#like. the last song of their newest album repeating one of the stanzas

[fortjester]

one of my favourite things in the world is when an album has a recurring motif of some kind, or when they directly call back to a song later on in the album. like. beating my fists against the pavement, weeping over it when albums do this. it's even better when the call back is to a previous album. wailing.

[redqueen-hypothesis]

one dance ➳ victor (mlqc)

➳ PAIRING: reader x victor li (mlqc)

➳ WORD COUNT: 1912

➳ GENRE: fluff

➳ SYNOPSIS: you and victor finally get a break.

➳ REMARKS: inspired by this, @sunshinejihyun​ i hope this was okay!

“But, Mommy, I want to go with you too!”

“No, you can’t, darling.” You turn around in the middle of blowing your hair dry to smile at your daughter, who’s pouting at the doorway of your dressing room. Running up to you, she throws herself into your lap, her little hands wrapped tightly around your waist. “But why! Why, why, why! Why are you and Daddy going out without me?”

You laugh at your daughter’s teary eyes and pinch her nose lightly. Victor’s always spoiled her rotten, really. “Because Daddy and I want some alone time together.” You tell her patiently, and her face scrunches up in a pout. “Besides, we’ll be dropping you off with Uncle Kiro,” her expression immediately brightens and you have to hold back your amusement, “so can you give us some time off?”

She puffs up her cheeks, but you can already see the way her eyes are shining at the mention of her celebrity uncle. “Uncle Kiro?” She repeats, and you nod. “Yes, Uncle Kiro. He wants to bring you to his studio so you can see how he made his newest album, you wanted to see that, didn’t you?”

Her bottom lip quivers. “Well... I suppose I could go with Uncle Kiro for one evening...” She turns back to stare at you with those big grey eyes, the exact same shade as Victor’s. “But next time, you have to bring me out with you! Deal?”

You hum in agreement, holding out your pinky. “Promise.”

Satisfied after having made her ‘contract’, your daughter rushes out of the room to look for her father instead. Shaking your head in amusement, you turn to your wardrobe, looking through the outfits inside for a suitable fit. Over the years you’ve been together, Victor has gifted you with many beautiful things, and you’ve never really been left in want. Your smile is affectionate as you look at the dresses you have in the closet. 

That one was a gift from your last anniversary, that velvet dress just because he said he thought of you when he saw it, the one beaded with pearls because it matched your eyes...

Your hands rest on the last hanger in the closet, and you lift it out in surprise. Red silk unfurls, sliding out smoothly and the little crystals lining the hem catch the light of your dressing room. You haven’t seen this for a long while.

This was the dress that Victor had bought you when you had attended that dance gala all those years ago, even before the two of you had started dating. You’d kept the dress away after wearing it only once, terrified to ruin it in case Victor would ask for recompense somehow. Your thumb runs over the gemstone sitting on your left ring finger, a slight smile touching your lips in amusement at the thought. It’s really been that long, hasn’t it?

Standing up, you hold the dress to your body as you look at yourself in the mirror thoughtfully. 

Can you still fit into it?

The answer is yes, although the dress is a little more snug on you than you remember, it’s only to be expected. You slip on the shoulder straps and curl your hair lightly, humming pleasantly to yourself. When you look at yourself in the mirror to apply your lipstick, a wave of nostalgia washes over you gently - suddenly, it feels like you’re in your twenties again, nervously hoping that you remember all the dance steps that Victor had been drilling into you for the past week, that you won’t trip on your heels and your partner won’t show you up.

He had, eventually, but Victor had been there to save the day with grace, taking the place of your dance partner with ease. By the end of the night, you weren’t even upset that your original partner hadn’t come; you clearly got something far better in return.

You pause in applying your lipstick for a moment to giggle at the thought. You never would have thought back then that Victor could so romantic.

You’re just finishing up your outfit when there’s a low knock on the door. “Dear?” You turn around to see Victor standing at the door in a tasteful black suit, a bouquet of red roses in hand. His hair is slicked back, grey eyes relaxed as they run over your form. You catch a small quirk at the corner of his mouth when his gaze settles on the dress you’re wearing.

“I haven’t seen that dress for a while.”

