#and imagine the instruments are maybe quieter on the loud songs if you *do* listen lmao

[klavierforte]

&& that tiny ray of light amidst the shadows || @tinyredlawyer

Apollo Justice has always hated Klavier's music.

And Klavier has known it this whole time, too. Apollo wasn't exactly subtle in his distaste for the Gavinners, and Klavier has been fine with that. He's learned to acknowledge the critics, and mostly lets that sort of thing roll off like water on a duck's back.

So why, oh why, was he sending this?

Hey there,

Sorry for this being perhaps a bit out of the blue, but I was hoping to get your opinion on something. Not related to our law careers, but...to do with music.

I know you've never particularly liked the music I made with the Gavinners, and that's fine. It's never been something everyone will love, and I respect that you don't. In fact, it's somewhat refreshing. So, please understand I am not wanting you to pretend to fawn over my music.

Anyway, the point...I have been having trouble writing music for a while. Since the Tobaye case, mostly, and it has basically driven me insane that I've been stuck since. And...for the first time since that case, I've actually written something worth putting out.

All that being said...I'm not sure I'm ready for these specific songs to be heard by most people. They're nothing like what I had pictured when I thought about a solo album before. (I've thought about what my first published music after the Gavinners would be like before, and now that plan is out the window--whoops. I had even been mulling the thought of having you do the rap part of a song, if you'd wanted to do it. Bringing in my friends on my return to the music biz, if that makes sense. Oh well, I suppose. I haven't even told the band's old manager I've got something in the works, either...)

Not sure I'm ready for people to see what I was thinking and feeling when writing these, really. I know you're primarily going to hate these, too, and that's fine, but...I want an honest opinion. And I feel okay letting you give them a listen because I know an honest opinion is what you'll give me.

No rush or anything to get back to me--like I said, you will probably hate most of these songs. But I did edit these specifically for you so the loud and angry-sounding ones are a bit quieter. And I think there's at least a couple that may border on something you might find enjoyable. So just...tell me what you may think.

-K

There's ten audio files attached to the email, and a word document with the lyrics, and the email is sent off at what would be roughly 4 AM in the States.

Certainly the news about recent events in his life would be something he would want to talk to Apollo about instead, but this is the only thing Klavier sends Apollo's way--a grand total of six days after news breaks of Kristoph Gavin's execution.

[undreaming-fanfiction]

With This Ring (11)

Chapter 10 here, Ao3 here

They met Dart and Ozzy in front of the Buckley house. The elderly cat just announced that everything was in order, and that he was too old for all this excitement. “I’m going to take a nap home before Dustin organizes a search party for me,” he yawned. “Ozzy will stay with you. I’ll come to check on you around lunchtime, so no more scandals and escapades, please.” 

Eddie crouched to scratch his head as a thank you. “Sleep well, Dart.” He then picked up Ozzy and safely stashed him in his usual pocket. 

Robin’s house was, as always, peaceful. The sight of the imperfect garden made to be used, not just viewed, the peeling window paint, the weird gnome statuettes peeking from random corners, it all made Steve feel more at home than he’d ever been in his own house. The woods by the back window were dark and quiet. If they were careful, they wouldn’t be heard or seen by anyone.

The whole house was dark too. Steve was confused, Robin should have been home, but maybe she had a sleepover with Nancy, you know, to console her friend after the groom had disappeared. He hoped that was the case. 

Eddie was eyeing the colorful front door. “Do you want me to break in? If you have a hairpin or something like that, I’m like ninety percent confident I could pick the lock.”

Steve laughed out loud. “While it sounds absolutely charming, we’re trying to look inconspicous. Let’s go for the boring solution instead.” With that, he reached under the ugliest gnome statuette - it had amanitas growing out of its beard, why? - and produced the key.

“You really know how to show a guy a good time,” grumbled Eddie, but followed him through the door anyway. 

Not even an hour later, they were ready to start recording. Steve brewed a huge pot of coffee to keep him awake. He didn’t think he could sleep anyway, but Eddie was giving him secret guilty looks at every suppressed yawn, even suggesting Steve could take a nap, that Eddie would keep watch, no worries. “I haven’t slept in a year, so I didn’t realize,” he muttered through a strand of hair he was chewing on. “I don’t want you fainting mid-song, and that couch looks comfy enough, so how about it?” 

Steve just gave him a blank stare and downed a massive mug of coffee in one go, almost burning his tongue on it. As if he’d waste a single second he could spend with Eddie. 

Their setup was small, but Steve thought it didn’t need anything else. The beauty of Eddie’s music was that it didn’t require a huge band or an orchestra to pull on the listener’s heartstrings. Eddie didn’t have any formal musical education, he didn’t know all the fancy words like legato, crescendo or forte. But he had a feel for music so great that even his high school music teacher who otherwise hated his guts had to admit he had potential. 

When they were still allowed to meet, younger, enamored with music and each other’s company, Eddie would hum his melodies, usually choosing the acoustic guitar to carry the main tune. He kept playing them over and over again, giving Steve space to experiment with potential accompaniments. He only occasionally took over the piano and gave instructions such as “I thought this part could use a bit more force, you know. I’ll go quieter on the guitar, and the piano will become the main instrument until the next verse, what do you think? It should be something like a dialogue between the two instruments. Imagine I’m rambling, and you really want to say something, so you start speaking at the same time and going louder and louder, hoping I’ll get the drift and shut up.” 

He trusted Steve with this work, and Steve was so grateful. He vowed never to disappoint Eddie, and to that day he hoped he hadn’t, at least not when it came to music. 

As he sat down at the piano, he gently stroked the familiar keys. His eyes were burning again. He’d prayed for the day when he’d be able to do this with Eddie again, only to realize that this would be the last time they’d ever play together. 

Eddie had just finished tuning the guitar to his liking. He shifted on the stool to face Steve and smiled. “I missed this, you know.” 

Steve returned the smile as well as he could. “Me too. It hadn’t been the same without you.” 

Shrugging, Eddie ran his fingers across the strings, stretching and adjusting his grip. “Eh, I think you were doing just fine without me. I liked your adjustments to the chorus of “Remains of the day”, they make it sound a bit more playful. The original sound was a bit too creepy.” 

His tone was flat, as if it was just a simple observation. But Steve’s hands stilled over the keyboard, staring at Eddie with mouth wide open. “How…” he choked out, “...how do you know? I made them only a few months back. You’ve never...I mean, you were already-” 

“Steve.” There was no malice in Eddie’s words, but his smile faltered. It was still there, yet somehow sad. “Are you telling me you haven’t noticed?” 

“Noticed what?” 

The dead man pointed towards the dark trees behind the window glass. “Where this window leads.” 

Steve’s eyes finally betrayed him. He rapidly blinked, but one tear made it out and rolled down his cheek, between his lips. He tasted the salt as he remembered all the times he’d sat here, playing Eddie’s melodies from memory whenever Nancy and Robin decided to go upstairs to have more privacy. 

There wasn’t a single visit when he wouldn’t play them. Steve felt the constant urge to keep repeating them, committing them to memory. He wanted to burn them into his brain so he could never lose a single detail. Maybe one day, when he’d succeeded begging Eddie for his forgiveness, he’d play them for him. He would show Eddie that he never let himself forget, never stopped thinking about him . 

He pictured himself sitting there, tens, hundreds of times. The window was usually open to sell the illusion that Robin was playing during their visits. And even in the dark, Steve realized where the narrow path between the trees led - to the small clearing in the woods, to the freshly dug hole in the ground where someone had buried Steve’s heart. 

“No way,” he whispered. The taste of salt on his lips didn’t relent, and he didn’t try to control it any longer. “You heard me? You heard me all this time when…?” 

Eddie nodded. For a moment, it seemed like he wanted to get up, maybe join Steve at the piano, but then he changed his mind. Instead, he started fidgeting with his rings again. “Yeah. Not to inflate your ego, Steve, but oh well. We’ve come this far. You were my main reason for not moving on.” 

He huffed a short laugh when Steve gave him a confused, teary-eyed look. “It’s true. I was lying there for a while, and you know how much I hate staying still. I was considering giving up and just moving on for quite a while. But whenever I thought I could give it all up, just forget my dreams and all that was keeping me here, I heard you. It was like a part of me was still up here, waiting to be reclaimed. You were safeguarding my songs, and I of course knew I could never come back, but somehow…I just hoped, Steve. I didn’t think, I just…hope isn’t the correct word. I yearned to come back, that’s it. Because there was someone calling me back every single day.” 

Steve’s eyes didn’t leave him for a second. “But everyone down there said…they said that you were playing all the time. Practicing.” 

“I did. And it drove me crazy that my own songs didn’t sound right anymore. I tried replicating everything I’d heard from you, but…” Fondness crept into Eddie’s voice, as if he was recalling a precious memory. “It never sounded right. I blamed it on the corpse fingers, the stiffness of dead muscles, but I guess I was lying to myself. Playing these songs by myself just wouldn’t do because you became a part of them. They weren’t complete without you.” 

“Eddie…” 

Eddie shushed him. “And if you think that I was listening to you just because I had nothing better to do, well, you might be partially right. But also…I’d known you kept playing my songs long before I died, you know. Why do you think I was in the woods the day I died? It’s not like I’m one of those crazy fans of nature who love walking in the woods, getting all muddy and wet and collecting ticks and other bloodsucking creatures. I’d known about your playing for months, Steve. And I…uh.” He pulled a strand of hair in front of his face, hiding his expression. “I actually kept going there a lot. I sat on that tree stump, listening to my, well, our songs. I still hated your guts, but a part of me felt so happy that you seemed to have as much trouble letting me go as I had you.” 

Steve was hit with a sudden wave of nausea and numbness. His fingers were still laid on the keyboard, but their feel was now uncertain, foreign. “So you're telling me that all this time it was me?” he whispered. It hurt to even voice his thoughts. “It was me who kept you trapped in that grave? Who…who lured you there to be killed?! If I let you go, you could have had peace. You…you could have even lived! Eddie, I don’t even know how to begin to say how sorry I am. Nothing I say will ever be enough.” Steve withdrew his hands from the piano, wrapping them around his body. “You gave me so much and I…I made things worse every single time. I caused this. All of this.” 

He didn’t see it when Eddie set down his guitar, but he heard the hollow thunk of it. The clinking of Eddie’s metal chain, the squeaking of his old sneakers, it used to feel so right. But now…

Eddie nudged his side and squeezed next to him onto the wide stool. “Hey, Steve. Let me say something. Sure, we’ve had our not so great moments, with your dad’s blackmail and stuff like that. But, and get your eyes up here, Harrington, I’m being earnest and I demand an audience for it!” 

When Steve’s wet eyes found his, Eddie snuck his arm around Steve’s shoulders and pulled him close. Steve leaned into the embrace with a quiet sob, clutching Eddie’s band t-shirt. Eddie didn’t seem to mind. “Apart from the whole protecting me and Wayne through being a dick, you didn’t cause me any pain. Really. You have no idea how much our friendship meant to me.” 

Steve’s face was buried in Eddie’s jacket, but he still managed to produce a “huh?” sound. 

“It did. When I moved here, I didn’t know anyone, and Wayne was trying to figure out how to make it work with the plant shifts and stuff. I was bullied all the time, I wasn’t much of a looker without my hair. So I just thought I’d spend all the time until my graduation keeping to myself, which was lonely as hell. The music room helped. And then one day…a pretty boy who had to have tens of friends approached me and asked me to teach him. I felt so lucky.”

Steve still wouldn’t show his face, but his arms around Eddie’s waist tightened. “Pretty sure it was me who was lucky. You changed my life.”

Eddie squeezed his shoulders, cradling Steve close. “Shush. This is my life changing story, get your own. For some reason, that pretty boy chose me. Even though I was mostly flying through the playing and teaching blind, he kept coming back. Not just that - he actually listened to me. He heard my rambling, all those unrealistic plans, dreams, the outrageous ideas, and he believed in me.”

Steve had finally settled against him, his breathing under control again. Eddie continued. “Do you remember when we started playing together, Steve? I was so freaking anxious because I realized I couldn’t possibly play both instruments at the same time when I finally got to record my stuff. And I couldn’t ask anyone because I couldn’t write or read the stupid sheet music. Still can’t, by the way. But you just sat down at the piano and told me: “Tell me what you need me to play. I’ll do it.” You said it as if it was the most natural thing in the world, to spend all your free afternoons playing what I threw at you. As if you didn’t have anything better, more important to do.” 

That finally made Steve stir in Eddie’s arms. He straightened his back and looked Eddie in the eyes, wiping away the rogue tears. “I didn’t. It was the most important thing to me, Eddie. And still is. Likely will always be.”

Eddie wasn’t really thinking, he just reached out and ruffled Steve’s hair. It was so different with all the product in it, but there was a touching familiarity in the gesture. They used to ruffle each other’s hair when Eddie’s finally decided to grow out and looked like a wild nest of curls. “No neat hairstyles in my music class, Harrington! Go wild and go home!” he’d say.

“I’m glad to hear that,” whispered Eddie and god, he wasn’t lying. Being an important part of Steve Harrington’s life was addictive. Intoxicating. “So how about a small practice before we start recording, big boy? I recall you liking that four hand piece we adapted from Back to the Future.” He extended his hand, as if he was asking Steve to dance. “Accompany my beloved nerdy music, my liege?” 

Steve beamed at him. “My pleasure, lord Edward,” he said and took his hand. 

The night was long and Steve gradually drank the whole pot of coffee. He couldn’t imagine preferring sleep to this. The moment they both sat down at the piano, it was as if they were two puzzle pieces that belonged together. Something clicked, and Steve felt whole again. Compared to that, sleep was ridiculously overrated. 

Not everything went smoothly, of course. Eddie had made some adjustments to the music during their time apart, and it took Steve a while to catch up, to bridge the gaps. They mused and tried out new passages, re-did the old ones, played around with the cassette recorder to get the perfect balance for both instruments. But most of all, they just revisited the past and brought back the best of it. 

The recording was supposed to take long hours, but Steve supposed theirs was an exception. After all, what was there to improve on when all of these songs had been cherished, perfected and preserved over many long years? Eddie’s more recent changes made sense to Steve, it was enough to hear them just once, twice, and then they blended into what he’d already known. His ankle still hurt as he used the pedals, but Bob’s bandage kept it fixed in place well enough. 

Not all of Eddie’s songs had lyrics, but for the ones that had, Steve admired how Eddie’s voice had grown into them. It was more hoarse and less polished than when they’d practiced the last time, but there was emotion and maturity that the sixteen year old Eddie Munson hadn’t possessed. Now, his voice was perfect. 

They only had a few breaks, a bunch for coffee, one for Steve to take a quick shower to make sure he was fully alert, and then one to share a cigarette outside. Eddie complained about not having had a smoke for over a year. Steve got up and reached blindly behind a potted plant to produce a well-concealed pack of cigarettes and a lighter. With an awestruck expression, Eddie grasped his hand and squeezed it. “I could just marry you right here, Steve Harrington. Oh wait!” he laughed and wiggled his ringed finger at him. Steve’s heart didn’t beat faster after that, nope, not at all.

Eventually, they saw the sun rise through the trees. They’d just finished going through their final recording, with Eddie’s comments and introductions before each song. Steve squeezed Eddie’s hand. “If that Craig guy doesn’t love it, he has no taste,” he announced. He felt ridiculously proud. 

“One can only hope.” Eddie shrugged off his jacket and, after an annoyed squeak, removed Ozzy from the comfort of the chest pocket. “Hey, do you think the Buckleys have some fruit they could spare? Ozzy gets really bitchy when he’s hungry.” 

Steve laughed at that and dragged Eddie towards the kitchen. “Don’t we all? Let me just open a window, the air here is horrible.” 

Leaving the living room to breathe a little, they made their way to the kitchen’s fruit bowl. “He likes sweet apples,” muttered Eddie as he dug through the neatly arranged pile of produce. “Does this look sweet to you?” 

Steve took the apple from him and bit into it. “Yep, sweet. Let me cut it for him.” Noticing Eddie’s confused look, he laughed again. “What, you don’t think Ozzy is important enough to have his own taste tester?” 

“I do now.” 

Steve switched the kettle on again. It wasn’t that he needed another cup of coffee, but it was morning, and as they say, old habits die hard. He worked fast with the knife, chopping the apple into small cubes. The sound of water boiling was familiar and comforting, and having Eddie by his side in the kitchen when he was preparing breakfast? It could have been the only thing he needed in his life, he thought. 

There was a quiet sound behind them, but it got drowned out by the kettle. Maybe a draft from the open window rustled the torn plastic wrap of the tape they used. 

“So…” began Eddie, playing with his rings again. “What now? When does the post open?” 

“I took one of those padded envelopes with us, and a bunch of stamps my dad had in his office. So if you know the address, we can just pack it and send it through that collection box we passed yesterday. Do you want to add some sort of an introduction, a letter or something?” 

Eddie rubbed his temples, sighing. “I should. Let me do that. You have a paper and a pen in that magical bag of yours?” 

“Sure do.” 

They made their way back to the living room. While Steve served Ozzy a bowl of neatly cut fruit, Eddie sat down to the decorative table and started writing, his tongue sticking out in concentration. “Dear…Craig. I hope…you didn’t forget about me. Here’s…the demo…I promised. You can…do whatever you want…with it, I don’t think I’ll be able…to work on it again. But…if it makes any money…my part goes to Wayne. You know Wayne. And…you won’t be a dick to Wayne, will you?” He paused, tapping his pen against the paper. Then he added: “Thanks for giving me a chance, I appreciate it. Take care…Eddie Munson.” 

