#the CHORD on ‘see�� is so CRUNCHY and GOOD

[the-nerdy-fangirl]

Hey. This has been stuck in my head since day 1. Please someone else listen to it.

[skynapple]

Girl who doesn't know KPOP gives unbiased opinion on HOP by SKZ

I don't even go here and don't know names or faces (except Felix even my dad knows him) so here's my unbiased opinion

Walking On Water, 4/10, nice title, cool beat, the record beats are very 90's-2000's, I feel this song was made to perform live or just dance to live in general, there's a lot going on

Bounce Back, 6/10, a bit too much rap but not bad, this song has elements from Unbelievable (2013) by EMF like I wouldn't be surprised if they sampled seriously go listen to it

U, 10/10, actually probably the most American sound I've ever heard from a kpop band just musically, rhythmically, harmonically, etc idk it just made my ears happy

Walkin On Water (HIP Ver), 3/10, the year is 2006 and my dad is blasting jams in the garage while he cleans and the radio DJ is pressing every button he has on his pad

Railway, 9/10, ok sir that INTRO? I really want to applaud the mixer and producers for the musicality,, -1 for the autotune augmentation for "effect" ik its not to tune his voice per say, it's just the style but it's overused a tad in this song. Style points for the ultra-clashy diminished chords and harmony at 2:37 very crunchy and nice

Unfair, 5/10 Metro Boomin' is that you???? I've never actually heard a whole Felix song. Again the augmentation for the hip-hop song I think is diminishing him, also the chords are very repetitive just kinda bland lol 

Hallucination, 10/10, instantly, very cool vocal and they're clear, very cool reverb and cool mixing, great chord and harmonic work, that breakdown harmonically at 0:43 is so good and difficult but they make it so smooth, great percussion work also. Excuse me 2:26?? The tenor vocals go crazy

Youth, 6/10 very fun reminds me of JPOP rhythm, bubblegum pop vibes like honestly a female vocalist would be so good over this too, 2:00 is the most Korean melody thing I've ever heard in my life they just have a way with these bridges lolll

So Good, 2/10, he's just kinda nasal and there's some kind of percussion note the whole song that my adhd brain locked on to and I can't unhear it and it hurts my ears lollll also this song just lacks some creativity to me from the rest but the syncopation at 2:00 and breakdown is cool

Ultra, 7/10, this sounds like it was made for a video game commercial like I already see people making edits and AMVs to this

Hold My Hand, 6/10, the year is 2010 and Owl City is on the radio after this song, songs you play in the car

As We Are, 6/10, this is the song that plays at the end of an emotional scene in a Kdrama movie, the guitar at 2:26 sealed it and now the ML is running for his life to the airport to the stop the love of his life from leaving to the USA forever and at 3:26 he watches the plane fly off as he gets out of the taxi just a little too late

I can definitely hear the American hip-hop influence so if you listen to that genre I feel like it's not a hard sell it's just in a different language (Except Felix who sings in Aussie.) (Yes that's a joke).

[ocean-again]

the kind of dad who wants you to learn exclusively guitar is a 90's/00's era pop-punk washout gen X who sold out to the man (quit the band and got a job to support his family) and isn't gonna let his kid sell out, by which we mean, live their own life and play the music they want to play.

he's not gonna buy you that expensive violin, you don't need a suit to play music, look at all those conformists with their Orchestra *he spits the word* you don't need other people to play music, just like how he didn't need the guys in the band, (the band is now a bunch of studio musicians who are making it work even if they're not living in a big house or supporting their families all that well)

no, kiddo this family has a perfectly good collection of (untouched, and at this point mostly decorative) guitars displayed on the walls like the ghosts of the dad's dreams deferred, and the instant the kid tries to touch the dad's guitar, at the sound of their first strangled out of tune chord, the dad takes the guitar away to "show you how it's done" which leaves their kid in a state of frustrated boredom listening to the dad doing a super long solo only to be gasping in indignation when the dad goes "whelp, that's enough music lessons" and puts the guitar away when they're done.

kid is dejected, they take the bus into the city from the suburbs and they get out at the opera house because that's where they pipe out the orchestra music to scare off homeless people, but it's raining outside, so we watch them hopelessly slump to the ground against the wall in the transit tunnel.

up steps a busker, you first see just their feet, polished leather shoes that have seen better days, and then they begin to play, the violin weaving into the sound of the underground, cutting through the despair of our protagonist, here is their mentor, their yoda, a concert violinist who is barely squeaking by on passion alone.

they convince their dad to let mentor give them guitar lessons, which are actually violin lessons, they play a loud recording of bad guitar to cover the violin sounds and the house is so big that their dad, with the door closed, in his office, thinks it's great.

we montage a lesson into an expository flashback

how did the kid get into violin? well, dad kind of married up, their now dead/gone mother was a violinist who loved classical music and they have a lot of warm memories of fancy nights out with her before what's implied to be the Russian mob took her away.

the violinist mentor understands this. in America, you think you can escape your troubles, but they often find you again.

this also explains why the dad is so pressed to keep the kid of out classical music, the tumult of emotions surrounding his wife's disappearance are too much for him, he retreats into the simple life of smoking dobies with this bros and playing guitar for an audience of noone in his little home office.

a montage of lessons, this subterfuge is easy when your mark doesn't want to know the truth, the mentor is doing better with another steady source of income, he has new shoes, the kid has a spring in their step again which pleases the dad, when dad asks the kid to show him what they've been working on the kid can dutifully plonk out a few chords before once again, now gratefully, surrendering the guitar to his dad for an expert and super long solo, the game it seems, will never be up.

one day, the mentor and the kid are so wrapped up in their lesson, maybie they're playing together, and the cover-story tape of crunchy inexpert guitar music cuts out, and their song, beautiful, haunting, drifts across the house to the dad, who, insulated in his office is caught with perhaps a vision, a drifting dream, a memory of his lost wife, he gets up and softly pads across the house not wanting to break the spell, his face, for the first time in this whole movie, is soft, open, no worries cloud his brow, he is enthralled by this music,

he gets to the music room, and opens the door softly saying his wife's name, only to reveal the kid and the mentor.

we have you classic "what are you doing!" "I can explain!" "where did you get that violin?!" "I found it!" "you found it??" "it was in mom's study" "your mother's study...I told you never to go in that room!" the kid has been playing their mother's violin this whole time!

the dad demands the violin, the kid doesn't want to give it, the dad demands it, "you had no right" the mentor makes a hand gesture as if to say "they had every right" but they know their place, they cannot interfere.

the kid lovingly places their violin back in it's careworn case, snaps the snaps shut, and hands it to their dad before crying as they run away down the hall, the dad, also crying, softly rocks the violin in its case to his chest.

(the finale is obviously a duet of the solo the dad always plays, their kid on electric violin, the dad on acoustic guitar but we HAVE TO EARN IT, also at some point we need a flashback of violinist mom playing that same duet with the dad and we realize his solo has needed another voice this whole time, ovb it is also his leitmotif)

anyways, I feel like the mentor would be like, ok, so, you know kid is actually very good at violin right? and the dad is like, get out.

the mentor is like, No.

Not yet.

you want them to love music, they already love music, but you can't ask them to forget her and you shouldn't try and forget her either.

and the dad is like get out, he is still clutching the violin. his leitmotif is being played mournfully on the strings.

the mentor looks him in the eyes, puts a business card down on the table, and says "call me when you want to talk about it" and walks out.

crucial detail, the violin playing mentor must be one of those people who plays like every instrument, they're a studio musician type, they were recording fresh "practice guitar" tapes for covering over the kids lessons and have thus been practicing guitar themselves, we need to have this established in the teaching montage because shots of the interior of their home also need to be looking nicer over time, so we get a sense that they're actually also very good at playing the kind of guitar the dad respects and has been enjoying.

alright, so now we're back to what superficially looks like where we were at the beginning, but now the house is large and full of silences on a way they weren't aware of before. nobody is happy. doubly so because they remember what it was like to be happy. the kid is absolutely not talking to the dad. the dad is trying to chatter in a superficially upbeat way, this fails. and they go their separate ways to school and work once more at opposite ends of this house.

the dad looks at the business card from the mentor, now worn at the corners from being thumbed constantly, and calls up what the audience believes is his buddy from the old band instead. that guy comes over, it's the mentor, they've known each other from way back, "i'm sorrys" are exchanged, they hug,

and the two of them are now out behind the garage smoking a doobie like the delinquent teens they once were.

they discuss the situation.

the friend/kid's mentor makes the point that the kid has, up until this point, been such a good kid, so easy, that dad got complacent. didn't his friend remember the things they used to get up to? dad makes a face like, hoo boy.

an incident with the thing, is mentioned but never explained, and dad is reminded of how he used to fight with his own old man about music, he remembers that teenagers are people, together they hatch an idea.

cut to dad gettig the kid ready to go out

there's a little bit of subterfuge on the kid, maybe a blindfold, they both get dressed up and it's a bit of a surprise, the kid needed a new outfit because the last time they wore something nice mom was still alive, and then there they are,

on stage.

the dad is holding the violin case, he extends it to his child like it is very precious to him but he knows it is very precious to them too, and he apologizes for being a shitty dad, there on stage, in front of god and everyone.

"I'm sorry for being weird about your music, I should have listened, and I want to hear you play, Bill here" the mentor steps forwards, "and I go way back, he reminded me that you were just trying to find your way like I he and I did back when we were your age, and I'd really like to hear you play"

it's the kids first recital, and they do a solo, and at first it's the mother's lietmotif and then the dad's and then the kid's own lietmotif that before now was never played in full or alone. it is haunting. it is perfect.

we roll credits and over the dad and the kid and the mentor all playing music together.

Nobody ever writes stories about kids who want to learn the classical violin but whose parents force them to learn the electric guitar instead.

[dr-drckken]

Day 15: The Needledrops Playlist

1. In The Dark of the Night , when Gil chose to save Holley instead of chasing after Clayton, resulting in Clayton getting away. 

Grave Consequences - Joe Kraemer (from the Mission: Impossible Rogue Nation Soundtrack)

This lives in my head rent free all the tiiiimmeee. I looooved this thread, I still love this thread, and everything between Clayton vs the RAS. I love that through line of Bianca getting murked by Clayton and then it come back around to affect what Gil was going to do when being put back in the woods with another agent down. I love parallels and book ends and all that good shit. This was just such a good execution of it. ANYWAY, we’re here to talk music: I think this song is a good fit for this moment not only because of the title, in fact I didn’t even know the title when I went searching through the album for this song lmfao, but because it’s got that quiet beginning that builds up and it takes it’s sweet time to get there. And then it gets to like the second minute where it’s got the sneaky spy vibes with some villain-esk/tension building moments in there for the cutting back and forth between Holley/Gil vs Clayton running around in the forest. And then at the end it gets darker and that could hold the place of being like, “oh no what am i to do,” and the audience being like, “oh my GOD what is he going to DO,” until that tension breaks and the last minute is fast strings, which could be gil running to get to holley cut between clayton running to get the hell on outta there, and the last seconds are a fading out of this. it isn’t a triumphant score or a soft ending, because that wasn’t what this moment was. it was a moment of character growth for gil, but in going to holley rather than going after the baddie, there is still an open case on the desk that will remain there. so while the song ends on like a long note, it’s got a crunchy chord in there that gives me, “it’s over but there’s still more questions left to be answered.” kind of ending, leaving it open to what will happen next… 

2. The Night Before Christmas, when Eli found and decided to look after bb Penny <3 

Christmas Surprise - Hans Zimmer (from the The Holiday Soundtrack)

Everytime I am reminded that mr. zimmer scored the music i am shocked. anyWAY. did i chose this because it happened on christmas? yes. BUT i also chose it because it’s such a cute little song and i think it fits the vibes art was putting down in this self para!! The christmas vibes, the undercurrent of ghosties, the kind of sad bits of Penny being left at the firehouse with the note from her mom go with the beginning minute, up until the like acoustic guitar plucks in and lifts everything up into a more hopeful, softer and happier tone, which go with the parts of Elliot being like, “I’m going to take her.” And then the like last 30 seconds of the song with the bells and lightness of them being added, like the small, young, baby Penny being added to the narrative and life of Elliot Morey being his lil Christmas Surprise <3 

3. Under the Tuscan Sun Arc, but when Isabela and Copper go to the art museum to see the statue of David

Full House - Alan Silvestri (from the Night At The Museum Soundtrack)

I have been on the nose with all of these and I’m not going to QUIT NOW! im obsessed with isa and copper, as anyone would be, and this whole arc was just mwah mwah mwah. loooove them just hanging out in italy, i could have read 5 books worth of them being on holiday there. the night at the museum soundtrack always hits me because idk it’s got some very optimistic sound shit in it with a childlike wonder that just hits. and while they are in a museum, surrounded by tourists and cool art and blahblahblah, and it would hit for them since i think they were both excited to be there and sight see, it also goes for their relationship and how nice and happy it is in this moment of time where they aren’t in town, they’re in this beautiful city surrounded by history and cool shit to look at and they’re there for a wedding of these people they helped together. and there’s that line where copper makes isa laugh, and isa doesn’t usually laugh in a way that isn’t something she planned to do, so that sort of whimsy of this adventure for them i think fits the sound of this song

4. Solar Haunt, when Jasper’s lackeys make a mess of Swynlake 

I Hate This Town - Steven Price (from the The World’s End Soundtrack)

there is nothing quite like a group of henchmen acting like wrecking balls together lmfao. I had such a fun time reading this, miss gigi you’re a comedic queen. Fuck a log book! lives in my mind when i’m at work all the time now. This movie came to my mind because I remember the score being very in the pocket of the scifi of the movie itself with the lil techno noises that would be implemented and i just wanted that to keep the reminder that these guys are out here doing this after they got off work putting in solar panels at the school lmfao. it’s the backdrop to a fight sequence in the movie (the best one imo!!!), so i think it fits well with all the action going on in this para, and having a more sinister feel to it with the way the strings and horns come in and the beat is just chugging along. there’s also this sound that’s almost like an alarm going off, which also adds to the over all “this is getting craaazzzyyy” antics these guys are getting up to. and the ending of the song drops off after ramping all the way off and peters out, which i feel fits with how the para ends with the guys booking it out and the henchmen being like, “boss isn’t going to like this! we’re fucked!” 

5. Giselle and Amity meeting face to face at Prom 2024 (this was on discord so no link for you) 

The Wedding - Joby Talbot (from the Penelope Soundtrack) 

oh bitch. I was obsessed with this plot from the jump. Horrible fact about me: You’ve Got Mail is a favorite movie of mine. SORRRYYYY it was just a staple in my household. So yeah, pen pals?????? One of my favorite tropes. Been ingrained into me since I was a child. So when they were going to meet at Prom I was like…………. Well now hold on a minute. Is this going to work out or what– and oop. sad as it was, it was a great read. plus getting to read the resulting after math of amity and giselle being in magnifico’s class and interacting there and giselle having a gay panic moment to herself is just, mwah. anywho, i was trying to think of what song could possibly encapture this moment. I was trying to think of a movie that captured a modern fairy tale vibes and penelope came to mind and i think this song has the same like, “i have such dread for what is about to happen,” that the audience has for these characters. and the overwhelming music of it all i think fits the fight that happened between these two, with giselle having pictured someone who wasn’t amity and then amity feeling betrayed by this refusal to be accepted by this person she thought she had already connected and been accepted by. and the build up to amity just shouting at giselle to gO. and while we didn’t necessarily see the direct aftermath of what the girlies were doing, like the quiet moment of amity being alone or giselle running off to the garden alone, the music slowing down and getting quieter could be those resulting scenes of them being apart and being like, “what just happened!!!”  

[theghostpinesmusic]

So while I was off enjoying the acoustic stylings of Orebolo and the depths of psychedelic madness plumbed by Phish, Goose released video of a second jam with their new drummer. This one is in the style of the last one, and in all likelihood was recorded on the same day, or at least during the same sessions. I wrote a bit about my New Drummer Thoughts and weighed in on what's now labelled on YouTube as "Gemini I" previously, so I'll skip all of the usual run-up for now and jump right into the music from this "Gemini II" clip.

Like the "Gemini I" clip, this one starts off mid-jam. With Peter on the xylo tone and the rest of the band laying down a sort of dark blues groove, I could almost see this being a continuation on from the end of the previous video...but everyone's wearing different clothes, so I'm going to assume it's not. Jeff's shirt game here is only like a 3/10, but I'll bump him up to 5/10 for the ponytail.

This initial foray continues for a few minutes as-is, and I'm loving Rick's tone here, as it's extra crunchy. We don't get a lot of direct looks at Cotter early on, but he sounds just as busy as in the last video (again, in a good way) and is still meshing with Jeff in a way I really dig.

At 2:18, Rick starts repeating a phrase, and this seems to push the band out of the blues space into something a little more driving. It's a subtle change initially, but then they start dropping the volume at 3:18 and Peter brings in the synth. For a bit here, I feel like Trevor is taking the lead in the jam, with Rick and Peter playing off of him, and that's pretty much always a good sign.

One of the drummers (it seems like it's Cotter, but I can't see) changes up the beat at 3:51, and that takes us in the jam's new direction. Peter sets the tone for this section with a repeating xylo riff while Rick lays back a bit and colors in the edges.

Now, this is my second listen to this jam, and to be honest on the first playthrough, I found this whole section pretty unremarkable and, at points, sort of boring. On second listen, though, I can hear all five members throwing ideas out there and playing off of each other, and while it's still not necessarily the most dynamic Goose jam I've ever heard, I'm enjoying it a lot more after listening for these details. It's certainly a mellower bit of music than anything from "Gemini I," but it's not a bad performance by any means.

The build that starts at 6:00 is especially cool, and sounds a bit like the chords to "Hollywood Nights," which the band covers from time to time. Over the next two minutes or so, en route to a great peak section, I feel like the drums (Cotter and Jeff both) do an excellent job of helping add tension and then release it at the appropriate moment, which is a thing that either a) didn't happen as much with Goose previously or b) I only noticed now because I'm hyper-fixated on the drums due to the purpose of this particular video. Regardless, the moment at 9:00 when the drums switch up the beat to accommodate Rick's guitar peak is a great moment of band synergy. Somewhere in there, too, Peter moves from the xylo patch to playing the xylo with one hand and the Rhodes with the other. Fun!

We land in a spacey synthesizer wash that pretty quickly turns into a sparse minor key (I think) section. Everyone sounds locked in here again, and Cotter's jazzy style of playing really shines in this kind of space. Peter's reverb-y piano makes things sound just the right amount of haunted.

