#somehow the music is the most insufferable part

[broken-clover]

Holiday retail shifts this year are turning me into an unironic hallmark villain. Something uniquely wrath inducing about getting snapped at over 30 cent discounts while the radio blares songs about it being the most wonderful and peaceful time of year. If anyone comes within my vicinity with any song that has the words merry jolly christmas reindeer snow or bright in them or has that obnoxiously twee sounding singing that's like 50 years old or sounds like frank sinatra or has nasally small child singing I'm going to beat them with a lamppost. If they play any iteration of 'my favorite things' again I'm committing arson. I'm reaching the end of my rope. I look at the calendar and there's still two more weeks to go

[pretzel-box]

Might I humbly request more streamer au Sebastian?? I don't have a specific prompt so honestly do whatever you'd like!

SEQUEL TO THE STREAMER AU

PART 1 HERE

Tags: Doubt, Comedy, Teasing, Slightly Fluff, Streamer AU

Words: 1,6k

You glanced at the message on your screen, your eyes narrowing in playful suspicion.

“Jellybeanie_?”

Even though it was just a jumble of words on the flat screen, you could almost hear the amusement behind the way Solace wrote your username. It was a name that carried a bit of a past, a digital footprint that had followed you through your early streaming days. Your father had given you the nickname "Jellybeanie" when you were young, and it stuck, especially during your awkward teenage years when you thought beanies were the pinnacle of cool fashion. There was a bit of irony there, considering the sheer volume of cringe it represented. You had done everything to erase that phase from existence, deleting your weird selfies, throwing the beanies out and pretending you’re too cool for silly headwear—except for the username. Somehow, it had become part of your identity, both endearing and a little bit embarrassing.

"Don't judge it, Shoelaced_Seb42," you shot back with a grin, your fingers flying over the keyboard as the heat of the moment pulled you in. You could only imagine what kind of story was behind his own name. Maybe it was a wordplay with “shoelace” and “Solace,” but “Seb42”? That was anyone’s guess. There had to be a story there, too—everyone had one.

His reply came almost instantly. “Careful, doll. I don't want to reveal my edgelord side in front of a cute bean like you.”

You felt a flutter in your chest, something warm and annoyingly familiar. Damn him for knowing exactly how to get under your skin—and damn you for liking

While you had no problem flirting with Solace during your nightly gaming streams, your real-life roommate was a different story entirely. It was a cruel twist of fate, really. Your fans always talked about how well you and Solace—a famous streamer with a massive following—got along. They called you "the perfect duo," and more than a few shipped you two. They didn't know the irony of the situation. Because in reality, when you weren't "Jellybeanie_", there was no Pressured_Solace, just Sebastian.

The Sebastian who would leave his empty coffee mugs all over the apartment. The Sebastian who would blast his music at ungodly hours, regardless of how many times you'd told him you needed quiet for your recordings. The Sebastian who seemed to have made it his life mission to be the most insufferable person you'd ever met.

You had moved into this apartment months ago, both of you, lured by the promise of a prime location and cheap rent—only to discover that you couldn't go five minutes without bickering over something mundane. The Wi-Fi. The thermostat. The last of the milk.

"Seriously, Sebastian," you muttered under your breath the next morning after your midnight chat with Solace, staring at the empty carton of milk your roommate left in the fridge. "Is it too much to ask for you to throw this out? Or better yet, buy more?"

Sebastian sauntered into the kitchen, tousled black hair sticking up at odd angles, a lazy grin on his face. "Morning to you too, sunshine," he said, ignoring your frustration completely. He tossed his phone onto the counter and grabbed a can of energy drink from the pantry. "Did you see my note?"

You rolled your eyes, exasperated. "Yeah, I saw it. It was crumpled up in the trash. Nice touch."

He just smirked, leaning back against the counter as he cracked open the can. "You know, I think you secretly love our little banter," he said, taking a sip and watching you with those infuriatingly bright eyes of his. He was definitely teasing you, his tone wasn't like Solace his…Sebastian was the ungodly opposite, annoying, mean and insufferable.

"Love is a strong word," you shot back, fighting the urge to hit him with the empty milk box. He had this way of getting under your skin, making you react, and he seemed to take endless delight in it.

When night fell and the cameras turned on, it was a different story. As Jelly you felt like you were seeing a different side of life by spending time with Solace. The witty banter, the playful teasing over the text messages—it felt real. More real than the stupid arguments with your roommate over dish duty or who got to use the bathroom first in the mornings.

You’d been doing collaborative streams with Solace for months now. What had started as a random pairing in a popular online game had quickly turned into a regular thing, and your viewers loved it. There was a chemistry there—an undeniable spark that had even you questioning what was real and what was just for show.

And the more you streamed together, the more you found yourself looking forward to those late-night gaming sessions. The way he made you laugh, the way he’d check in to make sure you were okay if things got too intense in-game. There was a kindness to him—a depth that you didn’t see in the Sebastian you shared your living space with.

“So, Jelly,” his voice crackled through your headset, bringing you back to the game at hand. “What’s the plan? You gonna carry us to victory, or should I start writing my will now?”

You chuckled, glancing at the chat as messages flew by. Your viewers were eating this up. “I don’t know, Solace,” you replied, your tone playful. “Maybe I’ll let you die first and then come in for the save. Would make for great content.”

He laughed, a sound that sent a small thrill through you. “Always thinking about the content. That’s why you’re the best.”

You felt your cheeks warm at the compliment, a smile tugging at your lips. Damn him. Why did he have to be so... nice? And why did you have to like it so much?

It was nearly 3 a.m. by the time your stream ended. You stretched, feeling the fatigue settle into your bones. As you stepped out of your room, you were startled to find Sebastian in the kitchen, rummaging through the fridge.

He looked up as you entered, a frown on his face. “Late night?” he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

You rolled your eyes, too tired to muster up a proper retort. “Like you’re one to talk,” you muttered, grabbing a water bottle from the counter.

For a moment, there was an awkward silence, the kind that seemed to fill every corner of the small apartment. Then, out of nowhere, he asked, “Do you ever… wonder what your online friends are like in real life?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden change in tone. “What do you mean?”

He shrugged, looking uncharacteristically thoughtful. “I mean, it’s easy to get along with someone when you’re just a username and a voice on a screen. But in real life… things are different.”

You studied him for a moment, unsure of where this was coming from. “Yeah,” you said slowly. “I guess you’re right. People can be… different.”

He nodded, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer before he turned back to the fridge. “Anyway, good night,” he said over his shoulder as he grabbed a snack and headed back to his room.

“Good night,” you replied, watching him go. You couldn’t help but wonder about the sudden shift in his demeanor. The whole conversation was just a giant question mark and you didn't understand where the sudden question came from.

A week passed, and you couldn't stop thinking about that night in the kitchen. Your streams with Solace were becoming more frequent, and with every passing game, you felt that connection deepening. It was confusing. Especially after Sebastian's words from last week, you actually don't know much about Solace. What he looks like, what his job is, if he has a partner…God he could be a 65 year old man named Josh that drives a truck and eats Hamburgers every day for lunch. He could be anyone.

And then, one fateful night, everything changed.

You were streaming a new co-op game with Solace when a message popped up in the chat from a mutual fan. “Wouldn’t it be crazy if Jelly and Seb were roommates IRL?”

You laughed it off, typing a quick response. “Yeah, imagine that chaos!”

Seb responded with a chuckle, “We’d probably drive each other insane.”

But the thought lingered. Your eyes drifted over to his username again—Pressured_Solace. You hated the feeling of having a crush on someone who was out of reach, someone who had not a face and not a real name. And it crushed you not to know if you would ever know more about him. Wondering if all the flirting and the jokes were just a facade for the streams or if he actually tries to get close to you.

Your sudden silence must have been noticeable because Solace his voice came through your headset, concerned. “Jelly? You okay?”

You swallowed hard, trying to compose yourself. “Yeah, I… I just thought of something.”

“Like what?” he asked, sounding genuinely curious.

“Nothing,” you replied quickly, too quickly. “Just… something funny. I'll tell you later.”

But as you ended the stream, you knew there was no way you were going to let this go. Not without finding out the truth behind Solace.

The stream ended, the microphone turned off and you leaned back into your chair, fumbling with the cables of your headphones.

“Solace?” Your fingers moved on the glowing keyboard, texting him on discord. The most healthy thing was confrontation instead of confusion and you collected your courage to ask him for a picture.

“What's up, Jellybeanie!~”

“Can I get a picture?” It didn't take long till he replied with a spoiler-covered picture, adding a secretive emoji that holds a finger in front of their mouth. Your heart skips a beat, anxiety and excitement rushing through your mind and you click on the image with shaky hands.

It was a fish. He trolled you.

“SOLACE!”

“ALR ALR CHILL BEANIE!1!1”

He send another picture.

And in a single moment, it hit you hard.

And you screamed.

[onelastskip]

oh joyous day, my our life now and forever mc, Rena Michou!

Just a bunch of doodles for now I'll do a full body ref and make it purettyy later, maybe… ahh side note i need to learn how to draw tam and qiu qwq something just doesn't look quite right.

and now time to ramble about her: (warning very long)

EDIT: WHY DID NOBODY TELL ME IT SAYS 8W3??? she's supposed to be a 8w7 😭😭😭

She was pretty stand-offish and cold to Tam and Qiu when she first met them, she did not like Qiu at all, from her perspective her Ma's moved her to this town in the middle of nowhere, she accidentally goes into someone's backyard (clearly no way for her to know smh) but she's being the better person and apologising only for him to make fun of her??? Terrible manners. Not only that but he's a show off and has an insufferably smug grin. Not to mention he acts like he knows everything (it's okay when she does it, she's not from a random town in the middle of nowhere).

She still lets him tag along when she goes to find the mystery air plane sender because she's nice like that (how hard was that jeez!) And while Tamarack is loud, she looks a hell of a lot better in comparison to Qiu. Anyway this goes on for a bit with her being annoyed at basically everything he does and tolerating his presence because she's nice (it's because of Tamarack and her Ma). She is however very startled when Qiu gives her the welcome note, she definitely thinks it's a prank or disingenuous, but gosh dang it, he looks so happy she's polite so she'll say thank you.

She starts liking him after the park where they race and she wins, and opposite to all her expectations - because this is something he's been most proud of, he doesn't get upset or annoyed he's even more happy somehow… And that's when she has to accept everything she thought about this guy was wrong.

Some more random stuff about her personality and yeah:

She doesn't get most jokes, and she can't tell teasing apart from being genuinely cruel which is- yeah mostly why she doesn't get along with Qiu at first.

She thrives on the challenge, she's always down to do the riskiest thing for the greatest reward, she likes beating the odds (and proving people wrong).

She places a lot of value on following rules and being polite, two things that have been repeated to her basically her whole life (because she struggled with that growing up), so now she's very opinionated/black and white about it.

She likes listening to rock/alternative music mostly, probably tries picking up the guitar in the future- she'd be bad at it.

She likes strategy and puzzle videogames, absolutely terrible at racing, fighting, and rhythm games.

She's got no problem telling someone no respectfully and doesn't like to compromise at all - but even more she hates other people doing her favours, so she takes the path of least inconvenience.

She really wants to be independent and prove she's responsible and can take care of herself, however she still really respects her Ma

She values getting good grades a lot and she's pretty advanced however her Ma didn't want her to move up grades because of her social development. She is not a big fan of this, probably one of their biggest arguments.

She wasn't exactly bullied persay- but she didn't have any friends before Tam, which is probably in part due to her prickly personality but yeah, not a big fan of people her age.

bonus ms paint scribble because she's so cool !

[queenofthekings]

ᴘʟᴀʏɪɴɢ ᴡɪᴛʜ ꜰɪʀᴇ, ᴘᴀʀᴛ ɪ (ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ ʜᴇʀᴇ)

Summary: You are part of the biggest girl group on the planet, Eddie is the face of the biggest rock band of the century. A chance meeting at Coachella sends both of you into what would be the biggest love affair in music history; if only people knew about it.

Pairing: Rockstar!Eddie x K-Pop Idol!Reader

Author's note: My love for K-Pop and Stranger Things/Eddie Munson in one fic? It's more likely than you think. If you don't know much/anything about the K-Pop world, not to worry, I'll be going over some of it in this fic! I'll try to keep the Korean honorific names to a minimum but I do wanna try to keep things as plausible as possible.

Disclaimer: In this fic, I have specified that Reader is not Korean or Asian. As someone who is white; I didn't feel it was right to write a POC character. Please be respectful.

CW: 18+, mentions of unhealthy eating habits, obsessive fan behaviour, toxic work environments, swearing, a little NSFW content, sexting, no use of Y/N but Reader's stage name is Luna.

Tagging: @munsonsbtch @impmunson @binickmiller @ali-r3n @stevesjockstrap

Word count: 2.6k

Any hate will not be tolerated, constructive criticism is welcomed.

APRIL 2019

Coachella was the biggest music festival in the world and playing there was an honour and a privilege; and while Eddie knew this, he found a lot of the hype around it insufferable. He never felt like his band belonged up there with the lights of Beyonce and Justin Bieber, even when Corroded Coffin had exploded with popularity, the larger venues they’d play out would never compare to the smaller shows.

Disliking Coachella when you perform there is one story, disliking Coachella and ending up in the crowd of one of the most talked about acts of the whole festival another matter entirely. But somehow, Gareth had convinced him to leave the tour bus to watch one performance. Only one.

“Why are we even here?” Eddie yelled into Gareth’s ear, trying to make sure he was heard over the screaming and cheering fans that surrounded them. The show hadn’t even started yet but the crowd was already at deafening levels.

“I thought it was high time you experienced a new genre of music,” Gareth yelled back, giving him a smug grin. “Plus, I hear one of the members of the group is a fan of ours.”

Eddie shrugged, knowing that Gareth was right in saying it was time to experience some new music outside of his usual comfort zone. And given the way the stage was set, the flags and lightsticks people were waving and demographic of the crowd; this was definitely outside of his comfort zone. “Who even are they?” he asked, grabbing his phone from his pocket.

Before he had a chance to type a single letter into Google, Gareth took his phone and pulled up a Wikipedia page for the group. “This is them. And before say anything, don’t judge the group before you listen to them.”

Eddie raised an eyebrow at his bandmate before looking at the page, giving Gareth even more of the side-eye.

Chain Reaction is a South Korean girl group formed by YG Entertainment, consisting of members Yoohyeon, Luna, Dahyun, and Yuqi. The group debuted in August 2016 with the digital single “Whistle”.

“K-Pop? Really, Gareth?”

“I said not to judge!” Gareth shrugged, just as the music began starting, causing both of them to look up. Eddie’s ears were already beginning to ring from how loud the fans were screaming; he was used to hearing fans through his in-ear during shows, but this was on a whole other level. Eddie didn’t pay much attention until he noticed the cropped t-shirt on one of the members, recognising the design and logo.

His heart skipped a beat, his mouth dropping open as he looked at Gareth who took the words right out of his mouth, leaning over to shout directly into his ear. “Yup, that’s a Corroded Coffin shirt, she’s a massive fan.”

Eddie chuckled a little to himself, shouting back into Gareth’s ear. “Maybe this won’t be so bad.”

After a couple of songs, the group began their introduction, all speaking in perfect unison and bowing to the still screaming audience. “Hello, we are Chain Reaction!”

A girl with dyed dark blue hair spoke up first, clearly showing her leader position. “Hello, Coachella, my name is Yoohyeon and I’m so thankful you all came out to see us!”

The crowd screamed as a response, causing the group to laugh and clap long. Then you spoke up, your long blonde hair making you stand out against the other members. “Hello, everyone,” you began, and Eddie’s heart instantly melted at your soft voice, especially at your accent. “My name is Luna, and I hope you enjoy the show.” You bowed a little, pulling down your shirt a little to make sure it wasn’t exposing too much.

As the other members introduced themselves, Eddie could hardly focus on them, he was far too interested in staring at you. He vaguely knew Yuqi had natural dark brown hair and Dahyun had dark purple hair – the only way he knew he could remember to tell them apart, probably a move from their manager so people could tell the difference.

Gareth noticed him staring, giving him a nudge. “Somebody’s got a crush.”

He glared back. “I just think she’s cute, completely not my type.”

Gareth gave him the look of “yeah, we’ll see about that”, already knowing that Eddie would at least attempt to hook up with you after the show. It was inevitable, it happened at any event or show he attended. The only thing Eddie Munson loved more than music, was women. It was rare if his hotel room didn’t have a groupie in it; and being the biggest rock band in the world meant there was an abundance of them wherever they went, Eddie would always have one on his arm by the end of the night.

Although the idea of you and Eddie together was adorable – a rock legend and a pop princess together? You’d be media darlings – although Gareth knew it would be like playing with fire. The fans of both of your groups would rip both of you and the relationship apart, the constant invasion of privacy from fans and the press alike would be almost unbearable.

But that’s the downside to being a public figure and dating someone just as well-known as you are.

Eddie wasn’t known for long term dating, either. The longest relationship Gareth had ever seen him in was his ��high school sweetheart”, Chrissy Cunningham, only ended up lasting less than a year. Every other girl he’d been with wouldn’t last longer than a few weeks, he’d always blame it on his career, but Gareth knew that in reality, Eddie just didn’t want to be tied down to one person.