You laugh as Victor crosses the room to place the bouquet in your arms, their pleasant scent enveloping you. “A while would be an understatement. I think it’s been years since I’ve taken it out, but it’s surprisingly still in good condition.” You tell him, and Victor places a chaste kiss on the back of your hand. It’s been years since you’ve been married, but the silent, steadfast love with which Victor has treated you with has never waned. “How’s our daughter?”

“Kiro came to pick her up a few minutes ago, she was so excited that she didn’t even bother saying goodbye.” Victor shakes his head and you have to stifle your laughter behind your palm. “Well, I suppose that just makes things easier for us.” He holds out a hand, and there’s the barest hint of a smile on his lips. “Shall we?”

You smile brightly and take it, his fingers warm in yours. “Let’s go.”

The restaurant he brings you to is empty of patrons except for the two of you, a single table set up in the middle of the hall decorated with flickering candles and scattered roses. As usual, Victor has spared no expense, you muse to yourself.

Dinner is a pleasant affair, as it always is, while you and Victor chat over the food. He’s been busy recently, handling matters about the LFG’s expansion in several more sectors and maintaining their position as the top financial group in the city. Similarly, you’ve been caught up with work and keeping your youngest daughter occupied, leaving the two of you little or no time at all to enjoy each other’s company.

Tonight is a nice change of pace, although your conversation somehow keeps coming back to the family.

“Our daughter mentioned wanting to marry her Uncle Kiro when she grows up.” You mention suddenly when you reach for your glass of wine, your lips creased into a smile as you take a sip. Victor’s eyes instantly narrow. “What should I tell her?”

“First of all, the age gap is too big.” Victor answers crisply, setting his fork and knife down on the plate. You glance at him in amusement, you had only meant it as a joke, but Victor seems to be taking this very seriously. He’s always been overprotective of his little girl, after all. “He won’t be able to relate well to her.”

“We’re six years apart.” You point out, entertained, but Victor shakes his head. “We’re different.” He stresses, and a small snort escapes you. “And besides, I don’t want her to have a live a life constantly hounded by the paparazzi because her husband is famous. It’s difficult being in the spotlight all the time. As a pop singer, there must be many other women fighting for his attention too. Our daughter deserves someone who loves her wholeheartedly-” You lean forward to put your finger on his lips.

"I was just joking.” You say, and Victor lets out a sigh of relief. “Really, Victor, you’re saying all of this as if you aren’t famous either.” Amusement tugs at the corner of your mouth. “Why, have you been recently tempted by other women fighting for your attention?”

“Don’t be a dummy.” Victor shakes his head, although his eyes soften when he looks at you. One of his hands reaches across the table to take yours, lifting it so that the diamond on your left hand glimmers in the candlelight. “I made a vow to one woman, and I won’t break it for the rest of my life. Why would I be tempted when I have you?”

You smile at him. “I know.”

Behind you, the live quartet starts up another song, familiar notes of the violin drifting through the air and you perk up in delight. “Oh, Victor, remember this song?”

Victor pauses for a moment, before the line of his mouth softens. “Of course. how could I? The number of times you stepped on my feet dancing to this song...”

“Shush! You’re ruining the mood.” You scold, but slip out of your chair and hold out your hand to your husband, a smile dancing on your face. He looks up at you, head tilted to the side. “Shall we dance?”

Victor lets out a small laugh, rising to his feet and taking your hand. “Let’s see if you haven’t forgotten how to dance to this song.” He teases lightly, placing one hand on your waist and weaving the fingers of the other with yours. “For the sake of my toes, I hope you do.”

“I definitely won’t let CEO Victor down.” You tell him, and Victor’s eyes crinkle in amusement at the old nickname. At the next stanza, the two of you start moving to the song, your feet finding the rhythm and moving along with him in the dance. All of a sudden, you’re at the gala once again, watching a younger Victor approach you with an unreadable expression on his face as he offers to dance with you, the low voice in your ear telling you just how many times you’ve stepped on his feet which you now know was an attempt to take the edge off your nerves. “See, I’ve improved, haven’t I?”

Victor twirls you around and you move smoothly in response, raising your arm and allowing your skirt to flare out in a perfect circle. He catches you and steps into the beat once more.