I absolutely love what Cotter starts playing at 11:10, and where it drives the band to next. Again, I never want to belabor the Phish comparisons, but this definitely gives me Jon Fishman vibes. Rick's tone gets absolutely filthy here, too, but this section is Cotter's and Trevor's show.

Cotter switches out of the backbeat at 13:40 or so, and the pace picks up again. I'm not sure if it's the mix or my speakers, but here Peter and Trevor are both way more audible than Rick is. I really like what he (Rick) is playing, but it seems to get lost in the mix a bit...which, honestly, is fine because the others are also more than pulling their weight.

Around 15:30, Rick starts throwing some dissonant licks out there and the rest of the band picks up on it. It's apparently disorienting enough that the camera person gets lost behind the drum kits and can't find their way out. This leads to a huge release into a Rick solo at 16:11 (interspersed with a few more moments of tension, for fun). Hopefully the cameraperson made it out alive.

This super-tinny tone is maybe my least favorite sound Rick makes with his guitar on a regular basis, but I can't argue with the results here. There's some truly unhinged moments of spacey tension coupled with some huge peaks here, and while this is sort of Goose's bread-and-butter, they're pulling it off flawlessly here after playing with this new guy for...maybe a few weeks? The bit of chaos that starts at 17:45 made me laugh out loud. More octave shifter from Rick, please!

At 19:23, the band backs off a bit and we end up in another interstitial space. Again, Cotter is great here while the rest of the band is figuring out where to go next. At 20:00 or so, they seem to settle on a vaguely Latin groove, something I felt like they started doing a lot more often starting during the fall Euro tour. This incarnation is a really delicate, restrained piece of improv that really emphasizes all three rhythm players (as well as Rick's and Peter's abilities to lay back and accent well).

Eventually, Peter starts taking a bigger role in the developing jam, and he sounds great here on piano. I've always enjoyed him as the keys player for the band despite his relatively small amount of experience with the instrument, and I felt that he took a huge step forward skills-wise late last year. With that in mind, it's nice to see him get a chance to shine here for a bit, before Rick takes over with a solo at 23:55.

I don't mean to say that like it's a bad thing: there actually isn't a ton of Rick straight-up ripping it during this whole jam, so it feels appropriate for him to crush a solo here to bring things home. Cotter switches up the beat one last time at 26:00 to really put an exclamation point on things, and we get a nice, slowed-down "landing" with a Peter outro.

As I said above, I liked this a lot more and (obviously, based on word count) found a lot more to listen to in it on the second playthrough. Thanks for reading!

I'm looking forward to new Goose shows, but in the meantime, I've got a few Phish jams in the queue that I'll likely get to in the next few days.

[tweecrushconfessions]

A teenager's survival guide to combat the sniffle season (and all the other weird seasons of life)

TL;DR: Turned into a raccoon-looking, frog-sounding misery-magnet thanks to the cold of all colds. If I started a band now, I'd be on cough percussion. Decided to list things that spark joy amid my snot misery.

Hello my lovelies! It's Lev! Alright, so here's the deal. I've come down with the coldest of colds (at least in my melodramatic teenage experience). I'm talking about an orchestra of sneezes, a relentless cough that would make a professional opera singer weep in despair. For a girl who usually has a lot to say (and, uh, quite a lot of volume to say it with), this is certainly a strange and somewhat humbling experience.

Yep, your girl's caught a cold. I sound like a dying frog and look like a raccoon with my runny mascara and nose to match.

Faced with the ceaseless coughing (I swear, I could play percussion in a jazz band with this rhythm), I thought I'd keep my brain entertained and do something a bit different. So, I decided to write a list of my favorite things that make me happy and keep my sanity intact in this time of trial.

Item Number 1: Feeling shivers go down your spine as you hear your favorite song being played somewhere random.

Like, isn't that just magic? You're minding your own business, maybe at the supermarket deliberating between crunchy or creamy peanut butter, and suddenly you hear those familiar chords drifting from the speakers overhead. And just like that, your day gets a hundred times better. The peanut butter quandary? Forgotten. Your cold? Temporarily pushed aside.

Item Number 2: Passing an exam that you thought you totally flunked.

The moment when you get your paper back, expecting the worst and then… BAM! You’ve actually passed! Yknow, the kind where you're convinced that your answer sheet was an abstract work of art, and your 'well-articulated' answers were more hieroglyphics than English. But then the grades come in, and voila, you've passed! A moment of silence for our fallen comrades, the brain cells we lost in the process. It's the academic equivalent of finding a twenty-dollar bill in your old jeans, and the joy, my friends, is real.

Item Number 3: Being told that the things I make and my thoughts are interesting and fun.

As someone who usually has a wild assortment of thoughts and ideas, bouncing around my brain like hyperactive squirrels, I am delighted when someone finds them intriguing. It’s like the validation stamp on my 'Crazy But Fun' passport. Now, as an artsy teenager, there's something incredibly heartwarming about having people genuinely interested in your creations and ideas. It's one thing to be told that your work is "nice" - that's like being told you have good handwriting. But when someone tells you your work is interesting or fun, you know they're not just blowing smoke. It's the same feeling you get when people see you as smart, and let me tell you, that’s a pretty delicious feeling.

The list, of course, doesn't end there. We've got late-night chats that I have with my friends - a mix of profound life debates, cheesy jokes, and bizarre hypotheticals (What if our eyebrows were sentient?). The smell of freshly baked cookies wafting from the oven or the pages of a new book (don't judge, we all have our quirks).

Feeling the sun on my face after days of relentless rain, the pure joy of finding that last piece of chocolate when I thought I'd eaten it all - the list is endless.

Being happy when you're sick is a task akin to trying to lick your elbow (seriously, try it, it's impossible). But, as I cough for the hundredth time today and stack up my throat-soothing candy wrappers, I realise that it's these small moments, these silver linings that make everything a little less blue and a bit more rainbow-y.

So there you have it! My personal happiness boosters. A teenager's survival guide to combat the sniffle season (and all the other weird seasons of life). Now, if you’ll excuse me, my throat seems to be playing a symphony, and I need to get another cup of hot tea.

Keep coughing up joy, my friends! :)

[the-modernmary]

you’ll always know me || aaron hotchner x reader

Summary: "I would have stayed... If you asked me to.

After your high school graduation, you left without saying goodbye to Aaron Hotchner, your best friend, and nobody had heard from you since. Years later, you're back in DC, and catching up with Aaron brings more than you could have possibly hoped for.

Warnings: mentions of weed

A/N: I really wanted some soft Hotch content in my life after all the angst in my best habit, and this is about as soft as I can get. Inspired by Taylor Swift's "dorothea". Honestly, I was listening to evermore, blacked out for about three hours, and this is what came from that. There is no other explanation for this. It's written differently than my usual style, but I hope y'all like it still!

