were his best friend and had an ear for good music, playing the piano yourself; a natural virtuoso.

Some riffs really caught your ear, others were merely pleasantly entertaining; it seemed none of them were boring, but they were missing something, perhaps some more excitement. You made note of the ones you really liked and would be sure to tell Roger when you arrived around 7pm.

For the time being, you slowly dozed off en route to his flat, but as the bus struck a pothole it shook you awake as you nicked the side of your head on the glass. Glancing out the window, you realized you were one stop away from your destination.

You got off and walked into the apartment complex that towered a measly 3 stories high. It was definitely different from your studio flat, which was located in a very dodgy area with alarming traffic swinging by all through the night. You buzzed the door for entry with a “Hey-” and paused to yawn, leaning against the wall, “-Blondie. Future-tooth-inspector. Rog. R-to-the-O-Geee. TayTayyy-” and were finally cut off by a loud buzz.

When you got up to his front door on the second level, he was already standing in the doorway, arms crossed, and hair disheveled as usual. 

“Don’t you ever call me TayTay again.” but his face quickly formed a wide teeth-gleaming smile as he opened his arms for a hug. “Come here, love.” You smiled back, your smile not really reaching your eyes in your fatigued state as you dove into his chest. He was a solid few inches taller than you, making hugs protective and secure. His chest was warm, instantly making you content and his little muffled laugh was lulling you. Roger was wearing a smooth black button-up, buttoned up halfway, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. You let out a pleased sigh and he looked down at you nuzzled into his chest.

“ ‘You alright?” a half-laugh leaving his small mouth.

“Hm?” you asked, still hugging him tight, “Oh- yeah yeah,” you straightened up and snapped yourself awake with a head shake as he looked at you quizzically. “Yeah, ya goof” raising your voice a bit to convince him, playfully shoving his shoulder, “i’m just a little sleepy is all!” walking past him into his flat.

“If you say so.” He shrugged, dropping the thought and walking over to the kitchen.

You had plopped yourself down in front of the big couch - between it and the low wooden coffee table, a bag of textbooks and folders on the floor with you, ready to set up shop.

“Fancy some tea, bunny?” he called from around the corner, filling a kettle up with water.

Bunny - the nickname he picked up for you for always being so hyper and jumpy, never really able to sit still, a true opposite to your current demeanor, though. You leaned your head back to rest on the couch cushion as your laptop started up.

“Yeah! ummm-” you pinched your nose, feeling a headache rush to the surface. He had backed up from the kitchen to see you past the dividing wall, popping his head around the corner. “Orange pekoe, please!” eyes still closed, you called back, not realizing he was a few feet away from you. He paused for a moment and then resumed his meandering in the kitchen.

“Sugar?”

“Hit me with three!” you were in need of something extra sweet to wake you up.

You moved your hands behind your head, supporting your neck, elbows high. You blew a big short breath as if to get down to business, but your laptop was installing some updates, as it always seemed to do when you needed it most. You pulled out your phone and decided to scroll through social media for a bit while you waited, but the screen just hurt your head more, so you settled on resting your head in your arms on the table. Just for a minute. The kettle began to pop and bustle.

“Oh! By the way, did you get a chance to listen to some of the new material from the band I sent over?” After a few seconds of silence, Roger peaked his head about the wall again, seeing your face was buried in your arms. “Y/N?”

“Hm?” you perked your head up the slightest inch and shook yourself awake again. “Oh- yes I really liked, umm... the one with...” You were yet again interrupted by another oncoming yawn. “the one with theee.. guitar and, stuff.” Your voice was barely audible through the yawn. You fluttered a hand in his direction, drooping your head back into the dark space provided by your arms.

“Rrright...” he furrowed his eyebrows. The kettle threw pops of water inside it, bouncing off the metal and echoing throughout the flat. He wondered how long it had really been since you’d had a decent night sleep. He walked over to the couch, sitting down behind you and lightly placed a large hand on your shoulder.

“I’m up!” You snapped, throwing flexed hands up like a reflex. His hand was paused hovering above your shoulder in a bit of shock from your reaction. You let out a groan, leaning your head back against his knee.

“I’m sorry, I- I’m just so-”

  “-I know.” he said in a low calm voice. He knew when you got tired like this - like anyone - you were bound to be more impulsive and emotional. He slipped one hand under your head to cradle it and cushion his boney kneecap. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you look pathetically exhausted, Y/N.” he peered at you, running his fingers through your hair near your temple with the other hand, chuckling to himself at your puffy eyelids.

You rubbed your eyes and sat back up. You gently gripped the edge of the coffee table bracing yourself as you leaned into a deep yawn, “I ammm-muh,” agreeing. You lifted your head back up, wiping shy hints of tears away that had emerged from the stretch as you blinked into alertness, “but I have to finish this paper, Rog, it’s due in two days and I still have another one to start due in a week.”

“Well, then how ‘bout a walk? It’s cooled down a bit outside. Fresh air ‘oughta do some good.” He tried.

“A walk sounds nice, but I really can’t right now, Rog.”

Roger looked at you inquisitively as you went to type in your password to unlock it. After two failed sloppy attempts pattering the keys, you grunted weakly in frustration, “Well this is just great!” but then it turned into a quiet giggle. You glanced up at him smiling a bit deliriously. His faced was laced with concern as he scanned your goofy lopsided smile, the laptop serving another delayed ding and rejecting you entry.  You seemed to be acting the same as you did when you were tipsy, all giggly and incoherent.

He didn’t mind looking after you, he quite liked it actually, having someone to get all protective over sometimes. He had taken care of you in many instances in the past, whether it was taking you home after you went too hard, too fast at a bar and was worried about prowling guys taking advantage, or when the seemingly kinder ones broke your heart; you always found yourself at his flat, welcoming you with open arms, movie marathons, tea and your favourite ice cream.

“Oops.” your head bobbled, eyes hooded and blinking at him through your lashes. You returned your gaze back to your screen for another hopeless effort, but just as you were about to type, your hands were shaking profusely. You started to feel a wave of dizziness occur. You began to drowse.

And at last, the tea kettle began whistling from the other room. He got off the couch and bent down beside you.

“On second thought, maybe we should get you ready for bed, yeah?” Though he offered a ‘maybe’, it wasn’t a suggestion, he decided on it. He reached out from his perched lowered stance to scoop either of his wrists below each of your underarms, lifting you back onto the couch for a moment as he stood back up.

“What? No, Rog, I’m- I’mm-” you were halted in your sentence by another stubborn yawn, “III’m fiiiiine-hh” relaxing your face. He just shook his head deciding to ignore your weak protest.

“Surrre you are.” He bent down to reach an arm under one of your legs.

“No Rog really I’m quite good honestly” you tried again, really trying to display your typical bubbly self, but you were so tired you instantly sunk into him and gave up as he swung his other arm behind your upper back to support your weight.

“ ‘For your own good, love.” Your arms instinctively wrapped loosely around his neck as he carried you ‘princess-style’ to relieve the kettle of its panic and then to his bedroom.

“But my paperrrr” you slurred, tilting your head back to see the abandoned laptop.

“It can wait.” He said assertively.

“Someone’s been working out,” you giggled, tapping the shoulder farthest from you. He just did a little snort at that, because of the randomness, and he knew he wasn’t exactly the buffest guy.

Hearing yourself say that showed you just how sleep deprived you truly were, because that was just a little weird. You leaned your head into the crook of his warm neck, his long hair tickling your cheek. You swore you could pass out in his arms right then and there.

He was so good at caring for other people,  at caring for you.

He presented himself as this guy with a hard protective shell who mainly cared about his reputation as a good lay, shagging girls left, right, and centre, but you knew him for the softie he was, something he didn’t really let anybody else see.

He set you down on his bed, helping you pull the puffy duvet out from under your legs and lifting it to rest over your shoulders.

“I’ll go fetch your tea, be right back.” He assured.

You must have dozed off for a brief moment because he was back with a steaming cup the very next second. Roger flicked the dim nightstand lamp on and set your mug down on the coaster. 

“Let that cool for a bit, darling,”

God, you’d never get tired of his husky, raspy voice, and hearing him say darling, the way it sounded so stuffed with care as it rolled off his British tongue.

You sat up a bit and leaned into the tufted headboard. For a small apartment that was home to a college student, his bed was the most luxurious one you’ve ever seen... guess it made sense why. He sat on the edge of the bed close to you. You glanced down at his exposed forearms, never really noticing how defined they were from all the drumming, as he placed a hand on your covered thigh.

“How long has it been since you’ve slept, Y/N?” his eyes finding yours. You shrugged, your guilty ones trailing away to the duvet below.

“I’on’know.” you lied. He brought a hand to your chin, his index finger knuckle tipping it up to return your gaze to his bright blue eyes.

“Have you been at least trying to fall asleep? What’s been keeping you up?” There was that look of concern again you’d become accustomed to whenever you found yourself in damsel mode.

“Well yeah, ‘course I have, I just...” he waited patiently for you to finish. The truth was that you had been working hard on school, but you had also just been dumped. You didn’t want to admit that though, because you weren’t even really officially dating the guy yet - it had only been about two months, and Roger and you hadn’t hung out in a awhile because of schedules, so you failed to inform him of the new lad anyway. 

You huffed, “I got dumped.” you closed your eyes, not seeing his eyebrows furrow in confusion.

“Dumped? By who?” He moved his settled hand to be atop your own. You shook your head slightly. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, his voice low and husky.

“I didn’t want to make it a thing, and I felt bad for not telling you about him in the first place when it started becoming something.” 

You also didn’t want him thinking there was something wrong with you, that there was some attribute or trait that drove men away, had he ever decided to reciprocate feelings for you. Which was a stupid thought and you knew it - you were best friends and he knew you. You also had kinda just been keeping yourself occupied with romantic interests in an attempt to chase your feelings for him away while he himself seemed occupied with girl after girl.

He cocked his head to the side. “Oh, love, that’s okay. I mean, we’ve both been so busy, you especially. I know how hard you work. Sure I’d like to hear about things but it doesn’t always necessarily have to be as they happen.” You’re eyebrows pinched, wondering how you got so lucky to have him as your best friend. 

He passed you your cup of tea, “Should be cooled down enough now, there’s no sugar though.” You raised an eyebrow at him as you tipped the mug back against your lip. “Chamomile.” He rushed to explain shortly. You just sipped without a change in expression, waiting to hear more. “Nightmares, and all - you know how sugar heightens the-”  He waved his hand around in front of him, searching for the word, “vividness and all...” he almost seemed... embarassed and sheepish, trying to act like it didn’t mean much, “didn’t want you waking up from some night terror or something.” He let out a half-laugh, taking a sip from his own mug, “Do you want to tell me what happened with this dumbass?” Followed by another sip to shut himself up.