“I don’t think you could have gotten much worse than how you were back then, dear. It was quite the haphazard effort trying to get you ready.” He says, but you can hear the amusement in his voice, the slight lift of the corner of his mouth. “But, well, I suppose that you did alright that night, considering you only had a few days to get ready.” His voice is soft. “It was quite the impressive effort to behold.”

You smile as you look up at Victor, the way the candlelight casts the features of his face into shadow and light. Although Victor has matured both inside out over the last few years you’ve been together, his heart has never changed one bit; strong, unyielding and protective. You rest your cheek on his chest with a hum when the song dies down, and his hands come up to embrace you. “What’s the matter? Feeling unwell?”

You shake your head, then with a smile, hold your pinky up to him.

“Stay with me for the rest of our lives?”

Victor arches a brow, but he chuckles slightly. “I can do better than that.” Taking your hand in his, he presses it against his chest and kisses you on the mouth, his other hand cupping your jaw gently. When he pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours, his breath warm on your cheeks.

“Forever sounds like a far better deal, don’t you think?”

[parisstreet]

How To Write A Song Called ‘Nightdrivestar’

The newest Paris Street album, 15th Street - Part Two, features 10 songs that pre-date the band. They were recorded in Tampa between 2002 and 2003, shortly before I (wisely) left town and moved to Nashville. Since Monday, I’ve been doing the same shit I did with the last album, sharing the story behind each song, and attempting to pass on some songwriting wisdom (that’s most likely worthless) along the way. Enjoy!

The song: Nightdrivestar

When was it written? I’m guessing fairly early in 2002.

When and where was it recorded? Between 2002 and 2003 in Tampa, as already mentioned.

Do any other versions of this song exist? There’s a recording of me playing this song in the summer of 2002 during that trip to Colorado that inspired ‘A Song About Denver’. I think it’s the only time I’ve ever played this song live.

There’s also a version of this song on the Curtains album, which I recorded in 2008. It’s considerably different than this version.

What’s it about? One of several early attempts to write a love song, something I’m still not very good at (‘Song For Spring And You’ is probably the best one I’ve done). In college, whenever my girlfriend and I encountered a night with nothing to do, we’d get in my car and drive off to the middle of nowhere for a couple hours. We were broke, but gas was cheap back then, so it was less expensive than going to Blockbuster. In case that last sentence wasn’t clear, I am not a young man.

Why’d it take so long to release?  For a while, the Curtains version seemed like enough. I’ve always liked this version, though (those deep, fake strings that provide the bed for the song are nice, in my opinion), so I was fairly positive it would come out at some point.

Can any songwriting wisdom be gleaned from all this? This is another example of something I mentioned when writing about the song ‘Tell Me’ last month. The lyrics to the second half are essentially a repeat of those in the first half, but I’ve changed enough words here and there to avoid making it sound like a lazy rehash.

Since this post is (blessedly) shorter than usual, I’ll stretch and provide a better example of this. Here are lyrical excerpts from the song, ‘In A World Possessed By The Human Mind’, by The Tragically Hip.

First verse:

“then I think I smiled / then I think you said, ‘it’s fine’”

Second verse:

“then I hope I smiled / then I’m sure you said, ‘it’s fine’”

Third verse: 

“then I hope I laughed / then I hope I said, ‘it’s fine’”

He could have said the same thing each time, but he varied things up, giving the song more depth. Gord Downie was the best.

This is the third consecutive example of a problem I faced throughout the early years of my songwriting: I couldn’t name a song for shit. This usually resulted in me putting the word ‘song’ in the title (there are 36 different examples of this in the band’s discography, including 12 that are just called ‘Folk Song’ followed by a number), or naming it after some phrase I had written in a notebook (‘The Cure For Crushes’, ‘Pussyfingers’, and soon-to-be-written-about ‘Why Hearts Break’). In this case, I just took the word at the start of the first 3 stanzas and mushed them together. This problem has since been rectified, for the most part.

15th Street - Part Two is out now via Bandcamp, Spotify, and all the other streamers. All proceeds from Bandcamp sales will go to the Ida B Wells Society For Investigative Journalism.  Part One is available now. Part Three will be released 19 August. A sampler of songs from the 15th Street series can be found here. Pic up top of Jupiter and Saturn from outside Red Rock Canyon this past Friday.