read on ao3 || masterlist

~~~~~~~

“What’s got you in such a rush?”

  Rossi eyes Aaron carefully as the latter circles around his office, double and triple-checking that he didn’t forget anything. The last thing he wants is to have to come back to the office and cut his day short.

  Aaron shoves a few case files in his briefcase. “An old friend from high school is in town and I’m meeting up with her.”

  Rossi perks up at the word ‘her’ and he leans against the door frame. Aaron notices this, too, because he shakes his head quickly. “It’s not like that. We both got sent to boarding school for being problem children and we became quick friends. I haven’t talked to her since graduation. She just packed up her stuff and left the very next day.”

“You sound bitter,” Rossi points out.

  “Not at all,” he lies, trying to forget the hurt of running to your dorm for your weekly breakfast together, only to be met with an empty room and a singular polaroid. “I knew she hated it there and her goal was to travel and see as many places as she could. Honestly, I’m surprised she’s back stateside at all. Last I heard, she was doing some art apprenticeship in Italy, but that was years ago.”

  “You sound like you have a long evening ahead of you, so I’ll get out of your hair. And have some fun tonight, Aaron. You deserve it,” Rossi adds on as an afterthought. 

  The corners of Aaron's mouth lift slightly. “I will. Try not to let the building burn down while I’m gone. Reid is back on his physics magic kick, and I think I heard something about a lighter.”

  Rossi gives Aaron a two-finger, half-hearted salute in acknowledgment, which is all it takes for Aaron to shut his office door and head towards the elevator. Knowing that you’re just outside, he has to make a conscious effort to slow his pace from an excited jog to just an anxious speed walk. The elevator ride is slow, seemingly stopping at every single floor on the way down, which gives his mind ample time to wander and think back to graduation day.

  “There you are!” Aaron shouts from across the football field as he runs up to you, shoving through bustling groups of families trying to take pictures. He has so many stoles and cords and leis around his neck that you can barely see the suit he’s wearing underneath his gown. It’s a stark contrast to you, with only a singular chord for academic achievement, although a 3.2 wasn’t much of an achievement in the eyes of most people at boarding school.

  “Here I am!” you laugh, throwing your arms around him in a hug and breathing in the smell of his cologne.

  “Where’re your parents? Didn’t they come?”

  “Of course they didn’t. They’re not ones for celebrating something as trivial as high school graduation, not when it’s just expected of me.” You roll your eyes. “What about you? I thought you and Haley were going to do the whole ‘meet the family’ thing today?”

  Aaron is oblivious to the bitterness in your voice, although that’s nothing new. “We are, but I just wanted to give these to you.” It’s then that you notice the bouquet of flowers in his hand, although it’s now being pressed into your arms. “As a congrats. And a thank you for being there for me this whole time. You’re my best friend.”

  You try to ignore the ache in your chest at his words. “Thank you, Aaron. I… I didn’t get you anything, I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be,” he waves it off. “If you want to get me something, breakfast is your treat tomorrow.”

  “Okay, deal,” you agree, the smile coming back to your face. Selfishly, you don’t want him to go back to Haley or his family just yet. You want him to stay there with you so you don’t feel so lonely in the crowd of happy graduates. “God, I can’t believe you’re staying in D.C. for college. We always talked about getting out, seeing the world and never coming back.”

  Aaron shrugs, and you watch as he brushes away a piece of his hair that falls into his face. “I’m hoping that going to GW for undergrad will make it easier to get into law school there.”

  “And Haley Brooks is still here for another year,” you point out, half accusatory.

  “Yeah, that, too.” Aaron chuckles uncomfortably before quickly switching the conversation. “What about you? Have you decided what you’re going to do?”

  “There’s an art school in Glasgow I’m thinking of going to. But, you know… George Washington also has an art program. It’s pretty nice, too. I’m still deciding.” You trail off, looking straight into Aaron’s eyes, giving him every chance in the world to make the decision for you.

  Aaron hesitates, fighting an internal battle. “Go to Glasgow!” he says, fake enthusiasm in his voice, but your disappointment blocks out anything but his actual words. “Then I’ll have an excuse to visit Scotland.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I was leaning towards, too,” you lie. “Aaron, I—”

  You’re cut off by a voice calling his name. You both turn around to see Haley Brooks waving him over, her other hand holding 7-year-old Sean’s hand. She looks like spring personified, her blonde hair in bouncy curls and her pink sundress swishing around her long, slender legs. Her smile is so big that it could have parted storm clouds, and you want nothing more than to hate her with every single fiber of your being.

  But then you see Aaron, returning her megawatt smile with his own, one you rarely ever saw, and how can you hate somebody who makes him so happy?

  “I have to go, I’m sorry,” he says, although there’s not even a hint of regret in his voice. “But I’ll see you for one last Sunday breakfast tomorrow?”

  “I’ll see you then,” you lied.

  How Aaron could have missed the signs of your unhappiness, he’ll never know. At that time, all he knew was that you left without ever saying goodbye, leaving behind only a polaroid of the two of you from your weekend trip to Virginia Beach, both of you drunk and laughing with your arms wrapped around each other. He still has it, buried in his nightstand somewhere, but he hasn’t had the courage to look at it for a few years now.

  As Aaron steps out of the FBI building, he recognizes you instantly, even though it’s only the back of your head, and it causes his breath to catch in his throat. He calls your name and watches as you turn around, your hair whipping around you, and the fact that you still have that same mischievous glint in your eyes is enough to make him feel like he’s sixteen again and nervously skipping class with you holding his hand and pulling him towards the school gates.

  “Aaron!” You jog up to him and throw your arms around him in a hug, which he happily reciprocates. You press a quick kiss to his cheek before pulling away, and Aaron’s entire face burns.

  You keep your hands on his biceps, holding him at arm’s length, as you study him. He looks almost exactly the same as he did all those years ago, with soft hair and the slightest bit of stubble, but he looks less carefree. He seems more mature, like life had aged him 100 years. Still, as cute as high school Aaron was, it had nothing on how good he looks now. “Look at you, Mr. FBI, all suit and corporate-looking! I never thought I’d see the day.”

  “Yeah, I guess I’ve changed quite a bit,” he admits, and the sight of his dimples makes you want to melt right there into the sidewalk. “It’s really good to see you again. I’ve missed you.”

  “Oh, I’m sure you barely thought about me,” you joke, but hurt flashes through your eyes.

  Aaron wants to argue, to tell you that he thinks about you all the time, but decides against it. He doesn’t want to spend the precious few hours he has with you bringing up old issues. “Are you hungry? Because there’s this diner a few blocks down with giant milkshakes.”

  “Why are we still standing here, then? All you had to say was milkshakes, they’re my favorite.”

  “I know. I remember,” he says, and that all-too-familiar pang in your heart comes back like it had never left. “Come on, we can walk and cut through a park.”

  The two of you start your walk in comfortable silence, listening to the bustling city around you. Every once in a while, your hands would bump into his, and you were doing everything you could to ignore it.

  “So did you ever go to that art school?” he asks suddenly, looking over at you.

  You nod, a soft smile forming on your face. “I did. You were right, I loved Scotland.”

  “Where did you go after that? Nobody heard from you.”

  Your eyes sparkle as memories of your life the past few years flash through your mind. “Everywhere. Literally. I took a bunch of odd jobs and spent my time traveling,” you admitted. “I taught English in Vietnam for a year, worked on a cruise ship that went around South America, was an au pair for a French ambassador, went on research expeditions… Even dated a pilot for all of six months. Anything I could do that would let me see the world.” You laugh to yourself, shaking your head fondly. “I really put that private boarding school tuition to good use, huh? My parents were pissed.”

  “It sounds like you were living the life you dreamed of,” Aaron says softly, looking down at you.

  “It was,” you agree, your voice a little sad.

  “So then why are you back here in DC?”

  You shrug, your hands clasped behind your back, and you step down on a particularly crunchy leaf. “I’m just passing through. I’ve been going around the US and looking for a place to settle down. Finally. Figured I might as well put that art degree to good use. Maybe I’ll open a gallery or something.”

  Aaron nods slowly as the chill of autumn runs through his bones. It’s nice, though, in a weird way. He’s always preferred the fall over spring. “Where have you looked so far?”

  “Lots of places. San Francisco, Portland, Seattle, Atlanta, San Antonio, Miami… I’m heading up to New York next. Nothing’s felt right so far. But enough about me, how are you? I heard you married Haley Brooks.”

  That same bitterness you felt in high school when you talked about Haley comes back with a vengeance. It’s unfair, and you know that. How was Aaron supposed to know that you were practically in love with him in high school if you never told him? Even now, you’re sure that he hasn’t put together the pieces.

  You watch as his gaze falls slightly. “I did. She died a few years ago.”

  “I’m sorry,” you whisper, and you reach out to give his hand a small squeeze.

  “We got divorced a little while before it happened,” he explains, unsure why it’s so important to him that you know that. “I blamed myself for it for a long time. But I’ve, uh… I’ve made peace with it now.”

  You give him a comforting smile, fully aware of the fact that you’re still holding his hand. “Aaron Hotchner, making peace with something in his life? I never thought I’d see the day.”

  Aaron chuckles and bumps his shoulder to yours. “I’ve been known to do it a few times. But only a few. Haley and I have a son, though. His name is Jack. He’s 8 now.”

  You shake your head in disbelief, and your cheeks hurt from smiling so much. “And you’re a father? Wow, you really have changed.”

  “Is that a bad thing?” he asks, and you shake your head wordlessly.

  “I like every version of Aaron Hotchner,” you promise. “Besides, change is a good thing. Especially since this city hasn’t changed a bit.”

  Aaron looks around, eyebrows furrowed, like he’s seeing DC for the very first time. “It’s actually changed quite a bit. But it’s subtle. Only people who have been here as long as I have would even notice it, probably.”

  The words cut through you both as a painful reminder of your abrupt departure from DC, and the silence settles over the two of you like a thick fog. This conversation was going to have to happen no matter what, you knew that going into this meeting with Aaron, but you didn’t expect it to happen so soon.

  “I would have stayed,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “If you asked me to.”

  Aaron shakes his head as his Adam’s apple bobs. “I thought about it. But I couldn’t do that to you. I knew you wanted to see the world, and you said it yourself. This city had nothing left to offer you.”

  You pause, rubbing your thumb over your fingertips with your freehand. “It had you,” you reply, and Aaron feels like he was just stabbed in the heart. “That would have been enough.” Seeing Aaron’s dejected face, you quickly keep talking. “But I get it, don’t worry. You were head over heels for Haley Brooks. Everybody knew you two were meant to be together.””

  “What does that have to do with you leaving?” he asks, more accusatory than he intended.

  “Everything.”

  Aaron breathes out your name, unsure of what to say until he settles on: “I’m sorry.”

  You wave him off, forcing a laugh. “Don’t be. I was 17 years old with a crush. We do stupid things, like want to stay at home for a boy. I’m glad I left. Besides, Haley Brooks was clearly the love of your life, and far be it from me to try and break up the golden couple.”

  The two of you stop in front of the diner and you drop Aaron’s hand, much to his disappointment, although you’re still close enough to him to see your reflection in his brown eyes. “I didn’t know you felt like that about me,” he says.

  “Which is surprising, because everybody else definitely knew. But you’ve always been a little clueless when it comes to stuff like that,” you tease, flashing him a toothy smile. “But it’s in the past. So come on, I want to hear about this FBI stuff and drink a milkshake so big it makes my stomach hurt.”

  Twenty minutes later, you and Aaron find yourselves smushed together in a corner booth covered in cheap vinyl, splitting a chocolate milkshake and laughing as you stroll down memory lane. 

  “You know, I ran into Stephen yesterday! A little coffee shop not too far from here,” you tell Aaron.

  Aaron almost drops the fry he was about to eat. “Do you mean Stoner Stephen? What is he doing back here?”

  You take a sip of the milkshake, and Aaron’s gaze is intense as you wrap your lips around the straw. When you pull back, he’s still staring at the soft pink your lipstick leaves behind. “Apparently, he’s lived here for years. Also, did you know he’s crazy smart? Like… graduated 4th in our class, went to Brown undergrad and Columbia graduate, smart.”

  Aaron’s eyes go wide in disbelief. “And this is the same guy who, completely sober, tried putting his mattress in the pool so that he didn’t have to sleep in his own dorm?”

  “The very same one. He’s like a lobbyist now or something for some activist group.”

  “Wow, I did not expect that. Do you remember when he got so high that he thought his joint was going to catch the dorms on fire?” Aaron asks, the words barely discernible through his laughter. “So he warned campus police that the whole school was going to burn down.”

  “Yes!” you giggle, your head thrown back in laughter. “They thought it was an arson threat and they had to evacuate the whole school. I was taking an English final during that.”

  Aaron’s shoulder pressing against yours makes a shiver run down your spine. You idly wonder how much closer he can get to you if he really tried.

  As if reading your mind, Aaron turns towards you a little more so that your knees are touching and you can feel his breath on the side of your neck. “We went to the beach that weekend,” he says quietly, unwilling to break eye contact with you. “Drank cheap beer. You got stung by a jellyfish. I had to carry you back to the car.”

  No, no. You were not about to fall for Aaron Hotchner’s charm again that easily. Not again. It took you too long to get over him the first time. Still, you were leaning closer to Aaron, and Aaron was leaning in towards you, and your noses brushed as you tilt your head to the side ever so slightly and—

  And his phone rings. Aaron’s eyes flickered to your lips one last time before pulling away, giving you an apologetic look.

  “Hotchner,” he answers, and you pull your coat tighter around yourself as realization sinks into you. You feel like you’re 17 again, desperately waiting for Aaron to ask you to prom, only to hide in your dorm for days on end when he asked Haley Brooks.

  When Aaron hangs up, he immediately reaches into his pocket to pull out his wallet, setting enough cash on the table to cover the tab and tip. “That was work. We have to fly out to Arizona. I’m sorry.”

  You nod understandingly. “Gotta catch the bad guys. When do you leave?”

  It’s silent for a few torturous moments before he finally answers. “An hour, at most. We brief at the office and then get on the plane.”

  “Wow,” you breathe. “You weren’t kidding when you said that you live out of your suitcase. Can I walk back with you, at least?”

  Aaron smiles, a small smile that makes you wonder how often he actually smiles now. It used to be a lot, but from what he’s told you, it seems like he’s had a rough go of it the last couple of years, and has a lot less to smile about. It makes you sad because when you were traveling the world, his smile was the one thing you missed the most.

  “I’d really like that.”

  The two of you make small talk on the way back, swapping stories about Jack and your various adventures around the globe. The autumn air is crisp with leaves falling all around you. At one point, there was a big gust of wind, and leaves and pine needles got blown onto the two of you, and you took your sweet time running your fingers through his hair, bushing it all off him. 

  When you get to the entrance of the FBI building, neither one of you says anything. You just stand there, both unwilling to say goodbye. You turn to face each other, just as close as you were in the diner booth.

  “Oh, you have a…” Aaron delicately reaches his hand to your hair. His fingers in your hair make your stomach do flips, and you’re almost positive he can hear your racing heartbeat. His eyes stay trained on yours the entire time, never blinking. “Pine needle,” he whispers, holding the offending object between his fingers.

  “Thanks,” you breathe, and you’re not sure if it’s the autumn chill or his hand reaching to cup your cheek that sends goosebumps throughout your body.

  As if he were magnetic, you rise onto your toes, bringing yourself closer to him, and you press your lips against his. Aaron deepens the kiss and runs his thumb across your cheekbone. His other hand wraps itself around your waist. The kiss is slow and sensual and better than anything you could have dreamed of — and you dream of Aaron kissing you more often than you’d like to admit.

  All too soon, the two of you pull away from each other, both wearing matching smiles.

  “I should probably… get in there… before my team sends out a search party,” Aaron says reluctantly, pointing towards the entrance. 

  You give his hand a soft squeeze. “Go save lives. I’ll probably be around for a few more days before heading up to New York. If you’re back by then.”

  Aaron purses his lips, deep in thought. “You’re definitely settling down somewhere? Done with seeing the world?”

  “That’s the plan.”

  “Have you… Do you think…” Aaron takes a grounding breath, trying to gather the words he was too afraid to ask back at graduation. “Have you ever considered settling down here? There’s a pretty big art community here.”

  You shrug, ignoring excitement building in your chest. “I think my work is a little too experimental for the people of the capitol.”

  “You’d be surprised,” he chuckles.

  You bring your lower lip between your teeth, chewing nervously at it. “I don’t know… I left for a reason. I just don’t know what DC has to offer me anymore.”

  Aaron spreads his arms out at his side, palms facing you in an uncharacteristic display of vulnerability. “There’s me,” he offers, and, when your eyes go wide, he adds, “And Stoner Stephen, if I’m not enough.”

  A laugh bursts out of you uncontrollably, which seems to put both you and Aaron at ease. “That makes it a very tempting offer,” you tease.

  “And I have a coworker who flips houses. He’ll be able to tell you where to get the best deal on an apartment,” Aaron presses as if you need any more convincing. As if your mind isn’t already made up.

  “First, I need to know that there’s more than one good place to get milkshakes,” you point out, shoving your hands in your coat pockets. “You’ll have to show me around when you get back.”

  Aaron’s lips quirk up in a hopeful smile. “It’s a date.”

  He makes his way towards the entrance of the Hoover Building, but you call out his name, stopping him once more. “We’ll also need a new Sunday breakfast place. Since our old one is closed down.”

  Now, his smile is one of pure joy, and his eyes are sparkling in a way you haven’t seen in years. “I know just the place. As long as you don’t up and leave without telling me again.”

  “Never again,” you promise, and for once, the idea of staying doesn’t terrify you.

  “Then we’ll get breakfast together as soon as I get back.”

  You smile at him, already missing the feeling of his lips on yours. “I’ll see you then.”

[weelittleweasley]

guitar lesson (f.w.)

prompt: the band that the weasley siblings had formed brought new excitement to hogwarts. new music, new 

pairing: guitarist!fred weasley x fem! reader

warnings: language, allusions to sex (for like one second)

word count: 4.7k

a/n: this is literally just pure��fluff. pure cute musical fluff.

George groaned and halted his drumming, “Bloody hell, Ronald, it’s not that hard to get the chord progression right after the third time drilling the song!” he cried out before tucking a drumstick behind his ear. “We go from G to B minor to E minor back to B minor. What is so hard about that?” he scolds his brother who just rolls his eyes. “Do we want to get this right or not?” George looks to the rest of the band comprised of his other siblings.

Ron just retorted simply, “It’s the first time we’ve ran this song in weeks, George. Everyone is rusty. Just give it a rest. We’ll get it right next go. Besides, aren’t we due for a five?” he looks to his sister who gives him eager eyes and a nod, signaling they were in desperate need of a break. 

George scoffs at his younger brother and says, “No, you’ll get it right the next go. Which starts now. Ginny, from the chorus. Fred, keep the chords crunchy, it sounds better that way. Ron, don’t fuck it up. Ready?” George directs the band as they all sigh. 

They had only been in band practice for an hour and a half and George was already making it a living hell. Sure, it was his idea to form a band and it seemed like a great idea. It was a way to spend more time together, to make music, to meet new people, and blow off some steam. If anything, Fred was the first one to jump on the offer. He knew that it would be a way for his family to bond, but also a way for him to show off his guitar skills that he had been honing for the past few years. Fred had once said, “Ladies love musicians. Especially the guitarists.”

But now it seemed like the band, which once was a low-key, stress free environment has changed wildly. Almost overnight things took a rapid 360. George had managed to book a gig for their band, The Burrow Bangers, at Three Broomsticks for the next weekend. George had convinced Madam Rosmerta to let them have the whole building for the evening for the gig if they promised to bring in the people. Which would not be a problem. Students were itching to see the band of siblings play. But this meant high stakes for the Weasleys. A real gig, paying them real money, to play real music. All they had ever done before was fuck around and play random music that they thought was funny. But this? This was all very new and very different than what they were used to.

