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morning-might-arrive · 4 years ago

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Here’s the continuation of my last post. Thank you so much to everyone who liked and reblogged! This is becoming a lot longer than I thought, so there will be another part soon. Feedback is appreciated!

A series of misunderstandings involving a limousine and Spectra’s blog lead Jackson to the realization that he has way more friends than he thought.

Wednesday

Jackson sighed as he silenced his blaring alarm clock. 7:00 am. As he walked to the bathroom to get ready, he was suddenly struck by a memory.

“It’s nothing personal, normie. You just look like such a freak.” Manny told him as he shoved him off of the lunch table. Jackson looked towards the other mansters, but they said nothing. So they all agreed. Even Clawd.

He cringed. He’d had to eat lunch in a bathroom stall that day. He looked at his reflection, desperately wishing he could change it. He sighed and got dressed. He had to leave early since he now had no car and his parents weren't home. He plugged his headphones into his phone. Holt had gotten them into this situation, only fitting that he deal with it.

Holt Hyde cursed under his breath as he walked to school. Although the weather was warming, mornings in March were still frigid. He sighed in relief as he approached Monster High.

“Heya there, sweetpea,” Operetta drawled in greeting as Holt waltzed through the front doors of the school.

“What’s good, Oppy?” Holt responded, his usual loud and energetic self even at the early hour.

“Just peachy keen like always, hun. Say, you seen the Ghostly Gossip lately?” She asked.

“Nah, we usually stay away from that garbage ever since that story about us and Frankie. Humiliated the poor ghoul and almost tanked our relationship. It really ain’t cool what they're doin’.” He replied nonchalantly.

“Oh. Okay. Well sugar, you know you can tell me anythang you wanna, right?” She continued.

“Uh, yeah, sure. Thanks Oppy.” That was kinda weird for the rough and tumble ghoul to say, but honestly Holt was just glad their botched attempt at dating didn’t mess up their friendship. Oppy was a cool ghoul.

“What’s the word, cool cats?” Came a new voice.

“Johnny!”

“Johnny.”

Johnny spirit sauntered casually down the main corridor of Monster High, and students jumped out of his way as if he had the plague. He put his arm around Operetta’s shoulder. “Hey, babe.”

Holt snorted. “I’ll never get why everyone lets you float around like you own the place.”

Johnny shrugged. “Guess they don’t have a choice. Besides, I never see you doing anything about it,” he replied with a bit of challenge in his tone. Holt rolled his eyes.

“You know you don’t scare us, Spirit. Anyway, it seems like Oppy’s got you on a leash without our help.”

Johnny bristled at that “Y’know Hyde, I’m gettin’ real sick of-”

“Why don’t we scamper on down to the catacombs and finish that new song we been workin on, sugarpie?” Operetta cut in. She really didn’t want to deal with a fistfight this early.

The couple walked away and Holt made toward the auditorium. He found the symphony on stage setting up and dashed up to join them, plugging his guitar into its amp. Jennifire was nearby greasing the corks on her clarinet. He huffed and sat down next to her.

“Another run in with the phantom pianist?” She asked, not even looking up.

“That guy is such a jerk!”

She chuckled and shook her head. “You boys are so easily provoked; I may never understand it. My brothers were just the same. He has done not to insight your anger.”

Holt really hated to admit it, but she was right. Johnny really didn't scare Holt, and he knew a little better than to try that tough guy act on Jackson. Plus, it was kinda funny seeing guys like Heath and Manny faint when he walked past them.

“Your emotions run like wildfire, I am very impressed you came to terms so easily with your end.” She continued.

Wait. What. “My what now?”

“Of course, it must be so hard for you to talk about. I am sorry.” A tear fell from her eye and promptly turned to smoke upon hitting her face.

“Jen, are you okay?” Holt asked, facing her.

She smiled. “Yes, I will be okay. So kind of you to think of me.”

“Okay, Okay, enough chit chat. Places people!” The director yelled as he approached the stage. Well. That was weird. Holt took his place in the stool beside the amp and looked up as the director began counting them off.

After an awkward hour of rehearsal, they were dismissed to second period. Holt emerged out into the crowd of students in the hall. Jennifire was nowhere to be found, so he made his way toward the art room. His Spotify playlist suddenly changed to a song by Pierce the Veil. He pulled out his phone to skip it and saw he had a message from Jackson. He scoffed. If D-low had told him what was wrong, would he be asking? JJ could be so oblivious. Maybe it was just a normie thing.

He took his usual seat in front of his canvas and continued his painting for this week.

“Psst, Holt.” he heard a whisper. He turned and met the shiny magenta eyes of retired popstar Catty Noir. “We’re turning up at Cleo’s place on Saturday, you in?”

“Yeah totally- oh, nevermind. We can’t make it, we kinda got a...thing that day.”

“Oh,” she said, looking kind of taken aback. “It’s that soon?”

“What was that?”

“ I said I’ll see you soon!” she hastily corrected herself as she got up and turned in her painting, promptly leaving the art room. Man, everyone's acting off today. He touched up his work and quickly followed suit.

He basically had the rest of the period to himself, so he decided to riff on his guitar for a little bit. He couldn’t do it in the building anymore ever since that one time Headmistress Bloodgood caught him, so he moved to the front steps and set his bag beside him.

“Hey Holt!”

Holt turned towards the front of the school. “Frankie Fine-Stein! Where have you been hiding?” Her skin glowed a light mint green and her eyes sparked in the sun. Just as bootiful as ever. She sat on the step beside him.

“I was actually just in the library. I found this book about the original Jekyll and Hyde. It was way harsh; It said that Edward Hyde trampled a child in the streets of London, is that true?”

“Nuh-uh! Those stuffy normie’s didn’t like that grandpa’s were different so they dragged their reputation through the dirt!” Holt declared passionately. “Some of the people they charged him with killing didn’t even exist in the first place! Then they made Dr. Jekyll out to be a complete basket case and threw them both in jail! That is until they got bailed out by our great-great-grandma, Lucy.”

“Oh, man. I didn’t know any of that!” Frankie replied. She actually knew all about it, she had heard the exact same thing from Jackson before. They were both incredibly salty about the smear campaign launched against their great-great-grandparents that made their family flee to America in the first place, and you could hardly bring it up around them without a passionate rant. Frankie felt a little bad about bringing up something she knew was a sore subjet for them, but she had to make sure Spectra and the other ghouls didn’t get caught. It was for their own good, right?

Her phone buzzed in her lap and she glanced down. “Spectra got something, meet us back in the library.” Clawdeen. Frankie jumped up. “Sorry, Holt, I really gotta go.”

Holt watched her go in curiosity. He checked the time and quickly jumped up himself and dashed back inside the building. The only way to not be late now was to go through Section C, the so-called “vampires only” hallway. It really irked them when other monster’s used it, but he didn’t really care when it was either that or detention. As he made his way through he felt someone glaring at him, and met eyes with a large group of the former prep-school vampires. He braced himself, but instead of giving him grief like they usually did, they just let him pass. They were acting weird, but so was everyone else. Oh well, he didn’t really have time to think about it now.

Holt’s third period was Chemistry 2 with Mr. Hack. No thanks. Science was never his strong suit. Plus, there was seriously something off about this particular teacher. He just took a little too much pleasure in the cutting open of living things for Holt’s liking. He pulled out his phone.

“Keep an eye out. Today’s been weird, Bro.” He typed the message out and then disconnected his phone from his headphones. The world went dark.

Jackson blinked a few times. What was that ringing sound? “Oh, shOOT!” He bolted through the closest door- which just happened to be the right one- and took his seat as the bell finished ringing.

Mr. Hack passed out a hefty amount of worksheets to the class. “Okay class: no whispering, no talking, no looking around, no coughing or sneezing, no you can’t use the bathroom, and if I catch you on your cell phone the whole class gets detention. You have until the end of the class to complete the worksheets or it's a 0 for today.”

Everyone groaned. Good old Mr. Hack. Charming and likeable. Jackson tried to ignore the stares and whispers in his direction as he did his work. He knows he’s different, don’t they ever get tired of reminding him? Were they all paying more attention to him than usual, or was it just his imagination? He blazed through his work in about 20 minutes, it was just some simple thermodynamics equations. He looked up and noticed that Mr. Hack was asleep. Typical. Half the class were on their phones and the other half were talking amongst themselves. He pulled his phone out and saw Holt’s message.

Huh. Maybe it wasn’t just his imagination then, everyone was acting a little odd. Granted, every day at Monster High was pretty weird. Last week they had lost their school crest in a rollerblading contest and the school nearly toppled over, so maybe he could just ignore whatever this was.

The bell finally rang for lunch. He set his work on Mr. Hack’s desk as he jolted awake and practically ran from the room. He shot Clair a text

“Okay, transportation is set and decorations bought. Am I forgetting anything?”

“Measurements, goofy.” She responded almost instantly.

“Oh, right. I can get a tape measure from the woodshop teacher and get them during lunch.”

“Have you told the other monsters about Saturday?”

“No. I just don’t know how they’ll react, y’know?”

“Aren’t they always telling you about how you don’t belong? So why would they care?”

“Yeah you’re probably right. It’s just a difficult situation.”

“Yeah, I hear you. Let me know how it goes.”

Looking down at his phone, he didn’t notice Draculara until he bumped her as he passed.

“So sorry!” He exclaimed.

“It’s alright.” She reassured him as she walked away. She made her way to the library where her friends were already gathered around in a circle. Spectra floated in the center.

“What’s this all about?” Draculara asked.

“While Frankie had Holt distracted, Spectra looked in his locker.”

“Well what did she find?” Cleo demanded.

“Just this. It appears to be a receipt for some kind of car rental.”

Clawd glanced at his phone. “Heath says Jackson is in the boys locker room right now taking measurements of himself and writing them down.” He told the group.

“Then what Spectra said is true.” Fraknie finally admitted. The room fell into extended silence.

“Well we can at least show Jackson he means something to us.” Draculara spoke up.

“Yeah,” Frankie agreed, “we can do something nice for him and Holt.”

“What are we going to do? Hijack the gym and throw a huge party during lunch?” Cleo asked sardonically.

“You’re on a roll Cleo! It’ll be closed tomorrow, but we can do it Friday!” Clawdeen agreed.

Cleo smiled. Very well then. Friday would be a day for the monster history books.

#jackson jekyll #holt hyde #frankie #draculara #clawdeen #spectra vondergeist #operetta #johnny spirit #monster high #mh

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my-sherlock221b · 3 years ago

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Supernatural Rewatch Ramblings: Bloodlust

2020-21 has been a huge transformative time for many of us. Whether we wanted it or not, we have been forced to stop, switch gears, rethink, reflect, let go, make new priorities, discover who we really are and who we want to be in the face of adversity.

One of those transformations for me has been giving up on control and finding a way to surrender to the power of the universe. Another has been to not let perfection be the enemy of good.

You may well wonder---What does all this have to do with the Bloodlust rewatch and review??!

Probably nothing LOL except for the fact that I still have to write up my review on Bloody Mary and have been unable to write for various reasons. And then because the Bloody Mary review was still incomplete I could not write about the next one etc etc etc.

So when we watched Bloodlust two days ago in the continuing re-watch, I decided that I am going to re-start the review, and from exactly where I am right now!

If time and life permits I might fill in the gaps later. If not, well, life is unpredictable and weird and we keep calm as it carries on….Thank you for coming to my Philosophy talk….:)

Read below for the Boodlust review, Season 2 episode 3 and look out for the post from @soulmates-for-real on this rewatch too!!

The opening scene is the perfect switch and bait because we as an audience have been trained to latch on to types and identities and representations.

Woman in white night gown screaming and running--victim

Person who brutally beheads her—villain.

A few minutes into the episode we realize that we were wrong.

A good few minutes later we realize that we were wrong about being wrong.]

Haha.

We are idjits, swept away on the eddies and currents of this masterfully written and directed episode. Thank you Sera Gamble and Robert Singer!

The acting and the mesmerizing beauty of the two leads is worthy of an entire essay of its own but in order to have a life and finish this review I shall only say this—Oh my goodness HOW gorgeous is Jensen Ackles?!!

It is sometimes impossible to look at him in this episode because my eyes didn’t know where to land! That perfect face? The lips? Those eyes?? The quirk of the eyebrows? Those micro expressions that are constantly weaving across his face? The smile? The way his lips move when he talks?? His hair? The Samulet?

And then the shot pans out and includes his hand and the ring and honestly it’s a miracle I could follow the plot at all.

So the images I am going to include in this review, much as I love Sam Winchester and Jared Padalecki, are all of Dean Winchester. It’s a criminal waste to not do so when the man is just an ode to perfection.

Sheila O’Malley’s review of this episode is in itself a work of art and a thing of beauty so I will direct you most enthusiastically towards it and only add here my little pennyworth bits. Do click on this link but be prepared to sink into a one hour read which will make you feel like you were dropped into the episode itself.

https://www.sheilaomalley.com/?p=87187

Here is a quote from her review which is so insightful.

These are the details that a director like Robert Singer never misses, and at this point his relationship with Ackles and Padalecki would be almost telepathic (it’s probably 100% telepathic now). He has said before that he and Kripke were such a good team because Kripke’s primary concern is Plot/Gore/Horror and Singer’s primary concern is Character/Relationship. And they both end up in the same place. It’s a good mix. If Singer were also Plot/Gore/Horror focused, we wouldn’t have the depth of relationship which is the real point of the show, its real hook.

For a much briefer and far less technically adept and analytical review, read on here!

The opening of this episode shows us the Impala from every possible angle. Gleaming, gorgeous, road -worthy. This is mirrored by Dean. He is also gleaming, gorgeous and roadworthy. He is in a happy mood that not even Sam’s little brother snitty comments can deflate.

Here is the soundtrack of this episode for those who are interested.

https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0835248/soundtrack

Here is some random but fun trivia:

Dean tells Sam in one scene "If it's Supernatural, we kill it." One of the rare times the title of the show is actually spoken in the dialogue.

This is the first episode where Sam began parting his hair down the middle, the hairstyle he'd keep the rest of the series.

( I didn’t like his hair too much in this episode honestly but then again I could barely see anyone beyond Dean :D)

During the filming of this episode Jared injured his hand when he fell badly during a stunt. He thought it was merely sprained and went straight into filming the next episode without having it checked. But it got more and more painful and finally he went to the doctor and discovered that his hand was, in fact, broken. Because he had already begun filming, he couldn't bandage the hand until filming for that episode was finished. The writers ended up writing in an accident for Sam and his line "I think she broke my hand" to explain the fact that for the following few episodes he would be wearing a cast.

When Dean kills a vampire, blood is sprayed on his face, mostly on his right cheek. In the next shot the pattern is different, and notably the right cheek is almost clean. Furthermore, his mouth was agape when he made the kill, risking the blood getting into his mouth and turning him into a vampire. While the brothers didn't yet know how a vampire is made at that point, Gordon did and should have been alarmed that Dean might have gotten some of the blood in his mouth.

A random behind the scene shot from the episode:

Guess who she is? Apparently this is Jensen’s sister in a super brief role in Bloodlust!

On to the review, or rather some of my thoughts during the re-watch.

The first scene with the Sheriff they are interrogating him about the cattle mutilations is hilarious. The way they bluff their way into the morgue is hilarious. Dean always leading and Sam following.

Random trivia: When Dean enters the morgue with Sam and sees the name tag of "J Manners", it has been thought the name was to honor Jeffrey Dean Morgan and series producer Kim Manners. Dean guesses "John" - Jeffrey's character name - and the intern corrects with "Jeff"

It a testament to the way Supernatural has trained its audience that we barely blink when they pull out a decapitated head in the morgue, squabble over who is more chicken, dig into the mouth and eventually discover vampire fangs.

Yes, of course they do.

Next scene: Two hot guys walk into a bar…..

…….where the adorable Benny, who is not Benny in this episode but a random dude ( spoilers—later we find out the dude is a vampire), gives them directions/ mis- directions to a possible vampire nest.

We see the first glimpse of Gordon Walker, amazingly played by Sterling K. Brown, and making us worry about and dislike him almost right away. The way he is shown with the light and shade bars on his face from the window blinds is so menacing.

The next few scenes continue to build that sense of unease where the Winchester brothers, apparently telepathically, decide to double back and catch him following them, then he shows them his car and his weapons, where he references their dad and then refuses their offer for help.

The scene where he shows them his car is like a painting. (The car by the way is just as inconspicuous as the Impala –which is to say NOT AT ALL!! How do these people stay below the radar of the regular law enforcement is a mystery….).

The dust highlighting the rays of light, the two brothers on one side of the car and Gordon at the other, it’s all so consciously set up for a few seconds worth of screen time. Impressive!

Next comes a truly brutal kill, at Dean’s hands, which we don’t even see except as a spray of blood on his face. Poetic! But it is Dean’s expression that makes my stomach clench. His eyes are dead and he is somewhere deep that even Sam can’t reach, as we can see from the distress on Sam’s face.

Gordon of course is all chipper and full of bonhomie and offers to buy them drinks.

That following scene is the one which gives Wincest brother-wives vibes like 100%.