While he was writing, Steve was carefully walking around the room, cleaning the mess they’d made. He was just picking up the torn plastic wrap and got stuck thinking that it seemed too much? They only opened one tape. It was probably normal and he was just tired. He also swept up the dirt and a bunch of small feathers they must have brought from their smoke break. His father called it a stupid itch, but cleaning gave him a purpose and clarity. 

He also tried to nudge Ozzy away from the half-eaten bowl of fruit to clean under him, but the small creature wouldn’t budge. He was splayed on the table and playfully bit into Steve’s finger when he attempted to move him. Message received loud and clear. 

As he finished putting the room to its original state, Eddie was already standing by the door, envelope in hand. “Shall we?” he asked.

Steve wanted nothing less than to walk out of that door. It was yet another step towards losing Eddie forever, but it was the right thing to do. “Sure,” he nodded and grabbed the keys. “Ozzy, are you coming?” 

The small bat squeaked at him, and while Steve still couldn’t understand what he was saying, the tone was clear. Ozzy was still lying on the table, flat as a pancake, and moving him would probably start another world war. 

Eddie patted Steve’s shoulder. “The window is open, he’ll let himself out when he wants to. Plus I’m sure he still has some fruit there. See you later, buddy!” 

With an awkward wave at their winged friend, they left Robin’s house and locked the door. 

Steve didn’t know what to expect from the rest of his day. Dropping the envelope in the collection box was the only clear point in his future. He remembered staring at the yellow package, at Eddie’s wild handwriting, and he felt an overwhelming urge to tear it out of Eddie’s hands and stomp on it. He wanted to keep Eddie right here with him, tell him that they could actually do better, they could stay for a few days, weeks, months to practice, to improve their work. Maybe people wouldn’t be able to tell Eddie was dead. Maybe he could still achieve his dreams, if only-

But then Eddie dropped the envelope in the box and that potential future, the future where Eddie finally achieved what he’d dreamed of for over a decade, dissolved in front of Steve’s eyes. 

From Eddie’s sad smile, his thoughts followed a similar pattern. “It’s going to be okay,” he told Steve, maybe himself too. 

Just as they were about to walk back and go collect the stuff they had left at the Buckley house, Steve heard a shout. “You! Steve!” 

It wasn’t excited or joyful. Or even angry. Robin’s voice was shaking, and it sounded like she was battling a panic attack. 

Steve turned around and hobbled towards her. She was still wearing yesterday’s clothes and was disheveled, even for her standards. “Robin? What’s wrong?” 

She sprinted to him and hit his chest, again and again, and it took Steve a moment to realize she was crying. “Where…the fuck…have you been?!” she snapped at him with each hit. “We were so worried! I thought…I…”

Eddie quietly joined them. He didn’t say anything, just observed. 

Robin finally stopped hitting him and collapsed against Steve in a forceful hug, burying her face in his chest. “Everything went so wrong, Steve,” she whispered. “So wrong. We weren’t careful enough, Nancy’s dad, he…he found out. He’s furious. He locked Nancy in her room and had his friend’s son keep watch over her window so she wouldn’t escape. He also kept me in their house until he could reach my parents in the morning to tell them how I…” she grimaced, “...how I ruined his daughter.” 

Steve was stroking her back, his thoughts racing. “But your parents know. They don’t care, right?” 

“They don’t. When he couldn’t get them to be angry about it, he kicked me out of his house. Just now. But Ted fucking Wheeler can’t have a queer daughter.” She was crying even harder now, hands grasping at Steve’s t-shirt. “He told her she’ll get married no matter what. But not to you, because he knows how you covered for us. He doesn’t trust you to fix her.” She spat out the last sentence in helpless anger. 

“That guy’s a monster,” Eddie whispered. Steve wholeheartedly agreed. 

Robin kept on rambling, and every word she uttered made Steve’s heart sink even more. “She’s still getting married, he made sure to arrange that, and as soon as possible. It’s today…in an hour. He told her that if she doesn’t comply, she’ll be dead to him and will never be allowed to see her siblings again. She loves Mike and Holly, Steve, she couldn’t live without them. She…I think she’s going to go through with it. Maybe she’ll think of something, but I couldn’t get to her, I couldn’t even talk to her, and there is no time, Steve. Nancy is so smart, but I can’t see a way out of this that won’t destroy her life.” 

“I’m so sorry, Robs. Robin…” Steve squeezed her shoulders and pulled her away, just to see her face. “Robin. This is important. Who is she marrying?” 

Her lip wobbled as she said, “Jason Carver. Apparently his parents are eager to find him a good wife and forget the whole Chrissy fiasco.” 

A loud gasp made both Robin and Steve snap out of their misery. Eddie was staring past them, eyes open wide in his shock. “Not him,” he whispered. “Anyone but him.” 

Steve turned to Eddie, still keeping an arm around Robin. “Have you met him?” he asked. 

“Oh, I have.” Eddie’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “He’s a good Christian boy, that’s for sure. If Wheeler marries him, he’ll never let her go. He knows what life’s supposed to look like, and if she happens to disagree? Tough luck. Especially in Hawkins.” 

Robin stared at Eddie and something dawned behind her eyes. “You…Eddie, right? Are you…okay? You don’t seem okay. When did you even come back to Hawkins?” 

Eddie opened his mouth to answer, but Steve took both of their hands and tugged them forward to get them moving. “Can you give Robin the short version while we’re walking, Eddie? I’m afraid we’re on a tight schedule. We have a wedding to crash.” 

Eddie grinned at him. “I take my sarcasm back, Harrington. You really do know how to show a guy a good time.” 

Chapter 12 here

[bellatrixobsessed1]

The Dragon Egg (Parts 19-25)

Another set of chapters for @secrettunnelatla’s event.

Chapter 19 Leather For Sequin

She should be eating better, should be better hydrated, should bathe more,  should exercise more, should be sleeping better. She finds it harder to do these things at all, much less to an optimal degree. Sleeping is especially hard, having favored doing so on her belly. It helps little that the baby seems to be particularly active when she is trying to sleep with its kicks and squirms. She still can’t get used to it, she doesn’t think she will. It leaves her feel queasier than the morning sickness ever had.

Even if she were as physically comfortable as possible she doesn’t think she’d sleep. Her mind is stuck on Seicho and on all of the articles she has scrolled through during the past few days. Articles that drag her name through the mud and articles that praise Blue Talon for things she should be credited for. She lies awake, staring at the ceiling, hands clasped over her belly. She finds the baby’s foot--or maybe it is a hand--and rubs over the spot, a fruitless attempt to get her to settle down. All the while her mind runs in circles over the headline, ‘Fire’s Reign’s Fire Lord Ozai Denounces Pregnant Daughter’. She didn’t think that he would so publicly condemn her. She should have; he does, afterall, have an image to protect. As if he hasn’t already tarnished it with his binge drinking. She imagines that Zuko is probably getting a good kick out of it. She brings her rubbing to a stop and closes her eyes.

She gets little sleep, but enough of it that she has to be woken by Zhao. She doesn’t know why he bothers, it isn’t as though she will make use of the day. But the man is annoyingly persistent, refusing to leave the living room until she declares that she has to get dressed.

She slips into one of Koemi’s dresses. Eventually she is going to have to pester Zhao to help her buy at least one outfit that suits her aesthetic more, his wife’s attire is absolutely gaudy. Today’s disaster is orange with a sunflower print, which might not have been so horrible if the sunflowers weren’t purple and pink in color. She feels more ridiculous than usual when she emerges into the kitchen.

“I have some good news for you.” Zhao smiles.

“You’re going to take me back to that volcano you hated so much and pitch me into it.” She mumbles.

The man looks horror-stricken. If she weren’t so low she certainly would have laughed.

“I managed to get you a record deal under a new label.”  

“Please tell me that it isn’t Uncle Iroh’s sketchy basement recording studio.”

“It isn’t. It is another label that I work for.”

“And which one is that?”

“WSLSE.”

Apparently her reaction isn’t satisfactory.

“Wan Shi Tong’s Library Of Sound Entertainment.” He clarifies. “You left a good impression on the man. Raava has also been speaking fondly of you.” He slaps a print out onto the table and pushes it to her. “You have been visiting the wrong websites.”

Her brows crinkle. “You have no right to…”

“Monitor my children’s browsing activity?” He asks. “My children still listen to Happy Hei Bai and my wife doesn’t follow music news. That leaves one person who would search up Blue Talon over and over again.”

She folds her arms. “What of it?”

“You’re making yourself miserable.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “All of this talent is just...confined to a couch.” He pauses. “Which is why I took it upon myself to get you signed to a new label…”

“With what band, Zhao!”

“You’re a soloist now.”

“A soloist?” She sputters.

“You don’t exactly mesh well with people.”

No doubt he had overheard her screeching at Seicho. “And yet, I can’t seem to do without them.”

He chuckles. “That’s where we disagree. You have a divine voice, to have it buried under wailing guitars and pounding drums is a shame. The idea I pitched is to have you go acapella and truly showcase your voice for everything that it is.”

Azula’s face pales. “In other words, there’s no room for error. Mistakes are easily detectable.”

“You aren’t one for mistakes and error.”

She frowns rather deeply and gestures to her bump. Ever the gentleman Zhao tiptoes his way back a statement or two. “You won’t be alone, you’ll have a team of fantastic producers and a very talented manager.”

Azula inhales through her nose.

“I dropped Blue Talent to focus on this new project…”

“Me.” Somehow she manages to frown more deeply still. “You dropped a band with a perfectly flawless trajectory for me. Since when do you take risks?”

“Since I found someone worth placing a bet on.”

“That’s what I am to you, a bet. A product.”

“A child.” Zhao cuts in. “I’ve known you since you were as young as my own little ones.”

She massages the bridge of her nose. “Zhao, Audio of Agni is a battle of the bands.”

His smile falters. “I am working on that.”

“Spirits, Zhao! What’s the point of putting me back  in the studio if--”

“You don’t need Audio of Agni to make it big.” He mutters. “I don’t know what it is with you youths and hinging your entire careers on it. We didn’t have battle of the bands when I got into this industry. The Tui La’s didn’t part-take until the fourth event.”

“Zhao…”

He cuts her off once more, the audacity of the man. “We’re going to make a name for you regardless of Audio of Agni. And we’ll do it on raw talent alone.”

“Acapella artists never do well.”

“Acapella artists seldom do well. Most of them are generic. Their voices don’t stand out without instruments.”

“I’m known for metal music…”

“And you’re capable of ballads and operatics. With this project we’re going to put emphasis on your clean vocals. Once that takes off, we can take more risks--you can try doing acapella with those screaming vocals…”

This time she cuts him off. “What about piercings and tattoos says, ‘acapella and opera artist’?”

“Your vocals don’t have to match your looks. But if you must have it that way, we can swap out some of your piercings for less...bold ones. We can cover the tattoo. Your pregnancy might help with this new image.”

She cringes though she isn’t entirely opposed to a more elegant style of dress; she enjoys the glitz and glimmer every now and again. But, Agni, she can’t pull it off not when she has let herself go like this.

“Your first session will be tomorrow, I’ll send my wife shopping with you, you could use a wardrobe for photoshoots and what not.”

She only agrees so that she won’t have to beg the man to buy her better clothes.

Chapter 20 Dragon Tongue

It is daunting to see one of her monikers in the headlines again. To see it there in a more neutral, speculative light. ‘Blue Talon Vocalist Flies Again as Dragon Tongue’. She wishes that she could feel something other than dread, a growing sense that she is only building up momentum for a mightier, more embarrassing fall than her first one.

The announcement of her new single is daunting. And attempting to record a whole new extended play before Audio of Agni and the birth of her baby is twice that. Hama is adamant that she should be taking it much easier, especially since finding out that her baby might be born with an unusually low weight.

She thinks that she should be taking it slower. And yet she can’t afford anymore slacking. She has already wasted so much time sulking and moping and making a deeper mess of herself.

And so she is in the recording booth again and with new material. Material and lyrics that are so much rawer. So much more painful to sing through. They are confessions of shame and inadequacy. Laments of betrayal. And ballads of loneliness. And she can’t hide any of the pain behind indistinguishable growls or loud guitar shreds. It is all crisp and vivid. Open. Naked. She isn’t sure that she wants to do this anymore. Not when every session brings her closer to tears. Closer to a total meltdown.

Every session reminds her of what she lost. Every session reminds her that what she is doing now is nothing compared to what she could have been doing. Every session reminds her of Mai and TyLee and of Seicho.

And when her mind isn’t ailing, her body is aching. Aching in ways that she hadn’t anticipated. Her feet hurt so bad, they hurt when she is sitting down. Her ankles are swollen--Hama assures her that this is normal. As normal as the persistent ache in her back and the odd nose bleeds and congestion that she gets every now and then. On those congested days, she can’t even work.

On other days she finds herself short of breath. Her growing baby is pushing against her lungs. On those days her voice is so weak and breathy. She records regardless. Perhaps she would have allowed herself a break if Zhao weren’t so adamant that the breathy quality gives her a one of a kind sound. An ethereal sound.

She is inclined to disagree. She just sounds weak and weird. She pushes through, she always pushes through.

She promises herself that, whatever she does, she will not read the critiques of her new work. Her self-esteem is already in tatters. They talk more about her pregnancy and what it is doing to her body than they do her work. In that regard she almost hopes that Dragon Tongue is such a flop that it will eclipse that sort of talk.

It is well into the evening. The studio gets so much quieter in the evening. And in the silence her loneliness is emphasized. She remembers late nights of purposely poor vocals and drinking. Of idle chatter between songs. She remembers the crashing of a drumsets when Chan forgets to watch where he steps. She remembers stupid cover songs when they had time to kill. She remembers laughing. She remembers happiness. She remembers friendship.

Chapter 21 A Phoenix In The Winter

His world is in a perpetual winter. A little is no longer enough. He no longer needs food or love or inspiration. He no longer needs a band. He only needs a white winter and his presents come in pouches and needles.

He is losing his senses; of time, of himself, of everything really. One day is the same as the next and none of them bring him any closer to true stardom. His bursts of artificial energy only result in disjointed lyrics and half-assed ideas.

There is no organization and no real attempt to turn them into full songs. He has missed shows to the point of his tour being cancelled. It is so much money down the drain that even Iroh has turned his head. And when the word ‘rehab’ falls from his lips, Zuko runs. Perhaps not literally, but he hasn’t spoken to his uncle since, snubbing all attempts at conversation.

He is perpetually twitchy and agitated and Iroh makes a mistake. He enters the room, guns blazing, “Zuko, get in the car.” It is firm but not firm enough for him to put the needle down. The man sighs, “alright, nephew…”

The minute his hands take him by the shoulders, he is on the ground and Zuko is standing over him seething. “Don’t tell me what to do! What are you, anyways!? A fat, lazy, washed up rockstar! I don’t need advice from you!” But he does, he needs it more than ever. He yanks Iroh up and drags him to the door. He knows that uncle is holding back. He would be flat on his own ass if he wasn’t.

“Zuko, don’t do this. Let me help you get off of this path.” He hears as the door slams.

He is already too far down this path. His only option is to keep on walking. Walking down his cracked and lonely, frigid path. It is desolate now that drumsets, guitars, and microphones no longer clutter the street. He doesn’t pass many people. It is just he and the snow and it is falling thicker than ever.

Iroh hasn’t dropped him from the label yet, but he isn’t making anything of it and so it comes as no surprise to him when TyLee informs him that she would like to try her hand at the school’s gymnastics squad. He lets her go because she can have something. She can make something of herself.

He is less surprised when Mai declares that she is going to write a few poems or, “maybe just focus on school.”

It is fine with him, he doesn’t want to drag them under with him. And so he sits alone in the dark, huddled in a corner rocking back and forth, enveloped in a drug induced anxiety. A state of panic and paranoia that he can’t seem to stave off.

He is deep into it when his phone rings. “We need to talk.” Says the voice on the other end.

“Not right now, Mai. I can’t talk right now, Mai.”

She exhales long and audibly. “Yeah, that’s just it, Zuko. You never want to talk. You never want to do anything…” she backtracks some. “You only want to do one thing. You’re high right now aren’t you?”

“Yes...no?” He doesn’t remember. He isn’t sure if he is coming down or in the middle of a bad trip. “Mai? Mai, are you there.”

“I was there, Zuko. But I’m not now. Not anymore. I can’t be.” The line goes dead.

Phoenixes aren’t meant for snow. It is no wonder he is dying.

.oOo.

The school has been closed for hours now. The windows are as dark as he feels within. He scales his way up the roof. Up to the place where his hopes were born and discussed. He can practically taste the cigarette smoke, the anticipation, the energy that came with a dream in the making.

In its wake is a stale taste, he will drown it with another. He pops the cap off of his beer and gives it a good chug, music blasts loudly and aggressively through his headphones. He drapes them around his neck so that he may hear the cars below and the wind around him. It rustles his flannel shirt.

It’s a nice night, clear and warm. Spangled by a vast array of stars that he can’t seem to reach no matter how high he climbs, no matter how far he reaches. He lays back, he wishes he could relax but he doesn’t have enough coke in his system for it. He sits up for another good drink and then another until he feels a buzz. He doesn’t have enough bottles to take him any further. He supposes he doesn’t really need the help, he has his own woes and hopelessness to propel him the rest of the way.

He stands up and makes his way to the very edge of the roof. He swings his arms back and forth in preparation. He takes a deep breath, the song drones on. He takes another breath. Swings his arms. He’ll finish the song and that’s it. Then he’ll take flight.

He inhales deeply as the song fades out. His phone buzzes in his pocket. He takes it out, inclined to throw it as hard as he can; at this point, Mai can go fuck herself. But it isn’t Mai’s name that decorates the screen. It isn’t TyLee’s. It isn’t even Iroh’s.

He doesn’t know why, but he picks up the phone. For a moment he only hears breathing, breathing and perhaps sniffling. It takes him a moment to realize what he is hearing, but before he can make anything of it, she speaks, “Zuzu?”