With a few strikes of his drumsticks, George yelled out, “A 1, 2, 3, 4!” And the band swelled with music, George keeping rhythm on the drum kit, Fred wailing on his guitar, Ron strumming on the bass, and Ginny belting into the mic.

“She’s a Killer Queen, gunpowder, gelatine, Dynamite with a laser beam. Guaranteed to blow your mind; anytime...” Ginny belted into the mic, her alto voice resonating throughout the room of requirement as Ron and Fred stared at each other, wondering when they would get a break. Fred looked concerned at Ginny who's voice was obviously getting tired from belting for an hour and a half with no water or bathroom break.

Fred drops his guitar and speaks, “Hold on, hold on!” The band fades slowly before George throws up his hands in protest, asking why they stopped. “Do you not hear Ginny’s voice? She’s tired. We’re all tired, Georgie. We’ve been working non-stop for next week’s gig. I don’t think a ten minute break is gonna kill us,” he protests.

George rolls his eyes, “None of you are taking this seriously. We are getting paid for this. People are coming to watch us. Don’t you wanna be decent?” George rises from his seat, searching the eyes of his siblings for some agreement. 

Instead, he’s met with concerned eyes and tired expressions. Ginny looked absolutely exhausted, Fred looked exasperated, and Ron was flat out fed up. But all were equally concerned as to why their brother was so gassed up over this gig. George sighs, “I-” Fred gives him a sympathetic smile. “Of course, we wanna be good, Georgie. But we need to balance things out. Let’s all take a break for a while. Reconvene tonight after some much needed rest and we’ll talk details of rehearsals then. Good?”

Ron eagerly nods his head before slipping the bass off from around his body. Ginny turns off the mic and starts out with Ron, talks of what was for dinner in the Great Hall. Fred approaches his twin and places a hand on his shoulder. “What’s bugging you?” he asks, knowing that this behavior wasn’t typical for George. It wasn’t like George to get serious all of a sudden and push everyone to work without a break. Something was up and Fred could read it all over his brother’s face. 

Defeated, George sighs. “I don’t know, Fred. I guess I’m getting myself all worked up because I invited Angelina to the show and I wanted to ask to be my girlfriend and I guess I just want things to be perfect for her in a way.” Fred gives his brother a knowing look, wiggling his eyebrows. “Oh, shut it, you dickhead,” George laughs, pushing his brother’s shoulder. “You’d do the same if you fancied someone,” he teases Fred as his twin shrugs. “Freddie...you don’t mean to tell me no girl has walked up to you and has told you how hot it was that you played lead guitar in Hogwarts’ premiere band?” he teases.

Fred laughs, “Can’t say anyone has...yet.”

This makes George laugh and shake his brother’s shoulders. “That’s the spirit,” George slings his arm over Fred’s shoulder. The two twins carry back their band equipment as they make their way to the Gryffindor common room. “Seriously, Freddie, I bet I can set you up with one of Angie’s friends. I’ll tell Angie to bring her to the show and she can see just how sexy you look fingering those strings,” George alludes as Fred chuckles. 

“Nah, mate, I don’t wanna just have a set up of a date. I want to naturally meet a girl, you know?” Fred tells his twin as George rolls his eyes. Fred was always a hopeless romantic deep down. Although he had some flings in the past and had his fun with shagging a few girls casually here and there, Fred was looking for something more serious now. Someone he could connect with. “I’m not expecting for the perfect girl to be right around the corner, Georgie, but I’m not expecting her to be a-”

Fred stops mid sentence as he feels his body collide with another body as they walk around the corner of the hallway, making Fred and the person he had bumped into stumble back a bit. “Godric, I’m so sorry, I wasn’t pay attention to where I was going,” Fred looks around at the sheet music that was now cast about the floor. “Did I make you drop anything?” Fred asks, now looking up at a pair of eyes that made his heart skip a beat.

There you stood, a little flustered, in a hurry on your way to the library. You were late for a study group with some of your friends from your Charms class and it would be your third time late this week. If you were late again, they would surely give you shit for it. But as you took in who was causing you to run late, you suddenly didn’t mind. “Uh,” you gulp, “I’m alright, don’t worry. I should have watched where I was going. Now I’ve made quite the mess, haven’t I?” you lightly laugh as you crouch down to help him pick up the miscellaneous pieces of sheet music.

Fred joins you on the floor, picking up the scattered sheets. “It’s equally our mess,” Fred gives you a soft smile as you blush lightly. 

Fred looks up at George who wiggles his brows as if to say Oh La-La! before he winks at his brother. “Oh, hey (Y/N),” George speaks before continuing to walk down the hallway, giving his dear twin some privacy. Fred shoot his brother a look to say, Mate, what the fuck? 

“Hey, Georgie,” you laugh. The two of you continue to pick up the pieces of parchment as you inspect the scribbling on them to be the treble clef. “You’re a musician?” you ask him, referring to the sheets. Fred nods. “What instrument?”

“Guitar,” Fred beams as you widen your eyes and nod. “I’m actually in a band with George and my other siblings,” he tells you. “I didn’t know you were friends with George.”

You hand him a small pile of sheet music before you both rise to your feet. “Yeah, George and I have been friends for a little while. I helped tutor him in Divinations class,” you tell Fred who nods. Fred mentally yells that he wishes George would have told him that he was friends with an absolute stunner of a girl. “I didn’t know that you and George were in a band. That’s really cool,” you tell Fred with a smile.

As you stand before Fred Weasley, you hope he doesn’t know how flustered you were. You had always seen him in the halls with George and admired how charming and handsome he was from a far, but never said anything to him. You could have easily told George that you had a thing for his twin, but you were far too nervous to act on your little crush. You clutched your textbooks closer to your chest as Fred fixed the strap of his guitar on his chest, muscles flexing underneath his shirt as your eyes darting to watch them tug against the thin shirt material. 

Fred spoke, “We started the band a couple of months ago. So it’s a pretty recent development.”

You nod your head and awkwardly stand before him before realizing that you were just staring at Fred’s face, admiring how his lips curled into a little smirk when he looked at you. Clearing your throat, you breathe, “Wicked.” Fred chuckles. “I’ve always been fascinated by musicians. I wanted to teach myself how to play guitar, but I’ve never gotten around to it,” you word vomit, instantly regretting the words coming out of your mouth. Damn it, (Y/N), you might as well just tell him your life story, you think to yourself. 

With a cheeky smile, you watch Fred’s face light up. “I could teach you,” he suggest as your eyes widen. Fred immediately back pedals. “If you want! I mean, Godric knows that you are probably very busy, but if you ever wanted an instructor, I wouldn’t mind giving you lessons,” he retorts as you can’t help but have a lazy smile appear on your lips. Fred’s heart skips another beat as he gulps. “That’s only if you’d like me to teach you, (Y/N).”

The way he spoke your name made your stomach erupt with butterflies. His voice was like honey as words parted from his lips, the sweetest sounds you have ever heard. You watched his eyes as they looked into yours, monitoring how you reacted to his proposal. 

Guitar lessons with Fred Weasley? You would have to be mental if you said no. With a meek smile and you reply, “You really don’t have to, Fred.”

“I want to,” he jumps before clearing his throat, realizing how quickly he answered, making you giggle as Fred blushes a deep red that matched his hair. “I would like to teach you, (Y/N).”

With a nod, you say, “I’d like you to teach me.” 

Fred smiles widely. “Wicked,” he breathes out as you look away from his gaze to hide your rosy cheeks. “Just one catch,” he smirks as you furrow your brows. “You have to come to our show next week. At Three Broomsticks. And bring friends.”

Extending your hand, you tease him, “You’ve got a deal.” Fred shakes your hand firmly as you laugh. “I’ll see you around, Fred.”

You start down the opposite direction before Fred calls out. “First lesson is on Thursday! 4pm sharp,” Fred says as you flip around to look at him. “Tardiness is not tolerated,” he winks at you as you roll your eyes before walking away to the library.

As you walked down the corridors, you could help but smile to yourself. Your cheeks tingled from your large grin as you toyed with the edges of your books. The thought of Fred Weasley’s hands guiding yours as he taught you how to play guitar made your heart giddy. You nibbled on your bottom lip at the thought that danced around your head. Suddenly, you didn’t care how late you were to this study group.

----------------

Thursday rolled around slowly, but surely and Fred was checking himself out in the mirror, combing his fingers through his red hair, brushing the pieces out of his face. He nervously looked at himself in the mirror. Should he have shaved? Was he wearing too much cologne? Should he brush his teeth for a third time?

He frantically ran around his dormitory room, thinking he should change his shirt again. Maybe you liked the color green better than blue. As if the color of his shirt would determine the outcome of this lesson/date. Fred didn’t even know if he could count this as a date. 

George tapped out rhythms on his bed frame, watching Fred change his shirt for the fourth time as he shook his head. “Freddie, mate, are you really sweating that much?” he laughed.

Fred shot his twin a dirty look. “No,” he spat. “I just...I like the green better than the blue,” he lied, pulling the green shirt over his head and down his torso. Fred darted to his bed and grabbed his guitar and checked the time on his watch. He had ten minutes. “Good Godric,” he huffed.

“You alright? Haven’t seen you this shaken up since the time you thought you ate puking pastilles before your O.W.L.s,” George laughed as he tapped away on his bed frame. 

Fred nervously tapped on his thighs, “I’m fine, George. I, uh, I’m giving (Y/N) a guitar lesson today,” he reveals to his twin who's eyes widen and chuckles, “It’s just a lesson. Nothing else. But I’m bloody nervous about it.”

Sitting up, George speaks, “You got nothing to worry about, mate.” He walks over to Fred and places reassuring hands on Fred’s shoulders. “(Y/N)s a great girl. She’s sweet and funny and proper fit,” George raises his brows as Fred groans. “I’m teasing you, Freddie, calm down. You’ve got nothing to lose. Now get down there and make her swoon.”

Fred was never nervous for dates or flirting with girls. All of that stuff came naturally to him. But for some reason the thought of you was enough to make his stomach do somersaults. The palms of his hands got sweaty when your name was spoken. There was something about you that made Fred Weasley lose his senses and that was hard to do. 

Shaking it off, Fred huffs and leaves the dormitory making his way down to the common room. With each step he descended, his heart beat harder and faster against his rib cage. As he came down the stairs, your figure came into view which only made Fred’s mouth dry with anxiousness and excitement. He took a deep breath in and exhaled in attempt to calm himself down. I got this, she’s just a girl, he thought to himself. “4:00 on the dot,” Fred speaks, getting your attention, causing you to turn around to face him with a smile on your lips. “Very punctual, (Y/L/N).”

You take a good look at Fred and think about how effortlessly good he looked. Hunter green t-shirt hung on his tall frame perfectly as he walked over to where you sat on the couch, acoustic guitar in his hands. “Not to toot my own horn, but I was here at 3:55, Weasley,” you joke as he smiles. “Early is on time and on time is late.”

Fred chuckles, “In that case, pardon me for my tardiness. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive someone as foolish as me.”

His smile made your heart flutter and you couldn’t help but smile back at him. His joy was infectious. How could someone be so addictive? “Hmmm,” you pretend to think, “You’re lucky I’m such a kind and forgiving person.”

Fred places a hand over his heart and feigns relief. “Thank Merlin,” he fans himself as you chuckle. “Alright. You ready to get started?” he asks as you nod your head. “Brilliant, let’s start with the basics...”

After an hour of trial and error, you had managed to learned some chord progressions and strumming techniques from Fred. You had to give it to him; he was a great teacher. He was patient and smart and knowledgable. Not to mention, you loved listening to him talk about music and how passionate he was about playing. When he talked, he spoke with so much heart and life, it made you gently smile as you watched how animated he became. Fred Weasley really was one of a kind. 

You were nearing the end of your lesson as Fred showed you how to play an F chord on the guitar. “Best chord,” he spoke as you looked at him quizzically. “F is for Fred, keep up (Y/N),” he teases making you scoff. 

He explained the finger placements as you struggled to get it just right. “Wait, my second finger goes where?” you ask again as Fred points to the third string. You adjust and strum as an off-key chord resonates. “Now, that can’t be right,” you laugh as Fred shakes his head.

Fred gets up and moves from the chair in front of you to the seat next to you on the couch. He looks at you and asks, “May I?” He gestures to placing his hand on yours as you shake your head.

Gently, Fred places his hand on yours that holds the neck of the guitar as the other hand rests on your other elbow. Having his body is such close proximity to yours made your breath hitch in your throat as you felt his chest press against your back. Fred’s fingers adjust your placement carefully as if you were made of glass, trying his hardest not to make you break into a thousand bits. “This finger goes on the third string and this one stays on the second,” he lowly instructs. “And now, strum,” he speaks, a smile in his voice.

And so you do, a soft F chord playing as the strings underneath your fingertips hum sweetly. You two let the sound ring a little bit, either one of you not daring to breathe, scared to say or do anything. Just the position that you were in, his hands on yours, his chin resting near your shoulder, your back pressed against his chest. You gulped and exhaled softly. “Pretty,” you smiled.

Fred chuckled softly. “Yes, you are,” he spoke making your heart stop, wondering if he had just spoken those words. 

You turn to face him, a questioning look in your eyes as Fred allows a small smirk to dance on his lips. Cheeky bastard, you think to yourself as you smile at him. 

The two of you remain in this position, looking into each other’s eyes for a moment. Fred’s eyes were a rich brown, like pools of chocolate melting under the summer sun. His eyes were full of playfulness and cheer which made joy course through your veins. Fred Weasley was special. 

You didn’t even realize that he was leaning in until his forehead was pressed against yours and you connected the gap between you two, connecting your lips in a gentle kiss. As you kissed, he inhaled deeply, cupping your cheek with his hand, bringing you closer to him. His hands were calloused from the guitar strings as they pressed against your soft cheek. You pressed your lips onto his harder as Fred smiled gently into the kiss, enjoying every moment. You were first to pull away, but it didn’t last long, Fred’s lips following yours for another kiss as you giggled lightly. His lips were soft and tasted of sweet cinnamon and you wanted more, like your own drug. 

Fred gently pulled away before speaking, “I have a confession.” You hum in response. “I was planning on kissing you this whole time. I was just trying to find a good excuse to sit next to you,” he confessed.

You smiled involuntarily and laughed. “I believe that,” you speak before placing another kiss to his lips quickly. “I also have a confession,” you bite your lip as Fred looks at you confused. 

Scooting back a little, you cradle the guitar in your grasp before skillfully strumming a combination of chords that could be recognized as the beginning chords of I’m Looking Through You by The Beatles. Fred’s mouth goes agape and eyes wide as you play better than he could ever. “I lied about not knowing how to play the guitar,” you laughed. “I’ve known how to play since I was ten. I just wanted an excuse to see you again.”

Fred shakes his head in disbelief. “You sneak!” he exclaims. “A woman after my own heart,” he jokes as you laugh before he kisses your cheek. “Well, I guess you don’t need anymore lesson from a git like me. But I still think you should hold up your end of the deal,” he squeezes your hand.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world, Weasley,” you smile. “Although, I will be coyly judging your skills from the audience.”

Fred laughs, “I’m sure you will be, darling.”

----------------

After days of rehearsing and planning and scheduling and rehearsing some more, the gig at the Three Broomsticks rolled around. Ginny had managed to convinced the entirety of the Hogwarts quidditch league to come out which already filled the Three Broomsticks at half capacity. But getting more people to come wasn’t a problem. The promise of good music and Butterbeer was enough to have swarms of students flow into the small building. 

The Three Broomsticks was soon teeming with people, chatting and drinking and laughing. The energy was high and the Weasleys could feel it from their make shift backstage (which was quite literally a curtain that Ron managed to pin up). 

However, this meant that expectations were high which in turn made the band exceptionally nervous. Ginny nervously danced around, doing lip trills to warm up her voice as Ron tuned the bass. George sat at his drumming seat and ran over rhythms in his head, Fred pacing back and forth, biting on his nails.

You shuffled through the audience and found Harry and Hermione sitting at a table in the front as you approached them. You could hear Hermione gush about how hard Ron has been practicing for the gig, a rosy hue forming on her cheeks as Harry poked at her crush. As you approach, Hermione notices you and beams, “(Y/N)! Hi! Are you excited for the concert? You know Ron is playing bass?”

Harry rolls his eyes, “Did you know Hermione has a big, fat cru-”

“Shut it, Harry,” Hermione quickly snaps as you laugh. “Anyway, what’s up?”

You smile, “Do you know if Fred is with the others still? I know he was nervous about tonight and I just wanna make sure he’s doing alright.”

Harry looks at Hermione and then back at you. “Yeah, he’s back with the others,” he says as you nod, leaving. But before you can leave, Harry stops you, “Wait, hold on, I didn’t know that you and Fred were....” he looks for the words.

“We’re not officially together, but we’ve been seeing each other,” you confess with a smile. Hermione gives you a teasing glance as she sips on her Butterbeer and Harry nudges her with an ooh. “Oh please. You think you two are slick? Everyone knows Harry fancies Ginny and Hermione is practically head over heels for Ronald,” you teases as they both wear bright red cheeks. “Mhm, that’s what I thought,” you laugh. “I’ll see you both in a minute.” You make your way to the back of the Three Broomsticks, behind the curtain to find a nervous band of siblings. Ginny catches your glances first and a smirk comes onto her lips. “Oh, Freddie,” she sing songs. “You have a guest.”

Fred turns around to face you and relief washes over his face as your heart skips a beat. Fred looked good sporting dark wash jeans and a black henley. Simple, but Godric, it was enough to make you swoon. Fred grabbed your hand and walked you over to the corner for a little more privacy. “I’m glad to see your face,” he spoke before bending down to press a sweet kiss to your lips.

“I told you I wouldn’t miss it,” you squeeze his hand. “How are you feeling?”

He shrugs and gives you an awkward smile as you blurt out a laugh. “I don’t know,” he joins in. “Nervous? Excited? Weird? All three?” 

You reach up and brush his hair out of his face as he relaxes under your touch. Just the simple gesture was enough to calm him down instantly. “It’s alright to feel like that. You are gonna be bloody brilliant. All of you,” you tell him sincerely. “You’ve been working so hard and you are all so talented. You’re gonna knock the audience’s socks off. I have no doubt in my mind,” you encourage him.

Fred smiles and without another word, he pulls you in by your waist to press your lips to his. You wrap your arms around his neck as you kiss him sweetly. His lips are pressed against yours firmly, but sweetly with passion. His touch was enough to make your head reel. Fred pulls away and presses his forehead against yours, “I’m playing for you tonight. And only you.”

Your heart skips a beat as you smile, staring into his eyes with so much adoration. It had only been a week and a half since you had started seeing each other, but you couldn’t help but have the overwhelming feeling that Fred was the one for you. He was everything you could ever ask for. Charming, kind, handsome, funny, witty. Fred Weasley was it. 

“And I’ll be cheering you on the whole time,” you tell him, extending your pinky finger to him as he loops his with yours. The two of you press kisses to your thumbs, making it a pinky promise. “Now, go get ‘em, tiger,” you encourage him. As you walk away, Fred taps you bum playfully as you scurry away, back into the audience with Harry and Hermione. 

The three of you buzz about the band and the atmosphere, sipping on Butterbeer before suddenly the audience starts wildly cheering. You turn your attention to the make-shift stage and see the Weasleys all enter. You immediately start clapping and cheering for the band as Ginny speaks into the mic. “Hello, Hogsmeade!” she laughs as the crowd cheers louder. “We are the Burrow Bangers and tonight we’ve got quite the show for you all!” she exclaims as the audience claps and shouts out. You look over at Harry and a wide grin is plastered on his face. “So, without further ado...”

“1, 2, 3, 4!” George bangs on his drumsticks before 80s rock blares through the small inn, the crowd immediately cheering and dancing the sound of the music.

And you had to admit it. They were damn good. They were all in synch with each other and blended so well together. The Weasleys were performers no matter how much they may hate it admit it. Not to mention, Fred looked hot wailing away on his cherry red electric guitar. His fingers skillfully strummed out chords and he musically added riffs when needed which made the crowd roar. 

You were overwhelmed with pride at the boy you had taken such a keen liking to you and it was palpable. Fred would catch your eyes every now and then and drop his left eye into a wink, making you blush and cheer louder for him.