Sam plays the role of the disgruntled ‘wife’ to perfection. No one but hubby is allowed to use the nickname. He hates the male bonding going on with Gordon and the more Gordon seems to slip into Dean’s inner circle, the more uncomfortable Sam gets, until he finally decides that he just cannot physically be there any more.

Dean’s smug expression when Sam tells Gordon off for calling him Sammy, his instant worry at Sam going back alone, his hand raised in exasperation to convey to Gordon—look what I have to put up with-- the tossing of the keys to his car----it is all a symphony of Dean playing his part in the brother-wives orchestra.

The last line?! ‘Remind me to beat the buzzkill out of you later.’ And Sam’s expression at that? That’s exactly the way a bullying /abusive husband would react to a nagging wife who doesn’t like his toxic friends and wonders how he can be so blind as to not see them for the bad influence they clearly are.

( Bad Dean!!!)

Sam goes back to the motel and does his due diligence by checking with Ellen, gets kidnapped by vampires, released and on his return is disgusted to find Gordon inside their motel room.

The next scene is where Dean erupts, having clearly had enough of the shifting power dynamics between them over the evening. Sam has been silently judging him since the kill and Gordon has managed to ‘other’ Sam and make Dean feel validated in his own bloodlust as a hunter.

Dean clocks Sam one.

Wow. I did not see that coming. And what shocked me at this re- watch is that Sam just takes it.

Like an abused wife, he just takes it. Not only that, sometime later in the episode he tells Dean to hit him again if it is going to make him feel better.

NO Sam! NO!!! This is NOT healthy and this is NOT the way to deal….ugh. Sigh.

Then the second half of the episode swings in and the moral dilemma they face becomes clear when the victim and villain switch roles and Dean is shook enough to question his dad’s judgement!

Dean is still kind of trying to give Gordon the benefit of the doubt even though he sees him literally torturing the vampire. But of course all bets are off the instant he touches Sam. Dean pulls his gun on him. I was surprised that he didn’t shoot him just on principle later simply because he hurt Sam even if it was a small cut.

That is Dean’s definition of monsters-- Anything that hurts Sam. 😊

We don’t know it at this time, and spoilers ahead, but maybe Dean has been so annoyed and violent with Sam at the idea that he is standing up for MONSTERS is because he might also be one….and the way he looks at the end when he realizes that his whole life’s philosophy has been upended.

There are the details about the vampires who drink cattle blood so they don’t harm humans and therefore want to be treated as the good guys. Of course it is all about the inherent struggle between who you are and what you do—something that shows up hugely magnified in the later seasons when Sam is struggling with his own demon blood addiction and the knowledge of the demon blood inside him.

He needs desperately to believe in this as the utmost foundation stone of his life and its purpose—what you DO is more important than what you ARE!

So even if you are a monster, if you don’t behave like one—that is your redemption.

But it’s not just anybody whose faith he wants in his struggle to prove to himself that he is not a monster. He needs it from Dean.

Remember the dialogue from the panic room “Don’t you say that to me. Don’t YOU say that to me.”

And the fake voicemail set up by Zachariah exploits this at the time of the breaking of the last seal.

Of course he doesn’t know any of this yet, but that’s Sam fucking Winchester for you –always purer and better than his circumstances allow. Always struggling to do better, be better.😍

It is fascinating how the visuals and the roles these two play are of rugged handsome men, badass heroes-- Dean of course super macho role playing all the time. But there are so many layers upon layers and honestly if it wasn’t for Jared and Jensen’s fine nuanced and impeccable acting adding depth to the characters, the show would not have held our interest for this long.

We are shown Sam as the brains with his lore and research, but then in the very next episode (Children Shouldn’t Play with Dead Things), we see Dean connect dots faster than Sherlock Holmes.

Dean is shown as the instinctively violent one with the gun under his pillow, trigger happy, and in this episode even that brutal kill of the vampire on the docks. But then please remember the way Sam kills Gordon finally. Or the insane way he bites himself to get blood for drawing sigils. Or the way he just simply shoots the crossroads demon point blank!

We see Sam as the soft hearted one and he does rescue kids once in a while, but he is never shown to bond with them even a fraction of the way Dean does—so effortlessly. Also the ladies of course, all of whom have a soft spot for Dean. The exceptions being Sarah and Madison, both of whom completely ignored Dean. Oh and that doctor from Sex and Violence.

Dean has had his share of bad dates of course with Cassie, the woman who gave birth to his magical superfast growing daughter ( who was killed by Sam), and the whole Lisa arc, but somehow we are shown Sam as the one who is invested in relationships. Hello?! Sam was planning to marry Jessica without having told her a thing about his life while Dean told Cassie the secret as soon as he thought he was in love and wanted a relationship.

So anyway, just to say that a rewatch is so brilliant because we know more about them at this point than they do and the character arc is such a thing of beauty to see unfolding!

That last scene where Dean is in a thoughtful frame of mind, the sun is rising overhead ( as a metaphor for him seeing the light, maybe?)--that insanely gorgeous shot of Dean with the ring of fire and light and his absolutely perfect face in a close up…sigh.

Then he thanks Sam for pushing him to see this grey area and for the first time in that episode Sam finally smiles.

His big brother is back with him.

And then he commits to Dean too. Ah…how it warms my heart to hear this dialogue!

DEAN I wish we never took this job. It's jacked everything up.

SAM What do you mean?

DEAN Think about all the hunts we went on, Sammy, our whole lives.

SAM Okay.

DEAN What if we killed things that didn't deserve killing? You know? I mean, the way Dad raised us...

SAM Dean, after what happened to Mom, Dad did the best he could.

DEAN I know he did. But the man wasn't perfect. And the way he raised us, to hate those things; and man, I hate 'em. I do. When I killed that vampire at the mill I didn't even think about it; hell, I even enjoyed it.

SAM You didn't kill Lenore.

DEAN No, but every instinct told me to. I was gonna kill her. I was gonna kill 'em all.

SAM Yeah, Dean, but you didn't. And that's what matters.

DEAN Yeah. Well, 'cause you're a pain in my ass.

SAM Guess I might have to stick around to be a pain in the ass, then.

DEAN Thanks.

SAM Don't mention it.

Transcript here http://www.supernaturalwiki.com/index.php?title=2.03_Bloodlust_%28transcript%29

Guess Sam does stick around for the next 15 years to be a pain in the ass 😊

Some quotes from the writers about this episode:

· "The episode was really about what Dean would become if he didn't watch out: that Gordon was Dean in ten years if Sam didn't ask the difficult questions and keep him from getting too militant." - Executive story editor Sera Gamble

· "We set out to create a monster episode where you weren't entirely sure whether these monsters should be killed." - Eric Kripke

· "For me, the show is at its best when the supernatural story reveals something new about the brothers, or forces them to change in some way. Sam and Dean's realization that they've basically been raised as 'monster racists' was really meaty stuff. Exploring these characters' flaws is just as important as showcasing their heroism - these are the things that make them human, that make us invest in them." - Raelle Tucker

Check out this site for more amazing trivia and stuff

http://www.jonescave.com/supernatural/Episode/Episode.php?s=2&e=3#PopCulture

I have already finished watching the next episode ‘Children’s Shouldn’t play with Dead Things’….so let’s hope I get around to writing a review sometime soon !

#spn #spn review #spn meta #sam and dean #bloodlust #the epic love story of sam and dean #wincest #brother wives

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vyinter · 3 years ago

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i would ask specific stuff but we both have shit memory so ill save u the trouble. top 5 vixxeu songs. uve listened to at least 5 right

umm...*quickly checks the spotify list* yes of course!! I've listened to at least 10 in fact!! and picking just 5 is infact harder than I imagined lol

1. Fantasy: NOTHING beats it. point blank. it's probably my most favourite kpop song. The dramaticity? The theatrics?? the multi million dollar worthy musical score?? I didn't even like moonlight sonata until I heard fantasy. in fact multiple drama directors saw the drama mv ver. and said hakyeon looks so sexy contemplating to be evil they would love to see him in a fit of despair. The Storyline? I just want it to be turned into a full length movie and a 1.5 hour symphony.

2. Into the Void: you told me to listen to it! best decision! another song to get sucked into another dimension into. this is what batman listens to when he's standing on top of gotham's skyscrapers. this is what's playing at the crucial point of every hero's journey. I accidentally played this song once blacked out and found my self levitating by the chest making multiple deals with the devil. he told me good taste he's a fan too.

3. Error: RENT FREE writer of are you human too said this actually invented robots having feelings and not one person in history of kpop has ever successfully conveyed this emotion

every time this song plays i'm on my knees...... falling.....crawling... begging.... despairing..... interpretation ballet dancing..... spinning like a roomba having an emotional breakdown... wall-e-ing if it could dance.... and the vocal line moaning in harmony 😌💖

4. Scientist: there are so many things to talk about in this it wouldn't even end. the scent. the plot. ken's eyebrow slit. leo's white hair. hongbin's acting lessons paying off. Hakyeon from minute 0:00 to 3:12. I kinda hated how this mv was edited very seizure inducingly I was rly wondering if their old mv editor quit and for the longest time I had a hard time watching the it but now I can enjoy it. Also I think this is the first vixx song I heard. I remember my starlight friend freaking out when this was released and sent me like 10 links to listen to and this song stood out the most. so it has a special place in my heart.

5. Shangri-La: there's just something about those outfits and the fans and the larger than life breathing beauty into a traditional modern fusion painting aesthetic. it's beautiful to hear it's beautiful to see it's simply beautiful. it's a very watching a historical drama set in a distant kingdom of heaven where the princes rule over an element and fight for the throne or at least how I like to think the undercurrent of it is. like the concept kings are the concept kings no one's beating them when they have 1. vocal line doing musical equivalent of pulling each other's hair 2. dance line of a man with the commanding presence of ten thousand suns 3. creative director with a vision 4.aesthetics which can be used for world building 5.drāmãtīquë. I actually rated it on how much I like the sound of songs I've heard but yknow how u just can't stop at the sound with vixx

bonus: dynamite has been playing in my head today. I don't really like the music production of it but that dingo live video of them singing it? I pay it's rent. in fact I even sing it a bit late like how ken sang instead of the original version that's just how much I like that video

#if nobody else got me i know perth got my back with the asks #i call hakyeon hakyeon now we've grown parasocially close #it took so long to answer this because i went through a rabbit hole of watching all the videos again sksjjssjsjslskks #chagaymeowr #hehe ive been wanting to use the new ask tag

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darling-i-read-it · 4 years ago

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Symphony

Hannibal Lecter x reader

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: nothing I don’t think

Author’s Note: I hope you like this dear! I ended up quite liking how it turned out!

Requested: by @s0urdrop , Howdy🤠 I have a Hannibal x reader fic idea where Hannibal first meets the reader when he sees her in a play/musical & is blown away by her performance & tumbles down the stairwell that is love for her. P.s. thank you for supply my Hannibal addiction with your 10/10 fics❤

Summary: the request

Genre: fluff

Song: nocturne op. 9 no. 2 by Chopin

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director

(not my gif)

Hannibal walked into the theater, holding the ticket in his hand. He was wearing a suit, much like the others that were around him going to see the symphony as well. He was quite excited for it as he hadn’t been to see one in a while. It was a classical one and the name of the artist slipped his mind although he knew he would enjoy it.

Every once in a while Hannibal treated himself to a good play or symphony that he could find around town. He would go alone, as to not have to pretend in front of anybody else. This was an instance where he was simply there to enjoy a drink and some nice music around a crowd that didn’t know him but appreciated music similar to him.

He found a drink and was able to sit down, pleased that he didn’t run into anybody and waited patiently for the show to start.

You were backstage, fixing yourself a bit more for your first show with the symphony. You played violin and a crucial part to the thing as a whole, not that everybody didn’t have a crucial part. You were just nervous because it was your first time performing with his group. The hours and practice that you had put in were all leading up to this opening night performance.

You let out one more sigh into the mirror and stepped back, grabbing your violin and walking outside with most of the crowd who weren’t already out there.

Hannibal was a frequent person to the symphony and had been looking over the magazine of everyone who was playing. He noticed a few people who were there often a few new faces.

He was sitting in the middle seats only a while back, considering that he had taken too long to get the tickets themselves. He could see everyone's faces and saw you sit down in the side but up front and almost center.

There were the announcements and then the music began. Hannibal's eyes kept floating back to you, clearly invested in your craft. He was curious about every different layer of the classical songs and found them to be very moving but it always helped when the people playing seemed to be moved as well.

You were tapping your toe, to keep time he thought or perhaps you were simply nervous. He would have remembered seeing you before had you been there. You were a new member which wasn’t odd. There were often people coming and going to bigger things to stop all together.

But you were mesmerizing. He was willing to bet that half of the room was staring at you, watching your excitement for the pieces.

The first piece was only about four minutes long but other than the piano it was heavily reliant on the violin which you were playing. Hannibal's eyes were on you the whole time.

The show ended about an hour later and as everyone started to stand Hannibal knew he had to find a way to sneak in a word with you. You had done your standing ovation and then disappeared backstage.

Hannibal walked outside near one of the side doors. He had a few friends in the symphony tonight and knew this was where they came out when they were finished, eager to get out and home.

A few people came before you but eventually you exited as well. You were still shaking with nerves but more from excitement this time around, happy that it had turned out so well. You were prepared to do the show again tomorrow night which you were scheduled to do.

Hannibal turned to you and he caught your eye immediately. Sometimes a few people hung around to pick up loved ones but he seemed to be making a beeline for you. You weren’t nervous, even if your mind said you should be with a man walking toward you of his stature.

“You were wonderful tonight,” he told you. You smiled. You had seen him in the crowd when you bowed. He had been standing.

“Thank you, although everyone did their part to make it sound the way that it did,” you promised. He held out his hand and you shook it.

“Hannibal Lecter.”

“Y/N Y/L/N. Pleasure.” He looked across the cold night. It was chilly and you hiked your scarf up a bit to cover your neck better.

“Can I take you out for coffee? Perhaps talk about the show? Only if you’re up to it, I know it’s exhausting,” he said. You looked around and thought about it. Your adrenaline was high enough you doubted you would be able to fall asleep any time soon. You looked back at him and nodded, smiling, your violin case tight in your gloved hands.

“I would like that. I know a place down the street.”

“Wonderful.”

He gestured for you to walk and you did so, leading him down the street, starting a happy conversation.

#hannibal lecter imagine #hannibal imagines

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serpentinesarang · 4 years ago

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Bend, Not Break

pairing: i.m (im changkyun) x gender-neutral reader

genre: non-idol!AU, boss/subordinate!AU, third-person POV, similar to the kdrama “Romance is a Bonus Book” (small book publisher setting), part of a series

word count: 1683 | next

content warnings: one mention of blood, one mention of alcohol

summary: you work as a copy editor at a publishing house, and you’re a genuine hard worker who never breaks rules—that is, until a new boss takes over your department. you find yourself magnetized and lusting over him, and vice versa, so perhaps your morals can bend just a little?

requested by: @livingwithmx

a/n: From here on out, I’ll be incorporating more Korean language and cultural things into my writing, but fear not: I will list a handy key each time with translations and pronunciations! To make it more universally easier to understand my included Korean, I’ll write the Romanized words in the story and add the Hangul in the key.

korean key:

⦿ biseonim (비서님) = secretary; pronounced “pee-suh-neem;” (titles follow one’s surname) ⦿ annyeonghaseyo (안녕하세요) = most common and formal hello; pronounced “on-yawng-ha-seh-yo” ⦿ pyeongjibjangnim (편집장님) = editor; reader’s work title; pronounced “pyung-jeeb-jahng-neem” ⦿ soju (소주) = clear Korean grain alcohol, similar to vodka; pronounced as it looks ⦿ jungyeok (중역) = executive director; pronounced “jung-yuk” ⦿ pyeonjibguk (편집국) = editorial department; pronounced “pyun-jib-gook”

♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤

“Good morning, YL/N-pyeongjibjangnim!” Seoyoon calls out from behind the wide reception desk, her adorable chipmunk cheeks dimpling as she watches Y/N step off the elevator and onto the eighth floor, where their employer is located in the building.

“Annyeonghaseyo, Park-biseonim!” Y/N replies, throwing their hand up to wave briefly. They stop at the desk and peer down at Seoyoon. “How was your weekend?”

“Really good, actually,” she chirps with raised brows and blue-contacted eyes aglitter. She moves her hands off her keyboard to prop herself up on her forearms. “He finally kissed me!” she whispers excitedly.

Y/N’s mouth drops open in happy surprise. “It’s about time!” they say, matching Seoyoon’s excitement.

Seoyoon leans back in her swivel chair. “Right?! I still feel so good.”

Y/N smiles, bringing the black coffee tumbler in their hand to their lips.

“I even slipped some soju in my tea,” Seoyoon murmurs, raising her eyebrows again and jerking her head toward the dainty cup in front of her computer.

Y/N swallows their coffee hard and shoots Seoyoon a disappointed look with pursed lips. “Park-biseonim… You know alcohol isn’t allowed on premises,” they remind her softly, friend to friend.

Seoyoon exhales. “I know; I know… Just this one time?”