He doesn’t reply.

“Zuzu, I really need someone. I need you.”

Chapter 22 The Dragon & The Phoenix

His chest constricts and he grits his teeth. “I need someone too.”  He turns off his music and kicks the empty bottles, they shatter upon the pavement below. “Where are you?” The line goes dead and a text comes through.

By all means, he shouldn’t be driving, but he climbs behind the wheel of Iroh’s car. Spirits, he hopes that he doesn't wreck it. Iroh is already furious.

Truth be told he hadn't known what to expect. Throughout the drive images flashed through his mind, each of them involving a drunkenly enraged Ozai and Azula huddled in the corner. When he reaches the studio he does fine her in the corner. But she is alone.

Alone and very heavily pregnant. He thinks that he remembers reading about that somewhere but, like many other things, it had slipped his mind. For a moment he thinks that he got the wrong address, he doesn’t recognize her with her belly so big and her expression so tired and defeated.

Even if he did have the wrong address, he wouldn’t have left. He couldn’t have. He can’t remember the last time he had sobered up so abruptly. With fumbling fingers he ties his headphones tightly around her arm just above her wrist.

Her other hand comes to squeeze his own wrist. “You don’t have to, it’s not that deep.” She mumbles softly.

“Not that deep!?”

She doesn’t meet his eyes. “I changed my mind. It’s...it’s really not that deep, I just need a bandage.” She gestures vaguely towards the door. “There’s a first aid kit in the lobby.”

He gets up to leave and hesitates, casting a look back at her.

“Go on, Zuzu. I’m not going to do anything else. I...I don’t want to die.”

He wishes that he could say the same. He comes back with the first aid kit and begins bandaging her wrist only to have her slap his hand away with a curt, “I can do it myself.”

He scoffs, “then what the fuck am I here for?”

She flinches. “Nothing, never mind. You can go.”

He rubs his hands over his face. He hasn’t spoken to her in so long, he’d forgotten how she can be. Even when she’s asking for help she can’t swallow her pride. Even when she’s asking for help she’s intolerable. He almost does leave but he thinks that if he does she might just change her mind a second time. He sighs, “why did you ask me to come here if you don’t want my help?”

She holds her silence until he is on the very edge of frustration. “I want you, Zuzu. I don’t have anyone to talk to.”

“So I’m your last resort?”

She nods. At least he can commend her for her honesty.

“I think that I need to talk to you specifically.”

His brows furrow, “why do you think that?”

“Because you would understand.”

He tilts his head.

“What failure is like.” She elaborates.

He feels as though he has been punched in the gut. “Seriously, you called me here to insult me? I don’t need this shit right now, okay!”

She shakes her head vigorously. “I--no, that’s not what I meant.” She rubs her hands over her face. He cringes at the smear of blood she leaves behind. He doesn’t think that she has noticed. If she has, she doesn’t bother to wipe it away.

“What else can you mean?”

She thinks for a moment, “Empathy. I’m empathizing?”

He has to laugh. He face falls. It is his turn to clarify, “we’re a pathetic duo, aren’t we?”

She nods, “very.”  She wipes the remaining tears from her eyes. “I suppose that it’s the rockstar lifestyle. The parts they don’t talk about…”

“Or it’s the father that raised us.” He grumbles. For once she doesn’t protest this. He wonders just what the man did to her. “What happened? You were doing so good.”

“So were you.” And with a shake of  her head she adds,  “no I wasn’t.”

“Neither was I…” He trails off.

“What happened…” she repeats the question back to him and then she rubs her good hand over her baby bump.

“Right. Yeah. That’ll do it.” He frowns. “Chan’s?”

“How’d you know?”

“He’s a total tool.” Zuko shrugs.

She laughs, a very quiet and sad sort of chuckle but a laugh no less. “What about you, Zuzu. I haven’t heard a thing about From Ashes To Phoenix since…”

“Since I went berserk and got arrested at my own concert? Yeah. Because there hasn’t been a thing to talk about since.”

“Not even one new song?”

“There’s no time for songs when you’re...when you’re…”

“On drugs?” She finishes. “Zuko, what happened to us? How did this happen?”

“It just did, I guess.” He frowns. It is much more complex than that. “Are you still with father, I’m sure that Iroh wouldn’t mind letting you stay with us. He probably needs a break from me.”

“I’m staying with Zhao. He got me a new record deal and…”

And Zuko is once again furious. Even when she’s falling, she’s still on her way up. She still has something going for her. She’s probably still getting good publicity. Hell, even bad publicity can take her far. It’s all about the spotlight and she decided to open her wrists. And with a baby in her belly. Perhaps that is why she changed her mind so quickly. Perhaps it is why she had made her initial decision. The anger passes as quickly as it had come over him. “I’m angry all the time.” He doesn’t mean to cut her off, it just falls from his lips. He hasn’t really gotten a chance to get it out.

“I can tell.” She replies. “It’s in your eyes.” She seems to hum to herself. “But you have Mai,TyLee, and Iroh, right?”

He shakes his head. “They’re all disappointed, mad, both?”

“Everyone, except Zhao--I guess--is angry with me.”

“For being pregnant?”

“For being...unbearable. You don’t even want to be here, Zuzu. I can tell.” “I don’t want to be anywhere, actually. It has nothing to do with you. Really, it doesn’t.” He pauses. “I was about to jump.”

“Why did you change your mind?”

“I was interrupted.”

She nods and then her eyes widen, only briefly, with understanding. “Why didn’t you call me?”

He almost tells her that it is because she is her. Instead he responds, “I didn’t think about it, I guess. Drugs do that.”

She nods again. And then her eyes light up. “You can record things with me! I won’t be alone anymore and you’ll be able to get back on track!”

“I can’t focus on music right now.”

And her face falls again.

“But you can still talk to me. I can go with you to appointments.” He offers.

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Can I come with you to rehab?”

He rubs his hands over his face. “I guess. If Uncle is still willing to take me there.”

“He’s uncle. Of course he’ll still take you.”

Chapter 23 Life In The Embers

She feels both better and worse all at once. In a sense it had been liberating to let her emotions flood over, to get them out, to let herself reach the very bottom. There is a sense of calm that follows in its wake. A sense of calm that has compelled her to call Seicho and ask her if she could meet her in the recording studio. Only after the girl had said that she would think about it did Azula send her, her schedule for that week.

At the very least, she can talk to Zuko now. Even if much of their conversation has been getting him through the first stages of withdrawal. Truthfully it was nothing like she had expected.There was no shaking, no vomiting nor sweating. If she didn’t know him she would say that he wasn’t going through withdrawals at all. But she does know him well enough to know that he isn’t himself.

It has been six days since he’d found her with her bleeding wrists and five days since she’d accompanied him to his first rehab visit. Five days since Iroh, for the first time, looked at her with care and trust.  Five days since she realized that she might not be left on her own with this baby. Five days and she is due to check in on Zuzu, if only to intimidate him into keeping on track.

She removes her studio headphones, hangs them up on their designated rack, and exits the recording booth.

“Done for the day?” Zhao asks.

Azula nods, “I promised Zuzu that I would meet him at The Serpant’s Pass Cafe. I’m ahead of schedule anyhow.”

“Very ahead. You’re only a song away from a full setlist.” Zhao agrees. “How about you take the day off. If you’re up for it, I can try to get in touch with a director and we can discuss a music video. It doesn’t have to be fancy…”

“I think that simplicity will work well for this new sound.” Azula agrees. “We’ll talk, Zhao.”

For the first time in a while, she leaves the recording studio with a smile. A smile and a sense that things will come together as they used to. She slips her sunglasses over her eyes and makes her way across the street as hastily and discreetly a possible. People are paying her attention again and it comes in the form of photo op and autograph requests and an occasional paparazzi intrusion. For now she evades their lurking.

She finds Zuko sitting at the corner most table of the cafe’s patio, already well into an appetizer. She slips into her chair only to find that it is not an appetizer at all, but spicy wings. “You started eating without me?”

He shrugs, “want one?”

She shakes her head.

“But you love spicy food.”

“The baby doesn’t.” She frowns.

“Well I already ordered the rest of our food.”  He gestures to the waiter heading for their table with a rather absurd amount of platters. Between her pregnancy and his withdrawal cravings, she and him are a horrid duo in this regard. She thinks to question it only until Zuko begins tearing into his meal.

She rolls her eyes, “don’t be sloppy.” At least she can handle her liberal appetite with poise and grace.

“Don’tell me whadda do.” He grumbles through a mouthful.

She cringes. “Don’t talk with your mouth full.”

He repeats himself. When he finally swallows the rest of his food he asks, “how have you been holding up.”

Azula sighs deeply, “I can’t breathe properly and I’ve had this annoying itch.”

“An itch.”

“On my belly.”

“Is that...normal?”

“Hama, my physician, says that it is. Something about skin expanding and dryness.” Nevermind the technicalities, the results are very mildly agitating. “And you, Zuzu?”

He frowns, “it’s hard Azula. You can’t even imagine.”

“You look better.”

“But I feel...restless and anxious. And depressed--I’m not sure if this is the drugs though.” He pauses. “I’m tired all the time and the nightmares don’t help.”

“What sort of nightmares?”

“They’re intense. Everyone is reminding me that I’m not going to amount to anything. Dad is always there. He...does things to me in these dreams. Worse than the real stuff.”

Azula nods.

“And Mai is there. So is TyLee, but she’s...weird. She contorts in ways that are crazy even for TyLee. I also had a dream that Aang, you remember him, right?”

“The neighbor kid with the big dog who liked to eat glue? I remember him, yeah. Why?”

“In one of my dreams he had these wild powers and there was this comet and Aang had to stop our father from using it to set the whole world on fire.”

Azula blinks, “Zuzu, there are corners of your mind that disturb me.”

He laughs. Admittedly it is nice to hear him laugh and nicer still to know that she has helped him laugh--a far cry from the distress she used to cause him.

“I suppose that I wouldn’t sleep easily either if I was dreaming about the glue kid getting superpowers.”

He laughs again. “Thanks for coming here, Azula. It’s nice to have someone to keep me company while I go through this.”

“Don’t get sappy on me, Zuzu.” She roll her eyes. She knows that if he does and starts hitting the right cords that she’ll probably start weeping, a humiliating mess of chaotic hormones. “I suppose that I share the sentiment.” She taps her fingers nails against the tabletop, they have grown increasingly long as of late. “You should try to get in good graces with Mai and TyLee again.”

“So should you?” He quirks a brow.

“They’re your bandmates and you still have a chance if you get it together. You already have enough material for Audio of Agni, you just need some publicity. Good publicity.” She pauses. “Of course, you’ll need a band first.”

“Azula, I’m still going through withdrawals.”

“All the more reason to do it. You could use a distraction.”

“You’re a distraction.”

“A bigger distraction. I can’t be here all the time, I have doctor appointments and a career to keep on top of. I’ve only just started getting back on front pages…” for good reasons, she nearly adds, “I need to keep my momentum.”

“So you’re choosing your career over me.”

“I’m choosing my well-being, my baby’s well-being. I don’t really have many other options, a successful solo project is my best chance to provide for this baby.”

“Have you considered adoption?”

It comes like a slap to the face, though she doesn’t think that he means it as such. She bites back her initial scathing retort. “I’m not going through all of this discomfort, disowning, and humiliation just to give the baby away. It’s mine. I want her.”

Zuko lifts his hands, “alright, sorry.”  He puts them back down. “I was just really hoping that you’d be here more. I know, I’m surprised too; you’re insensitive and kind of the worst.”

“You’re a funny man, Zuko.” She responds dryly. “I’m not going to abandon you, not when you’re this pathetic. I just think that you should have more support than just me.”

“Do you have any other support?”

“Seicho, hopefully.” She pauses and pushes her final plate aside. “I’d also like to speak with Mai and TyLee again.”  She stands up and pushes her chair in.

“I’ll try to talk to them.”

“Make sure to mention that you’re in rehab and that you know you’re an asshole. The asshole bit is especially necessary with Mai.”

“I’ll call you and let you know how it goes?”

“It better go well.”  She wishes herself the same luck.

.oOo.

Azula looks much better now, happier, healthier, stronger. There is a radiance about her, something subtle but still present. And it is no wonder; she is back in the press again and much of the headlines predict a groundbreaking and unexpected comeback. The boast of a fallen vocalist whose flame is rising again despite it all. Seicho wonders if the girl is even aware.

“Thank you for meeting with me, Seicho, it is nice to see you again.”

Seicho nods. “Sure, Azula.”

Her gait is rather awkward as she walks alongside her. It prompts Seicho to inquire, “are things going well with the baby?”

“Mostly, yes. Hama has a few concerns.”

“You look a lot better.” Seicho remarks.

“Ugg, if only I felt that way.”

It comes to Seicho then, that the girl is breathing quite heavily, “do you need me to slow down.”

Azula nods, “a little bit yes.”

Seicho chuckles and slings her arm over Azula’s shoulders. She wishes that the girl weren’t so endearing, maybe then she could have drawn her resentment out longer. As things are, Azula is quite precious with her semi-clumsy gait and that genteler twinkle in her eyes. “What did you want to talk about?”

“I would like you to consider not being angry with me anymore.”

Seicho bursts out laughing. “Azula, that is the worst peacemaking opener I have ever heard.”

“How am I supposed to do it?”

“‘I’m sorry that I went off on you for no reason’, would be a good way.”

Azula’s cheeks flush. Seicho thinks that hers might be growing pink as well. She’s adorable, unquestionably so. “I...don’t usually...apologize to people.”

“I can tell.”

Her entire face is red now.

“You’re doing pretty alright.

“Does that mean you are considering my proposal? To not be mad at me?”

Seicho rolls her eyes. “Yes, that’s what it means.” That hopeful little smile seals the deal. “You wanna tell me about your new song ideas? This new concept is...different.”

“Do you like it?”

“I think that it suits you well.” Seicho replies. “You have a pretty voice. I didn’t realize that you had that kind of range. The breathing techniques are really bizarre but they sound neat.”

“Oh, those aren’t techniques. That is me suffering while I try to sing with this baby crushing my lungs.” Her eyes go wide for a flicker. “You’ve been listening to my new music?”

“N-no, well, it’s been on the radio so I couldn’t avoid it!”

She shakes her head, “you listened enough to be able to give me a review.”

“Fine, I’ve been listening to your new material. But I was still mad the whole time, okay? I was listening with resentment.”

Chapter 24

With a new digital album release and a highly anticipated music video in the works, Azula is growing confident again though Audio Of Agni still seems to be far out of her reach. If she makes the right moves and if her pregnancy doesn’t spring up any surprises, she might just be able to make it without the competition. It isn’t ideal and it is terribly frustrating, but at least she doesn’t feel so helpless anymore.

Mostly she feels drained and achy. Her sides stitch from time to time and her entire lower body is growing sore from carrying so much extra weight around. She exhales, she isn’t sure how much more of this she can take.  Hama had warned her about the small contractions but they still take her by surprise every time.

They happen now, and when she could really use a break from them. She is just thankful that she is through with recording. From the looks of it, she will have to find a way to shoot the music video mostly sitting or laying. She has passed several ideas onto Zhao, her favorite being a trip to the local theater where she can perch herself on a stool and sing to an empty venue. They can make use of dramatic lighting and add glitter or glow effects electronically. It is simple and will rely on old time Noh theater aesthetics and a stunning costume. She anticipates that the mask will be the most expensive piece. The simpler, one location video will leave plenty of room in the budget for that.

She casts a look at the door. “They’ll be here soon.” Seicho assures her.

“But what if they decide not to come? Mai, TyLee, and I haven’t parted on good terms.” She rubs her hand over her belly.

“You’ve been helping Zuko out so much, you practically saved their band, how mad can they be?”

She isn’t sure that she wants to find out. Not that she has the chance to retract her invitation she hears a knock and climbs to her feet. Her bump lightly knocks against the table as she does so and she curses to herself. “I can get it, you know?”

Azula waves her hand dismissively. “I’m pregnant, not useless.”

.oOo.

Zuko hadn’t realized just how much a few weeks could change a person. Her cheeks are rosier and the bump is bigger still. In spite of it all, her look of prowess and determination has returned. She wears her pride as though it had never slipped from her grasp at all. Frankly, he hadn’t realized that it was truly missing until having seen it returned.

“Oh wow, you’re so big!” TyLee comments,clasps her hands, and holds them to her lips.

Azula’s face, already flushed lightly, grows redder still.

“How far along are you?” TyLee asks.

“Month six.” Azula huffs as she gestures them inside.

“Congratulations?” Mai quirks a brow.

She clears her throat, “thank you.”

He watches her make her way to her seat. She backtracks to fetch her water bottle and semi-clumsily saunters her way back to her seat.

“Still adjusting?” Mai asks.

“Constantly adjusting.” Azula grumbles before taking a drink. She rests her free hand on the bump. “You’re mostly done going through withdrawals, yes, Zuzu?”

He nods. “Sometimes I still really want to use again. Badly. It’s unbearable...it would be if I didn’t…”

“Take my advise and get back into the music industry? Yes, I am aware. You are welcome.” He has to laugh at her audacity, at least these days it is somewhat endearing. “You look a lot better Zuzu. Your eyes don’t have bags that reach to the floor anymore.”

“I don’t know if you’re trying to compliment me or insult me.”

“It’s a compliment, I’m saying that you don’t look like a walking corpse anymore.”  

Somehow, he does feel a sense of pride in that. It is progress. Progress that he has made. Progress that he is still making. And she isn’t the only one who has noted these changes. Azula has certainly changed radically in the past few weeks, but he can’t deny that the changes in him have been just as dramatic even if they are less outwardly perceived. He does feel better about himself; he feels more inspired than ever, more creative and, for a change, it isn’t synthetic. It is all him, his mind, his...brilliance. He thinks that he can consider himself smart, at the very least he can consider himself not dumb.