“You remembered.” you noted, slumping back lower down the headboard, a little grin coming over your face as you clutched the warm mug.

“What’s that?” he raised his brows, licking his lip to catch a droplet of tea that dribbled.

“Just,” shaking your head, “didn’t think you remembered I got night terrors.”

He shrugged. “You used to get them pretty bad.” he recalled.

One night a few years ago, you had stayed the night at Rogers for the first time and he was awoken by a very panicked you, unable to fully wake up, and he just held you, shushing you as you quieted down and drifted back to sleep. You didn’t know about that night though. When he referred to it the next morning in conversation, you had no idea you woke him up at all, just that you had a bad nightmare and thought your leg shook and that was the end of it. You thought nothing of it and forgot about his mentioning of it when he played it off as “must've been a dream or something,” of his. Other times you knew you, when you would wake up alone at home from them, but you were never aware of his comfort being the reason you were able to stop panicking and lull back to a deep more relaxed sleep that night. 

“Hmh. Anyway, about Dean,” another yawn, “maybe in the morning, Rog.” your weak, shaky arm resting the mug back on its coaster.

He perked up, “Dean, eh?” a grin widening across his face. You groaned. “He even sounds like an ass.” He shot you a wink, ruffling your hair as he stood up from the bed. “You’d better get some sleep, yeah? I’ll be out on the couch if you-”

  “Wait!” you urged a bit too sudden, grabbing his wrist.

“Yeah?” He looked down at you, awaiting a response.

“Uhhh,”  Shit. 

“Wha’s up?” He turned his body to face you.

“Just... could you-... could you maybe stay in here tonight?” your voice trailed off quietly. “I just know I sleep better when I’m not alone, and-”  he knew it too.

“Yeah,  sure.  If you think it’ll help.” A wave of relief came over you.

He unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it in a corner, walking over to his wardrobe to snatch a pair of pajama bottoms. “Do you want something comfier to sleep in than those tight jeans you’ve got on?”  He also remembered they were tight...

“That would be great.” you laughed nodding, and he threw a pair of flannel bottoms at you, accompanied by a band tshirt.

You instantly began changing right then and there, not giving it a second thought.

“I like that one.” Roger noted, your grey lace bra now in full view.

“Roger!” you clutched your cotton button-up to your chest to cover yourself. You didn’t really care too much though, but you were so tired you just didn’t really consider walking the 5 feet to the bathroom to change.

He let out a boyish chuckle, “What?!” You swatted your shirt him, shaking your head with a little grin peeking out. “Nothing I haven’t seen before.” he went to undo his belt with a smirk creeping up, referring to the countless girls he’s been with.

“Shut it! I’m too tired to even- I just wanna go to-”

“Alright, alright, I’m sorry, Y/N. Really. I’m just pullin’ your leg.” You sighed. “I’ll give you your  privacy.” he mocked, defensive hands held up near his shoulders as he exited the room to the bathroom.

You began to change, pulling his tshirt over your head. It smelled so good, with hints of musk and pine permeating off of it.

From the bathroom, Roger could see your reflection in the mirror. He went to close the door properly when he noticed to actually give you your privacy, but just as he was, he caught you reveling in the scent. You had the shirt on, but lifted it, the fabric held to your face, eyes closed. He smirked and rather than shutting the door to avoid attention, just stepped away so you weren’t in his view.

You slid off your pants, which exhausted you to the brim, leaving you out of breath. You could hear the water running as Roger brushed his teeth and such. You reached for the flannel bottoms he had offered you and pulled those on under the duvet. They were huge on you because of the height difference, but they were comfy, nonetheless.

Roger knocked on the bathroom door as he walked in to give you some warning. He was shirtless and wearing a similar pair of pants as you. Your body lay somewhere under the thick duvet, just your head peeking out as you lay on your side. He looked down at you as he turned out the bedside lamp. Your hair was sprawled out over the satin pillowcase, and there was something so mesmerizing about it.

You felt the other side of the bed sink as he moved the blanket back and climbed in. Instant warmth radiated off of his body under the covers. You, back in a sort of delirious haze, reached out and placed a small hand on the side of his head, petting his hair.

“Having fun?” he laughed, moving your limp hand off and placing it between either of your pillows by your head. You felt something lumpy underneath your palm.

“Is this-?” you yanked it from the far back position it was stuffed.

“What?” a now groggy Roger asked.

you gasped, it was.

“Aha!” you gleamed, a fist clasped around its fluffy body, “Beary Potter!” you squealed. It certainly peaked his attention.

“Y/N! Give it!” He ordered as you yanked it away from his reach, giggling.

Beary was Rogers first teddy bear, and you remembered him always needing to sleep with it, no matter where he was. He had a blue ribbon tied around his neck, and even in the dark you knew it was him from the familiarity.

Roger kept reaching as you sat up holding it far away from him in the air.

“Tell me Taylor,” you went on as he groaned, falling back into the pillow, defeated.

“Do your late night shags ever get the courtesy of meeting such a legacy?”

“That’s enough out of you!” he grabbed your wrist in one swift motion, causing you to lose grip of it as it dropped. Your giggles came to a halt. He sighed, grabbing the stuffed animal and setting it on his bedside table, out of your reach.

“Go to sleep, Y/N.”

You sighed and whined, slumping down to the pillow, now laying on your back.

“Oh Don’t tell me you’re not tired anymore.”

“I am tired!” you retorted. “I just-” you trailed off.

“Well out with it!” he pried impatiently.

“I’m scared...” you croaked, staring out at the black abyss of the dark room.

“To fall asleep?” his voice was a bit softer now.

Your exhale was enough of an answer to confirm that. He adjusted so he was closer now. A lot closer, actually. You could feel his warmth from all of his body right next to you, just shy of an inch away.

“Maybe.. I could help with that...” he offered in a whisper near your ear.

That caught you off guard, sending a shiver down your spine as goosebumps covered your body. He was right there but all of a sudden you felt freezing at the tiny sensation his breath had against your neck. You gulped quietly.

“How-” clearing your throat, “-how do you plan on doing that?”, the curiosity honestly getting the best of you.

And at that, you felt a hand reach over to your jaw, his finger tips just by your ear, turning you to face him. His fingers gently trailed down the side of your neck, before he stopped himself, retracting his hand back to his side.

Your face dropped in disappointment, though he couldn’t see.

The dark room let him forget who he was beside, not being able to see your face as a reminder - definitely not just some girl.

“Roger...” you breathed, completely unsure of how you were - or should be - feeling.

He exhaled through his nose. “Sorry.” he went to flip onto his side to face away, but you caught his shoulder, and slowly pulled it back down to rest on the mattress.

“No it’s... it’s okay.” He turned to face you. “Could you actually, um...” you inhaled and held your breath, “could you hold me, Rog?”

“Hold you?”

Oh boy, should I have even asked? We’re best friends and all but-

“Will that help?” he asked, genuine care lingering in his tone. There was a pause before he felt you nod as your head audibly moved on the pillow.

“Okay, love.” and you turned to face the other direction, scooting into his warmth as he extended an arm under your neck to rest your head on. He draped a secure arm over your waist and dragged his hand from the dip of your waist up your arm to your shoulder and back down again to try and relax you. There was that shiver again, but it felt so comforting.

“You’re alright, you’re okay.” he reassured, continuing to draw his fingers along your skin.

You let out the breath you didn’t realize you had been holding. A bit hesitantly, you moved a leg back to intertwine with his. 

His leg jolted at first in surprise. “You’re freezing!” He exclaimed, barely louder than a whisper. But then he wrapped his leg with yours, making them a mess of limbs under the thick covers.

There was a pause for a bit as you settled into the comfort.

“Three days.” You croaked.

“Hm?”

You turned around to face him, taking a deep breath and letting it go against his chest. Your hot air gave him goosebumps as his arms settled around your new position.

“I haven’t slept in three days.” You whispered, nuzzling your face into his sternum.

He gave you a squeeze with his arms and held you closer, his grip securing you in his arms.

“Well...” reaching a hand up to run his fingers through your hair, instantly calming you down a hundred levels. “That’s about to change, isn’t it?”

Your nose let go of a short breath in amusement, reaching an arm under his and drawing circles on his back. After awhile, you felt yourself grow laden with fatigue, but you couldn’t get a song out of your head. “Roger?” your voice barely audible in the security of his hug. “Y/N, go to bed.” he insisted. “The one with the lyrics about the girls smile.” you murmured into this chest. A moment went by before you added, “That’s the one.” and continued tracing a few more shapes on his bare back before your hands fell limp in a deep sleep. “Well,” He kissed your head ever so lightly. “I’m relieved because that numbers about a special friend of mine.” but you were already gone.

That night, you had some dreams. You had good ones, bad ones.. terrifying ones even, but Roger was there. The whole night, he never let go of you, even when your body started nearly-convulsing in a REM sleep panic. Even when your nails dug into his back subconsciously from the fear propelling you out of stillness, he just breathed extra deep in the hopes of your lungs mimicking his inhalation patterns. Even when he woke up in the morning with just a measly half hour of sleep docked, he was still just as close to you as you awoke.

He looked down at you, your arm draped across his bare torso as he lay on his back, you basically a koala attached to him. Moving a stray hair that had fallen over your face, your eyes slowly blinked awake, lashes fluttering, and met with his blue ones.

“Morning, sleepyhead.” His raspy voice cooed, smiling at your sleepy state. You just squeezed him tight for a moment and settled your head near his collarbone as you lay on your side.

“Did you have a good sleep?” You asked with closed eyes, slowly seeping into a drowse again.

He tucked some hair behind your ear and replaced his hand on your upper arm with a deep breath.

“The best.”

You hummed in satisfaction, and went back to sleep, your little hints of snores drawing out a smile across his face you never saw  as he finally  did too.

Please let me know what you thought :”) I won’t know if my writing is good unless you let me know or offer ideas for what I could improve on as well as fic/blurb/headcanon requests! I appreciate all the support :) xx

[patovpran]

There was a faint sound Two could hear even though Un had earbuds in. But wait. Was that...? "I didn't expect you to like that kind of music," Two grinned.

I had to edit it a bit to fit but I hope you like it!

---

No matter how busy they were, they would always find time to spend with each other. It didn't have to be something big, it could just be them in one of their rooms sitting next to each other. They just enjoyed knowing that the other was there and that they didn't only pass by each other that day in the hallways.

Unfortunately for them, it was an even busier time than usually. Besides having their regular school work, they had projects with their clubs and faculty. With all of that going on, they barely had time for proper dates.

„Hi.“ Two walked in the room, closing the door behind him. Un turned around, moving his earphones out while the grin at the sight of his boyfriend grew bigger the closer he got.