You, on the other hand, had no public relationship history. Being a K-Pop idol left almost no time for dating or even much of a social life outside of groupmates; and if a female idol was seen with a male idol outside of activities, fans would go wild and instantly assume they’re dating and usually boycott the idols for “betraying” them.

Once the group finished their final song; the crowd screamed and cheered, causing almost every member to look as if they were ready to burst into tears of happiness. The four of you joined hands to bow towards the audience as a thank you before you spoke up. “Coachella, we have been Chain Reaction; thank you very much and goodnight!”

Eddie kept his eyes on you, almost unable to take his eyes off you. You gave one last smile to the crowd, waving as you turned to lock eyes with Eddie. Even through the pandemonium that surrounded both of you, it all seemed to dissolve as if you were the only ones there.

You had to be almost dragged off the stage by your bandmates otherwise you would’ve spent all night just staring at Eddie. But even while you were being dragged off stage, you were desperately trying to find Eddie’s eyes again. You hoped you would be able to properly talk to him, even if you had to do it behind your manager’s back.

Backstage, the staff were cheering and applauding you and the band, giving their congratulations, and offering fans and water. You sprinted towards Yoohyeon, wrapping your arms tightly around your senior. The pair of you hugged tightly as you both broke down in floods of tears.

“This is all we ever dreamed of, unnie,” you sobbed, taking a tissue from a staff member to dab at your eyes, being careful not to ruin your makeup. Yoohyeon took the tissue from you and began trying to stop your tears. “I’m so proud of you.”

Yoohyeon laughed through her own tears, not caring if they ruined her makeup. “I’m proud of us, we’ve worked so hard for this, and you were perfect.”

You laughed a little through your tears, turning to the other two members and motioning them to come over and join in a group hug. Although there was only about a month between the two of you; Yoohyeon was definitely the older sister and mother of the group, and you were the baby sister who needed looking after and a lot of hugs.

You’d always been extremely close, even since your trainee days. Every night, you would tell each other that you’d debut together, no matter how hard you’d have to train or what you had to sacrifice.

But every member had sacrificed so much even to just get past the first audition; you’d given up school, friends, family, any chance of a normal life for one tiny shot at making it. But in that moment, all four of you knew that all the blood, sweat and tears you’d all poured into training was worth it. You’d all made it.

Walking arm in arm with Yoohyeon, the pair of you walked down the stairs to the artists area away from the stage, always looking back every few moments to check your younger bandmates were following behind both of you. You tapped Yoohyeon’s arm to stop her to let your members catch up, so all four of you could give your manager, Steve a celebratory hug.

As soon as you stepped into the artists area and saw Steve, you couldn’t control the excitement and relief of the performance; you screamed and sprinted towards him, jumping into his arms, and barely giving him enough time to catch you. You got on well with Steve, he became like a big brother to you and your fellow band members, even if he was a little strict with the four of you, but it certainly came out of a place of love and wanting the best for all of you.

“You were amazing out there,” Steve hugged you tightly, pressing a kiss to the side of your head as he slowly let you down out of his arms and handed you a water bottle with a straw in the top.

“Think we won ‘em over, boss?” You asked, smirking as you placed the straw in the side of your lips.

“Won them over? You guys have done more than that, Twitter is exploding, you’re the top five trends on Naver, you guys are all anyone’s talking about,” Steve grinned.

“We’ve made it!” You shouted in unison with your band mates, before all of you laughed and hugged. Sure, Chain Reaction was very successful in South Korea, but this was a whole new level of success and recognition. All eyes were on your group and despite that new level of pressure, you all thrived under it; the challenge was exciting to all of you.

Your bandmates took their seats and chatted excitedly amongst themselves, while you leaned against the wall, taking in every moment around you. You hadn’t even realised you’d zoned out until Eddie was stood in front of you. “I know I’m beautiful, but you could at least take a picture if you’re gonna look that much,” he smirked.

You blinked a million times in a second, partly to snap yourself out of your zoned out state but also partly because you could hardly believe your eyes that Eddie Munson – the Eddie Munson – was stood in front of you. You’d been starstruck almost ever since you arrived in California several days beforehand, but this was on a whole other level.

The memories of listening to Corroded Coffin late at night during your trainee days flashed through your mind a million miles an hour, how much their lyrics kept you going when you thought you might quit and how you’d spend so much of your free time watching their performances, hooked on Eddie’s stage presence.

And now he was here in front of you, talking to you.

It was all so surreal.

You blinked again, clearing your throat. “Sorry, I completely zoned out.”

Eddie laughed, nodding his head. “Happens to a lot of people, did you wanna get out of here? Go somewhere a little quieter?”

You nodded and before you could even say a word, Eddie took your hand and led you out of the area and around the back of the crowds of staff and tents, towards Corroded Coffin’s tour bus. You somewhat wanted to protest but you weren’t about to stop this once in a lifetime chance to talk with Eddie, so you kept your mouth shut as he opened the door for you to get inside before following you inside.

“Don’t worry, everyone else is enjoying the festival, they’re not gonna be back for a while. Can I get you a drink?” He asked, moving past you towards a small fridge.

You bit your bottom lip as you walked through the bus, taking a seat at the table. “Just some water… or a Coke if you have it.”

“Lucky for you,” he pulled the fridge door open and pulled out a water bottle and a small can of Coke, placing both on the table before sitting down opposite you. “I have both.”

You smiled softly as you took both drinks, taking a long sip of the cold water. “I suppose I haven’t really introduced myself; everyone calls me Luna,” you held out your hand towards Eddie.

Instead of shaking it, he took it and pressed a kiss to the back of your hand. “And what’s the name your mother gave you? Not the name the company gave you.”

Blushing darkly, you whispered out your birth name. It had been so long since anyone had even asked your real name that “Luna” more or less became your real name. But Eddie seemed to actually want to get to know you, the kiss on the hand was just a cherry on top.

“Beautiful name,” he mused. “It suits you better than the crappy stage name they gave you. How’d you even allow it to happen?”

You laughed softly as you took your hand back, wrapping it around the Coke can. “I was sixteen and very naïve when I came to Korea.”

“You were only sixteen?”

You nodded. “I auditioned for the company when I was about sixteen and then I moved to South Korea a few months later, it all happened pretty fast when I look back at it. I debuted when I was twenty.”

He sat back in the chair. “Looks like we debuted at the same age, I was twenty when our first album came out.”

“I never realised that! I listened to you guys throughout my whole trainee period, it really helped keep the passion for music alive for me.”

He smiled softly. “Well I’m glad it helped at least one person, that’s all that matters honestly. So… tell me more about you.”

You smiled back at him, leaning forward in your chair to get closer to him, beginning to babble about yourself, all the while he just looked at you with such care in his eyes, hooked on your every word.

After almost an hour, talk got to your company and just how hard it was being an idol. “Under contract, we’re not allowed to; drive, buy a car, smoke, drink, date, go clubbing, get plastic surgery, get tattoos, travel for a holiday, write and produce our own music, have control over our own money or our image. We can’t even show our faces in vlogs our friends have made.”

He raised his eyebrows. “I’m pretty sure that’s slavery.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Trust me, this is heaven compared to how contracts used to be.”

He chuckled a little, placing a hand over yours. “Listen, I should let you get back to your members or your manager might have my head, but could I get your number and we could do this again sometime?”

You smiled, nodding. “Of course.”

[bandnerdlevel43]

Day Three- Reunion (Modern)

Lu Legend x Ravio (Ravioli) 

Summary: Ravio has been off on a business trip with Hilda for a month now, and Legend has been getting lonely. Now he's coming back- right on the day of the chain’s jazz band performance.

Word Count: 6,911 (This is a long one)

Warnings: If you read my first fic, you know I don’t swear but it’s there for the vibe; Legend has anxiety, Legend has a flashback in a flashback involving non graphic stab wounds and a reference to his dead uncle, improper use of a trumpet spit valve, Fable is a menace, Four has to deal with her, author has several agendas and she is pushing ALL of them today, fluff at the end, super über long fic

A/N (Please read this, it's important): I'm back! I procrastinated this one for way too long, but I finally finished it! I somehow also managed to finish day four and five before this one, so those will also be posted with this. Go check them out here and here!

…Anyways, it's time for me to come clean. I'm a band kid. And a proud one, too. I saw this post and went absolutely nuts, so of course I had to write about a jazz band au. Give the post some love (since op is inactive) because most of it was the basis for this au.

Important part: The last song they play in this fic is “Want You Gone” by the 8-Bit Big Band, feat. Benny Benack III, and I suggest you listen to it! The lyrics are hilarious but if you don’t listen to it before the fic itself you’ll get lost very easily. If you see any music words you’re unfamiliar with, either throw me an ask or you can look it up on your browser. Sorry for the long note; I hope you enjoy!

----

Good news: We’re on our way back! We’ll be home by the twenty-third.

We have a performance that day.

I won’t see you.

I can drop in. Don’t worry! We’ll make it, I promise.

Alright. Love you.

I love you too, Link.

“Texting your boyfriend?” Fable chirped.

Legend jumped, shielding his phone and glaring at his sister. “None of your business,” he spat.

Fable grinned, toying with the reed in her fingers. “You sure you don’t have that message memorized?”

“Shut up,” he hissed.

Wind blew into his trombone, imitating a wolf-whistle while wiggling his eyebrows. Legend snorted. “Real mature, Sailor.”

Sky paused the plucking of his bass’s strings, his eyes flicking from his tuner to Legend as his brows furrowed. “Isn’t he coming back today?”

“Yep,” Fable trilled gleefully. “And Legend is beside himself with lovesickness!”

“Fable!” Legend growled. Great goddesses, could she be any more insufferable?

Well, apparently she could. “His lonely heart, separated from his lover for what seemed like years,” she sighed, swooning dramatically. “Tonight they'll reunite in a passionate embrace, proclaiming their love to-”

Twilight appeared from behind her and swatted her upside the head. “Leave ‘im alone,” he chided. While Fable scampered away, giggling, he tossed a tiny bottle to Wind, who snatched it out of the air. “Slide grease.”

“Thanks, Rancher.” Wind saluted. 

“Anything you two need?” Twilight asked, looking at Sky and Legend. Both shook their heads. 

“Hey, Twilight!” Four sauntered up to the small gathering, tenor sax slung over his shoulder by the strap. “We need cork grease over here.” He blinked at Legend and pointed out needlessly, “Your face is red. You okay?”

Legend didn't think his face could heat any further. He was wrong. “I'm fine,” he muttered.

“He's just madly in love,” Wind said mischievously. Both Fable and Sky snickered. He glared at them, Sky in particular. I thought better of you, bird boy.

Four's lips twitched upwards in a smirk. “Ah. This is about Ravio.”

Legend dropped his head into his hands with a groan. Fable, for some bizarre reason that Legend couldn't place, thought this was hilarious, and cackled.

“Reign it in, loverboy.” Four leaned against the wall. “You still need to warm up, and no one likes to hold a cold hand.”

Legend kicked at his knee. “Watch it,” he threatened, “Or I'll make your lifespan as short as you are.”

A chorus of “oohs” sounded around the room. Four chuckled, patting him on the shoulder. “Cheer up. You'll get your kisses soon.”

Fable howled hysterically, slapping her thigh. Legend could feel how red his face was as Four ran through the smuggest scale he had ever heard. It wasn't even that witty, but Wind was still squeaking like a chipmunk, and of course Sky snorted. Twilight at least was trying his hardest to appear indifferent, but Legend knew how hard it was to keep one's composure when Fable leans on you for support while wheezing directly in your ear.

“Ledge!” Wars hollered from backstage. “Get your sorry backside over here; I want to run through this song with you.”

Legend aimed one last petty kick at Four before standing. He hefted his case and stomped off, pointedly ignoring the way Fable pretended to faint into a scandalized Twilight's arms, crying, “Save me, Mister Hero!”

That shook him more than he'd have liked to admit. He bit his tongue to keep from throttling Fable for making fun of Ravio. Well, even if she hadn't mocked him, he still would've done it. And she still would've deserved it.

Wars watched him approach, his expression neutral. Legend thrust open his case aggressively and jammed the various pieces together. His jaw was tense and he avoided Wars’ gaze.

“Careful,” his brother commented. “You'll scratch her.”

Legend exhaled a controlled breath and quelled the ache in his gut that shouldn't exist in the first place. He suffocated it with thoughts of flats and sharps, of staccatos and tenudos, of the cool metal on his lips and fingertips, and of the notes both painted on the page and burned into his very soul. It was a familiar ritual that helped ease a bit of himself into the music, breathing color into the diverse melodies, rhythms, and even his brothers. It never failed, even when Fable did it with him.

Until today.

Somehow, his thoughts still circled back to his blasted boyfriend. His cheery grin had that same brightness as the sheen on his trumpet. His eyes danced with the same mischief that Sky eased from his bass. His arms would envelop him, soothing in a way that reminded him of playing with his brothers and sister. His tears spoke the same words as an instrument in need of care: always frustrated with himself and never anyone else. His hands- they shook before adversity. Just how Legend's own trembled right then, his mind's eye suddenly brimming with images of hundreds of people, Ravio in the midst of them, staring unsympathetically as his fingers stuttered. 

Legend cursed, his hands dropping to his sides. He flattened himself against the wall, sinking to the floor. Hylia, he could already tell he was going to mess up badly.  He had practiced these songs with the others for weeks, and it was about to mean nothing. To make matters worse, he had a solo. Not any old solo, either, but an improvised solo. Improvising solos was nothing new to him. This stabbing pain was new. It twisted at his heart like a common school bully to a poor victim's shirt. Loneliness (And yes, Farore strike him down, but Fable was right. He was lonely.) had him at its mercy. And now, Ravio was so close. Legend was going to fumble the solo in front of him, and that fear alone blurred his thoughts until he couldn't discern one tangled bundle of nerves from another.

Wars sat down next to him. He laid a hand on Legend's shoulder and asked softly, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Legend shook his head hopelessly. There was nothing he could say that Fable hadn't said already. Besides, with how Wars fixed him with those knowing eyes, he understood better than Legend himself did.

“Breathe with me, alright?” Wars let go of his shoulder, hand gesturing to his chest. Legend didn't have much pride to lose, so he complied. When Wars' chest rose, he breathed in. When it sank, he breathed out. In, two, three, four. Hold… Out, two, three, four. It didn't take much time before Legend grew irritated, thinking that this was taking too long. His time would be better spent practicing! He should be tuning, warming up, looking over his music again, anything! Not some barely effective breathing exercise that his brother only did when Wind was having stage fright, or when Sky struggled through an asthma attack. Or when Wild had a particularly bad flashback. Or when Rulie awoke, screaming, from a nightmare. Did… Did he really look that bad? That distressed?

Wars lifted his trumpet to his lips. “Tune me.”

With that, the sound of the instrument filled the room. Wild’s snare hidden in the corner rattled in complaint. He forced himself to block it out and focus on the note as it wavered in his ears, settling on something just a little off. “Pull it out,” Legend said, nodding to the tuning slide.

Wars adjusted the slide, and the pitch dropped. Well, now it's flat, Legend thought irritably. He pointed upwards. This time, Wars shifted the position of his lips on the mouthpiece, which finally sharpened the tone enough to satisfy the two of them.

“Keep playing.” Legend lifted his own trumpet to his face. He played the same note until they matched, then tested a handful of notes that harmonized with his brother's. There was not a single sign of dissention between the two. What he would give to simplify his emotions like that. 

“Ready?” asked the man beside him. 

“As I'll ever be,” Legend mumbled.

Wars patted him on the back and helped him up. “Remember, it's just like any other performance,” he assured him. “Just keep playing, and you'll do great “

“Thanks,” Legend grunted. 

“Don't worry about it.” Wars smiled. “Let's run through the program. Start on my mark: one, two, ready…”

Wild, Flora, Time and Hyrule returned with dinner. Those who remained behind joined them to eat. The meal was quick, consisting of a tray of sandwiches and a bowl of salad. Legend didn't feel like eating. Everyone, including him, was eager to get back to practice, now as a full band, and they wasted no time in getting to it.

Rehearsal flew by uncomfortably fast. Everything went smoothly, if by smoothly, one meant “absolute disaster”. Oh, everyone else was fine. Legend made too many mistakes. This only gave Fable and Wind more ammo to torment him with, and only after a harsh reprimand from Wars did they stop. He wanted to feel grateful for his intervention, but the seed had already been planted. Now it was performance time, and he couldn't help the sudden panic that attacked him. He hyperventilated. His hands were clammy and they shook uncontrollably. Only Hyrule's calm comfort prevented him from losing control.

“Shhh,” Rulie whispered, rubbing his hands gently. “It'll be okay, Legend, I promise.”

“I can't do it,” he gasped, feeling lightheaded. “I can't go out there.”

“Yes, you can,” Rulie told him forcefully. “You're going out on that stage and you're going to sound amazing.”

“I'm going to mess up,” Legend said, his voice wobbling. “I'm going to ruin the whole performance in front of him-”

“No, you won't,” he interrupted. “And even if you did, his opinion of you won't change. Ravio loves you no matter what.”

Legend didn't respond. Rulie squeezed him in a quick hug and guided him to where the rest of the band waited. “Breathe,” he reminded him.

Time nodded at the two of them. He handed Rulie his bass guitar, who accepted it graciously. “Are you two boys ready?”

“Yup,” Rulie responded confidently.

