#is he getting a string sextet? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

imnayeonjaem · 1 year ago

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1978. | the one who struck a chord with me

"how about i became your chauffeur?"

minors dni. ageless blogs. blank blogs dni. you'll be blocked. <- previous | 1978 masterlist | next -> character(s): kim hongjoong, choi jongho (ft. park seonghwa, jeong yunho, kang yeosang, choi san, song mingi, jung wooyoung) tags: explicit language, alcohol, drunk behaviour, jh's father is a famous musician who owns a guitar shop, banter, hj is so completely overwhelmed by everything

word count: 6.0k summary: the time hongjoong met the son of one of his biggest influences, and how said man became his chauffeur.. a/n: this one's for you anne. 🫶

my chauffeur and my chaperone the quiet talks beyond the tinted windows six strings, a hand you dealt me struck a chord that’s never left me you are the driver and the driving force behind why everything started sounding better everything started sounding better

× November, 1974 ×

A whole year. A whole year since everything had started changing. A whole year since Hongjoong’s life turned upside down for good.

Many had considered the release of his first album to mark the beginning of his career, but Hongjoong contested this, saying that the true start of his career happened many months before.

And now, it was officially his first year anniversary as Hongjoong, the singer, a musician who had finally put himself out there and shared his music with everyone.

Not only that, but his 22nd birthday was just around the corner.

During one of his many meet-ups with his friends - Wooyoung being the latest addition to their small group - they passed chatter back and forth across the table until the subject of Hongjoong’s birthday arose.

“Hey,” remarked Wooyoung, “it’s your birthday next week, ain’t it, Joong-ah?”

“Oh, yes!” followed Yeosang, taking a sip of his americano. “We should do something to celebrate.”

Hongjoong waved off any attempt to plan something elaborate. “I don’t want anything major.” Wooyoung, San and Yeosang all tutted in light-hearted disappointment. “So much has happened this year already, I just want to keep this birthday low-key.”

Seonghwa hummed. “Fair enough. How about we do drinks round our place?” he offered, gesturing to himself and Hongjoong.

“I’m down for that,” answered Mingi.

“Yeah, so am I,” added Yunho. The others began humming in agreement.

Hongjoong smiled despite himself. He would never shun his friends at any rate.

“Okay, okay,” he acquiesced, “we’ll do drinks. But it’s gonna be a low-key event, only us there, okay?” The sextet nodded in unison, to which Hongjoong’s smile grew. “Awesome.”

Then, at that precise moment, something flickered in the back of Yunho’s mind. He blinked, his brows twitching as though he’d been poked back to life.

Across the table, Seonghwa caught his shift in expression and subtly tried to get his attention. They exchanged eyes, and somehow, Yunho managed to convey that he had a really good idea, and that they needed to distract Hongjoong in order to talk about it.

Seonghwa bit his tongue pensively. He looked at Hongjoong in his peripheral vision and pondered what he could do to keep Hongjoong busy for ten minutes without drawing suspicion.

Then, “Um, Hongjoong?”

“Yeah?”

“Here.” Seonghwa brought out his wallet and shuffled some loose change across the table. “Early birthday money. Buy your favourite snack from the convenience store over the road.”

Yunho could have laughed. He drew his lips into a thin line and kept his composure as best as he could.

Hongjoong flexed a brow at it, then stared at Seonghwa. “Uh, you sure?” His tone imparted his scepticism.

Sweat formed along Seonghwa’s hairline. “Sure!” He tried with all his might to sound undeterred and like he had been thinking about this since they sat down in the coffee shop an hour ago. Hongjoong was hard to convince at the best of times, but Seonghwa stood firm, pushing the coins closer to the edge of the table where Hongjoong was sitting. “Go wild.”

Hongjoong’s brow creased even further. This was so strange, even by Seonghwa’s standards. “Why do I get the feeling you’re just trying to get rid of me for some reason?” he laughed.

Yunho’s eyes widened. He hid behind his coffee cup, while the other four remained confused as to what was going on.

Despite all evidence to the contrary, Seonghwa put on a brave face and lied between his teeth. “No!” he said incredulously, with all the demeanour of a middle-aged wine aunt. “You gotta treat yourself, especially with your birthday around the corner!”

Unconvinced, but nonetheless touched, Hongjoong sighed and scooped the change into the bowl of his palm. “Thank you.” He stood up and left the table, then turned back and said, “You’re all okay with me going for a few minutes, right?”

“Yes, yes, go ahead,” said Seonghwa, spearheading this campaign in the face of four men who had no clue as to what he was playing at. Hongjoong nodded, then left for the convenience store across the street.

Once he was out of earshot, San leaned across the table. “Okay, I know for a fact you just did that to get rid of him, but why?”

“Ask Yunho,” replied Seonghwa, taking a sip of his coffee.

Yunho choked on his spit then put his cup down. “Um-” All eyes turned to him. “Yeah- uh.. It’s just that- I have an idea.”

“Oh?” said Yeosang. “What is it?”

Yunho wrung his hands then rested them on the table. “I know what we should get him for his birthday, and if we all chip in, I think we could just about afford it with any luck.”

Now Seonghwa was curious. “Go on..”

“For as long as Hongjoong’s wanted to be a musician and a guitarist, he’s had his eye on one specific make of guitar in particular: the Fender Stratocaster.”

Yeosang’s ears pricked up at that. “Oh?”

“Do you know the brand?” wondered Yunho, his heart picking up speed.

“Know it? My dad’s friends with the guy who owns the store that sells them.”

Everyone’s jaw dropped, including Yunho, whose heart catapulted out of his chest. “No way, that’s literally the shop Hongjoong’s been dreaming of visiting for years!”

Yeosang’s eyes widened. “Hongjoong’s never mentioned it before..”

“That’s because as much as he’s a dreamer, he’s also someone who doesn’t like to step on anyone’s toes..” He mumbled the next statement. “..If you hadn’t already noticed.” He kept it light-hearted and chuckled under his breath.

Yeosang thought about it for some time. He tried to mentally piece together any clues Hongjoong may have given him over the past year that would show he really wanted to get his hands on one of these guitars.

The Fender Stratocaster was one of the most sought after guitars, beautifully crafted and of the highest quality. Many famous musicians owned one, and the brand was a frontrunner in the make and sale of the instrument, appearing in every rock music magazine of the last decade or so.

Seonghwa recalled the stack of magazines Hongjoong kept on his desk.

Yeosang remembered how he would find Hongjoong reading those same magazines in the recording studio after a session was done. The two exchanged a glance from across the way.

It made a lot of sense; it was no small surprise that a Fender Stratocaster was Hongjoong’s dream guitar.

“So-” Wooyoung began, “you reckon we should all pitch in and try and get him one?”

Yunho nodded. It was a pipe dream at best, but if he could make it happen for his lifelong friend, he’d go to any lengths.

Everyone quickly agreed to the plan, excited to see Hongjoong’s reaction to owning his dream instrument.

Yunho locked eyes with Yeosang.

Yeosang smirked.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

By the time Hongjoong came back, their behaviour was much the same as when he’d left. No suspicions whatsoever.

Yunho looked at his friend with a glint in his eye. For you, rockstar.

×-×

Hongjoong had told his group of friends that he didn’t want to be surprised, but when Yeosang called him and practically begged to be indulged, Hongjoong found that he couldn’t say no.