„Finally.“ Un got up and pulled Two for a hug, inhaling his scent. They stayed like that for a while before pulling away and intertwining their fingers. „I missed you.“

„I missed you too.“ Two gave him a quick kiss and smiled. „I took so many photos today that my fingers hurt. And I still have to edit it.“

Un placed a gentle kiss on each of the hands which made Two blush and push him away. He took a seat in a chair next to Un's and pulled out his laptop while Un followed behind.

„I can't wait to submit this so we can actually go eat out.“ Un commented as he sat down in his spot and looked at the video paused on his laptop. „I dream about it because of how many times I replayed the same scenes.“

„Only few more days and we're free!“ Two fell back in his chair with arms open wide. Un laughed at his dramatic boyfriend but he had to agree that they will then have time to have fun.

„Let's do this.“ They fist bumped and moved to do their work. Un put back his earphones and pressed play on the YouTube video. At one point he couldn't bear to hear the same audio from the video he was editing all over again and decided it to mute it for today. Instead, he played upbeat songs to motivate him.

Two, who was just opening the editing program, heard the sound coming from Un's earphones. It was faint but he could still hear the music. But wait. Was that...?

„I didn't expect you to like that kind of music." Two grinned. Un took one earbud out and looked over at Two who looked like a child who was just given candy.

„What's wrong with it?“ Un frowned.

„Nothing's wrong with it…“ Two shook his head before gesturing at Un. „…I just didn't expect to see you listening to NCT Dream's Chewing gum.“

„It makes me happy.“ Un simply shrugged and Two couldn't believe his boyfriend was even more precious than he thought.

„Well I know what I'm getting you for your birthday.“ Two teased and Un rolled his eyes while smiling.

„Just get to work.“ Un pushed Two's head slightly before turning back to his laptop.

„Do you want a poster too?“ Two teased again.

„Work.“ Un warned while Two laughed beside him before rising his arms in surrender.

„Ok, ok. I'll stop.“ That lasted for about ten seconds before he spoke again. „Do you have a bias?“

„Two!“ Un whined while Two's laughed started echoing the room.

[readyourimgaines]

Thunder

Good evening. This is something I wrote a while back and was encouraged to post on here. I got the idea from the blog @disabled-queen-hc. I started writing oneshots for a fan-fiction high school AU I want to write at some point about what it would be like if Freddie had Autism and the band met in modern high school. this was beta read by Snafu and my friend @iamnotbrianmay. So thank you to everyone involved. -Freddie 

Noise was something Freddie could usually handle. The roar of the crowds at their shows, the massive amps, and the drums on stage. He could keep his wits about him with those going on. It didn’t bother him anymore. With the concert racket he could see and trace it back to where it was coming from. With thunderstorm, he couldn’t.

Freddie Mercury was a very verbal person. He was always making sounds. Chirps, trills, squeaks, hums, squeals, ticks, and clicks. So when there was a crush of thunder followed by a near scream and shattering glass, the other three members of Queen knew what was going on. Something was, most definitely, bothering Freddie.

Brian quickly got up from the chair he was in, dropping the newspaper on the living room table as he got up. “Freddie?”

He quickly made his way to the kitchen and wasn’t surprised to see Freddie crouched down, his arms wrapped around his head, his dishtowel still in hand. His feet were bare and a broken cup lay to his left.

“Love?” Brian approached him slowly so he wouldn’t startle him again. “You’re okay.” Brian took his hand and helped him stand up, guiding him around the broken cup so his feet wouldn’t get cut. “Come here. You’re safe.”

Brian wrapped his arms around Freddie and lead him to the living room. As soon as they were out of the kitchen, John set to cleaning up the broken glass while Roger ran to Freddie and Brian’s room to get Freddie’s weighted blanket.

Freddie squeaked and crouched again when another clap of thunder sounded overhead. Brian knelt down with him, still holding him tightly. “Do you want to go to the couch?” Brian cooed. His answer was another squeak. “That’s alright. We’ll stay here.”

Roger returned with the blanket and grabbed Griffin, Freddie’s comfort toy, from the couch on his way to the two.

“Freddie,” Roger got the older’s attention. “I’ll make you a deal, mate. I’ll give you Griffin and you give me the towel, sounds alright?” Roger held the toy out to Freddie and took the towel as he was distracted by it.

Once Freddie had the toy, Brian set to wrapping Freddie up in his blanket, like whenever he got over stimmed and needed to calm down. There was another clap of thunder and Freddie squeaked again, wiggling in the blanket. Brian pulled him into his lap and tightly hugged the singer.

“Thunder isn’t all that bad, Lovie.” Brian said. “It’s pretty interesting, actually.” Another clap and Freddie pressed his face against Brian’s side as tears started coming from his eyes. “Look at it this way. When thunder’s forming—lightning too—”

“Brian,” John cut him short, “if he doesn’t understand how the motum gives the house Wifi, he’s not going to understand how thunderstorms form.”

“He has a point…” Roger nodded. “Got it! Story time.”

Roger and John moved to sit by the other two. Another clap and Freddie squirmed, his squeak muffled in Brian’s side.

“Freddie, you’re familiar with the Greek Gods, right?” Roger asked as he sat across from them.

“He nodded.” Brian said.

“Do you know about the Nordic Gods? Thor, Loki, Odin, Freya, and all them?” Roger went on.

“Yeah.”

“Alright. So, you know how Thor is god of lightning and how Loki, the trickster god, is his brother? Thunderstorms are the of them playing around and Odin scolding them. Loki brings the rain as a joke to annoy people on Earth.” Freddie peaked out from Brian’s side and the other smiled. “The lightning? That’s caused by Thor bickering with Loki to get him to stop while. And lastly, the thunder is Odin yelling at both of them to leave the other alone.”

Freddie’s tears had stopped and he mutely watched Roger. John nudged him slightly to urge him to keep talking and tell more stories. Roger quickly wracked his brain trying to find another story. He didn’t remember all the ones he used to tell his sister when they were little.

Another clap of thunder sounded and Freddie squeaked, curling back against Brian. John stood. “I’ll call Kash.”

He stepped into his and Roger’s room and dialed the number. “Hey John,” Kash’s voice floated over the line.

“Hi. Uh, quick question pertaining to Freddie and thunderstorms…”

“He’s worked up?”

“Almost in tears, yeah. How do we calm him down? We thought Roger had him relaxed with a story, but when it was over he got worked up again. Do we just read to him?”

“Uh, you can do that. Getting him to sleep is another good one. If getting him to sleep doesn’t work then you could try audio-books or something on YouTube. He really likes guided meditations, there are ones about Tolkien’s middle Earth that he really enjoys and loves.”

“Alright, got it.”

“He’s got his blanket and Griffin?”

“Yeah. Brian’s got him and Griffin all wrapped up.” John thought for a second. “What does Freddie think of pillow forts and that sort of thing?”

“Oh, he loves them. You used to build them all the time in the living room at our parents’ house and watch Disney movies.”

“That’s also noted. I’ve got a plan now. Thank you, so much.”

“Don’t mention it. It means a lot to me—to Freddie too— that you guys are learning so much about his condition and are willing to adapt to him.”

“Of course. He’s one of us now. He’s in the family. We help Brian when he’s depressed, Roger when he gets in his moods. They help me when my anxiety’s up. We’ll help Freddie when we can. It’s like he said. Four misfits who don’t belong together making music for other misfits who are pretty sure they don’t belong either.”

“Roger, help me make a pillow fort.” John said, re-entering the living room and searching something on his phone. He found one that was looked interesting.

“Freddie?” He knelt next to the shaking form that Brian was still trying to comfort. “I talked to Kash, she said that this might help.”

He pressed play on the video he had brought up YouTube and placed the phone on the floor by where Brian and Freddie. As the story started, Brian felt Freddie’s shaking lessen.

“Why are we making pillow fort?” Roger whispered. He had gotten the extra blankets from the ottoman and had them now on the couch.

“Because Kash said that they used to build them and watch Disney movies. Besides, we’ve been talking about binging Disney movies. Now’s the perfect chance.”  

Brian watched Freddie’s face as the older calmed down slowly. His trembling had stopped but it was clear he was still uneasy. Brian kept holding him tightly as the storm went on over head. Freddie cuddled up against Brian a little more and closed his eyes.

Freddie hadn’t realized he’d fallen asleep until he opened his eyes. Going by the time on Brian’s watch, he’d only been asleep for about half an hour. However, that mere 30 minutes was time enough for John and Roger to be almost completed with their blanket and pillow fort. The ones he and Kash used to make took only about ten minutes. It was the size of the fort that had take them so long. It took up most of the living room. Brian had moved them to couch at some point and now the floor was padded with two of their biggest and softest blankets. They were still on couch.

Brian leaned down and kissed Freddie’s forehead, the one still burritoed in the blanket snuggled closer. “Hi, Fred.”

“Hi.”

John and Roger grinned. “Ready for some Disney movies, Freddie?” John asked. His laptop was open hooked up to the TV with an HDMI cable. He set up Netflix and figured they’d start there before getting out their DVDs. Freddie nodded eagerly and snuggled against Brian again, burrowing his face into the guitar’s shoulder when thunder sounded once again.

“You’re okay, Lovely.” Brian kissed his forehead, sweeping his bangs gently off his forehead.

John pressed play on Beauty and the Beast, the original of course, Freddie did like the added songs in the live action but the Beast made him a little uneasy sometimes and that’s not what they needed. Roger pulled John to lay with him on the newly padded floor, and the bassist happily laid down for cuddles.

The first couple of movies were like a sing-a-long. It was a funny thing for Freddie to think about. One of the most popular and growing rock bands in England laying in a pillow fort singing along to Disney musicals in four part harmonies.

As the night wore on, however, the four started tapering off into sleep. Roger had gotten the comforter from his and John’s bed to cover them on the floor and Freddie had unwrapped his weighted blanket from around himself so that it would cover Brian too.

John was the first to fall asleep, which didn’t surprise any of them considering the week he’d had at school; Roger was next seeing as he was being lulled to sleep by both the music from the movies and John’s calm breathing. The next was Brian. He fell asleep around one in the morning after having asked Freddie he was alright about 20 times.

Freddie closed his eyes around two, listening to ‘God Help the Outcasts’. A distant roll of thunder could be heard and Freddie opened one eye in annoyance.

“Shh…” he whispered, “you’ll wake them.”

He curled himself around Brian’s side, adjusted one of the weights in the blanket, and fell asleep.

[lovemesomesurveys]

What is your party trick? I don’t have any. What are you listening to currently? An ASMR video. Do you ever talk to yourself? I call it thinking out loud, but yeah. It helps sort out my thoughts and get a clearer picture. My brain is a jumbled mess.  Do you still have any old clothes that you used to wear when you were a kid? No. Do you prefer bright or muted colours? Muted. Can you roll your tongue? Nope.