Y/N pauses, examining the secretary’s face. How could they alert their superior when the sweet girl was just so happy about her boyfriend finally kissing her?

“All riiight,” Y/N replies, turning toward the main doors leading into the office. “Only because of that kiss.”

They smile again before disappearing through the windowed double doors and making their way to their corner office on the far end of the floor. Y/N greets their coworkers, waving at those already submerged in their work and bowing to their superiors. Odd, they think, the entire executive board is here today. Something must be happening.

Y/N gets themselves situated at their modern Plexiglas desk, powering on their huge monitor and turning on lamps here and there. As soon as the computer hums to life, a loud two-toned chime goes off, signaling a high-importance email.

Smoothing out their slacks as they sit on their swivel chair, Y/N opens the email, which was sent to the entire editorial department. Something is happening, indeed.

In it, the department’s director had written:

Good morning, team:

Please meet in the conference room at 8 today to join me in welcoming a new employee to our department. I have important news to share, as well.

~Choi Jaeho-jungyeok

Y/N glances at the time on the computer: 7:57 AM. Yeet! they mentally screamed, shooting out of their chair and bee-lining for the conference room, situated between the editorial and creative departments.

Bursting through the large room’s white double doors, Y/N is greeted by a small symphony of good morning!s and annyeonghaseyo!s, and they bow their head to everyone while walking around to the last open chair at the corner of the rectangular table. Some coworkers have pads of paper in front of them; many have cups of steaming liquid; and others simply have their cell phones lying out. There’s one unfamiliar person sitting directly across Y/N in the other corner seat, though, looking like a stone with their elbows on the chair’s arms, hands clasped, and with nothing in front of them.

As soon as Y/N sits down and scoots in, they glance up to find this man already gazing at them.

Oh my God, they think.

The man across from them is young, around their age or older, and he looks like an Olympian god. Plentiful, chocolate-brown hair frames his intense, dark eyes, and his full lips are slightly pressed together in the tiniest of smirks. He’s wearing a crisp, white button-up with a skinny, dark purple tie. The lanyard holding a small placard hanging over it reads, Im Changkyun and beneath it, Jungyeok, Pyeonjibguk.

We have two directors now? Y/N thinks to themselves. Is that Choi-jungyeok’s big news?

Im Changkyun is still watching Y/N, and normally in a situation like this, they’d break eye contact. But something about this guy has started sucking them in, and the enigmatic glow of his eyes is not helping.

Jaeho causes both of them to snap out of it, though. “Okay, everybody, let’s get started.”

Jaeho is a fortysomething man, gray hair peeking through at his temples and his youthful face looking strangely alight today. He’s not normally this smiley, either. Standing at the head of the table, he clutches a large mug of fragrant coffee.

“You all got my email, evidently, so thank you all for being here and on-time. I mentioned that I have news, and I don’t intend to beat around the bush, so with that being said, I will be resigning as jungyeok, effective next Monday.”

A gaggle of gasps, what?!s, and nooo!s sounds from around the table.

“Order, order!” Jaeho dramatically raises his free hand like a judge, grinning at his joke. “I have been offered a wonderful opportunity on the other side of the city, and I spent a long time thinking it over, so this wasn’t an easy decision.”

He pauses to gulp some of his coffee, pocketing his other hand. “Many of you have already noticed the new face among us, and he’s here today to get acquainted with his new team, as he will be replacing me.”

Several of the surrounding executives collectively respond with an excited, “OH-ohhhhh.” No one seems really upset by this news, and even Im Changkyun has broken into a sheepish smile.

Y/N observes Mr. Im in the moment, noticing his sharp cheekbones and thick brows. His lips look the most tantalizing, totally full on the bottom with a perfectly curved Cupid’s bow above. They recognize a pair of silver hoops on his lobes, specifically from Cartier’s Love collection—ironically, the same design as Y/N’s gold ring on their thumb. Without realizing it, they emit a small hm in their amusement.

When Mr. Im glances at Y/N, they stiffen and immediately angle themselves toward Jaeho again.

“I have been training this employee both off-site and after-hours for the past week now because I, admittedly, wasn’t sure how you all would take the news. So I wanted to train him away from prying eyes,” Jaeho explains, occasionally looking down at the table. “For the next week, though, he’ll be in-house, sharing my office with me—’cause it’s really his now—and familiarizing himself with everyone as well as how you all work together. This is the last leg of onboarding for him and the last leg of Phenomenon Publishing for me. I’m very excited for both my and his future.”

Jaeho drinks more of his coffee and steps around his chair, pushing it in and resting his free hand on top. “I’d like everyone to get back to doing their magic now, and your new jungyeok will spend the day going around meeting everyone. Thanks, guys.”

And with that, Jaeho exits the conference room.

Everyone sits around for a moment, processing their director’s words, but more so trying to figure out if they should say something to Mr. Im, who’s still in the room.

Mr. Im speaks up, sitting upright in his chair. “Annyeonghaseyo, everyone. I want to make my introduction to you all a little more personal, so instead of doing it here and hiding with Choi-jungyeok the rest of the day, I’m going to spend a little time with each of you today. I don’t just want to know your name and role; I want to learn a little about you guys too because we’ll be working closely from now on. I hope to fill the jungyeok’s shoes, quite honestly,” he finishes with a deep chuckle.

Im Changkyun’s voice is like hot blood sliding down Y/N’s skin: unsettlingly appealing, deep, magnetic, and velvety. They gulp hard, fidgeting with their gold ring under the table as Mr. Im speaks.

Y/N’s coworkers rise from their seats, formally bowing to their new boss and making hush-hush conversation amongst themselves as they filter out of the brightly lit room. Y/N is the last to follow the crowd out, and as they send one last furtive glance toward Mr. Im while approaching the double doors, he turns to meet their curious eyes and raises an eyebrow.

Stunned at their unusually brazen behavior, Y/N nods politely before ducking out and speed-walking back to their office. They close the door a little too hard but only because they’re desperate to sit down and catch their breath.

What is happening to me, they think, drinking their own iced coffee.

Y/N spends the rest of their day immersed in their editing tasks, working diligently to keep their mind from dwelling on God himself and how heart-stopping-attractive he is, how entrancing his voice is. They respond to emails as normal, reference the same books as normal, listen to the same low-fi playlist as normal, field interns’ questions as they take turns knocking on Y/N’s door as normal, and they even spend their lunch hour in the cozy break room.

Im Changkyun is nowhere to be seen, and by the time 4 PM rolls around, the last hour of the workday, Y/N had calmed down. In fact, they’d had a spurt of productivity after lunch and were able to finish editing two of the larger manuscripts that’d been stressing them the past few weeks.

Y/N even debated taking off the last hour to quietly read at their desk instead of emailing the finished documents for Choi-jungyeok to skim over, as he gives final approval before the company convenes with the respective authors again. But that’s never been Y/N’s style, breaking rules. They were there to work—“do their magic,” as Jaeho had put it, and that’s how they’d spend the remainder of the day.

Wrong.

The all-glass door to their office swings open, and God himself walks in, plopping down in the small loveseat on the right side of Y/N’s desk.

“I saved you specifically for last,” he says, leaning back in the chair and freezing his eyes on Y/N’s.

They pause for a second before cannonballing into the unknown. “I figured.”

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rahenning · 4 years ago

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A Clockwork Orange

A Clockwork Orange is a 1971 Stanley Kubrick ultraviolent masterpiece that tells the story of the criminal young man Alex DeLarge (Malcom McDowell). Alex is the leader of a gang of delinquents who kill, rob and rape in London –UK. Alex falls into the hands of the police and in jail gets an opportunity to reduce his time in prison. He began to be studied and participating in experiments focused on curbing destructive impulses of the human being. Alex developed a reaction to the stimulus he was subjected to but also became powerless to deal with the violence that surrounded him. The film is an adaptation of Anthony’s Burgess’s 1962 novel of the same name. The film has a different ending than the original book.

When talking “A Clockwork Orange” it is a must to talk about its director Stanley Kubrick, his aesthetic, photography and music in film. Kubrick is considered by many one of the biggest genius in the history of film. He dominated all the possible genres in film creating real masterpieces. Stanley was very interested in the human being and theirs falls, desires and secrets. One of his biggest desires with his films was to be provoking and controversy but in high quality. His films are easy identified. His film’s aesthetic were always built after an extensive research based on books, documentaries, and thesis. Kubrick wanted to make sure he was the biggest authority in its themes once he stepped in the film set. The director was also known by never having the scrips ready and sometimes making alterations right before filming it. He was constantly writing and changing lines. Prior to beginning his path as a director, Kubrick was a photographer, it helped him to have all the knowledge to know how to get to the results that he intended. He had a very technical knowledge and worked with his own camera and lenses. But his equipment was minor compared to his eye. The vanish point is one of his most important characteristics in film. All was seeing in image, the architecture, the position of the actors, colors and all the details were well thought by the director. He liked to give the audience all the information possible in the scene but without telling where the information is. All the camera movements and actions had a reason to happen working in a subjective way giving the audience a chance to interpret by themselves without having an explanation connected in the film. His films works like a puzzle to the audience.

Another piece of Kubrick’s puzzle movies is the music. Stanley knew the power of music and how it could be used to build the films premise. He liked to use classic and often create it. In “Eyes Wide Shut” for example, the music is one of the main elements to create the tone of the film. Kubrick’s have done allegory about our society in his films, in the desire, in the violence, in war, in secrets and insanity. When “A Clockwork Orange” film was released a wave of violence and crimes began to surge in England with young people saying they got influenced by the movie. Kubrick not just took the film off the cinemas but also prohibited it in England for 25 years. “The Shinning”, “2001: A Space in Odissey” and “Dr.Strangelove” are great examples of Stanley Kubrick’s works.

The aesthetic of “A Clockwork Orange” is full of neobaroque references. Baroque is a lot more than just a period in history of culture. Baroque it is also an aesthetic term and stylistic concept. The blaring, shining and plastic colors. Everything is colorfully aggressive and exuberant. The furniture and decorations are grotesque and often sexual with naked white woman elements on it. The characters clothing also follow this premise. Alex’s mother (Sheila Raynor) is a strange motherly figure who wears nylon and fluorescent wigs. Her clothing contrasts the father (Phillip Stone) which clothing tries to bring a more conservative idea to the audience. His attitude and attire contradicts with the exaggeration of the elements in his house.

The camera movement, editing, slow motion or fast forward effects also adds to create this cinematography experience to the audience. A good scene to amplify this matter is the scene when Alex have sex with two women in his room. As mentioned before, music plays an important role in Kubrick’s films. In “A Clockwork Orange” the audience listen to a mix of electronic synthetic and classic music with Beethoven 9th Symphony and the well-known Gene Kelly’s song “Singing in the rain”. The soundtrack of film was done by Wendy Carlos. One of the most known scenes in the movie is the one that Alex and his gang invades a house and in a performance way while singing “Singing in the rain” begins to assault, terrorizes and sexually abuse Mr. and Mrs. Alexander (Patrick Magee and Adrienne Corri) . His movements are slow and sudden to the point that each time that he suddenly hurts them, the audience can feel how much more painful it is not just because of the actual physical assault but the psychological terror created by him.

One of the screenplay’s scene that brings more discomfort to the audience is when Alex begins his treatment and experiments with the doctors in the prison. Alex was subjected to a series of treatments focused on the Ludovico radical behaviorist method. A fictional aversion therapy. With this technique, Alex had to be strapped into a chair with his eyes wide forcedly open, drugged and to watch ultra-violent videos that could trigger his violent self. This way each time the videos trigger his emotions, he develops a stomach and mental discomfort causing him nausea and vomit. The doctors also played a video with his favorite song, the 9th Symphony. Every time Alex listen to this song he would have the exact same reaction as if he was experiencing a violent act. Alex treatment is successful in the eyes of the doctors and society. Although it transformed him in an individual incapable to defend himself when the violence was being directed to him.

The author of the original book once said “If he can only perform good or only perform evil, then he is a clockwork orange—meaning that he has the appearance of an organism lovely with color and juice but is in fact only a clockwork toy to be wound up by God or the Devil.” – Anthony Burgess.

The tittle of the film explains a lot about the screenplay. The organic and natural of the orange and the engineering and mechanic of the inside of the clock. Alex experiences this transformation from an organic human being with the good and very bad in him and shifts to this programed mind person. His mind begins to work conditionally and mechanically.

“A Clockwork Orange” does not deserve less than 5 stars. It is a true masterpiece, full of controversy, hard to watch elements and a lot of culture behind it. My personal and only negative opinion is on the age of the main character. Alex is living a high school delinquent student on his 17 years old. The actor was 27 years old at the time and it shows. His gang friends also did not look like a 15-17 years olds young boys. It bothers me a little and does not give me an idea of a high school student. Overall this film is very important in the history of film, such as most of Kubrick’s works.

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perfeggso · 4 years ago

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Noir (yutae)

Week III pt. 2

Tokyo – fall of 1983: Nakamoto Yuta is quickly rising in the ranks of one of Japan’s most notorious yakuza families, and he’s poised to climb even further if he can stop himself from being ruined by the pretty Korean boy who’s shown up out of nowhere.

Glossary of Japanese words

Characters: Yuta x Taeyong + NCT ensemble, Twice J-line (for funsies)

Genres: Gang!AU, angst, smut, fluff, 1980s!AU

Warnings: graphic violence, swearing, minor character death, alcohol use, mentions of drugs, period-typical homophobia, xenophobia, BDSM

Rating: 18+

Length: 9.3k

If he didn’t think too hard, Yuta was elated. He’d righted his wrong, put his desires on the line, and gotten the boy he’d been lusting over for two and a half weeks not just to reciprocate, but to come undone in his lap. As he would say, mission accomplished.

Still, if he did think about it, he was worried. As he’d expected, he and Taeyong being an item was distracting to him at work. All those little moments when Taeyong caught Yuta’s eye and Yuta would suppress his impulses before they had confessed started blossoming into full-on flirting – or worse, makeout sessions in the car or in closets at headquarters. When Yuta was alone, instead of strategizing for his mission, he would find himself strategizing how to keep everything adequately under wraps for him not to become a liability to the organization or to his men. He even sometimes worried that he was taking advantage of Taeyong.

This was all in the three days following the party at Johnny’s bar. By the fourth day and the end of the week, Yuta resolved to go easy on himself. Taeyong had given every indication of enthusiastic consent, and continued to give it, and Yuta figured once he got used to being with Taeyong, the butterflies would dissipate, and he’d be able to focus again.

Yuta sat at his desk, legs crossed on the buffed wood, throwing his pen up and practicing catching it while pushing himself side to side in his swivel chair. Taeyong was in a seat near the window, messing with his nails and making absent-minded ‘beep’ ‘boop’ noises to occupy the time.

Yuta sighed. They were at a weird midpoint in their work where they had enough information to have a plan but not to act on it. Most of the acting would happen in the week and a half leading up to the Mitsubishi meeting. On top of that, he and Taeyong couldn’t get up to anything because they were expecting a report from Johnny soon.

“What if she doesn’t bite?” asked Taeyong, ceasing his strange little symphony.

“Hm?” asked Yuta, not sure what he was referring to.

“Sana. What if she doesn’t decide to flip when we confront her? What if she stays with Yamaguchi and they still get into the meeting?”

“That’s not anything you need to worry about, Taeyong,” Yuta tried to explain, setting his pen on the desk with a clack.

“But, I mean, I’m involved now,” Taeyong insisted. “So, wouldn’t it be good for me to have an idea?”

Yuta smiled, acknowledging the merit in Taeyong’s point. “Okay. Basically, if she doesn’t side with us, we’re screwed. We’ll just have to send a large delegation to the meeting and hope we can offer enough perks to get the board of directors to agree to our demands over Yamaguchi’s, and convince them that Yamaguchi’s scheme with Miyazaki’s mistress is real.”

Taeyong rolled his ankles around, looking preoccupied.

“This is why I didn’t want to say anything, Yong. I didn’t want you more stressed out than you already are.”

Taeyong leaned forward, elbows on his knees and jaw in his hands. “No, it’s alright. I think it’s better for me to know.”

Yuta smiled, appreciative. “That’s why we’re going to make Sana flip. We can’t afford not to, and she already hates the Yamaguchi-gumi for screwing up her life, so even if she thinks we’re just as despicable, at least we haven’t proven it yet.”

Taeyong cringed. “That’s one way to look at it.”

Yuta checked his watch after a brief silence. It was 4:40 p.m.; Johnny was supposed to have been there ten minutes ago. “Where the hell is he?” Yuta grumbled.

“Johnny?” asked Taeyong.

“Yeah. Didn’t I tell you that?”

Taeyong shrugged. “Maybe.”

Yuta thought he saw concern flicker over Taeyong’s face and reasoned there might be a cause for Taeyong’s spaciness that he wasn’t picking up.

“Taeyong?”

“Yes Shategashira !”

“Come over here for a minute, will you?”

Taeyong hopped to his feet and walked over to the desk, leaning against Yuta’s side of it. Yuta remarked to himself that the etiquette he had always insisted on regarding his desk was quickly going out the window.