Questions flooded his mind as he sat in the passenger’s seat of Yeosang’s car; he was ready to ask each and every one, but before he could open his mouth, Yeosang placed a tie in the palm of his hands.

Hongjoong stared at it for a while before looking at Yeosang. “What’s this for?”

“Blindfold,” said Yeosang with a smile, “so you don’t know where we’ve ended up before we get there.”

“Oh my God,” exclaimed Hongjoong, trying his best not to laugh.

“I know! I know! But like I said, this is a good surprise! You’ll really like it, I promise you.”

Hongjoong took one last look at Yeosang, then the tie, and then sighed before putting it around his head and tying a knot in the back. Yeosang started the car, and the engine rumbled through Hongjoong’s entire being, senses on high alert now that his eyes were covered.

Their journey began, and credit to Yeosang, the tie worked.

Hongjoong had absolutely no idea where he was going.

×-×

By the time the pair reached the surprise location, Hongjoong was well and truly disoriented.

Yeosang was practically giddy with excitement, and when he shut the car off and announced with a fervent trill that they had indeed made it, Hongjoong went to remove the makeshift blindfold.. when Yeosang stopped him.

“Uh-uh! Nope, not until you’re standing directly in front of the door.”

“Wait-” Hongjoong stuttered. “So- I can’t even look yet?” he said, grumpily.

“Nah-ah,” replied Yeosang, shaking his head. “Besides, I’ve told the uh- person that we’re here to see that it’s a surprise for you, so he’ll be expecting this." After a short pause, "Now, give me one sec, I’ll help you out the car.”

Yeosang clambered out then met Hongjoong on the passenger’s side. He took Hongjoong’s hand, then carefully guided him out of the car before shutting the door. Hongjoong almost tripped over his own feet, but Yeosang was there every second, making sure he got to the pavement safely.

The surprise location was just a few metres down the road. Passersby looked on, puzzled as to why two men were staggering down the street, one wearing a tie over his eyes, but it didn’t enchant them for very long.

Yeosang kept a firm hand on Hongjoong’s back, and another loosely around his wrist, as they both made their way to their destination. Hongjoong was desperate to get this blindfold off of his eyes and see exactly where he was headed, but if he was going to indulge Yeosang, he wasn’t going to spoil the surprise for himself, as much as it frustrated him ever so slightly.

Eventually, after what felt like weeks, Yeosang came to a stop, and in turn, so did Hongjoong.

“And here we are!”

Hongjoong could still see nothing but darkness, and no moves had been made to take the blindfold off.

That was until Yeosang untied the knot at the back and let the tie fall from his face.

Yeosang prompted, “Open your eyes.”

And so, Hongjoong did.

He blinked away the cobwebs as the world came back into focus. It was relatively overcast that day so there was no major sunlight to contend with, but it was still bright, and Hongjoong’s eyes had to take a second to adjust.

Once the world was clear, Hongjoong’s jaw dropped to the ground.

Choi’s Six-String Guitar Shop

“Holy fuck..” blurted Hongjoong. “No- Wait-” He looked at Yeosang, who had the biggest grin on his face, teeming with pride, and struggled to form a coherent thought. “You’re actually- No, no fucking way is this the surprise..”

Hongjoong could hardly contain himself. Choi’s Six-String Guitar Shop was a place he’d only read about in magazines. It was so out of reach that he never imagined for one second he’d ever find himself standing outside, much less that he would actually be going inside.

Yeosang laughed despite himself and gave his friend a little nudge, “A little birdie told me that this is a shop you’ve always wanted to visit." He neglected to mention that he knew how much Hongjoong wanted a Fender Stratocaster.

All of Hongjoong’s senses were on fire. He shifted from foot to foot, then realised that he was staring incomprehensibly long at the selection of guitars in the shop window.

They were all gorgeous. Someone had taken the time to delicately sit six of them in a line, each in their own stand with an accompanying placard that boasted the year it was made, the materials, and the story behind what brought that specific guitar into creation.

Hongjoong could stare at them all day; this was truly the holy grail.

“This is amazing..” he sighed, wistfully. He took a careful step towards the window, as though any sudden movements would disrupt the quiet stasis of the craftsmanship behind the Stratocaster. He hovered a hand just before the glass, not wanting to touch it, and the instruments blurred in and out of focus as though there were a hallucination.

Yeosang didn’t want to interrupt him, but he cleared his throat nonetheless, only to gently snap Hongjoong out of his reverie and remind him that they were there to go inside and have a prospective look around.

Hongjoong glanced back at him. “Huh?”

Yeosang nodded his head towards the door. “You ready?”

Hongjoong softly lowered his hand. No, not even remotely ready. “Wait, are you serious?”

Yeosang smiled, endeared by Hongjoong’s awestruck demeanour. “Yes.. The owner’s waiting inside to greet you.” He reached for the door handle and pushed it open, leaving it ajar for Hongjoong to step inside and firmly make his appearance.

Hongjoong took a deep breath in. This was outside of any comfort zone he could possibly conceptualise, but he was here, and this was real, and Hongjoong just needed to shake off his nerves and go inside.

“Okay..” said Hongjoong, more to himself than Yeosang. “Okay..” He nodded to himself, then finally entered Choi’s Six-String Guitar Shop.

The minute Yeosang closed the door behind him, Hongjoong found himself in an emporium of wonder.

It all felt like a drawing. Everything was masterfully laid out and expertly presented. There was not a speck of dust in sight, and the attention to detail was insane, even down to the way the lights were placed around the shop. Each guitar was treated like a spectacle in its own right, and with a level of respect insurmountable yet expected of such an establishment.

Hongjoong’s mouth was agape. Everywhere he turned there was something new to admire.

An unfamiliar voice eventually broke him out of his trance, and both Hongjoong and Yeosang looked over to see a young man enter the main part of the shop. He was wearing a black suit with a white shirt and a navy tie underneath, definitely bespoke and 100% tailored to him.

“Good afternoon, may I help you both?”

Hongjoong looked to Yeosang for guidance. Yeosang turned back to the man and closed the distance between them. “Hello, my name is Kang Yeosang. I called the owner of this shop, Mr. Choi, earlier today?”

The young man’s eyes flickered in recognition. “Oh! Yes, my father had passed on a note about someone by that name visiting today.”

“Ah!” Yeosang clicked his fingers. “You’re his son!”

“That’s right. Choi Jongho, nice to meet you.” He shook Yeosang’s hand, then turned to Hongjoong; his face continued to light up with a reverent smile. “And you must be newly established musician, Kim Hongjoong.” He held out his hand. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Hongjoong was at a loss for words. “A-And I you!” They shook hands.

“I welcome you to my father’s shop, Choi’s Six-String; apologies that you couldn’t meet my father, he’s been unexpectedly called out of town on business.”

Hongjoong shook his head, “That’s absolutely fine, don’t apologise. It’s just as much of an honour to meet you!”

Jongho chuckled, “Well, thank you. I take it you’ve heard much about my father then.”

Hongjoong was starry-eyed. He could go on for days about how influential Jongho’s father was. He spoke at length for a full five minutes, revealing that the first vinyl he had ever bought with his own money was Choi’s first album, that being his favourite.

“Wow..” said Jongho, stunned at just how enthusiastic Hongjoong was. “I’ll be sure to pass that on to my father, I’m sure he’ll greatly appreciate your support.”