Are you a light weight when it comes to alcohol? Yeah I was. Which accents can you emulate pretty well? None. How loud do you listen to music? Uhh I don’t know. Loud enough. Which song has the biggest play count on your computer? (How many plays?) I use Spotify on my phone to listen to music. Do people ever tell you to just loosen up? Yes. Or “chill out” and “calm down.” I actually really hate being told those things. Do you act like it’s the end of the world even if you’re just slightly ill? No. I have dealt with health issues all my life and just not feeling well a lot of the time. I feel really shitty a lot of the time. What was the longest time you’ve had the hiccups for? I’m not sure, but it feels like forever when I have them because they’re so annoying. Do you think you’re good at giving advice? I used to be the one people would come to for advice, but definitely not anymore. Are you more awkward talking to people in real life or online? In real life, definitely. I mean, I’m still awkward online, but at least I have time to think about what I want to say first. What’s worse: Ear ache or tooth ache? I’ve only experienced toothaches, and they’re horrible. What type of TV shows are your favourite? I have a few favorites. Do you think you’ll ever manage to do everything you want to? I don’t even know what I want to do. What do you fear most? Losing my loved ones,  never getting better/getting worse, never doing anything with my life... Do you wear shoes around the house? No. Name something you associate with someone / thing you hate. Uhh. Do you bruise easily? Yeah. Have you ever bought pre-ripped jeans? No.  Are you a good driver? If you can’t drive yet, do you think you’ll be good? I feel like I’d be too anxious and just probably shouldn’t drive. What is / was your favourite thing about school? (If anything. :P) I mean, I liked the learning part of it overall and some of the projects/assignments/reading that was of interest to me. High school had its ups and downs. I liked the pep rallies and assemblies that we had. In college I was apart of a psychology club, I served as a board member and it was a lot of fun. We took a lot of cool trips, too. Looking back now I can say there were parts I liked about school, but while going through it I was stressed and overwhelmed and I would get burnt out really easily. Many late nights, many tears. Dealt with big health stuff along the way. My last year of college was a real struggle, I just wanted to quit and be done. I managed to push through and I finished, but yeah it was rough. Funny that I can look back now a few years later and say there were parts that I liked haha. Oh, and there’s also the fact that at least I was doing something with my life and I felt productive at the time.  What are you most likely to spend money on? Clothes, particularly graphic Ts. Have you ever been a complete fangirl / fanboy over anything? Yep I’ve been like that since middle school. What’s the weirdest way you’ve ever heard somebody die of? Uhh. Do your nails need cut? Ha, no. I take care of that on the daily. They’re barely there. When was the last time you (dis)liked someone without really knowing them? Hmm.

Are there any movies coming out that you really want to see? It Chapter 2 was the most recent one I was excited about. I want to see it again! I don’t think there’s anything else that I’m really excited about until Rise of Skywalker in December. Do you think you’ll ever get married? No. How did you get one of your scars? Okay let’s go over all the scars I have doesn’t that sound fun? lol. I have a lot of scars, most of which are from surgeries, like the one down half my stomach and one all down my back. Some on my left side where they had to take some of my rib to use for something else. My left thigh has a few from past pressure sores and a big one from a surgical procedure called a “flap.” I have a few from spilling something hot on myself or placing a hot plate/hot cup on my lap/between my legs (I’m a paraplegic and I’ve done stuff like that in the past without thinking). The coffee incident was recent-ish, too. :/ I have a few little ones on my arms and hands from IV insertions, one on one of my right knuckles from burning myself with a straightener. I have a tiny scar on my nose from chicken pox. I have a little round one above both eyebrows from having to wear this thing called a “halo” after one of my spinal surgeries. My left leg has a lead mark from a pencil mark as a kid. My left knee has a round one on each side from a stint or something I had to have in my leg after a surgery. I’m sure there’s more I’m forgetting.  When was the last time you wore a mask? What did it look like? I’ve worn one for years.  What was the last thing you took a photograph of? My doggo. In childhood, were most of your friends male or female? Female. Have you ever been to a protest? No. Do you hate how, when the public like a celebrity, they overpublicise them? Eh. I admit to being into the celebrity and entertainment world stuff. If it’s a celebrity I don’t really like then yeah it’s annoying. haha. Are you afraid of the dark? I sleep with my TV on for some light and sound because of that. I can’t have it completely dark or silent. What time do you usually eat dinner at? 8ish. Where did you last stay overnight other than your house? A hotel. How often is your computer on mute? I don’t watch a lot of videos on my laptop, so I guess most of the time.  Do you name inanimate objects? Which ones? I have. Are you jealous of loved up couples when you’re single? I think people tend to confuse jealousy and envy. Anyway, I may feel a bit envious sometimes and I think that I’ll never experience that, but for now it’s best that I’m single. It works for me for now. What was your last dream about? Random shit as usual. If you have an iPod, what did you call it when you registered it? I probably called it Steph’s iPod or something. I haven’t used my iPod in yearssss. What do you do when you’re stressed out? Shut down? When was the last time you sneezed? I don’t remember. What comes up on your recommended list on YouTube? ASMR videos mostly. The shoes you wore today: What do they look like? I haven’t worn any today.

[lozenger8]

an empty space you left behind

Inspired by this gifset and written for @dylantyler. Title from ‘Missing U’ by Robyn, because it’s a great song and ‘strumming my pain with his fingers’ was somehow even less subtle.

On Tuesday, Stiles launches from the side of the screen to the center with a guitar neck clutched firmly in his hand and a manic grin planted firmly on his face. 

“What did you do?”

“It was sitting there all innocent and lonely at the pawn shop, Scotty. It cost me like five shifts’ worth, if that. I spent more on that jacket last month. Listen. I already know some songs.”

That jacket? Scott has fond memories of Stiles modeling it for him. It hugged his wide shoulders, making them seem even wider, and accentuated the slimness of his waist. It’s a very attractive jacket. Scott likes it very much. Scott sits through two excruciating renditions of Three Little Birds and Hound Dog, heart thumping louder than usual - loud enough he worries Stiles could hear it - as he watches Stiles’ tongue, peeking out the side of his mouth. 

Oh. This is Not Great.

“Good try!” Scott says, because he doesn’t like to lie to Stiles and he cannot praise the actual playing. “Keep at it.”

Stiles beams at him. There’s no way he can’t tell Scott’s being diplomatic, but at the same time, he doesn’t seem to care he’s nowhere near a Hendrix. 

“I’m gonna!”

*

On a Saturday weeks later, the guitar is on the bed as Stiles is chatting to Scott about blood spatter patterns, and Scott can’t stop his eyes from wandering to it. Stiles catches him after one gruesome retelling of the blood spatter from a women whose wife had used an electric drill post-mortem. He squints, glances from the bed back to Scott.

“You wanna hear my progress?”

“Anything other than the continued adventures of Denise the Dentist, yeah, dude,” Scott says, wincing. 

Scott rolls his shoulders and sucks in a few deep breaths as he watches Stiles reach over and grab the guitar in an ungainly sprawl. Stiles’ shirt rides up and Scott resolutely refuses to stare at the strip of skin above his boxers and the hem of his shirt. The pale skin with two, no, three moles. The treasure trail that used to make Scott jealous.

He fails. 

“I know nine chords,” Stiles says, holding the guitar with a far more natural position than the last time. “I can play them with more than thirty seconds between each change.”

“You sound like you’ve actually been practicing.”

“I have. Every day. Who knew I could attain a talent?”

“You already had plenty of talents,” Scott counters.

“Yeah,” Stiles scoffs, “That were already inherent in me being me. A loud mouth, insatiable curiosity, and ability to piss off all minority and majority groups. Talents, sure, but nothing I learned.”

Scott frowns a deliberate frown. “You don’t really think that’s true, do you?”

“No, of course not,” Stiles says, scrabbling for a pick on his desk, gesturing wildly when he successfully lifts it. He mutters the next part, but Scott still hears it. “I know it is.”

Stiles plays him ‘I Want to Hold Your Hand’, and it isn’t what Scott would call capable or even intermediate playing, but Stiles even sings along and seems really into it, so Scott can’t help but be thoroughly charmed anyway. Plus, Stiles’ long, strong-looking fingers against the fret-board have been doing all sorts of things to Scott’s entire body. 

His face smiles against his own volition. “That was super cute, buddy.”

“That’s the first time you ever called me cute.”

Maybe to his face.

*

On a lazy Friday evening, spent indoors rather than out partying, Stiles plays Scott, ‘I Can’t Help Falling in Love With You’. It’s beautiful and Scott surreptitiously wipes a tear from the corner of his eye. Unfortunately, nothing is surreptitious when Stiles is involved. 

“They weren’t tears of ear-splitting pain, were they?”

“I wouldn’t tell you even if they were, you know that,” Scott says. But he shakes his head. “But no, it’s just one of those songs that always gets me.” Scott gestures at his chest.

It’s true, not a word of a lie, but he was also imagining Stiles singing this song to him for real, not just to show off, and it hurts to know that’s not going to happen any time soon. Probably not ever. Scott resolved himself to that after Stiles decided to go to Washington rather than stay with him, but... but it still sounds out like a discordant note inside his heart.

*

Monday morning a few months later, Stiles texts Scott to ask if he’ll be a sounding board for his rendition of, ‘Fix You’. Scott listens as he writes a paper, swaying from side to side. Stiles has gotten so good he plays with minimal breaks. Scott’s a mixture of proud and sorrow-filled that he hasn’t seen the improvement in person. 

*

It’s Saturday. Scott’s had a shitty week, a shitty month if he’s being honest, and he’s lying on his bed, head on the pillow, cradling his laptop. It’s past midnight. Stiles is up, occasionally wandering around while he talks, even though it’s literally the middle of the night for him - if not the early morning. He’s wearing a loose gray shirt and Spider-Man boxers and Scott wishes he could reach out and tug him into bed. 

“Sing me to sleep?” Scott asks, after twenty minutes of telling Stiles exactly why he’s three fourths the way to miserable. (His friend Shelley ran over a kitten and neither of them could save it, his shifts at the local vet’s were cut, he sent his mom money rather than buying more Aggie cash and is constantly hungry, and Liam was almost captured and slaughtered by hunters.)

Stiles peers at him in the dim light, his face soft and warm in a way that Scott rarely got to see in person, let alone through their video chats, and he returns with his guitar a moment later.

“Um, okay. I’m not amazing at this song yet because I only started it a week ago. But I think you’ll like it.” His next words are muted. “I hope you will.”

When Stiles begins strumming and singing ‘Thinking Out Loud’, Scott’s breath stops in his throat and he clutches his pillow tight with his left hand, claws pricking the cover. 

Stiles won’t look at him when he finishes, sets his guitar down. “Sweet dreams, Scotty,” he murmurs, disconnecting the chat. 

Scott stares up at the ceiling for another two hours. 

It can’t be what he’s thinking.

Stiles would have said something.

Stiles is terrible with handling his emotions but is always vocal in his love.