Wild bared his teeth in a grin, twirling a drumstick in his fingers. “Let's light ‘em up, boys.”

Fable and Wind both whooped, each bodychecking Four. Legend swallowed hard.

With that, they walked onto the stage. Applause immediately assaulted his ears, causing him to wince. He squinted into the spotlights, their dazzling beams glaring daggers into his eyes.  He searched the crowd anxiously, his heart thumping when he couldn't find Ravio. He wanted to slap himself for that. His head yelled at him to just focus. 

Instinctively, he glanced at Rulie. The freckle-dotted face smiled encouragingly, mouthing, “You got this!”

He had to admit, that lifted his spirits, just a little. He took his place at his designated music stand and stared it down, scowling at each note.

“You better not ruin this,” Legend whispered menacingly.

Wars, who had just joined him at the stand, shot him a funny look. “What?”

“Not you,” Legend muttered.

Time stepped up to the microphone. He started his usual introduction, and the crowd quieted to hear his words. Legend hardly listened. His mind was on his sweaty palms. He wiped them on his pants with a soft curse. Did his own body think wringing itself dry of any liquid was going to help him? Brushing his hair out of his eyes also resulted in damp droplets on his fingertips.

“Ledge,” Wars said in a hushed tone, “stop chewing your lip.”

Legend wanted to punch him. He was only trying to help, though, which of course made him want to punch him more. Still, he restrained himself, both from hitting Wars and from giving into his anxious habits.

Cheering announced the end of Time's speech. The old man dipped his head and swept his arm, gesturing at Wild. Wild smiled broadly, raised his drumsticks, and hollered with his typical unhinged energy the usual countdown: “ONE, TWO! ONE, TWO, READY, GO!”

A snap of wood on snare and a plethora of clicks on the hi-hat cracked through the air. Sky plucked an upbeat rhythm on his bass. Hyrule and Wind joined next, hopping from high to low, up and down, badum, badum. Fable’s entrance infused the band with her bright, energetic spirit. She swung and leaped from note to note while the bass drum thrummed in Legend's chest. Fable climbed a scale and Four came in to support her. She hit the top, held it, and cued the rest of the band. Legend was unwillingly swept away by the current of music that was too fast, too quick.

And, of course, thoughts of Ravio came unbidden into his head.

“Do you remember when we first met?” Ravio murmured. “That day in the alley…”

Legend snorted. How could he forget? “Of course I remember.”

He let himself be twirled beneath his partner's arm before once again taking the lead. The two swayed in time with the music amidst the crowd of people, their movements not quite in sync compared to the others. Frankly, he was surprised how natural Ravio made it seem, considering how stiff Legend was. They'd made progress since their first time dancing, and although Legend kept tripping over himself in self-consciousness, they were doing fairly well. 

“All those cultists. You took them out so quickly!” Ravio chuckled. “I wasn't sure if I should've been more scared of you than them.”

“I was sloppy,” Legend muttered. “Too preoccupied with finally looking like the ‘good guy'.”

“Link, I thought I was going to die,” Ravio said seriously. “You were my practical knight in shining armor!”

“A lot of good that did me,” Legend grumbled.

“Hey!” Ravio laughed. “I'm not that bad, am I?”

“I-I didn't mean you,” he said awkwardly. 

“Oh.” Ravio deflated, hesitating. “...Yuga?”

Yuga. Yuga with a knife in his back, pinning him to the wall and tugging at his hair so his ear was to his mouth. He whispered threats while Link strained to breathe through the agony.

“You're not making it out of here alive, little hero,” he hissed. “Say hello to your uncle for me.”

Legend kicked and screamed against the memories. They were choking him, like Yuga all those years ago. The result? He only managed to squeeze out a pathetic handful of right notes. He hid behind Wars’ far more confident sound. Wars sensed what was wrong and covered for his sudden inability to read music.

The only note he really hit right was the last one. No style or soul went into it. He was having enough trouble staying within the key signature.

The audience applauded. Time acknowledged them with a hand.

Legend tugged at his suit. Had it always been this hot? He was overheating. And lightheaded. Was that normal?

“Ledge,” Wars hissed, shoving something cold into his hands. Legend blinked, dazed, at the object- a water bottle. “Water. Drink.”

He didn't have much else to do, so he obeyed. The freezing water was like ice down his throat, shocking him back to reality. He shook away the dizziness and drank more. It burned but was real.

“Breathe,” Wars reminded him for what must've been the fiftieth time that night. “Just hold on. Only two songs. You can do this. Just breathe.”

Why was everyone telling him to breathe? “I have to breathe to play my instrument,” he snarked. 

Wars raised an eyebrow and smiled. “Just like that.”

Before he could come up with a snappy retort, his eyes caught Fable slipping past. She avoided his eyes. Wild handed her his drumsticks and she sat at the drumset. Wild stood by the marimba, casually twirling the mallets in his fingers while Four set aside his tenor for a bari.

Legend paled. Oh. This one, he had forgotten.

This song relied heavily on trumpet to start the band. Fable had no sax to carry the melody.

“Relax,” Wars said sternly. “I'll be here, playing with you.”

Legend pursed his lips and shoved the water bottle back into his brother's hands.

Time finished stalling. It took Legend a moment to realize that Time was not, in fact, waiting for him. He watched for Wild’s, Fable's and Four's signals that they were ready. There was no screaming countdown to start them off this time.

Legend was alone.

He regretted giving Wars his water back. His mouth was dry again. He couldn't seem to swallow. He tried asking for it but the words died on his tongue.

All he had to do was put his lips to the mouthpiece and blow. Din! It shouldn't be this hard!

Twilight waited for him. He was relying on him to cue his part.

Rulie waited for him. His note was essential to harmonize with his counter melody.

Wars waited for him. He only expected him to endure through what little they had left.

“Fight it,” Wars murmured. “Don't let the fear win. You hear me, Link? Fight back.”

“Link? Link, fight it. Wake up!”

Legend gasped for air, greeted by the sight of Ravio's worried eyes fixed on his. Hands were cupping his face, steady and sure. Legend grasped their wrists by instinct, breathing heavily.

“Link, are you alright?” Ravio repeated anxiously. “Can you hear me?”

Legend's eyes darted across the crowded room with the urgency of a frightened prey animal, but when his eyes locked with Ravio's again, his heartbeat slowed. He nodded.

“Do you need some fresh air?” asked the Lolian.

“I- No, I'll be fine,” he said shakily. “Just a flashback.”

“Are you sure? Because we can leave if-”

“No, it's over,” Legend interrupted. “We're not leaving unless you want to.” He inhaled deeply, ignoring his trembling hands.

Suddenly, Ravio's arms were wrapped around him. Legend's breath hitched, his internal screams needlessly reminding him that they were in public!

Legend laughed nervously. “Is there, uh… a specific reason why we're so sentimental all of a sudden?” he coughed awkwardly.

Ravio didn't respond, at first. He buried his face in Legend's shoulder and hummed, “I'm just glad you're here.”

Oh. Well, that was no reason for his face to get so red, was it? So why was his heart beating so quickly? And why did he feel so unreasonably giddy?

Ravio gave him another squeeze before pulling away and continuing the dance. Legend somehow managed to stumble even more than before, but Ravio's bright laugh lightened his mood every time. He supposed this whole dancing thing wasn't too bad.

He was happy to be with Ravio, too.

“Fight it…”

Legend clenched and unclenched his hands. He placed his fingers on the buttons and lips to the mouthpiece. He took one shuddering breath, pouring all he had into his trumpet- all his terror and loneliness and inadequacy. 

What rang out over the stage was a soft, mellow E flat. A single-toned lament. It resonated within his bell before slipping away, eluding his grasp like a hushed whisper of wind.

I miss you, Rav.

It was only when he released the note that he realized that no one else came in. His gaze flitted to Wars. The zeal he found startled him.

“Yes!” Wars’ eyes shimmered with enthusiasm and pride. “Again- C'mon, Legend, you can do it!”

Legend didn't give himself time to think. He hurled himself down the metaphorical leap of faith and howled into the trumpet. 

His brothers answered his call. 

Twilight hummed back, achingly familiar in its mournful cry. Hyrule took on the same tone, grasping it effortlessly but gently, like one would handle an injured animal. Wind's response was frustrated, like him. It was as much of a duet of music as it was a duet of feeling.

Legend released the note, and breathed. He sunk into the hopeful interlude led by Wild and Four. It felt much more real than himself. The sound wound its way into his ears and eased out a puff of air he hadn't realized he had been holding. 

It was startling, realizing that they were all mimicking what he had put into that note. Could it be that he was that obvious that he was pining? Four was the one who had made fun of him earlier. Yet here he was, weaving soft arpeggios of warmth and comfort. What was going on?

Wars poked him, jarring him from his reverie. “The Sailor’s trying to talk to you.”

Legend raised his eyebrows and shot a flat look the trombonist’s way. Really? the look said. In the middle of a performance?

There was a mischievous glint in Wind's eyes. “Solo battle?” he signed.

Legend almost laughed. Keyword: almost. “You mean a call-and-response duet?” he signed back.

“Whatever.” Wind rolled his eyes. “Are you in or not?”

Legend's eyebrows probably joined with his hairline then. “Isn't that in, like, three measures? Are you stupid?”

Wind flipped him off and stuck out his tongue. 

Oh, this twerp was going down. 

Fable jumped into action. Suddenly, the beat was moving at a relentless pace. The marimba perfectly channeled the devious smirk Wind carried. Legend found himself relishing the music again, tapping his foot along with Four's raw power. He bobbed his head in time with the vibrations he felt in his feet, most of which blasted from Time's guitar. He tossed the theme to Wars, who passed it to Four, who handed it to Wind, who promptly threw it to the floor and ground it into dust, laughing exhiliratedly. Normally, the rest of the band had to reel the dynamic in so the soloist could be heard, but most soloists weren't attention hogs like Wind. He would be heard, whether the audience liked it or not.

The Sailor moved with his solo. He tilted left and right, he stuck his slide into the air, and he bounced with each boom of the bass drum. Frankly, the drama of it all was rather obnoxious. It only charged Legend's eagerness to challenge him. There may be no winner in a solo battle, but he was determined to thoroughly beat Wind's ego into the dirt.

Legend waited for the perfect moment. He lifted his trumpet. He eyed the smug sailor out of the corner of his vision, a hint of warning in his posture. Secretly, though, he was excited to see the looks on the band's faces when he came in.

Now!

A visceral growl emitted from his instrument. Wind's head whipped around to face Legend, looking mildly offended. He barely restrained himself from snickering as the boy put a hand on his hip with an expression that looked hilariously reminiscent of Tetra's own pout.

As for the rest of the band… they were surprised, to say the least. Flabbergasted, as Ravio might've put it. Wind was given a fixed number of measures for his solos, and Legend cutting him off most definitely shook them. Four, the ever-reliable musician he was, was the first to regain his senses and improvise a good “backing track” for the others. Wars was ecstatic, and only Legend's lingering self-consciousness kept him from turning around and blasting in his ear. 

“I was just about- You interrupted me!” Wind pretended to look outraged, but frankly, he looked more like an indignant gerbil than anything else.

Legend shrugged. Wind puffed out his cheeks. It only encouraged the rodent illusion, which just added to the growing list of infinitely hilarious things that shouldn't be funny; what was he thinking? Goddesses, what was he doing? He shouldn't be stealing Wind's solo, he was going to make it worse, he was going to ruin it for the kid-

He stumbled. 

His blood had never drained so quickly from his face before. He scrambled to find a note that sounded right. Nothing sounded right! Why couldn't he do anything right? Why-

…Wind was covering for him. He covered up his mistakes by one-upping him, because that's how their solo battles went. Constantly improving on the last turn. Disguising his slip-ups by being better than him, all while pretending that was the plan all along.

Wars leaned over. He chuckled in amusement. “Are you going to just take that, Ledge? Gonna let him win?”

Legend snorted. “You wish this was your solo, pretty boy.”

He let the sailor have his little moment. Let him have his sly smirk and the roaring crowd, because while he practically owed the kid his kidney for saving him like that, it didn't mean he got to keep the spotlight. Even if it meant he had to strangle the butterflies in his stomach to keep them quiet, he would play.

Legend drew in a breath and blasted out the next note. Wind scoffed out a single “Dude!” but Legend overpowered that as well. He pouted again, and, to Legend's surprise, tried to play over him. Though, not really- he was harmonizing with him, forcing the dynamic up or down, and mixing his own energy in, one that Legend could not hope to synthesize. Not that he wanted to. It was a brattish energy, anyway. 

Four was getting louder. He was adding tension, and sending a message to the two of them: their time was coming to a close.

Wind heard it, loud and clear. He pushed against Legend’s melody. Part of him screamed at him to let him have control, to give him the finale, but his pride refused. He stood like a wall before Wind’s grabs at the spotlight. He had glissandos, grace notes, and pitch bends, but so did any half-decent trombone player. Not only could Legend do the same, he also knew exactly how to prod him where it hurt.

Let’s see how high you can go, sailor.

He blocked out the smithy’s warnings and began baiting Wind into a climb. He fell for it, hook line and sinker. B flat? Easy! C sharp? What a joke! He didn’t suspect a thing.

It was when they started to reach the higher portions of the scale that Legend detected some strain in Wind’s tone. He pushed higher. E. Running out of time, said Four. F, A flat. Wind didn’t follow. With a soaring sense of exhilaration, Legend landed the final high B flat. It was an easy victory, but a victory nonetheless.

At least, it was, until Wind hit an entire note higher.

Legend gawked at the cackling sailor. It was too late to make a comeback, the rest of the band had already moved on. Legend rolled his eyes. Just like him to get the last word. He had to laugh, though. Wind looked so proud of himself.

“Bet you aren’t thinking about your boyfriend now, huh?” he gloated.

Legend blinked. Had- Had that all been some grand scheme to get his confidence back? That rat! “I’ll think about wringing your neck!” he retorted angrily.

Unfortunately, he was right. Legend hardly felt any anxiety. Mental note: strangle him when we finish here.

It didn’t take long before the song was over and Wind was bowing theatrically. Legend was out of breath, dehydrated, and on the border of passing out, but he loved it. He felt alive again. He accepted Wars’ water bottle again. He practically emptied it, for how parched his lips were.

“Chapstick?” Wars offered, holding out a stick of his favorite brand.

Legend wrinkled his nose at it. “I’m not touching anything that has been anywhere near your lips.”

“What, like my water bottle?” Wars challenged lightly, waving the chapstick in his face.

“Fine. Gimme that,” he muttered, snatching the small tube from his brother’s fingers. He applied it as quickly as possible before shoving it back in its owner’s hands. He would never admit how useful it was, especially after so long arguing that it was for girls.

He only wished there was such a simple remedy for the ache that was beginning to form around his cheeks. That solo had really taken a toll on his embourchure.

Legend rubbed his face while Four walked by. The smith paused by him, his reddish-brown irises tinged by… guilt? Legend narrowed his eyes.

“That was a good solo back there,” he murmured. “You think you’ll be all right for this one?”

“I’m fine. Why do you care?” Legend responded tightly.

“Hey, look, I’m… I’m sorry. For teasing you.” Four winced. “I should’ve seen how badly it was affecting you. You’ll do great, okay? I mean, if I were Ravio, I’d be impressed regardless, but I know that’s not the reassurance you’re looking for.” 

Legend raised his eyebrows. An apology from the smithy? He knew it was bad, but not that bad.

…No, he shouldn’t make light of it, especially with how seriously Four was taking it. Or how seriously he took it, before the performance. That wasn’t fair.

“It’s not important,” Legend sighed. “I should be the one wishing you good luck. You’re singing.”

“Ha. So I take it we’re even now?” He held out his hand to shake. Legend took it, suppressing a smile.

“Thanks. Now, get lost, Sinatra,” Legend said.

Four chuckled and shook his head. He made his way to the piano just as Time finished up. Fable back on the sax and Wild on the drums, he raised his hand to cue the song.

He dropped it for the last time.

Wild tapped a smooth, bouncy beat on his hi-hat. Fable followed along, surprisingly mild for someone of her disposition. He’d never heard her handle the melody so… gently, before. Usually only Four had that kind of grace with the saxophone. Speaking of Four, the twinkling, playful piano notes complimented that laid-back style very nicely. Legend inserted his cup mute into his bell with a sort of contentment he hadn’t felt since Ravio left.

He had forgotten what it was like to actually enjoy music.

Four’s voice was glad to show him how much he had missed. If Wild and Fable were smooth, the smithy’s voice was like the outside of a fresh apple, ripe and shiny with morning dew. Warm, too, like pie crust.

Legend couldn’t wait to share another apple pie with Ravio.

“Well, here we are again

It’s always such a pleasure…”

Of course, this song wasn’t exactly meant to be cozy and reassuring. Legend was just getting restless.

Wind and Twilight, crescendo with a forte-piano.

An ebb and flow in Fable’s dynamic. Grow, pull back.

Wars counting rests under his breath. Legend felt an itch on the back of his neck. He was impatient, and his constant counting didn’t help.

“Oh, how we laughed and laughed!

Except I wasn't laughing…”

Legend could hear Four's smile. He loved this song. 

Soft falls muted by the cups in their trumpets. Mischievous, like a cat leaping nimbly from one bookshelf to the next. Or like the sailor, sneaking sweets from Legend's stash.

“You want your freedom, take it!

That's what I'm counting on!”