Hongjoong nodded his head, then turned this way and that, still enamoured with the collection of Stratocasters that surrounded him. “I read that your father opened this shop nearly twenty years ago. Guitars had always been his biggest passion. He started selling Fender Stratocasters in the 60s when they started picking up steam.”

Jongho’s lips curled upwards. “That’s right.” He entered the main area of the shop and stood just a short distance from Hongjoong. “He had loved the guitar since it was first created in the 50s. It was a big dream of his to bring the make into his own shop, and when the inventor caught wind of his music and learned that he had a guitar shop of his own, he agreed to send over a few guitars to be sold. That was the first time my father had ever held one in his own hands.” Jongho lifted an early make, beige with the trademark curve - Hongjoong reckoned it was a ‘58 - and put the strap on his shoulder. He walked over to a nearby amp and lifted one of the cables, then plugged it into the guitar before turning the dial. Jongho then took a pick out of his breast pocket and arranged his fingers around the neck of the instrument. Hongjoong immediately recognised the chord: G.

Hongjoong couldn’t take a second to breathe when he realised Jongho was about to play the guitar. No live concert could ever amount to this experience.

Jongho strummed the guitar once, and the sound that reverberated around the shop was one for the ages.

“Fuck yeah!” Hongjoong fiercely exclaimed. Yeosang flinched a little at the sound; he had been working alongside audio engineers for quite a while now and the sound still caught him off guard.

Jongho smirked to himself, then switched to chord B and strummed again.

Hongjoong pinched himself, but he didn’t wake up.

This was surreal.

Hongjoong adored the sound. Any chance he got he listened to recordings of his favourite artists playing the guitar and it never got boring.

He was both in his element and yet all of this felt so out of his league.

Satisfied, Jongho turned off the amp, unplugged the guitar and placed it back in its stand. Despite only playing two chords, Hongjoong still gave him a small round of applause, to which Jongho gave a little bow.

“Stratocaster ‘58. Absolute classic,” remarked Jongho.

I was right, thought Hongjoong. “One of the finest,” he agreed.

Turning back to the pair, Jongho said, “So, I assume you’re both here to scope out a new instrument for yourself?” He gestured towards the rockstar in question, who pointed at himself before scoffing incredulously. “Oh, well, Yeosang informed me-” Yeosang cleared his throat aggressively and stood between the two men. Jongho immediately got the idea and zipped his mouth shut.

Hongjoong was a little puzzled, but he was too enraptured to pay it much attention. “Honestly? I’m just so beyond happy to be here. To get a chance to even walk around this legendary shop and look at all of these iconic guitars is a dream come true for me. Thank you, Yeosang.”

Yeosang smiled innocently, then turned back to Jongho and fixed him a secretive look. Jongho remembered then exactly what they had discussed over the phone and it all fell into place.

Please make a note of the guitar Hongjoong has his eye on and reserve it for us. The six of us will be sure to pay for it in full.

Yeosang had even agreed to take on a good chunk of the cut, owing to his job.

Jongho watched curiously as Hongjoong circled the shop. Hongjoong absorbed every sight he possibly could, making use of his surely limited time in this gallery.

He turned a corner, utterly captivated by every new thing that he saw, then lifted his head to the opposite wall.

There, in the centre of every guitar that surrounded it, was the one Stratocaster Hongjoong never believed he’d see in the flesh.

A 1961 Red Fender Stratocaster.

Among the two-tone, the beige, the black, the white and the gold, the red Stratocaster had always stood out to Hongjoong the most.

Nothing could compare in his mind. It was such a singularity to him that the second he saw it he was overwhelmed by the urge to try it out for himself.

He was so fixated on this one specific type that he didn’t even notice Yeosang and Jongho exchange a knowing glance between them.

That’s the one.

Jongho cleared his throat. “Um, Mr. Hongjoong? I see you’ve got your eye on the ‘61.”

Hongjoong blinked then turned back to Jongho. “Oh- Uh- Um..” He scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah.. It’s always been my favourite. I just love the red so much, it’s such a striking colour.”

“Well..” Jongho paused, knowing he was likely about to turn this rockstar’s world upside down. “Would you like to demo it?”

The floor split beneath Hongjoong’s feet. “Wait- for real?” His voice was several octaves higher than usual; it made Yeosang chuckle to himself. “As in.. me? Actually trying it out? I can do that?”

Jongho gleamed his polite, business-like smile and walked over to where the ‘61 had been affixed to the wall. “Absolutely.” With utmost care, he untied all of the knots and took the ‘61 off of the wall before holding it out to Hongjoong. “There we go.”

Hongjoong’s fingers went numb. They were itching to take it and yet his entire body froze. He didn’t want to damage the guitar, but he oh, so desired to play it.

His uncertainty grew, and all the self-assuredness he ever had about playing this instrument flew out of the window. “Are- Are you sure?”

Jongho nodded, his smile becoming more amicable. The warmth spread throughout his face, reaching his eyes and making a certain glint appear in his irises.

Hongjoong bit the inside of his lip, then steadily took the guitar out of Jongho’s hand and just.. held it for a few seconds. It was as though someone had handed him a newborn puppy or kitten that Hongjoong had to handle with tremendous consideration.

Gradually, he put the strap on his shoulder and let the weight of it fall just above his abdomen. The look and feel of it was incredible; Hongjoong took a second to just admire the way it sat across his body, letting his fingers trace the signature curve that made the Stratocaster so unique.

He glanced up to see Jongho holding out his hand. In the palm, rested his pick.

Hongjoong inhaled. This was genuinely happening.

He took the pick with all the humility of someone being given a prized artefact, then watched as Jongho plugged the ‘61 into a nearby amp.

With his fingers on the chord of C, Hongjoong strummed.

Electric. Resonant. Life-altering.

The strings vibrated against Hongjoong’s fingers. His soul was sky-high, his heart was beating a thousand times per second, and his eardrums were on absolute fire.

The sound seemed to reverberate around his entire body, throttling a type of newfound energy Hongjoong had never experienced before in his life.

It was everything he could’ve wanted and more.

Pulling himself away was going to be difficult, but unbeknownst to him, Yeosang had already signed the paperwork.

Too engrossed to see Yeosang smile, Hongjoong stared down at the ‘61 and muttered, “You’re a fucking gem.”

Jongho tucked the folded piece of paper in his suit pocket and shook Yeosang’s hand.

“Leave it to me,” he said with a smile.

you didn’t have to go the extra mile i’ve felt indebted to you all the while you went behind the wheel and took everything in your stride no need to fret, i know you’re along for the ride

“Happy birthday!”

As soon as Hongjoong entered the living room, he was startled by the presence of all six of his friends, wearing party hats and blowing party horns. He had only left the house for fifteen minutes to get a crate of beer at the local grocery store at Seonghwa’s insistence, and it was only then that he realised why Seonghwa had shooed him out of the house so urgently.

He grinned. His heart was so light and full of love and warmth. He couldn’t be mad at his friends at all.

Seonghwa mouthed an apology at him from afar and Hongjoong shrugged it off with a smirk on his face.

It wasn’t long before they all surrounded him, giving him quick hugs and wishing him a happy birthday before they all grabbed a beer and made a toast to this special occasion. Seonghwa had moved the coffee table to make enough space in the living room for them all to sit in a circle and play drinking games, using said coffee table as a place for all of the food.

They ate, drank, laughed and danced together for a long time. It could have been hours, but who was counting?

Some time into the afternoon, there was a knock at the front door.