Yet Stiles has been singing and playing him love songs since those first two tracks. Only love songs. 

*

“You feeling better?” Stiles asks the next time they’re face to face. It’s another Tuesday. They’ve texted during the past couple of weeks or so, but that’s all, and Scott had found himself increasingly mimicking Stiles’ expressions and speech cadences in lieu of the real thing, to the bafflement of his college friends.

“I haven’t learned how to play guitar in the space of seventeen days,” Scott says without answering the question being asked. “But I downloaded this karaoke track.”

Scott starts the track, rocks back in his chair, braces himself, and tries not to fall apart with nerves. 

“Love me tender Love me sweet Never let me go You have made my life complete And I love you so

Love me tender Love me true All my dreams fulfilled For my darlin' I love you And I always will”

Stiles’ expression morphs from confusion to fondness to joy. He picks up his guitar and plays along towards the end of the song, humming with Scott, adding a little harmony when he can. 

“You noticed, huh?” Stiles asks when Scott finishes, scratching the back of his neck and ducking his head down.

“It took me way too long,” Scott says. He shrugs, smiles. “I got there eventually.”

“Yeah, so, I’m like head over heels in love with you, Scott,” Stiles says, too earnest considering the casual phrasing, the nonchalant slant of his shoulders.

“That’s good to hear. I’m like truly, madly, deeply in love with you too.” Scott grins, full of a huge quantity of unnamed and usually suppressed emotions. 

Stiles’ answering smile has Scott’s palms feeling clammy and his nerves zinging. 

“I feel very strongly that we need to somehow be in the same room so we can make sweet, sweet music together,” Stiles says, voice a little rough, like he’s holding back his own crescendo of feelings and can only let one or two loose. 

“I completely agree.”

*

On Thursday evening, after Scott’s least favorite lectures and the longest and most frustrating shift at the vet’s clinic, he finds himself humming along to an old song he’s only heard once or twice in the past 10 years. It takes a while to place it.

It takes even longer to realize he’s humming it because he can hear a guitar strumming the chords. He throws open the window to his shoebox apartment, blood thundering in his veins, hoping against hope he’s going to see what he thinks he is. 

Stiles stands there with his guitar. 

“In my life, I love you more,” Stiles sings. 

Scott rushes down the stairs on all fours, damn near crashes through the door in a cartoon cut-out. He’s not proud of it, but it is what it is. 

He’s careful as he adjusts the guitar so it’s on Stiles’s back, soft as he cradles his jaw, and high-pitched as Stiles closes the distance between them before he gets a chance to and kisses him with a rhythm and tempo that leave him breathless.

[rosedalemike]

“The Mood” Blog #9 - Farewell, Rosedale...It is time.

    This is a really tough one for me and I'm not sure where to begin. I guess I'll be blunt and say that I have been finding more than ever that it is in the best interest of my musical journey (and well being) to put Rosedale to rest and start a new chapter.

      Rosedale has meant everything to me for almost 15 years now. I've devoted the majority of my time, money, attention, and energy to Rosedale. And I don't regret any of it. I've learned so much more than I could have ever imagined about music and life and saw more of the world than most people get to see in a lifetime. I managed to actually grow Rosedale into a small business and it has made music my full time occupation. When I look at it that way, Rosedale screams success!     

     Touring has become a big part of Rosedale's agenda. Building a memorable live show, getting merch graphics and orders ready, booking shows, traveling to them, managing an intense amount of gear/production- and as I explain in my prior blogs - I don't really mind doing all the dirty work. I enjoy the challenge and it is all worth it for those magical moments where I get to see lives being changed/inspired. I love meeting fans and bands and I love that Rosedale has often been labeled a "musician's band". It's no surprise. I almost have no personal life because - for better or for worse - I love how much my work doesn't feel like work. So, evidently, I tend to write a lot of songs about the grind; the ups/downs, the pride/doubt, the dreams/memories. So that's how I'd like this farewell announcement to go. (Though, I'd like to think I'm a better songwriter than blogger.)

     Before I touch on a few of the many reasons, I'd like to clarify that this is not a re-brand/name change, nor is this me quitting music. And I don't really wanna talk about what musical ideas I have for the future just yet. There are many options that I need to figure out for myself. But I am finally 100% positive that none of them will be under the name Rosedale. Rosedale will end as Rosedale and I want this announcement to be about Rosedale. The Rosedale songs/releases will rest as Rosedale songs after this tour. They had their time and proudly resonated throughout many amazing places/ears.

     I want everyone to know sooner rather than later (even though the next chapter is nowhere near ready) because it is only fair. If you were thinking that you'll just catch this new Rosedale show the next time it rolls through town I wanna let you know there won't be a next time. And if you are over Rosedale already, chances are you haven't read this far anyway.

      I understand if this is upsetting to some. Believe me, it’s hard to just call it a day like this almost as much as it feels absolutely necessary. So before you set your Rosedale apparel a-flame and make that tattoo removal appointment, hear me out: 

Reason 1: The Unoriginal Name

     As jaded and cynical as I may sometimes come across about the ever changing music industry, one of the new musts that I can definitely understand and respect is that being unique/original is crucial. The answer to a lot of musician's uncontrollable struggles is 'over saturation'. I hear it everywhere I go. And from the seminars and conferences I've spent my time attending/downloading over the years; having an original, easily searchable name is the first step to growing your brand. (Brand; If you've been reading these blogs, you know how much I had that word.) But, ultimately, the name is the brand.      

     And not only is there over 5 other Rosedale's on Spotify, the origin of name Rosedale is nothing original; Four friends walked down a street ‘ROSEDALE AVE.’ that leads to the music store- thought it sounded cooler than their current band name. Sure, to put it that way is a total slap in the face to the legacy that Rosedale became. But it is no wonder that here I am at a stand still, personally messaging 'fans' to come to their local venue/dive bar etc. to be reminded that Rosedale is unique/original/interesting/so much more (and all the other nice things I hear from people after the set).

      I had the oportunity to go out for a long breakfast with my biggest hero the other day while I was home. He was showing me, first hand, the struggle someone not-so-technically-savvy might have finding my music on Spotify. He stoically said "you should change the name."  I knew it was a burden for a while now and that it would be a big headache to commit to, but the way he said it made me realize it was no big deal and it was definitely time. (Biggest hero = my dad)

Reason #2: What even is Rosedale even???

     Similar to Reason #1, a confusing brand is not a good brand. Side note; none of these reasons are things I just suddenly realized. They've actually been worsening burdens over the last four years. The truth is, back in November 2013 (when I was finalizing demos/new songs for Self-Titled and Again) we (as in me and my management at the time along with other industry friends) were discussing a name change/rebrand. Mostly because the infamous history of Rosedale was a bit of a confusing thing, (especially locally) and still is! 

'Is it a band? Is it just Mike? Why is it just Mike? Is Mike's last name Rosedale? Maybe his middle name is Rosedale? What happened to the members from Get Going? Is that even Mike singing on the Past Times EP/You'll Count to Ten??'

    We all felt a name change was necessary. But as we'd each listen to the new songs/demos separately on our drives home from the studio and try to brainstorm the perfect name, we couldn't help but realize that most of these songs were written about the history of Rosedale. One recurring idea was; change the name but call the album (/EP or whatever) 'ROSEDALE'.

      In the end we just kind of decided to announce/shop these new songs as a "Re-Launch" of Rosedale. New logo, new songs, new sound, new line-up, new album; same name. The underground Rosedale following seemed excited, especially with the out-of-left-field, tongue and cheek T-Swift love song being the first single out the gate. But it still left a lot of question marks to some of the new followers we were picking up at Warped Tour etc. (especially because I had these awesome, well adversed fill-in/temp members building the brand).       Slowly I was realizing that I was creating a clearer understanding, better response, respect from the venues (including Warped Tour), and much better merch sales from delivering my inevitable one-man show. But, nevertheless, still a confusing topic for even some of my most supportive fans. I am even confused - to this day - as to why my perfect fill-in members (from my hometown, to Virginia, to Indiana, to West Virginia) were not improving results/sales. But then again, we live in quite the different age for Rock N' Roll/technology.

Reason 3: Counter-Productive Shows

    This one is extremely tough to explain. Especially to my supporters. So really try to level with me on this one. I tour a lot and I love it but If you read blog #5 - Lonliness/Perception you'll get an in depth insight on the kind of sheepishness I encounter in my travels. It's a natural process; people feed off the reaction of others. I've played some mediocre/catastrophic sets to big crowds (blew out my voice in Toronto to a crowd of 200+ , laptop crashed twice in Columbus to a sold out crowd at A&R, been booted off stage/muted after two songs opening to Eve 6's supportive fans in Albuquerque) and got a way better reaction/sales/follows/likes/LIVES-CHANGED than any flawless/powerful performance to an intimate crowd of 5-15 confused attendees. The reality is, the more common is the latter. And what’s worse is the next time I invite those confused attendees out to a show; 98% of them will give me the "I'll see what I can do" which 99% of the time means "I've got better things to do".     Don't get me wrong, I'm aware people suck and I rock. And I'm still smiling up there on stage while I crush a feel-good set to 10 yawning, doubtful, distant sheep. And to the 2% of people who aren't yawning as their lives are being positively inspired; I appreciate you more than you will ever know.

     But when I start the van and drive to the next city I can't help but realize that the 98% of the shallow people that I'm not reaching (due to the empty surroundings) I'm doing myself, Rosedale, and the newly inspired a dis-service by continuing to settle for less; to play shows to crowds of under 20. That’s why I tried that Show4me.com mcgiver with the Again EP release tour. I wanted to give back to supporters and confirm that there would be at least a small crowd committed to coming out.

      If you're reading this and thinking 'who cares, keep playing for fun!' - my response is; try telling that to the venues/promoters that are giving Rosedale a home to grow my business with theirs. Luckily, many of them have been supportive/forgiving towards my sad numbers, but there are definitely some promoters/venues that 'will have to pass' on my follow-up tours through. Rosedale has always been more than a hobby to me. It is my life and my business. And any artist who is too lazy to handle the business side of things just doesn't love music as much as they think (or as much as they'd like you to believe). I'll admit, I could definitely still improve on the business side of my little DIY empire here. So let's call that the general consensus of this reason...and we can’t keep ignoring the unsearchable name conundrum.

Reason 4: No room for new/old songs

      (This one can easily be argued with many other relik bands as examples...but-) I'm STILL playing 30 minute sets (usually)... yet I have over 200 minutes of released Rosedale material! I've had to become that stage hog that pushes my 30 minute slot to 35/40 minutes just to play 20% of Rosedale's released material, just to give my few attendees almost all that they came to see. (Luckily, most of these venues' staff have also been super forgiving/supportive of this no-no).