Tonight, and every night following, he played for you and you only.

[brawltogethernow]

So, I don't think I've ever asked you this... what IS the whole point of the Spider-Sense? It really seems like something that only exists for writers to ignore or work around when they want to inject Legit Tension into a story.

I’ve thought about this power so much, but never with an eye to defend its right to exist, so I needed to think about this. The results could be more concise.

Ironically, given the question, I have to say its main purpose is to ramp up tension. But it’s also a highly variable multitool that a skilled creative team can use for...pretty much anything. It does everything the writer wants it to, while for its wielder always falls just short of doing enough.

I went looking through my photos for a really generic, classic-looking example to use as an image to head this topic, but then I ran into the time Peter absolutely did not reimburse this man for his stolen McDonald’s, so have that instead.

A Scare Chord, But You Can Draw It

That one post that says the spider-sense is just super-anxiety isn’t, like, wrong. It’s a very anxious, dramatic storytelling tool originally designed for a very anxious, dramatic protagonist. I find it speaks to the overall tone of the franchise that some characters are functionally psychics, but with a psychic ability that only points out problems.

Spidey sense pinging? There’s danger, be stressed! Broken? Now the lead won’t even KNOW when there’s a problem, scary! Single character is immune to it? That’s an invisible knife in the dark oh my god what the fuck what the fU--

Like its counterpart in garden variety anxiety, the only time the spider-sense reduces tension is in the middle of a crisis. But in the wish fulfillmenty way that you want in an adventure story to justify exaggerated action sequences, the same way enhanced strength or durability does. Also like those, it would theoretically make someone much safer to have it, but it exists in the story to let your character navigate into and weather more dangerous situations.

For its basic role in a story, a danger sense is a snappy way to rile up both the reader and the protagonist that doesn’t offer much information beyond that it’s time to sit smart because shit is about to go down.

Spidey comic canon is all over the board in quality and genre, and it started needing to subvert its formulas before the creators got a handle on what those formulas even were, and basically no one has read anything approaching most of it at this point, so for consistent examples of a really bare bones use of this power in storytelling, I’d point to the property that’s done the best job yet of boiling down the mechanics of Spider-Man to their absolute most basic essentials for adaptation to a compelling monster of the week TV series.

Or as you probably know it, Danny Phantom. DON’T BOO, I’M RIGHT.

DP is Spider-Man with about 2/3 of the serial numbers filed off and no death (ironically), and Danny’s ghost sense is the most proof in the formula example of what the spidey sense is for: It’s a big sign held up for the viewer that says, “Something is wrong! Pay attention!” Effectively a visual scare chord. It’s about That Drama. And it works, which won it a consistent place in the show’s formula. We’re talking several times an episode here.

So why does it work?

It’s a little counterintuitive, but it’s strong storytelling to tell your audience that something bad is going to happen before it does. A vague, punchy spoiler transforms the ignorant calm before a conflict into a tense moment of anticipation. ...And it makes sure people don’t fail to absorb the beginning of said conflict because they weren’t prepared to shift gears when the scene did. Shock is a valuable tool, too, but treating it like a staple is how you burn out your audience instead of keeping them engaged. Not to go after an easy target, but you need to know how to manage your audience’s alarm if you don’t want to end up like Game of Thrones.

The limits of the spider-sense also keep you on your toes when handled by a smart writer. It tells Peter (everyone’s is a little different, so I’m going to cite the og) about threats to his person, but it doesn’t elaborate with any details when it’s not already obvious why, what kind, and from what. And it doesn’t warn him about anything else-- Which is a pretty critical gap when you zoom out and look at his hero career’s successes and failures and conclude that it’s definitely why he’s lived as long as he has acting the way he does, but was useless as he failed to save a string of people he’d have much rather had live on than him.

(Any long-running superhero mythos has these incidents, but with Peter they’re important to the core themes.)

And since this power is by plot for plot (or because it’s roughly agreed it only really blares about threats that check at least two boxes of being major, immediate, or physical), it always kicks in enough to register when the danger is bearing down...when it’s too late to actually do anything about it if “anything” is a more complex action than “dodge”.

Really? Not until the elevator doors started to open?

That Distinctive, Crunchy Spider Flavor

The spider-sense and its little pen squiggles go hand in hand with wallcrawling (and its unique and instantly identifiable associated body language) to make the Spider-Person powerset enduringly iconic and elevate characters with it from being generic mid-level super-bricks. Visually, but also in how it shapes the story.

I said it can share a narrative role with super strength. But when you end a fight and go home, super strength continues to make your character feel powerful, probably safer than they’d be otherwise, maybe dangerous.

The spider-sense just keeps blaring, “Something’s wrong! Something’s wrong! God, why aren’t you doing something about this!?”

Pretty morose thing to live with, for a safety net! Kind of a double edged sword you have there! Could be constantly being hyperattuned to problems would prime you for a negative outlook on life. Kind of seems like a power that would make it impossible for a moral person to take a day off, leading them into a beleaguered and resentful yet dutiful attitude about the whole superhero gig! Might build up to some of the core traits of this mythos, maybe! Might lead to a lot of fifteen minute retirement stories, or something. Might even be a built in ‘great responsibility�� alarm that gets you a main character who as a rule is not going to stop fighting until he physically cannot fight anymore.

Certainly not apropos of anything, just throwing this short lived barely-a-joke tagline up for fun.

One of my personal favorite things about stories with superpowers is keeping in mind how they cause the people who have them to act in unusual ways outside of fights, so when you tell me that these people have an entire extra sense that tells them when the gas in their house is leaking through a barely useful hot/cold warning system that never turns off, I’m like, eyes emojis, popcorn out, notebook open, listening intently, spectacles on, the whole deal.

It also contributes to Peter Parker’s personality in a way I really enjoy: It allows him to act like an irrational maniac. When you know exactly when a situation becomes dangerous and how much, normal levels of caution go out the window and absolutely nothing you do makes sense from an exterior standpoint anymore. That’s the good shit. I would like to see more exploration of how the non-Parker characters experiencing the world in this incredibly altered way bounce in response.

It’s also one of many tools in this franchise hauling the reader into relating more closely with the main character. The backbone of classic Spidey is probably being in on secrets only Peter and the reader know which completely reframe how one views the situation on the page. It’s just a big irony mine for the whole first decade. A convenient way to inform the reader and the lead that something is bad news that’s not perceivable to any other characters is youth-with-a-big-exciting-secret catnip.

Another point for tension, there, in that being aware of danger is not synonymous with being able to act on it. If there’s no visible reason for you to be acting strange, well...you’re just going to have to sit tight and sweat, aren’t you? Some gratuitous head wiggles never hurt when setting up that type of conflict.

Have I mentioned that they look cool? Simultaneously punchy and distinctive, with a respectable amount of leeway for artists to get creative with and still coming up with something easily recognizable? And pretty easy to intuit the meaning of even without the long-winded explanations common in the days when people wrote comics with the intent that someone could come in cold on any random issue and follow along okay, I think, although the mechanic has been deeply ingrained in popular culture for so long that I can’t really say for sure.

It was also useful back in the day when no artists drew the eyes on the Spider-Man mask as emoting and were conveying the lead’s expressions entirely through body language and panel composition. If you wiggle enough squiggles, you don’t need eyebrows.

Take This Handwave and Never Ask Me a Logistical Question Again

This ability patches plot holes faster than people can pick them open AND it can act as an excuse to get any plot rolling you can think of if paired with one meddling protagonist who doesn’t know how to mind their own business. Buy it now for only $19.99 (in four installments; that’s four installments of $19.99).

Why can a teenager win a six on one fight against other superhumans? Well, the spider-sense is the ultimate edge in combat, duh.

Why can Peter websling? Why doesn’t everyone websling? Well, the spider-sense is keeping him from eating flagpole when he violently flings himself across New York in a way neither man nor spider was ever meant to move.

How are we supposed to get him involved with the plot this week???? Well, that crate FELT dangerous, so he’s going to investigate it. Oh, dip, it was full of guns and radioactive snakes! Probably shouldn’t have opened that!

Yeah, okay, but why isn’t it fixing everything, then? Isn’t it supposed to be why Peter has never accidentally unmasked in front of somebody? ('Nother entry for this section, take a shot.) That’s crazy sensitive! How does he still have any problems!? Is everything bad that’s ever happened to characters with this powerset bad writing!? --Listen, I think as people with uncanny senses that can tell us whether we are in danger with accuracy that varies from incredible to approximate (I am talking about the five senses that most people have), we should all know better than to underestimate our ability to tune them out or interpret them wrong and fuck ourselves up anyway. I honestly find this part completely realistic.

*SLAPS ROOF OF SPIDER-SENSE* YOU CAN FIT SO MANY STORIES IN THIS THING

The spider-sense is a clean branch into...whatever. There is the exact right balance of structure and wishy-washiness to build off of. A sample selection of whatevers that have been built:

It’s sci-fi and spy gadgets when Peter builds technology that can interface with it.

It’s quasi-mystical when Kaine and Annie-May get stronger versions of it that give them literal psychic visions, or when you want to get mythological and start talking about all the spider-characters being part of a grand web of fate.

Kaine loses his and it becomes symbolic of a future newly unbound by constraints, entangled thematically with the improved physical health he picked up at the same time -- a loss presented as a gain.

Peter loses his and almost dies 782 times in one afternoon because that didn’t make the people he provoked when he had it stop trying to kill him, and also because he isn’t about to start “””taking the subway’’””’ “‘’“”to work”””’’” like some kind of loser who doesn’t get a heads up when he’s about to hit a pigeon at 50mph.

Peter’s starts tuning into his wife’s anxiety and it’s a tool in a relationship study.

It starts pinging whenever Peter’s near his boss who’s secretly been replaced by a shapeshifter and he IGNORES IT because his boss is enough of an asshole that that doesn’t strike him as weird; now it’s a comedy/irony tool.

Into the Spider-Verse made it this beautiful poetic thing connecting all the spider-heroes in the multiverse and stacked up a story on it about instant connection, loss, and incredibly unlikely strangers becoming a found family. It was also aesthetic as FUCK. Remember the scene where Miles just hears barely intelligible whispering that’s all lines people say later in the film and then his own voice very clearly says “look out” and then the room explodes?? Fuck!!!!

Venom becomes immune to it after hitchhiking to Earth in Peter’s bone juice and it makes him a unique threat while telling a more-homoerotic-than-I-assume-was-originally-intended story about violation and how close relationships can be dangerous when they go sour.

It doesn’t work on people you trust for maximum soap opera energy. Love the innate tragedy of this feature coming up.

IN CONCLUSION I don’t have much patience for writers who don’t take advantage of it, never mind feel they need to write around it.

[scapegrace74-blog]

Ginger Snap, Chapter 4

A/N  Here’s the next chapter installment of Ginger Snap.  I now have this story mentally plotted to its conclusion.  It will have a total of 6 chapters, with perhaps a wee epilogue.  In keeping with the theme, the title of this chapter is “Where There’s Smoke”.

Previous chapters are best enjoyed on my AO3 page, because I have a bad habit of going back and editing them after they’ve been posted.

I glanced around the sitting room, trying to see it through a stranger’s eyes.  Well, not a stranger.  Through Jamie’s eyes.

We had sold most of our furniture before leaving Boston, not considering it worth the expense of shipping across the Atlantic.  Frank hired an interior decorating firm to furnish the third floor Southside flat before we arrived.  The overall impression was stylish, if a bit soulless.  Having grown up a virtual nomad, there were no mementos or heirlooms to speak for my personal journey.  For the first time, I regretted their absence.

The buzzer rang, and I shook away my wistfulness.  Jamie’s tousled curls and reckless grin greeted me as I opened the door.  Today he wore a fitted navy jumper, faded grey jeans with frays about the ankles and the ubiquitous work boots.  A messenger bag was slung across his broad chest.  

“I hope I wasn’t supposed to supply the ingredients for today’s lesson, because my cupboards are bare,” I remarked after inviting him in.

“Jus’ as well.  I wouldna squander yer food.  I have all we need right here.”  Reaching into his bag, he removed a clear container filled with chunks of pink meat swimming in a broth of blood.  I wrinkled my nose in disgust.

“What sort of dish will I be making with those?”

Those summer eyes shone in merry provocation.

“No’ a dish, Arsonist.  An experiment.”  

Two saucepans were set on the stove.  Jamie had me place a few pieces of meat into the water of one pot before it warmed.  To the other I added a pinch of salt and a clove of garlic, but waited until it came to a boil before adding the chicken.  After five minutes, I used tongs to move the now-pale flesh to waiting salad plates.  Neither looked particularly appetizing, but the first pot yielded a glutinous blob.

“I suppose this is the control group,” I remarked, looking at Jamie where he leaned against my countertop, ankles crossed like a cover model.  “I’m already quite familiar with what culinary failure looks like, thank you.”

“No’ failure.  Variability,” my teacher argued.  “See here?  If ye want meat tae dissolve til it doesna hold its texture, low heat is key.  An’ if ye want tae infuse it with flavour, always combine heat an’ seasoning at the same time.”

I took a small nibble of chicken from the second pot, and sure enough it tasted mildly of garlic.  It was otherwise quite bland, though.  When I commented on this, Jamie nodded in excitement.

“Aye, verra good.  Nature seeks equilibrium, as ye well know.  Sae now ye have poultry tha’ tastes o’ water and water tha’ tastes o’ chicken.  If ye were makin’ a stew or chicken stock, t’would be a good thing.  Fer anything else, tis shite.”

I laughed, getting into the spirit of his well-executed game.

“Have ye any music?” he asked while we cleared away the results of round one.  “I always cook better with a bit o’ background noise.”

There was a high-end stereo system in the living room, but I doubted Jamie would be interested in Frank’s collection of Brahms, Mahler and Celtic harp.  Seeing my hesitation, Jamie dug out a portable speaker from his bag.

“Do ye mind?”  I shook my head and soon my kitchen hummed with guitar chords and plangent vocals.

The lesson lasted far longer than the scheduled hour.  Jamie had me bake, fry, roast and braise different samples, each time explaining why a particular technique might be used and insisting I taste the result.  It was so much fun, I shed my habitual reticence while cooking.

“An’ now fer the pièce de résistance,” Jamie announced in dramatic tones.  From his seemingly bottomless messenger bag he removed what appeared to be a miniature flame thrower.

“What the fuck is that?” I asked, forgetting myself.

“I wanted ye tae ken there’s a place fer fire in the kitchen, Arsonist.  Tis only a question of picking yer moment.”

With a flick of his lighter, he set the butane alight and handed me the small kitchen torch.  Using extreme caution, I seared the outside of the two remaining morsels until they were a rich caramel colour.  Jamie then wrapped them in foil, placing them in the oven to finish cooking.  When they were cool enough to sample, the outside was pleasingly crunchy and sweet, while the inside swam in moist chicken-y flavour.  We both declared them the winner.

“Tis a funny thing about fire,” Jamie remarked as he packed up his bag to leave by the more conventional front door route.  “It can remain hidden beneath the surface, burying its secrets deep inside.  Doesna mean it doesn’t burn, though.”

I thought about what he’d said long after he was gone, leaving me alone with his signature scent of rising bread and salt air.

That weekend, I blamed the poor weather when I declined Frank’s offer to shop for an engagement ring.

***

The next week, instead of asking to be buzzed inside, Jamie requested that I join him downstairs.

Grabbing a Mackintosh, my purse and slipping into comfortable walking shoes, I joined Jamie outside my door.  He was particularly animated, despite the foul weather.

“We should ha’ started wi’ this lesson, but t’wasn’t the right day fer it,” he explained as we walked towards the farmers’ market that took place twice a week in the shadow of Castle Hill.

I considered protesting that I already knew how to shop for food, but Jamie’s enthusiasm was contagious.

We stopped at every stall, sampling the foodstuff on display, which was surprisingly varied despite it being November.  Jamie knew most of the merchants by name and our progress was regularly halted by conversations on topics as varied as his family’s health, the latest rugby results and Scottish politics.  I envied his wide circle of acquaintance and apparent ease interacting with them.  There was no pretense, no stiffness, just a man who inhabited every square centimetre of his life to the fullest.

Jamie insisted that I taste various produce before adding it to the cloth bag he’d provided.  Honey-crisp apples.  Peppery radishes.  Herb-infused venison sausage.  

“Close yer eyes,” he instructed when I was practically dizzy with all the flavours.  Still, I complied immediately.  A rubbery moisture tickled my lips.  “Open,” he said simply.  I opened.  “Tell me what ye taste, Arsonist.”

I chewed the morsel of cheese thoughtfully, letting the taste and texture coat my mouth before finally swallowing.

“Creamy.  Thick.  Salty.  Sorrel.”

I opened my eyes only to fall into the inky vortex of Jamie’s pupils, which had expanded to almost eclipse his irises.  His hand still hovered near my mouth, muscles frozen in abstraction.  The cheesemonger let out an awkward little cough.  Jamie blinked, and the moment vanished.

“Sorrel?” he asked a bit gruffly.

“Yer lass has a fine palate, Fraser.  My sheep graze in fields full o’ it.”

I allowed myself a smug little smile.  Neither of us corrected the merchant’s presumptive pronoun.

Later that evening, I sat cross-legged before the fire with a picnic for one.  Frank had called from his office earlier to say he was working on notes for an upcoming symposium.  Before me lay the results of the afternoon’s market adventure.  Closing my eyes as I ate,  every mouthful set my senses ablaze.

We never found time to visit the jeweler that weekend either.

***

The next week, I fell ill with a miserable head cold.   Frank was in Oxford for his symposium, so I called Ginger Snap myself and explained to Jenny in a hoarse voice that Jamie should avoid coming to my flat at all costs.

I was curled up in a mentholated daze when there was a series of knocks.  It took several minutes to free myself from my blanket cocoon and shuffle to the front door.  Glancing in the entryway mirror, my hair called to mind an electrified poodle and my nose was twelve shades of raw, but I opened the door anyway.  No-one was there.  Leaning out to peer down the hallway, I practically tripped over a brown paper bag resting at my feet.

Inside was a metal thermos, still quite warm to the touch.  As I unscrewed the cap, my stuffed nose was assailed by fragrant steam.  Homemade cock-a-leekie soup.  I felt a glow fill my chest that had nothing to do with my fever.  Pouring a helping into a mug, I shuffled back to my couch-nest.  I felt better already.

***

The following week, Jamie was distracted.  I’d thanked him profusely for the soup, and asked if he could show me how to make it for myself.  As the chicken thighs and stock began to warm, however, I caught him glancing regularly at his phone, fingers drumming against his thigh.

“Are you expecting an important text?” I finally asked.

“Hmm?  Och, Arsonist, I’m verra sorry.  Tis only that we got a last-minute request tae cater a big corporate Christmas party, an’ Jenny is beside herself wi’ worrying.”  He tucked him phone into the pocket of his cargo pants.

“When’s the party?”

“T’morrow,” he confessed.

“What!  Jamie, what are you doing here?  You should have called me to reschedule.”

“T’wouldna be fair, what wi’ us missing last week on account of yer sniffles.  An’ wi’ Christmas ‘round the corner, I didna ken when I’d... er, when we’d have time for another lesson.”

I turned off the burner with a decisive twist.  Jamie opened his mouth to lodge a protest, but I beat him to the punch.

“Jamie, the soup will keep.  Growing your business is more important. I wish there was something more I could do to help, but under the circumstances...”

“Come wi’ me?” he blurted out.

I was nodding before the words finished leaving his mouth.  Notwithstanding the fact that he had just literally been teaching me how to boil water, I didn’t want to lose his company so soon.   We likely wouldn’t see one another again until after the New Year.