“I’ll get it!” called Mingi, him being nearest to the door. He opened it rather drunkenly to find a young, suited man standing before him with a guitar case on his shoulder. “Oh- guys! I think Choi Jongho is here!”

That statement alone almost sobered Hongjoong up completely. What’s he doing here?

Not that he wouldn’t be pleased to see Jongho; he was incredibly kind and- wait, how did he know their address? How did Mingi know who he was? Jongho hadn’t been in the public eye much.

Hongjoong was dazed and confused. The alcohol seemed to be running through the folds of his brain like liquid down a drainpipe.

Yeosang perked up. “Oh!” He stumbled towards the front door and greeted Jongho. “Apologies, we’re a little bit-” He belched. Jongho suppressed a laugh as best as he could. “Drunk.”

“That’s totally fine,” chuckled Jongho. “May I come in?”

Seonghwa then appeared, absolutely delighted. “Of course! Of course! Come in, come in..”

Jongho stepped into the house with a thank you then took off his shoes by the door. Seonghwa closed the door and sauntered into the living room. “Hongjoong!” he sang, extending the second syllable at a high pitch. “It’s for you!” He repeated the cadence and it made Wooyoung laugh.

Wait a minute.. what?

From a distance, Hongjoong spotted Jongho, distinguished as ever and carrying a guitar case on his shoulder.

His mind was cloudy and full of tipsy assumptions, but the one that sprung forth beyond them all: that can’t be..

Jongho waved, and Hongjoong returned the gesture minimally, his eyes fixed on the case.

Other thoughts came crashing in. No, that can’t be, they’ve invited him to play something for us, maybe one of his father’s tunes? He scratched his head and put the beer bottle down. Something about this didn’t make sense.

Jongho entered the living room. The atmosphere shifted as Seonghwa paused the music.

Hongjoong was standing in the centre of it all. His eyes couldn’t leave that damn guitar case.

The pieces began to fall into place. Is that why everyone has been acting so weird?

“Everyone! Everyone. May I have your attention.. please?” Seonghwa embraced the full theatrics of this announcement, tapping the side of his glass with a random fork he found on the side table. “Now- I’m sure you all know this incredibly kind and helpful gentleman, Choi Jongho-” Everyone bar Hongjoong waved and said hello, and Jongho bowed before them. “..He- He has been the best-” Seonghwa hiccuped. That was when Yunho - slightly less drunk than Seonghwa - took the reins and motioned for Seonghwa to take a seat on the couch.

“Yes, thank you, Seonghwa. Ahem, everyone. As we all know it is your birthday today, Hongjoong.” Claps and cheers sounded throughout the room. Hongjoong felt like a deer in the headlights. “And as part of this momentous occasion, we have all chipped in to purchase you..” He took a deep breath in, savouring this moment so he could see the look on Hongjoong’s face “The guitar of your dreams.” Yunho beamed. The group applauded.

Hongjoong couldn’t believe his ears.

He watched as Jongho removed the guitar case from his shoulder and laid it down on the floor. He unzipped the case and pulled back the cover to reveal.. the 1961 Red Fender Stratocaster.

The one Hongjoong demoed last week.

The one Hongjoong had always had his eye on.

Jongho lifted the guitar and held it out to Hongjoong, exactly how he handed it out to him last week in the shop.

No way is that guitar mine.. No way they got this guitar for me..

Hongjoong almost burst into tears.

Everyone in the room continued to cheer as Jongho set the guitar in the palm of Hongjoong’s hands.

“It’s yours, rockstar,” said Jongho, quietly.

Hongjoong started to cry. He couldn’t believe it.

The 1961 was his.

“You.. You all did this.. for me?” he sobbed.

“That’s right, friend,” said San, gently slapping Hongjoong on the back. “Your dream guitar.”

Hongjoong and Jongho locked eyes.

“I don’t know what to say.. thank you.”

Jongho smiled. “Please, no need to thank me.”

Hongjoong would contest him later. For now, he put the guitar on his shoulder.

The ‘61 filled the space like it was always meant to be there.

Hongjoong shed a tear. He was the luckiest man alive.

×-×

× January, 1975 ×

Ever since he was given the wonderful ‘61 Strat, Hongjoong could not stop playing around with it.

He tried different chord progressions, settings on the amp, and even one or two new locations, just so he could experience different acoustics.

It had certainly become his most prized possession, and he never once stopped thanking his friends for giving him his dream guitar.

There was one person that was always left out of this equation, however.

One fine day, between the harsh blizzards of January, he decided he was going to go back and thank him once again, face to face.

Hongjoong arrived outside Choi’s Six-Strings; much the same as when he first laid eyes on the shop, but he expected that, and the familiarity was welcoming.

Hongjoong pushed the door open and stepped inside, causing the bell to ring above his head. It was the perfect trigger as Hongjoong stopped dead in the partially open doorway.

Fuck, Jongho’s father owns this shop. Jongho might not be here. Jongho's father might be out back-

The door closed behind him, blocking out the ambient noise and leaving him firmly planted inside the shop.

Hongjoong heard two distinct yet muffled voices speaking to one another. One sounded more recognisable, but the more he listened, the more he realised he could recognise the other voice too.

Holy shit. Jongho and his father!

Hongjoong reached for the door handle, his spine locking in place as he fought to leave before he was caught by one of his biggest influences. His hand managed to grab the door handle but for some reason it wouldn't open-

“Hello?” called a voice. Jongho. “Anyone th- oh! Hi, Hongjoong!”

“Hongjoong?” another voice boomed from behind. “Is that that musician you’ve been talking to me about?”

Hongjoong froze. His entire face was rigid. He couldn't move a muscle.

Jongho stared at him, concerned. “Are.. you okay?”

Another man appeared in the doorway to the back office. Hongjoong locked eyes with him.

His mouth opened but he couldn't speak.

“Oh!” Jongho chuckled a little. “Yes, dad, this is Hongjoong. Don't mind him, he's a little starstruck to be in your presence.”

His father laughed light-heartedly. “Oh, that's alright.” He entered the main part of the shop. “So, you're the artist I’ve been hearing so much about lately.”

Hongjoong’s head was detached from his body. His legs turned to putty and his arms stiffened. “U-Um- Ha- Haha- Yeah!”

Mr. Choi tilted his head to the side. Kindness radiated from his smile. He held out his hand and said, “It's a pleasure to meet you, Hongjoong.”

“A- A-” Hongjoong stuttered and stumbled over every noise that came out of his mouth. He reflexively held out his own hand and Mr. Choi took it, shaking it vigorously. “A- And I- y-you..”

Jongho stepped forward. “I told my father all about your first album. He listened to it! Tell him what you thought of it, dad.”

Hongjoong blinked. What kind of fever dream had he landed in?

“Ah, yes! Excellent first effort, I must say. It's keen and raw and emotional. The exact kind of energy you want from a rockstar.”

Rockstar. Every time Hongjoong heard that term being used by his friends, it made him feel so remarkably shy.

Hearing it from one of his idols made his stomach flip four thousand kinds of knot, including some not invented yet.

“He particularly liked your demo tracks,” whispered Jongho from behind his hand, loud enough so his father could hear.

“Yes! Jongho tells me you wrote most of your material.”

Mingi’s face flashed in his mind. He smiled. “I did have some help with writing, when I hit a bit of a writer's block. Mingi’s his name, and he deserves just as much credit as I do.”

Mr. Choi nodded. “Well, sometimes, a helping hand is exactly what you need to get the ball rolling.”