Wind crept into the lead, swaying from one note to the next gracefully. He treated the song like a waltz, but exaggerated comedically in its romance. Ravio swooning dramatically came to mind.

“I used to want you dead, but now I only want you gone!”

The whole band swung into action. Wild slammed on the snares, Fable sang into her sax with a dramatic volume worthy of Wind’s pride while the brass accented the offbeats, finishing with a flourishing trill.

The dynamic dropped. Four retained his eagerness, sounding just as smugly joyful as ever. The sax followed his lead.

“She was a lot like you-”

He chuckled. “Well, maybe not quite as heavy!”

That was Wind's favorite part. It took a considerable amount of effort not to snicker at the combined force of the lyric and the smithy's delivery.

Another band-wide crescendo, led by trumpets. Glittering piano notes followed, dancing daintily in Legend's ears. 

“One day they woke me up

So I could live forever

It's such a shame the same could never happen to you!”

Four's voice swelled brightly, leading the band from a mezzo-piano to a forte. Fable acted like this was her solo, announcing her counter melody to the whole audience. Wild mimicked the accents Wars and Legend made with a crash on the cymbals. He was having just as much fun as Four was. 

“I'll let you get right to it-

Now I only want you gone!”

The rest of the band dropped away, allowing the piano and the drums to lead as Four began his monologue. Legend bit his lip. His solo was just around the corner. He grabbed Wars’ water bottle again and stole a quick sip. 

At Four's “Take it away!”, his brothers took the lead. 

Legend hardly paid attention to the rise in energy. This was it. He promised Ravio a good show. After that trick Wind played on him back in the last song, he intended to follow through. 

Here!

He climbed into his solo. He imitated Four's languid ease with Wind's cocky eagerness to show off in the little slurs and tremolos he slipped into the solo. His heart pounded viciously against his chest. He went from note to note with little flourishes that were subtle but painted with just enough color to give it life. Thank Farore for Sky's bass, keeping him in time while his fingers itched to go faster than he had the ability to. But he kept it smooth and lilting as he repeated the melody of the chorus-

And just like that, it was over. His solo, finished. Audience clapping excitedly at the performance. Fable easing the band into a soft dynamic before dropping away completely. Before he knew it, Sky was playing his own solo while Four sang along:

“Goodbye my only friend…

Oh, ha, did you think I meant you?

This song really fit Four, Legend thought vaguely. Quick-witted, mischievous, and laid-back. Maybe  even a little arrogant. 

Had he really just done that? Had he really just pulled off that solo like it was just an everyday warm up scale, after all his anxiety just put him through? He snorted softly with incredulous indignance. 

It shouldn't have been that easy. But it was.

Wild's cue! Legend snapped dizzily back to attention. Neither he nor Wars were coming in any time soon, but he had to be ready. He listened in on Wars’ counting and quickly found his spot in the rest.

“Well, you have been replaced

I don't need anyone now…”

Again, Fable’s time to shine. Crescendo. Getting bigger, louder louder louder, play, support Fable, louder louder, howl out your part until you're faint from using too much air. Legend's lungs felt ready to burst, his lips burned. 

“Go make some new disaster!

That's what I'm countin’ on!”

He could do it. He could reach the end of the song. The light was at the end of the tunnel. The light was in his eyes, he had shifted too far to the left and now a spotlight was beaming directly into them, he kept playing.

“You're someone else's problem; now I only want you gone!”

Keep playing, it's almost done, just two more lines and he could see Ravio-

“Now I only want you gone!”

Ravio, had he seen the solo? Was he even here yet?

“Now I only want you gone!”

Focus, finish off strong.

“Now I only want you gone-!”

Four sustaining the note, steady, swing into the accent, hold hold hold, drop down low-

“I want you gone!”

With that, the band pulled back, Wars finished the song with a flaunting swing and grace note, Wild thumped his bass.

Done. Finished. Over. No more. He finished the song, and he hadn't messed up.

And the crowd went wild. 

Time bowed. He gestured to the soloists- him and Sky and Four. They dipped their heads, Four with significantly less humility. Legend licked his lips as he stared at his feet. He felt like he had just run a marathon.

A poke on his shoulder. Legend straightened his back. He followed Wars' outstretched finger, past Time's hand showing him off as a soloist, and- oh.

There he was. Standing in the middle of the audience, clapping his hands eagerly. His adoptive sister was beside him, but Legend's eyes never left the man for a second.

“Ravio,” he whispered.

He moved without thinking. He pushed his trumpet into his brother's hands. Wars gawked as he leaped off the stage and into the rows of chairs. Heart racing so quickly he feared it might escape, he ran up the aisle. 

There he was. Right there, grinning from ear to ear, calling out his name with a voice too soft to be heard over the crowd. Goddess d— him. That insufferable smile. It had no right to make him feel this way. So unfairly happy.

The rest was a blur. Ravio wrestled his way to the aisle, Legend only increased his breakneck pace; Ravio beamed, laughing his name, and they collided.

Ravio's arms squeezed him tight, twirling him around like the couples in those cheesy romance movies. Even as his feet planted on the ground, Legend didn't want to let go. He wanted to make sure this stupid rabbit never left his sight again.

Ravio pulled away, holding his face with the gentlest hands, grinning through teary eyes. “I take it you missed me, Mister Hero?” he chuckled.

By the Three, now he was crying. “Of course I missed you, you idiot!” he choked out.

“I missed you too,” Ravio breathed. 

He leaned forward and the last bit of Legend's restraint crumbled. His lips crashed against Ravio's before he could draw out the moment any longer, his hand reaching to tangle with his partner's smooth, inky locks. Ravio let out a tiny squeak of surprise before leaning into the kiss.

Legend's lips buzzed; he couldn't tell if the sensation came from his trumpet or Ravio. He couldn't care less. His mind was on Ravio's soft hands, on his tender touch, on the ghost of a smile he could feel through the kiss. 

Legend's heart had climbed up his throat by the time it was over. He noted vaguely that the audience was roaring and clapping, and that Fable's voice boomed over the speakers, hollering, “That's my brother!” Meanwhile, he couldn't decide whether to punch Ravio or let the tears flow. He swallowed hard, his eyes locking on Ravio's rupee-green ones.

“You kiss like you've been playing trumpet for an hour,” he teased.

Legend's face flushed red. “Shut up,” he grumbled.

“Aw, I didn't mean it,” he giggled, squishing him in another hug. “I just missed seeing your grumpy face.”

“You're the worst.”

“Don't get too sappy, you two.” Legend whipped around, greeted by Ravio's boss herself. Hilda, with a cocked eyebrow and folded arms, dressed in a blazer and skirt not unlike Fable's slightly more masculine suit. Her violet-painted lips twitched upwards in amusement. “You'll make the audience gag on their lunches.”

“I think I'm gagging on my lunch,” Legend complained.

Ravio gasped in mock offense, but Hilda shrugged. “Your sister does seem to be enjoying this…”

Legend glanced over at the stage and groaned. Of course she was. Of course she was hopping up and down in ecstasy, shaking poor, helpless Four back and forth while screaming with Wind. Of course she had to rope Sky and Wars into it- and was that Rulie cheering with them? Well, now Legend felt extra betrayed.

Warm fingers lacing with his drew his attention back to his partner. Ravio squeezed his hand and smiled. Legend had to wrestle his own into a disapproving scowl before he could see it.

“What do you say we put your trumpet away and go out for dinner?” he proposed. “That way we could get some time alone to relax and catch up some way other than over text?”

Legend folded his arms. “So, you expect me to forgive you, just like that? After being gone so long?”

Ravio laughed nervously. “If you wouldn't mind?”

“I suppose I can give you another chance,” he muttered. “And I'm paying. Yes, Hilda, I know you paid for everything back there.” He waved dismissively, then eyed Ravio out of the corner of his eye. “I'll let him hold on to his rupees just this once. Now excuse me while I go murder my sister.”

He dipped his head politely to the businesswoman before dashing off to the stage. He leaped up, much to Wind's delight and Time's resigned disappointment, and jabbed a finger at Fable. She squealed and hid behind Four, who sighed and stepped aside. 

“You!” Legend barked. “Get over here before I break your reeds!”

Fable gaped dramatically. “You wouldn't!”

“I will!”

“Whoa there, Ledge,” Wars said lightly. “Save the death threats for when the instruments are away, hm?”

Legend sniffed, swiping his trumpet from his hands and not-so-subtly emptying his spit valve on his foot. Wars yelped and jumped hilariously. “Legend!” he swore. “That's disgusting!”

“I bet it tastes like your lipstick,” he snarked.

Fable snickered. Legend brandished his trumpet threateningly and said, “What, you want some too?”

His sister screeched and ran off backstage. Legend made to pursue her, but Twilight gave him a look. He wrinkled his nose and dusted off his suit. She wasn't worth the trouble, anyway. 

He decided to make his way offstage to delicately take apart his instrument. He had a date to prepare for! Fable could wait.

Besides, he had plenty of time to daydream of revenge on the way out.

Legend grinned devilishly. She won't know what hit her.

He left the building whistling cheerfully.

----

A/N: Thank you for reading, but I do have to add a disclaimer. Please, please, please do not jump off a stage like Legend did. The last time someone did that at my school, they broke their ankle. I repeat, do not jump off a stage. 

Take care, all of you! ❤️

[sparklingpax]

HEADMASTER JUNIORS IN THE 40TH ANNIVERSARY MUSIC VIDEO

!!!!!!!!!!!!! I KNOWWWW I SAW FIRST THING WAKING UP TODAY I LITERALLY FLIPPED TF OUTTT 😭😭😭‼️‼️‼️ LIKE NOT ONE BUT MULTIPLE MASTERFORCE REFERENCES IN 2024.....WHAT A TIME TO BE ALIVE FR 😭💗💗💞❤️✨‼️🔥🫶✨

wait I'm gonna take fhis opportunity to gush about the video its 1 am im only half awake there will probably be typos sorrY

..

Genuinely would have been ecstatic with just a god ginrai in the bg and I honestly didn't even expect as much but man oh MAN did they give us so much more than that 🥳🥳

oh but lemme say ginrai SLAYEDDD HE LOOKED SO AMAZING AND COOL I was literally squealing "YES GO MY SILLY GOOOO" like the Dork that I am when he was out there doin the exkaiser sword pose w the others 🫶🫶🫶🫶 EEEEEE

and also!!! Let us NOT forget ofc all the other TF series and leaders and characters and such getting their time in the spotlight and the MANY little references to all kinds of stuff everywhere and.....!!!!!! Like I have so much respect for that video 🥹 it's such a detailed, wonderful tribute to everything transformers has been, is, and continues to be. Themes of connections literal and metaphorical and the power and beautythat comes from it. UFFF and Everything was so pretty and wonderful to look at and (⁠ﾉ⁠≧⁠∇⁠≦⁠)⁠ﾉ⁠ ⁠ﾐ⁠ ⁠┻⁠━⁠┻!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Very happy with it <3333

and also Yes I did have the thought It would have been cool to see the Pretenders (😭) but I also understand its probably hard enough to tastefully fit in all thr characters they did (and plus! Masterforce Mentioned At All is such a huge W youre not hearing Complaints from me 🫡) and also y'know what. maybe. maybe that was for the best because I might have simply combusted into fucking flames if they did that. Like you all think I'm annoying about those guys NOW but if I saw them animated all pretty and shape andshiny and sharp like that.........or.GOD if they had put their human forms in there...........I would need to be restrained is all I'll say

AND y'know what too it actually also fuels me with even MORE willpower than I already have to work for and eventually finish this illustration degree, somehow hopefully make it to a position where I too can make masterforce references in 4k except OFFICIAL and also have the opportunity to be insufferable about my blorbo of all time and space <333333 stupid silly ass dream of mine that may never happen but mark my WORDS if I get even the slightest opportunity y'all.....I want to do a masterforce centric project someday. Like a real one. Something for the world to see at large. I want to do something with it I really really feel like I could......,! I would achieve one of my few life goals/dreams fr......

GOSH ok anyway sorry I went on for quite a while there and then started derailing the topic at hand SORRYY 😭😭😭 but yea man I love transformers I love being a fan of this franchise I love how many thousands of characters and all the stories and universes and stuff there is and how crazy and cool it all is and that it's been a part of my life for most of my life and it's the reason I'm an artist and god that video will have me emotional for a long ass time *wails* good NIGHT 😭🫶❤️❤️🫶💖✨‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️

(-kuni 🫣)

[22degreehalo]

aaaaand FINALLY I've finished writing up my next few recs for the Summer @ficreadingchallenge :'DDD Most of these I read weeks ago when I was especially tired and just wanted to lie down and listen to some podfics, as you'll see below~ But I'm still going! I got sooo close to finishing a line this time (and I WOULD HAVE if I hadn't swapped around the squares for some of these hahaha) and if possible I want to complete a full blackout! n.n

A couple of prompt-related rambles: 'Enemies to Friends / Lovers' is highlighted buuut I actually later decided to use that fic for 'Future AU' so. Oh well :') I also swapped a fic from Domestic to Gift Giving even though gifts aren't the main focus because I was having trouble with that square and the gifts ARE still a pretty big part of the fic so??? who cares hahaha. Also somehow I've gotten this far using a different pairing for every single square and I was absolutely tempted to try to continue that, and am knocking myself out of it because I just want to encourage myself to read fic, not force myself into a pretzel trying to track down rarepair fics that SHOULD exist SOMEWHERE......

New recs below!! :D

Canon Compliant

after knowing all, I wonder, can you really say innocent? By Aialize (15.5k, ongoing, Milgram gen)

This is a super fascinating fic and a great example of one of my favourite genres: crack treated seriously! In this one, the music videos exist in-universe and the prisoners (plus Es) will watch them all, reacting and responding in-character. I love how committed the author is to this premise: some of the characters would rather forget all this stuff is even happening, while others (most notably Kotoko) fully intend to learn all they can about the other prisoners from them. It’s still early days, but I can’t wait to see how they all react differently, and what (correct or incorrect!) conclusions they come to! (Also, maybe it seems strange to use an AU fic for the tag ‘Canon Compliant’, but the fic is sticking to the canonically-chosen verdicts which is why it counts!)

Fic With No Comments Yet

messin’ up my mind by Skyrose – a podfic by CailynWrites (5k, 33:47, Percy/Oliver)

Choosing podfics for the ‘No Comments Yet’ category almost feels like cheating heh, but these very important fan works deserve just as much love!!! This is an adorable fic: stories where the characters’ friends/family ‘ship them’ can be corny and OOC, but I love that Fred and George initially just want to give Oliver something to care about other than Quidditch training, and have no clue the cogs they started working in Oliver’s head until they’re ready for that last push. And I love Oliver and Percy’s relationship: not quite close, comfortable friends, but more like very different people who’ve spent a lot of time together and never quite taken the plunge in becoming fixtures of one another’s life – yet. <3

Hurt/Comfort

The Care and Feeding of a Deeply Depressed Vampire [Podfic] by secretsofluftnarp, read by Pandamug (2.8k, 21:16, Nandor/Guillermo

Fics that perfectly capture the absurd black humour of this show are always a treat and this fic is no exception! One of the tags is ‘canon-typical sex talk’ and hoo BOY is that accurate haha, but beneath the characteristic horniness and always-at-least-mild insufferability, Nandor really is just a pathetic sad little vampire, and the degree of care Guillermo has for him – and how much Nandor trusts him in return – is so sweet!

BIPOC Character

[Podfic] The Benefits of Communication written by ushauz, voiced by GodOfLaundryBaskets (3.2k, 27:27, Wyll/Astarion)

I’m still dipping my toes into Wyll/Astarion fanfic, but this was a very nice introduction!! Despite focusing on Astarion’s trauma around sex, it also gets a bit into Wyll’s complicated relationship with it as well, in a way that totally makes sense for them! I can 100% see these two dumbasses having a miscommunication like this, doing something they both don’t like just because they think it’ll make the other happy :’D

Future AU

Recognition by SaraJaye (2k, N/Hilbert)

This is such a sweet fic, and I can totally imagine these two’s relationship going this way post-canon!! By the end of the game they’d both need some time before they’d really be ready to be in a relationship, and though short I totally love how the friendship builds enough here for them to do that! <3

Gift Giving

Tinsel by Lunar_Years (17.5k, Roy/Jamie/Keeley)

I absolutely love and 100% recommend this entire series of RJK fics – they capture the characters and their relationship absolutely perfectly, and the familial interactions ring so true! I particularly loved Roy’s complicated relationship to the holidays; feeling troubled by his own lack of enthusiasm towards what should be ‘his’ celebrations, and only realising in retrospect that he really had enjoyed his time taking part in it all with his partners. Despite being longer than all the other fics I’ve recced here so far, the time absolutely blazed by, because it all flowed so smoothly and once I started reading I didn’t want to stop! <3

Time Travel

Catalyst [podfic] by TheStarvingWriter, read by RavenGranger11 (2.5k, 19:53, Dean/Castiel)

This fic packs in so much for its length! It’s wonderfully atmospheric between the dingy motel room and young Dean’s insecurity and longing, and from the moment Cas steps in his fondness and familiarity for Dean shines right through <3

Time Loop

& home & home & home (or, a timeloop) by decemberista - a Podfic read by Beatificbean (3.1k/20:09, Remus/Sirius)

Ugh, this fic hits so hard. :( With its succinct writing we really get a sense of how hard Sirius tries, over and over, to save everyone. It’s almost like poetry – especially at the end, which really made me cry!! ;__;

[girlreviews]

Review #172: Bridge Over Troubled Water, Simon & Garfunkel

Simon & Garfunkel have always been hilarious to me. They are such massive goobers. Goobers with huge egos that dated/married/divorced beautiful women. Both insufferable in their individual specific ways. But also they make the most precious and beautiful music together. They know how good they are but lack self-awareness about literally anything else (like that they’re goobers). Everyone likes it though. You want to not like it because your Mom likes it, but you cannot deny its pull. You like it. It’s good. Have you met anyone that hates Simon & Garfunkel? I haven’t.