It was a thirty minute walk to Leith.  Jamie could probably have covered the distance in half that with his long strides, were it not for me trotting along beside him.  We stopped at several shops along the way to pick up provisions, arriving at Ginger Snap with our arms laden with the freshest food Edinburgh had to offer.

I had expected Jenny and Jamie to be working alone, but the fire station was abuzz with activity.  I was hastily introduced to Angus, a distant Fraser cousin; Mary, a childhood friend of Jenny’s; and Murtagh, Jamie and Jenny’s godfather.  They worked together like a well-oiled machine, and I stood awkwardly to one side, wondering what the hell I was doing there.  I was preparing to make my excuses when Jamie called me over to a spare station.  He gestured to the commercial-sized sink, which was full of vegetables of every dimension and colour.

“Claire, I need ye tae rinse and then cut these inta nice even pieces.  Can ye do tha’ fer me?”

"Consider it done, chef,” I said with a jaunty salute.

There was a feeling of camaraderie as we each went about our assigned tasks.  I chopped.  Mary baked.  Angus filleted.  Jamie cooked, and Jenny plated the various canapés, salads and sauces and stored them in the enormous refrigerators that lined the back wall.    Murtagh’s role seemed mostly to keep the troops in line with an assortment of verbal barbs. 

Music played in the background.  Volleys of witty banter flowed between us, but never at the expense of the work or anyone’s feelings.  Angus nicked himself with his filleting knife, and Jenny sent him to my station for treatment, saying I was the team’s resident doctor.  I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt so at home.

Time passed quickly and before I knew it, it was dark outside.  The bulk of the work was done and the pace slackened, the pressure of the looming deadline relieved.  One by one we cleared our stations, meeting at the small seating area to share a well-earned drink.

Jenny sunk into the couch beside me and let out a loud sigh.

“Ouf, I canna believe we got it all done.  Claire, ye were a godsend.  Normally I do most o’ the prep work, but it leaves me no time tae arrange the dishes.”

I demurred, uncomfortable with the praise.

“Nay, Arsonist, ye were amazing,” Jamie began to object, but he was interrupted by my phone buzzing.  Glancing down, I felt my face fall.   I’d completely forgotten about Frank.  Now he was texting, asking me where I was.  I quickly fired off a reply, then stuffed the phone into my pocket.

“Everything alright?” Jenny asked.

“Oh, yes.  It’s only my fiancé, asking when I might be home,” I answered, still distracted by my uncharacteristic lapse.  As I glanced up, I ran straight into Jamie’s iceberg gaze.

“I didna realize ye were engaged,” he looked pointedly at my bare ring finger.  “Congratulations.”  

He said the word as though every syllable pained him.  I quelled the urge to explain, to say it wasn’t a real engagement because I’d never agreed, that I’d only been looking for a sense of security, but somehow found myself in a cage.

Instead I hastily finished my drink, called myself an Uber and quietly wished everyone a good night, all while avoiding the many questions written across Jamie’s expressive face.

[wigglesforsquiggles]

ranking pebblebrain songs

(a sleep deprived rant by me)

the actual places are a bit loose, like the top 3 middle 2 and bottom 2 can all be swapped amongst themselves

1. concrete

- BANGER fucnimg amazing oh my god the drum pause into the chorus is godly i need to hear this song live

so upbeat i love it instrumentals alreadt nice, such good lyrics to sing learn and sing to.

ALL THIS OVER A KISS YOU WEREN'T THERE SO WHY YOU PRESSED BT THIS NOW ITS TURNING THREE IN THE MORNING THE BOUNCERS PUT YOU ON HIS THIRD WARNING BUT IM STILL HERE IM NOT LEAVING

the whole chorus needs to be on repeat in my brain i need it looped it's so good oh my god

the people on the night but HAVE TO LISTEN TO YOU

the whole song i can and will shout and the top of my lungs if able

the lyrics are so bitter it's like spitting at someone's face whilst having the time of your life

2. model buses

- i love how the song is abt bojo it just adds to it as a whole

the line "we can barely see your hair receding" made me think this was about wilbur originally

YOURE JUST SCARED YOURE JUST SCARED OF THE FUTURE

The whole chorus is a BANGER and a half it's so good

the pause before the instrumentals section is so fun, it makes you hold your breath before you do the aur guitar and drums

He's always right you're never right

the final chorus is so fun with the slightly added to instrumentals jusr heightens my love for the chorus

3. Oh yeah, you're gonna cry?

- so upbeat i love it (bonus points for being popular w the parents) also the adlibs between the chorus more like the whole chorus bc that is amazing

the very first lines are already iconic and i love to shout tjem. the staccato type best for the lyrics really adds to the song and make it so fun to just sing them

how's the fuck she end up with you

the chorus is so cheeky and i love the adlibs between lines (the little woos and yeah yeahs add to it) - the lyrics are also so memorable (now now you need to calm down etc etc)

now now you need to calm down what goods this energy, when you devote her to me why not be a little more friendly. now now you need to calm down does she still think of me? say my name in her sleep? i thought you knew her better than me

the final chorus is so fun and the repeat elevates it

also the ending chords are funky i like it

4. it's all futile it's all pointless

- the beginning instrumentals are so cool

i lost the passion that comes with leaving since i started university <- banger

the lead up to the chorus builds so well such a good vibe

, what was your thought when you realised you'll never feel naive love again? BANGER LINE god i love it so much it's so crunchy

you held his hand it felt like flying - BANGER LINE, makes me want to cry

the second chorus lead up is once again amazing, the end of the song is truly worth the bobbing cat head meme

the lyrics to this whole song are so good to sing to - very easy to learn w out searching them up and just singing like you've broken up with someone and shouting to the ceiling

i wish i could mash my favourite parts of the song and condense them into one second of pure serotonin

i can imagine signing the last chorus late at night in the dark with friends at the top of our lungs

5. the fall

- such good vibes from the beginning (the bass? i think? adds an subtle ominous vibe from the beningning which suits the theme)

The little "fxmimg scared fucking scared" is very fun to sing along to

as the tempo picks up so is the tension and it's so good

your hisdonic misuse

The instrumentals during the whole breakdown are honestly my favourite part

I LOOK TO ALL OF YOI AND SEE A DIFFERENT FUCKING SPECIES

i haven't been able to play this song at a loud enough volume yet

the very end chords make me feel like in a panto when the villain has just victored over the heroes and walked off stage and it's goddamn amazing

6. perfume

- intro has such good lyrics to sing to

and i hate their haircut they look like a prick

the alternating pronouns and the subtle story telling is v nice

it's 3:45 the taxis not arrived i don't think he's coming

the ending is GOD TIER a callback to earlier in the song is always a win

it's just a fun song to sing along to and i feel very snide when i do

7. you'll understand when you're older

- the intro is very fun to air guitar too (+ the drum best is very cool)

the drums throughout this are very nice to listen to, i always pick them out

you can tell he's lying cause his lips move

all the lyrics have too much meanings that i have not bothered to learn

The line before the chorus drop is 10/10 love it - when they repeat is w the final chorus it makes me loose my mind

they say the country is sweating out a fever

Your keeping a dark secret but you're talking in your Sleep

the whole instrumentals for the song are SO GOOD like how?? the last bit of guitar are so cool, i love to pretend to know how to play guitar to it

the ending is also v cool, it feels like w car slowly tipping over (idk)

Tada 🎉

[kyotakumrau]

2020.05.30 DIR EN GREY SPECIAL TALK - Q&A - Kyo and Kaoru - translation

(if you notice any mistakes, typos or have any comments, I appreciate them! ^ ^)

Joe (introduces the Q&A segment)- Question: Kinoko no sato or Takenoko no yama, which team are you? (it's a very popular question in Japan like are you a tea or a coffee person, or cream or jam first etc - those sweets are mushroom and bamboo shoot shaped, the chocolate content and cookie texture are different in each) Kyo- I prefer Kinoko (mushroom). Joe- Ah, you're Team Kinoko. Kyo- At first, I liked Takenoko (bamboo shoot) more, but I think everyone gets tricked by the cookie. Joe- The crunchiness of the Takenoko? Kyo- Yeah. But it's not about what's inside (?) Joe- I see, the chocolate part is more important. Kyo- Exactly. Joe- So as a result of thinking about chocolate, Kinoko wins. Kyo- Yeah. Joe- And how about you, Kaoru? Kaoru- Both are okay (laughing) Joe- (??) ok, both, thank you for the answer. A response of an adult. So many comments and questions.

Joe (reads)- 'You talked about getting tattoos earlier, please show us your new tattoos' (Kyo starts stirring) If possible. Kyo- How much will I get for it? Joe- How much? (in English) Depends on money. (=wanna see, pay...) (they laugh, a bit awkward) Kyo- Anyway, it's in a place you can't see. Joe- By the place you can't see you mean you shouldn't show it. Kyo- I would have to take my pants off. Joe- That would be a bit weird. Did you get any new tattoos, Kaoru? Kaoru- Nah. It's painful so nah. Joe- You didn't because it's painful? Kaoru- I'm paying for it, why does it have to come with pain? Kyo- That's how it is. Joe- Yeah... But talking with me on the radio, isn't that a torture? (laughing) Kyo- It is a torture.  But I will write about tattoos in my post in Haiiro, so interested fanclub members should check it.

Joe (reads)- 'Kaoru, how many mugs do you have at the studio?' Kaoru- A lot. Joe- A lot. Okay. Next question, ah it's so fast, woah.

(he struggles with picking a question) Can both  of you just talk together on your own? Go ahead! (... XD) Kyo- When you say 'go ahead'... (awkward chuckles XD) Kyo- Oh, I can read the comments here? Ah. I see.

Joe- Those two are not talking. Then, let's go with this. 'Kaoru, please tell us about some chords you just thought about' Kaoru- I don't know. Really. Joe- You're serious? Kaoru- Yeah, I can't think of any.

Joe- Actually, you both used to live together in the past, right? Kaoru- Yeah we did. Joe- When you were broke. Kyo- Eating beansprouts (=they are super cheap, even like 20~70 yen per pack). Joe- What did you talk about when you lived together? (he laughs to himself about eating beansprouts when broke) Kyo- When going to the studio we went together. Joe- So did you confirm like 'what time should we leave tomorrow'? Kaoru- What was it like? I can't remember anymore. Kyo- We probably did that. Joe- You lived on the same floor with a shared toilet right? In one apartment? KK- Yeah Joe- As fellow adults, after you came of age. Kyo- Yup. But, there was one more guy, from the company. We lived 3 guys together. Joe- Is there any story about that time you can share with us now? Kaoru- The living room was quite big. Because we had that space we had members' costumes (Kyo's painful reaction)there, preparing stage sets there and so on. There was a lot of stuff around. Joe- Hehe. So instead of a peaceful living space it was more like an office? Kaoru- But each of us had our own room. Joe- I see. So Kyo, can you share with us anything you remember from that time? Kyo- Costumes were by the window. And there were train tracks just in front of our windows. So you could see the costumes from the train. Joe- I see. So if by chance a fan saw that they'd know. Kyo- Probably. Joe- And the train passengers'd think 'what's that?'

Kyo- But at that time we really didn't have any money. I just remember being hungry. Joe- But beansprouts don't even cost 100 yen. Kyo- I think... we both got beansprouts... (?) Kaoru- We really couldn't buy much. We really didn't get much money then. Joe- Were you at least able to cook those beansprouts? You didn't eat them raw? Kyo- No, we cooked them. Joe- Which one of you did the cooking? Kyo- Each of us cooked. Joe- And each ate beansprouts. Kyo- That situation continued until around the time we did Nakano two or three day event in our indies period, maybe a bit after that. Joe- NO WAY. Kaoru- Yup, until around Nakano Sunplaza shows (=August 1998). It got slightly better around Shibuya Koukaido (=May 1998). Joe- ...oh. You were eating beansprouts until Nakano Sunplaza, that's some story. Kyo- I wasn't even able to buy McDonald's set. Really. I was so envious (of others). Joe- I see. So when you finally became able to feed yourselves as musicians, what did you eat then? As a 'finally, as a musician, I made it!' (KK both thinking) Kyo- Food...I don't have a memory like 'I can eat this because I finally made it', but there was a time when Tommy, our president now,  learnt that we don't have money, he treated us to a meal and gave us some money. That time I had McDonalds. I only have this memory that I could die happily then it was so good. Joe- With the money you received you had McDonalds and it was delicious. Kyo- It was amazing.

Joe- How about you, leader? (watermelons are considered a bit expensive fruit, usually you buy a cut, not a whole watermelon) Kaoru- As for me... I got a whole watermelon and I was eating it by myself, that time I thought I'm not getting any income and felt really guilty. Joe- Like it was too expensive/lavish (?) Kaoru- As I thought that the watermelon started to taste bad. I finished eating it thinking 'I'm sorry mum'. Joe- Ah Kaoru- I thought it's much better to cut it into pieces and then eat. Joe- Yeah. That's also a good story.

Joe- There are so many comments. (reads) 'Kaoru and Kyo, what clothing brands are you wearing?' Kyo- I will make an instagram post later. Joe- What about you, Kaoru? Kaoru- Ah, it's something I received. Joe- Oh, a present. Is it a t-shirt? Kaoru- It's not a [cotton] t-shirt, it's hemp. Joe- Like linen? Kaoru- It's a type of folk clothing.

Joe (reads)- 'What do you usually talk about?' Kyo- About movies, mostly about the band, like 'this would be good for the next single' etc. Basically we talk about music a lot. Joe - About movies and music. Kaoru- Yeah. Joe- When was the last time the two of you talked together? Kaoru- It's been a while to actually talk. (not use messages) Joe- Really? Kaoru- Since Europe... yeah, no chance at the March show, the last time we talked properly was in Europe. So not since the tour. (silence)

Joe- Then as we have this opportunity, could you talk together for 2, 3 minutes? And I will pick up some questions. (he 'frames out' XD)

Kyo- Talking is actually not that easy... (We can hear Joe's laugh XD) Kaoru- Yeah. Joe talks a lot. Kyo- Yeah... (Joe laughs harder) Kaoru- Right? Just keeps talking... He enjoys having people at loss. Kyo- (laughs) I see.

Karu- Last week Toshiya was drunk, so it was quite interesting, right? Kyo- Ah, I didn't watch. Kaoru- I didn't watch after my part finished, but he was really drunk. (Kyo starts laughing) I felt sorry for Die (he laughs) Kyo- That's unusual. Kaoru- He was really drunk. Probably he was drinking while watching the show. (?) Toshiya can't really drink so much. Kyo- True, usually after we finish playing he will only drink a little. Kaoru- Usually until Shinya starts messing around. Shinya would poke fun at Fujieda. Kyo- Yeah. (he laughs) Fujieda, huh... ...silence >w< Kaoru- It's not easy to talk, huh! Joe! ( ??)

(Joe returns)- Sorry, you were troubled, but everyone wanted to see the members talking. I got some info from the staff that you're working on a project members produced (designed) t-shirts, but I don't know the details. Is it all settled? Kaoru? Kaoru- No, it's all settled. We will be selling t-shirts, each member making their own design. Just that. Joe- I see. Have you started designing? Kaoru- I've already finished, waiting for other members (?), but mine’s not printed yet, so I'm waiting. Joe- How about you, Kyo? Kyo- Just back side left. Joe- So the front design is done. Kyo (nods)- That's right. Joe- When will you start selling them? Kaoru- I don't know yet. Joe- Details will likely be posted on OHP. Or please check the fancub magazine. All members designing their own t-shirts.

Joe- So as you can't tour, can't play shows and fans can't see your shows, we all are getting restless. Kyo how do you feel about the current situation? Kyo- Hmm... I don't want to say anything inappropriate... there are so many things involved. I think that saying you want to do something is maybe not right. Forcing things is probably also not right, but saying that, it's also not good to do nothing... So, it will take some time until we can play shows, that's why, we all think about what we can do only at the time like this, all members think the same. Joe- I see. How about you, Kaoru? Kaoru- Right. One thing at a time. Next month baseball comes back, movie theatres will open. The possibility to hold shows will be after after after all those other steps. Joe- Like Kyo said, what you want to do and actually can do and what people will enjoy, you have to be able to make all three work well together. Kaoru- I'm doing everything with the mindset that we can do Pia Arena somehow, but there's still no announcement what will happen with the shows. If I didn't have this mindset that it’s possible, what then? But I'm thinking we should make an announcement. So. Joe- Of course there are many comments saying 'I want to go to the concert soon!' or 'We love you!' Kyo, are you checking the comments? (Kyo nods) Everyone, please stay strong a bit longer. What will happen with the July shows is something on everyone's mind. But at the current situation it's hard to say if they will happen or not.

Joe- There are many comments asking you to make masks. What do you think? Kaoru- Masks? Joe- Yeah, there are many comments, like that. Kyo- Yeah, I can see many. Kaoru- Joe- The pandemic situation might last for a long time. Right now you can buy masks in some shops fine, but seeing the masks used for example in France, most of them are quite distinctive. In Japan we only have white or some black, no other colours. So it'd be nice to have colourful masks or masks for summer. If anything it'd be great to have not only a t-shirt of your fav band but also a mask, as a message in a way. Look (at comments) DIR mask, DILL mask (laughing). Kaoru- But it'd be hard to fit ‘DIR EN GREY’ on a mask. Joe- But the same way you create tour t-shirts, do the same. Kaoru- Okay. In the end we will be wearing masks for quite some time. Joe- And when concerts start again it's very possible that fans will have to be wearing masks. So in the future t-shirt and mask will be a set for every concert goer. Kyo, did you see any interesting comments? Kyo- It's true that there are many comments asking about masks. So, if we have a chance to do it we will.

Joe- Will you do something like this special talk again? Toshiya said that in a situation there are no concerts for some time he doesn't mind doing it one more time. How about it, Kyo? Kyo- Well... I don't really want to do it. But before that, we had an audio stream, right? I wouldn't mind doing that again.

(bad connection time)

Joe- How about you Kaoru, would you do a talk stream again? Kaoru- Sorry, the connection is bad. (Joe repeats, probably) Well, once in a while... I will think about something we can do next.

(next Joe says musicians prefer to communicate with fans through concerts, but we can get some encouragement through special projects like this; but connection is bad again)

Joe- At the moment over 14969 people are watching us, can you [give us some message]? Let's start with Kyo.

Kyo- Huh, what should I say... We lost many types of freedom, all of us. It's tough. It's the same for me. Let's stay strong a bit longer. A bit more. Joe- And then, a message from the leader to wrap this up. Kaoru- The connection is still bad, can you hear me? Joe- Yeah, we can. Kaoru- It's a very tough time, but I'm really hoping we will be able to play concerts again soon. But, as I keep thinking about things we  are able to do in this period, I'm waiting for the time we can all meet again on the stage.

Joe reads comments about all 5 members doing a stream together. Kyo- With 5 people... Kaoru- it would be hard to follow (?), it'd be hard to know who is talking at the time. It'd be difficult. Will all members.

(bad connection again, Kaoru repeats that with too many members it'd be difficult, 3~2 are better)

Joe- but there is a chance to have members create different teams. (bad connection, Joe thanks everyone for watching, he's also looking forward to the next dir show)

[trashyinferno]

my life goes on in endless song (raise the seventh, lead me on)

This is a WIP I've been working on off and on for a month now, but I wanted to share a bit of it just to get something out there!

Enjoy some Wilbur Soot and Philza found family... fluff? I think?

No warnings needed :)

From the beginnings of his life in the orphanage (tonic to a minor subdominant) to the moment he ran (minor submediant to a major dominant; raise the seventh, lead it somewhere when you’re running to), he remembers vaguely.

He remembers his caretakers (calm and gentle but not quite, not his – not his tonic). He remembers his playmates (only in sleep, their faces blank). He remembers the guitar he got for Christmas one year (and there’s the beginnings of his melody: one chord, then the next, and then his bass no longer plays in pedal).

There is one thing he remembers very well.

When he left, the melody soared.

And as he took one last look at the cold stone walls that had been his home (not quite, not ever, not his tonic), he knew that his symphony, wild and raucous with the thrill of the unknown, had finally begun.

----

The swirling cacophony of excitement fades a few days later when he realizes that his food stores are dangerously low. He figured he’d find something, but other than the occasional traveler, he hasn’t found anything remotely useful.

(Minor. Minor. Minor.)

He tries not to notice the way the progression sours when he steals a loaf of bread from a campsite someone’s left unattended. He can’t fight the way his gut twists and contorts as he takes the first bite.

(Tonic to major mediant. Push forward to half-diminished supertonic. Thrust into minor dominant. The progression is wrong, all wrong, defying every rule.)

Stealing comes easier after that.

(The people who wrote the rules are all dead, anyway.)

----

He realizes that he’s made a big mistake when the winged man - too big, too tall, wings stretched wide (no escape tone, no appoggiatura) - lands in front of him, his arms crossed over his chest. The man’s eyebrow rises up his face, and Wilbur isn’t shaking. He’s not.

(Plagal cadence. No way to move. Finality.)

This is his end. Wilbur drops his gaze; his knees shake.

A hand enters his vision. “Just give me the sword,” the man says with unquestionable authority in his voice. “Keep everything else. Give me the sword.”