“What is it?” asked Taeyong. Yuta slipped his hand into the other man’s, squeezing and swinging their arms in a soft rhythm.

“Is everything alright?” he asked Taeyong. “People still treating you well? Are you getting enough rest? I’m not overwhelming you, am I?”

Taeyong laughed. “Not at all. You’re – everything’s really good, and I like all the attention you give me.”

Yuta felt a flash of fondness overcome him. Lord help him.

“I’m glad.”

“There is one thing I’ve been wondering about though,” said Taeyong, starting again at the nails on his free hand.

“What’s that?”

“I was just thinking,” Taeyong began, “what is Momo going to do? Like, I presume that she knows about you but, how does that work for her? Is she going to hate me? Is it going to be weird if I have to talk to her any time soon?”

Yuta looked at Taeyong, head cocked to the side like a question. “Why would it be, if you know she knows?”

“That’s just it – I’m not sure!” Taeyong blurted. “I just feel like it would be. Like, it’s kind of a big sacrifice for her, isn’t it? And here I am, getting to do what she would if – if you were like, wired different or something.”

Yuta dug a nail into Taeyong’s palm, getting his attention. “Yonggie, none of that is going to happen, alright? I wanted her to tell you but since you’re worried and bringing it up, you should know that she’s similarly wired .” Yuta emphasized the last part to mock Taeyong for his awkward use of euphemism. Taeyong looked confused for a moment, and Yuta watched in amusement as he worked through what he had just learned.

“Oooh…” Taeyong puzzled. “Oh! Well, that’s a coincidence.”

Yuta laughed. “It’s not a coincidence, Taeyong, it’s the reason for our arranged marriage.”

Taeyong pushed off the desk and started to pace. “This makes so much sense, now!” he said, making Yuta laugh harder. “Ooookay.”

“So, will you calm down?” Yuta asked, and Taeyong nodded, settling back in his chair.

“By the way,” Yuta offered, “how would you feel about going out this weekend?”

“Out?” Taeyong pondered, “like, clubbing?”

“Yeah,” Yuta said, hopeful.

Taeyong smiled, practically buzzing in anticipation. “Sounds fun!” he said.

“You can come over to my apartment after, if you want.”

Taeyong wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and Yuta guffawed. “Oh dear,” he said, shaking his head.

“This a good time?” came Johnny’s muffled voice from the other side of the door.

Yuta pushed himself into a more decorous sitting position. “ Douzo .”

Johnny slid open the door and stood in the entryway, saluting and wearing a beige suit and orange shirt with wide lapels. To Yuta’s surprise, Mark was with him.

“Phew,” jested Johnny, “I was worried you guys would be going at each other.”

Yuta rolled his eyes “Want to get hit?” he asked, figuring that would shut his friend up. Out of the corner of his eye he thought he saw Taeyong blush.

“No, sorry, Shategashira ,” said Johnny, sitting in the chair across from the desk and holding his hands up in mock surrender. “I’m done.”

Yuta smirked, allowing himself some slight irritation but knowing this was all in good fun. He addressed Johnny.

“Why is Mark here?”

Mark, who was still standing, awkwardly not knowing what to do with himself, opened his mouth but was cut off before he could answer.

“He was getting bored and Haechan was there to fill in for him,” Johnny explained, as if that was supposed to be satisfying. Yuta shook his head incredulously, frustrated by what his men’s lack of discipline represented more than its actual consequences. In reality, it didn’t matter all that much if it were Mark or Donghyuck at that post – Donghyuck would have likely just been hanging out in construction projects, otherwise.

“What was Hyuck doing there?” asked Yuta, simultaneously reasoning himself out of being strict. “Oh, whatever,” he allowed before anyone could answer. “It’s fine; just try to stay at your posts.” He turned his attention to Mark. “Alright?”

“Yes, Shategashira !”

“May I proceed with the report?” Johnny asked, both eyebrows raised and hand poised at the entrance to his jacket pocket. Yuta nodded and Johnny pulled out a cigarette and lighter, getting himself a smoke before he continued.

“So,” said Johnny, “I just got off the phone with Kun. He’s going to be arriving with the Triad delegation this weekend so that they can have plenty of time to strategize, prepare, make sure our priorities align, etc.”

“Perfect,” Yuta remarked. “Do they need an escort for when they get in?”

“Kun said that would be appreciated,” replied Johnny. “However, if one is unavailable, his men are trained to defend themselves.”

Yuta rapped his fingers against his desk. “I’ll contact him and tell him that I’ll do it. I want to make sure they know they’re valued. Anything else on that?”

“No, Shategashira .”

“Alright. What did you find out about Sato?”

“He’s a simple case; got a gambling addiction,” Johnny explained.

“Sounds like your kind of guy,” said Yuta. Johnny laughed. Taeyong yawned in the corner, rolling his wrists around to get rid of the stiffness he was surely feeling. Yuta’s throat tightened up out of affection. He couldn’t wait for the weekend.

“What time is it now?”

Johnny checked his watch. “4:52, Shategashira ,” he reported.

“I guess now’s as good a time as any to head out,” Yuta figured. “Goro hasn’t sent in anything else that needs to get done, anyhow.”

Johnny stood, still holding his cigarette and pulling a pair of keys from his jacket pocket. “Can I offer you guys a ride?” he asked. “I think we all live in the same direction.”

Johnny’s car was an orange 1980 Honda Prelude with five seats that he kept parked in the underground lot below headquarters. Yuta leaned around to check on the two men sitting in back and almost broke into laughter. Johnny’s tiny car had five seats only in theory; Taeyong and Mark’s knees were nearly colliding in front of the center seat.

Johnny lowered – or more accurately, dropped – himself into the car, hand steadied on the steering wheel since it was also a bit short for his 6’1” frame to enter comfortably. He pulled out the vehicle’s plastic ashtray and stamped out the end of his cigarette.

“ Yoshi , are we ready to go?” he asked, revving the engine.

Everyone responded affirmatively and all at once, and Yuta found himself wondering, had his been the type of family to go on road trips for vacation, would it have felt a little something like this?

“Now, Taeyong, you’re going to need to give me a little guidance here,” said Johnny, pulling onto the street. “I don’t know your address.”

“Okay!” came Taeyong’s voice from the back. He was seated diagonally from Yuta, and Yuta thought he could feel his gaze almost devouring him, but he decided to feign ignorance and not return the look. He wanted Taeyong frustrated for this weekend.

Taeyong gave up and averted his eyes out the window, breath fogging the glass’s interior as its exterior beaded with a slow-moving kaleidoscope of raindrops.

“Johnny,” began Mark.

“Mm?”

“Did Kun say who’d be coming with him?”

Johnny’s brow furrowed as he ticked up the speed of the windshield wiper. “I have it written down, but I can try to remember off the top of my head for now. Let’s see. I think Yukhei, Ten, Dejun, Sicheng, Kunhang, and Yangyang are supposed to be his entourage. That could change though – or he could bring more. I just know he’ll be there, and Yuta’s supposed to meet him at Narita this Saturday.”

“Wow,” said Mark as Yuta thought he felt knees bumping around against the back of his seat as if he were in front of a child on an airplane. “I haven’t seen those guys in forever; since I was a kid, practically!”

“You’re still a kid,” Johnny deadpanned.

Yuta watched Mark roll his eyes in the rearview mirror. “At least I’m not a shatei anymore.”

The sun began to dim as they rolled through the streets of Aoyama, casting the neighborhood in a shimmery palette of greys and yellows. Wet cement, soaked tree trunks, café windows, umbrellas: grey. Ginko leaves plastering the sidewalks, neon signs, reflected headlights, and traffic signs: yellow. Johnny clicked on the radio which was playing “midnight cruisin’” by Kingo Hamada.

“So,” Taeyong began, “these Triad guys, they’re basically us but in China?”

“I suppose so,” said Yuta. “They run a similar business to us out of Hong Kong since the mainland Triads got pushed there twenty years ago. They have even better international connections than us, though. We’ve been trading between each other forever, but we’ve always run the risk of getting our ships searched and taken in by the authorities. That’s why they want in on the Mitsubishi deal. Both the Chinese Navy and the Maritime SDF have been upping patrols in the South China Sea and that means inconvenience for us unless we can piggyback on legitimate business.”

Taeyong looked nervous, his knees pulled together and his thumb nail wedged between his teeth. “I see,” he said. Yuta knew that he and Taeyong were well past the stage of pity, but he still couldn’t help the pangs of responsibility he felt every time Taeyong seemed to remember what exactly he’d gotten himself into. Moments like this made Yuta feel like he was going cold from the inside. Here they were, sitting three feet away in a car with two other people, not even having properly fucked yet and Yuta was already worried about losing what they had. Once Taeyong completed his mission he would have the choice to go back to his old life, and even Yuta acknowledged it would probably be in Taeyong’s best interest to do so, but what if leaving Inagawa also meant leaving Yuta? He had too much firsthand experience with that exact scenario to feel secure.

They dropped Mark off at his apartment, then Taeyong directed Johnny the rest of the way to his. Once there, Taeyong slipped out of the idling car into the rain, immediately getting soaked due to his lack of rain gear. His dark hair flattened, luminous, against his forehead and the black button-up under his oversized denim jacket clung in a way Yuta would not be able to forget any time soon.

Before Taeyong could scurry too far away, Yuta grabbed the crank on the interior of his car door and rolled down his window, ignoring Johnny’s grumbling that he was going to ruin the upholstery.

“Taeyong,” he called through the screen of raindrops. Taeyong turned immediately, a warmth in his face which thawed the chill Yuta had sensed before.

“Yes, Shategashira ?”

Yuta smiled. “C’mere,” he instructed, and Taeyong jogged his way back to the car until he was folded at nearly a 90-degree angle to lean into Yuta’s window. Yuta could see the soft expanse of Taeyong’s torso clearly down his collar. Fuck . He placed a finger under Taeyong’s chin and looked into his eyes, which had gone as glassy and round as the puddles in the uneven sidewalk in front of Taeyong’s building.

“Remember what I said about this weekend?”

Taeyong bit his lip and nodded, searching Yuta’s face.

“How about tomorrow night?” suggested Yuta.

“Okay!”

Johnny sighed, looking pointedly out the opposite window. “Let’s hurry this up, lover boys,” he quipped.

“Ignore him,” Yuta told Taeyong when he noticed the other man’s eyes straying in embarrassment. “You’ll be on patrol tomorrow without me, so I’ll swing by around eleven at night to take you somewhere fun, m’kay? Just be ready by then.”

“M’kay.”

Yuta pulled Taeyong closer for a chaste kiss, then mercifully let him go to escape the rain.

“Now, go get yourself into something warm and dry!” he yelled, smiling as Taeyong practically bounded towards the door of his apartment.

“Aye aye, Shategashira ,” Taeyong responded.

Johnny turned back to face Yuta in mock frustration. “Will you close the window now?” he asked, and Yuta couldn’t help smiling while cranking it back up.

“You guys are cute,” said Johnny, as if commenting on the heavy rain. He didn’t seem to have any intention of starting the car.

“I’m glad you think so,” Yuta responded, cautious.

“Where are you taking him this weekend?”

“Out,” said Yuta. “In Yokohama. A place where no one knows who I am.”

Johnny nodded. “I don’t doubt that you’re being careful,” he said. “I’m just concerned for him.”

“For Taeyong?”

“Yeah,” Johnny expanded. “He’s so new at this; does he know what officially joining would even look like? Someone needs to have that conversation with him.”

“ I’m going to have that conversation with him,” Yuta practically hissed. This was not the discussion he wanted to be having.

Johnny sighed, shifting into drive, “Okay,” he said. “I trust you, Shategashira .”

“Good,” said Yuta. “You shouldn’t have to assure me of that.”

***

Yuta looked at himself in his full-length mirror, doing a little spin and checking over his shoulder to get as full a view as possible. He’d sent Taeyong to go on patrol with Donghyuck and Mark for the day while he stayed at headquarters talking to Doyoung about finances.

He’d gotten home, cooked himself some packaged curry, and shut himself in the bathroom on a whim with a tub of black Manic Panic. Yuta was growing sick of the white hair, and even though he was confident that no one at Copycat knew him or would be a threat, he still felt more comfortable with a less eye-catching hairdo. It had seemed like a good idea, especially since Yuta’s nerves were still a bit on edge after the assassination attempt. It had seemed like a good idea, that is, until the chemical fumes in his bathroom were almost enough to make him pass out and he had to scrub the dregs of the dye out of his bathtub once he was done.

But that was a few hours ago and now, with his hair newly monochrome and slicked back, and the bathroom aired out, Yuta was feeling much better. He had a cassette of R.E.M.’s “Murmur” blasting from the Hitachi TRK-7020H he kept next to his bed, dancing around to the music and sipping from a tumbler of whiskey as he got ready. He wanted to take his time picking a good outfit, knowing this would be one of his last opportunities for real fun before the Mitsubishi deal. Eventually, he settled on a black leather blazer, black pants, white leather boots, a black and blue button-up, and a chain necklace.

He turned back around to face himself in the mirror, sneaking a sip from his glass and examining the layers of bandage wrap he’d wound around what parts of his chest and lower neck were exposed.

His watch said it was 10:30. Time to go.

***

Yuta got to the front door of Taeyong’s building at 11:07. He buzzed the dial for “Unit 127, Lee,” and after an electronic screech that made Yuta’s eyebrows raise, startled, his date’s voice came through the speaker. Even through the crackle, he sounded bright, like he was bouncing around on the other end.

“Yuta! I just saw you pull up!” Taeyong giggled. “Be down in a minute.”

Yuta smiled to himself when Taeyong hung up. In stark contrast to yesterday’s downpour, this was a mild, early November night with a full moon and a soft breeze shuffling the bushes outside the apartment and making Yuta’s skin tingle. As he waited, Yuta pondered the tile exterior of Taeyong’s building and how desperately it needed washing. Then, he looked up to the sky where wispy clouds were curling in the moon’s glow like steam over a cup of coffee. He wondered to himself what that sky would look like out in the countryside, where there was no light pollution and the entire Milky Way would have undoubtedly unfurled overhead for the mortal onlooker. He wondered what that moon looked like to his family in Osaka.

The front door opened, pulling Yuta out of his ponderings. Taeyong smiled and Yuta momentarily forgot to breathe. His hair had been coaxed lightly off his forehead with some hair gel, and he wore a translucent lavender turtleneck, an oversized houndstooth jacket, black jeans, and sneakers. Yuta couldn’t have designed a more fantasy-worthy man himself, and Taeyong seemed to notice the reaction he’d caused, because he grinned wickedly.

“Hi,” he said.

“My god,” said Yuta, regaining his composure and returning the wicked look right back. “I didn��t think you could get any sexier.”

Taeyong smirked, sticking his chin out so he was looking at Yuta from under hooded eyes. “I could say the same about you, Shategashira . Especially like the hair.”

Yuta chuckled, moving in slowly to peck Taeyong on the lips. He wanted to do more, but even though the street was empty, he didn’t wish for any of Taeyong’s neighbors to see. Also, he reminded himself, there would be plenty of time for that later. Yuta watched as Taeyong’s eyes flitted quizzically over his collar. He lifted a slender finger to trace over the flesh-colored bandages underneath.

“What’s up with these?” Taeyong asked.

Yuta took Taeyong’s hand in his and guided it back down between them.

“They’re for covering my tattoos,” he explained, assuming that was obvious.

“I know, but Yutaaa,” Taeyong whined, “your tattoos are so hot.”

Yuta burst out laughing. “I’m so sorry, baby, but I don’t want to risk it. Can’t have anyone assuming I’m trouble.” Yuta narrowed his eyes, trying to look sinister like a yakuza in an anime or something. Taeyong didn’t seem to buy it.

“Aren’t the bandages suspicious in and of themselves?” he queried.

“Sure,” Yuta said, “but they’re not proof.” Yuta pulled a dramatically pitiful expression. “I could be recovering from a traumatic car accident.”

Taeyong giggled. “Yeah,” he said, “recovering at the club.”

“Listen,” Yuta insisted, “just think how much fun you’ll have peeling them off me tonight.”

Taeyong bit his bottom lip in anticipation and Yuta let go of his hand. Yuta thought if he was going to survive waiting for Taeyong until they got to his bedroom, he’d need a lot more drinks at Copycat. Still, the nervous glint in Taeyong’s eyes told Yuta that having patience would make tonight so much more satisfying.

***

Copycat was a notorious gay club in Yokohama. Those in the know would recognize it for outlandish parties, drag queens, mysterious drugs, and letting people in strictly based on their looks. It was a bit out of the way, being in a different city, but Yuta decided the loss of convenience was worth the safety. They listened to The Violent Femmes’ self-titled album on the forty-minute drive there, as it had recently become one of Yuta’s favorites for amping himself up. In the car it became clear that Taeyong had pre-gamed because he was much more forward than usual. He told Yuta he’d missed being with him all day and offered him road head. As much as Yuta would have liked that, he had to explain that he’d already had a drink too and couldn’t afford to get pulled over.

The two of them made it past the line easily and slipped their way through the black box of a club. There were shards of mirrors stuck to the walls which reflected the multicolored lights that flitted about the space. Go left, and one would be face to face with a wall of caged dancers, go right for the bar. They went right.