It really is good. It opens with the title track, which is a big, gorgeous vocal performance that keeps getting bigger. The accompanying music gets bigger too, without drowning out the vocals. The sentiment of the song is just so lovely too: I’m here for you, you’re my friend. It’s nice not to have an entire album of love songs.

Cecilia could be a love song, I suppose, but it’s really about a man who is desperate to reconcile with a cheating partner who sounds pretty toxic. I’d love to hear Cecilia’s side of the story. I really would. I think about this all the time. Especially because they are both such GOOBERS. It’s a really fun song though. When they do upbeat, they really go for it. See also: Keep The Customer Satisfied, Baby Driver (it has a sax solo, c’mon!).

These Goobers know how to put together a damn fine arrangement that makes some of their songs feel deeper: El Condor Pasa has a really Spanish feel to it with the guitar (duh) and some flutes. It’s a whole vibe, that matches the lyrics. Would I rather be a sparrow or a snail? A forest or a street? A hammer or a nail? These are the big unanswered questions in life, right? No, but it feels like it in this song because it’s mysterious and philosophical. This whole vibe thing is also successful in The Only Living Boy in New York. It sounds like what it’s about, and it’s so beautiful. But totally different to Bridge Over Troubled Water and El Condor Pasa. The slower more ballad-y songs on this album sound like a damn Bob Ross painting.

The Boxer is maybe (???) the most well-known song on this album, but that’s based in absolutely no fact whatsoever on my part. I have no idea. It just seems like most people know that one. Like it got more radio play or something. I like it a lot, but there’s low registering repetitive sound running through it that has always just sort of bugged me. Possibly because I just cannot identify what the instrument is? What is that sound? It could be a cello/double-bass, or some kind of horn, or honestly even a percussion type thing. But I don’t know what it is. Honestly it kind of sounds like a duck to me. I’ve even wondered if it’s a kazoo. I haven’t looked it up, but I could. But will I? I’ll just forget about it until the next time I hear it: Sometimes (often) the duck kazoo is all I can focus on instead of the rest of the song which is pretty fucking pretty.

For a really soft, folky, gentle record made by two goobers, I would also definitively state that it’s somehow full of straight bangers. I could elaborate further on that but I’d suggest you listen to it yourself and you’ll see what I mean.

ETA: it’s a damn BASS HARMONICA. I honestly wasn’t that far off with the kazoo. Also, The Boxer took over 100 hours to record. This blew my mind.

[ithinkineedamoment]

1. Neon Bible - Arcade Fire

1 of 1000 - Recordings

This project is almost 15 years in the making. Had I been wiser at the debilitating age of 12, I’m sure writing for the sake of writing would have come to me a hell of a lot more naturally than it does now.

Regardless of that, it looks like a 26 year old me is finally getting around to it.

At the tail end of 2010 - I was living in Ramstein, Germany where I found a copy of Tom Moon’s 1000 Recordings to Hear Before You Die. I (my dad) bought it for $15 and there I went becoming evermore insufferable thinking I’m the first person who ever discovered 10 by Pearl Jam. I quickly found two more versions of the “1000... before you die” list - movies and places. Armed with these three lists, I set out to conquer the “best” of the “best” and do obviously do it before I die.

Lofty goals.

But I’ll unpack that I’m sure in a later essay.

Since that time, I’ve plowed through 430 albums, 574 movies, and 142 places. But what of it? What does it matter? Is it enough to watch “Schindler’s List” in a double feature with “The Sound of Music” once and think I can fully process what I’ve experienced? Fuck no!

So in an effort to combat that insanity - I’m starting this project. I will write something on each and every entry of these lists. Will some be long? Absolutely. Will some be short? I hope so. But what is the point of consuming what is meant to be essentials of a lifetime and not give it a second thought? There is of course the argument that these lists are arbitrary and are actually heinously filtered through the lens of old, Cis, straight, white men and women. This idea will undoubtedly come up several if not a thousand times and I don’t think I can ignore it. What I’ve gained, however, from venturing down this yellow brick road of content is greater than the sum of its parts and that is what is interesting to me. How has inundating myself with this “canon” for most of my life shaped who I am and where has it led me?

So as an artist who is constantly stonewalled by the mere act of creation, I asked myself - where do I start? How does this project begin?

Randomly, obviously. I had Sergio scroll through the lists and pick whatever caught his eye.

Somehow, picking Neon Bible by Arcade Fire makes sense.

With this very first entry I begin with The Secret Life of Walter Mitty, the 2013 adventure comedy starring and directed by our pal Ben Stiller. For the uninitiated, this movie features Ben Stiller as Walter Mitty, an employee at Life magazine who is forced on a Carmen San Diego-esque adventure to find Sean Penn in the mountains taking pictures of snow leopards. And it ROCKS.

Everything from the settings to the humor to Adam Scott’s haircut screams the spirit of adventure. I remember sitting in the theater watching this movie having goose bumps down my arms as Mr. Stiller ran for that plane - reading the Life Magazine motto: “To see the world, things dangerous to come to, to see behind walls, to draw closer, to find each other, and to feel, that is the purpose of life.”

Fuck meeee, it’s good.

My depressed ass sat there smiling and crying - thinking of how much of the world was out there - all the places I’ve never been and the adventures I’ve never been on. It was enough to keep me going, even if it was only for the rest of the day.

The part that I really want to draw attention to, however, is the song that plays over the scene that I just mentioned. As the words of the motto appear hidden in the scenery, a sick fucking guitar lick kicks in. Suddenly, the absolutely bonkers Arcade Fire hit, “Wake Up” is blaring through the speakers and I am transcended. From their 2005 debut album Funeral, “Wake Up” has been included on all sorts of best songs of 2004, the decade, the century, of all time lists. With lyrics touching on the embarrassment of youth and the gift of growing up, it’s one of the most inspirational songs I’ve ever heard...

(until I listened to the soundtrack and realized that to SOME people, the song “Wake Up” was never in the movie and instead the absolutely DNA-altering Jose Gonzalez song, “Step Out” took its place. Dear Reader, please note it’s a detail I’m moving on from since these songs exist simultaneously in my head for the same reason and since I have Google I found out a licensing issue made us all watch a different version of the movie. Leave me alone).

Ever since that day - whenever I’ve embarked on a new journey, I’ve played these songs. When my plane took off from Germany back to the states, when I walked on my college campus for the first time, whenever I start a new job - they become the soundtrack to my life. “Children, Wake up” to “House on fire leave it all behind you”. It’s the music to my proverbial first steps into my new life.

So again, it’s fitting then, that the first recording, the very first essay of this project, is Neon Bible by Arcade Fire. Their sophomore album released in 2007, Neon Bible is an extrospective triumph of organs and religiosity exposing the world for what it truly is in this post-9/11 hellscape. Full of angst and persistent drums, it’s truly no wonder how this album crosses the boundaries of what is Indie and what is mainstream.

Relistening to the album this morning and thinking about this project, it almost makes too much sense to start here despite its randomness. Take for example the opening track, “Black Mirror” which in my sleep depravity I could have sworn was the intro to “Changes” by David Bowie. Here, Win Butler muses on the notion of the “black mirror”, an unrelenting echo of all the worst parts of ourselves and our world. Impossible to separate from the contemporary connotations of the words “black mirror”, we quickly realize this album is not interested in the joyous release of

Funeral. We’re confronted with screens, cameras, and content - the black mirror of a sleeping iphone or of a buffering video. What does it mean to see ourselves in that reflection? We’re beholden to it.

As we continue through the album, we’re bombarded with rising crescendos of emotions that dissipate uneasily like unlit waves at night - “Black Wave”. There is no comforting exaltation or resolution of discord. It’s isolating! Butler says so himself in “Intervention”: “We’ll go at it alone”. As the number of black mirrors around us increases, the time spent as an individual also increases. It’s interesting that so much of the imagery evoked in Neon Bible is that of the ocean - black, reflective, ever expansive. This brings to mind another song from a few years later: Los Campesinos!’s “The Sea is a Good Place to Think of the Future.” It should be obvious enough from the title as to why I think this is relevant. The rocking guitar of this jam sways back and forth like the crashing of waves as the lyrics wax poetic on what it means to be alone - “and all you can hear, is the sound of your own heart” - and how hopelessly small you can feel in front of an unchanging ocean before you - “A thousand years, no getting rid of me”.

This cynicism, this anger, I feel is what fuels this album. There is no joy in the face of the “Ocean of Noise” in front of us. There is no reconciliation at the church of the “Neon Bible.” There is nothing new I can say on our modern relationship with technology or media here that hasn’t been said already in a New York Times Op-ed. We are losing control of ourselves to an ocean of influences, media, thoughts, and content. We can scream, and we can shout, but the only escape - according to Arcade Fire - is the place where “No Cars Go”, the liminal space between turning off the lights and before we fall asleep. There, we are finally free from the world and all its power over us. This is the craven freedom that brings the album its only truly joyous song.

So I guess it’s now that I’ve realized the point of this essay - the point of this whole project. I’ve spent years of my life thumping the bible of a church that doesn’t care about me. These lists have become a religion - a system of other people’s beliefs in what should be exalted and glorified. I’ve consumed the content I was told to consume and thought what I was told to think. I don’t think that I’m alone in wanting to challenge “the canon” either. There will always be an unavoidable conflict between what is experienced and what should be experienced; I’m just no longer interested in justifying one over the other. I refuse to let the ocean carry me away. Just as Arcade Fire has ushered me into new phases of my life, Arcade Fire will now usher in a personal rebellion that hopefully will manifest itself across this project where I can Reflektor on what it means to be me.

I have no idea what this rebellion will look like - but my body will no longer be its cage.

[keicordelle]

The Daily Inconveniences of an Au Ra: Dancing

The unfamiliar melody slinked through Keshet's ears. Dozens of bodies spun on the open floor before him, skirts twirling and jewels flashing as the nobility of Ishgard showed off their finest dancing skills in one of their ever ubiquitous and eternally frustrating balls.

Frustrating because someone always wanted to dance with Keshet. Usually several someones these days, now that he'd been here a little while and people had started to take notice of him. He was an oddity if nothing else, and his placement in the Fortemps household attracted attention even if he wasn't universally beloved as the Warrior of Light here. So he spent most of his time fending off invitation after invitation to dance, hanging as close as he possibly could to the glass-lined walls and ensuring he had a drink or some little duck-liver-adorned cracker in his hand at all times so he had an excuse to wave them off.

It wasn't that he couldn't dance. He wasn't the best at it, but neither was he known to make a fool of himself when the occasion called for it. It was just that this, this slow twirling and sweeping gestures and impossibly coordinated exchanges... This wasn't dancing. This was... Well, he wasn't sure what it was, exactly. War, insofar as he could tell, based on the terse smiles and thinly veiled barbs he'd seen tossed around the ballroom tonight.

He supposed there was some grace to the flowing motions that seemed fairly commonplace on the dance floor. It was elegant, in the way that Ishgardians liked to pretend to be. Some of the couples had even genuinely impressed him. Aymeric seemed to float across the ground when he danced, large, sweeping steps carrying him through the twisting bodies around him without ever breaking his posture. Even Keshet would be hard-pressed to match those strides, and he had another half fulm of leg on the man.

But for the most part, it was insufferably boring. The black suited servants drifting around with trays of tiny food were by far the highlight of these evenings, even if their snacks were scarcely more than half a mouthful. And there was alcohol, which made the evening both more bearable and less, because it had the unfortunate tendency to leave his head split open and throbbing come morning.

And yet somehow he kept finding himself at these things, visible reluctance or no. Alphinaud was supposed to be chaperoning him, but the boy had twice as many invitations to dance as Keshet did, and he didn't seem to be able to turn them down. Keshet hadn't seen him since some shorter-eared woman had invited him onto the dance floor some two bells prior.

"Come now, my friend! Don't look so put out!" Keshet managed to wipe the grimace off his face before he looked up to meet Haurchefant's gaze. The implacable Elezen was alone, and nary a drink in his hand. That boded ill. "What say you to a dance? I know 'tis not your favorite pastime, but if you spend all your time making friends with the walls, then people are going to start thinking you antisocial."

Honestly Keshet didn't see what the problem was with being seen as antisocial, but experience told him he wasn't likely to get away from Haurchefant's prodding until he gave in. Better get it over with sooner rather than later. "One dance," he declared sternly.

Haurchefant wasn't fazed. "I wouldn't dream of imposing on you further."

They both knew that was a lie, but Keshet took his hand anyway and let him lead him out onto the dance floor. Excitable whispers followed them, and Keshet did his best to tune them out. Better he just focus on the placement of his feet anyway.

The music started, and their dance started with it. It was a livelier piece, thank Nhaama — even if that meant Haurchefant's steps moved quicker than Keshet could comfortably keep up with. But for the first time all night, he could feel the pulse of the music beating through his chest, and his body itched to move with it. If he closed his eyes, he could pretend he was alone on the Steppe, just him and the music under Nhaama's brilliant moon.

When he was asked about it later (and he would be asked about it later, frequently and at length) Keshet could only say that his body moved on its own. It wasn't his decision to stray from the elegant home that Haurchefant had on him. It certainly wasn't his decision to shift from the sweeping steps of a fumbling Ishgardian waltz into the curt motions of a traditional Steppe lunar dance. And it most absolutely was not his intention to crash into the couple dancing three yalms back from them, knocking the woman to the floor and spilling champagne all over her dress.

But on the plus side, no one asked him to attend any balls after that.

-

Read the rest of the series on Ao3!

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[xsparklingravenx]

be on your way

Title: be on your way

Fandom: Genshin Impact

Characters: Alhaitham, Kaveh

Rating: G

Word Count: 1,397

Summary: Kaveh prepares to leave for the evening, disrupting Alhaitham’s quiet peace.

An argument breaks out, as it so often does.

AO3

Kaveh flitted like a prismatic butterfly in Alhaitham’s peripheral vision, in and out of the room multiple times as he gathered his coat, his bag, his hairpins, his art supplies. He’d been getting ready for the better part of an hour, drifting through Alhaitham’s bubble as though he owned it. It was his special talent; to somehow make himself known even when doing the most inconsequential of things. To take up so much space when he was supposed to be moving through it.

Alhaitham flipped through the pages of his book, nestled in the edge of the sofa with his music beating a steady rhythm against his ears. Kaveh’s mutters were drowned by it, whatever inane complaints he had this evening lost in the sound. Alhaitham ignored him entirely, attention enraptured by the words across the page. A study of masks and personality, of how a person constructed a face for every situation. Time continued to tick onwards. Kaveh left the room and re-entered again, storming over to the sofa.

He clapped his hands in front of Alhaitham’s face, slender fingers, blunted nails from his work. Alhaitham did his best to ignore that too, though was forced to look up when Kaveh furiously repeated the action. The music continued on. Kaveh’s delicate features were screwed up in frustration, cheeks so flushed that they nearly matched his eyes. He had a heavy red coat thrown over his usual gaudy outfit.

With a click of his tongue, Alhaitham tapped the side of his earphones. The music came to an abrupt stop. Kaveh’s voice filtered back in instantly, a mallet against his skull. “—rude, arrogant, irritating—!”

“I hope you interrupted my reading for something more important than listing off adjectives," Alhaitham said.

“You—!” Kaveh stammered in a way so typical of him, straightening up with a huff. “I’ve been trying to get your attention for the last ten minutes and all you’ve done is ignore me! Does it entertain you to see me flap and wail for your attention? Does it?”

“Yes. I find it so enthralling that I’m throwing my book aside to laugh and point at you.” Alhaitham’s voice was as flat as his expression. “If you want to entertain someone so badly, join the theatre troupe.”

“I will not! You are insufferable. Every conversation with you is like a wading through a battleground, and I’m not interested in yielding tonight. Oh, no. Not at all.”

“I think you’ll find this battleground is something you’ve constructed in your own mind. What did you want?”

“You do this on purpose, don’t you? Provoking me.” Kaveh crossed his arms, a haughty shake of his head accompanying the movement. “You’re hoarding my scarf like some kind of hideous dragon. Move.”

Ah, so that was it. Alhaitham craned his neck to glance behind him, spotting where the garish garment was half-trapped behind him. Kaveh had left it draped over the sofa where Alhaitham now rested. It was pink and blue woollen thing, perfect for the cooler weather that had now set in, perfect for Kaveh's own odd tastes.

“You shouldn’t have left it on the sofa,” Alhaitham said.

“Says the man who leaves his clothes everywhere!” Kaveh spoke like exclamation points were fast going out of fashion. He was passionate in everything, his work, his hobbies, his rivalry with Alhaitham. “Take your own advice, and maybe then others will follow suit!”