She pulls out a pen and a sheet of paper. “So let’s start talking about music. I read over some of your new lyrics, they are rather solid they can just use some fine tuning and better penmanship, I don’t know what this is supposed to say.” She gestures to the worst of his chicken scratch.

He finds himself beaming regardless. She had given him a real compliment. He has written something worth singing. He could cry...

“Azula, can we just...be friends again first?” TyLee asks.

Her brows furrow, “you want to be friends again.”

TyLee smiles and nods. “To be honest, I don’t really even remember why we were fighting.”

“Because she kept picking on my boyfriend and working us to exhaustion.” Mai shrugs.

Azula’s expression darkens again.

“To be fair, she’s been working herself to exhaustion.” Zuko steps in.

She shrugs again, “I suppose that I don’t know many other people who work this hard six months in.”

“I have a lot that needs to be accomplished.”

“And you only have until battle of the bands to do it?”

“Solo artists can’t join.” She frowns, only to perk up again when adding, “but I’ve already written a setlist and a few ideas just in case.”

Zuko laughs, “of course you did.”

“Who is this?” TyLee points to Seicho.

She looks up from her phone, “I’m Azula’s girlfriend.”

“You are?” TyLee and Azula ask at once.

Seicho looks at Azula, “I thought that you knew that.”

“Azula is clueless.” Mai rolls her eyes. “You can take her on as many dates as you’d like, you can kiss her several times--”

“I have! Mostly in the recording booth between songs.” She declares.

“--And she still won’t put two and two together until you tell her that you’re dating.”

Seicho drapes her arm over Azula’s shoulder and pulls her closer. Her other hand reaches for Azula’s. “I go with her to her appointments too. I figured that she can pretend like I’m the baby’s father since Chan is an ass.”

“It’s Chan’s?” TyLee gasps. “He said that--”

“He lied. It is easier to make me out to be...dangerously promiscuous.”

“Oh Azula, I’m sorry.”

Azula offers only a dismissive wave. “Enough baby and drama talk. We need to start discussing music before the studio closes for the night. They lock up on Mondays for cleaning.”

.oOo.

All in all the night has been a success on a musical level and on a social level. The departure of Mai and TyLee is such a stark contrast to their last one. They part with an offer to team up with and do vocals for From Ashes To Phoenix should they make it to Audio Of Agni as well as an offer to invite her to game night at Iroh’s.

“I don’t know, card games, potato chips, and a super campy horror movie sound great!” Seicho declares. “Do you think that they’ll be down for basement tattoos?”

“Probably.” Azula answers nonchalantly. “Exactly how do you plan to get this past your parents? The last time I checked, they said that they didn’t want you hanging around some tramp.”

“They’re never home.” She shrugs. “And when they are, they don’t really pay much attention to me. They didn’t even know that I was a tattoo artist until I came home with a sleeve.”

“I see.” She replies. “Am I dropping you off at home or are you coming with me to Zhao’s place?”

“Zhao’s place! He makes a bitchin’ yakitori!”

Chapter 25 A Phone Call

If Iroh has an issue with the blearing music, he keeps it to himself. Azula reaches for another chip. “Hmmm...truth or dare, Azula?” She puts down the chip.

“Dare.”

“You’ve been picking dare all night!” She frowns, putting her hands on her hips.

“What can I say, I’m a daring person.”

“You just don’t want to tell the truth.” Seicho nudges her.

“I dare you to pick truth next time someone asks you to.”

“That’s cheating.”

“Mm mm, it’s not.” TyLee shakes her head, “we didn’t establish that rule when we were establishing the other rules.

“Truth or dare, Mai?”

“Dare.”

TyLee puffs out her cheeks. “You guys never pick truth!”

“I dare you to be the first one to get a tattoo tonight.”

“I’ll get one right now.” Mai shrugs. “I’ve had one on my mind for a while now.”

“Kickass! What can I get for you?” Seicho asks. “You can sketch it out while I get set up.” She leans in to kiss Azula on the forehead before getting up.

“Truth or dare, Zuko?”

He glances at TyLee before choosing dare.

“I dare you to…”

Azula leans over and whispers in her ear.

“I dare you to prank call Zhao.”

He punches Zhao’s number into the landline pinpad. “Hello, is this Zhao?”

Azula, Mai, and TyLee lean over his shoulder.

“Yes, this is Sokka. I am interested in getting a record deal.” He clears his throat. “Sorry, I’m nervous, I’ve never asked for a record deal before. But I have this great concept its...uh…” He looks at Azula. “It’s uh...okay, picture this, seven minutes of dog barks with occasional bursts of that noise you hear when you’ve lost TV signal.” He listens. “No, no! This is a totally serious pitch! I’ve even named the track it’s called, ‘Bark At The Static’ and I think that I’d be great touring with that guy who dresses up as a cabbage and Yodels.”

TyLee snickers.

The line goes dead and Azula sits down to finally have her chip. She dips it into the salsa.

“Okay, truth or truth, Azula?”

She rolls her eyes. “Truth number two.”

“Hmmm, do you miss being in Blue Talon.”

“A little, I suppose. I don’t think that I’d like to go back to them though. They lack integrity.” She scoffs. “They’re using my story to sell the band.”

“Your story?”  Mai asks.

“I wrote about father before I was kicked out of the band.”

“I write about him too.”

“Yes, Zuzu, I’ve been helping you write those songs.”

“Right.”

“Everything’s all set up. You didn’t sketch, did you?”

Mai fishes through her bag, “I did a while ago.” Azula looks it over. It’s a darkly alluring sketch of a hand holding a punctured heart, weeping roses and thorns. “I want it on my left shoulder blade and a simple throwing star on the right one.”  

While Mai gets herself comfortable in Seicho’s makeshift chair, Azula reclains and reads through the newsfeed. Blue Talon is still soaring high as ever, but From Ashes To Phoenix is already garnering heavy attention with their new single announcement. The whole thing was rather sappy story about Zuko’s recent rehab struggles and an apology for acting out on stage. And for herself, Dragon Tongue is finally being praised for her stunning vocals and her soft, divine sound.

Azula is still rather conflicted about how quickly they were to turn from accusing her of pregnancy being obscene and raunchy to them gushing about how a baby on the way is the finishing touch on her new, soothing sound. She supposes that she should be thankful that they are speaking well of her again, regardless of hypocrisy. She wonders if her father is reading these headlines; wonders if her is proud or if he is seething--fuming because she is still rising despite his efforts to snuff her flame.

“What sort of tattoos were the rest of you thinking of getting?”

“I just want a cute little cherry blossom on my pinky!” TyLee answers.

“A broken chain.” Zuko replies. “On my bicep.”

Azula thinks for a moment. “I’ll let you know as soon as I figure it out. I have to wait until after the baby is born.”

“Oh, right!” Seicho replies. “Maybe I can help you design one.”

Her phone vibrates in her hand, the number on the screen is unfamiliar. “Hello?”

“Azula?”

“Yes.”

“This is Raava.”

“Raava!?”

She hears the tattoo gun flick off and four heads turn in her direction.

“You have a gift and it will be heard at Audio Of Agni. I’d like to talk with you about a loophole that I found.”

“What sort of loophole?”

“You have done work with From Ashes To Phoenix, yes?”

“I will be recording with them soon.”

“I am going to extend a formal invitation to From Ashes To Phoenix. Given their cooperation, you will perform two of three songs with them and one solo.”

She hadn’t expected to cry that night, but she does. She feels like a fool crying in front of all of them, but she is so relieved. Relieved and hopeful. She hasn’t lost her dream.

It will be an absolute treat to see the shock and horror radiate off of Blue Talon when she makes her appearance. And a larger treat to show her father that her worth is beyond what he can give her.

[borhapimagines]

imagine: crisis.-P

pairing: ben x reader

word count: 2,184

summary: the morning feels strange on the set of bohemian rhapsody, and an unimaginable crisis is in store.

warnings: mentions of guns+shooting. no graphic descriptions.

quick a/n: fair warning I spent like 4 hours on this but i didn't proofread it at all. i hope you like it:) i am very aware people are sensitive to this subject, and i made sure nothing was graphic, but if you are sensitive to things like this, proceed with caution.  

10:00 AM, Friday

  Walking into work felt strange today. The atmosphere was still. No trace of wind in the air. It was the middle of November in London. The only thing you could count on was wind. Nothing had happened. Everyone was acting almost normal, but everything around you seemed more muted, like everyone was talking quieter. You figured that your mind was just playing tricks on you. With the cold you’d had this week, it would make sense. Everything’s a little more foggy when you’re under the weather.

  Still, your typically energetic, buzzing work environment felt hushed. Trying to brush it off, you quickly headed to the stage, where you knew the boys were. You figured the weird feeling in your stomach would pass once you made some human interaction. Boots clacking onto the stage, your presence was made known. Waving at the boys with a smile, Joe, Gwil,  Rami,  and Ben turned to you excitedly.

  “Y/N!”, Joe exclaimed humorusly.

   You laughed in response. If someone could destroy a serious, dark vibe with one word, it would be Joe.

    You and the boys had really become like a family. At 21, you felt like you had four big brothers on set - or, three. You were nervous to admit to anyone but yourself that you had held a special place in your heart for Ben. Initially, you were drawn to his strong, yet warm presence. You felt a strange sense of safety when you were with him. Not that you felt unsafe with the other boys. Being around Ben was just different. It was like a halo surrounded you when you were together, like you were untouchable.

     Wanting to keep up the light mood, you were quick to joke.      “Oh Gwil, doesn’t your hair just look lovely as always. I seriously think you should consider wearing that wig forever.”

      Rami chuckled at that. Being the cheekiest of the group, you could always count on Rami to poke fun at you,  or at least laugh when someone beat him to it.

       Ben stayed quiet for much of the small talk and banter within the group. It wasn’t typical of him to over-share anyway, but something felt strange today. He would usually at least laugh along or drop a silly “mate” every once in a while. Wondering what was wrong, but not wanting to press the issue, you decided to change the subject to a more work-related discussion. Although it was so much fun, you could hardly call it work. You couldn’t lie, helping a group of handsome men learn to play instruments came with lots of fun.

       “So, which one of  you needs the most work today?”, you inquired sarcastically.

       “I’ll admit it. It’s absolutely me. This guitar solo is ridiculous. It’s times like these that I remember I’m not Brian May”, Gwil announces.

        “It’s true. He’s been playing the same wrong chords for two hours”, Rami jokes.

         Agreeing to help Gwil first, you send the boys off to disperse and practice their various instruments individually. Gwilym was your sole romantic confidant. He was the only person you ever dared to tell about Ben. Mature and a good listener, Gwil was the best person to talk to. Hoping to maybe get some information about Ben’s unexplained mood and let some things off your chest, you were secretly happy he needed extra help today.

          “Alright, hit me. What’s the song?”

      “Don’t Stop Me Now.”

     You made a face. “Oh, hell. I didn’t even know you needed to learn that. You are indeed in a tough situation.”

       “Tell me about it.”

        The two of you laughed, and Gwil could sense your hesitation to start actual practice. Knowing you, he understood you had a personal matter to divulge with him. He didn’t mind. It was nice having someone to depend on with intimate matters of the heart.

         “Okay, what’s up?”, Gwil asks gently.

         “Has Ben been acting strange today, like quieter, or is just me?”

          Gwil sighs. “It’s not just you. We all kind of noticed. Come to think of it, this whole morning has been strange. We were counting on Joe’s stupid jokes to distract us from it.”

          “It so odd you say that. I got the strangest feeling when I walked onto set this morning. I tried to brush it off, because I’m just coming off of a cold, but now that you say it, I don’t know.

          “Hm” was all Gwilym could think to say. Mutually deciding that they should try their best to shake themselves of these unprescended feelings, they practiced for a little while. You helped for a solid fifteen minutes, but once Gwil understood what he was supposed to be playing, he could practice rather independently. Using this to your advantage, you began to mingle around to the rest of the boys to lend a helping hand. You started with Ben, which you confess was truly just to check up on him on a personal level. Seeing him so somber worried you. You didn’t like that feeling. It always seemed too strong for your heart to handle.

          Approaching his drum set gentley, you spoke.  

          “Hi”, you started simply with a warm smile.

          He looked up at you with joy and radiance, but unexplainable intensity, and slight glimpse of concern.  

           “Oh, Y/N, I’ve been meaning to find you for a little while. Um, not to be weird. Are you, like, okay right now?”

            You hesitated before responding, worrying that his concern would grow if you admitted the day’s strange aroma.

             “Yeah, I’m feeling fine, just coming off that cold, you know?”,you replied gentley.

             “Okay-okay good.” His tone shifted. Voice growing quiter, he spoke again. “It’s just me being odd, I’m sure. But I’m getting this weird feeling. Like something bad is going to happen. It’s dumb, I can’t explain it.”

               Your entire mood shifted. None of this was in your head, then? Ben’s concern only filled your brain with questions. Why would he be asking you specifically? Why not mention it  to the boys as well? Realizing nothing about this day was normal, you tried to go on with your day as normal. You usually had lots of fun at work. It was in everyone’s best  interest to keep it that way. Counting on Joe to joke your worries away, you actually found the best distraction in Rami. He was so comitted and focused. It forced you to ignore your thoughts.  You truly worked. “Somebody to Love” was sounding rather lovely after your session of practices with Rami.

2:00 PM

       That’s when you heard the first shot. It was rather distant, and when the sound initially registered in everyone’s ears, it was unclear what to make of it. Something heavy could have fallen on the floor.

       The intensity of the situation wasn’t made clear until you felt Ben’s gentle yet strong grip on your wrist. Looking at you directly in the eye, Ben’s presence alone made something click in your mind. That was a gun shot. After what seemed like forever, but was not even a minute, everyone seemed to be on the same page. You, Ben, Joe, Gwilym, and Rami all looked at each other with frightened eyes. Silently understanding the fervor of the situation, the five of you quietly shuffled off the stage, quickly searching for somehwere to  hide. Rami’s quick intelligence let you all to a small room behind the stage that had a door. More importantly, a door that locked. He quietly as possible, turned the handle, and held the door open. After the  four of you made it in, he stood out the door, like he didn’t intend on going inside. You gave him a look, and as soon as he noticed your silent questioning, he whispered.

        “Lucy”.

         That’s when you truly felt your heart beat out of your chest, anxiety quickly making itself known in your chest. People could die. Rami is willing to risk his life to find Lucy on this massive set. He could die.

          Giving him an understanding nod, tears filling your eyes, he smiled soberly at you. As if to say a tentative goodbye. With that, he was off, and the door shut behind him. This left you, Joe, Gwilym, and Ben in the small, dark room. None of you could think of anything to say to each other. You were only able to focus on one thing.

           Ben hadn’t let go of your hand. The two of you were sitting side by side, feet  parallel to eachother. You turned to look at him, and you felt something you had certainly felt before, but hadn’t recognized. Love. Unconditional Love. It was what you were so afraid of. That look in his eyes. The idea that someone could care about you so much. You realized you would have died for him in that moment, and he would have died for you. It was so extremely dangerous.

             Another shot. Closer this time.

           Joe’s previously silent sobs could be heard now. He whispered with anger and confusion through his tears, “Guys, what the fuck is this? This shouldn’t be happening. Why is this happening?” Your soul hurt for him. It always hurts the most to see the ones that smile the most upset.

           Gwil was good in crisis. He successfully calmed Joe down. Tried to reassure us that everything was going to be okay. For some reason though, his calmness made you the most sad. It was like he had accepted his fate. He thought he was going to die today.

           After twenty more minutes of waiting, Gwil and Joe began to drift off. There was nothing anyone could do now. Might as well rest.

           You and Ben couldn’t bring yourselves to sleep. It was like you were staying awake for each other.

            Nobody had said a word since Joe’s brief outburst. Finally, Ben looked and you directly, whispering as quietly as possible.

            “We can’t talk a lot. It’s too loud. But if there’s one thing I get to say to you it’s this. I am not letting you die today.”

            That’s when you truly felt your heart shatter. Not knowing what else to do, you slowly released your hands from his and pulled him in for a hug. As you released from each other, you were inches away. If one of you moved, you would be kissing.

            That’s when you heard the door open. Gwil and Joe shot awake. Three police officers revealed themselves to you and it felt like everyone finally took a deep breath out.

           The four of you were escorted out of the room, and sent outside. It was sunset.

            The London wind had returned.

            Everything felt safe again. One thing that never changed, though, was that halo. That strange halo you felt around Ben.

             Huddling close to each other, You, Ben, Joe, and Gwil walked outside, where you saw police cars everywhere, as well as the cast and crew. Your work family. The people you realized more than ever were so important to you.

             You saw Rami standing to the side of the scene, holding Lucy next to him. Thank God. The four of you raced to the couple, and you all embraced in the tightest, most emotion filled hug any of you had ever had. You were reunited. Everything was normal again.

~

           Nobody dared to walk to their car alone. Everyone brought a partner. Besides, the group decided it would be best to stay together that night. They would all meet at Gwilym’s. Ben walked you to your car. It seemed almost obvious that he would at this point.

           Before you got into your car, you decided it was your turn to brave. Your turn to tell Ben how you felt, since he had practically done so himself.

            Looking into his green eyes, you spoke with no hesitation.

           “I love you.”

            He looked at for a moment, seemingly shocked at your words. You elaborated.

            “If I’ve learned anything today, it’s that we have no idea what could happen. In the strangest of places, on the most normal of days. I don’t know how we all felt it. It doesn’t make sense. The only thing I understand right now is that I love you.”