Previously: Bastard’s Song, A Song About Denver

[jehanjetaime]

One Of Them

A short reincarnation fic for Barricade Day feat. famous musician Grantaire.

Also available (and with far better formatting) here on ao3.

“It’s not about suicide. Some of my songs are - everyone knows about my past and stuff - but this one is not. No one who has ever suffered through suicidal ideation truly glorifies it, and my song IS about glory, the search for it in hard times.”

The lights were hot, concentrated on both the indie-folk sensation R and the late night talk show host interviewing him. He was happy to be there, honestly, but surprised. R - stage name for Hercule Grantaire, 29 year old guitar and ukulele player - had never thought he would even live to that age, if he was honest, much less be plucked from his job at an obscure little book store and pulled into fame after a few of his songs went viral. Now he was here, on the insanely popular SunDown with Amelie Martel, handling the same questions everyone wanted to ask about his newest single.

“A lot of people are complaining that it really does sound as if you are not only glorifying suicide, but encouraging it in this song,” Amelie said, gesturing towards the side. Grantaire could see them on a screen off to the side, and watched as the video for his new song popped up on that screen. “Like, this part, right here.”

Not even famous performers liked to hear their voices over video, but Grantaire had accepted this fact of life now that people were constantly bringing him on TV shows and podcasts. He watched himself on screen, paused at the part he knew it would be paused at. The image jumped into action.

”And I said, I said,

‘Darling, I know you wanna go,

I know you wanna go with your head held high.’

You told me ‘I don’t want to go,

But I have to, lord, I have to,

It’s always been my duty to die.’

You never looked so beautiful,

Framed in red and gold

A statue made of hope and light

But things like that never support reality right.

I lett you take your final steps,

And did not close my eyes

But ran to you and took your hand.

It will be my pleasure to die.”

 The video paused. Grantaire looked out into the audience, but it was hard to make out faces. Amelie smiled at him.

“I see why people take what they do from it. But you’ll see, the whole album is themed with revolution, a group doomed to die for a cause they believe in. This is...just the end.” He heard the gunshots ring out, the cries of his friends, the sounds of soldiers on the cobblestones, all from 185 years ago. “I don’t know if anyone is familiar with the June Rebellion of 1832, but I’m really interested in history, and it was a fascinating thing - a group of schoolboys, college kids by our standards, rose up against the French government, and all of them were killed. It was a futile thing, really, but they hoped for the best. They weren’t scared, they just...stood up for what was right to them, and I think it’s inspirational. That really impacted the way this album came to be.”

And he hoped they were proud of him. Would Jehan like his lyrics? Would Courfeyrac approve of the way he was going to release it all for download for free? Would Combeferre appreciate the muted colours of the album cover?

Would Enjolras like that he was spreading word of what they had done?

He had to control the burning in his throat; they were on national TV, after all. No one he had ever met remembered the things he did.

It wasn’t normal to remember past lives, after all.

So Grantaire smiled and pushed his mop of black curls from his face. “It’s not about suicide because a person wants to die - it’s about martyrdom for a just cause that not enough believed in.”

“The song seems rather personal for something that happened so long ago!” the host said, taking a sip of coffee.

Grantaire had to hide a grimace. “The whole album is pretty personal. Nothing’s quite as deeply attached to a person as standing up for something they believe in.”

“It’s a beautiful song,” Amelie said. Then she turned to the audience. “And when we come back from break, you’ll hear it live.”

They all applauded and the hostess was taken over by people adjusting her hair and makeup. Grantaire abandoned his chair for the stoll and his guitar. Someone from the sound booth came over to make sure all of the audio was set up properly, and Grantaire took his seat on the stool. He waved to the audience, and he knew that he would be signing autographs for ages tonight. But meeting his fans was his favourite part of this, and the only reason he even let all of this happen.

The lights came back up, the ‘ON AIR’ sign lit up, and the director pointed to him. Grantaire strummed the first few bars of music, head ducked as always, before launching into the song itself.

’Love is not a victory march’

Cohen wrote it so,

But I think it was Wainwright did it true.

It was like they knew you,

Had shared hopes and dreams and drink and talk,

But didn’t live to hear it, did you?

You knew where to go,

You knew when to leave,

And leaving was all I felt worth.