Yuta decided to order for the two of them.

“Taeyong,” he half-yelled over the music. It was “Sex (I’m A…)” by Berlin.

“Do you want beer, or do you want vodka?”

Vodka was the obvious answer and pretty soon, they were downing a suite of shots one after the other.

The DJ must have been really into Berlin, because the next song that blared through the speakers was “Pleasure Victim.”

Yuta’s eyes bugged out when he heard it, and he hastily slapped several yen on the bar, pulling Taeyong to the dance floor.

“I love this song!”

“I can see that,” said Taeyong, tittering as he let Yuta drag him into the center of a mass of bodies, both of them being jostled in a way that would have been dangerous if they were just a little drunker. The synthesizer in the song complemented the dreamlike aspects of the dance floor (the lights; the glitter), and helped Yuta forget the baser aspects (the grime; the smell).

Taeyong looked ethereal under the twisting colors and the silver confetti that started to fall, reflecting his gorgeous face ad infinitum. The thrum of the base in Yuta’s spine and ears made him feel like he was underwater, his movements so slow and heavy in comparison to the music.

Yuta couldn’t help himself – he was enchanted. He pulled Taeyong so close that they were writhing against each other more than dancing, and planted a searing kiss to his mouth. Taeyong tasted harsh, like all the alcohol he’d been drinking. Yuta felt him pressing against his chest, trying to wriggle out of the kiss and when Yuta pulled back in concern, he was overwhelmed with fondness. Taeyong panted, offering a sheepish smile.

“Sorry,” he explained. “I couldn’t breathe.”

Yuta just laughed and pulled Taeyong close again, and the two opted to grind on each other rather than kiss for the time being.

Yuta murmured into Taeyong’s ear. “Do you come to places like this often?” he asked.

“Every now and then,” answered Taeyong. “When I wanna find someone to take me home.”

Yuta hummed. Taeyong’s body against him was making him feel like oil floating in liquid. “Say we didn’t know each other,” he began as the music switched to Lime’s “Come and Get Your Love.” “If you saw me from across the dance floor, would you try to get me to take you home?”

Yuta heard Taeyong laugh – felt the vibration of it in his neck. “I’d do everything I could to make that happen,” Taeyong answered, dropping kisses to the skin just above Yuta’s bandages.

“I’d come over to dance with you, and you’d no doubt reciprocate, cuz you would’ve had your eyes on me all night. Am I right?”

“Of course you’re right,” Yuta confirmed, dragging his hands shamelessly over the back of Taeyong’s body.

Taeyong trailed a smile over Yuta’s skin. “Then I’d make sure you couldn’t rest until you’d brought me back to yours and taken out all your frustrations on me.”

Yuta growled as Taeyong pulled away. His face was flushed. It looked like the stains left on your hands after eating cherries. His eyes had gone glassy from intoxication and the edges of his mouth curled in an adorable smile. Yuta couldn’t believe his self-control that he’d managed to wait this long to fuck him. God…

Taeyong bit his lip as he swayed his hips to the music. “But we could…we could make that happen anyway,” he offered, going bashful for a split second before drawing a couple fingers over the skin under Yuta’s bottom button. “Right, Shategashira ?” he whispered for good measure.

Yuta grabbed Taeyong’s wrist. “You’re a menace, you know?”

Taeyong cocked his head and spun around so his back was against Yuta’s chest. He kept his eyes on Yuta, batting his lashes innocently.

“It’s just what you do to me,” he explained.

Yuta could only shake his head in disbelief as he wrapped his arms around his dance partner.

***

The restroom at Copycat was cleaner than Yuta would have expected; at least as far as he could tell under the dark lighting. The almost surgical white tiles which lined most of the space were shockingly devoid of even marker graffiti. So was the red of the dividers between stalls and urinals.

Yuta stared into the mirror as he washed his hands. The empty bathroom gave him a familiar liminal space feeling as Madonna’s “Lucky Star” echoed from the dance floor, dreamlike, and he had the impression that should he walk back out the door, he would find himself in a dark void rather than a physical, tangible environment. Maybe it was all the vodka, or simply the temporary damage suffered by his eardrums that made everything sound faraway.

As Yuta shook his hands dry, a tall man in a shiny black suit with a buzzcut strolled in and made his way to the urinals. Yuta didn’t think anything of him, until he decided to strike up a conversation. Yuta watched the man’s back in the mirror.

“Having a good time out there, boss?” asked the man’s back.

Boss?

Yuta ignored the quarry, figuring it was just drunken banter, and he didn’t have the nerves for that. He started towards the door.

“Hey, it’s an innocent question.” The man’s voice came now from just behind Yuta, insistent. Apparently this guy wasn’t planning on washing his hands.

Yuta paused. “Fun!” he repeated, almost mockingly. “Yes, I’m having fun, thanks.” Yuta moved to leave but his interlocutor blocked the door.

“That boy you got with you’s a real nice piece of ass, I gotta say. You got me jealous.”

Yuta glared, his wits forcing themselves about him as he hoped desperately that he hadn’t left Taeyong in a dangerous position. He needed to be getting back.

“I’d prefer you didn’t refer to him like that,” Yuta said coolly, trying to defuse the situation.

“Oh, you got feelings, I see,” said the guy in mock apology. “He your boyfriend?”

Yuta reached into his jacket pocket and the man jumped, moving out of the way and opening the door for Yuta to walk past. Yuta pushed out a clipped breath, glad he hadn’t needed to resort to threats of violence. Still, how had the man anticipated what Yuta had been reaching for? It was probably the bandages giving him away. The man trailed after Yuta once in the hallway outside the restroom.

“Alright, sorry, sorry. Listen, so you’re having fun with your boy toy out there. What if I told you I had something that could make it even more fun?”

Yuta refused to look at the man. He almost never did drugs stronger than alcohol and nicotine. Having taken part in illegal drug smuggling and sales, he knew what kind of weird and dangerous ingredients people passed off as “the real stuff.” Not to mention his oath to Inagawa which forbade it.

“No thank you,” he said plainly.

This guy would not give up.

“Oh, come on, you haven’t even heard the whole pitch. I’ve had nothing but stellar reviews and – and it boosts your sex drive like, it’s incredible! Don’t you wanna check it out? I just gotta go get it out of a back room; you two can follow me there!”

Alright , thought Yuta, that’s enough . He grabbed the guy by his collar and pushed him against the wall. Despite his impressive height, he was thin and Yuta gained confidence when he realized how little this man could actually do to challenge him. He didn’t have the reflexes of an experienced criminal. Still, he was likely an inexperienced one.

“Go push your shit on someone else,” Yuta insisted, an implied threat of harm hanging in the air. When he was sure the bothersome man was sufficiently flustered, Yuta stormed away and plucked Taeyong from where he’d left him at the bar and where he had thankfully remained. Taeyong was about to down a Jell-O shot when Yuta arrived.

“Thank god. Let’s go.”

“Hm? What about this?” Taeyong asked, referring to the shot.

Yuta shook his head. “I’ve had enough of this place,” Yuta asserted. “Let me take you home.”

Taeyong didn’t argue with that logic, as Yuta knew he wouldn’t, and they weaved through the crowd and slipped out the back door into the cool air. Yuta hadn’t been aware of how sweaty and disgusting he’d become until he had the breeze there to remind him. He heard Taeyong let out a whooping noise at his side.

Taeyong practically sprinted the couple blocks back to the car, still buzzing with booze and dancing, and Yuta had to work to keep up. Once in the vehicle, Yuta used the car phone to call a designated driver service.

Yuta hung up. “They’ll be here in ten minutes,” he relayed.

Taeyong arched an eyebrow. “Ten minutes, huh?”

That’s all he could get out before Yuta was cutting him off with a kiss.

***

The driver followed Yuta’s instructions to park around the corner from Yuta’s place. He lived in an adjoined but separate wing of the Inagawa-kai mansion in Ginza. The main structure of the building resembled a scaled down Samurai castle painted black. Yuta had lived there since he came to Tokyo when he was fifteen. At the time, he was placed in the mansion proper, where he struck up a quick friendship with Oyabun Hirai’s daughter, but also felt constantly surveilled. Now, as an adult in his own sectioned off wing, he could come and go as he wished, with whomever he wished. Having lived there for ten years, Yuta sometimes didn’t notice the building’s slightly threatening grandeur. Yuta was reminded by Taeyong’s shocked expression when they turned the corner to see it.

“You live here?” Taeyong gasped.

“I forgot you’ve never needed to come to the mansion,” Yuta reasoned. He pointed to the much smaller and plainer structure tacked on to the side of the Oyabun ’s residence.

“I used to. Now I live there.”

Taeyong’s eyes scanned the building before him in wonder. “Still…”

Yuta laughed, grasping Taeyong’s hand. “Alright enough gawking. Let me show you inside.”

Inside was equally stimulating to Taeyong apparently, who began spouting variations on “wahhhh!” the second Yuta had opened the unit’s purple door and let him in.

Yuta’s apartment had three rooms not counting the bathroom; each with a distinctly different style which worked well alongside the others, nonetheless. The one into which the front door opened and in which they were standing was the kitchen/dining area. It was a galley kitchen with a wooden table and chairs and patterned wallpaper with fruits on it. To the right opened a traditional tatami room where Yuta kept his sofa and TV.

Yuta laughed at Taeyong as he nearly bounced off the counter space, letting his fingers titter over spice containers, an ashtray, plastic flowers; whatever he could get his hands on.

“I’m glad you find my apartment so entertaining,” Yuta quipped, a bit confused.

Taeyong shrugged. “I really like this,” he explained. “Getting a little peak at my Shategashira ’s personal space. It’s not what I expected.”

What had he expected? Black paint and walls of katana and guns? Yuta asked as much.

Taeyong laughed breathily. “Not necessarily. I’m not sure. Maybe.”

Yuta’s skin was getting itchy as he eyed the door to his bedroom on the far wall.

“Okay,” he allowed. “Follow me.”

Yuta and Taeyong made their way to the door and once on the other side of it, Yuta again observed Taeyong’s reaction. He drank in the space, black chambray wallpaper, red moldings, and silky purple sheets on the bed all being slowly processed. Yuta knew his taste sometimes delved into extremely tacky territory, but his bedroom décor made him feel like a badass and he hoped Taeyong would understand the vibe he was going for.

“This is a little more what I was expecting,” admitted Taeyong, finally.

Yuta smiled, catlike, and closed the door, caging Taeyong in against it. Taeyong’s breathing faltered for a moment as his eyes fluttered shut. Yuta drew in a deep breath, the smells of the club mixing on Taeyong’s skin with his cologne and the natural scent of his body. Yuta kissed at the hinge of Taeyong’s jaw as Taeyong shucked his jacket.

“I’ve been hoping for this since we first met,” Yuta admitted, running his hands over Taeyong’s figure for the nth time that night. Taeyong preened under the touch, beginning to lose himself for the first time with the knowledge of what this was all leading up to.

He sighed, a half-smile gracing his lips.

“Please, do whatever you imagined, Shategashira ,” he almost panted. “I want you to show me everything you’ve thought of doing to me.”

Yuta smirked, planting a hard kiss on Taeyong’s lips.

“That would take a while,” he said slyly when he let up, “but I’ll give you a taste. We’ll have opportunities to get to the rest later.”

Yuta watched in satisfaction as Taeyong visibly shivered. He stepped away until the backs of his knees were brushing his bed.

“Can you take your shirt off for me, sweetheart?”

Taeyong obliged immediately, dropping his shirt to the floor and standing against the door, laughing his way into a nervous smile and crossing and uncrossing his arms. Yuta bore his gaze into him, and Taeyong quieted his movements in response.

“Good boy,” Yuta murmured, pleased when he heard Taeyong gulp down a groan in response. Yeah, he’d had a feeling…

He slipped off his jacket, instructing Taeyong’s to stay put as he folded it in half and set it on a chair in the corner. Taeyong took it like an order, with a “yes, Shategashira ,” that was so cute it made Yuta’s stomach churn. He made his way back to the man he’d left by the door, wrapping his now half bare arms around him. He noticed that Taeyong was chewing his lip hard enough that it looked painful.

“You okay?” he asked, petting his right hand over Taeyong’s hair. Taeyong released his lip, eyes fixed on Yuta’s face only millimeters from his.

“Yeah,” he breathed in confirmation.

“Good.” Yuta walked backwards towards his bed again, guiding Taeyong forward with him and stopping only when he was sitting and Taeyong was climbing up to straddle him, neither breaking eye contact the entire time. Yuta placed his hands over Taeyong’s hips.

“You seem a little nervous, baby,” he ventured.

Taeyong smiled. There we go. “You make me nervous, Shategashira . But, in a good way.”

Yuta smiled back. “I didn’t seem to make you nervous earlier,” he jested.

“The alcohol is starting to wear off now,” explained Taeyong.

Yuta sighed, dropping a quick kiss just above Taeyong’s belly button. “Tell you what: why don’t you tell me what you want right now, darling. Forget the things I’ve imagined. I want you to feel comfortable.”

“M’sorry,” said Taeyong, eyes darting off to the side, and Yuta shook his head.

“Don’t be. Just name it and I’ll give it to you.”

Taeyong’s eyes returned to Yuta as he drew his lips into the softest smirk.

“Well first of all,” he began, “I want to undress you and take off your bandages, like you promised me.”

Yuta was more than happy to oblige. He let Taeyong surround him, crawling over the bed to different sides of him to get the angles he needed to unbutton his shirt and peel off the wrappings, slowly revealing Yuta’s tattooed skin. Taeyong hummed to himself as he worked, insisting Yuta relax and stay still, and placing soft kisses to each section of flesh as soon as it became accessible. Yuta felt like he was floating with Taeyong tittering about and mouthing at him. At the same time, it was teasing him into impatience.

When Taeyong finished, he threw the bandages to the ground and placed his hands on Yuta’s shoulders to steady himself as he leaned forward, observing the ink figures that covered Yuta’s entire upper body; dragons, flames, and Oni practically crawling out from the waist of his pants.

“Shit. That looks so painful.”

Taeyong yelped in surprise as Yuta grabbed his face and pulled him in for an upside-down kiss. When Yuta pulled away, he took advantage of Taeyong’s disorientation to turn around and chase him back on the bed into the pillows.

“It was,” he confirmed finally, giggling, and pretty soon he had Taeyong laughing too.

Taeyong regained his composure and worried his lip between his teeth again for a moment before speaking. Yuta couldn’t help noticing the flush that had taken over Taeyong’s face, neck, and chest.

“Yuta?”

“Mm?”

“I want to feel you inside me,” Taeyong almost whispered. “And I want you to take over now.”

Yuta felt his dick twitch at Taeyong’s words. He settled his expression and let out a deep breath.

“Okay, baby,” he said. “Then I need you to take off your pants.”

Taeyong obliged easily as Yuta stood and removed his own, then pulled a bottle of lube from the bedside table.

Yuta looked quizzically at Taeyong’s sudden nakedness. He was so beautiful.

“You weren’t wearing underwear?” he teased and Taeyong demurred.

“No,” he admitted, and Yuta caught Taeyong’s eyes grazing over the less dense tattoos which continued over Yuta’s lower body.

Yuta shuffled back onto the bed between Taeyong’s legs.

“No wonder you were in such a mood earlier,” said Yuta, almost coldly. “You’re my naughty boy tonight, hm? Spread your legs.”

Taeyong shuffled his legs wider, his hardening cock wobbling with arousal.

“Mmmmmm mhm, I am,” Taeyong groaned as Yuta coated his fingers with the lube, smirking to himself. Taeyong sounded wrecked already from all the intimacy and the light dirty talk, and Yuta hadn’t even properly touched him yet.

Yuta scooted in closer and circled Taeyong’s entrance with his pointer finger, eliciting a gasp from him.

“You’re so sweet, it kills me,” Yuta murmured, and with that he looked Taeyong in the eyes and pressed his finger in. Taeyong keened, panting.

A few minutes later, Yuta was stretching Taeyong with three fingers, admiring the man beneath him as he rocked himself lightly into Yuta’s thrusts with one bent leg as an anchor. He had his eyes shut forcefully and chewed on his thumb nail, clipped, muffled moans emanating from the base of his throat.

Yuta’s cock was straining against his underwear and leaving a wet mark on the fabric. He was so turned on that he would almost have been satisfied just watching Taeyong ride his hand all night. Almost.

“You take my fingers so well, baby,” he teased, brushing over Taeyong’s prostate and causing his eyes and mouth to drop open simultaneously in pleasure. “You think you’re ready for my cock?”

Taeyong bucked his hips as he dropped his hand from his mouth.

“Yes, yes, yes…” he repeated as if in a trance. “Please, Shategashira .”

He mewled as Yuta withdrew his fingers, clenching around air, and then again when Yuta removed his boxer briefs. Yuta was naked save the chain he’d been wearing all night, reveling in the image of it swinging while they fucked.

Taeyong shimmied himself down into the bed until he was lying down, his arms bent and framing his head on the purple pillow.