      Some people wanna hear oldies, some people wanna hear new songs that I haven't even added to the set yet (because I don't have enough stage time anyway). And in most cities I'm not in a position to headline/play last because everyone but the few Rosedaliens will just leave after their friend's set. I've seen it too many times and I still "Turn whiter than a song in C" when it happens. Will Rosedale ever get to a headlining status World Wide? I still believe it's possible. But not if I keep spinning the tires against all these roadblocks. It is very obvious I need to take a different route to get there. So maybe Rosedale will come back down the road...but that is no longer up to me. And for the time being, it's time to move on to the next chapter. 

Reason #5: Hit Reset

      You ever work so hard on something (maybe like a school project or a video game or recipe) then realize you have to start over? Or maybe your computer crashed or the ingredients spoiled without you realizing it. That used to happen to me a lot and still does. But it bothers me less each time.

      Because then, as you're starting the process all over, you have that comforting Epiphany of improvement; 'dang, this draft is way better'. You realize that first run was a practice round and now you've got this Ol' Gunner experience to do things right and avoid the mistakes.

     I've always felt that way going into each Rosedale album/EP. After Past Times it was all about using the right mics and amps to get that polished mix for Get Going. Then for Real it was all about not over-editing and leaving in the string noise and breaths...even footsteps. Then with Self-Titled and Again I dug a lot deeper into lyrics / my personal story and really went all out with dynamics using orchestration of infinite instruments. A lot of those sessions I had to re-play/sing the songs. Sometimes by choice, sometimes by dumb technological luck. But it always came out better the next time because repetition is the father of learning.

     Anyway, you get the obvious point. But I think it is the most important one. Also, I should mention; the bigger the reset, the bigger the results. Ending Rosedale and starting something entirely fresh would be the biggest reset I've ever done. It might take a while, but if I go at it with the work ethic I've driven into Rosedale, the step-up is gonna be huge! We're talking over half my life - BOOM - RESET! Clear brand! Searchable! Productive strategizing/shows!     Working with a blank pallet could be a great advantage. I'm still the same person/artist but I have a chance to create content under a fresh....brand...damnit. Again, I don't know exactly what that brand is quite yet, but I do know for sure that it will be better and stronger than Rosedale ever was. 

    So again, don't worry, my fellow Rosedaliens (& don’t get excited, haters), I'm not throwing in the towel and I'm definitely not slowing down. I'm just being honest with everyone and keeping you in the loop. This is the victory lap. I was gonna buckle down and work on new tracks after this run anyway but I'm letting you know asap that Rosedale (and these songs) are retiring. If you were thinking about taking a trip this summer to see one last final Rosedale show, you should definitely do it. I'm out here still giving it 110% every show to make everyone realize that "the really tall Canadian with way too much gear" is really on to something. Even if he ditches the overly popular, unsearchable, confusing name.

     Though this is yet another very long blog, this announcement could have easily been 10 times longer. There are hundreds of other reasons/things I meant to say but I just kinda let slip my mind or, evidently, they didn't seem nearly as important/relevant. (Like the Chicago horror rock band "The Rosedales", who showed up to our very first Chicago show in 2009 with a Cease and Desist letter for trademark infringement and contacted all the venues on that first tour to threaten all profits...they still threaten me from time-to-time...)

     Probably not the best place for this but: Rosedale’s songs and CDs and merch will still be available online. I'm just not sure if I'll be reprinting anymore hardcopies (definitely not Past Times as is as I don't even have the art file). Likely not reprinting merch and there isn't all that much left. So I'll try to keep the merch store as up-to-date on sizes as I can on the rest of this final Rosedale tour. But if you'd like to invest in Rosedale stock (and help clean out my van/garage) CDs are the way to go. I'll even sign them on request and maybe they'll be worth something one day.

     I'm still gonna be writing weekly tour/music/life blogs and I'll likely be starting that podcast/YouTube show I was babbling about when I introduced this blog in Blog #1 as a first step into the new chapter.

     It'll be interesting to see how this announcement plays out amongst the many social-media-only Rosedale followers and the true Rosedaliens. To the true Rosedaliens; I can't thank you enough for hanging in there and supporting me through thick and thin. Even if you just recently found out about Rosedale, and are just now enjoying/sharing/supporting my art, I really do appreciate you like family. I highly encourage you to come experience this victory lap and join me for the next chapter. Know that this is not goodbye. This is see you later in a different fashion. Hopefully sooner than later, though future timelines are still all up in the air.

     The only thing I'm sure of at this point is that this is the last Rosedale run and I'm gonna go 110% for every day of it. (Maybe even 120% now... I'm really gonna miss playing these songs!!!) Hope to see familiar faces as well as some of the mystery faces. Thanks again, everyone <3 xoxo

FINAL DATES: 5/30 - Boise, ID @ Shredder

5/31 - Vancouver, BC @ The Roxy

6/1 - Everett, WA @ Black Lab Gallery

6/2 - Seattle, WA @ Kate's Pub (acoustic)

6/5 - Tacoma, WA @ Real Art Tacoma

6/6 - Portland, OR @ TBA

6/7 - Portland, OR @ White Owl Social Club

6/8 - Grants Pass, OR @ The Sound Lounge

6/9 - Klamath Falls, OR @ The Pikey

6/10 - Phoenix, OR @ The Phoenix Clubhouse

6/13 - Sacramento, CA @ Cafe Colonial

6/14 - Cupertino, CA @ Homestead Bowl & Xbar

6/15 - Bakersfield, CA @ Sandrini's

6/16 - Las Vegas, NV @ Evel Pie

6/20 - Pomona, CA @ The Legacy Room

6/23 - San Diego, CA @ Soma

6/26 - Phoenix, AZ @ TBA

6/27 - Tucson, AZ @ TBA

6/28 - Las Cruces, NM @ TBA

6/29 - El Paso, TX @ Neon Rose

6/30 - San Angelo, TX @ The Deadhorse

7/4 - Austin, TX @ Mohawk

7/5 - Houston, TX @ Acadia

7/6 - Laffayette, LA @ TBA

7/7 - New Orleans, LA @ TBA

7/8 - Pensacola, LA @ Handlebar

7/12 - Santa Rosa Beach, FL @ Grayton Beer Company

7/13 - Nashville, TN @ Rocketown

7/14 - Columbus, OH @ Rock The Creek

7/17 - Cincinnati, OH @ TBA

7/20 - Memphis, TN @ TBA

7/21 - Birmingham, AL @ TBA

7/22 - Fort Walton, FL @ Green Door Music Hall

7/23 - Columbus, GA @ TBA

7/24 - Atlanta, GA @ Masquerade

7/26 - Savannah, GA @ TBA

7/27 - Jacksonville, FL @ Jackrabbits

7/29 - St. Augustine, FL @ Sarbez

7/30 - Orlando, FL @ TBA

7/31 - Tampa, FL

8/11 - Myrells Inlet, SC @ TBA

8/12 - Myrtle Beach, SC @ Klockers (acoustic)

8/16 - Asheville, NC @ TBA

8/17 - Norfolk, VA @ TBA

8/18 - Virginia Beach, VA @ TBA

8/20 - Richmond, VA @ Strange Matter

8/22 - Washington, DC @ TBA

8/24 - Philadelphia, PA @ TBA

8/25 - Long Island, NY @ TBA

8/26 - Hamden, CT @ TBA

8/28 - Providence, RI @ TBA

8/30 - Boston, MA @ TBA

8/31 - Albany, NY @ TBA

9/1 - Burlington, VT @ TBA

9/5 - Potsdam, NY @ TBA

9/7 - Montreal, QC @ La Vitrola

9/8 - Ottawa, ON @ TBA 

Maybe a couple hometown farewells early September too. Depends on some things.Lots to book. Any help would be much appreciated.

[redmayniac-roleplayer]

Listening that Toria held her stomach close for a moment.

"500?" - she looked up at him and then realized how shocking that was due to his appearance. He actually looked like being not much older than her. But all of a sudden giggling Toria said - "Well, I... I guess Da would say you're too old to me, you're older than himself, and he's old enough" - she giggled - "It's better not to tell him about it. Age is just a number, after all. It's not important" - she shrugged amusedly, leaning forward to kiss him again.

Thinking for a while of how could she explain that, Toria finally said:

"Well, anyone can practice it, but it doesn't mean it's going to work. I don't know if it makes sense. But there's a lot to learn, many books to read, and you also would need a master, I guess. But I'll tell you, I've read a little about it and I got to the conclusion that most of the people who are into it are just quacks, y'know? For sure it must exist some people who really do have the gift, but... I don't know. But what we call magic in here is most specifically about invocations of deities, so, if you think rationally about it, it's not the person themselves who got the power, but the deities they invoke. Sure, there are the people who got psychic powers, but it's another story"

Toria wiped a tear and leaned her head back onto Narfi's chest as he held her like that, nodding weakly as he said so.

"Yes... I do" - she said, turning to face Narfi, placing both hands on his chest - "Well, Vincent told me nothing happened to my father, he just talked to him this morning, so... yeah, nothing happened" - she smiled, going back to bed - "You look tired. Why don't you take a nap while I finish here?" - she said, sitting on the edge of the bed and taking her laptop - "By the way, I work in a publishing company, y'know? I'm a proofreader. Like, people write books and then I check if everything is alright before publishing them. And then my name appears in the credits" - she tried to smile - "I'm going to show you"

But as soon as she opened the device and accessed the page of the publishing company, her laptop restarted playing music, as before it had glitched. But that one song specifically wasn't in her playlist at all. It was the kind of thing to which Gerard used to listen.

Jolting away Toria let the laptop drop to the floor, and the shock made it get in mute, and staring at the laptop at her feet she muttered in awe:

"What the fuck? I don't have any Cannibal Corpse in my playlists, I hate it, what the fuck is this?"

Worship Your God - part 4

[joelles-website]

The Cult of Apple and Their Manipulative Commercials

INTRODUCTION

Apple, infamously created by former and late CEO, Steve Jobs, and Steve Wozniak, has undoubtedly created the world’s most innovative products and services such as graphical user interface (GUI), iPods, iPhones, and iOS. Through Apple’s history, it has always been one step ahead of the competition. To obtain a brand so powerful that it mimics the patterns of religion, it is worth examining the methods Apple uses to achieve this. Could their key approach possibly be how they incorporate human qualities into their products? Or how effective the company’s advertisements are to their spectators? This paper argues that Apple skillfully manipulates their commercials, establishing its brand as a cult. Either realizing belonging to the subconscious cult or fiercely against the brand, this project is important because it justifies Apple has affected the reader in one way or another. I base my arguments on semiotic analysis in Apple commercials, along with literature reviews on Maslow’s hierarchy of needs, cult branding, and cultivation theory.  