The apple in Wilbur’s hand glitters brightly beneath the sword's soft purple glow. He’s never seen a gold apple before, but he’s sure that it’s valuable - maybe more valuable than the blade. He worries at his lip with his teeth.

The hand stretches slightly.

Wilbur drops the sword into its palm.

“Thank you,” the man says as he yanks the hand back. Wilbur watches with curiosity as the man carefully, worriedly, examines the blade with narrowed blue eyes. His shoulders visibly relax when the blade passes its inspection.

Wilbur wants to leave. He should leave, but he’s rooted firmly to the ground when the man swipes at the air experimentally with the suddenly very dangerous looking blade.

(Sharp. Very sharp. Ear-shatteringly sharp.)

The man nods and tucks the sword into a sheath hooked to his belt. He looks at Wilbur thoughtfully, his head cocking ever so slightly to the side. His blue eyes glitter beneath his green and white bucket hat. “You look hungry.”

Wilbur blinks.

“You’re hungry.” The authority is back, and Wilbur can’t help but follow obediently when the man motions for him to follow.

He gets a good meal and an even better full night of sleep for the first time in weeks.

The man, Philza, doesn’t comment when Wilbur trails after him the next morning, but the boy doesn’t miss the small smile on the man’s face as he makes camp for the night.

----

“Do you play?” Philza asks the second night, gesturing to the guitar at Wilbur’s feet with his spoon. Dinner is mushroom stew, again. Not that Wilbur is complaining.

Wilbur glances down at the guitar and lifts his eyes to stare at the man with his best wry expression.

Phil’s hand goes up in surrender. “Just curious, mate.”

Wilbur rolls his eyes, shoving another spoonful of soup into his mouth with a scowl.

“Y’know, you could play, if you wanted. I wouldn’t mind the music.”

Wilbur ignores the hopeful tone in his voice. He’ll play when he wants to, and not a minute sooner.

(But he wants it. He wants it so badly, the chords flashing through his mind - tonic, inverted supertonic, dominant - almost too quickly to catch.)

His fingers itch with the need to press against harsh wire for the rest of the night.

----

It’s the fourth night when he finally breaks.

(He plays a melancholic progression of A, f#m, and F7 just to spite Philza.)

His guitar hums softly over the crackling of their small campfire. Wilbur’s fingers ache painfully - he hasn’t played since that first night on his own - but the relief (D, A, D7) that he can even play without fear of attracting some mob overrides his sense of self-preservation. He needs the callouses, anyway, especially since he’s going to be playing more often.

(A, f#m, F7.)

If he’s going to be playing more often, he corrects mentally. If.

The twang of carefully tuned guitar strings rings in the quiet forest. Somewhere nearby, a cricket sings along. A soft breeze ruffles Wilbur’s curly brown hair.

Philza is careful to hide his smile when Wilbur looks his way. Wilbur pretends he doesn’t see it.

If.

(f#m, E, D, A.)

----

For some reason, Philza seems to take this as permission to start babbling at him as they walk the next day. Granted, the man had tried to make conversation multiple times in the past few days, but Wilbur had shut that down with non-verbal responses and lots of eye rolling.

Apparently, that tactic isn’t going to work anymore.

“Y’know, I’m quite surprised you haven’t asked where we’re going.”

Of course he hasn’t asked. He’s not sticking around to see Philza’s final destination.

“I’ve got a little cottage a couple days journey from here - right in the middle of the forest. I think you’d like it. Lots of little nooks and crannies for you to hide in.” Philza glances back at Wilbur, a soft, almost wistful, smile on his face. “And you’d like Techno, I think.”

Wilbur doesn’t bother to stifle his snort of disbelief. He’s not going to like this man’s cottage, and he’s certainly not going to like some person named Techno. Seriously, who hated their kid enough to name them Techno?

“If you want to join me the rest of the way, that is,” Philza adds quickly. “You can stay a few days, maybe get some food in you before you head out again?”

Even Wilbur has to admit that the man’s suggestion makes sense.

If his stomach rumbles in response, no one mentions it.

--------

The sound of wood cracking loudly behind Wilbur cuts through his mellow chord progression like it’s butter. His hands still as Philza shoots upright, his hand thrusting out in a stopping motion toward Wil.

Wait. The hand tells him. Let me take care of this.

A fuzzy feeling warms Wil’s chest. He feels… He isn’t sure what he feels.

Philza pulls his sword - purple, shimmering in the night, but not the one Wilbur stole, which still hangs in its sheath from his belt - from the other sheath on his waist and glares over Wil’s shoulder.

“I’ll be right back,” the man murmurs. His black wings flare out once before they tuck tightly at his back, and then Philza is noiselessly creeping around Wilbur.

He hears a moan behind him, a soft chk, and the sound of something thumping against crunchy brown leaves. There’s a soft sigh, and Philza walks back into view. Hideous green goop coats the deadly purple blade in his hand, but outside of that, there’s no indication that anything might have happened.

Philza settles back into a comfortable seated position. He smiles at Wilbur warmly, like there’s something Wilbur did in the past couple minutes that helped him. Wil raises a curious eyebrow.

“Zombie,” the man says with a shrug. “The adults aren’t a big deal, but the babies can be a bit of a problem if they catch you off guard.” His face scrunches in distaste as he looks off into the distance. “Learned that one the hard way,” he says bitterly. “Techno still hasn’t let me live it down.”

Wilbur isn’t sure how he’s supposed to respond to this, so he returns to playing.

(D, G, A7.)

Philza’s expression softens. He opens his mouth as if to say something but closes it after a moment of thought.

The feeling of warmth returns with a vengeance, and this time, Wilbur thinks he has an idea of what it might be.

He feels protected.

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Lucien’s Qixi Event (Eng Translation)

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for an event which has not been released in English servers! 🍒

Lucien’s Qixi Collection: Date  / Call 1 / Call 2  / Event ♡ / Special Call

[ Chapter One ]

In the lively and bustling restaurant, I look at the table which has been “swept clean” of delicacies by me, and sigh contentedly.

Sitting at the opposite end, Lucien can’t help but smile, then pushes the dessert in front of him towards me. 

Lucien: There are still some small bites left. Are you going to eat them?

I nod. Just as I take up my chopsticks, something occurs to me. 

MC: Eh? Why aren’t you eating? I ate most of the dishes just now too. Could it be... that you aren’t used to eating human food? 

Lucien: Mm, I rarely eat such food. Today’s probably the first time. 

MC: That’s such a pity! Trying all the delicacies is a delight in the human world...

I shake my head, feeling sorry for him. Then, an idea flashes past my mind. With my chopsticks, I pick up a piece of the dessert and hold it near Lucien’s mouth.

MC: This is a sweet osmanthus cake. It’s crunchy on the outside, soft on the inside, sweet and delicious. Give it a try?

Lucien looks at the cake near his mouth. There is a slight flicker in his eyes and he cooperates, opening his mouth to eat it.

Lucien: Mm, it’s delicious.

This small action attracts the attention of people around us. A few young ladies cast us curious and shy glances. 

Only now am I aware of what I just did in a public setting, and my heart rate accelerates. 

MC: I-it’s good that it’s delicious... let’s leave now then!

Lucien: Hm? You’re done eating? There’s still a lot of cake left. 

Puzzlement flashes across Lucien’s eyes.

MC: Mm, let’s go quickly! The temple fair is about to start.

Lucien observes the reddened tips of my eyes, then looks at the people around who are casting us dubious glances. A faint, knowing smile appears on his lips. 

Disregarding the audience’s gaze, he gently wipes a few crumbs off the corner of my lips, and speaks.

Lucien: You look very pretty when you’re eating. Seeing you enjoy the food with a face full of contentment... To me, that is the greatest delight in the human world. 

-

[ Chapter Two] 

Many people have come to participate in the temple fair. The long streets are packed with visitors, and people are flocking to all kinds of stalls.

An endless array of small trinkets dazzle me. At this moment, a vendor calls out to us from the side.

Vendor: Lady, take a look at the sachets! You can give them to your beloved. 

MC: Well, I...

Slightly hesitant, I look at Lucien, who is standing beside me. Then, I touch the sachet tied to my waist. 

Lucien: Boss, what should the man give then? 

Lucien suddenly opens his mouth to ask. 

Vendor: Flowers of course! Gentleman, if you are interested, you might as well choose a flower. 

Lucien: All right.

Without waiting for me to respond, Lucien has already selected a white hibiscus flower, placing it into my hand. 

Lucien: See if you like it? 

The flower in my hand is as bright and clean as snow, beautiful and moving. I gaze into Lucien’s tender eyes, and nod heavily. 

MC: Mm. I like it. 

After a short while, we leave the stall. I finally muster my courage, taking off the light-coloured sachet tied around my waist. I hand it over to Lucien.

MC: Lucien, this is for you.

A picture of a beast is embroidered on the sachet, but it looks slightly crude. A little embarrassed, I rub the tip of my nose. 

MC: When we were in front of the stall just now, I was too ashamed to give it to you because those sachets were so exquisite. It’s the first time I did embroidery, so it isn’t woven very well... But apart from the perfume, I also put a few medicinal ingredients which can sooth the nerves and aid with sleep! If you don’t dislike it, you can use it. 

Lucien takes the sachet, taking a good look at it. After a moment, the corners of his lips curve upwards gently. 

Lucien: Not at all, it’s very nice.

MC: Really? 

Lucien: Mm. It’s the first time I’m receiving such a thing, so I have nothing to compare it to.

MC: ...oh, I see.

There is a subtle change in my mood. 

MC: I even thought my skills improved a little...

Looking at the complex expression on my face, Lucien doesn’t suppress his laughter. 

Lucien: All right, I was just teasing you. This sachet is the nicest one I've ever seen. 

My vision is overtaken by his gentle smiling face. Lucien extends his hand to rub my hair lightly. 

Lucien: Thank you for this goodwill. I will definitely treasure it.

-

[ Chapter Three ] 

Without realising it, the night arrives quietly. Even so, the liveliness of the long street has yet to dissipate even by a little. 

Raising their heads, everyone anticipates the fireworks display.

MC: Why does it seem like there are even more people now...

I mutter this softly, and feel the hand at my side being held. 

Lucien: This way, you wouldn’t have to be afraid of getting lost.

Right after his words land, I hear a sudden loud sound. One by one, fireworks carry sparks as they scuttle into the sky, blooming into beautiful sparkles. 

We find a corner at the side of the street with few people. Looking at the magnificent night sky, a wave of warmth rises in my heart. 

MC: Lucien, have you seen fireworks before? 

Lucien: I have. But I didn’t feel anything special. 

Lucien: But seeing it together with you today - I feel a special kind of delight. 

Lucien says this lightly. Perhaps to a deity who possess immortality, even the most magnificent fireworks are nothing more than flowers. 

Muttering to myself, I slowly open my mouth.

MC: In your eyes, are humans just like fireworks - temporal, and very...

Before I can finish, Lucien suddenly lowers his head and looks at me seriously.

Lucien: But they are extremely dazzling, and strike a deep chord in the hearts of people.

We are within breathing distance. The warm breath flowing from his lips brush across my cheeks, causing my breathing to turn rapid. 

Lucien: Why is your face so red?

MC: ...it’s just a reflection from the fireworks.

Lucien smiles slightly, but doesn’t expose me. 

The fireworks are akin to clusters of flowers, blooming continuously. Yet, I’m unable to concentrate on them.

The gaze lingering on me is difficult to ignore. Finally, I can’t help but turn my head, meeting Lucien’s shining eyes. 

MC: Lucien, why aren’t you looking at the fireworks, but at me... Are the fireworks not pretty? Because of you... I can’t focus on them.

I furrow my brows, pouting while complaining softly. 

Seeing my angry yet embarrassed look, Lucien laughs.

Lucien: They are beautiful. But...

He takes the hibiscus flower in my hand, and inserts it into my hair. 

Lucien: This “flower” in front of me is even more beautiful than the fireworks. 

Note: There’s an emphasis placed on “flower” because in Chinese, flower is 花 (”hua”) and fireworks is 烟花 (”yan hua”). Just some smooth wordplay :>

-

[ Chapter Four ]

Following the dissipation of the final firework in the night sky, the temple fair draws to an end. All that’s left is the releasing of festive lanterns.

Lucien brings me to a quiet and secluded lake. Atop the green jade lake are tiny speckles of light from fireflies. 

MC: This place is so beautiful... But where are the festive lanterns? 

I scan the calm lake - not only are there no festive lanterns, but there isn’t even a single flower. 

Lucien: I’m stumped...

Lucien pretends to be embarrassed and furrows his brows. Seeing through his lie instantly, I snort with laughter. 

MC: Great deity, how could such a small issue stump you? You definitely have a way, don’t you? 

After being exposed by me, Lucien also smiles. 

MC: Mm, I do have a way. 

He reaches out to take the hibiscus flower which was in my hair. Then, he spreads it out in his palm. 

A shining white light encircles his hand. After a while, the flower grows around four or five times its original size. 

Lucien: Now, we can release the festive lantern.

His eyes carry a smile as he looks at me. Then, he places his hand on my back, beckoning me to place the flower on the lake. 

The hibiscus immediately attracts the fireflies on the lake. They surround it, illuminating the flower like flickering stars. 

From afar, there seems to be a bright “festive lantern” floating on the lake’s surface. 

Lucien: You aren’t making a wish? 

MC: Hm? 

Lucien: I heard that when humans release festive lanterns, they have to make a wish.

Seeing Lucien’s face illuminated by the light, my heart suddenly turns even more tender. So, I shake my head. 

MC: I’m not making a wish. Right now, I’m already very blessed. This is enough.

At first, Lucien is stunned. Then, the corners of his lips turn up at a nice angle.

He pulls my hand, enveloping it in his.

Lucien: Silly. This is just the beginning. Next time, there will be even more things worth looking forward to, and waiting for you. There’s still a long road for you to walk--

He leans in slightly closer to me, and the tips of our noses touch. 

Lucien: Are you willing to be with me? 

[ominousunflower]

Crazy Composed: Chapter 1

Written for Day 1 (Eye Contact) of @luxyweek

Fic summary: Luka Couffaine is known for his saint-like composure, but five seconds with Xavier-Yves Roth is enough to make him completely lose his cool. And yet, after the two meet again at Le Grand Paris, they somehow find themselves spending more time together—which either means that something is going on between them, or Luka Couffaine has officially gone crazy. (According to his friends, it’s a bit of both.)

Rating: T Word count: 4545

___________________________________

“Thanks for staying to help,” Marinette murmurs to Luka, as she picks up a macaron with a pair of tongs and sets it on a businessman's plate. “I know you only came to the hotel to make a delivery.”

“It’s fine,” Luka says. Pouring another glass of punch, he smiles awkwardly at the businessman, then sets the glass alongside a dozen others. “You needed help, so I’m happy to be here.”

Normally, Luka would stay as far away from a catering event as possible. These sorts of things are always crowded and cramped, loud with chattering, and he tends to prefer quieter, emptier spaces. But the moment he’d walked into the hotel and seen Marinette off to the side wearing a half-smile-half-grimace, he’d resolved to stay and make her job easier.

So far, nothing too bad has happened. From what Marinette has told him, it’s some sort of business conference, which would explain why everyone is wearing suits and ties. Luka feels woefully underdressed in his hoodie and sneakers, but Marinette has assured him that no one will notice what he’s wearing underneath the apron.

The calm shatters when a familiar magenta-haired woman rushes up to the table, slipping between two people in line.

“Oh, Marinette,” Penny says. “Thank goodness. I thought I saw you down here earlier.”

“Penny!” Marinette says, eyes wide. “Um, what is it? Does Jagged need something?”

“There was a meeting earlier with some music folks. Somehow, Jagged and XY ended up in the same room, and…” Penny sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Well, Bob Roth is in another meeting, and neither one of them are listening to me. I assume since you’ve dealt with both of them before…?”

Marinette offers Penny a strained smile. “Say no more! I’ll see what I can do.” She glances at Luka. “Do you want to come? I know you’re a fan of Jagged, but…”

But you got akumatized the last time you spoke to Xavier-Yves Roth and his father. That’s probably what Marinette is too nice to say out loud.

Luka clenches his jaw. “I’ll come with you. Maybe the sight of my face will remind XY to watch himself.” Belatedly, he remembers that Penny is still standing there. He clears his throat. “I’m not going to cause any trouble, I promise.”

Penny just smiles. “I’m sure you two can handle them. Oh, and here—give me that apron, Marinette. I’ll take over while you deal with the problem upstairs.”

Marinette slips off the apron and passes it over to Penny. “What floor?”

“Fourth,” Penny says. “Room 412.”

“Got it.”

Marinette takes off at a sprint toward the elevators, leaving Luka to throw his apron on the table and follow her. They stick to the perimeter of the room, avoiding the crowds of people milling around the center.

“You don’t have to help, you know,” Marinette says, as they wait for the elevator. “I know you and XY aren’t on great terms.”

Luka folds his arms across his chest. He’s used to people thinking that he’s calm and collected, so he doesn’t appreciate the implication that he can’t handle a confrontation with someone who has two letters for a name.

Well, technically it’s just a stage name, but still. How does no one else see how stupid it is?

“I’m fine,” Luka assures her. “I know I didn’t handle things well last time. But I’ve learned from that mistake—I won’t let the Roths get under my skin.”

The elevator dings, and he and Marinette step inside.

Silence falls between them. Now, of all times, Luka is reminded of the fact that Marinette never really responded to his confession. He hasn’t exactly retracted it, and she hasn’t explicitly rejected it, so where do they stand, exactly?

While he’s sure that he still has a crush on her, anyone with half a brain can see that she and Adrien are a perfect match. (Of course, anyone with half a brain could also see that the two of them are probably Ladybug and Chat Noir, so maybe the people of Paris just aren’t that smart.) Luka has a feeling that any romance he starts with Marinette will ultimately lead to her realizing that Adrien is the one for her, and he’s not too interested in being a relationship catalyst.

But Luka is also someone who says what he means, so he’s not going to take back a confession that’s still technically true. Unfortunately, that has resulted in the current awkward silence, where Luka can feel the anxiety rolling off Marinette in waves. No doubt she’s worried that he’ll try to make a move.

Should he say something? No, because what if she’s not thinking that? Then he’ll just seem weird and anxious.

Luka sighs to himself. He wishes that people were easier to understand. Do they really think that his musical talent makes up for the fact that other human beings are a mystery to him? It’s a good cover, he supposes: being able to play a few bars based on a person’s aura, in a smooth way that makes them think he understands them. Why, yes, fellow human, I completely understand you! Listen to this G-major chord! I heard it in your heart.

It’s not a lie, though—Luka does understand emotions. He just doesn’t understand the thoughts that come with them.

Fortunately, Luka’s musings fill up the time it takes to get to Room 412, sparing him from any awkward exchanges with Marinette.

“Yeah, Fang!” an accented voice—unmistakably Jagged Stone’s—yells. “You want this cell phone? Been a while since you had some crunchy technology, huh?”

“Give it back!” another voice whines. Luka rolls his eyes. There’s no question that’s Xavier-Yves Roth.  

Marinette glances at Luka, then knocks on the door.

“Why should I give it back?” Jagged snaps. “You were going to post a picture of me with the caption Ragged Stone. I’m not a has-been! I’m rock-‘n-roll!”

Luka sighs. “Is he always like this?”

“Pretty much,” Marinette says. Her foot taps rapidly against the carpeted floor, and she knocks again. “Uh, Jagged! It’s Marinette Dupain—”

The door flies open, and Luka’s sort-of-idol Jagged Stone is standing on the other side, signature guitar slung over his shoulder. “Marinette!” he says, his accent butchering the r in her name. He grabs her shoulder and shoots her a finger gun. “Great! I’m so glad you’re here. Deux-letters here is trying to harass me with his Instagram or whatever. Do me a favor and keep an eye on him? I’m all fired up now, so I need to get a drink or something.”

“Um.” Marinette leans around Jagged and peers inside. “You didn’t actually feed XY’s cell phone to Fang, did you?”

“Nah. I’ve got it right here. I only destroy my property, you know? I’m not a vandal.” Jagged pulls the phone from his pocket and drops it into Marinette’s hand. Then his eyes fall on Luka. “Oh, hey! You’re Marinette’s guitar friend. Luka, right? Sorry for arguing with your mom that one time. You’ve got talent. We should work together sometime! Any friend of Marinette’s is a friend of mine.”

He pats Luka on the shoulder, then squeezes between him and Marinette. Grabbing his guitar, he starts playing it as he walks toward the elevator, filling the hallway with the sound of rock ‘n roll.

Luka stares after him, slightly dazed. “Did he just say he wanted to work with me sometime?”

“He did!” Marinette says. “And he’ll keep his promise, too. Jagged is a good guy.” She purses her lips and puffs out a breath. “But we’ve got a bigger problem.”

“Right,” Luka says, sighing. “Babysitting XY?”

“And Fang,” Marinette says. “Jagged left him here, and I doubt he and XY get along.”

Grimacing, Luka looks through the doorway at Jagged’s pet crocodile. Fang is lounging on a sofa, yellow eyes fixed on XY, who’s draped across an armchair on the other side of the coffee table. XY looks every bit as infuriating as Luka remembers; his lazy pose makes Luka’s fists clench involuntarily.  

“Stupid crocodile,” XY says, pouting. He grabs a pillow from behind his back and chucks it at Fang.