Yuta lined himself up and pushed slowly inside, groaning when he bottomed out. He watched Taeyong’s stomach flex as he got used to the stretch and steadied his shallow breathing. Yuta ground his hips experimentally and Taeyong whimpered.

“Mmm, you feel so good around me, baby.”

“You feel good too,” Taeyong reciprocated. “I – ah – you fill me up so well.”

Taeyong reached his arms out in a fidgety motion and Yuta obliged him, leaned forward until Taeyong could wrap his arms fully around him. He took one of Taeyong’s nipples into his mouth, catching him by surprise as he began to thrust and bit down, making him whine.

Yuta wondered where Taeyong had been all his life. Sure, it sounds cheesy, but it was true. Taeyong was so tight and warm, it made him crazy, and he let the most endearing string of curses and breathy moans fall past his lips as Yuta fucked into him with increasing insistence.

Yuta pulled himself back upright so he could get a better view of the man under him, thumbing over the nipple that was still wet and inflamed from his mouth. Taeyong’s skin sparkled with sweat as he knit his brow and sent his fingers absentmindedly to his mouth. Yuta reached down and moved Taeyong’s hand, replacing it with his own, and the look Taeyong gave him when he reopened his eyes made Yuta feel a telltale clench in his gut.

“Keep your eyes on me,” he instructed.

“Yes Sha – Yes, Shategashira .”

The slap of flesh on flesh grew louder, mixing with the metallic sound of Yuta’s chain and filling the space as Yuta thrust hard enough it would probably leave Taeyong with bruises. Taeyong drew in a breath and let it out as a broken sob.

“I’m so close,” he warned over Yuta’s fingers.

Yuta wrapped his hand around Taeyong’s cock, which was angry and straining at this point, pumping him in time with his thrusts to the best of his ability. The movements were slicked by the precome that Taeyong had been dribbling consistently over himself.

“Ah, thank you, thank you, thank you…” Taeyong repeated as he bucked jerkily into Yuta’s touch, his hands wandering in spastic fits over his own heaving chest.

“You’re going to come when I tell you to. Okay, darling?” Yuta sing-songed.

Taeyong sobbed again as Yuta dragged his thumb over the head of his cock. “Yes, Shategashira .”

Yuta shuddered, nearing his own climax. He thrust deep into Taeyong, abusing his prostate as he pressed his thumb into Taeyong’s slit.

“Now, baby. Come for me.”

Taeyong wailed as he came a moment later, streaking his stomach in pearly white and huffing from all the energy he’d expended.

Yuta’s thrusts grew more erratic and his voice came out like gravel. “Fuck, baby,” he said, “you did it just when I told you to. My good boy. I wish you could have seen how incredible you looked.”

Taeyong shook his head in embarrassment against the pillow and threw an arm over his face. He kept spasming now and again from aftershocks and from Yuta still fucking into him.

“Thank you, Shategashira . I wanted to be good for you.”

Yuta let out a gut-punched sound at that. “I’m gonna come now, sweetheart,” he informed. “Where do you want it?”

Taeyong’s voice was barely there as he answered. “Inside. Please.” That alone was enough to push Yuta over the edge.

He kept grinding his release into Taeyong once he’d come, bringing himself down and pulling a new string of whimpers from the man below.

“Aah, that was so good, baby,” he said dreamily. “Let me see you.”

Taeyong removed his arm from his face, and what Yuta saw sent a residual wave of pleasure all the way to his toes. Taeyong’s cheeks were red and shiny, not just from sweat but also from the small collection of tears that had welled up at the corners of his eyes and started to spill over.

“Oh, baby,” Yuta cooed. “You look so pretty like this, it’s unreal.”

Taeyong spasmed. “Please…”

It was a bit unfair to Taeyong, who hadn’t been introduced to Yuta’s sadistic side in bed yet, but Yuta couldn’t stop himself from continuing to grind in and out of Taeyong’s entrance just a little longer than was obviously comfortable, egged on by the tears and by the little noises Taeyong kept making. When Taeyong started begging for real, he finally decided to give him a break and pulled out.

By the end of the night, Yuta was completely whipped, for better or for worse. Sometime during their post-fuck cuddling, Taeyong had informed Yuta that he liked it when he told him what to do, liked being bitten, and that as much as it had made him sensitive and squirmy, he’d have been okay if Yuta had continued to overstimulate him. The conversation turned to other things they might like and soon enough, they were both recovered enough to get hard again. Using some of what he’d just learned about Taeyong to his benefit, Yuta sat the other man on his lap and jerked him off with one hand while wrapping the other around his neck. Taeyong came over Yuta’s fingers, licked them clean, and returned the favor with a blowjob. By the time they were done and somewhat cleaned up, both men collapsed in a heap in Yuta’s now slightly sticky bed. Yuta let Taeyong cuddle into his side, thinking to himself that he was going to need to figure out how to make this work.

“How long did these take?” Taeyong asked, tracing a finger over the Oni on Yuta’s sternum.

“I got them over the course of five years, so it’s hard to say. Maybe, 100 hours?”

Taeyong raised his head in shock and Yuta laughed. “No way.” Yuta nodded. “And it really hurt?” Taeyong asked, eyes wide.

Yuta adjusted his head on the pillow, taking a drag of the cigarette he had perched between his fingers.

“I mean, it’s not the worst thing ever, but it’s pretty unpleasant. They’re not normal tattoos, either.”

“How so?”

“You get them done with this sharpened piece of bamboo and no modern equipment. It’s the traditional way for us. Someone’s granny does them; I forget who she’s related to.”

Taeyong finished tracing the Oni and moved on to the flaming border next to it. “Do you think I could ever get one? Not like, the whole thing – just something small like what Donghyuck has.”

Yuta felt the familiar pang of nervousness he got every time he thought about Taeyong’s future with the Inagawa-kai and, by association, with him.

“Mm,” Taeyong acknowledged. “Well then...”

“Have you thought at all about it?” Yuta ventured, immediately wishing he hadn’t when he felt Taeyong tense. Still, he knew the question would have eaten at him either way.

“A little bit, but I haven’t come to a decision,” Taeyong explained. Yuta took another drag and offered his cigarette to Taeyong, who took it, to Yuta’s surprise. Taeyong tried smoking it and started coughing on the exhale, scrunched his face up in distaste.

“I don’t know why I try it every time someone offers me one. I never like it,” he said.

“Sorry,” said Yuta with a laugh. “Anyway, mind giving me some insight into your thought process?”

Taeyong settled back into Yuta’s side. Yuta could feel vibrations in his ribs as Taeyong spoke.

“Well, as I imagine you understand, officially entering a life of crime or whatever is pretty intimidating even if you’ve never operated in the mainstream. It’s a big commitment. At the same time, I don’t really have anything waiting for me on the other side.” Taeyong flushed. “Besides, I’m really enjoying being with you.”

Yuta blew another puff of smoke as some bittersweet feeling kicked around in his stomach.

“Don’t let me be too much of an influence on your decision,” he advised. “We can be together anyway. I mean yakuza don’t usually date other syndicate members anyway for…obvious reasons.”

“Yeah,” Taeyong mumbled. “That’s true. But I promise, no matter what I decide, you’ll be the first to know.”

“Thank you.”

There was a short silence where Yuta reveled in listening to the slightly off rhythm of his and Taeyong’s breathing.

“Yonggie,” he began again.

“Yeah?”

“Want to hear about how I joined the Inagawa-kai?”

Taeyong turned on his stomach and placed his chin on Yuta’s chest. “Sure.”

“I grew up in Osaka, where my father worked for an Inagawa outpost. When I was a teenager, he got killed on the job. I was devastated. He was the person I admired most in the world. I didn’t have a rebellious bone in my body because my dad was the center of authority in our house and I thought he was the greatest person who’d ever lived. Anyway, when he died, I still wanted to be like him and tried to join the Inagawa in Osaka in his memory I guess, but it didn’t work out.”

Yuta paused for another drag. He continued.

“That was because the rest of my family took their grief in a very different direction. My mother and sisters blamed the syndicate and wanted to cut all ties to it, so that would rule out me becoming a yakuza, you know. I figured though, that anything my father would give his life for must be worth something, right? One of his old friends who knew Goro set me up to move to Tokyo and the rest is history. I wouldn’t say I got disowned for my decision, but I rarely talk to my family and going home would just be too unpleasant to stomach. Me being gay didn’t help either.” Yuta chuckled wryly.

“I bet,” said Taeyong. “That’s really rough though. I’m so sorry about your dad.”

“It’s all worked itself out, more or less,” said Yuta. “I still miss him though. But this is all to say that you’re the person who knows best for you. The syndicate can be a great place to find community and purpose when you don’t have that anywhere else, I’ll give it that, and that’s how most of us ended up where we are. But, you have to be okay with the violence; both the threat of it against yourself and those you love and that you will inevitably perpetrate against others.”

Taeyong nodded, his eyes fluttering down to Yuta’s chest. Yuta figured that was enough heavy talk for one night. He put out his cigarette in the ashtray next to the bed and grinned, ruffling Taeyong’s hair. Taeyong smiled back.

“I’ll shut up now,” Yuta said.

“S’okay,” replied Taeyong. “Yuta?”

“Yah?”

“Can – can I stay the night?”

Yuta balked, scratching his nails over Taeyong’s neck. “Of course!” he said. “I didn’t think that was even a question. It’s too dangerous for you to go back to yours alone in the middle of the night, anyway.”

Taeyong looked relieved and he nuzzled up into Yuta’s shoulder. Yuta hadn’t been exaggerating earlier when he’d said that Taeyong’s sweetness was killing him. He only worried he might not have the natural disposition for his current line of work.

“Thanks, Shategashira .”

Yuta spluttered, poking Taeyong’s nose. “Of course. Besides, anyone who’s that good a lay deserves to spend the night.”

“Aww,” said Taeyong jokingly, “good cause you owe me anyway, I think. I hadn’t been fucked for a while and now my ass hurts.”

“I will not apologize for breaking you back in the correct way,” said Yuta, turning out the lamp by his side, and Taeyong swatted his opposite shoulder.

“Whatever, just cuddle me and I’ll get over it.”

“Get some sleep, baby. We’ll take my car to the airport tomorrow and we need to leave around eleven.”

“Oh shit, I forgot about the Triads,” admitted Taeyong, voice suddenly breathy with fatigue.

“You won’t once you’ve met them,” Yuta joked. “Goodnight.”

“’Night.”

Yuta struggled to sleep at first, still exhilarated by the night’s events and unable to shake from his mind the memory of how good Taeyong had looked under him – better than he’d even imagined. The only thing which helped pull him under was the quiet rhythm of Taeyong’s sleepy exhales.

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galos-writing · 4 years ago

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Maybe you're right. (Abbé x Best Friend!Reader)

Summary: The Abbé is tired of the Marquis's writings and you cheer him up

Warnings: the Abbé being insecure about his role, a little bit of angst, blushing Abbé, childhood friends, author's personal opinion.

Word Count: 904

- I don't want to repeat myself, Marquis! I begged you to obey me, but now I'll force you!- a thin male voice was echoing through the hallways of Charenton. Yells were usually heard in there, but you recognized that one, and you tilted your head in curiosity. Then, a loud slam crashed your ears, as you noticed the Abbé heavily stepping to the other side of the hallway. You sighed; you could bet on what just had happened, but you decided to ask the man for a confirmation. You slowly approached him, observing every move of his.

-H-Hey, what happened?- you shyly asked. -What's your best guess?- the Abbé shouted, avoiding your gaze. -The Marquis again?-

-Yes!-

-Is he keeping writing those things? I thought you agreed with it.- you said, scratching your neck, kinda embarrassed.

-I did, but I just found out that he was keeping sending his writings to his editors to publish those things, somehow!-

-Oh, you mean those little white books?-

-Yes..?-

-"Justine"?-

-Yes!- the man almost yelled, finally looking at you.

-Oh, I already knew that, then.- you replied, calmly. The Abbé remained silent for some seconds. Anxiety began to grow inside of you.

-Did you already know it? Why didn't you say anything?!- he began to shout at you. -Do you know how grievous this thing can be?! Napoleon wants to shut Charenton down!-

-Calm down, François, I-I thought it wasn't that bad!- you barely could handle his anger in that moment, and you tried to keep calm. He took a deep breath and calmed himself, too.

-Why didn't you tell me anything?- he asked, after some minute of slow and deep breathing to keep calm.

-I-I don't know, I just think that he's free to express himself as he wants and to share his work for money. That's it.-

-Oh yeah? The Emperor hasn't your same opinion, sadly. He wants to shut this place down.- The Abbé gave you a severe gaze, then he looked at one of your quills. -Do you know what did the Marquis said, (Y/N), do you want to know? He said "I represent realities that link everybody in every angle of the world, we eat, we kill, we die" or something like that.-

-Well, I--

-Then I said "Yes, but we also fall in love, we create symphonies, and we endure. Art has the duty to elevate us above the beast". Am I right?-

-Yes, but--

-And he said "This is your duty, Abbé, not mine"--

-Let me speak, Frak!!- you suddenly yelled, surprising him for the way you called him. "Frak" was the nickname that you gave him when both of you were kids. He slightly smiled when he heard that.

-I just want to say that he's free to express himself. Maybe he's representing just a side of our reality, the worst, the more animalistic one... you got the point!-

-What's the sense of my therapy, if he keeps writing that trash?- he asked, disappointed of himself.

-Think positive: he hasn't raped you, yet!- you laughed.

-Uh-huh, very funny.- he pouted, annoyed. Your heart froze by seeing his sea eyes threatening you, but you decided to keep being happy.

-Come on, Frak, I'm just mocking you! You know, to make you smile!-.

He looked at you again, but now he sweetly smiled and lightly giggled.

-Here we go, that's what I want to see on that cute face of yours!- you exclaimed, satisfied.

-My what?-

-Your cute face.-

The Abbé looked puzzled.

-Oh, come on, François, you're attractive and you're the only one that doesn't know it!- you exclaimed again, surprised.

-A-Am I...attractive?- he almost whispered, heavily blushing, but after some seconds he cleaned his throat. -I-I mean, I don't care being attractive, I only care for this Asylum and for the patients inside of it.-. His blush hadn't disappeared yet.

-Are you sure? You're red as a tomato!- you locked him again.

-Stop making fun of me, we're not 5 anymore!-

-Okay, so what do you want to do with the Marquis?- you asked, resting an elbow on his shoulder. It resulted very difficult for you, because of his tallness. He almost laughed at the scene.

-I will try and convince him not to publish his pieces anymore, but not now, I'm too tired for that.- he replied, scratching his left eye.

-Let's have some snacks, then!- you almost pushed him to go ahead.

-I can't, I'm sorry, (Y/N).- he said, resting on his place.

-Why not?- you sounded a bit disappointed, and this broke his heart.

-You know...sin of gluttony...- he didn't sound very convinced on what he was saying. Furthermore, his stomach decided to growl in that moment.

You sweetly smiled and took his hand, pulling him again.

-Come on, Abbé, a piece of cake won't send you in Hell!-

----

-Maybe you're right, (Y/N)...-

-About?- you asked, your mouth a bit covered in icing.

-The Marquis, he deserves to express everything he wants, I've been too strict with him...- he murmured, staring at the empty dish in front of him. You smiled at him.

-Don't be too severe with yourself, François. You don't deserve it. You did what you thought it could be better for everyone, and this makes you an excellent director!-

-Y-You think so?- he looked at you.

-Yes!- your smile widened, making him blush again.

-Thank you, (Y/N)!- he sweetly smiled too.

#scenario #imagine #quills #Abbé de coulmier #abbe de coulmier x reader #abbe de coulmier #joaquinphoenix #quills joaquin phoenix #x reader #Abbe de coulmier scenario

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michael-weinstein · 4 years ago

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Leave me alone!

WARNING: This post is a venting-out of boiling anger, which can amount to mental illness. Maybe not for those weak of heart, but for sure for those who caused me so much anxiety, and contrarily, those who want to help me out of this. As for everyone else, read and suffer.

Well, corona, the world is practically on fire, and what else... Oh yes. Things in the relatively more intimate world (that is, for me) - namely, school, my followings on Instagram, YouTube and email subscriptions - keep bothering me to an incredible extent. I was wanting to write this blog post since March honestly, but I didn't find the time and the need to vent everything out. Now, though, that I am really mad, I'm somewhat thankful for the opportunity, because I'm making my opinions known, and merely hoping that they get more circulation than before.