LITERATURE REVIEW

    In 1947, Apple was founded and created the first ever user-friendly interface computer. They quickly developed an audience who were very fond of their high performing, easy-to-use product. During this time, Apple marketed their company as a brand that sold computers that could be used by ordinary people, it was very functionality based. But shortly after, the company had fallen into near bankruptcy. At this time, Steve Jobs had left the company but returned in 1997 to save the future of Apple. Jobs noticed that although the state of their company was chaotic, he was certain that Apple could be saved through its brand. Jobs stated that “Apple had got to be a great marketing company” (Kahney, 2008, p.131), and with that, a rebranding advertising campaign began immediately, only now with branding and marketing as their main focus and biggest asset.

    When Jobs decided that Apple was going to execute a rebranding campaign, how they advertised their products had to change too. Previously, Apple advertised their product as a computer that functioned just as well as any other competitor but had the ease of allowing ordinary people to use it as well. Their brand was characterized as user-friendly, and slightly less bulky than its competitors. In general, their branding and advertising lacked customer needs, depth, and meaning. To understand what different “levels” of needs depicts a specific brand, Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs will be reviewed. Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs breaks down where Apple stood before and after their rebranding campaign, and what it means to fulfill certain levels of the hierarchy.

    Since the rebranding of Apple, the company had changed significantly and quickly became a brand that individuals associated with trendy-up-to-date lifestyles, popularity, and inclusion. But what is so different between Apple’s brand then and now? Sascha Schneiders provides an excellent understanding of why Apple’s current brand is a cult, while also yielding a great definition of what a brand is. He defines a brand as associations that connect an individual to a brand. As mentioned, since Apple’s rebranding began, the associations started becoming a certain way of life, such as being “popular” or included. This is important to note because correlating Apple to a lifestyle is part of what makes the brand a cult. The popular and easily-inclusive lifestyle Apple offers is transferred through their commercials. This cultivates an understanding of Apple not as a producer of products, but as a place offering a lifestyle facilitated by their products. This is integral to Apple and what Schneiders defines as a “cult-brand” (Schneiders, 2011).

   Lastly, Robert Fortner explains Cultivation Theory and demonstrates why a constant exposure to Apple’s commercial cultivates an evangelistic attitude. The evangelistic attitude is the gradual but long-term consequence that a brand will have on their customers, this can include a different outlook on life or beliefs. This is also very important as this is an advantage for Apple, because their customers decode the messages created within their commercials, and continue spreading the message to the world. This is Apple's free and effective method for transferring their message and meaning to others outside of Apple's regular audience. The evangelistic attitude is what supports the brands' commercials in order to achieve their cult status.

METHODOLOGY: SEMIOTICS

    To dive deeper into what message Apple is encoding into their advertisements, using semiotics, this paper will analyze two of Apple’s commercials: The First iPod Release, and Frankie’s Holiday. By Analyzing the commercials with semiotics, it establishes that the company sells their products a lifestyle and a promise, rather than a quality piece. Semiotics is a methodology that focuses on associations such as senses of thinking, hearing and seeing things that can be defined as signs (Hall, 2001). The associations that we make is the initial process of decoding meaning. The meaning is encoded within the message that the company wants to communicate to their customers. This message is represented as a commercial or advertisement and is passed around through codes. It is emphasized that commercials draw upon past experiences and feelings which must connect to what is already familiar to the subject. These familiar feelings and emotions are what Apple’s customers connect the signifier to signified to generate meaning from the commercial. 

    The televisual signs in commercials are complex and are made up of the combination of visual and verbal discourse. It is important to remember that since the discourse is visually translating “reality” into a two-dimensional plane, what we see cannot be the actual object or concept it signifies. At the same time, reality exists outside of language, but it is constantly mediated by and through verbal and textual language (Schneiders, 2011). This essentially means that whatever Apple advertises in their commercials, it is not really reality. So whilst examing the following commercials it is important to understand that Apple's audience who believe what is displayed is a reality, they have successfully decoded the company's meaning: that Apple will give an individual the satisfaction, inclusion, and fulfillment one desires.

SEMIOTICS: FIRST IPOD RELEASE

Apple - iPod Release 2001.  

    A good example of verbal language is Apple’s 2001 iPod release commercial. In this commercial, the subject is mute the entire advertisement but music from his laptop and iPod can be heard. The music goes from a faint rhythmic beat emanated from his laptop, but shifts to a loud and clear tune when the subject begins to listen with his iPod and earphones. The music has no lyrics so it truly focuses on what the iPod is advertising: how great the sound quality is. Nearing the end, a voiceover concludes the commercial with the statement “iPod, a thousand songs in your pocket.��� This catches a viewer’s attention because it is the only verbal message a viewer hears. In 2001, the concept of having a thousand songs packed into a small portable device with great sound quality was incredibly intriguing. This compelled a mass of people to want the iPod for themselves. The message when meaningfully decoded translates to the iPod answering to the society’s wants of an easier way to listen to music on the go. But is truly advertised as desiring the same emotions and feelings of the man in the commercial, and making that integral to their character.

    The commercial concludes with Apple’s slogan “think differently.” The emotional and behavioral consequence of their slogan makes people reflect their identity and transforms the conception of being different to a good thing. The consequence is wanting to be different because Apple has made being different a new trait to desire; which in that moment was only by and through the iPod. 

    Visually, this iPod commercial begins with the subject bobbing his head while listening to the music. The subject is assumed to be just an actor Apple cast for the iPod role, so the commercial focuses even more on just the product. A few moments into the ad, it shows the subject dragging and transferring the song to his iPod with ease and speed. In this commercial, there is a prominent feature Apple is advertising, which is the iPod. It markets the capacity of songs it holds, the ease of downloading and transferring songs, and how quick it is to accomplish this task. This is important because compared to Frankie’s Holiday Commercial, the iPod commercial promotes amusement and enjoyment from the device. But also still advertising the products' functionality and features. Next, when Frankie's Holiday Commercial is examined, it will be very evident that Apple chooses to prominently disguise their product within meaningful signs.

SEMIOTICS: FRANKIE’S HOLIDAY

Apple - Frankie’s Holiday 2016.

    Another example geared towards visual signs is Apple’s more recent commercial “Frankie’s holiday” (2016). Frankenstein already comes with a set of meaning and association, and although it is still up to the viewers to make this transfer, it can be assumed Apple, or the product is predominantly signified by Frankenstein.

    At 0:07, without displaying his appearance, the creature is shown to be winding a music box that plays a whimsical and lighthearted tune, while recording the music with his Apple iPhone. The iPhone was strategically positioned and situated in relation to Frankenstein, giving an even clearer signifier that Frankenstein does indeed represent Apple. By applying this concept of associating Apple’s iPhone to Frankenstein, the product in the consumer’s mind is another familiar signifier. With familiar feelings and emotions the commercial continues to portray about Frankenstein, this allows Apple to mold their customer's perception of the new iPhone to carry the same qualities as Frankie.

    At 1:01, with a tap of the play button on his iPhone, Frankie begins a short rehearsed carol to the mass. Seconds in, glares and whispers begin again and one of his lights flicker off that trigger a wave of gasps and murmurs. This familiar feeling of being an exclusion of the society is what is generated through the acts of the holiday commercial. Frankenstein, who signifies Apple and the iPhone, evoke a human-like spirit despite his known figure of being a monster. This again refers back to Apple promoting “think different,” and that being different can be a good thing. Now, because the iPhone is not only represented as a fantasized figure, Apple has given Frankenstein relatable and humanistic features which therefore gives Apple human qualities.

    The commercial concludes with a young girl deciding to approach Frankenstein to prompt him to continue his song. The young girls’ kind action towards Frankenstein causes the entire townspeople to sing along. Frankenstein, overwhelmed by the response is shown beloved and finally accepted by the town. Apple ends their commercial with a simple request to their audience: “Open your heart to everyone.” The commercial emphasizes how possessing the iPhone can make you feel included, accepted and most importantly loved, just like Frankie. It accomplishes this by showing that with the presence of the Apple product in one’s life; it can offer personal fulfillment and possess the package associated with desirable connotations of Frankenstein.

    Verbal signs also play an important role as Apple accordingly chose the statement “Open your heart to everyone” to present the iPhone as an object of desire. One might think that the slogan “Open your heart to everyone” is an innocent phrase of kindness during the holiday season. But it can be assumed an assortment of ideas judging by Apple’s diligence to achieve self-actualization. The slogan is a calling to individuals who are against or not apart of their cult-brand. Or to individuals who are stubborn to believe that Apple gives one self-fulfillment. To “Open your heart to everyone,” is a statement that Apple brings forth, asking non-Apple followers to give their brand and products a second chance, and to “Open your heart” to the invitation of Apple’s cult. 

    This iPhone commercial works to give the iPhone and Apple a symbolic meaning by creating an equivalence between the signified Frankenstein and the signifier. The advertisement presents transference of meaning as though there was already a relation to these two objects, but it is only in the commercial that his representation takes place. The iPhone only has the meaning that it shares with Frankenstein by being associated with such a well-known figure within this advertisement. This advertisement uses familiar feelings so that the iPhone can be substituted for the same feelings of acceptance and love like Frankenstein. 

    These two commercials in comparison show how Apple has evolved their commercials to be more about obtaining a lifestyle or feeling, rather than the product and its functionality itself. By selling a lifestyle through their products, and fulfilling customer envy, Apple establishes itself as a cult-brand.

RESEARCH

MASLOW’S HIERARCHY OF NEEDS

Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs. Retrieved from: www.simplypsychology.org/maslow.jpeg

    Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs helps understand why Apple is a cult-brand due to the company’s diligence to satisfy the highest level of needs, self-actualization. The Hierarchy of Needs ascends as follows: physiological, safety, love and belonging, self-esteem, and self-actualization. Cult-brands satisfy the highest level of needs, and “Apple is a self-empowering brand that fulfills the need of self-actualization of their customers” (Schneiders, 2011). What this means is that Apple acknowledges people who are searching for personal growth and that Apple in itself holds personal fulfillment. Furthermore, how the company transfers this message of providing self-actualization is by and through their commercials facilitated by their products. Their commercials involve more lifestyle, feeling, and attitude rather than product quality or performance. Although specific features are involved with advertising Apple’s products, it is only enhanced because of human-like characteristics they purposefully incorporate within them. This defines them as a cult-brand because only cult-brands meet the highest level of self-actualization.

CULT-BRANDING

    Branding is the complex process of creating and developing a chosen identity for the company. The more humanistic traits an individual sees within the product, and how much they can relate to the company and what they value, it builds up a brand for the company. This explanation is extendable to Apple and their cult-branding and how they built up their cult-brand. For Apple, it was more than words and images that they wanted to be associated with through their commercials. They wanted words to be associated with feelings, to then be associated with Apple. They wanted their images to be associated with feelings, and feelings to mean a deeper rooted connection to the company. They designed their products to carry a fulfillment in their customer’s needs and wants. To purposefully create emotions correlated to each and every one of their products was key to advertising their commercials.