 I still begged for your grace,

I begged for your look,

Never knew a thing of rebirth.

 And I said, I said,

‘Darling, I know you wanna go,

I know you wanna go with your head held high.’

 You told me ‘I don’t want to go,

But I have to, lord, I have to,

It’s always been my duty to die.’

 You never looked so beautiful,

Framed in red and gold

A statue made of hope and light

 But things like that never support reality right.

 I let you take your final steps,

And did not close my eyes

But ran to you and took your hand.

It will be my pleasure to die.

 There was no pain

There was no fear,

There was no heavenly sign.

 But we were there,

And on the brink of death,

I felt your hand in mine.”

 He strummed the last chords of the song and repeated the last stanza to the start of a sea of applause. Grantaire raised his hand as the lights went down on hims and went back up on Amelie and her next guest. He was glad to slip out in the darkness. Grantaire went to his dressing room and chatted with some of the staff and crew before meeting with a couple people from the audience who had backstage passes.

As always, he looked through the crowd for any of his friends.

As always, it was a sea of strangers. But Grantaire talked with each one of them and signed things, took selfies and sent out Snapchats with them. He tried to get his face out to the public as much as possible not for fame, not for money, but for one thing.

If anyone else had been reincarnated, he wanted them to know he was out there.

The rest of the night was a blur of signing autographs both in and outside the building. He did enjoy chatting with his fans, with the security, with anyone, but with every single person that was not Joly, not Bossuet, not Feuilly, Grantaire’s heart sunk a little. Perhaps that was it, though. His first album had been very personal, but this one? This one was about his friends, their mission, their deaths.

The Man Who Bled Truth for sweet Jehan. They Were Laughter for Joly and Bossuet. Courfeyrac had Keep On, Combeferre had A Blue Sweater and Golden Ideas.  Feuilly took a turn in a song named only People and Pontmercy even took the stage with Doe Eyes. He had fashioned an instrumental for Éponine named Could Have Been Soft. Grantaire never knew if he would be able to perform Wings, because two hundred years had passed and he still was not ready for life without Gavroche. There were other, more general songs along the same theme on the album as well.

And then there was One of Them the hardest song of them all to sing, the one he had just performed, the one he wanted to make sure everyone heard.

If Enjolras was out there, Grantaire could not let this song pass him by.

After a long night of greeting fans, Grantaire took off on his own for his a 24-hour diner. He ordered food and sat in the back corner, hood up, not wanting to talk to anybody. It was nearly 3 in the morning by the time he got his food, and he was surprised to hear someone else come in the diner. Grantaire did not look up.

Not even when he heard the theme song of SunDown with Amelie start. Already time for the repeat? Grantaire didn’t necessarily want to watch the interview with himself, so he pulled out his headphones.

As he did, the person who came in asked for a menu, then paused. “I always thought that R was handsome,” said a voice that sounded male.

“Wow, shocker there,” the server said with a laugh. It became readily apparent that they knew each other. “He’s completely your type.”

Grantaire decided to...leave his headphones out for a moment. He listened to his own voice on TV as they went through the beginning of the interview. The person at the counter chuckled in a way that Grantaire though was very warm and welcoming. “I guess he is. Always reminded me of an old boyfriend I had. Well, someone I probably had a crush on as a kid. Couldn’t for the life of me tell you where I knew him from or his name or anything.”

“That sounds like you,” the server said. “Too wrapped up in your work to remember that sorta stuff right?”

They both laughed and the person placed his order. Grantaire got back to his own food as the TV went on with commercials, then back to his interview.  When he heard the dreaded question - “Some groups have said that this song is just one of many you’ve done about suicide.”

The person behind him made some sort of sound, but he couldn’t decipher it. “And that’s something else - R is so open about his mental illnesses and the stigma from it. That’s something to admire.”

He couldn’t help it - his cheeks burned. Grantaire would never get used to people saying he was admirable; that didn’t mean he didn’t like it, though. He smiled a little and took a bite of his fries. They quieted as the clip of his song started, and part of him wanted to turn around, pull his hood down, and call out ‘Surprise,’ but he would control himself.

“...that’s. Odd,” the customer said. “No one ever knows about the June Rebellion. It’s something I’ve always liked to read about, felt some sort of connection to…”

A thoughtful sound and a creaking, perhaps as the person leaned forward.