Hongjoong's eyes flickered to Jongho. Don't I know it.

Turning his back, Mr. Choi continued, “Actually, it's a good thing you came to our shop today. Jongho and I were just discussing an idea we had concerning you and your future endeavours in the industry.”

“O-Oh?” Hongjoong was taken aback. What could that possibly mean?

Jongho’s father turned to face him again, now standing in the shadow of where the ‘61 once was. “Yes, now, pardon me, this was my son’s idea.”

Jongho held up a hand in mock-defence. “Right, I had been thinking of sending a letter for a while but I both didn't want to disturb you, and I also worried that you might think it was a terrible idea.”

Hongjoong's eyes lit up. “Believe me, you wouldn't be disturbing me! In fact, it would be genuinely really nice to maintain correspondence with you!”

Jongho smiled faintly, touched by the remark. “Well, when it came to talking to your friends about the guitar and sending it over to you, it was brought to my attention that you don't own a personal mode of transport, correct?”

Hongjoong bit the inside of his cheek. His face flushed with slight embarrassment. “No..”

Jongho pouted a little. “Well.. thinking purely logistically here, there will come a time where it won't be safe for you to take public transport, and there might be occasions where your manager-” - Yeosang, Hongjoong thought - “-might not be available to take you from A to B.”

Hongjoong hummed inquisitively. “Okay..”

“So..” Jongho gestured to himself. “How about I become your chauffeur?”

Hongjoong choked on his own spit. “You? Really?”

“Yeah, why not?” Jongho shrugged. As easy as could be. “I’ll maintain a low profile, get you where you need to go, and you never have to worry about safety or lack thereof.”

This was immense. Hongjoong's heart was in his stomach.

“Plus, it takes the weight off of Yeosang's shoulders, meaning all he has to think about is managing you.”

Hongjoong was in complete disbelief, and what was more shocking, was that he was actually considering it, second by second, as he stood by the door of the shop and looked back and forth between the two men and their encouraging smiles.

“You're serious about this.” It was a statement above a question.

Jongho nodded once. It was all he needed.

Hongjoong grinned. “Alright. Let's do it.”

Jongho smiled back at him. “Awesome.”

Then, "Oh, and before I forget: thank you so much once again."

Jongho's smile widened. "Don't mention it, rockstar."

i’ll never forget the first time

nor the second or the third

if there ever comes a final time

i’ll remember every word

not a bit slips through my fingers

your words will carry me so far

looking at me through the rearview mirror

“look how far you’ve come, rockstar”

taglist: @bikerjongho × @viviixlyy

× silverdune (ave). do not repost. ×

#ateez scenarios #ateez imagines #hongjoong scenarios #hongjoong imagines #ateez au #ateez fanfic #words.(ave)#fic: 1978

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theloniousbach · 1 year ago

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MIDSUMMER’S MUSIC 2024–Program A

ALICE VERNE-BREDT, Phantasie Trio; WOLFGANG AMADEUS MOZART, Quartet Number 2 in E Flat Major, K 493; FELIX MENDELSSOHN, Sextet in D Major, Opus 110

With this extended stay in Door County, I have been looking forward to becoming a regular of this venerable series. We have twice before gone to one performance while here on vacation. Since we have the bulk of the series available, we found three programs that appealed equally for which we could by a flex-pack.

It looks like the Sunday 5 pm concerts in STURGEON BAY’s HOPE UNITED CHURCH OF CHRIST will best suit us. Next time, I will give up trying to see the pianist’s hands and just sit in the straight ahead and not on the side.

I wish I could have seen though Jeannie Yu’s hands as she had the best parts of all three compositions and she carried it all off admirably as far as I could tell. Bassist Kris Saebo (whom I see plays with the Mark Morris Dance Group so has likely intersected with Ethan Iverson. I didn’t have that to ask about when I did inquire about the extended lowest string which allowed him basically to play in Drop D. Saebo plays with a beaming smile and striking enthusiasm. He was quite affable in talking about the bass.) called the MENDELSSOHN sextet a “chamber piano concerto” and indeed even the ALICE VERNE-BREDT trio didn’t have on first listen enough of the interweaving of three equal voices. It was piano and strings, though the cello gets the first theme, with violin and cello alternating who “played lead” with the other in a subsidiary role.

In the MOZART, it was only a small part of the third movement where more than one string player interwove with the piano at the same time. It’s Mozart so the viola had lots to do, but they all did. But it felt like an orchestration would simply have to merely add multiple players for the same part. I had seen one of these quartets, probably the other one in G, before in St Louis and I think I had the same sense. Still there was more than enough Mozart fizz.

As Saebo pointed out, that same tendency was even more pronounced in the MENDELSSOHN. The “orchestration,” yep let’s call it that, was appealingly in the lower register with two violas, cello, and bass. Violinist David Perry (part of Orpheus Chamber Orchestra who show up regularly on Sunday Baroque) whom we have seen in previous years handled the “leads” with aplomb.

I continue to explore what constitutes the chamber in chamber music and why the strings here felt more like sole representatives of a section than individual players. This is not to show lack of appreciation for violists Sally Chisholm and Allyson Fleck and cellist Ana Kim. Rather the broader discussion might lead me to minimize the distinction and appreciate larger works.

But chamber music is easier for me. It has the intimacy of jazz and folk, where people can just play music casually, informally, for the sheer joy of it.

I am so glad that we will have an extended look this summer with this venerable series. Their program is worth studying for extended program notes. In years past the Founding Director would also deliver not very edited versions of them. Ellen even more than I was glad that the introductory remarks were briefer. But I am equally glad to still have all the information in the program.

#concert review #2024 #chamber music #European tradition art music #Midsummer’s Music

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hunty627 · 2 years ago

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Here are more episode titles for Little Einsteins: New Missions.

Girl’s night out. June and Annie have been invited to have girls night with Ellen & her pink rocket ship, Rockette.

A pachyderm predicament! Rajiv the royal engine called our heroes and told them that Big Jet and his gang are in India. They transformed into construction vehicles and were going to pave over the home of the elephants! Ashima was worried about Trusty Trunky, and Leo was concerned about his friend, Little Elephant. Will nature win against Big Jet? Only time will tell.

Rocket rock stars! The Little Einsteins try out being a rock and roll band from a strange vision that I had when I was younger.

The lonely ladybug. The team was playing a video game when suddenly I saw something in the kitchen. It was a ladybug. And she looked lonely. She had gotten separated from all 11 of her friends. She needed to find her friends so she can join the ladybug picnic and eat apple leaf mold. Can the team help ladybug get to the picnic before it’s too late? Find out soon.

The knights of sing a lot! The Little Einsteins were attending a medieval fair, when Big Jet appeared and had teamed up with the very same dragon from the “go team” story! And they kidnapped Princess Bassoon! The Good Knight said the team can become knights and rescue the princess. But can they do in time? Featuring the art “Wheat Field with Cypresses” by Vincent van Gogh and the music “Wedding March” by Felix Mendelssohn.

The sensational sextet. Dorie and her friends and I want to be a band. But when we got our instruments out and onto the bandstand, Red Hawk and Yellow Rat flew in and took the instruments! Can we bring them back so we can make music for all our friends?

Reanne’s recital. Reanne was going to ballet dance with June and me, as well as the blue footed booby birds, Ducky the duckling and Saturn’s ring. But there was a problem. Reanne had lost her ballet flats. They blew away in a windstorm! Can we get her ballet shoes back in time for the dance recital?