             He soaked in your words for a moment, and without hesitation, leaned in to kiss you. When your lips touched, it was like they were molded for each other. The kiss was so natural, yet so full of longing, like you had been waiting years to do it. Maybe you had. After a minute or so, your lips parted.

             “I’ve loved you since- I don’t know. I can’t remember a time that I didn’t. I never thought I’d be in a situation like this. I just- I’m now just grateful I was alive to say it.”

               The sincerity and intensity in his voice is what you had fallen in love with. And you knew after what happened today, neither you or Ben would let each other go.

[forevervobla]

The room was so small, everything could be placed here is the one bed and a little table with a smoked candle.Anyway, it was quite enough to stay for a night.The barkeeper looked suspicious, they always do when they have nothing to say against a couple paying only for a one bed.There was a big celebration in a few days,so,the small tavern was crowded with people who couldn't afford a luxury to be a Solitude citizen.Now, the owner of this glorious place was aggressively polishing the desk, looking askance at the dark corner of the room, where a dunmer, who was leaning close to the one of his clients, was gently smiling and giggling from time to time. The guy sitting next to him laughed and slapped boy's bottom. The barkeeper didn't like whores and would be happy to get these two out of this place, but dunmer was the one who paid rent and he didn't really wanted to mess with the other guy who looked like the one from the nobility.The next time the barkeeper looked at these two, only a part of dunmer's skirt was showing under the table. 

"How much for a bed?" The voice appeared, getting a man out from heavy thoughts.

"All beds are sold," the barkeeper saw a redhead elf with striking eyes.The lute on his back was showing his profession," but maybe, I can make an exception for you if you give us a good concert."

"Really?The deal, then. My name is Aurelius, have you ever heard about me? I'm going to perform on the main square tomorrow."

"So it wouldn't be difficult for you to impress me."

The bard made a face, but remained silent.He went to the centre of the hall and hit the strings in a major chord.The tune begun to flow so smooth like playing an instrument was easier than breathing.The crowd voices were becoming quieter and quieter, so everyone could hear an intro of the song. The bard took a quick pause before the first verse when everyone heard a loud hit on a wooden countertop. He took a breath, and everyone heard the charming tenor.

"Easier, beauty," in a muffled tone said the man, stroking the face between his legs.

One song was coming by another. Listeners became drunk and happy and were singing along, clinking their mugs on tables. Some of them were so tipsy this place became too cramped for them so they rushed outside to meet the friendly nature. After a few meetings with mother earth, the hero lover decided to set off in a search of new adventures, leaving his silver-tongued companion alone.

The crowd cheered and applauded after the last note was played.The owner of a tavern was really glad, he not only enjoyed the performance, but also sold the annual rate of booze.

"You deserved your stay!" he tapped on bard's shoulder: "Now, we just need to get out someone less profitable," he added, looking for a small silhouette in the crowd.

At this moment, the entrance door was opened slowly, and the desired persona appeared, looking around cowardly. As he closed an entry his eyes met with the barkeeper's and immediately switched to a bard. "Maurice!" an elf mumbled.

"I hear you already know what he is, don't worry, this freak won't be bothering you."

"Don't call him like that!" Aurelius exclaimed as the dunmer approached to them.

The owner changed in a face:"My apologies for getting you wrong.I see you two don't mind to share a... room."

Feeling the situation is heating up, Maurice stood between them two, took Aurelius's hand and retorted: "Yes, we do," then he whispered to the elf's ear:"Come on, sweet, I'll show you our clean and spacious room."

"This place is exactly as I imagined it!The only thing, I thought the bed will be smaller and less comfortable," Aurelius noticed entering the room.

"Fair enough, we don't know so far, how comfortable is this bed," Maurice answered, sitting down on the corner, expecting to find out.The bed sang a few sad notes.

Aurelius carefully placed his lute near the bed then sat next to his beloved.They were sitting for some time in a silence listening to each other's breath.Maurice felt nervous, he regretted he didn't take a shower immediately after he said goodbye to his last client.Dunmer knew for sure,in this small room even a person without a nose would notice this smell.

Aurelius carefully placed a hand over Maurice's: "Isn't it amusing, wherever we go, we always meet each other?"

Dunmer didn't know what to answer, but the usual smile appeared on his face again and this smile was contagious; bosmer felt how the corners of his mouth are raising. There was something special about this emotion.When Aurelius was a child, he didn't know how to smile;he was spending hours looking at people around him, trying to mimic their natural reactions.He noticed that people are usually friendlier to those who smile, so he learned how to do so.Every time he enters the stage he puts on the most expected emotions,he honed this skill to automatism,but in this case everything was different. He never felt a courage to tell how much he learns from Maurice's company, but he felt, without any words, he knew it already.

With a quiet squeak Maurice moved closer and snuggled up to him, planting a soft kiss on his neck. It was so common of him to start where nobody expects it. Bosmer held him tighter, breathing in the smell of cinnamon, mixed with sweat and a kaleidoscope of scents left by the day.He hadn't seen him before he played the last chord, but the feelings didn't lie; Maurice had a busy day. Meanwhile, mentioned lover was moving slowly down his cheekbone, titillating his skin with a trembly breathing. Bosmer's heart begun to beat faster when he playfully bit his chin, leaning out a little.Aurelius drew Maurice's lip line, then pushed his index finger deeper in his mouth.With his eyes almost closed, dunmer begun to move back and forth, tickling fingertips with a slightly rough tongue. It was something unexpectedly pure and innocent about these actions, he was like a cat looking for affection, he was trusting to Aurelius and was ready to do anything he wants."What about me?" the bard suddenly thought, "Do I deserve him? He used to act for someone's pleasure, but I know he deserves better than this. And I'm here, sitting and playing with him, like he was a toy."Smile faded out on his face,"Maybe, Salome was right," he took his hand off.

Maurice opened his eyes, looking worried:"What's wrong, sweetheart?"

"I don't want you to know."

"But why? I don't insist, of course, but... Aurelius, dear, I'm always here to listen! I love you. I will do anything you want, I'll do my best to be the one you need!"

Aurelius laughed quietly, closing his face with a left arm;"You don't owe me anything!You deserve better than me.How can't you see how precious you are,you don't deserve the life you're getting," he stood up from the bed, making a wide gesture, "All this hate,all this violence,all these terrible people including me,who only knows how to use you."

"Sweet, sugar, please, calm down and listen to me!"

"Your friend Salome was right about me. I'm not different from others,-"

"Listen!"

"-who just show up when they need it and get you how they wanted."

"Shut up and listen to me!" Aurelius got shivers, he never heard Maurice's voice so low and deep. "In one thing you maybe right.It's easier to you all to see me as a victim,a defenseless child you can help or use."

"It's not true!I see you as a complex person...",

Maurice interrupted him by taking his hand and pulling him to sit down again,he looked into his eyes and continued:"I can understand why Salome cares about me that much, but don't forget, I'm a grown man, I can decide for myself.I honestly don't understand what makes you so uncertain about yourself, we don't know who's the worst from us two."He giggled, and Aurelius didn't resist to smile back, saying:"If you only knew how much your smile means to me."

"Well, at least, I can guess.I love to see you smiling too.When we first met your face was so stern I started to worry you didn't like my company.When you started to write a song a few days later I've been convinced otherwise.Your music says more than your pretty face," he playfully stroked Aurelius's nose, adding more wrinkles to his face. The bard quickly bent his arm around Maurice's neck, giving him a deep kiss.Dunmer laughed, moving to his lap, hugging him tighter.With a cheerful squeak they laid on the bed.

"What do you think,"Maurice asked from below, "can these walls be less loud than this bed?"

"I honestly don't want to sleep with a hole in the wall."

"Who said you were going to sleep there?"

[gotboredwrote]

Chapter 4: Misfire

[[The American Publicist // JRD]]

Pairing: John Richard Deacon x Reader Word Count: 2.7K Style: Multi-Chapter Warnings: Angst(?), some sexual tension but nothing explicit, swearing Summary: Y/N was just hired to become a co-manager and publicist for the band Queen. The boys had never travelled abroad, so meeting an American was . . . intriguing, to say the least. Permanent Author’s Note: To clarify, I write because I get bored. Nothing is meant to be professional in any way, nor is meant to offend, cause anxiety, cause anger, cause sadness, or promote disagreement among readers in any sort of (semi)permanent way. A/N: I think I’ll just let this chapter speak for itself.

Masterlist // Previous Chapter // Next Chapter // Masterpost

~

“You…what?”

“I wrote a song. Like I was supposed to that first week?”

“Is that why you brought me here? Just to tell me that?”

“No, I want to perform it for you.”

~

You could not believe the words you were hearing. John Deacon, the man who you were told never sings or performs on his own. John Deacon, the man who hardly speaks without spoken to. John Deacon was going to perform for you. Give you a private show. You could have burst with the excitement bubbling through your veins at that moment. You were honestly at a loss for words, so you just made some audible gasps. John took that as his cue to keep talking to you.

“I feel as though I owe you an explanation before I start. First, I have never really written a song. Not for an album, not really at all. I am not what you would call a lyricist like Fred or Brian. I can explain the song, but I want you to hear it first. Second, I am clearly one human being so I can only play one instrument at a time, and I haven’t showed this to the boys yet. So, I don’t really have backing tracks. You’re only really going to hear the bassline. But because I wrote the song, a lot of the stuff for the bassline is close to what Brian will be playing. Third, and what I would say is the most important, is that I am not a singer. Never have been. That’s partially why I chose the bass in the first place all those years ago. People don’t typically pay attention to bass players, and those that do, well… you mean a lot to us.” You could tell he was getting more nervous by the second, there were a couple things giving that away. His voice was starting to get quieter and shakier, and with that last comment his nose and cheeks were starting to turn red. “Nonetheless,” he continued, “I will sing the words for you so you can get a feel for what I am going for in this song. I really can’t sing, so don’t laugh at my voice, okay?”

It seemed like he had finished his explanation, and you were still at a loss for words, quite honestly a little bit hung up on his comment about the people who pay attention to bass players. You wanted to let him know that he can be completely at ease around you, so you were racking your brain trying to figure out the right thing to say. Something that would wrap up all your thoughts into one sentence or so. It hit you like a ton of bricks.

“If that is what you want to do, John, I would feel as though I won the lottery – even though I basically feel that way anytime I am around you since you treat me so kindly. But if you aren’t ready to do this, you don’t have to go out of your way just for me, you can hold off until you show it to the boys and let Freddie sing it.”

“No, I- I want to do this. For you. If for no other reason than that, I want you to hear this exactly how I meant it.”

There was nothing you could say to counter that, so you figured it would be best to sit back and listen to that magic that he wanted to share with you. You really did win the lottery getting to work with this man.

~

“Give me one minute to get situated and I will start, okay?”

You simply nodded at him, staring intently at every single motion he made. You were mesmerized, and he had not strummed once. He was sitting cross-legged on his bean bag chair, bass placed gently in his lap while he started to tune it. Why was he even doing that, he knew he was always perfectly in tune without fault, because that’s just how good he is. You noticed that the way he plucks the strings for when he is tuning is different than when he is playing, and he does not lick his fingers as much. In fact, his right hand hardly moves. Tiny little plucks just loud enough that he can hear it to make small adjustments with his left hand. He had only been tuning for maybe ninety seconds and he had moved onto fixing his hand-written sheet music on the floor. You noticed the way he threw his hair back to make sure it would not get in the way of his bass or the music, kind of like a girl in a photoshoot who needed her hair to look like it was wind-swept. It made you smile a little bit because it was out of character for him. He slowly looked up at you after he realized that all his last-minute adjustments, which were really just motions to stall this from happening, were complete. If he looked like he was nervous before, he could not imagine what he looked like now.

“Um, okay. I think I’m ready. Remember you can’t laugh.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, John. Please play.”

“Yes ma’am. This is called “Misfire.”

~

Don't you misfire; fill me up With the desire to carry on Don't you know, honey, that love's a game It's always a hit or miss…

Right off the bat, you noticed that this song did something for him. The way he played was more intense, more focused, long fingers meticulously plucking a particular part of each string to ensure that he got the perfect sound out of it. His eyes were also already screwed shut, so the whole bit about getting the sheet music out was just him burning off nervous energy. He knew this song by heart, and that is because it came from his heart. He wrote this about someone. Someone he loved. You knew this because his eyes were closed so tightly and his voice was already a little raspy by the fourth line. He looked like he was imagining the prefect pleasure. Like he was at the climax of… well, you did not let your mind go there, lest there be problems for both of you. The words were one of desperation, words that show he is facing an internal battle of having these feelings about someone and knowing that one small slip could ruin everything. You had been feeling that recently too.

So take your aim Got to hold on tight Shoot me out of sight Don't you misfire; fill me up With the desire to carry on…

His eyes were still screwed tight with pleasure. If music brought him this much happiness, you could not even begin to imagine what was going on in his head when he wrote these words down. You could not help but think there were a couple pauses in between to take care of some business. As he sang the second line about holding on tight, you both unconsciously changed the way you were sitting. He simply lifted his legs up slightly, like a butterfly starting to flap its wings, while simultaneously pushing his bass down onto his core. He did not even seem to notice he did it, but you sure as hell did. You were sitting with your legs slightly bent, almost side-saddle but a little bit more splayed out onto the floor. You brought your legs closer to your chest, closing the space between them. You were starting to feel a warm sensation take over your entire body. You were not hot, really, there was just an inner warmth spreading from your head to your toes, making you almost the slightest bit dizzy. You had no idea what was going on, but you sure as hell were not going to tell him to stop playing. You had an intense desire for him to carry on…

Don't you misfire; fill me up With the desire to carry on Your gun is loaded And pointing my way…

He could repeat those first two lines over and over and you would never get bored of hearing them. But those were not the words he wanted you to focus on in that moment. When he reached the third and fourth lines, his eyes wrenched themselves open and you could no longer see his beautiful green-grey eyes, they were almost a complete black. Staring directly at you. Through you. You swallowed and seriously hoped that no noise came from your lips. It was like he knew exactly what feelings you were trying to sort out, because frankly, you had not even thought about romance in any way since you two left your flat before the dinner. Now that was all you were thinking about, and clearly that is what he was thinking about when he wrote this song. You realized something in that moment. Something that you had spent countless hours before falling asleep thinking about. It all fell together in the blink of an eye. Those feelings you were trying to sort out? Yeah, those were love.

There's only one bullet So don't delay Got to time it right Fire me through the night…

You were so frustrated though, because he clearly wrote this song with one idea in mind. One person, with him, in one particular situation. One that you had no idea who that other person was. Because no human being, no matter how deprived, could come up with these lyrics without seriously feeling something for a person. You were just trying to think of a girl that had floated around the office that could be the girl in question. Besides yourself, of course, because why would it be you? That’s never how it works. You watched his eyes flutter shut by the end of the lines, and you swore you saw his legs twitch. You had not realized that you were also crossing your legs in the position they were in to get more friction. Damn this boy.

Come on take a shot Fire me higher…

If that was an invitation, it sure was inviting. You wanted to be that bass. Desperately. It was pathetic. He was still pushing the damn thing onto his core, and you still do not think he even realizes it. Your eyes had literally not moved away from his bass, you do not even think you have blinked for the last twenty seconds. You could feel how flushed your face was, and you were so thankful that his eyes had resumed being screwed shut. Round two of that, huh? God, this boy loved to torture you. Your best friend. You are falling in love with your best friend. And you do not even know how long you get to work with them. This is why you usually only accept jobs with older men – there is nothing there for you to want. But when you got this offer, despite what your gut told you, you took it. This is exactly what you thought was going to happen, and tomorrow you would feel sorry for yourself. Right now, you were a little bit busy.

Don't you miss this time Please don't misfire Misfire.

With each remaining line of the song, his voice got softer. His voice also got raspier, like he was finishing the scene in his head. The first line was a challenge. The second line was a plead. The third line was hardly a word, it was mainly air. At this point your legs had gone slack in front of you, your lips were slightly parted in awe, and other feelings. You had to blink a couple times before you even felt like you could get words to form, you had to bring yourself back down to reality. John had let the bass loosely slip from his grip and lay slack across his lap, legs starting to splay out in the same way yours were. You both just took in each other’s presences for a few moments. You both had that same afterglow radiating from your features as if what was going on in John’s head when he wrote and sang the song had actually happened. It was a delicious and blissful few moments. It was mind-boggling that his all happened in under two minutes. Eventually you both realized that you had not said a word to each other for a minute and one of you would have to say something. Or do something. So, you did. You kneeled up to sit on your knees, immensely lessening the space between the two of you. Not close enough where you could hear his breathing, but close enough where you could see that there was a slight sheen of sweat on his forehead. You could not see underneath his bass, but you could not help but wonder what was really going on under there. Clearly the person in his thoughts did something to him. Something beautiful. You reached over and placed a hand on his knee, which he looked at with glazed over eyes. Slowly and almost nervously, he placed his own hand over yours and lightly squeezed. You could feel that he was trembling. So were you.

“If you don’t call yourself a songwriter after that, you are the biggest liar known to man, John Deacon. You are a phenomenal writer, every word and note you played just now was mesmerizing… just like you.”

He was just gazing up at you, since he was laying back in his seat and you were raised up on your knees. He was looking at you like you were the only thing in the world. Not just the only thing that mattered. The absolute only thing in the world. And to him, in that moment, you were. But he would never tell you that. He was not about to risk anything further with his feelings yet. This song was his way of telling you that he was in love with you, but he still did not want to scare you off. Just like before. He could only muster out two sentences. Breathy sentences.

“Thank you, Y/N, it means… a lot coming from you. It is getting late, though, I should drive you home.”

With that, he gathered up his stuff, and you grabbed your dress and shoes. John could see that you were about to go change, and he lightly grabbed your arm.