The song clip came on, but the two people behind him sort of chatted through it. Grantaire didn’t mind. There was a clinking as the person’s food was set down and the commercials ran their course. He went back to his food and let it continue, until the show returned and his own playing filled the air. This time, the diner was quiet. He didn’t even hear the other customer eating as the song went on.

Until it reached the last couple stanzas. But I have to, lord, I have to, it’s always been my duty to die. Another clink, and the customer whispered, “Oh my god.”

“What is it?” the server asked.

“Wait…” The entire diner seemed to freeze as the song ended. “Wait…”

Footsteps as the person stood and moved around. Staggering steps. “I don’t,” he said, voice suddenly week. “I don’t feel well...dizzy, I…”

At the sound of a body hitting the floor, Grantaire whipped around.

Golden curls splayed out on the checkered diner tiles. A red hoodie spread under a small, lithe body. Brown lips were partially open, eyes closed under a stern brow.

A cry escaped Grantaire’s lips as he took in Enjolras unconscious on the ground before him. “Holy shit,” he said, stumbling towards the body. “Oh holy shit, holy shit, Enj…”

The last time Grantaire had seen him, they had been close to death, he had been barely smiling, and we was dressed in a red coat. Now he was modern, pierced, tattooed, and instantly, overwhelmingly recognizable. “Call 911!” he called, looking up to the server. “Hurry!”

His hood had fallen. “Oh my god” the server said. “You’re - “

“It doesn’t matter who I am - call 911!”

Grantaire felt for Enjolras’ pulse, touching that skin he would have killed to touch almost 200 years ago. “He’s still breathing…”

Just at the server was telling 911 their address, Enjolras’ eyes fluttered back open. Grantaire smiled at him. “Hey there...you okay? Stay still for m, don’t try to move…”

Enjolras looked distant and lost, brown eyes unfocused. “...you died with me,” he whispered, and Grantaire’s heart skipped a beat. “We’re dead…”

“We were,” Grantaire whispered, hardly able to believe this and not wanting to miss his chance. “But we’re not, don’t worry. We can talk later. I’m here, you’re safe, we’ll keep you alright, get you to a hospital, and we have a life time left to talk.”

“A lifetime,” Enjolras whispered. He raised a shaking hand to Grantaire’s cheek. “You...you died with me…”

Grantaire could never remember if people who hit their head should stay awake, so he urged Enjolras to stay awake until they heard the wailing of the ambulance. Grantaire paid for both of their meals, then jumped in his car and followed that ambulance to the hospital.

He would have followed it to the end of the world.

 <b>~~~</b>

 “Mr. Grantaire?” a tired sounding nurse said.

He raised his head after what felt like hours; a glance at the clock told him it had only been 20 minutes. “Yes?”

“He’s awake now.”

Grantaire followed her to the room and thanked her profusely. No one would tell him what was going on, but as angry as he was he understood - there was no proof anywhere that Grantaire was, or ever had been, anything to Enjolras. But the hospital staff had let him stay, and were letting him see Enjolras now.

He entered the room quietly. Enjolras blinked those big eyes at him and Grantaire nearly fell apart. But...would he remember now?

“I saw you a hundred times on the Internet and TV,” he said, voice a little raw. “But until tonight...I didn’t know it was you. Or who I was…

“And then you were in the same diner. It’s almost to convenient to be true.” Enjolras reached a hand out for Grantaire.

“Or it’s fate,” Grantaire said. “I was the only one who remembered, I’ve been searching, I’ve been looking and hoping…”

He took Enjolras’ hand, held it tight. Enjolras was here. Enjolras remembered him.

Grantaire was never letting go of his hand again. “We have a lifetime, alright? A lifetime….”

Enjolras shook his head, then seemed to regret it. “I...I’m sorry. I got you...and everyone, you all - “

“Shh. No, Enjolras. We all knew what we were getting into, alright? I don’t blame you. And I’m sure that, wherever the others are, none of them blame you, either. We’ll find them, the same way I found you, and I promise, things will be good. We have another chance.”

“Stay with me?” Enjolras asked, letting his eyes flutter closed.

Grantaire smiled, a tear winding down his cheek. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”