Little Einsteins little league. The team is very excited to play little league baseball. But when they were training, Mindy accidentally hit the ball too far. And that was her favorite beanball. It was gifted to her when she and her friends learned how to play baseball. Can they get it back in time for the little league game at school? Only time will tell.

Happy hatch day, Baby Piccolodactyl! We were playing hopscotch outside the Rocket room, when we saw one of the instruments dinosaurs stop by. It was Bassosaurus Rex. He wanted to ask if one of us could spare a cup of sugar. He said was baking a big batch of dinosaur sized cupcakes for baby Piccolodactyl for his birthday. We volunteered to help B-Rex bake the cupcakes. He also said if we had any rainbow sprinkles, that would be great too. And make them as big as houses. Can we make the cupcakes in time for the party?

Rocket and the rainbow coral reef. Rocket was visiting his friend, Little Whale at the seashore. Little whale was telling him about the rainbow coral reef. But Big Jet and his crew were plotting to destroy the rainbow coral reef and make a new underwater base! Can they save the reef? Only time will tell.

A Little Einsteins Thanksgiving. It was Thanksgiving, and the Little Einsteins were having a big thanksgiving feast in the Rocket room with their friends and families. But Big Jet had stolen all the food! Such as the clam stuffing, the cheesy string beans, the banana cream pie and even the mashed potatoes! Can they get all the food back before Big Jet eats them all up? Find out next time!

Captain Leo sails to Neverland! The Little Einsteins were playing pirates again. And we met up with Peter Pan and Tinker Bell. They said that they had some terrible news. Big Jet has made an alliance with Captain Hook and they have kidnapped Jake, Izzy, Cubby, and Skully! And worse of all, that made Bucky the ship get stuck on a sandbar, so he can’t sail for home! Can they rescue Jake and his pirate crew? Only time will tell. Featuring the art "Under the Wave of Kanagawa" by Katsushika Hokusai and the music “Carmen suite number 1” by Georges Bizet.

Hunter goes cuckoo! The Little Einsteins were visiting cuckoo waypoint and were very excited. Cuckoo bird was about to have chicks. She had 3 eggs in her clock nest. But Big Jet stole the eggs! He was gonna cook the eggs and eat them! Cuckoo bird was very upset. Her eggs didn’t even hatch yet. Will the team rescue the cuckoo bird’s eggs before Big Jet hard boils them? Only time will tell. Featuring the art “German folk art” and the music “1812 overture” by Peter Illich Tchaikovsky.

#little einsteins #my stories

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creativinn · 3 years ago

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Henry Threadgill Continues Challenging Colleagues, Listeners, and Himself - JT

“I think that the greatest thing to have happened has been George Floyd.” What?

As an artist, Henry Threadgill has never shied away from provocation. The music he’s made over his 50-year career challenges listeners’ ideas of rhythm, harmony, form, and timbre. This, however, is—to say the least—an unexpected assertion. Especially from the 78-year-old multi-reedist, composer, and bandleader, whose personal manner is unfailingly gentle and cerebral (not to mention a little playful).

But after the initial shock, it’s clear that Threadgill is talking about the aftermath of Floyd’s 2020 murder by a Minneapolis police officer: protests, activism, and the United States’ public reckoning with race and inequality. That, to him, has been overwhelmingly positive.

“It’s kind of like the civil rights movement,” he says, speaking by phone from his home in New York. “All of a sudden, in the music world, all of these women composers, composers of color, and LGBTQ composers are being recognized. Look, I went last October to Alice Tully Hall for a concert of Missy Mazzoli, John Adams, and Anthony Davis. A woman, a white man, and a Black man; all three American composers. The place was packed! People went crazy—they got five curtain calls! And George Floyd, he was definitely a catalyst.”

Conscious as Threadgill is of history, as an improvising musician he thrives on being present in the moment. As it happens, this moment is a remarkable one for him. In 2021 he was honored as an NEA Jazz Master, the U.S.’s only formal national recognition for jazz musicians. He also released Poof, a 2021 album by his quintet Zooid—the band’s first since 2016’s became the third jazz work ever to win the Pulitzer Prize for Music.

Such honors are wonderful, Threadgill concedes, but he doesn’t let them go to his head. “I just put it out of my mind, you know. It never really gets in the way,” he says. “I think everybody wants to be recognized for what they do. But what really matters are the awards that are closer to the ground: from the musicians and the public. Because that’s who we play music for.”

He’s doing plenty of that in the present moment too. Currently, Threadgill is preparing new arrangements of Zooid pieces for a 2022 art exhibition in Paris; rehearsing a new composition for a pair of February multimedia performances at Brooklyn’s Roulette; writing a new commission for Zooid, two string quartets, and percussionist Ross Karre of the International Contemporary Ensemble (ICE); and continuing work on Passages, a long-in-the-making collaboration with sculptor Danae Mattes and choreographer Hope Mohr.

Multimedia projects are a frequent part of Threadgill’s output; the Chicago native is a pillar of that city’s Association for the Advancement of Creative Musicians (AACM), which encourages musicians to take a holistic view of the arts. Yet he isn’t just contributing soundtracks to visual and performing artists’ work: Threadgill also has two books being published in 2022. One is a collection of photographs and written reflections of New York during COVID; the other, cowritten with Brent Edward Hayes, is an autobiography. Once again, Threadgill keeps a toe in the past while planting himself in the present.

Released in September, marks 21 years since Zooid’s 2000 debut. The band’s instrumentation alone differentiates it from any other: flute and alto saxophone (Threadgill), acoustic guitar (Liberty Ellman), cello (Christopher Hoffman), tuba and trombone (Jose Davila), and drums (Elliot Humberto Kavee). There has been some variation across the years. Until recently, Zooid was a sextet with bass guitarist Stomu Takeishi; he was preceded by Tariq Benbrahim, an oud player. Neither version of the band brought it closer to convention.

Threadgill is very sensitive to timbre. Indeed, he has experimented with unique orchestrations since at least 1979’s X-75 (which featured four reeds, four basses, and vocals). But that’s only the most superficial of Zooid’s unique qualities.

The word zooid refers to a type of biological cell that is part of and connected with a larger grouping of cells, but can also move, function, and live independently of that grouping. So it is with the band: Threadgill supplies the basic compositions, but he asks the musicians to work both collectively and individually to help create new definition and contour for every performance. Thus, while Threadgill’s name is above the band’s, each of its players is a key presence.

Poof underlines this situation. Like predecessor , the album is a set of “concertos,” each of its five tracks a feature for one member of the band. “Now and Then,” for one example, spotlights Ellman. Though he interacts at points with Davila, Hoffman, and Kavee, he is unquestionably the lead voice throughout the track.

“Henry picks people to be in the group that he has faith in, and that have a unique voice that he wants to add to what he’s doing,” the guitarist says. “He’s very specific about what he wants to do with the music itself; he’s got a lot to say about describing the overall piece. But otherwise, you just have to figure out how to make it work and make music out of it—and how to make it sound like it belongs inside of his world.”

His world includes an idiosyncratic musical language based on intervals: the distance between the notes in the tempered scale. Asked to elaborate on his system, Threadgill demurs. “It’s too long and complicated,” he says. “It’s really far too much information for any kind of short conversation.” Pianist Myra Melford, who studied composition with Threadgill, takes a crack at it instead.