“And leave you with no chores?” Alhaitham shuffled to the side, taking his book with him. This side of the sofa was cold, all his body heat left behind in the cushions. He regretted moving.

But Kaveh hardly seemed interested in the scarf anymore, instead pacing the length of the sofa with increasingly dramatic hand gestures. “Oh, hardly. If you’re not leaving your clothes, it’s your books. All of them, strewn about like garbage! Haven’t you ever heard of a pile, Alhaitham? Or a bookshelf? You have enough of them, all mismatched in their colour, or their wood, or their style. It’s like a monkey decorated this place, I swear it—!”

“Though I know you enjoy listening to your own voice, I’ve got other avenues of research to attend to. Your scarf is free. Take it, and wherever you’re going, make sure that squawking of yours doesn’t attract the wrong kind of attention.”

It was the closest that Alhaitham would ever get to expressing any kind of sentiment towards his erstwhile friend. Knowing him, he was off to survey some desolate area or another in some misguided attempt to find inspiration for a new build. There were plenty of threats in Sumeru’s rainforest, and though Kaveh could be handy in a fight, there were times that he’d come back rattled or lightly wounded, ranting or distressed. If he returned injured, it would be another irritation that Alhaitham would have no choice but to put up with.

Kaveh’s eyes lingered a moment too long, something shifting in them. Alhaitham had never been much good at reading subtle emotional changes, however; whatever face Kaveh was wearing now, it wasn’t one he recognised. It hardly mattered. As Kaveh opened his mouth to start off his next tirade, Alhaitham reached up and switched his music back on, looking back to his book.

And then Kaveh was off again, rushing around the room in Alhaitham’s peripheral before making a grab for his keys. He vanished from the room, and finally the door slammed shut, vibrating through the floor. Alhaitham sank back into his seat again, eyes half-lidded as he picked up where he’d left off.

A mask for every occasion, every person, every conversation. He understood in a way; though he’d never bothered with his own, the people around him always implied he should. If only he was a little less blunt, a little less arrogant, a little less difficult to work with. They made obstacles of their own perceptions of him, but that was how he liked it. Why be someone he wasn’t when it would only make his life more difficult?

But for others, he knew it made it easier. Logic dictated it so. To smile around someone you hated just to keep the peace, to lie to a friend to keep a horrible truth buried, to shout at someone to perpetuate anger when deep-down you just wanted to find a common ground again. He’d seen it time and time again, watched others experience it in the halls of the Akademiya. Though he didn’t understand it for himself, he could through others. Such was the beauty of perspective.                                                                                          

A hint of red at the edge of his vision, though Alhaitham barely noticed it in favour of the next line. His music trended onwards, bouncing against his ear drums. He turned a page, another, another, until the red shifted. Finally, Alhaitham lifted his head, locking eyes with Kaveh, who, inexplicably, was stood at in the doorway.

Alarm flitted through those deep red eyes. Then, a flurry of movement. Alhaitham knocked his headphones off in time to hear, “—forgot my scarf, so I just came to get it back, you’re such a thick-skulled fool, I don’t know why I bother—!”

“You forgot?” Alhaitham shook his head in disbelief. “Colour me surprised.”

“Har-har, laugh at me all you want, but I couldn’t care less!” Kaveh wrapped the scarf around his neck and rushed back for the door. “And don’t you dare fall asleep on the sofa because you were too engrossed in that book! If I come home and find you in a ruinous position, don’t think I’ll move you to your bed. That’ll be your own folly coming back to bite you, you hear? Goodnight!”

The door slammed shut again before Alhaitham could get a word out. He sat there a while, both perplexed and astounded, before shutting off the light he’d been reading by and taking his book to bed with him. He had a small lamp at his bedside, enough to not strain his eyes with, and Kaveh could hardly complain if he fell asleep in his own bed now, could he?

But he allowed a moment before he went back to the book to think of the scarf, to wonder how Kaveh had managed to forget it after making such a fuss. He was a careless man, but not to that degree.

No answer came—he would have to ask in the morning.

[randomvarious]

Today’s compilation:

Grammy Nominees 2000 2000 Pop / Latin Pop / Teen Pop / R&B

I think it's genuinely funny to look back on albums like these and to see some of the songs and names that the Recording Academy deemed worthy of nominating for some of the Grammys' most coveted categories: "Livin' la vida loca" for Record of the Year? Kid Rock for Best New Artist, even though he'd already put out three albums prior (and is also really bad)? Lou Bega for Best Male Pop Vocal Performance, and in the same category as Andrea Bocelli? 😂 What are we even doing here, folks? What's next, a Marvel movie getting nominated for Best Picture? 😳

Anyway, regardless of some of these choices, it's always fun to take a trip down memory lane, get a bit of that nostalgia rush, and re-evaluate some of these hits that were completely inescapable two-plus decades ago.

And I think my biggest takeaway here is that, even though I still can’t help but love most of its dopey songs, the US' Latin pop boom at the turn of the millennium was, for the most part, pretty objectively terrible. "Livin' la vida loca" is pure maximalist cringe, with its "skin's the color mocha" lyric possibly being the worst line ever written in the history of pop music. And its absurd James Bond guitar motif will also never not be funny to me. Amazing to remember that people unironically enjoyed this song at one point. Like, imagine going to a normal bar at peak hours on a Saturday night in 1999 and this song comes on, and people start going nuts for it? What a time to be alive.

And same goes for "Mambo No. 5," another incredible Latin pop inanity that also happened to mesh well with that whole swing revival thing that bands like the Brian Setzer Orchestra and the Cherry Poppin' Daddies (that fucking name, man) were somehow getting away with at the same exact time. God, what musical horrors this time period wrought. And Lou Bega's not even Latin, either, by the way. He's a German native who's of Sicilian and Ugandan descent. And still, he made one of the biggest Latin pop hits of all time. Go figure.

And then there's Santana's "Smooth," which isn't actually an *awful* song on its own—at least not to nearly the same extent as those other two—but it's managed to reach such an extreme level of saturation over the years that I think it's now achieved a meme status that's akin to "All Star." I mean, that opening bar hits and you just chuckle at the utter absurdity of this song's existence at this point, right? But I actually learned a couple interesting facts about it today. One is that the guy who produced Matchbox Twenty's debut album also produced this song, and the other is that, originally, it was given to Rob Thomas in its preliminary stages, so he could work on it and then someone else could end up singing the final product, but Santana just decided that Thomas should provide the lead vocals anyway. And Thomas actually had someone like George Michael in mind instead, so try to imagine what that would've sounded like 😯.

But I swear to you all that I'm not actually an insufferably stuffy despiser of all 90s pop; I love some of the music on here. "...Baby One More Time" and that whole Swedish-produced teen pop craze has really grown on me over the years. Producer Max Martin was a total pop production genius back then and that Britney Spears debut single was one of his finest works. It has such an excellently lush final push and the song itself legitimately changed the pop music landscape forever. But I also can't help but notice some of the similarities between it and another less remembered co-production of Martin's that he did in '97 for Robyn called "Show Me Love" (not to be confused with the all-time diva house hit, "Show Me Love" by Robin S.) .

By the way, wanna see quite possibly the wrongest anyone's ever been about anything, ever? Read the following sentence from the Wikipedia article for "...Baby One More Time." The level of lack of foresight is off the fucking charts!

Given what we know now, it's crazy to think how multiple people at the top of the industry could've missed this mark by so goddamn much, but they did. And maybe, had "...Baby One More Time" never been made, they might've actually been right. But as it turns out, they were the complete opposite of that.

Overall, this is a fun album for channeling more innocent times and enjoying some of the pure pop goofiness of 1999, but the idea that some of these songs ever got nominated for anything other than the musical equivalent of a Razzie by an “authoritative” institution is pretty funny in and of itself and it also reveals what an unserious organization the Recording Academy really became at some point. Like, I can't imagine, at any time, thinking that a song like "Livin' la vida loca" ever exuded any kind of level of excellence, but I'd also very much like to meet the people who did!

Highlights:

Backstreet Boys - "I Want It That Way" Ricky Martin - "Livn' la vida loca" Santana - "Smooth" TLC - "No Scrubs" Christina Aguilera - "Genie in a Bottle" Macy Gray - "Do Something" Kid Rock - "Bawitdaba" Britney Spears - "...Baby One More Time" Marc Anthony - "I Need to Know" Lou Bega - "Mambo No. 5 (A Little Bit Of...)" Sting - "Brand New Day"

[izzy-b-hands]

I know music aus are overdone for Ed and Izzy and their crew pre-Stede (or at least that particular au is pretty well saturated for both pre and with Stede) but

(very rambly au talking below the cut involving a fic draft I'm working on rn. I attempted to make this slightly easier to parse by italicising my Additional Thoughts and putting them into their own paragraphs and brackets but. There's a lotta love for this au and it's late so this is messy, bear with me while I babble excitedly.)

I'm really loving dipping back into the one I started for AU-gust and adding onto it with other bands. Like, I'm finally writing this one particular Dethklok/Queen Anne's Revenge

(placeholder band name for Ed, Izzy, Fang, and Ivan bc it does fuck as a band name in a weird way since I see them being like. purposefully subversive with it? in terms of lyrics/things sung about/album artwork/etc. Like, y'all remember the chants at football games when the queen died last year or whenever that happened I don't remember and fuck looking it up bc. I don't give a fuck abt the royals lmao? Lizzie's in box? that's the vibe for anything for them when they get political, v punk and fuck the state which is entirely too reductive for how much More I have in ideas for this sphere of things for them but that's not what this post was meant to be about so i finally digress-)

idea wherein they play a show with Dethklok, specifically water-themed. All the water/ocean/mermaid/pirates/etc things like that songs that both bands have are on the setlist, and. And. Dethklok, as the hosting band

(aka Charles needed to clean things up and distract from the latest spate of accidental concert deaths, and QAR's current management in the form of one shithead extraordinaire Ben Hornigold doesn't give two fucks about what he signs them up for as long as he gets the biggest cut out of it, so he doesn't even appreciate that like. the world's most famous band and their manager approached them, an also v famous but not as famous considering this is now an AU where Queen, Dethklok, QAR, and other musicians/bands are all hobknobbing far more than they ever might irl thing, band. Without any reason. Just chose them at random. If u thought Ben was bad in canon I'm somehow making him even more insufferable and shit in this au, he's just Bad At His Job but stumbles into success on Ed, Izzy, Fang, and Ivan's talents. Whatever, off topic AGAIN but I just have so much I love and wanna talk about with this au-)

Set up a new sort of pit/stage design. The operating idea is a clear, aquarium like tank or pool, where the fans can float and headbang away, all while feeling like fishes themselves! It's very clever, you see, and definitely won't result in anyone drowning when it turns into a mosh tsunami

(spoiler alert: it is clever, but not really, and so many people are gonna drown. Luckily, in this fic Metalocalypse logic applies bc only Dethklok and QAR are involved, so they can bask in that universe's ability to kill people constantly as part of Dethklok's Whole Thing without it being a big deal, though this is from Izzy's POV and a big part of it is him realising that and coming to terms with it as they play through people just. Literally headbanging hard enough into violently sloshing water to drown themselves, with a smile on their face because they got to see Dethklok, finally.)

Also Murderface is the opener as one-man Planet Piss and it goes so poorly for him and Izzy and Ed are just. So mildly grossed out by how it goes down and sweetly concerned. Someone get that kid some therapy, a hug, and please tell him to stop pissing on the crowd as part of his Planet Piss act (He will not.)

My working setlist thus far because of course I've got the fucking setlist (though since QAR doesn't...actually exist, I'm just giving them songs by other rock/metal/grunge/punk acts I like that have songs with fitting themes/lyrics for this show. As such D=Dethklok song, QAR/(insert name of band that actually plays the song irl) on these):

1.Murmaider-D

2. Murmaider II-D

3. Murmaider III-D

4. A History of Bad Men-QAR/Melvins (not exactly on theme, but it's peak early canon edizzy vibes for me, so in this au it's just like. one of their always played songs, every show, no matter what.)

5. Flying Whales-QAR/Gojira

6. Black Waters-QAR/Avatar

7. Go Into the Water-D

8. Capsized-QAR/Kyuss (an instrumental to try and uh. give the Klokateers time to get a big fucking net and get out the already dead audience members. Keep the vibes going but not make it too weird with the...everything, going on lmao)

9. unsure yet bc it needs to bring the energy back without it being Weird, and that's a delicate balance...so probably something else by Brendan Small. I'll eventually post this playlist, probably, but for now. In progress just for this fic special little playlist listing.

[holdsteady]

oh for sure, doing things that artists do is very much a song you have to vibematch with to get the most out of, and you're quite cool yourself!! the way you talk about music is very interesting... grants a new lens to consider these songs through. what about someday - pale seas, cherry blue intention - special interest, or weight of the world - battletapes? maybe blood - starbenders if you enjoyed vixen? hmm. admittedly i'm not sure what songs i know would be within your tastes. are there any songs that you would recommend? perhaps ones that qualified as "download instantly"?

you are flattering me and i am very much enjoying being able to listen to things i just straight-up haven't heard of!

pale seas couldn’t listen all the way through | not my thing | it’s okay | kinda catchy | ok i really like this | downloading immediately | already in my library well, they're no pale waves, but i liked the vibe here! spotify calls it "bedroom dream pop," and i'm not getting dream pop but what i am getting is, like, 2012 indie cinema which means that it's very much my wheelhouse from late high school. i can imagine artists i'd put it beside on a playlist (starlight mints, little green cars, wild nothing). maybe i will! it's a specific mood but one i like! special interest couldn’t listen all the way through | not my thing | it’s okay | kinda catchy | ok i really like this | downloading immediately | already in my library i'm noticing that a lot of your recommendations read very cinematic in general to me--by which i mean, when i'm listening to them i can imagine the movie-scene version of life that i'd want them to soundtrack. this one's giving me a group of friends piled into a car on a crisp clear night driving from party to party, maybe ending the night with someone special. strong imagery and a drum machine that makes me feel a lot like arab strap's "the first big weekend" somehow, a swelling in the chest. i like it more the more i listen. battletapes couldn’t listen all the way through | not my thing | it’s okay | kinda catchy | ok i really like this | downloading immediately | already in my library this is one of those baffling situations where the parts work for me just fine--i particularly like when the bass drops out and then builds back up at the 2:30 mark--but the sum of them just doesn't grab me for some reason. i think perhaps a different chorus might make this one more memorable for me. starbenders couldn’t listen all the way through | not my thing | it’s okay | kinda catchy | ok i really like this | downloading immediately | already in my library i was all geared up to really like this one. great name, digging the aesthetic, great vocal, even the lyrics are working for me. my first instinct says it's just a little too slow for me, but i didn't feel the energy of the build either, so what i'm really thinking is that it's just a bit too polished. i'm a notorious bastard for wanting my guitar music to feel a little more raw, but people who are not just insufferable on the issue should probably check this out!

based on all of the above i'll recommend any artist/song i've mentioned already as well as "your big brown eyes and my big broke heart" by the russian futurists, "bare feet on wet griptape" by chad vangaalen, "between the moon and the ocean" by bon savants, "what's a girl to do" by bat for lashes if you've never gone there, maybe "shame" by young fathers? i'm just kinda vibe spitballing at this point

[polyhexian]

One of the most insufferable parts of this show is the music. Every episode has a song and all of them are bad. Every. Single. One. they're all fucking awful. Not only are they awful to listen to but they are about absolutely nothing. They never feel natural, they never make sense, they literally just waste time and grate on the ears. I truly despise them. How do you have THREE seasons of a show and never manage to even accidentally make a tolerable piece of music

It's also so fucking .. idiot plot constantly. And it's not because it's a kid show. Not even because it's a rescue squad show. Rescue bots is fucking iconic. Whenever there's an idiot plot, it's because someone involved is in fact an idiot and that's the plot.

This episode is one of the worst so far. Some zebras are stuck in the ground. Because it's the dry season, and I guess somehow the zebras just stood in the mud in the riverbed for so long the water all dried up and now they can't get their legs out. Sure. Fine. So kion uses the fucking magic this show face him to roar at a cloud and make it rain. The zebras then get free, but also ten seconds of rain then cause a straight up flash flood that washes the hippo all the way into the fucking outlands. And like. Not just a little bit. Like way way way into the outlands. Like we see it wash him out of a ditch after twenty seconds and somehow we are now so far into the outlands that it takes him hours to hike back. He is LOST. He is also in just a huge dry open plain. And. Not really near anything. It's infuriating like. This sequence of events makes no sense in a truly insufferable way like. That simply. Thats so patronizingly stupid.

I am GOING to finish the lion guard. I know I've said that ten times now but this time I'm for real. I'm finishing this stupid fucking show. I know too much lion king lore to skip this fucking thing. It literally ends post tlk2. It gives vitani a character payoff. I have to finish it. I can't have fucking read the German magazine comics and not watched the entire fucking animated series. I grew up watching the timon and pumbaa show and it sucked. I HAVE to finish this stupid thing. Arghhhh

[witchmoon]

by our red string of fate.

Part 1

Pairing: Prince Aemond Targaryen x fem! Reader 

Summary: Aemond returns to King’s Landing for Aegon’s name day celebration during the midst of war. Immediately he regrets his decision to join the festivities, threatening an existential crisis, but then a mysterious beauty catches his attention - intriguing his jaded heart. It’s an unlikely place and the most inconvenient of times, but somehow he's renewed by the prospect that he could finally have a love he’s never known. 