“You can wear those home, I don’t mind.” His signature smile taking over his blissful features. He looked amazing like this. You simply smiled in return.

You both made your way to his car, and John made it a point to get to the car first so he could open your door for you. Always the gentleman. You sat in the car, and he shut the door behind you. You let out a breath that you had not realized you were holding in. He did the same thing as he walked to his trunk. He gently laid his stuff down and made his way to the driver’s seat. The drive back to your flat was almost completely silent. The only sounds made were some heavy breaths, both because you were both trying to keep the sensations coursing through your bodies at bay. While it was a comfortable silence, as it always was between John eventually pulled up in front of your flat, and he said that he would walk you to your door. It was almost 11:30pm by the time you got up to your door. When you both were standing in front of your door, you turned around again to say one last thing before he left.

“John… I really meant what I said. Back at the studio. You are a fantastic songwriter, and I just know that the boys are going to love the song. I… I’m really proud of you.”

John simply shot you his bashful smile and grabbed and squeezed your hand as a thank you, the gesture becoming so normal for the two of you now. You unlocked your door, wished him a goodnight, squeezed his hand again, and went in your apartment. You both had turned to put your backs to the apartment door and had yet another one of your shared thought moments. Except this time, it escaped both of your lips.

“Jesus Christ, I’m desperate.”

[melonkooky]

first love [min yoongi]

not requested

word count: 2176

genre: angst, fluff, hints at soulmate!au

author’s note: i originally wrote this for a friend of mine but while rereading it, i found the concept interesting. i had to edit it because i originally wrote this two years ago. it’s heavily based on yoongi’s film from wings era so credit to them. i hope ya’ll enjoy this!!!!

please do not copy my work. but please like and reblog it. thank you!!!!

masterlist (in bio)

yoongi took slow, heavy steps as he paid hardly any attention to where he was going. he felt drained and heavy, and he didn’t really know what he was doing. it seemed as if he was just... there. he came across a small building while on his way. he approached it and stopped in front of the ruined building. it was an old music store. the walls were old, run-down stone. there were pink, fluorescent lights just above the glass of the entrance. it’s neon color reflected off of the puddles of water that blanketed the street. the store was empty, except for the piano, an old music stand, and some albums.

suddenly feeling angry and rebellious, yoongi ran to his right and picked up a heavy rock. he threw it with all his strength towards the window. the rock shattered through the glass, leaving a distinct hole in the door. he walked to the door, his hand carefully slipping through the hole and unlocked the door. he entered cautiously, the glass under his feet cracking as he walked. he took the time to admire the interior of the building. he finds, just over his head, a flashing red light. its rung was obnoxious to the ears. he walks towards the abandoned piano that sat in the center of the small building, almost as if the grand instrument had been waiting for yoongi. he takes a seat and gently placed his long, slender fingers onto the white and black keys. yoongi begins to play the instrument, the flow of the melody coming naturally to him. the music coursed through his body as he played. but after so long, he slumps slightly, like life was suddenly drained out of him. he feels the feelings of frustration and loss and pain. he misses the muse in his life. the girl who he fell in love. the girl that became his inspiration for all his self-composed music. ever since you had disappeared from his life, just months ago, yoongi hasn’t well. he looked like a young, angsty teenager who walked along the street. one’s first thought when they were to see him would be trouble.

as yoongi is sitting on the piano chair, he hears a strange sound... a song. his head whips around, his eyes looking to find the source of this strange song. he stands up and leaves the building. he steps outside, his head turning left, to right, to left again. but it seems that the more he looks, the melody increasingly grows quieter, eventually leaving him in eerie silence once again.

what he didn’t know was that that song was you. you hadn’t been following him, but you were doing the exact same thing he was doing. you were following a feeling, a force that seemed to be leading you somewhere. you wandered around mindlessly, just walking in one direction until you would find a decent destination. you felt just as lifeless and tired. you missed your ex-boyfriend. but there was a reason why you had to leave. a stupid reason perhaps. you were scared of entering the same life yoongi was living. the troubled, risky life. the life where you just go with the flow and just see what happened next, good or bad. yoongi loved that life, and you wanted to join him but you just couldn’t get over your fear.

you arrived at a strange building in the middle of nowhere. there was a pink light flashing overhead. you narrowed your eyes, gazing inside and seeing a piano. of course, your first thought upon getting a glimpse of the piano was him. you could almost imagine him sitting there, a passionate smile on his face as his hands danced over each key. unconsciously, you began to walk towards the building. as you got closer, you noticed the door. it was left ajar and there was a giant hole in the glass near the handle. you walked closer and investigated it, noticing a rock on the floor on the other side of the door. someone had been here... someone had broken in.

you carefully pushed the door open and stepped inside, careful of the broken glass crunching under your boots. you walked to the piano first and took in the beautiful parts of the piano. you noticed that the keys as well as a section of the chair didn’t have any layers of dust, unlike everything else around you. it was like someone had recently sat down and played it. could it have been yoongi? had he really been here just moments before you? was fate trying to bring you guys back together? a million thoughts were running through your head. things that were both confusing and had sense.

with fast-paced breaths, you ran back outside, and looked down the road. which way did he take? you chose to go right, as you felt a strange urge or feeling that told you to go that way. you began to run, your mind picturing yoongi, your heart longing for him. why did you ever want to leave him? how could you?

yoongi walked straight down the middle of the road. he looked around aimlessly, turning his body around as he did so. if he had come across a stranger along this road, that stranger would think that he was drunk. yoongi kept imagining his only muse coming out of the thick darkness of the cold night, smiling and beautiful, as if she never left. his heart ached painfully as he longed for her, for the bond he had with you was strong. his first love. you were his first love, just as he was your first love. why was he out here anyway? before he didn’t have a purpose. was there one now perhaps? was he looking for something? someone? yoongi suddenly stops, and turns around once more. he was hearing the faint music again. but it fades again. maybe it was all in his head.

he turned back around but suddenly there was a car horn in the distance. he turned around once more, his hand instinctively flying to his eyes to block out the sudden white lights that blurred his vision. he see that it’s a car and just before it could hit him, yoongi moves, just barely getting out of the way. he watched with a heavy and tired glare as it drove down the road. his head was beginning to spin.

you grew tired so you stopped running and began to slowly walk. your path began to become not so straight. you wavered around, gradually walking from one side of the road to the other. your legs felt numb and wobbly, but you couldn’t bring yourself to give up. not now. you stopped when you heard a very distant car horn, along with the screeching of tires. you looking around for any sign of a car but didn’t see any. you sighed, and kept walking.

minutes later, you heard the very same car horn again, only this time it was way, way louder. it was closer. you turned around just in time for the car to swerve out of your way, you stepping away in time. but as soon as it came is as soon as it left. the lights as well as its silhouette faded into the distance. you sighed heavily, your heart beating after the frightful experience,  and continued walking. but not even minutes later, you heard a loud crash, just behind you. instinctively, you turned around and ran. you ran back the way you came to see what had happened.

your legs burned more than ever but slowly you came to a stop. you were back at the music store, only it was different. the car from earlier had crashed into the front, causing the pink, fluorescent light to break in half, part of it flickering on and off, just barely holding on. there was fire on either side of the building. you could only stare in disbelief of what had happened. none of this was making sense.

yoongi felt dizzy and drained. he suddenly wanted to be at home, in his warm bed. he wanted to be back in familiar surroundings. he wanted to be pack in a world where everything made sense and wasn’t so confusing. he felt like he was living in a riddle or game. interrupting his own thoughts, yongi suddenly felt like as if the car from earlier had just collided with him. he suddenly felt sane again, yet he was in pain. he felt a new wave of energy, energy that was definitely not there before. but then he heard a distant crash. he abruptly turned around and with all his newfound energy, he sprinted. he forced his legs to run faster than he’s ever run before.

soon he was back at the music store. he walked closer to the car. the front had smashed through the wall of the music shop. his eyes followed the car. he gazed into the store. the piano he had played just some time ago was now ablaze. he could hear the wood crackling in the flames. and soon the entirety of the instrument went up in roaring flames. he watched in silence. then, in the background, he heard the song again. the one he heard many times before, the one that seemed to disappear every time he listened to it. but this time, it was louder. he stared at the flaming piano before slowly turning around for the source of the sound. this sound was different. instead of it being in the background, in the distance, it was inside his head, his ears. that when he noticed, in the shadows of the flames, there stood a figure. he stared at the figure, noticing it was feminine. now he was really questioning his sanity.

it was you. you had seen him run past you earlier as you ran in the shadows. he arrived at the scene before you. you had stepped out of the shadows, the fire illuminating your face and casting dramatic shadows. yoongi stared at you, not believing what he was seeing. no, he thought, she left me. how could...she possibly be here? this was all a dream.

you felt a warm tear slide down your pale face. you swallowed hard as you stared at yoongi. why wasn’t he moving? doesn’t he see it’s me? he takes a step towards you, hesitant. you maintained eye contact, trying to figure out what he was going to do next. run? talk? not do anything at all?

but then he was running to you, desperate as can visibly be seen. he didn’t believe it was you at first. seeing him come towards you made you run. and like a romantic drama, you ran into his arms. he held onto you tightly, like you were going to disappear once more and he’d never see you ever again. for the first time in his life, yoongi had cried.

he pulled you closer and you instinctively jumped up and wrapped your legs around his thin torso. the two shadowy silhouettes combined with the light of the fire, causing long shadows to cast against the wet street. you pulled away from his shoulder to look at him. you could only see half his face with the available light source but it was better than not seeing him at all.

“i’m sorry.” you said with a broken voice.

he set you down still holding onto you. “why did you leave? you promised.”

“i know i promised, but i… truth is i got scared.”

“why would you get scared?” yoongi stared intensely at you.

“of what was going to happen.”

yoongi bent down to match your height. he held onto your shoulders. “you know i’d never let anyone or anything hurt you. i know the life i grew up with seems intimidating but trust me, there’s a lot of fun and adventures that come with it. and believe me when i say this: i only want to spend my life with you. you're the only one i want to be with and i swear that i’ll support you if you don’t want to be with me forever.”

“but i do want to be with you.”

“then let’s begin our adventure. let’s go home and begin living our life again. it’s okay.”

you stared at him and smiled. you nodded and yoongi cupped your face. he pulled you closer to his body. you were practically leaning on his chest for support. and he planted his soft lips onto yours.

yoongi had found his muse just as his muse had found him. and because he had his muse that he was able to write and compose more music. he was able to continue with his life. though life wasn’t as risky as you had predicted it was going to be, it was still adventurous. you loved him, and you still continued not to know what was going to come next in your life.

[wickymicky]

DDALALA by XUM is another example of a song with a drop that sounds pretty cool and makes me feel like i could get into this song while it’s happening, but like... it doesn’t really go hard enough to warrant being the drop, you know? i would listen to a song that sounded like that drop start to finish, with a bigger more bombastic drop on top of that in the chorus, but when this instrumental is used as something that is built up to and then only sticks around for 20 or 30 seconds, i’m not sure that it’s worth it. it’s not like a drop or an anti-drop really, it doesn’t commit to the anti-drop thing hard enough to be satisfying either. i think it’s supposed to be a standard drop cause it has a lot of momentum and makes you wanna move, but like, i feel like the whole song should sound like that, not just the chorus... 

look at a song like Bon Bon Chocolat by Everglow for comparison. it has a drop that is really memorable and goes hard enough, but also, most importantly, it weaves the drop in throughout the rest of the song. it crops up everywhere. it’s there at the beginning of the song, and then even though it doesnt show up again until the chorus, it’s something satisfying since you were exposed to it at the beginning. but then in the second verse, right after having listened to the drop in the chorus, that same melody is there in the background underneath their vocals. it actually might be there in the first verse too, but a lot quieter, so much so that i cant tell if its there or if i’m just imagining it because it’s clearer in the second verse lol. it shows up again in the bridge too, while Mia is doing her “ooooohh ohhhhh woooooahhh”s lol. 

these songs are fairly different and maybe it’s weird to compare them, and i’m not really comparing the two of them specifically, i’m just using that as an example of how, in my opinion, drops that come out of nowhere in a song (where none of the rest of the sounds like the drop does and it kinda clashes) will always be less satisfying than ones that feel natural because the song was written around the drop. with some songs, it really feels like a producer had a drop they created and wanted to use, and an unrelated softer song that they hadnt figured out what they wanted to do with yet, and they smashed them together and just put this loud edm drop on an otherwise not-dance-music song lol. but when a song is written around the drop, and the sound palette is consistent throughout the song, and the melody and synths and stuff pop up at various other points in the song too, it’s really satisfying. it actually makes it feel like... idk... a song, lol. instead of just background music to highlight the aesthetic of the video and dancers. it actually makes the song sound like music you would want to listen to even without watching the music video, lmao. that should be a low bar but...

[themongrelfm]

Making your first song from start - Part 1

Today, I would like to write some information about the basics of music production. I saw several people asking about this, so here we go. First – I am going to explain everything on an .flp file, which you can download here. This file contains a song fully made in Flstudio, just extract it, open it up and check what I am talking about as you read this. So onto a couple basics, starting with a few shortcuts to make you more familiar with Flstudio.

F5 – This opens the playlist – the place where you put all your samples, melodies, automations, etc.

F6 – Channel Rack – you will find all your samples and synths here – everything that makes sound and you put into your project, you can find here to edit.

F7 – Piano roll – basically the place where you can make your melodies using the synths – plugins – that you add to your project.

F9 – Mixer – you assign stuff from Channel Rack here. The Mixer is used, you guessed it, for mixing, which is a thing we will go through some other day, as it is a bit more difficult. All you need to know now – It is wise to use Equalizer to get rid of certain frequencies for your instruments – the leads – you don’t really need anything except of the mids and higher – sometimes leaving the lows is alright too. You can also put other plugins that change how everything sounds here and it is the place where you do your mastering.

Well, those are the places you will do most of your work in. So now that we have this covered, onto the next step. The song itself. If you do not have the project open yet, now is the best time.

The song I have made is a simple Big Room House track (you can listen to it here), which I have divided into parts to help you understand the song structure. In this tutorial, we will talk about the horizontal structure of the song – from left to right, in next parts, we will talk about the vertical structure, mixing process, idea behind making melodies and some other steps which lead to making a whole track. I will be using the term segment in this tutorial – which is one part of the song, which has a started and finished melody in this project. For instance, the Verse 1 consists of 3 segments. This is only my own terminology for keeping this whole tutorial simple.

I have tried to use mostly native plugins to FL Studio, so you should be able to open the projects without problems. Only one that you might not have is SPAN, which is an analyzer for your sound, you can get it free on splice.com.

(Download the project file here)

The Intro

You can’t start your song blasting the full volume at the listener. The intro is the part which announces the song, you should keep it simple, adding a fade in into the beginning is a good idea. In this project, I have decided that some drums and simple instrument playing a simple melody would be nice. The length of an intro is subjective, it can be something short, or something longer, like in my project. Keep adding to the atmosphere as the intro develops and at the end, try to make a nice transition into the first verse of your song.

Verse 1

This is where your song starts. There is a Break in front of this part – breaks are the parts of your song where you change it up a bit, add some interesting element, and make it go quiet or change the instrument. They serve to break the repetition, create smooth transitions, and keep the attention of the listener.  My Verse 1 consists of 3 segments – each adds on something else, either slowly introduces a new instrument or changes the melody a little bit. Make your song evolve from something simple to something more complex and introduce the atmosphere and the main melody of the song.

Buildup

The buildup of the song is where you will want to start building a sort of suspense, trying to foreshadow that there is a storm coming up. You can use instruments to build up this suspense, risers, various drums, snare is used mostly. Buildups usually start slow and keep getting faster as they play. It is up to your imagination and fantasy how you design your own.

Drop

Well, this is where you want to go all out. Depending on your style, you can make the drop loud with a lot of reverb and strong bass, or make a sort of anti-drop, where everything goes a bit quieter and there is one instrument playing, think of Garrixes song animals, where you can hear loud instruments in the beginning, and simple clicking sounds in the drop. Since the drop is probably the most important part of the song, you will want to give it some attention. You can use your main melody from your verse, change it up a bit, add a different instrument, or several instruments, depends on your style and genre. The drops usually have 2 parts, one where you present the melody, second where you develop it a bit more by changing the sound, adding elements, etc.

After Drop

The noise has ended, it is time to go a bit quieter and prepare for the second verse, second buildup and the second drop. Keep it simple here, make a fluid transition and tell the listener that you are going to start the second verse.

The Rest of the Song

The first verse and the first drop are your first half of the song. It is the ground stone. So what do you do now, do you just copy it and play it one more time? No! Of course you can copy the structure of the first song, but add some new elements. Maybe change the melody of the second verse a bit (see how I changed verse two from verse one by making the melody different, keeping the same instruments and adding a beat instead of just claps), add a new instrument, and make it interesting. When approaching the second buildup… well, copy it. The buildups are usually not changed, but be sure to have a different approach to the second drop, since it is usually more developed than the first one. A rule of thumb, copy the first drop and keep it as it is, then add third, possibly fourth part of it and change those up. It can be a completely new melody, maybe inspired by the second verse, it can be change of rhythm, change of instruments, different sound. Be creative.

Additional tips

Making music is about repetition and evolution. You need to have some degree of repetition in your melody, since the listener expects that you will make everything in the same mood. You need new elements, since you want to keep your song interesting. When making a new song, you don’t have to have a linear attitude. When I was making this song, I started with just simple drum intro, made the first verse, then the drop. I listened to each part and added transitions between them, then gave it another listen and thought about how to make the song evolve. I have added some fade in’s, new instruments and simple elements like sound effects. Always ask yourself questions – what can I add or change to make the song more interesting? Are these two parts too similar and is it bad, or is it ok this way? How could I get the attention of the listener? There are no rules how to make music, so don’t listen to anyone telling you how your song should be structured. The project I have showed you is just one of my many approaches. You can make the intro one half shorter, you could make the verse one part shorter, it is completely up to you.