Fang growls and catches the pillow in his mouth, his large teeth instantly ripping it to shreds. Soon, all that’s left is a few shreds of fabric and stuffing that have fluttered to the ground.

Luka glares at XY. “Why would you throw something at a crocodile?”

XY shrugs. “It’s just a dumb lizard. Hey, are you room service? I want something to eat.”

Luka deeply inhales through his nose, calling on years of meditation to keep himself calm. “No, I…” He trails off as Fang crawls off the couch and starts plodding toward XY. “Uh.”

Marinette presses XY’s phone into Luka’s hand and rushes forward. “Fang!” she says, in the high-pitched way a person might talk to a puppy. “Hey, there! Who’s a good crocodile?”

Bizarrely, Fang stops and almost seems to smile at her. The song “Never Smile at a Crocodile” plays in Luka’s head, and even though he trusts Marinette to handle things, he can’t help but be slightly concerned.

Marinette pats her thighs and beckons Fang toward her, then starts backing toward a door off to the side. “Fang, do you want a bath? Some nice water? I bet that would feel nice. Why don’t we get you in the bath while we wait for Jagged?”

Apparently bath and Jagged are two of the words Fang knows, because he changes course and walks after Marinette to the bathroom.

“That was unbelievably stupid,” Luka tells XY.

“What do you mean?” XY says, waving a hand as he stares at the carpet. He doesn’t even have the decency to make eye contact with Luka when they’re talking. “Your girlfriend’s got it handled. I figured she would.”

“She’s not my—never mind. I’m not talking to you. It will just make me angry.”

Luka folds his arms across his chest and scans the room, waiting for Marinette to finish drawing Fang’s bath. He can hear the sound of running water echoing from the bathroom, though the noise isn’t as soothing as it could be when he knows it’s for a crocodile bath.

“How am I making you angry?” XY asks. “I’m just sitting here.”

It’s the WAY you’re sitting, Luka almost says, before he realizes how dumb that sounds. Instead, he just shrugs and stares at what little he can see of the bathroom through the open door. All he can make out is Marinette’s shoe and a giant crocodile tail, but it’s better than looking at XY’s face.

“Hey, can I have my phone?” XY asks.

“Why are you asking me?” Luka snaps.

“Because you’re holding it?”

Luka glances down at his hand, where sure enough, he is holding the phone Marinette gave him. The case is covered in some sort of obnoxious bling that makes Luka’s eyes burn. “Oh. Sorry.” Luka crosses over to XY’s chair and holds out the phone. “Here.”

XY grabs it from his hand without looking at him. “Thanks.”

Immediately, XY’s phone starts beeping, and a second later, an alarm tone goes off on Luka’s own cell phone. He digs it out of his pocket and sighs.

“What was that?” Marinette asks, running out of the bathroom with water dripping from her hands.

“Akuma alert,” Luka says flatly.

If his suspicions are correct, he knows exactly how this is about to go.

Marinette squeaks. “I, um—have to—macarons! Penny has no idea how to hold the macarons, and I…need to…go teach her.” She sprints across the room and pauses in the doorway, shifting from one foot to the other. “I’m really sorry, Luka. I hate to leave you two—”

“Go ahead,” Luka says, trying not to sound too resigned. “I know the…uh, macarons are important.”

With a nod, Marinette runs into the hallway and pulls the door shut behind her.

Luka wanders across the room to glance out the ornate hotel window. From this spot on the fourth floor, he can see part of the Place des Vosgues, along with some familiar houses and stores.

As he looks outside, though, he can feel eyes on him. It’s hard to describe—similar to when he senses a person’s mood—but someone is definitely staring at him.

Praying that it is not a hungry crocodile, he slowly turns around.

XY’s blue eyes are fixed on him, staring out from beneath his ridiculous blond hair. His brow is creased ever so slightly, almost with an expression of trepidation. But, well, why would XY be afraid of Luka? Luka’s the one whose career could be ended in an instant by XY’s capricious father. Luka doesn’t have the power to do anything to XY.

Luka stares back, hoping that XY gets the message. Don’t mess with me or my friends.

XY nods slowly and goes back to fiddling with his phone.

Luka’s fingers itch for his guitar, but of course, he didn’t bring it with him, since he thought this would be a quick delivery stop. Mirroring XY, he pulls out his own phone and pulls up his contacts. Surely there’s someone he can text to pass the time…

Adrien Agreste’s name stares back at him from the top of the list. Luka considers it—Adrien is pretty fun to talk to, and would definitely sympathize with Luka’s current plight—but then he realizes that if Adrien is Chat Noir, he’s probably busy fighting the akuma right now.

XY clears his throat. “Uh, you play bass?”

Luka scrolls further through his contacts, because surely XY isn’t talking to him. But when he glances up, XY’s eyes are fixed on him again.

“Me?” Luka says. “I play guitar.”

“Right,” XY says. “That’s the one with six strings.”

Luka barely resists rolling his eyes. “Yeah.”

XY doesn’t respond, so Luka goes back to his phone. He pulls up the Ladyblog and skims it for updates: apparently the akuma is some sort of food-themed monster stomping throughout the city, and Ladybug has yet to summon her Lucky Charm. Based on past data, Alya has projected the battle to last twenty minutes, and advises civilians to stay inside to avoid being trampled.

Really, though, wouldn’t it be better outside? XY isn’t outside. Luka will gladly risk getting crushed by an angry hamburger man if it means escaping this awkwardness.

“And you, uh,” XY says. “You’re in that cat band?”

Luka sighs, keeping his eyes on his phone. “Kitty Section, yeah.”

He braces himself for some taunt about the name—which Luka will fiercely defend, because cats are excellent, thank you very much—but instead XY just says, “Oh, that rings a bell.”

“It should,” Luka says, gritting his teeth, “since we’re the band you and your father stole from.”

“Stole is kind of harsh,” XY says. “I prefer inspired by.”

Luka glares at him. “Is that a joke?”

XY shrugs.

“Have you ever had an original musical thought?” Luka asks, before he can stop himself.

To his frustration, XY gives another shrug. “Eh. Everything’s unoriginal, you know?”

Technically, that’s true, and Luka would agree if the phrase was coming from an actual artist. But it’s coming from XY. Scowling, Luka says, “There’s a difference between unoriginal and plagiarized, you know.”

In Luka’s head and in front of his bathroom mirror, he’s played out this scenario dozens of times, and in those imaginary conversations, he has said much more insulting things to XY. Of course, Luka would never actually say any of those cruel things…but XY is testing his patience.

When he thinks about it, though, XY hasn’t done anything wildly offensive today, except make very unwanted small talk. And that’s infuriating in its own way. Luka wishes he would do something bad, so that his irritation felt more justified.

“Yeah, sorry,” XY says. “I didn’t realize that was illegal.”

“It’s not the illegal part that bothers me,” Luka says. He wonders if he should even bother trying to explain what’s actually wrong. “It’s that my friends and I worked hard on that song, and Marinette worked hard on those costumes, and your father threatened us and undermined our work. But it makes sense that legality is all you two are concerned about. After all, you can’t make as much money if your father is in jail.”

He bites down on his tongue the moment the words are out. Does XY just bring out the worst in Luka? Or does Luka have less self-control than he thought?

“I mean, yeah, we wouldn’t want to get sued,” XY says. He’s now tossing a TV remote up and down, catching it with one hand. He won’t meet Luka’s eyes, which might be for the better; if he did, he’d see Luka’s brief moment of guilt over snapping at him. “Besides, coming up with stuff is hard.”

“So you understand why we were upset,” Luka says slowly.

What, exactly, did he do to deserve this conversation? Is it the fact that he’s flirted with both Marinette and Adrien? Is the universe somehow blaming him for keeping those two apart? Because, if so, that’s wildly unfair. Marinette and Adrien could be the last two people on earth, and they’d still find a way to be oblivious about their feelings for each other.

“You could have been flattered,” XY says. “We thought your stuff was good enough to steal—um, borrow. Or…yeah.”

“Do you even hear yourself?” Luka asks in disbelief.

Maybe XY is wearing noise-cancelling earbuds that Luka can’t see. Maybe that’s how he manages to be so utterly tone-deaf.

“Yeah,” XY says. “Why? Am I talking too loud?”

Luka sighs. “You’re surrounded by music. You perform all the time. You must be able to come up with something on your own.”

Distantly, he thinks maybe he should give up on this conversation. He’s wasting his energy on XY. There are some people who just don’t get it, and this wouldn’t be the first time Luka has exhausted himself for a lost cause. (For instance: trying to convince his mother that maybe some laws are worth following for the public good, and that it might be a bad idea to install actual cannons on the Liberty.)

“Maybe,” XY says with another shrug. Luka thinks his shoulders must be pretty toned from all the shrugging he does. “But why bother, you know? The computers write lyrics and tunes that people like. Guaranteed success. Seems stupid to write my own stuff.”

If success was all that mattered when it came to music, maybe—and for XY and his father, that’s probably the case.

Luka’s curiosity gets the best of him, and he asks, “Have you ever tried to write your own songs?”

“Yeah, once.”

Luka frowns. Is this the set-up for a joke? Is there a punchline? XY doesn’t seem clever enough to set up a joke, given that Ragged Stone was the best insult he could come up with.

XY stops tossing the remote and holds it in his hand, fiddling with the buttons. “When I was eleven, I wrote a few songs and showed them to my dad.” Luka almost asks, Then why didn’t you keep doing that? but XY answers him in the next breath. “He said they were garbage. And I mean, he’d know, right? He’s, like, a music genius.”

Luka has doubts about how much of a music genius Bob Roth is, but he supposes it makes sense that eleven year-old XY would think that. Even now, XY probably conflates success and money with ingenuity.

But Luka’s mind is hung up on one word, blaring in his ears on repeat: GARBAGE.

Luka doesn’t want to have sympathy for XY. Sometimes, people are just rude and nasty, and they don’t deserve Luka’s pity. Unbidden, though, his brain is conjuring up a scene: a little blond kid with less-ridiculous hair, wide-eyed and hopeful, showing his father his songs—only to be told that they’re horrible.

Maybe that’s not how it went down. Maybe XY didn’t care about the rejection. But Luka has a feeling that, deep under XY’s blaisé exterior, he still remembers the pain of being told that his creations were worthless.

Damn it. Now Luka has sympathy for XY.

“That’s ridiculous,” Luka says. He tells himself that he’s just angry on behalf of a fellow musician—because technically, XY is a fellow musician. “I can only imagine if my mom told me that my songs were garbage when I was eleven. I mean, they probably weren’t that good, but—”

“Your songs?” XY interrupts. Luka’s sympathy ebbs, replaced by the irritation he feels every time XY opens his mouth. Luka shouldn’t have mentioned his own music; now XY is going to criticize it, and of course his opinion doesn’t mean anything, but Luka will still be annoyed. “Nah, I don’t believe that. Your music’s good.”

It’s certainly not the most glowing compliment Luka has ever received, and it’s delivered with a shrug—and yet, Luka finds his cheeks warming slightly at the comment. Maybe because he never expected XY to actually compliment someone besides himself.

“Have you…heard my music?” Luka asks.

“Just the one song you played on that broadcast. The one we tried to…” XY trails off, and Luka stares at the side of his head, silently demanding him to finish the sentence. “You know.” Frowning, XY tosses the TV remote onto the sofa where Fang was previously sitting. “At least my dad thought your music was good enough to use.”

Luka winces. “I’m sorry.”

The moment the words leave his mouth, he can’t believe he said them. Did he just tell XY that he feels sorry for him?

“Don’t be sorry that you’re good,” XY says. “He knows talent when he sees it, right?”

“But that’s—that’s stupid,” Luka says, taking a step toward the couch. XY doesn’t look up at him. “Your father should have encouraged your music, or helped you to make it better. He shouldn’t have just—” He growls. “I’m not a big fan of him, so of course I’m not surprised, but that’s still unfair.”

XY tilts his head toward Luka, though he still doesn’t quite make eye contact. “So you’re a fan of me, then?”

“No,” Luka says flatly.

XY nods, seeming unbothered. “Anyway, that’s cool. No one’s ever gotten mad for me. Well, my dad yells at people to make them do things for me, I guess. Does that count?”

Luka resists the urge to facepalm. The way XY says such spoiled things so casually—is this how Adrien feels, dealing with Chloé all the time? Then again, Adrien and Chloé are friends, and Luka and XY certainly aren’t.

Although, if Adrien can be friends with Chloé, does that mean Luka could befriend someone like…?

No. Luka refuses to consider it. He’s not getting involved with someone this rude and high-maintenance. People might think Luka has the patience of a saint, but in fact, he does not. And why would he take XY under his wing, after he and his father tried to screw over Kitty Section? XY’s personal issues aren’t Luka’s problem, and it’s certainly not his responsibility to nurture XY’s creative side.

Xavier-Yves Roth is young, Luka’s conscience says. Of course he makes mistakes. His brain isn’t fully developed yet.

Neither is mine, Luka thinks back. Which is probably why I’m even considering something this stupid.

“You know,” Luka says slowly. “If you…did write another song, and wanted to run it by someone…”

XY is silent for a moment, and then he finally looks up at Luka with a quizzical expression. “You? You’ve never sold albums or topped a chart. You wouldn’t have any useful feedback.”

Ah. Yes. This is why Luka wasn’t going to get involved with XY. Luka sympathized with XY for having his father tell him his offerings were worthless—and then XY turned around and said the same insensitive thing to Luka.

So what if Luka hasn’t topped the charts with an album full of banal, soulless songs? At least he makes music he’s passionate about.

It occurs to Luka that XY isn’t looking at him with scorn in his eyes. He just looks confused, which means he doesn’t even realize that what he just said was insulting.

Since Luka is feeling charitable—and XY’s words are meaningless—he decides to shrug off the comment. “I’m not interested in songs that sell,” Luka says. “I was just offering a second set of ears.”

“Oh.” XY blinks. “I don’t really see what’s in it for me…but, yeah, I guess it could be good practice for you. You know, learning how to work with someone in the industry.”

This is not worth it, Luka thinks. You will gain nothing from helping him.

Be a charitable person, his conscience insists. Do something good without expecting anything in return.

Luka snorts to himself. He’s already helped Ladybug and Chat Noir save Paris several times as Viperion. Isn’t that enough charity for the year?

“What’s so funny?” XY asks.

“Nothing,” Luka says. “I was thinking of something else. I’ll…keep your offer in mind.”

“Sure,” XY says, going back to his phone. “I’m not usually this generous, so, you know—it’s a special offer. I bet a lot of people would be jealous.”

Luka sighs. XY might not know much about music, but he’s certainly talented at infuriating people.

Before Luka manages to think of a response that doesn’t involve scathing sarcasm, there’s a loud knock on the door.

“Luka? XY? It’s Marinette!”

Luka rushes over to the door, checking his phone as he does. According to the Ladyblog, the akuma was defeated about a minute ago.

He opens the door and Marinette runs inside, panting. “Sorry, the, uh—the…”

“Macarons,” Luka supplies.

“Right! Yes,” Marinette says. “But then I got distracted, and, uh—there was an akuma, did you hear? Crazy! I mean, not crazy, because Paris has had a lot of akumas, but, you know…”

“I’m glad you’re back,” Luka says.

Marinette nods, then leans forward and whispers, “How was XY?”

Luka shrugs. “About what you’d expect.”

That feels a bit disingenuous, though. Because XY isn’t quite what Luka expected. Yes, his attitude is infuriating, and he oozes upper-class shallowness—but Luka’s starting to realize that there might be a reason that XY acts the way he does.

Not that Luka intends to stick around long enough to find out.

XY groans and stands. “I guess that lame rock star isn’t coming back for his dumb lizard. You two can watch him. I’m going downstairs to get food or something.”

He crosses the room and brushes past Luka and Marinette without a word. His eyes meet Luka’s as he leaves—and there it is, again, that look of almost wariness.

Then he shrugs and leaves, and Luka and Marinette are alone with a crocodile in a bathtub.

“Thanks for not feeding him to the crocodile,” Marinette says.          

“Yeah, well.” Luka shrugs. “I didn’t want to give my favorite rock star’s pet indigestion.”  

A second later, they hear a grunt and a crack, followed by a tidal-wave splash; and for the moment, at least, Luka’s thoughts of Xavier-Yves Roth are forgotten.

[adamneelyyoutubecomments]

why hello there, thank you for sticking around. i thought i would uh, talk a little bit more about some theoretical concepts i did not talk about in the main video, just for time reasons. you know, if i- (slight chuckle) - talked about all the stuff i wanted to in the main video, it would've been way too boring, way too dry, and in this more, uh, informal, off-the-cuff aspect, i might inject a little bit of uh, levity and wit.

so, here we go. so there's something called the "anhemitonic pentatonic scales". and in a- an ann ene he mt ito ncic pentantoci dsfjsd - jeez, i can't talk... in those scales, you don't have half steps. anhemitonic- no half steps. major pentatonic scale's anhemitonic. minor pentatonic scale's anhemitonic. and they're really awesome for us, and we use them because they're anhemitonic.

half steps are kinda hard to work with. now, the major scale has two half steps, it has them between b and c and it has them between e and f, but it doesn't have consecutive half steps. why's that important? well, you hear all this harmony, all this sounds nice! and one of the reasons why it sounds nice is because in none of those scales and in no combination of anything, really, can you ever have consecutive half steps. if you ever had a scale that has consecutive half steps, like maybe [blues scale sound], the c blues scale, you couldn't really use some of the chords in that. for example, this chord, if i used this- those are all notes from the c blues scale. it sounds... well, i wouldn't say horrible, it sounds really crunchy. mmmmmmmrrmmm. yeahhhh.

and those-[slight chuckle]- those sorts of scales which have consecutive half steps might not be great for harmony. so, what i wan-wanted to try and do, is i wanted to try and create a compendium of all of the scales that would be good for harmony. all of the seven note scales that would be good for harmony. a- uhhhhh.... and basically that would mean that, you know, wouldn't contain consecutive half steps. so. major scale... does not contain conse-consecutive half steps. other scales which don't contain consecutive half steps include... [facecam shrinks] the melodic minor scale, the harmonic minor scale, and then also a little-used one which is called the harmonic major scale. you might not have heard of that, but it goes like this- [major scale b6 sound] it's the major scale, with the flat... uhh, flat 6. yes. the flat 6. (clicking, lip smacking)

so i'm 'onna lower these, i'm 'onna minimize these... (sibelius pages are minimized)... so... let's talk a little bit more about that dorian brightness stuff, and then we'll go into all of the other scales which do not have consecutive half steps. um... the dorian scale's really interesting, for a lot of reasons. one, you know, the stuff that i talked about in this video, because if you take this dorian brightness idea, take all of these scales and relate them into-back to dorian, in terms of how many notes are changed... back to dorian, uhhhmmm... it inverts to the opposite polarity. so lydian inverts to locrian, you can see right there, ionian to phrygian, mixolydian to aeolian, et cetera. (inhale) there's some other things that are interesting about dorian, (lip smack), uhmmmm... it's radially symmetric... to the perfect fifth. what the hell do i mean by that? okay, radally... ray-dee-ah-lee symmetric. (inhale). if i take a c, and then i build up a perfect fifth up from the c, and then build a perfect fifth down from the c, i have the notes... f and g. so far, i have these three notes. c, f, and g. [quintal chord sound].

if i do that again, if i take an f.... which was down here, but i've just sort of jumped up here, and build down a..... fifth... i get a b flat... if i take that g... im gonna move it up down here and then move up a perfect fifth... i have a d! so far, we have the notes c, d, f, g, b flat. if we do that process one last time, we take the b flat, do a perfect fifth down from the b flat, we get an e flat, and then we take the d and do a perfect fifth up from the d, we get an a... all of the sudden... we have a dorian scale! oh my gooooosh!

so we say that d- d.... or, sorry, dorian... is radally... radially symmetric, and oddly enough, thats also how the pythagorean tuning comes about... pythagoras of yes, the pythagorean theorem, came up with this... with this method of tuning scales based upon perfect fifths going out in opposite directions, and he basically would create a dorian scale... so, dorian as sort of the basis of harmony and the basis of brightness and balance, and this sort of weird system.. has a long history. it goes back to the ancient greeks. and if you, like, listen to it, just sort of with an ear for brightness, an ear for like, light and dark, the beginning of the scales kinda dark... and then it kinda lightens up a bit towards the top... so its a nice yin-yang balance of bright on top, and sort of dark on the bottom. aweseome.

okay, so dorian as the center of the major scale is awesome, but it gets a little bit more deep than that... because, if i take up the melodic minor scale, bring this stuff up... (slight pause, lip smack)... you see all this stuff? this is all the brightness back to dorian... in other words, these are all the notes that you need to change in lydian #5, which is the third mode of the melodic minor, in order to get dorian.. in this direction. (breath)... and here's the interesting thing, it also inverts like this. going back to dorian! so lydian #5 inverts to locrian b4... the opposite polarity, again, this is all arranged by brightness relative back to dorian in the major scale. hmmmmm.... interesting.... (breath)... um.... the plot is thickening a little b