“Say you have three notes: C, G, E,” she explains. “The intervals in there are a perfect fifth, and a minor third, and a major third. I could transpose this figure by a major third, or by a minor third or a perfect fifth. I could play it backwards and have some of the same intervals. Things like that. You’re creating permutations from these ideas as a way of developing the material.”

If you can learn that system, adds Ellman, just about anything within it is fair game. “I remember showing up in the beginning, and kind of doubting whether I was doing what he wanted me to do,” the guitarist says. “I remember asking him, ‘Am I doing this right?’ He said, ‘Did I say you were doing something wrong?’ I said, ‘No.’ And he said, ‘Then you’re doing it right.’”

Then there’s the rhythmic matrix. Threadgill is renowned (and highly influential) for his complex and often overlapping beat cycles that make a tune’s pulse both palpable and impossible to count.

Davila notes, “There’s so much detail to the interior of the rhythm. Elliot,” he says, addressing his drumming counterpart in the band, “you look through his music and it’s numbers. It’s just numbers. I’ll look at his stuff and I’m like, ‘Yo! What is that?’”

“That’s true!” Kavee confirms with a laugh. “I’m doing these time cycles with different bar lengths, and I deal with them as sets of numbers. Say a cycle lasts 31 beats; there are bars of four, five, seven within that cycle. I can play them as written, or I can rearrange them, as long as they add up to 31.”

Threadgill also takes a modular approach to composition. Pieces usually have multiple sections; he keeps them fresh by creating new juxtapositions for each performance. Zooid’s Paris concert, part of an exhibition at the Bourse de Commerce’s Pinault Collection, will feature pieces from their catalogue, reworked in exactly this fashion. It requires the band to know the repertoire from the inside out, which in turn requires exhaustive rehearsal.

“We rehearse so much, it’s like boot camp,” Davila says. “For Poof, we rehearsed at least once a week for the two months before the record; he already had the music written, and we got together just to touch the music and get used to working together, workshop it. And then he always does a gig right before the recording, so by the time we get to the recording session we’ve nailed it.”

Threadgill doesn’t see the big deal with all that rehearsing. “That’s what you’re supposed to do!” He chuckles. “Sun Ra’s group, Duke Ellington’s group, all these people rehearsed all the time! That’s how you get good!”

Henry Threadgill at the New York Society for Ethical Culture, November 1997 (photo: Alan Nahigian)

A resident of Manhattan’s East Village since the early ’70s, Threadgill has had a front-row seat for the neighborhood’s gentrification. In 2020, he had a similar view of what one might call its de-gentrification: a mass exodus, and a bizarre one.

“With COVID, you got to remember, they had to let half the Metropolitan Opera go! Half!” he says. “And there was a limited amount of people they could keep on the Broadway shows. They have condominiums and co-ops—I’m talking about the new, young people in New York—with mortgages that all of a sudden they couldn’t pay.”

Threadgill found his neighborhood crowded with things he hadn’t seen there in years: moving trucks and “For Rent” signs. As he walked the streets, he also started seeing the detritus of lives left behind.

“Why would $5,000 speakers be sitting out and nobody was taking them? Why would a Panama hat worth $400 be sitting out on the street? Well, one reason is because there were no homeless people. They put all the homeless people in a hotel so they could keep them alive!” This, he notes, was different from what he’d seen after the last mass exodus, the White Flight of the 1960s and early ’70s: “That left the homeless people behind. This wasn’t reminiscent of that; it was reminiscent of a ghost town!”

It was an overwhelming spectacle, and Threadgill responded by taking photographs of what he saw. He also started writing, both abstract poetic responses to the imagery (“a kind of automatic writing”) as well as what ultimately became a novella. Finally, he collected all of it in a book titled Migration, or the Return of the Cheap Suit. “Underneath the title it says, ‘Pictures, words, and,’” he says. “I’m not claiming to be a photographer or a writer. I’m using words and I’m using photographs.”

Yet these new pursuits weren’t enough on their own for Threadgill. His work demands a complex, layered presentation. And so he incorporated the words and images into a multimedia spectacular to take place over two nights at Roulette.

Actually, it’s two multimedia spectaculars: “One” and “The Other One.” Each night will begin with a different 18-minute film of a performance by a Threadgill ensemble, both at different galleries and with different pieces of music. (These, too, have complementary titles: “Plain as Plain in Plain Sight” and “Plain as Plain but Different.”)

Following each film will be a live performance of a new piece, “Of Valence,” by a special 12-piece ensemble: piano; violin; viola; two cellos; tuba; tenor saxophone; two alto saxophones, with one alto doubling on clarinet; two bassoons; and a percussionist working with trap drums and electronics. While the ensemble plays the piece—dedicated to drummer Milford Graves, among jazz’s many losses during the pandemic—Threadgill will sit behind a revolving set of full-body masks, offering readings from Migration as well as vocalizations both live and recorded onto tape loops.

“I’m only doing vocal work,” he says, adding with a laugh, “This will be my debut doing vocalese.”

“Everybody’s got a cellphone that they don’t pay for, and some expensive gym shoes, but they say, ‘Oh! Twenty dollars! That’s too much for a record.’”

Migration isn’t Threadgill’s only forthcoming stab at publishing. Summer 2022 will see the issue of Easily Slip into Another World, an autobiography that Threadgill assembled with the assistance of writer and scholar Brent Hayes Edwards. The project came out of another long-term one that Edwards has been working on: a history of New York’s 1970s “loft jazz” movement, in which Threadgill was a participant.

“I’ve been doing oral histories,” says Edwards, a professor of English and comparative literature at Columbia University. “Henry was one of the first musicians I interviewed. We met and talked a couple of times, and then he actually suggested—he was the first to say it: ‘Let’s do a full oral history. Not just an interview about 1976 and my sense of the downtown scene in Manhattan, but let’s sit down and do a thorough series of interviews about my life.’ And who’s going to say no to Henry Threadgill when he says that?”

That initial conversation took place around 2010. It led to multiple, hours-long conversations spanning a decade. “We really took our time going through the various stages of his life,” Edwards says. “Of course, one’s memory doesn’t work in a linear, chronological fashion, so we jumped around a little bit, but we progressed up to the present, including his development as a composer and an instrumentalist and the various groups that he’s led. He’s had a very long and varied and complex career.”

As Edwards worked to transcribe the interviews, calling Threadgill to fill in gaps and elaborate on ambiguous passages, it was again the musician who suggested a more ambitious undertaking. “Maybe we should do something formally with this,” he said. “Not just record a bunch of interviews but put it together and formalize it.” He didn’t want other voices to be woven in and out of the narrative, as in Dizzy Gillespie’s To Be or Not to Bop or Randy Weston’s . “I want it to be my story, in my voice.”

In a parallel to his compositional work, Easily Slip into Another World—titled after Threadgill’s 1987 album with his then Sextett—is constructed in a modular mode, with parts interchanged and reordered. “I’m trying to give it some of the formal experimentation that his music has, but not lose the idiosyncrasy and the power of his voice,” Edwards says. “He’s charismatic, funny, and a great raconteur of his own life! He’s such an incredible talker, and you don’t want to lose that.”

As for Threadgill, he appreciates the platform to say some things about not just his own life, but the music industry—and its audiences. “We have created a culture of take and don’t pay,” he says. “They got more money than we ever saw, young people do. Everybody’s got a cellphone that they don’t pay for, and some expensive gym shoes, but they say, ‘Oh! Twenty dollars! That’s too much for a record.’