My main classical music following had been Deutsche Grammophon and Decca (through email and Instagram, and - in the case of the latter - 2 YouTube channel subscriptions), the Berlin and Vienna Philharmonic Orchestras (Instagram), Norman Lebrecht's Slipped Disc (email) and the ClassicsToday.com editor David Hurwitz (YouTube viewing). All of the following had, to a certain extent, drive me insane in the past few months, in ways that I can't describe (one time with Hurwitz, it was so much so I needed to vent my anger in this very outlet). To a certain extent, for those who remember, the same happened with the Mahler Foundation in May, but since writing that post, I've come to realize that not only this is pretty much not important (at least much less than it seemed at the time), there are far worse issues that I'll need to address (I won't yet, perhaps to get more reading and get the image fixed, but I'm hoping I will address this important issue relatively soon). My great bane with the BPO and VPO, but especially with DG, came around the time of the Salzburg Festival in August, which was itself a bane all by itself, but by having these 3 leading musical institutions being an important part of the Festival just made me go bonkers. I don't really had a problem with the Festival being held at the time, when corona cases where relatively low, as long as the Festival was being sensitive, and did things on a much smaller scale as they had said at the beginning that they would. But the moment that they do Elektra and Mahler's 6th, whatever social distancing there would occur in the audience, with so many people onstage and/or in the pit, they're just calling for trouble. It is indeed something of a miracle that there were no casualties during the Festival, but I really think it would have been smarter not to take the risk, whatever the need for culture (besides, probably only those who would attend are those who are "jet-set" and are in Salzburg every year for the wrong reasons, but I will maybe discuss that sometime). The Vienna Philharmonic were therefore one of the major partners in the crime, more so than their Berliner counterparts. But, and this is the important part, I would very much in my hoped-for career as probable pianist and maybe composer, but most as conductor, want to collaborate with the Berliners and the Viennese. They are orchestras that I maybe don't need, but I do want to make music with. The same thing can't really be said for Decca and, more importantly, DG. Interestingly, Decca almost seems dead in the way that they rarely post on Instagram, sent a newsletter or upload on YouTube, while DG is excessive beyond normal human standards. I think they post on Instagram averagely 3 times a day, upload on YouTube twice, and send a newsletter each weekend. How the hell can you bear such a thing?! There are more adventurous labels with pretty "big names" (Alpha, Chandos and Hyperion, to name just three), that I would feel more comfortable to record with, than DG, Decca and probably also Warner (I don't follow them anywhere, which is probably just as good, considering the pervious sentences).

In addition, throughout the Festival the Karajan institue also helped to bring in their own click-baiting and "martyring" of their namesake. My attitude to Karajan as man and conductor is more mixed than it was in the past (most of which can be attributed to Lebrecht), but ever since then they made me emotionally sick with statements to the effect that Karajan was the greatest conductor ever. I have to admit that I'm much more of a Bernstein fan, and that I had barely listened to Karajan recently, but the Bernstein Offices never, apart from the centenary, did interviews of the Karajan kind, and even I'm going to admit that some Bernstein interpretations are less well than some others, maybe even than Karajan's!

So now with the Salzburg band-wagoning out of the way, there are two other culprits: Hurwitz and Lebrecht. I've encountered Hurwitz fairly recently, and I should add, that I have rather mixed relations towards him. One day in the morning, I see a video he uploaded and it makes me absolutely mad (see the link above), and then in the evening he uploads a humorous roast with which I completely agree. But generally, I'm just mixed with him. My relation to Lebrecht is also mixed, though generally positive. He has just finished a survey of most of Beethoven's output. However, his behavior regarding the "Schenker storms" is either complete misunderstanding or just outright conservative foolery.

There are 2 other "classical music" personalities which I have to mention. My relation with Mark Berry is very mixed, but he hasn't bothered me as much since March, as the main activity on his blog Boulezian (shows pretty much where he is heading) is concert and opera reviews, and he didn't have much of a chance to that, so I'm thankful for that. I will give him credit though that he is actually one of 2 people whose blogs gave me the impetus to start mine.

The other one is the other "classical music" personality I want to talk about briefly, Kenneth Woods. He is music director of the Colorado MahlerFest, the English Symphony Orchestra, and writer for his blog View from the Podium. I like him very much, as I share a lot of his musical affinities - Mahler and Shostakovich, to begin with - as well as professional insights into music of (among many others) Strauss and - perhaps more importantly from an interpetive point of view these days - Beethoven. I kind of just happen to agree with many of his opinions, and even those which I didn't think of before, I agree with them because they make sense to me. I think that the reason he appeals to me, is because he's a conductor and a cellist (also used to be a guitarist, and does it in his free time!). With the exception of Hurwitz, who was a percussionist in local orchestras, everyone else I mentioned above are scholar-critics. Woods appeals to me because he's a practical musician (and he keeps a rule not to talk about any living conductors, or at least not mentioning them by name). He was an orchestral cellist, as well as a soloist and chamber music partner as well, so he experiences the actual music world of making music from both sides, as cellist and conductor. Hurwitz, Lebrecht and Berry all might have interesting observations, but their ultimate test is in the performance lab, and that is why I like Woods so much.

So far, I've dealt with classical music's personalities and industry. Now I have to deal with my friends and other Instagram followings. It's more irritating, because even though they are dishonest like the "establishment-industry", they are closer in my world in a sense. Yom Kippur was recently, and I can still remember everyone around just going "I'm sorry, God" and all the other standard things one says before Yom Kippur. WHO THE HELL ARE YOU KIDDING!!! Everyone, especially yourselves, know that we promise never to do these things again, and barely an hour has passed since Yom Kippur is out, and we come back to do those things again. Every year it happens. Everyone knows it, it is simply an open secret that nobody either needs or wants to say. I say the same on myself, by the way. Yom Kippur is a complete lie for us, because neither me, you, and even the most just and Mitzvah-keeping person on Earth, are able to keep the promises that we will get better than this. It never happens. Why do we get flodded with this? It's absolutely no worth. You say that you're "sorry about the way I insulted you"? Complete rubbish. Unless you found out that the entire situation was so stupid you can laugh about it, nobody is sorry about anything they said. The king is naked, and as the meme says, "always has been".

My classmates start growing on my nerves sometimes. The way people just ask for answers so immediately and lazily, without having tried to answer things themselves just makes me go mad. I don't have a problem if they try to do it, or if they're in a rush at the last moment, and ask some guys for answers. But when as soon as the assignment is sent, they ask for someone to do the job for practically 10 other classmates (if not more!), that's too annoying.

My teachers, however, go on a different way of making my life difficult. They don't really annoy me by poking their selfish faces at me as much as expecting me to do everything perfectly. Even those who are kinder (in a sense, since I'm one of the good boys, so kinder practically means that they teach better or are more interesting) make me mad. There are only 2 teachers (another comes close) in the entire school I'm able not only to appreciate, but also to love learning with them. Fortunately, one of them is my homeroom teacher. Without these few teachers, I wouldn't care about school at all. It could just go to hell. We currently have a shutdown, but I still remember a few weeks ago that during a math class, I needed to read my score of Shostakovich's 4th just to keep myself from making my mental health even worse than it was (and probably still is). And even during shutdown, things are not improving. Zoom calls were to be a complete waste of time, were it not for my piano lessons and (sometimes) therapist sessions. History class is especially badly taught. The teacher of that class is of the kind of "the smaller the group - the better", because when I was with her in smaller groups she truly was better. Mind you, I'm the nerd guy who loves history (though I'm probably not the only one in our class), and she managed to make history boring. That's a complete failure. Sports class is a complete waste of time in ways I can't really describe. You can only feel it.

I have though been somewhat fortunate since May and June. Because of my critique of the Mahler Foundation and its online Festival, I've got in touch with a 8th-grader (they/them) from Canada, an a college sophomore in English literature from Florida. We three formed an online gang of just us, getting together on the basis of our love for Mahler and Shostakovich. With their advice, having understood that I will need some really fitting music to get me through the year, I've decided that I will listen on my way to and back from school, as well as during breaks, to listen to nothing but Shostakovich. That plan sort of fell through pretty quickly (by which I mean, only 3 days), but Shostakovich was a great part of my phone repertoire in these first 3 weeks of the school-year. In the last week, however, Henze's Fantasia for Strings took over, and it was somewhat fitting, given that the music began its life as Henze's score for Young Törless, an adaptation of the novel by the fairly similar name of Robert Musil, by Volker Schlöndorff (his directorial debut). These two, the 8th-grader and the sophomore, are practically my main lights these times, when we sometimes meet for a call on Discord at night.

However, these few lights are still engulfed by the complete darkness and hypocrisy that surrounds me now. I've had enough! My complaints go out now especially to the education system in this country which is just reacting horribly to the situation! I can simply go crazy from that! All the Instagram personalities, do me a favor, and please do consider those who are probably less well mentally than you are, and stop showing the way you're enjoying yourselves in pools and parties. And cut the "no filter" crap! If something would have really been with no filter, it would be ordinary and dull. To quote Alex Ross, who in turn paraphrases Nietzsche, I'm done with "the lie of the grand style". Less Wagner (in his conservative bits) and his idiotic imitators, Brahms, Mendelssohn, and all those who thought that music stopped with Beethoven, more Mussorgsky, Scriabin, Schoenberg, Berg, Webern, Satie, Stravinsky, Bartok, Shostakovich, Weill, Hindemith, Weinberg, Bernstein, Britten, Nono, Berio, Henze, Messiaen, Lutoslawski, Ligeti, Penderecki, Schnittke, even Boulez and Cage. And please do more meaningful Bach, Vivaldi, Mozart, Haydn, Beethoven, Schubert, Schumann, Berlioz, Liszt, Bruckner, Tchaikovsky, Mahler, Richard Strauss, Debussy, Ravel and Sibelius.

(Quick sidenote: I have to admit, that this post was written in turns, I wasn't commited to write it. Sometimes I got super angry and vented.)

A few days ago, my sophomore friend sent me a link to a Discord server, where she, the 8th-grader and a couple other friends were part of, and asked me if I would join in. I said I would join gladly. This is my first Discord server, and therefore I've got 4 other friends. This is where I feel at home, where I belong (not in terms of family, thank God, but in terms of friends). I really do prefer being with them than with my classmates.

Our educational system is either a joke, or a gulag. What is the point to have being taught the material on Zoom, for averagely 6 and a half hours a day, 5 days a week, and putting even more workload on us than we had been in school physically, and even more than when we studied online from March to June! And then they expect us to ace through the final exams that we have in the next 2 years! Once in the past few months, I've once wondered about a question: would I prefer to ace my exams, but thereafter being so mentally and emotionally shocked that I will need psychaitric treatment? Or should I not do them at all, but still being able to do what I love doing and be happy with myself? After thinking about it for several seconds, I answered that I would prefer the latter, and ever since then I've been saying this to certain people around me unhesitatingly.

Leave me alone! I'm not able to cope with all of this! I'm feeling so empty, I don't even want to eat a whole ton, sleep a lot, or even die! I'm just empty! I'm barely able to play the piano (that is mentally), I just get tired of it almost immediately! I don't want this to happen! Everything loses its appeal to me!

Over the past few weeks, I've come to know Shostakovich's 8th String Quartet, one of the most autobiographical and depressive pieces ever written. It was composed in 1960, when he had just returned from bombed-out Dresden, where there was a movie filmed about the last days of World War II to which Shostakovich composed the music, but more importantly, it was not long after he had suddenly joined the Soviet Communist Party (probably forced to). These 20 minutes of the quartet feature throughout a musical motif - the pitches D, E-flat, C, B-natural. In German notation they are D, S (in German it's actually Es, but the pronounciation is the same), C, H (B is used in German for B-flat). The composer's name, as rendered in German is: Dmitri Schostakowitsch. This is not the first time he has been consciously using this motif (he had already been doing so for nearly a decade), but this is the most extensive use he has ever made of it. It's as if he is obsessed with himself. Shostakovich, as a result of joining the party, was obsessed with suicide, and most of his works from there on consider death, in a way he rarely did previously, death for completely fatalistic reasons, nothing to do with the authorities. The 15th String Quartet, his last, is even bleaker.

The basic point is that ever since I came to know this piece and the school year started, I've used the slogan DSCH as a symbol of protest. I can still remember having half-done math homework, and before scanning them and sending, I scribbled DSCH clearly and furiously across the top of the first page.

The last movement of Shostakovich's 8th String Quartet, a slow fugue on a theme beginning with the DSCH motif, is the movement in which Shostakovich seems to obsessed with this motif the most. And all I can say is that for the past two months, if not even more, I've been wanting to just say "Leave me alone!" for eternity, like DSCH in that movement. Leave me alone! Leave me alone! Leave me alone! Leave me alone! Leave me alone! Leave me alone! Leave me alone! Leave me alone! Leave me alone! Leave me alone! Leave me alone. Leave me alone. Leave me alone. Leave me alone. Leave me alone. Leave me alone. Leave me alone. Leave me alone. Leave me alone. Leave me alone....leave me alone...leave me alone....leave me alone....leave me alone.....leave me alone..... leave me alone..... leave me alone..... leave me alone....... leave........... me.......... alone......... leave......... me........ alone....... leave....... me....... alone............ leave............ me............. alone................ leave.............................. me.............................. alone..............................

leave me alone

#vent #salzburg festival #david hurwitz #classicstoday #norman lebrecht #slippeddisc #mark berry #boulezian #kenneth woods #mahler foundation #henze #shostakovich string quartet 8 #dsch #coronatime #corona time #gustav mahler #dmitri shostakovich

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hmel78 · 4 years ago

Text

In conversation with Keith Emerson ...

Keith Emerson (02.11.44 – 11.03.16)

The Father of progressive rock; the man responsible for the introduction of the Moog synthesiser to the ears of the unsuspecting music lover in the 1960’s; and without a doubt one of the 20th and 21st Centuries (to date) most prolific and talented composers of modern classical music. In a career spanning 6 decades, which has earned him notability as a pianist and keyboard player, a composer, performer, and conductor of his own music alongside the World’s finest orchestras; as well as achieving super success with “Emerson, Lake, and Palmer” - 2014 has been no less eventful for Keith Emerson! With his 70th Birthday approaching, Helen Robinson caught up with him for a very ‘up-beat’ chat about (amongst other things) the re-releases of his solo records, a brand new album with Greg Lake “Live at Manticore Hall”, his favourite solo works, and his memories of the times spent writing and recording with ‘The Nice’, and ‘ELP’.

HR : This has been a busy year for you so far Keith! KE : Yes! I’ve been up to allsorts! [laughs]

Music wise – what can I tell you? Cherry Red , Esoteric, have re-mastered and re-released 3 of my solo albums – “Changing States”, another which I recorded in the Bahamas called “Honky”, and a compilation of my film scores which consisted of "Nighthawks”, “Best Revenge”, "Inferno”, “La Chiesa (The Church)”, "Murderock”, "Harmagedon” and "Godzilla Final Wars”.

HR : That must have been a difficult selection to make based on the number of scores you’ve written! Do you have a particular favourite genre of film to write a score for?

KE : Favourite genre? Boy, well, I just love film score composition, you know? When I first started I had been touring with ELP for some years, and we’d toured with a full 80 piece orchestra but it was just too expensive – we had to drop the orchestra and continue as a trio, which was very upsetting for me. I was entranced by what an orchestra could actually do, and found that with doing film music I could work under a commission and have the orchestra paid for by the film company!

It’s always a challenge. I think a lot of composers like to write dramatic music. I like writing romantic music as well – I’ve also written for science fiction where you can let your musical imagination go pretty much where you want, but generally you have to cater specifically to the film. First of all I like to get a good idea of who the producer and director is, and who is likely to be cast as playing the lead roles. I like to read the script – which helps prior to meeting up with the director and producer. When I wrote the music to Night Hawks I was sent, by Universal films, news of a new film to be made by Sylvester Stallone, a new guy at the time called Rutger Hauer, and Billy Dee Williams, also Lindsay Wagner. It was basically a terrorist film – not the terrorism that we shockingly see today – but back then it was the beginning of terrorism and was quite mild by today’s standards, however it was still sort of ground breaking as far as writing the score was concerned.

It’s about vision with film score work.

Although really it’s all about vision with anything you’re writing, and I suppose many of the disagreements that ELP had during their time – of course a lot of it came to wonderful fruition – were not seeing eye to eye because we had such different tastes in music. Ubiquitous I would say – we bounded from one thing to another. Just when you thought it was getting serious we’d want to have some fun and do something light hearted but I’ve always maintained that variation is essential.

I think that’s what helped ELP quite a lot – especially live - in any particular set you had the heavy stuff like “Tarkus” and “Pictures At an Exhibition”, for the guys in the audience, and for the females who attended reluctantly - dragged along by their boyfriend or husbands and just sit there - I mean, I didn’t sit, I was standing and leaping around [laughs] but you couldn’t help notice the glum looking females in the audience wondering when all this was going to be over.

I think when ELP were together as a unit, we managed to meet everybody’s needs. Greg came up with some really great ballads which sort of got home to the feminine heart, like “From The Beginning” – the feminine heart goes “aaah aint that nice” [laughs] and then suddenly you get the bombardment of something like “Karn Evil 9” and it’s like “Oh GOD”!!

HR : I’d like to talk more about ELP, of course, however there’s so much more outside of that unit , which you have been involved with, that has had quite an influence on modern music. You’ve got an extraordinary and fairly extensive discography, which we can pick whatever you’d like to talk about, but I’d like to start with ‘The Nice’ - “Ars Longa Vita Brevis” ...