Word Count: 4.6k 

Author’s Note: Third person perspective, reader/she (Y/N) is from an unspecified house with limited knowledge of the Targaryens. Some deviation of timelines and of HOTD canon/ details. Multi-part wip / slow burn, angst, eventual NSFW (lots!), language, soft feels.

I just want to write about Aemond falling in love, so the story is hyper-focused on the two mains-only without a lot of scene setting and background regarding the dance. Hope you stick around and enjoy! Comments/asks welcomed. LMK if you want to be tagged.

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

don’t stop trying to find me here amidst the chaos. though i know it’s blinding, there’s a way out. say out loud, we will not give up on love now.

Sometimes Aemond wonders why he still shows up for shit like this, especially when the attendance is so insufferable. Not that he doesn’t occasionally enjoy hearing his name mentioned in mixed tones of reverence and fear when he returns home.

Admittedly, he does find the soft whispers amongst the crowd of highborn families that his mother insists on periodically inviting to court dryly amusing, but only just.  

The attention can also prove a nice stroke to his ego every once in awhile, but it isn’t important to him the way it might have been before the war started. The pointed compliments and overt side-glances his way seem particularly insincere, holding no significance, as every person in the room fails to override his growing boredom.

Heavens save me.

Aemond begins to seethe at the fuckery of it all, and the night continues to progress with no clear end in sight. Time passes and with every moment that it does, his interest in remaining present depletes.

It’s unsurprising in consideration of how the conversations stay surface-level, lacking quality as the topics float weightless and repeating, forever removed from reality. Even with so many moon turns passed, everything still seems to remain relatively ordinary. No- dull as shit, he internally counters. Its personally stifling within the confines of the Red Keep.

He hates it here. The lack of evolution disappoints Aemond, even despite his expectation already residing at an all-time low. But what could be expected? Certainly nothing more from the self-indulgent snobs so far up their own asses as they regale in false self-importance, and definitely not when they maintain this guise for their foolish king’s name day celebration. What a farce.

His train of thought compels him to consider the raised dais where his idiot brother currently sits, already several cups deep into his spirits. Aemond can’t help but roll his eye, a habit he’s no longer keen to conceal. He’s grown tired of putting on fronts, especially for his family, wearing his emotions more easily on his sleeve so to speak.

Disdain and bitterness reignite at the sight of Aegon, selfish prick that he is, weaving back into Aemond’s marrow as he reflects on the many sacrifices he continues to make in the name of honor, loyalty and duty. And for fucking what?

i don't feel guilt at being unsociable, though i may sometimes regret it because my loneliness is painful…

The wine is weak, the food is tasteless and the music - abhorrent. He swears he’s going to gut the damn jester that keeps circling the main floor if he sees him again, envisioning the crimson pool that would undoubtedly ruin his newly polished boots in his mind’s eye, were he to act on the impulse.

It wouldn’t be worth it and Mother would be none too pleased…

Convincing himself of this, it’s actually not lost on him that he’s spent his entire life actually living within and throughout this ever-growing debacle. So many nights just like this, and the irony of such staggering a truth becomes too fucking rich. He blames his father most of all for this, but there are other factors too, ideas less congruent, but convincing all the same- he’s been cursed since birth.

His aversion to remain in this hall, in the entirety of this damnable Keep, only builds. The mood of Aemond is a transformative black and he’s past annoyance when more people fill the space, to the point it feels like everything probably should implode on itself. And he can’t say he wouldn’t welcome this, even if it meant his own demise, because at this point who fucking cares?

but when i move into the world, it feels like a moral fall- like seeking love in a whorehouse.

Alas, it does not. But the cynicism within him just keeps expanding. He can only blame himself. Just lay in it then, and try to be civilized.

Truth be told, the appeal for him to do anything these days that didn’t include partaking in the plotting for destruction and so many endless deaths during war meetings, or patrolling for visible threats from the sky on Vhagar had been strong. He’s convinced it must have been in a moment of weakness, during one of his deep bouts of loneliness, that the invitation bearing raven had conveniently arrived to him.

Aemond can’t justify any other reason than this, for he’d made haste to King’s Landing without any true forethought upon receipt of his mother’s handwritten request. Why had he been so easily swayed? Was it because life of late felt reduced to boring days, an unknown future, an irregular sleep, repeat? Yes, likely. But these were weaknesses better kept under wraps.

He smirks at such an unmerciful fate, but mostly to himself when he turns again to the main table, witnessing in real time as his only living parent bestows Aegon with a small surreptitious slap at something mouthy he’s just said towards her. In all these years, nothing ever changes.

Their grandsire holds Aegon in a death glare full of contempt by her side, utterly disapproving as well, which is something Aemond finds satiric. After all, wasn’t this what The Hand had always wanted for The Greens? Irreverent power and glory, Aegon upon the throne…such folly.

i can hardly breathe, and now you're right above me and your shadow suffocates.

The Keep had momentarily seemed a welcoming concept, but the present is too sobering a contradiction, impossible to ignore now. Sadly, the notion that he’d feel differently for this homecoming was once more proving false.

He can’t deflect responsibility, knowing his decision in actuality has been swayed by the growing weariness of violence - how tired he is of constantly being on the defense; forever at odds with his heart, his soul. It all feels heavy, a burdensome weight that will not hold much longer. What is my purpose? Although he will never admit this to anyone, he’s begun to lose sight of what he’s even fighting for anymore.

He needs something else to focus on for a while. A spark of interest would be nice, anything might do, as long as it could keep him from lashing out in anger - mostly at himself. Or worse, he could go spiraling downwards, back into the deep abyss of his emotions for a long-term residence. Just wither away into nothingness, and he has half a mind to let it happen. Fuck it all.

The actuality of all this flits across his mind, leaving the room suddenly muted to his ears. He shuts out the conversation he’s been involved in for an undisputed amount of time. Interestingly, the group surrounding him is littered with several lords and ladies that used to scoff and shirk at him a mere handful of solar cycles previously.

Hypocrites, cowards, utter cunts - the lot of them.

It doesn’t really matter to him though, these fools from a bitter and harrowing past, nor their opinions. Instead he inwardly returns to a more pressing matter up for his contemplation - the emptiness he’s been feeling for awhile, how internalized and damaging it still is.

He thinks of the way it all stacks up against him, how it’s reduced him to a man underwhelmed, unfulfilled… and the greatest issue of all, unloved. This is something Aemond is forever conscious of, and it’s like he’s suddenly experiencing the same oppressive state he’d lived in for so much of his youth, a time in which he was not in control whatsoever.

Once upon a time, he had been soft - a dreamer with a lot of heart to give. Unfortunately, by no fault of his own, his sensitive nature had proven detrimental, swiftly making him the target of many immature, albeit cruel intentions. Even despite being a Targaryen son, he’d constantly found himself the brunt of jests amongst his eldest brother and younger kin alike.

It had been a callous awakening, one that both fed his deep-seated feelings of inadequacy and expanded his burgeoning anger, turning him more spiteful with age.

What the fuck?

He wonders why these memories are suddenly seeking their re-emergence, particularly when it feels like he’s already spent a lifetime making painstaking efforts to finally move beyond such devastating haunts.

But it never really leaves him.

In defiance of persistence, self preservation and all he’s mastered, everything he’s proven of himself through accomplishment and challenge, some things still refuse to detach themselves from him. They are core memories that shall remain forever tied to the very matter of which he’s made, and because of this, he’s tried to make peace with their aggravation.

Even still, it’s a nuisance for him when he considers his own personal defects, how ingrained they seem, like a sustained poison in his blood. Inescapable fallacies that others have convinced him of, no matter his renowned skills as a swordsman, his impressive mount on the biggest dragon in the world, all his knowledge - the rarity of an education that is vast, uncommon… the notoriety of his crimes.

Am I not more than this?

He’s flawed - yes, as painfully aware of this truth as he is of his demons, so many well-acquainted old foes that have been around his entire life, lurking endlessly. They’re more repressed than before, but Aemond doesn’t think they’ll ever truly leave him, and he’s inclined to accept this damnation too.

But try as he might to tamper it, he feels primarily defined by his navigation and survival through neglect and bullying, at being physically maimed and sexually taken advantage of at a young age, none the wiser at the time. It’s all very tragic, even still, and yet he’s tired of being married to the victimization of it all.

He often wonders what’s so terribly wrong with him that every day, it feels like Westeros is trying to strangle him. As if she’s been trying to do this for his entire life - kill him slowly. And this plausibility doesn’t seem out of the realm of possibility as he sardonically considers his existence, how shit it’s been, that the bitch might actually be succeeding in the endeavor.

It's an ever-present thorn in his side, and it feels deeper tonight, the stab somehow greater. He feels like disappearing or giving up, and the decision to give in only persists in the absence of an anchor - one he’s been in dire need of for some time.

If only there was a new strength from which he could draw, something powerful that he might feel inclined to cling to. His mind reels at what could possibly keep him grounded, give his life meaning, keep him sane enough to remain in this living hell.

But hope is a foreign concept, a dangerous entertainment that Aemond doesn’t make a practice of, and happiness is even more evasive. For him, there’s no miracle waiting in the wings for the perfect moment to unveil itself and show him kindness. There’s no fortress from which to seek refuge within, no bastion or brave defender to come to his aid, no salve to erase all the hurt in his torn heart. It’s a lost cause.

He knows that coming here tonight has been a grave mistake.

no dawn, no day, i’m always in this twilight.

He wants to move, but the will to do so momentarily abandons him, leaving him to remain trapped within himself. His singular vision loses focus as his stare shifts to the intricate flooring before him, a distracting pattern of which he really isn’t seeing. It’s not promising, but he’s somehow hoping the ground might miraculously deign mercy upon him by opening up and just swallowing him fucking whole.

He holds his breath, willing this occurrence, but of course it's all for naught. Then, as if from the end of a dark tunnel, he hears the familiarity of his name, spoken and echoing, drawing him back to the present. He begins to anticipate the confused stares from the group he’s been standing with, though no genuine conversing has taken place thus far.

When his mobility reinstates of its own accord, he shifts his weight to buy some time before looking up to consider the lord who’s asked him... something. He knows not what, nor does he care, but upon Aemond’s vision refocusing, he’s not seeing them or anyone - only her.

in this light, i swear you’re mine.

It's a mysterious occurrence, the way time works - how the stars seem to have finally conspired to align with opportunity and chance. And for the first time tonight, perhaps ever, he finds himself captivated.

The crowd has split, forming a clear path from where he’s standing to the opposite end of the room. He swears his traveling gaze has been moved by some greater force, something he cannot name, beckoning him. It must be true, he’s convinced as the connection he’s feeling with the nameless woman increases.

The air becomes charged with renewed energy, a unique heat that seems untainted by pretense. And it’s heat that flourishes within him now - inexplicable, drugging when he realizes all at once that she’s staring back at him. Only him.

There’s a curiosity to their exchange, the way it goes on in silence, in secret. It’s everything but fleeting, what they’re sharing from afar. And although it's from a great distance, he knows this could be something of substance, worth pursuing. Something unnamed within him spurs this idea, urging him into action to seize this unexpected opportunity, but then she looks away and he’s completely startled.

Suddenly, Aemond cannot breathe. She is fucking beautiful. From his remote observation, this is clear, but he’s also sensing something else about her. Aside from the obvious, that she’s literally the most stunning person in the room, that he has probably ever seen, her energy is not supporting this fact.

It perplexes him.

Amid the many exquisite objects within this opulent hall, she outshines them all, easily taking center stage. But what’s drawing Aemond the most, putting him on the highest of alerts, is the unease he senses emulating from her. She looks about ready to dart from the stale festivities, as if she’s simply gathering her nerve while mapping out her next move in order to see this realized.

Take me with you.

Actually, she looks exactly the way he feels, and intuitively he knows that she is someone he needs to have in his life. He’s still staring when she unexpectedly looks at him again, and with this second glance - a feeling of pure elation begins to take root within him. The air rushes to enter his lungs once more.

Suddenly he feels alive again, awakened from the dead at long last.

i looked at him with unexplainable recognition, i stared at him with a burning throat and teary eyes.

It’s time to panic.

Truth be told, she hadn’t meant to stare for as long as she had, and then again. It's definitely not something she’s prone to do - fixate on strangers, especially considering how uncomfortable it’s always made her when on the receiving end of such attentions.

But in her defense, dear cousin had recently disappeared, leaving her to her own devices without any formal introductions. Thus, voiding any and all potential attempts at social interactions on her own, should she have chosen to pursue them.

She had not, and it wasn’t a great loss for her either, as the night so far had proven rather stale - falling flat despite its nauseating frivolity. And yet, as a first-time visitor to the capital with limited knowledge of court customs, being put out like this felt like a blow, like abandonment.

It did not bode well with her to feel less than, misplaced, unwelcome. And these were all issues she’d been struggling with since arriving, trying desperately to maintain a sense of calm confidence that she did not actually feel an iota of.

In honesty, she could have anticipated this if only she’d removed the figurative rose colored lenses from which she’d been trying to experience tonight through.

It wasn’t fated to be ideal though, as she had immediately sensed something malignant from the moment she’d walked through the entry door earlier. Bittersweet, but unsurprisingly, it left her longing for the solitude of home with its rolling lands, the beauty evergreen.

She maintains vexation over recent decisions, once more finding herself in a situation that’s left her ill at ease - hellbent on forfeiting any and all of the night’s eventualities. If I could just get out of here. Yet, something holds her back.

Perhaps it’s the perceived lack of decorum in disappearing that stays her. Hardly - but the watchful eyes throughout the room do give her pause. Aware of the scornful judgement being passed about, in constant motion from one fiend to the next, she can’t say she’s trying to draw more attention.

She’s not senseless either, having been told numerous times of the weight this invite held - one of generosity and privilege and opportunity. In theory, it had seemed plausible, so she hadn’t dismissed the importance of impression that kept being pressed upon her every day leading up to now.

And now, there’s contradiction at every turn - the night proving to be little more than a pitiful show of extravagance. A colossal inconvenience to celebrate and placate an unworthy man-child.

As if I really give a shit about this Aegon twat.

He apparently IS the king, but she really fails to comprehend this as fact. From her personal observation, he appears more juvenile than ruler, all tired eyes and messy hair. He’s wearing a permanent scowl of disinterest too, as he begins making his rounds amongst his guests. It’s plain to see he’s intoxicated, struggling at times to stay upright on his two feet.

Even the heavy crown atop his head fails to stay centered, impossible to maintain its position with the continuous sway of its wearer. Such a mess.

Though she finds herself wondering why she left home for this, she can’t deny the inherent need within her to be pushed - really move out of established comforts for the sake of growth. Admittedly, life had become dull enough for her to consider travel, even despite perceived dark times in the more well-known parts of the world.

The risk had been taken, and tonight was accomplishing her misguided notion to experience something new, something she’d never had before. It was definitely not a place of comfort either, but neither was it engaging as she had hoped it might be.

Perhaps a little intrigue would do some good in this social wasteland, but there is nothing, nobody.

While she wasn’t a stranger to taking inherent leaps of faith, having a rather optimistic outlook most days, nothing was presently inspiring the spark within her. Likewise, nothing was pulling her to put some faith into this night, relinquish any benefits of doubt. There was nothing compelling, nobody convincing her that this particular setting was anything other than cold and callous.

More than that though, it felt undeniably toxic, laced with the unmistaken undercurrent of condescension. And for the first time in her life she yearns to be invisible.

These are not my people and I don’t belong here.

The realization of this hits hard, at a very inopportune moment, and it's causing her cool facade to deplete significantly. It feels like she’s breaking down, on the brink of a total collapse. She could crumble and it would be so easy, but still, she hangs on.

She sips her wine and it’s disgusting, aware that any further indulgence in it won’t be worth tomorrow’s ache in the head. However, the heavy cup remains a functional prop to keep her semi-occupied with intended movement. She thinks at the very least, it's helping her blend in more with the rest of this cunty crowd, appearing like less of an outsider, less...delicate.

The thought of taking another walk around the hall seems a viable option - an attempt to kill more of this rotten evening. She finds more appeal in the notion, rather than standing still and pretending she’s agreeable with her surroundings.

Everything continues to fall away, and it’s getting harder to crawl out of her melancholic mood. Though, on a very specific level of self-awareness, she knows she’s being too critical of the situation and too hard on herself. It’s a deep flaw for her, to be constantly plagued by one’s own high expectations, equipped with the unfortunate knack of also being dramatic.

It’s a curse in many ways - limiting, exhausting, upsetting. She hates that she feels so much, so deeply. She hates the way she always ends up let down in the end. She hates the way she wants more from life, yet always comes up short.

What did you actually expect… to fall in love with a prince?

The thought is enough to get her angsty, exasperated that she could still have the capacity to be this naive, to think that such wonders might exist. Fairytales, her personal kingdom of dreams recognized, come to life. She could romanticize the idea for the rest of her days, but they’re simply that, dreams. And only dreams they will remain. Intangible.

When she considers this, and she’s done so often throughout her life, it always leaves her reeling with the harshest of realities in the end. She wonders why she puts herself through it, time and again - dreaming up a life and a love that will never belong to her.

The outcome will never change, you’re destined to be alone.