I hope this breakdown of structure of this song has gave you a bit of insight on how you can approach to creating a new song. Next time I will talk about the vertical structure, what elements there are in the song, how it evolves and why I chose to put in what I did.  

[muddyevil]

Gajevy Love Week 2017 - AU

Saturday afternoons were the only time in Gajeel's life that had any kind of structure. One pm he would sling his guitar over his back and start the walk down to the centre of town. At quarter to two, he would sit down next to the old fountain, and get set up for his time slot. Saturdays were the only day the council allowed buskers, and it had a waiting list as long as Gajeel's arm to get a slot. He listened to the saxophonist screech for fifteen minutes before the youngster put his instrument back into the case and Gajeel started to play.

He didn't busk for the money. He had a steady job at a good mechanics at the other side of town that not only consumed his time and stopped the boredom but also provided more than enough jewel to keep up with his modest lifestyle. The owner had found him breaking into the garage three years earlier, and it had been the most terrifying moment of Gajeel's life. He still remembered cowering behind an old Jeep, hoping the man wouldn't spot him. But as soon as the man did, he grinned down at Gajeel and offered him a job.

"You managed to open my garage door. That takes at least some talent. Tell you what, I won't turn you over to the police as long as you do some work for me."

It had started off with odd jobs, but slowly Gajeel had learned to fix cars. Metallicana, the owner, had always preferred modern cars but after a few months of tinkering around Gajeel decided that he was more of a fan of the old mechanical workhorses that didn't require any electricity. That was fine with Metallicana, and Gajeel took on any mechanical cars that came in. They were coming in with more and more frequency now, Metalicanna said that the word was getting out about Gajeel's talent with cars, and he made enough to move out of his tiny apartment and into a two bedroom house. So, no. He didn't busk for the money. He busked for the two hours of serenity it gave him in an otherwise chaotic life of oil and metal.

He had a couple of sets that he played, a mixture of just his guitar or him singing alongside it. He did some covers if he particularly liked the melody or the words, but mostly he sang his own songs. He had two hours to fill, and occasionally he would get passersby throwing coins into his guitar case, but mostly he was left undisturbed until the next busker came along. As his fingers started the song that he always finished up with, he closed his eyes to sing along. He hadn't written it, specifically, but he had adapted it for guitar. It was a song that he remembered from when he was a tiny child, and he always ended his sets with it as a strange ritual to finish his two hours of busking and continue with the rest of his life. Usually, he just finished the song, picked up whatever money he had earned before packing his guitar away before nodding at the ancient accordion player who took the slot after his. But today something was different. He heard applause after he strummed out his last chords, something that he rarely heard, and looked up to see someone new.

She was tiny, and to start with he thought she was a child. Bright blue hair poked out from a large woolly hat, and hazel eyes shone out over the top of a matching scarf. She was all wrapped up against the winter weather apart from her hands, which was probably something to do with the violin that was sat in its case in front of her. She couldn't be that young, her proportions were all wrong. She had to be 18 at least. She smiled, and Gajeel hurriedly grabbed the money out of his case - less than usual, probably due to the cold weather - before packing his guitar away. The girl moved seamlessly around him to stand by the fountain and raised her violin to play. Gajeel wasn't usually bothered with the politics of the buskers, so he didn't know why he spoke up. Maybe it was the way her eyes lit up when she smiled, or maybe it was just because she had been the only one ever to applaud him.

"Where's Adam?"

She paused for a second, chin rest pressed into her neck as she held out her left hand to shake his.

"I got told I could take this slot last week. I'm Levy, it's nice to meet you."

Gajeel took her hand in his, almost pulling it back once he felt how cold her fingers were. He smiled as he adjusted the guitar on his back before starting to move away so she could start to play.

"Gajeel. I'll see you next week."

He never usually listened to any of the other buskers, but as soon as she started to play he decided to sit down on one of the benches and watch. The way she played was almost magical, and it mesmerised him. He didn't even notice any of the time passing before she had finished her set and was replaced by a cellist. She packed her violin away, not even recognising he was there as she walked off and Gajeel decided to go and finally start working on the old Defender that had just come into the garage.

Levy couldn't concentrate on the stack of paperwork in front of her, her eyes flitting from the clock on the wall to the violin case propped up against the door. It was only a five minute walk from her shop to the fountain where she had got her slot to busk, and on quieter days you could hear some of the louder performers. She had applied for the busking license a year before, when her shop was going through a rough patch, but she could still use the extra money. She wasn't expecting much, but even a few pounds could help her out at this moment in time. The office door swung open, and the blonde head of her friend poked through it.

"I don't see any paperwork being done, Levy. What's the point of me being here to help you if you're just gonna stare at the clock all day? Inventory's done, by the way."

Lucy placed a cup of coffee on the desk in front of her, and Levy gladly grabbed at it. She had always drunk black coffee, never really being a fan of the multiple sugars and milk that Lucy ruined hers with. The liquid warmed her inside and out as she sat back from the table and looked at her friend.

"I know… I just can't concentrate. Are you sure you're okay manning the shop while I go and play?"

Lucy grinned, staying by the door so she could keep an eye on the shop while she chatted with the bluenette.

"What? You think I'd deprive this town of hearing your beautiful music? What do you think of me, Ms McGarden?"

Levy could feel herself blushing. She had never really thought she was that talented, but as soon as Lucy had heard her play she never stopped talking about it. Before Lucy the only people she played for were Jet and Droy, and even that was only after they bothered her about it. It was Droy that had convinced her to apply for a busking license, and it was a testament to just how broke she was that she had agreed to it. Her shop just about broke even most months, and any extra she could earn went a long way. She finished up her coffee, noticed it was fifteen minutes until her slot started and stood from her chair. Well, she wasn't getting any work done anyway, she may as well start to walk across to the square. Nerves ate at her stomach as she pulled her violin case over her shoulder and started to head out of the door.

"Have fun! You'll do perfectly!"

She waved at Lucy, not sure she could even speak right now. Hopefully, the cold air would do wonders for her anxiety.

She recognised the man that was playing, he was one of the performers that was often loud enough to be heard from the shop. His guitar was incredible, but his voice left much to be desired. She had never seen him before, but had often imagined what he looked like. Small, probably with a goatee and a velvet suit. That's what most of the people who busked in the town looked like anyway. She shoved her hands in her pockets as she rounded the corner, and stopped in her tracks. He was huge. One of the biggest men she had ever seen, eyes closed as his fingers danced across the strings of his acoustic guitar and his voice sang out words to a song in a language she had never heard. She thought she knew a lot of languages, but not this one. He was wearing a dirty black tank top, and jeans with more tears in them than fabric. It didn't look like he bought them like that, it looked like they had gone through a lot of work especially with the oil wiped down them. He obviously wasn't as bothered by the cold as he was. She set her violin down on a bench while she watched him, and got it out of the case as he sang the song. The melody was beautiful, singing straight to her heart, and it made her forget about the cold. She couldn't stop herself from clapping as soon as the song stopped, and the man looked up at her with surprise. She placed her violin to her neck, anxious to start playing.

"Where's Adam?"

Levy paused. His voice was deep and gravelly, a lot different to the voice he sang in. He looked weirdly angry and she swallowed her anxiety to reply.

"I got told I could take his spot last week." She didn't know what made her introduce herself, but she adjusted her violin so she could hold it with her cheek so she could hold out her hand. "I'm Levy, nice to meet you."

He took her hand in his, and she couldn't help but notice how it dwarfed her fingers. It was warm, obviously, he wasn't affected by the two hours he had spent playing out in the cold.

"Gajeel. I'll see you next week."

Levy blushed as he released her hand, but started to play. It was a mixture of modern and old songs, and she was happy to see a large crowd surrounding her by the time she finished, and a violin case full of coins that she would have to take back and count. Smiling, she packed her violin away and headed back to the shop.

She didn't know what compelled her to fill two flasks with coffee before she headed to the fountain the next Saturday, but she did. She didn't even know if he liked coffee. Oh well, all the more for her if he didn't. She was already sitting on a bench sipping out of the first flask when she heard the familiar tune of the old song fill her ears. His voice sang above it, rough and scratchy but still soothing. She tapped her fingers on her violin along to the rhythm before clapping again once he had finished. Standing from the bench she walked over, handing him the coffee as she did. He looked confused for a second, before taking a sip and smiling.

"This is good coffee."

She smiled nervously, starting to set up around him as he drank.

"I can't really afford to give you any money, that's the best I can do I'm afraid."

He grunted his appreciation, before moving out of the way so she could start her own set. Levy always closed her eyes when she played, and as so she didn't see him place the empty flask back at her feet and leave before she finished. On top of it was a guitar pick, making her giggle slightly. She hadn't even seen him use one.

The next six months fell into a kind of routine. Gajeel would pack up something that he had made into a Tupperware box and carry it with him to the fountain. He would play his set, and without fail there would be Levy clapping at the end of his final song before handing him a flask of coffee. It had switched to ice coffee now it was the summer, still just as strong and bitter as it had been in the winter. He would stay and listen to her play, before leaving the empty flask and whatever was in the Tupperware before she finished. She had become a lot more confident in her playing, and Gajeel noticed a regular crowd starting to gather about halfway through his set. They never paid him anything, but he didn't care. He had a brand new reason to busk now.

This particular Saturday she was sat on her particular bench earlier than usual, and he could see people get excited for her to start playing. He moved into his final song, and was about to start singing when he heard the familiar notes of Levy's violin starting to play. He closed his mouth tightly, never missing a beat as Levy's violin weaved a melody over the top of his chords. She made the tune haunting as it danced through his own notes. He almost didn't want the song to end, but as soon as her bow stilled he played three more chords, before stopping and standing up. He took her flask from her hand without speaking, packing up his guitar and walking away to his normal bench to listen to her play. He was there for about an hour before he rooted around in his pocket and pulled out the first piece of paper he could find. Scribbling his number on it, he placed it into the Tupperware box he had filled with Meringues and took it over to her. She didn't pause as he placed the box and the flask on the floor, and retreated back to his garage. He wouldn't be able to work, but there was a punching bag out the back. He'd work out some frustrations before figuring out what the fuck had just happened.

Warm up prompt for Gajevy Love Week 2017! I will be writing a story for each of the prompts (as if I don't have enough on my plate already *sigh*). Check out @fuckyeahgajevy for all the prompts and other awesome contributions!

I hate writing AUs. Hope this one worked out alright!

[rockrevoltmagazine]

INTERVIEW: Ian James Christopher of Widow's Wail

Originally founded in Las Vegas, Widow’s Wail is one of the newest acts to hit the Los Angeles scene with a ferocious force. Established in 2015, Widow’s Wail has been through its trials and triumphs and is now hitting the music industry of Southern California- having just performed an incredible live show on October 26th. Rock Revolt Magazine had the pleasure of interviewing the front man and mastermind behind the project, a Mr. Ian James Christopher about his new project. 

Rock Revolt: Let’s jump right in. Tell me about Widow’s Wail and the band’s sound. How would you describe your music? 

Ian James Christopher: I’d say there’s a lot of heavier influence on my music, not necessarily coming from heavier bands, but more so from the desire to, well, sound heavy if that makes sense. I think there’s a good mix of angst, anxiety, aggression, depression, and the music is somewhat of an embodiment of these emotions along with others. 

What image do you feel your music invokes?

For some songs, I write graphic, horror inspired lyrics, so I’d definitely look to inspire that same type of imagery. With other songs, I write from a personal perspective, so I’d like to inspire the listener to think of the passion behind the content. 

If we’re talking about appearance, I’d say that I definitely pride myself in not looking like a random guy off the street. I feel like a huge aspect of performance art is your appearance, and that you could put on some incredible mind blowing performance but if you look like someone who’d blend in with a crowd then part of the “wow factor” could be lost.

What are you greatest influences in your musical career?

I feel like my music is the blended up result of all the music I listen to, from emotionally driven bands like H.I.M., Type O Negative, and From Autumn to Ashes, to heavier driven music like Whitechapel, Bleeding Through, Chimaira, and Shai Hulud. I listen to a ton of more conventional music too like Lana Del Rey and Ace of Base, and alternative “goth music” artists (like Joy Division and Siouxsie Sioux) and I feel like all of these influence me in some way, from wanting to sound heavy, to wanting to have sticky hooks in my choruses, to wanting to invoke darker imagery, and so on. 

What has the writing and production process been like for you thus far?

I’ll get ideas at the most random times. I’ll be working out or hanging out with friends and some catchy line or cool riff or melody will randomly pop into my head; I’ll write ideas down and pull up word documents when working on a song in the studio to see if I can use some of those older ideas. 

I love that my producer and engineer understand my creative mind well and we’ll be able to meet up, sit down for a few hours, and crank out an awesome track with little to no trouble. I’ve dealt with corrupt/greedy producers in the past who provided me with a subpar final product musically, but I feel very thankful to work with who I do now.

You were established in 2015, in Las Vegas- what pushed you to start this project? 

I was living on and off in Vegas at the time but knew I was going back to college and unable to maintain regularly traveling from California to Vegas to keep up with poker and sports betting. I had previously quit playing instruments and writing music entirely around 2011 and I was missing music. 

I also felt like I didn’t really give it my all when I was younger as it relates to music. I was playing guitar and bass with friends and their bands but I never really put forth an effort in succeeding, or even recording, and I wanted to make sure I got involved with music before it was too late and I ended up not having a chance to do so. 

What about the metal genre attracts you? What is it about this particular niche of music that made you want to play it?

Community is a huge aspect for me. I’ve always felt like I was able to find somewhere I belong when I found music more related to an alternative lifestyle, specifically metal. People came to accept me as who I am and some even started to respect me, which was mind blowing as a youth, and helped to bolster my confidence so that I could stand up on my own both as an artist and as a person. I’m very fortunate and very thankful to have found the metal community.

I play metal both because it’s my favorite genre of music, but also because I feel like I need to leave a lasting artistic impression. To expand, I’d like to work hard in order to give back to the metal, alternative, gothic, etc. communities by being a part of something bigger than myself in music and art. 

Your record is anticipated to be released in 2020. What can you tell us about it? What information can you divulge?

I pride myself on the fact that a majority of my songs don’t necessarily sound the same. Some will be quieter and more ambient with an emphasis on the instruments and accompaniment, while others will be very loud/fast paced/aggressive and prioritize the blast beats and screams to the listener’s ear, with so many other songs in-between. My producer, engineer, and I do a lot of experimenting and we like to think outside the box, while still implementing these fresh ideas in songs and working toward a goal of combining them with sounds and techniques that have been proven to be well-received, whether it be instrumentally, vocally, or composition wise. 

Who are your live players? Can you tell me more about them? 

My friends Dany Khouli (formerly of Blackcast, a San Diego based metalcore act) and Triston Cheshire (who plays in several deathcore/death metal/slam bands such as Angel Splitter, Harvested Existence, False Idol, Disorder, and Avarice, to name a few) are joining me on bass and guitar, respectively. I’m very happy we’re able to work together, as we’re all very passionate about music and translate it to showing on stage or in our music. I’ve seen how great of musicians they are, and if we end up working together long-term, I’d be very interested in working together on the songwriting process. I also highly suggest anyone interested listen to their bands and affiliated musical acts! These guys are legit and I’m very lucky to call them friends and musical peers.

Another good friend of mine is working behind the scenes on learning bass, and if he’s still able to work together, Dany would probably move to a second guitarist position. We’d also love to find a live drummer with the technical ability to keep up, and a potential live keyboardist as well in future. Fingers crossed! 

What is your opinion on the music industry today? What is your ideology moving forward?

We’re living in a very interesting time. Thanks to the advent of the internet and social networking, we’re able to get our eyes and ears on so many bands and artists that would’ve most likely gone unnoticed 20, or even 5 years ago. However, because of this over saturation of music, some people aren’t impressed by anything anymore. 

Sometimes, musicians aren’t really getting paid at all, and some people might even be signing contracts or may be working with people who don’t look out for their best interests and are essentially signing away their creative and even individual (i.e. hairstyles, wardrobe) freedoms to interest groups or other entities, etc. that get to take over their lives. 

I love that I can go online and find tons of bands I’ve never heard of, but I also find that they’ve got no real following and aren’t able to establish any sort of momentum toward succeeding in getting their name out, sometimes because people will just click “next artist” if they aren’t impressed in the first 3 seconds by what they hear online and these great artists, while having their name essentially up on the world’s stage, may go unappreciated. 

What does success mean to you?

I really want my MUSIC to be well known, but I don’t really have an interest in personal fame aside from maybe it being a means to an end of getting my music and my message out there. I’d definitely consider myself to not be an “I need attention” kind of guy, even if my appearance may suggest otherwise. I like the idea of being able to go to the grocery store and load up on olives at the olive bar while a song I write plays over the radio and the guy next to me has no clue that’s me (laughs). 

Additionally, having some huge follower count online isn’t really a main goal of mine either. I feel like these numbers aren’t everything, and don’t want to get caught up focused on this over my product (e.g. the quality of the music). 

What are your future goals and plans for Widow’s Wail?

I’d like to get Widow’s Wail established musically and built up to something successful while always being able to do things on my own terms and be my own musician and person. I have a laundry list of bands with whom I’d love to be able to say I’ve had the honor of sharing stages together. After that, I’d like to work toward putting out what fans, followers, friends, and myself would believe to be my magnum opus release, and proceeding to do one last big tour before I can call it quits on my own terms. I want to spend the next few years working to reach an apex of what I consider success and quit while I’m ahead. I graduated from business school at SDSU (go Aztecs!) and I’d like to parlay any musical success of mine toward a career as a manager, agent, songwriter, or something similar; to venture further into the business side of music is definitely a long term goal of mine.