KE : Ah Yes ‘’Art is long, life is short” - Lee Jackson came up with that title - he’d studied a bit of Latin ... [laughs]

Going back to the 1960’s then – I suppose it was ‘66 when ‘The Nice’ formed – originally as a quartet. Drums, bass, Hammond organ or keyboards, and guitar player. After the first album we decided to move on as a trio, although I did try to find another guitar player. I actually auditioned a guy called Steve Howe, who was considering getting together with Jon Anderson, and Chris Squire and forming a band called “Yes”. Steve was much more interested in getting with the “Yes” guys, so meanwhile ‘The Nice’ continued as a trio with Lee Jackson on bass, Brian Davison on Drums, and myself on Hammond and keys. It was during this time that I was introduced to a new invention designed by Dr Robert Moog, which became the moog synthesiser, so I was the first to introduce that into live performance.

With ‘The Nice’ we had come out of an era called the underground / Psychedelia.

I was very friendly with Frank Zappa and the mothers of invention, and they were really far ahead of their time.

Frank approached me one day, because I was composing and playing with the London orchestras even then, and said ‘’Keith - how do you deal with English orchestras? They’re hopeless!”

And I said ‘’Well, they’re very conservative Frank. If you really want to make it with the London Symphony, or the London Philharmonic - if you really want my advice, I think you should try and change some of the lyrics of your songs. If you’re going to get in front of the London Philharmonic and sing stuff like ‘’Why does it hurt when I pee?’’ obviously these guys are not going to take very kindly to it!” [laughs]

I’d actually done Bachs Brandenburg concerto #3 with a chamber orchestra and had a degree of success in the English charts- around about the same time , Jon Lord [Deep Purple, Whitesnake] was writing his concerto for orchestra too. I’d already written the “5 bridges suite” which I had recorded with ‘The Nice’ at Fairfield hall in London. So basically Jon Lord and I were kind of both struggling with Orchestras and moving along into what came next musically for the both of us – Jon was a very good friend.

I think round about the turn of 1970, I had noticed what Steve Howe was doing and it was very harmonic, whereas ‘The Nice’ - well we were a bit more bizarre, and I listen back to it now and I suppose I have a slight bit of embarrassment about how ‘The Nice’ were presenting themselves.

And back then I’d started looking at bands like ‘Yes’, and there were a lot of other bands too, who were really concentrating on the tunes and the vocal element, so that’s when and why I formed ‘Emerson Lake and Palmer’ - in 1970 - and endorsed the whole sound with the moog synthesiser. It sort of took off, and became known as what we know today as “Prog Rock”. We didn’t have a name for it at that time, we just thought it was contemporary rock. I mean it wasn’t the blues, it wasn’t jazz, but it was a mixture of all of these things, and that’s when we went through.

The first album of ELP, [Emerson, Lake, & Palmer] recorded in 1970; we were still learning how to write together as a unit, so consequently when you listen to it, you’ll hear a lot of instrumentals; mainly because there were no lyrics and there was a pressure on the band to get an album out. For some reason there was an extreme interest in the band - We were to be considered as the next super group after ‘Crosby Stills & Nash’, which we certainly didn’t like the idea of. That album went very well. Unfortunately the record company decided to release “Lucky Man” - which was a last minute thought – as a single, and it took off. My concern was the fact that, OK yeah the ending has the big moog sweeps and everything like that going on – but how on earth do we do all the vocals live? Thousands of vocal overdubs over the top and neither Carl nor I sang. You know - I sing so bad that a lot of people refuse to even read my lips! And as far as Carl Palmer was concerned he had “Athletes Voice” and people just ran away when he sang! It was a hopeless task of actually being able to recreate “Lucky Man” on stage, so eventually Greg just did it as an acoustic guitar solo. It was that one sort of Oasis, in a storm of very macho guy stuff, where the women just went [in a girly voice] “Oh I like that, that’s nice”. [laughs]

So, inspired by that we got more grandiose and put out ‘’Pictures At An Exhibition” – another bombastic piece based upon Mussorgsky’s epic work. For some reason Greg wanted it released at a reduced price because he said it wasn’t the right direction for ELP to go. So we released it for about £1 and it went straight to number 1! Then the record company called up and said ‘’what are you doing? This is a hit record and you’re just selling it for £1??!!’’, so I said ‘’well yeah it’s a bit stupid isn’t it?” – so when it was released in America it was at its full price and ended up nominated for a Grammy award! ELP had a lot to do to create the piece you know? We disagreed on lots of issues but in order to keep the ball rolling we just moved on with the next one, which was in fact “Trilogy”.

I thought it was about this time in ELPs life that we had learned how to tolerate each other, how to write together, and how to be very constructive. “Trilogy” is a complete mish-mash, you go from one thing to another; there’s a Bolero, and then ‘Sherriff’ – which is kind of western bar jangly piano playing on it. I don’t think you could find such a complete diversity buying a record like that these days. We were very much inspired by our audience accepting that.

Actually Sony Records are going to re release it in 5.1 – they’re doing a wonderful package with out-takes and everything – I’ve just competed doing the liner notes.

We moved on again then, and started the makings of “Brain Salad Surgery” which was a step further.

After that I worked on my piano concerto played by the London Philharmonic Orchestra, and actually it’s still being performed all over the world - Australia, Poland, and in October I’m going to East Coast America to do some conducting – Jeffrey Beagle, who’s a great classical pianist, is going to perform it then, and I’m going to perform some other new works of mine.

HR : Are you likely to release a recording of it?

KE : Yes I guess it might be ... I’ll let you know. It’s a dauntless compelling challenge. I have conducted and played with orchestras before and I’m very thankful to have classical guys around me who are able to point me in the right direction. I was never classically trained. I started off playing by ear and then having private piano lessons, and then basically teaching myself how to orchestrate. I’m still taking lessons in conducting and I don’t think I’ll ever get to the standard of the greats like Dudamel or Bernstein – I don’t think I’ll ever be able to conduct Wagner, but so long as I’ve written the piece of music I think I’ve got an idea of roughly how it goes! [laughs] Thankfully I’ve worked with Orchestras who are very kind to me.

HR : Do you enjoy the performance as much as the writing?

KE : Actually I enjoy the writing more than the performance. I know I wrote an Autobiography called ‘’Pictures Of An Exhibitionist” but that’s the last thing that I am really. I’m pretty much a recluse. I’ve got my Norton 850 and I’m happy ...

HR : I was going to ask you about the Theatrics on stage – Why Knives and swords? Was there something which influenced the decision to include that as a part of your performance, or was it purely born out of frustration from working with Carl and Greg?

KE : [laughs] Well you see in the 60s, I toured with bands like The Who, and I watched Pete Townshend; I toured with Jimi Hendrix too, and I thought that if the piano is going to take off then the best thing to do is like really learn to become a great piano or and keyboard player, but I also thought “that aint gonna last with a Rock audience in a Rock situation”, mainly because the piano or Hammond organ - well from the audience you look up on stage and it’s just a piece of furniture! Whereas the guitar player can come on stage and he’s got this thing strapped around his neck, he can wander up and down the sage, check out the chicks, and he’s the guy that has all the fun. The organ player meanwhile is just seated there at a piece of furniture like he’s sat at a table. So a lot of what I did was for the excitement of it, and I suppose to exemplify the fact that I could play it back to front. A lot of my comic heroes like Victor Borg, Dudley Moore – they all came into the whole issue too.

I’ll tell you this ok? I once went to see a band at the Marquee club when it was in Wardour Street in London, and I can’t remember this guys name now, but he played Hammond organ - he was a very narky looking fellow, and went on stage wearing a schoolboys outfit which caused a lot of the girls in the audience to chuckle. I stood at the back of the Marquee club and watched his performance - a lot of the stops and things were falling off his organ, so he had a screwdriver to keep holding certain keys down, and then suddenly the back of his Hammond fell off – and I don’t think it was intentional, because he looked really quite distraught, but he caused so much laughter from the audience. I went away thinking “there is something there, I’m going to use that” ... I actually thought it would be a great idea to stick a knife into the organ, rather than a screw driver -the reason for this was to hold down a 4th and a 5th , or maybe any 5th, or say a ‘C’ and an ‘F’ or a ‘G’, whatever, and then be able to go off stage, take the power off the Hammond, so that it would just die away - it would go ‘’whoooaaaaaaaoooooh’’; and then I’d plug it back in and it would power back up and create like the noise of an air-raid siren, and of course the drummer and bass player would react to that. It got really interesting. We actually had a road manager at the time by the name of ‘’Lemmy’’ who went on to be with Motorhead. He gave me 2 Hitler Youth Daggers and said [best Lemmy impression] “here! If you’re going to use a knife, use a real one!”

So that was the start of all that, and people loved it, and actually Hendrix loved it too – somewhere in his archive collection there must be some footage of me almost throwing a knife at him [laughs] .

The phase for it was my objection to the 3 assassinations they had in the USA - JFK, Robert Kennedy, Martin Luther King - I’d been to America once and seen how quick the Police were to pull out their guns to a woman parking her car illegally – so bizarre. The 2nd amendment will not go away, as much as they want it to. I’ll reserve further comments on that but that was really the whole objective. I was banned from the Albert Hall for burning a painting of the Stars and Stripes, which took some time to get over, but everything worked and they allowed me live in California now. [laughs]

HR : What about the Manticore Hall show, also released this year, presumably you kept burning paintings off the agenda there? Was it good to work with Greg again? and then the complete ELP line up with Carl at High Voltage?

KE : No! [laughs], and Yes ... Actually that was recorded in 2010 and was an idea set up by a manager associate of mine, and an agent in California. I met up with them and they asked how I felt about doing a Duo tour to lead up to the High Voltage Festival in London. They convinced me that it was a big festival ... and the idea was to have ELP on the Sunday night there. So the lead up was a duo tour with myself and Greg because Carl was off with Asia at the time. It had its ups and downs, but it did eventually work very well and it was a very good warm up to doing that Festival date as the 3 of us. I don’t think there was any intention of us going any further with it. I think the resulting “ELP at High Voltage” was good and also I think the album ‘’Live At Manticore Hall’’ - although it wasn’t released until this year, because Greg initially didn’t want it to be released at all - is good stuff too. These things happen with bands, it takes a while for us to appreciate how good what we do is, sometimes.

HR : You’d had quite a break from ELP at that point, KE : [interrupts] I wouldn’t say that I ever take a break, if I can put it so lightly, and it’s not lightly, as to say that it’s kind of like a hobby – if I feel so inclined I will go to the piano and will write a piece of music. If that piece of music seems to warrant being augmented by anyone then I find the right people to do it. I had a great experience last year of going to Japan and hearing the Tokyo Philharmonic play the whole of “Tarkus” – a 90 piece orchestra – I’ve never been so blown away. I worked with a Japanese arranger on the orchestration, and actually used it on an album which I recorded with Marc Bonilla, and Terje Mikkelsen called “Three Fates Project”, which actually didn’t make it anywhere and I don’t know why. It’s a great album, very orchestral – I did the version of “Tarkus” on that complete with the Munich symphony orchestra. I changed it around slightly – I had Irish fiddle players coming in – I suppose, really you could refer to it as being World Music – it’s probably a great example of that. It’s not based upon the ELP solo piano composition that we did on ELPs first album. I don’t think the record companies knew how to market it you know? Was it classical? was it rock? It has the complete amalgamation of group and orchestra. Wonderfully recorded. It really is quite mind blowing. Not that I want to blow my own trumpet! Maybe if the art work had been a little more dynamic then it would have caught people’s attention. I agreed on it, but you see our names and they’re really small - I don’t think people realised who’s album it was.

HR : Have you any plans to perform it in the UK, or other parts of Europe? Scandanavia, for Blackmoon fans? Any tour plans at all?

KE : The thing is, first of all, that the direction that I am going at the moment is very orchestral. And that does take an awful lot of planning. As I say I’m going to play with the South Shore Symphony on the East Coast of America, but touring with an orchestra, as I learnt back in the late 70s with ELP, is very expensive. It doesn’t make any money if I’m perfectly honest. If someone was to come up with the cost of shipping the instruments about then ... but it’s not like dishing out the orchestral charts to an orchestra and then have The Moody Blues come on and play, and the strings do all the backing stuff, you know! This music is the music which I’ve written and really demands quite a lot of practicing.

For instance when I was recording “Three Fates” with the Munich Symphony, in Munich, I was interviewed during the break after the first day by a radio station, and they asked ‘’how do you think its going?’’ and I said “well if the orchestra are still here with me in 5 days time, I should be very surprised” [laughs] . I remember on about the 4th day , one of the members of the orchestra had obviously heard the radio broadcast. As and I walked out into the garden at break time, I passed one of the Trombonists who was smoking a cigarette and he said ‘’well we’re still here”...

There is an awful lot that can go wrong, of course, especially with orchestras. The copyist can sometimes write a b natural rather than a b flat, or they can get a whole load of other things wrong – and that’s what happened this particular recording.

Marc Bonilla actually came up to me on a break and said “I think you should go up to the control room, and look at the score mate, something doesn’t sound right”, so you can imagine the look on my face! So off I go I’m up in the control room; radio through to the rehearsal room and start going through the score and sure enough it was wrong. I don’t know why I hadn’t heard that before, but it was down to the copyists – its the same with writing a book and you give it away to the editor – they can still mess it up – as copyists do with music. And sometimes you’ll get the orchestra, and they’ll just play what’s written rather than put their hands up and say “that doesn’t sound right”, for fear of retribution I suppose – so it is frustrating, but it’s very rewarding.

The Mourning Sun, taken from “Three Fates”

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4PcOI8nDDeU

It’s been quite funny with some of these albums that Cherry Red are rereleasing. I happened to give one to my eldest son. I gave him ‘’Honky’’ and he came up to me and he said ‘’here Dad I’ve been listening to the Honky album and it’s really really good!’’ He and his friends are in their 40s now and they’ve all complimented me on it, so that’s the biggest compliment I could have really.

I was recording that album when he was about 4 years old. [laughs]

HR : Is that your favourite then? Honky?

KE : Oh yeah – I had so much fun making that album and I think it shows in it’s humour. It was great. The objective behind it was that I wanted to record with all the local bohemian people - I was living at the time in Nassau in the Bahamas. I didn’t really experience a lot of problems with the black bohemians – I got on great with them all. There were some great musicians, and I wanted to do a very ethnic album to bring to the attention of the world that we can all get on! I used to drive around Nassau in a limited edition Jeep and kids would run out and yell at me ‘’Honky!’’ and I’d wave thinking ‘that’s kind of fun’. Then, when I worked in the studio I noticed that the black musicians would all greet themselves with the ‘’N’’ word – we can’t say that now - says in an accent “Yo N ...” – so I thought ‘well if they can do that I am going to call myself a Honky!’ And they were horrified!! [laughs] So I bluntly spoke to them and I said “listen you guys call yourselves ‘’Ns’’ so I’m calling myself a Honky, and damn it I’m going to call the album that too!” [laughs]. It was a lot of fun.

*** Honky - a derogatory term for a Caucasian person.

HR : We must get something down about Blackmoon – given that this is the title of the Magazine!

KE : [laughs] ELP, Blackmoon. *sighs* Well ... I remember from this time that Carl Palmer and myself wanted to have a different producer.

It was all well and good that Greg produced all the other albums but – I don’t think it’s a very good idea for any band ; if they’re involved in the writing and the playing, and then one band member decides he’s going to be a producer too. You need someone objective to come in and say that they think it’s too long, or whatever ... whereas if you have a part in writing and playing, its obvious that you’re going to pay more attention to it, and Carl and myself really wanted an objective opinion about how to make it work. The producers that we auditioned were very familiar with ELPs work and were really considerate in how they constructed it. The main consideration - and I think really it was a difficult time because Greg could see that his role as being a former producer of ELP was going to be taken away from him. Whereas for me I felt that Greg’s attention should be more on the writing and the lyrics and other aspects. There is so much that one had to pay attention to when running a band. There are the legal, accounting, and everything else – and above all you have the creative aspect and you really cannot go into a studio and become the producer and wear all these different hats. It doesn’t work, I don’t allow that even on my own music writing. I’m quite happy to go in and play my music as long as I trust that the guy behind the music desk, and the mixing desk, are on the same page, know who I am, and what I’ve done before – so at least there is a rapport where the engineer can see what you are trying to do and he will say – “ah you know what, why don’t we try and go for that you did on Trilogy - lets try it!” You have to work with people who understand you and then you can just sit back and work on it , accept a good idea, be pushed to your limits. The thing is with Greg - he felt that he had been removed from the situation which he had most power and pride in. Whereas I think most pride he should keep as the fact that he s a damn good singer and has written some great music. If you want a great team you have to designate to the right person.

That’s why I had Lemmy as my roadie. If I hadn’t had Lemmy the knives wouldn’t have come out [laughs]. We owe Lemmy a lot! HR : Absolutely. You two should record a duet! Which Instrument would you choose? Moog, Melotron, Hammond?

KE : Hmmmmmmmm. Piano. I’ve always written on the piano. I do have a mandolin hanging on the wall here, which is out of tune at the moment. You wouldn’t want to hear me play this mandolin ...

HR : Because it’s out of tune, or just in general?

KE : [laughs] because it’s out of tune but even if it was in tune I don’t know if it would work. It looks great hanging on the wall though ...

[Keith and I were great pals - I miss him <3]

#keith emerson #lemmy #elp #prog #prog rock

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