She’s too much in her head at this point and it weights her, but she’s done pretending, over the tolerance. She realizes she has to get out of here, that it doesn’t even matter where to. Just away. And suddenly there’s no more argument left within her of what she should do by staying. There’s no room left for lingering guilt either.

It’s simply time to go.

Scanning the space, she finds her exit route in record time. But beyond these four walls, she has no idea where she’s going. It doesn’t matter, I don’t care.

Although it momentarily deters her from taking action, she decides to chance one more look across the room in an attempt to locate her kin. At the very least, it would be wise to give notice of her leave for the evening, but the effort is fruitless and she’s quick to abandon the search.

That's when her eyes land on him.

are you breathing just a little and calling it a life?

Who is he?

She has no idea, though she could draw some conclusions and seven hells, he is stunning! There’s an enigma about him, a danger and acuteness to his character that exudes a well-steeped confidence. She can tell all this just by the way he holds himself, at least that’s the impression she’s receiving by his body language, the semi-defensive stance.

He intrigues her, radiant yet darkly masculine as well, and he physically stands out with his impressive height and athletic build - everything she’s attracted to. He looks important, but displaced. It’s also clear he’s disinterested with those around him, perhaps jaded by the same shortcomings in his life as she is with hers. She wonders, thinking it could be true.

The energy from him draws her the same way his appearance does, all black leather and belts, a dagger, a donned eye-patch, gorgeous long hair that is pale, glorious. Even in the dim light, it shines as if illuminated - a most mysterious beacon, working to draw out her withering heart with a renewed vibrant curiosity.

Fuck, that is lovely. She thought she was leaving, but now her feet feel heavy and she can’t look away.

A Targaryen, obviously. But who the fuck is he, which dragonlord is this? She MUST know.

He’s striking, it's undeniable, even despite looking forlorn in this current setting. Or maybe it’s just a blasé air that he keeps. It could be a front. Again, she wonders. Either way, she picks this up right away, deliberating how it isn’t obvious to the imbeciles he’s standing amongst, of how very little he cares.

Its a strange concept, like tragic art, as she spectates the scene. It's like he’s invisible, such as she, or he wants to be, such as she. He’s completely withdrawn from the conversation… and he is beautiful.

Unbeknownst to him, he’s also outwardly manifesting everything she’s been internalizing - its just something she feels, senses. The silent energy emanating from him becomes a fucking madness, moving unseen across the space, weaving through faceless bodies. And suddenly it’s crashing into her with subtle violence, summoning her in a manner that’s arcane, unintentional.

It transmits nonetheless, in a demand to feel something, anything.

She thinks she might, knowing he would be the reason, and she casts a silent wish then: look at me, escape with me. She expects nothing. And yet, it seems he has somehow received her unspoken plea with perfect aim, because almost immediately he looks up, finding her without pause, effortlessly.

It takes her breath, taken aback by the depth of his stare, even from afar. But it’s not merely the meeting of their eyes that's causing her panic to grow now.

It's the way the most beautiful man she’s ever seen maintains his stare, subtly tilting his head in acknowledgement of her existence. It’s the way he’s just excused himself from the small group he’s been standing with as she watches him finally break loose from them.

It’s the way he's walking directly towards her now with unmistaken interest.

the sadness you carry, it hangs like a ghost.

Aemond’s need to go to her is instantaneous, his mind quickly made up, surrendering to her unspoken beckoning. What he’s feeling can’t be described, but it puts him in motion with assured steps towards her, intent to maintain their connection.

The last thing he wants now is a deterrent, some dumb bastard interrupting his advancement with meaningless words and insincere praise. He can’t be fucked, especially since the exuberance of others often exhausts and bores him.

Besides, he’s not that infamous and he thinks his appearance should emit a genuine aloofness, at least enough to mark him as unapproachable.

In this moment, he hopes for it to be true.

As he continues, his boots on the stone floor leave an echoing sound - the faintest of cadences to his ears. Even the soft music that’s been playing, sounds he’d previously drowned out, return to fill his senses. He’s aware of how the room comes alive once more and how his attention hones into the finer details - the beautiful things that matter enough to hold some of his appreciation. But nothing is shining as bright, as gorgeous as her.

i’ll just tear it down, and i’ll wear it like a ribbon - give it.

His perspective is altered, biased. He’s ever grateful for the reprieve in detaching from the aimless buzz of verbal interaction. He carries on as the swooning strings from instruments and all the paintings and flickering candles in the room act as a backdrop for the dream he’s finally found himself in.

There’s a grandeur to the moment, and it doesn’t even seem like he’s in the same place as before. It's a subtle shift with great impact and to Aemond, it’s like a slow awakening of his spirit. His heart feels lighter, his chest less constricted somehow. Breathing comes more easily as he realizes he’s no longer holding everything in.

For him, tonight finally makes sense - he sees with so much clarity and with it, an aspiration to unearth something extraordinary. I am here because she is here. And she’s his focus, it can’t be misinterpreted.

This is intense, he knows it is, because he can be intense - in looks, in demeanor, in speech. For example, the effect of his set jaw and determined eye are apparent just based on the way she looks away again, like she needs a moment for herself. Like maybe she’s alarmed by him and his imminent approach…

Regardless, he can tell she’s ready to go simply by her nervous shifting of weight from one foot to the next and the way her hand grips her wine cup. It’s so obvious, but he silently demands for her to stay put, at least until he can reach her, join her.

Don’t you dare move!

As he draws closer, he realizes he hasn’t actually formulated an introduction, though. He’s been fixated on priority one - getting to her, but now that he’s almost within her sphere, it's possible he’s going to come on too strong.

It really isn’t in his nature to be aggressive, at least not towards women. But there's a fine line between that and being resolute, and he can only hope she won’t confuse the two. It gets him stressed either way, just the anticipation. And its abrupt, how the air circulating now feels to have stopped altogether.

The urge for something clean in his lungs grows more intense. In fact, it's been too many lapsed hours since he last stepped outside, so he thinks maybe this is the angle he will use with her.  

He sees her look down at the drink in her hand, then back at him with a ghost of a smile, and then away again. All these nervous habits miraculously enchanting him, though he’s aware it’s all stemmed from a discomfort and he could sympathize. He does - this brave girl.

Aemond needs to get to her, knowing this setting has become too intolerable for them both. It leads him to mull through all the potential areas he could take her to - more private areas within the Keep. He’s trying hard not to envision her on his bed though, laid out before him, but it’s a challenge not to go there…

His thoughts come up short, interrupted and replaced by disbelief in an instant. And he can see the shock on her face too, witnessing the scene in horror the moment Aegon, of all people, drunkenly clashes into her with unabashed force.

It happens quickly, the unexpected contact of his body propelling the cup she’s been holding towards herself, effectively spilling its dark contents onto her bodice and sleeve. His fiend of a brother remains unsteady, loud and obnoxious as he begins to inappropriately grope her figure with slurred and insincere apologies.

But it gets worse when he sobers just enough to focus his vision, and fully consider the beauty of the woman he’s currently offending - the one that he still holds fast within his clutches. He voices his immediate thoughts, loud enough to be heard by many.

“Heavens, what a pretty present you are! I think I shall wait to unwrap you in my chambers.”

Aemond sees fire, he walks faster.

i can give you my loneliness, my darkness, the hunger of my heart; i am trying to bribe you with uncertainty, with danger.

The familiar sting of tears begin to surface in a rush, threatening to fall although she wills them not to. It would be so easy to cry now, and it’s something she tends to do when she’s at her limit. The frustration becomes unbearable, but she simply cannot allow this weakness to display.

Aside from the fact that everyone appears to be looking at her, the music has also stopped and the only sound filling her ears now is the seething laughter from the king. His prodding fingers are still at her waist, her lower back and his breath is hot on her ear, repulsing her just as much as his verbal filth has.

This little blond bitch, I could kill him.

She wants to scream, fueled by so much repressed anger, thinking she might act out soon if she doesn’t escape the predicament. Above all things, slapping the fool touching her is of the highest priority, but she also wants to cut out the eyes of every person currently gawking at her as if she were the problem.

She wants to combust into flames, she wants to cease to exist altogether.

Even her free hand has formed into a fist so tight that her knuckles ache, and although it's of little consequence to her, she can vaguely feel the shallow cuts her nails have begun to make into the delicate skin of her palm. Time halts and she’s burning from within, her vision clouding with rage as her arm begins to raise as if by its own accord.

She intends to lay one into Aegon’s jaw. At the very least, he deserves a slap, although the consequences will be dire. Even with this knowledge, she can’t seem to tamper the physical urge to do some harm to him. It’s the least he deserves.

How dare this fucker be so blatantly disrespectful.

Her mind is made up, he’s getting slapped and she’s determined to see this through. But suddenly her movement is blocked, stilled by a gentle pressure of long fingers wrapping securely around her forearm. A deep breath is drawn and she’s still trembling in her animosity, her embarrassment, when she turns to consider the disrupter.

To her relief and amazement, she’s met with a welcomed face, a beautiful one. It’s him, the only one she wants to see, to know.

The good Targaryen - finally, he is here.

And he is so close to her when he leans in, offering a verbal warning with a solemn tone for only her to hear.

“Don’t.”  

His touch is reassuring, sending bursts of warmth throughout her at the tenderness being exhibited. His expression however, betrays a significant degree of anger and it hardens his features further, in an impossible way. Oh gods!

She’s seeing a lot of sharp lines and hard angles, an immaculate bone structure and the most impressive scar that runs a great length down one side of his face. It hadn’t been noticeable from a distance, not really, but now it draws her. Truthfully, it’s devastating how devilishly handsome he is and how weak she’s begun to feel just being near him.

He almost doesn’t seem real, but the obvious irritation emulating from him is substantial. Even still, there's a compassion in his touch and it’s his touch alone that she feels upon her body now. It compels her to be soft again and then she is, loosening and moved by his thoughtfulness to come to her aid, offer her stability in both body and mind.

His actions ground her, and he’s respectful as he takes the emptied cup from her with his free hand, discreetly handing it to a passing servant without a word.

She’s aware of how she turns into him then, drawn to his body heat, the most natural attraction. And with Aegon now gone, a relief in itself, she feels safe - protected. The urge to throw her arms around him in gratitude is strong, but she abstains.

He continues looking at her, his face otherworldly, and he’s saying something that she cannot comprehend as her world goes quiet. She can’t capture a thought or formulate a word, feeling her mind draw a blank, abandon her while he looks on.

Her mouth turns dry and her clothes become too warm as she gets lost in the intensity of his eye, the riveting color of it. From afar she couldn’t decipher, but up close she can clearly see that it’s a glorious azure blue, rimmed by a darker hue - indicating something of further mystery, an enigma. It isn’t typical, and therefore stunning, moving her in an inexplicable way.

A soft moan escapes her lips, ever so telling of the effect he’s having, as his brow lifts with some amusement. He’s clearly heard the sound, providing some inclination to him of her desire and he can’t help but pull a small half-smirk, satisfied by this revelation. But he’s still waiting for a response, impatient once more, and he demonstrates this by reinstating his firm grip on her arm to give a slight squeeze.

She wonders if he’s always like this, communicative with gestures and touches of varying pressures. It takes her mind somewhere it shouldn’t - to a place that involves just them, their bodies and very little clothing.

Does she want to know? She isn’t certain, but he seems physically overbearing suddenly, as if he’d moved further into her unnoticed. And he might have accomplished this while she lost herself to a budding desire, envisioning what he might look like fully unclothed…what he might feel like against her, from within her.

Fuck!

His close proximity isn’t helping reel in her thoughts, as the sensual scent encapsulating him climbs to meet her senses. It's fresh, something divine, and she finds herself wanting to chase and consume. It brings a new type of fire to their shared space as she imagines her lips pressed to the exposed skin on his neck, breathing him in.

The visual finally releases her from her mind trap, and she refocuses to stare at his face, placing her hand blindly on his own without thought. She shakes her head apologetically, helplessly, needing him to repeat the question - it’s really all she can do.

He obliges her, knowing she can hear him, that she’s listening now.

“Come away with me.”

come home to my heart.

It really isn’t a question and she finds herself silently nodding in acquiesce to his demand, feeling the adrenaline begin to flourish. The only audible response from him is a deep “hmm” as they take their leave. It intrigues her, but not nearly as much as the way he walks in equal measures of grace and arrogance or how his silken hair begins to move illustrious over his back with each step taken.

To her, he is an exquisite creation, surely made from the gods and he walks as one amongst ineffectual men as he leads them through the mass of people. It’s a quickened pace that she matches, noticing the way he calls off a small group of approaching knights, the Kingsguard, with a flick of his wrist to still their advances.

Although they’re amid many watchful eyes, the music has begun again, reinstating many dancers back to the middle of the floor following the scene with the king. It offers some relief, but what she’s finding to be the greatest comfort is the contact he maintains on her elbow, at the small of her back while he guides her out of the hall.

The heat infiltrates from his hands, runs along her spine and she doesn’t mind the mild possession of his touch. It thrills, and her spirits continue lifting as something akin to hope seeks to re-enter her heart.

i promise you, i was here. i felt things that made death so large it was indistinguishable from air, and i went on destroying inside it like wind in a storm.

It’s a well kept secret that Aemond considers himself a lover, not a fighter (at least in theory), though he doubts anyone would believe this if he were ever to admit it aloud. In fact, he feels that he’s improved in reining in his more violent impulses when they arise, attempting to adopt a more critical stance on whether to act on said impulses or not.

He reflects on this now as he navigates through the Red Keep with familiarity, thinking perhaps this banal approach is prominently wrought from Lucerys’ death. He knows it is… but this is different.

Despite the beautiful woman with him, casting a curious glance his way, he’s silently fuming with a sudden need for vengeance. And the center just won’t hold, he can’t call this off now that he’s in action - moving, intentional.

As such, his steps are calculated, the direction mapped as they ascend a set of stairs together in record time. She follows willingly, half-dragged by his hand at a certain point, though she doesn’t complain. He’s grateful for it, and without a word, they turn down a dark corridor that takes them further through the never-ending maze of apartments and bedchambers.

His heart is pounding, the most violent of slams from within his rib cage, as his long legs carry him closer to his oldest nemesis.

you go on by finding a channel for your love…

Aegon’s behavior is always unacceptable, but tonight it’s inexcusable as well.

Tonight, it feels more personal.

In fairness, Aemond’s tolerance had already waned substantially throughout the course of the day. Though not uncommon, his brother had been acting an absolute wretch from the moment he’d risen and begun interacting - effectively wearing most everyone thin.

Still, recent events simply won’t release from his brain. His brother’s actions, specifically the ever-occurring heinous mistreatment of women, continues to spread like a plague. It’s bothersome, but whats worse is the fact that such behavior remains unchecked, tolerated, as everyone turns a blind eye time and again.

Aegon, the perpetrator that knows nothing of consequence, who could care less who he offends and hurts. Aegon, who never learns.

The loathing for his sibling is prominent more now than ever, the rage significant in power as it burns at the very core of Aemond. It threatens to spread like wildfire as he recalls the image of Aegon colliding into her, touching her, taunting her - the one whose hand he’s now holding. This exquisite darling that’s with me.

It leaves him seeing red once more, and he’s resolute to make right this gross wrongdoing, finding the catharsis absolute when at last, he does.

…and another for your rage.

There’s justification in the way Aemond storms Aegon’s bedchambers, startling the room’s occupants as he dismisses a handful of ladies already in various stages of undress.

There’s satisfaction when he knocks the wine from his brother’s hand, spilling it across the regal bedding before advancing to lay waste to every last spirit within sight, all crashing bottles and broken glass.

There's an absolution when his fist meets Aegon’s mocking face, disrupting his cavalier smile with brute force. The delivered blow drops his brother to the littered floor as so many shards seek to break the skin of his hands, his knees.

It’s an absolute agony for the king, but he continues in a deranged manner with uncontrolled manic laughter filling the luxurious space. In High Valyrian, Aemond speaks departing words of revulsion and fury and threats.

Then he’s back outside the room, the splintered door now unable to properly close as guards rush to Aegon’s aid with trepidation and no small degree of bewilderment at what’s just transpired between the siblings.

He grabs his awaiting companion’s hand then, his own showing the faint beginnings of a bruise as it takes form, darkening just beneath the surface. It’s inconsequential for Aemond, for he’s more surprised that she’s remained to wait for him despite whats just been witnessed firsthand.

He sincerely wonders how he hasn’t managed to scare her away with such a wrathful display. Yet, he’s finding a great relief in knowing he hasn’t managed to achieve this after all. In fact, he’s in a bit of awe that she’s remained. It means more to him than he could have imagined, and certainly more than she will ever know…

At present, his knuckles sting, but he doesn’t care. His heart is thunderous, but he doesn’t care.

An incredible amount of relief is washing over him at what’s just transpired through words and actions, honest emotion pent up for so long, finally released. It’s palpable, this foreign elation being felt as they retreat, backtracking so many of their steps. Even servants rush to either side of the halls so as not to remain in their wake, potentially interrupting their progress.

And he’s so certain of his menacing appearance now, just by their reactions, though he half-wishes his brother had put up a fight and tried to roughen him up. But it matters naught. At this point, his immediate intention is strictly to get himself and her to a place of privacy - as far as possible from Aegon’s blasted existence too.

Aemond huffs in spite of himself on reflection, feeling a bit bitchy over the circumstances, for this wasn’t the first impression he had wanted to make.

Too late now.