Before then? Touring and creating incredible memories with my closest friends, making music I want to make and talking about the things either in my life or in my imagination that I’d like to talk about. I’d like to give all of my friends and musical acquaintances an opportunity to see what I’m all about musically and aesthetically, and I’d like to give back to my community. 

I’d like to one day be able to sit and work to help out struggling young musicians get their voices heard, or even just help young people by being a positive influence and someone willing to lend a listening ear and a helping hand. If I can help one musician get established, or even just help one young person not end up going down a terrible path in life, I’ll feel like I was successful in that regard, though ideally I’d like to help as many people as I could.

I’ve always been very hands-on in various music scenes both in person and online. Sometimes I’ll drive hours to see bands play and be one of the only people there, but I’ll still make sure they know they’re supported and that someone genuinely enjoys their music, their band. Other times, I’ll be hard at work networking on facebook or other places online in order to get my friends in far away places’ bands noticed and help them build their names up as well, even if I can’t be there physically to help.

Any bands you’d ideally like to tour with?

I’d like to play shows or tour with all of my favorite bands, both local and big name. 

A dream tour of mine would be for me to serve as a bridge between the local scene and the bigger names, something like two big bands that I admire and two smaller acts that I call friends along with myself and Widow’s Wail. I’ve been very lucky and honored to meet the minds behind Bleeding Through, Eighteen Visions, and Carnifex and I’d like to establish myself to a level where I could be seriously considered by them/their representative(s) in order to be an act on one of their tours. Some of my other favorite active bands are Motionless in White, Crystal Lake, Shadow of Intent, Jinjer, The Amity Affliction, and Fit For an Autopsy.

CLICK HERE TO CONNECT WITH WIDOW’S WAIL

INTERVIEW: Ian James Christopher of Widow’s Wail was originally published on RockRevolt Mag

[hottytoddynews]

Tad Wilkes, aka Moon Pie Curtis

Oxford singer-songwriter Tad Wilkes is living proof that good things come to those who wait. Some just have to wait a good while longer than they ever imagined.

After more than 25 years of honing his craft and polishing his riffs in local bars and cafés, Wilkes has scored his first win in a national competition, beating out more than 600 fellow tunesmiths for first place in the prestigious bimonthly American Songwriter Lyric Contest, sponsored by American Songwriter magazine.

“I still don’t really believe it happened,” said Wilkes, a longtime journalist and the Oxford-based editor of Hotel F&B Magazine.

Wilkes’ winning entry, “Be Good To Your Woman,” will be featured in American Songwriter’s upcoming March-April issue. It will also be one of six finalists for the magazine’s grand-prize competition at the end of 2018.

“I’ve entered their contest a few times in the past, but I never placed or anything,” Wilkes said. “You’re going up against songwriters from all over the country and maybe internationally. I had actually submitted a different song to the previous issue and didn’t get anywhere. I’m not even sure why I decided to submit another one. It was only a $15 fee, and I figured I could spend that. But I had no hope that I’d win.”

Wilkes received a new PRS acoustic guitar and a Sennheiser microphone, but the real prize is the exposure—including a Q&A interview with photographs—in one of the music industry’s top magazines. Recent issues have spotlighted acclaimed artists like Willie Nelson (the January-February cover subject), Chris Hillman, Kenny Chesney and Nicky Mehta of The Wailin’ Jennys.

The magazine’s lyric contests are judged by some of the leading songwriters in the business, including Charlie Worsham, whose album, “Beginning of Things,” was named one of the “25 Best Country and Americana Albums of 2017” by Rolling Stone; Grammy and Oscar nominee Allison Moorer; Taylor Goldsmith, the frontman of indie rock band Dawes; and Austin-based Slaid Cleaves, hailed by Rolling Stone as “Americana’s most underappreciated songwriter.”

“These are all songwriters’ songwriters,” Wilkes notes.

Like a lot of those masters of the craft, Wilkes’ own musical style defies easy labels. It owes a little bit to the likes of Guy Clark, John Prine and Kris Kristofferson and a lot to no one you’ve ever heard before. Peppered with raunchy wit and piercing self-deprecation, his songs manage to be intensely personal and universal at the same time, filled with longing and laugh-out-loud one-liners. Even the saddest and sweetest of his songs will make you guffaw when you least expect it.

His debut CD, “Enter the Fool,” released in 2015 and co-produced by his good friend and former songwriting partner Joshua Cooker of the Nashville-based Captain Midnight Band, features both a comedic paean to sexy soccer moms in yoga pants (“Your Mama and Them”) and a snappy, bluesy-rock rumination on the bitter aftermath of a failed marriage (“It’s Called Divorce”).

“Enter the Fool” is available for purchase at Apple Music and on Spotify.

The cleverly metaphorical and immensely catchy “Be Kind, Rewind,” meanwhile, portrays a doomed romance in terms of Hollywood artifice:

Remember the opening credits We were both billed as stars The director yelled ‘action’ And we made out in my car But somewhere in the second act The storyline went south Some hack writer put some crappy dialogue In my mouth It all came out And I don’t even know what I was talking about

It’s a style that Wilkes has been fine-tuning since he was a teenager. “In high school, I made up what I would call novelty songs—silly, juvenile kind of stuff,” he recalled. “Songs with titles like ‘Booger on the Bronco’ and ‘Eatin’ Dog Food.’ My friend Ayers Spencer and I had a band called The Dingleberries—I sort of dragged him into it.”

At Ole Miss, Wilkes and Cooker went on to form the hard-partying band Cardinal Fluff and began taking songwriting more seriously. “Josh and I started writing songs together—even though they were still funny, they were real songs,” he said. “We were serious about being funny, sort of like Frank Zappa. I got my first real acoustic guitar at that time and then started listening to old country music and writing my own songs.”

Delving into the roots of what would later become known as the Americana genre, he immersed himself in the works of country- and folk-music storytellers like Prine, Clark, Steve Goodman, Jerry Jeff Walker and Willie Nelson. He also absorbed a lesson or two from another master raconteur, his own father, the late Dr. Thurston Wilkes. “He could tell a joke better than anybody,” Wilkes recalled. “From my dad I think I learned to add a little humor to complement the darkness and the deep thoughts—or what qualify as deep thoughts for me, anyway. Like George Carlin or Richard Pryor, he chose every word carefully, knew how to put each word in exactly the right place with the right emphasis. The first line of any song is the first impression, so I always believed in having a great first line. You add a little humor to see if they’re paying attention. That’s what my dad would do—he would throw some off-color joke into the conversation just to see if you were listening.”

Wilkes’ father, Dr. Thurston Wilkes, known for his hilarious off-color jokes and anecdotes, influenced his son’s songwriting style.

In Cardinal Fluff, Wilkes invented an off-color persona of his own, a bewigged, madcap character called Moon Pie Curtis, a name that he still performs under today (minus the wig and the wacky wordplay), while Cooker re-christened himself Captain Midnight. Cardinal Fluff lasted six or seven years, performing hilariously dirty-minded ditties with titles like “Position Impossible” and “Proud Totem.” But the bandmates parted ways when Cooker moved to New Orleans and then to Nashville, where the guitar-slinging Captain Midnight still fronts his own jam band and describes himself as “an internationally ignored superstar … (and) the world’s only purveyor of waterbed rock-and-roll.”

Wilkes, meanwhile, opted for a quieter, more domesticated life. “I thought, ‘Well, I want to have a family, so I should have a real job and keep living in Oxford.’ Songwriting was something I could still do here whenever I wanted. I figured it’s not like being a stand-up comic where you have to live in L.A. But, while that’s technically true, your chances of success in songwriting are much lower if you don’t live in Nashville and you’re not networking and co-writing and working with other musicians every day. I don’t think I really appreciated the magnitude of that at the time.”

Not that he has any regrets about opting for the joys of hometown domestication. He and his wife, Amy, have two adorable young daughters, and, in addition to his job with Hotel F&B, he founded Roxford University, a unique music school for children that offers both individual lessons in various instruments and a live-performance track, giving kids the experience of starting their own bands and putting on concerts twice a year.

In the meantime, Wilkes’ songwriting and musicianship have continued to evolve and mature. “Be Good to Your Woman,” the song that won the American Songwriter contest, was inspired by a piece of advice given to him years ago by his grandmother on her deathbed. “She had heart disease, and even breathing had become painful for her,” he said. “One day she told me, ‘Make sure to be good to your woman because they think real deep, and they hurt real easy.’ That just stuck in my head for years. But it’s hard for me to write a song like that—something that’s so heavy and deep. That was a tall order.”

The last thing Wilkes wanted to write was some maudlin, cliché-ridden tear-jerker, so he took his time with it—a lot of time. “I thought the first version was the best song I’d ever written,” he said. “That was about 10 years ago. Then, I realized the second verse was throwing the whole vibe off-course. It reflected my own distinctly male point of view, and that wasn’t what I wanted the song to be about. I knew I had to redo it. Looking back, it’s probably a good thing that I put so much thought into this one song, making all those revisions. I guess I always thought somebody would hear it eventually, and I wanted it to be perfect.”

“Be Good to Your Woman” will likely appear on Wilkes’ next CD, which he plans to cut with Cooker later this year. Although Wilkes, in his Moon Pie Curtis gigs, usually plays solo and unplugged, full studio instrumentation and Cooker’s sure hand on the production side bring glossy new life to his tunes while preserving the raw, throbbing ache that lies just underneath the wryly funny lyrics.

And winning the American Songwriter contest proved that Wilkes can still get his songs heard in Nashville without living there.

“It means that I haven’t been wasting my time doing some silly creative endeavor all these years,” he said. “I don’t feel discouraged about writing songs anymore. Now I know I’m not just doing it for myself.”

By Rick Hynum

The post Oxford’s Tad Wilkes Wins National Lyrics Contest with American Songwriter Magazine appeared first on HottyToddy.com.

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Tad Wilkes, aka Moon Pie Curtis

Oxford singer-songwriter Tad Wilkes is living proof that good things come to those who wait. Some just have to wait a good while longer than they ever imagined.

After more than 25 years of honing his craft and polishing his riffs in local bars and cafés, Wilkes has scored his first win in a national competition, beating out more than 600 fellow tunesmiths for first place in the prestigious bimonthly American Songwriter Lyric Contest, sponsored by American Songwriter magazine.

“I still don’t really believe it happened,” said Wilkes, a longtime journalist and the Oxford-based editor of Hotel F&B Magazine.

Wilkes’ winning entry, “Be Good To Your Woman,” will be featured in American Songwriter’s upcoming March-April issue. It will also be one of six finalists for the magazine’s grand-prize competition at the end of 2018.

“I’ve entered their contest a few times in the past, but I never placed or anything,” Wilkes said. “You’re going up against songwriters from all over the country and maybe internationally. I had actually submitted a different song to the previous issue and didn’t get anywhere. I’m not even sure why I decided to submit another one. It was only a $15 fee, and I figured I could spend that. But I had no hope that I’d win.”

Wilkes received a new PRS acoustic guitar and a Sennheiser microphone, but the real prize is the exposure—including a Q&A interview with photographs—in one of the music industry’s top magazines. Recent issues have spotlighted acclaimed artists like Willie Nelson (the January-February cover subject), Chris Hillman, Kenny Chesney and Nicky Mehta of The Wailin’ Jennys.

The magazine’s lyric contests are judged by some of the leading songwriters in the business, including Charlie Worsham, whose album, “Beginning of Things,” was named one of the “25 Best Country and Americana Albums of 2017” by Rolling Stone; Grammy and Oscar nominee Allison Moorer; Taylor Goldsmith, the frontman of indie rock band Dawes; and Austin-based Slaid Cleaves, hailed by Rolling Stone as “Americana’s most underappreciated songwriter.”

“These are all songwriters’ songwriters,” Wilkes notes.

Like a lot of those masters of the craft, Wilkes’ own musical style defies easy labels. It owes a little bit to the likes of Guy Clark, John Prine and Kris Kristofferson and a lot to no one you’ve ever heard before. Peppered with raunchy wit and piercing self-deprecation, his songs manage to be intensely personal and universal at the same time, filled with longing and laugh-out-loud one-liners. Even the saddest and sweetest of his songs will make you guffaw when you least expect it.

His debut CD, “Enter the Fool,” released in 2015 and co-produced by his good friend and former songwriting partner Joshua Cooker of the Nashville-based Captain Midnight Band, features both a comedic paean to sexy soccer moms in yoga pants (“Your Mama and Them”) and a snappy, bluesy-rock rumination on the bitter aftermath of a failed marriage (“It’s Called Divorce”).

The cleverly metaphorical and immensely catchy “Be Kind, Rewind,” meanwhile, portrays a doomed romance in terms of Hollywood artifice:

Remember the opening credits We were both billed as stars The director yelled ‘action’ And we made out in my car But somewhere in the second act The storyline went south Some hack writer put some crappy dialogue In my mouth It all came out And I don’t even know what I was talking about

It’s a style that Wilkes has been fine-tuning since he was a teenager. “In high school, I made up what I would call novelty songs—silly, juvenile kind of stuff,” he recalled. “Songs with titles like ‘Booger on the Bronco’ and ‘Eatin’ Dog Food.’ My friend Ayers Spencer and I had a band called The Dingleberries—I sort of dragged him into it.”

At Ole Miss, Wilkes and Cooker went on to form the hard-partying band Cardinal Fluff and began taking songwriting more seriously. “Josh and I started writing songs together—even though they were still funny, they were real songs,” he said. “We were serious about being funny, sort of like Frank Zappa. I got my first real acoustic guitar at that time and then started listening to old country music and writing my own songs.”

Delving into the roots of what would later become known as the Americana genre, he immersed himself in the works of country- and folk-music storytellers like Prine, Clark, Steve Goodman, Jerry Jeff Walker and Willie Nelson. He also absorbed a lesson or two from another master raconteur, his own father, the late Dr. Thurston Wilkes. “He could tell a joke better than anybody,” Wilkes recalled. “From my dad I think I learned to add a little humor to complement the darkness and the deep thoughts—or what qualify as deep thoughts for me, anyway. Like George Carlin or Richard Pryor, he chose every word carefully, knew how to put each word in exactly the right place with the right emphasis. The first line of any song is the first impression, so I always believed in having a great first line. You add a little humor to see if they’re paying attention. That’s what my dad would do—he would throw some off-color joke into the conversation just to see if you were listening.”

Wilkes’ father, Dr. Thurston Wilkes, known for his hilarious off-color jokes and anecdotes, influenced his son’s songwriting style.

In Cardinal Fluff, Wilkes invented an off-color persona of his own, a bewigged, madcap character called Moon Pie Curtis, a name that he still performs under today (minus the wig and the wacky wordplay), while Cooker re-christened himself Captain Midnight. Cardinal Fluff lasted six or seven years, performing hilariously dirty-minded ditties with titles like “Position Impossible” and “Proud Totem.” But the bandmates parted ways when Cooker moved to New Orleans and then to Nashville, where the guitar-slinging Captain Midnight still fronts his own jam band and describes himself as “an internationally ignored superstar … (and) the world’s only purveyor of waterbed rock-and-roll.”

Wilkes, meanwhile, opted for a quieter, more domesticated life. “I thought, ‘Well, I want to have a family, so I should have a real job and keep living in Oxford.’ Songwriting was something I could still do here whenever I wanted. I figured it’s not like being a stand-up comic where you have to live in L.A. But, while that’s technically true, your chances of success in songwriting are much lower if you don’t live in Nashville and you’re not networking and co-writing and working with other musicians every day. I don’t think I really appreciated the magnitude of that at the time.”

Not that he has any regrets about opting for the joys of hometown domestication. He and his wife, Amy, have two adorable young daughters, and, in addition to his job with Hotel F&B, he founded Roxford University, a unique music school for children that offers both individual lessons in various instruments and a live-performance track, giving kids the experience of starting their own bands and putting on concerts twice a year.

In the meantime, Wilkes’ songwriting and musicianship have continued to evolve and mature. “Be Good to Your Woman,” the song that won the American Songwriter contest, was inspired by a piece of advice given to him years ago by his grandmother on her deathbed. “She had heart disease, and even breathing had become painful for her,” he said. “One day she told me, ‘Make sure to be good to your woman because they think real deep, and they hurt real easy.’ That just stuck in my head for years. But it’s hard for me to write a song like that—something that’s so heavy and deep. That was a tall order.”

The last thing Wilkes wanted to write was some maudlin, cliché-ridden tear-jerker, so he took his time with it—a lot of time. “I thought the first version was the best song I’d ever written,” he said. “That was about 10 years ago. Then, I realized the second verse was throwing the whole vibe off-course. It reflected my own distinctly male point of view, and that wasn’t what I wanted the song to be about. I knew I had to redo it. Looking back, it’s probably a good thing that I put so much thought into this one song, making all those revisions. I guess I always thought somebody would hear it eventually, and I wanted it to be perfect.”

“Be Good to Your Woman” will likely appear on Wilkes’ next CD, which he plans to cut with Cooker later this year. Although Wilkes, in his Moon Pie Curtis gigs, usually plays solo and unplugged, full studio instrumentation and Cooker’s sure hand on the production side bring glossy new life to his tunes while preserving the raw, throbbing ache that lies just underneath the wryly funny lyrics.

And winning the American Songwriter contest proved that Wilkes can still get his songs heard in Nashville without living there.

“It means that I haven’t been wasting my time doing some silly creative endeavor all these years,” he said. “I don’t feel discouraged about writing songs anymore. Now I know I’m not just doing it for myself.”

By Rick Hynum

The post Oxford’s Tad Wilkes Wins National Lyrics Contest with American Songwriter Magazine appeared first on HottyToddy.com.