    Defined by Schneiders, a cult brand is a brand that has a strong influence on people’s lives, in which it results in the company to be continuously chosen over the competition. The company becomes powerful enough to not only have their customers buy and use their product but to evangelize them to the world (Schneiders, 2011). In regards to Apple and cult culture, Jobs is the subject of power who is surrounded by followers with extreme customer loyalty to Apple. They are persuaded that fulfillment is found through the company, their products, and their brand. Apple’s customers have a willingness to pay for the product because they have so much faith that the company will deliver exactly what they want; even if it means they could be blindsided. How Apple achieves their customer’s faith is by building a relationship with them through their commercials.  Apple does this by directly communicating messages that allow their customers to decode them and create its meaning. 

    Steve Jobs listens to his customers and uses their feedback through Apple user-groups to improve his products and business. He strategically adjusts the company’s products according to his customer’s wants. As a result, the customers are shown their opinion has been heard through new product releases and updates from advertisements. They feel a part of the brand and will defend the brand against criticism as if it was their own. This is an advanced level of customer loyalty called evangelists. These evangelists are excessively loyal customers that transmit product information and brand hype by word-of-mouth. Due to these evangelists, it further justifies that Apple is a cult brand by and through commercials.

CULTIVATION THEORY

    The central thesis of cultivation theory is that heavy viewing of commercials that expose particular content, such as Apple promoting lifestyle by purchasing their product, distorts reality, promotes fear and slowly cultivates a greater power for the brand (Fackler and Fortner, 2014). This means when heavy television viewers consistently watch Apple commercials, it distorts their reality into thinking that Apple’s products will give them the lifestyle advertised and that the lifestyle advertised is a reality. the least powerful in society were the ones most likely to be influenced by the power of the cultivation effect. Cultivation theory explains that Apple commercials do not promote products in society; rather, due to the dominance of commercials and marketing, its frequency perpetuates viewers into believing the product holds a lifestyle. This means that a majority of society who frequently watch television, YouTube, or visit social media sites that all advertise Apple commercials; they are most likely to be influenced by the power of the cultivation effect.

CONCLUSION

In conclusion, it is evident that Apple has cultivated a religion-like audience who are strong in their faith for Apple’s brand. Apple has claimed dominance in commercial-advertisement and technology industries. Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs, cult branding, and cultivation theory have helped justify Apple’s brand as a cult. And with the aid of past and recent commercials by Apple, it further allows understanding of the evolution of their advertisements with extreme focus on self-actualization. Perhaps it is envied upon that Apple has developed such a strategic method to manipulating their commercials. But it’s questionable whether it’s a good idea for society to divide into separate cults defined by brands.

(3008).

REFERENCES

Frankie’s Holiday Commercial (2016). Retrieved from: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xMGAaDHel3o

Apple’s 1st iPod Commercial (2001). Retrieved from: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mE_bDNaYAr8 

Fackler, P. M., Fortner, S. R. (2014) Handbook of Media and Mass Communication Theory. Cultivation Theory: Its History, Current Status, and Future Directions. Retrieved from: https://ebookcentral-proquest-com.proxy.lib.sfu.ca/lib/sfu-ebooks/reader.action?docID=1650862 

Hall, S. (2001). Encoding/decoding. Media and cultural studies: Keyworks, 166-176.

Schneiders, S. (2011). Apple’s Secret Of Success - Traditional Marketing Vs. Cult Marketing. Retrieved from: https://ebookcentral-proquest-com.proxy. lib.sfu.ca/lib/sfu-ebooks/detail.action?docID=688849

[tinymixtapes]

Music Review: Alvarius B. - Alvarius B Vs Abdel Baqy Byro In Cairo

Alvarius B. Alvarius B Vs Abdel Baqy Byro In Cairo [Nashazphone; 2017] Rating: 3/5 As I’ve said before, a schizophrenic out on a walk with his Tascam DR-05 is infinitely more interesting than a neurotic moping on his couch with an Epi Texan. You gotta get outta yer head and let the world create itself around you. Yo-yo around town, let Cairo guide you. The city pens something new daily, but yer too up and out to pay any attention. That’s the secret: yer the yo-yo and Cairo is flippin’ you around her fingers. Walk the dog around the world and up the elevator. Only when yer at the apocheir can you really see the whole place laid out as it actually is. Yeah, real heads know that the yo-yo is a state of mind and these two, Bishop and Byro, they’re real heads. They’re peregrine falcons who fell asleep on the bus. --- You’d never believe it, but I’ve scored some high-level scuttlebutt! A genuine communique from out of the shadows of Sugar Street. I was directed to this geezer, baleful and billy-goateed, slurping down shrimp at a Chinese spot. After not a little bit of convincing, he pointed me to another geezer, and this next one to another. Before I knew it, I had criss-crossed Cairo a dozen times, kissing the feet of every streetside dignitary in town. Anyway, I finally got to them in the middle of their rounds. Those wizened, cracktoothed boys, with radar antennae strapped to their domes, were wandering about and sorting through trash. They dragged me into an ahwa and all piled around the shisha. Between sips of tea and sips of smoke, I made my request; they nearly cackled themselves off their cushions. “Abdel Baqy Byro?” they sputtered and sprayed, misting me in sweet minty shai. “No such person around here!” Naguib, summoning all his reserve solemnity and sagacity, pinched his chin and disclosed: “Without a doubt, it’s a fake name, a pseudonym, a shield.” And he was right. It wasn’t even a pen name, just a name for a pen. --- There are social and political questions we can ask at this juncture, ones that go beyond authenticity as a purely aesthetic or performative value. The creation of this heteronym, presumably Cairene, could certainly be considered just another iteration of the tendency to repackage and repurpose the lived experiences of others as some exotic curio, for example. Even in its geographic/cultural specificity, even if we consider these representations to obtain within the contemporary mode of living in Cairo, the facelessness of the project only serves to submit the voices and performers within the piece to the homogenizing regime of Western media consumption. Moreover, his attempts at weaving his own work into the collage speak to a bizarre sense of dominance he has over the narratives being spun. Would I consider this a craven attempt at authenticity? Maybe, but I also think it doesn’t matter all that much. I think he doesn’t even care about authenticity or how other people might define it. My inclination is to call it a complementary persona, a look in the mirror that reveals someone other than himself. A sounding board to reflect upon, a muse to cast admiration upon, a rival to beat upon. Maybe he just needs an alternate personality to skulk his way through the city. A version of himself that can sit on trains and spy on football teams. It can be tough sometimes to get by unseen, and what he is trying to do benefits from a certain type of anonymity. [Undecipherable voices] A record label? No, I don’t know anything about that. I’ll have to look into it. --- God, it smells. This whole city is just a broiler for garbage. Yeah, I know him. I practically taught him everything he knows. I taught him the secret to getting around town and the secret to surveil without limit. It’s easy. All you have to do is be the biggest weirdo in sight. Loosen up the wrists and limber up the legs. Make yourself flexible like melted plastic under the Cairo sun. Bug out your eyes and slink real low. Everyone that sees you has to not want anything to do with you. A real pariah, so not even a mugger would risk contracting your social disease. If you can manage that, you can go anywhere and do anything. But, honestly, he’s a sneak, and I wouldn’t trust him. The last time I caught him, he was in the night market, moaning into a microphone with a shitty speaker at his hip. I don’t think he was even singing in any real language, but the tourists were just coursing coins into his hat. Yeah, I wouldn’t trust him. He’s got the blood of poets on his hands, but, always with his wolfish grin, he just washes them invisible. --- Review: Alvarius B. - Alvarius B Vs Abdel Baqy Byro In Cairo By SamKapp, 2.27.2017 Honestly, I don’t even know where to begin with this mess. On the whole, I think this entire record is unlistenable and without any redeeming qualities. Half of it sounds like it was recorded in the back of a U-Haul truck and the other half isn’t even music! It’s just people talking and street noise and stuff. I don’t know if misters Bishop and Byro think their doing something cool or edgy with this album, but I can tell you that it does not work. From the lame raps with dumb autotuned vocals to the meandering go-nowhere guitar, the “music” on this record is slim and unsatisfying. And also, most of these lyrics are gross and some are downright offensive. I bet your moms would be ashamed of you two. Actually, there definitely trying to be edgy. With the weird political stuff (messing around on your laptop while a news report plays in the background?? C’mon!) and cringey spoken word, it’s tough to take this release seriously in a world where we have artists like The C▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒, A▒ L▒▒▒▒▒▒▒, and R▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒ putting out new music. I really don’t think it’s fair to real music to even give this record a score, but since I have to, I’ll give it a 1/30 P.S. Oh, and for the record, to Bishop and Byro, I do write songs, thank you very much. And they’re a whole lot better than the half-baked garbage you put onto your album and try to sell to people for a crazy amount of money. --- I have seen a malaise drown this poor city in recent years. The various political ruptures that have torn through the region, I believe, have left many mute and cloistered within the smallness of their own lives. It feels like listening to the same, degraded, sad song over and over, playing through the words and gestures of every soul crowded on the streets. Even the typically amiable men who crowd the coffee shops on break seem lethargic and without conviviality. A stultifying silence reigns. Now, I must fully admit that I am not completely aware of the provenance of this music, but by descriptors and collected players, I think this is what music in Cairo must sound like today, in these times. These two gentlemen have provided for us an antidote with which to dispel the abulia that looms specter-like over the populace. It is ecstatic and free, moving with grace and humor from one passage to the next. Yes, it is, on occasion, a little coarse, but its brio is to be admired. A finger on the pulse, indeed, it comes to us as a document of life in the daylight and beneath moon. I hear Cairo in the snatches of street and radio, all tempered by the unusual musical style of the duo. It is refreshing to hear the popular, though sometimes, and unfortunately, backwards-facing, sounds of Cairo repurposed toward something new and exciting. Yes, this is the dithyramb of the people, the Cairene chorus. I would call it: Cairo écorché! --- My mother listened to it and said I wasn’t allowed to. --- Last night, several men reported to me that they saw him stealing out across the sands, a gravedigger’s toolkit strapped to his back. Now, we wake up to reports of an ancestral tomb prised open and thoroughly pilfered. So far, our investigation has yielded little of use. It is clear he was using an assumed name during his stay in Cairo, one tied to a variety of suspect occurrences. We very much regret our lack of vigilance in this matter. However, there is one lead that we hope can bring this thief to justice. Left behind in the hotel room, it appears he forgot to take with him his copy of Baedeker’s Egypt (5th ed.) filled with notes on his criminal intentions. We would urge all receiving this message to keep alert for this individual. In order to restore both property and dignity, it is imperative that he be found and turned over to the appropriate authorities. Before this becomes a distant episode, before he burns across the Maghreb and disappears into the lines of the Atlas, justice must be done. http://j.mp/2oEZybi