“I remember, we would save our money to buy albums when I was a kid. One kid would get it and everybody would rush to their house. ‘He got Gene Ammons!’ We’d all say, ‘What?’ And go tearing down the street to their house and ring the bell. We were in grammar school. Nobody had a job, we would either save our pennies or borrow from each other. ‘Man, give me a quarter, will you? For 25 cents more I can get that record.’ It was fun!”

Henry Threadgill playing tenor at the Village Gate, New York, June 1984 (photo: Alan Nahigian)

All this is just Threadgill’s work that’s in the can. There’s more still to come.

In June, he has an engagement at Detroit’s Orchestra Hall. Zooid, ICE percussionist Ross Karre, and two string quartets will premiere a new work—so new that Threadgill has yet to write a note. “I have to start!” he reminds himself. “I got a lot of work to do on that. I’m running behind because of this [Roulette] multimedia piece. But I’ll get it done. It’ll come together; I’m not worried about that.”

He’s also involved in a tripartite collaboration with California sculptor Danae Mattes and choreographer Hope Mohr called Passages. “Hope has been a big fan of my music and she just called me out of the blue and said she hoped we could do something together,” Threadgill recalls. “Then when I was in California, I met Danae and I told her about Hope, and the three of us got together and it was love at first sight!”

Threadgill has been working with dancers ever since his days in Chicago. He’s on new ground when he combines music and dance with Mattes’ sculptures, which feature large expanses of hand-shaped clay structures. The three found an unlikely common bond, however: improvisation.

“I do process pieces,” Mattes explains. “I create the form, which is like a huge basin, and then I create walls and structures. Then I pour liquid clay into the interior of the form, and then there’s this moment where the structure could completely dissolve or it could hold. So much water has to leave the body of the clay to accept the incoming clay, and then when that starts to happen, there’s this fine line where it’s almost gelatinous, so you have the exterior walls, let’s call them, where structures are absorbing the water, and it’s almost neither liquid nor solid form.”

“I remember asking Henry, ‘Am I doing this right?’ He said, ‘Did I say you were doing something wrong?’ I said, ‘No.’ And he said, ‘Then you’re doing it right.’”–Liberty Ellman

That’s when the dancers come in. They will move about the clay, both following Mohr’s choreography and improvising in response to the environment and to Threadgill’s music. (The band, featuring members of Zooid and ICE, will be unseen during the performance.) “Actually they’re completely covered in clay at one point,” Mattes says. “They are very claylike themselves.” Embodying the music, they will also determine the final form of the sculpture, whether through footprints, body impressions, or air pockets.

“While they push a form away from its original place, it’s all going to be integrated into the motivations of the music. It’s an incredible thing to witness,” Mattes says.

The project has been delayed due to COVID, but Threadgill is determined to see it through. “I don’t care how long it takes, it’s gonna happen,” he says. “I’m committed to that.”

That commitment is par for the course with an artist like Threadgill, who has already created a lifetime’s worth of work that is thoughtful in its spontaneity, disciplined in its free forms. Process is a part of his art as well, as much in developing his compositions as in his improvisations. Like his statement about George Floyd—or a troupe of dancers rolling around in clay—what initially seems baldly provocative reveals itself to bear nuanced, carefully considered ideas, presented in shrewd and innovative ways.

“He’s continuing to develop his ideas and evolve all the time, and trying all these new things,” says Melford. “He’s so inspiring.”

This content was originally published here.

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pianostarinwonderland · 5 years ago

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The Music Box

At the end of chapter 4, we encounter Mickey once more, who remarks that we are not a dream and are real. In the same short conversation, he mentions that he has been dreaming about the same trump cards and the same music box three times.

Many have assumed the trump cards referred to Heartslabyul and Alice in Wonderland for obvious reasons, but the music box is rather confusing. What is the music box referring to exactly? I have several ideas regarding this, and this may turn out to be long. I am on mobile, so there won’t be a read more, therefore I apologize for the scrolling.

This post will be updated when I find more things or think of more ideas regarding the music box.

Movie Appearances

The music box has been featured in almost all Disney movie soundtracks, with possible exceptions being the Lion King and Aladdin, although I’m not very sure. Admittedly, I have not looked deeply into this yet and have only been told of this by a friend, so I won’t delve deep into this.

But with how frequent the music box has been seen in Disney movies, it’s possible Mickey has been referring to those movies, although in what way is unsure. Is he referring to the events that happened in the movie perhaps?

I have tried searching for a Disney movie that has featured a music box, and the only movie I’ve found so far is Beauty and the Beast. The music box had a pretty minor role in the movie but was originally going to have the role of Chip. In comics, however, it was said that the music box is the only one that is not formerly human but it still had a heart of its own. It was also the one that could play music for the Beast. Considering the theories regarding the Pyroxene boys (Vil, Jack, and Cater) being based on said movie, I’m not going to entirely ignore this, but it’s going to the back for the time being.

Rhythmic Icon

... ok, it’s not a music box, but a record player, but I have seen a post that talked about the trump cards and the music box and the OP pointed out the icons of the cards and rhythmics being that of playing cards and a record player. Now, the rhythmics contain scenes from the main story, as they have dialogues, and recently, the event rhythmics have been added. If this is the case, could Mickey be referring to the main story?

And I also want to bring up the trump cards because if ever they are referring to the cards that we get from gacha, they contain personal stories of the characters. Could Mickey be dreaming about those stories too? It’s admittedly a little bit of a stretch, but it’s interesting for me, especially since it does add something to a time loop theory I posted.

Album Section

Now here’s where it gets a little lengthy.

When you go to the album section of the game, you will notice that the music changes to a different version of the title screen theme that you hear when you first enter the game.

The music... Doesn’t it sound like a music box?

I’ve always been suspicious of that. Why did they change the music upon entering the album section? What makes it so important that they have to change the music?

Here are two subideas I propose:

1: Mickey may be referring to the characters themselves. The album section contains the profiles of each character and contains the lines that they speak. The words and tones each character say and convey reveal a little bit about themselves, and some of their lines actually foreshadow the main story. Case in point: Azul’s robe card lines, he speaks about a plan proposal regarding expanding Ramshackle Dorm and writing notes about efficient study methods (if I remember correctly). These details foreshadow the events of chapter 3.

2: The song itself may contain a cryptic message. This is something I am currently investigating. Music cryptography is a thing in some shows and has been used by many famous composers, such as Bach, Brahms, and Shostakovich. A musical score may hide a message such as a name (a famous example of this is Brahms 1868 String Sextet no. 2 in G major, in which he placed the name of a woman named Agathe that he loved but rejected to dedicate his life to music. He placed the letters A-G-A-H-E (t does not exist in notation, but in German nomenclature, the English B natural is referred to as H) in bars 162-164 and it is noted to be the climax of the piece).

The key of the title screen theme is D minor, and it modulates to D in the middle (or Bm, I have to double check). I’d love to joke that it’s because it’s Disney, but I feel it may be a coincidence for the time being.

In the later part of the music box version, there are voices that sing. They start singing in the modulation, but when it hits the ‘chorus’ of the theme, the voices start singing lyrics. The first two lines sound similar, and I heard something like “hero” (hiro?¿). I have two ideas for the lyrical part: first is that it may be from a Disney movie, although this is more of a hunch than anything because I haven’t analyzed any Disney movie in-depth; second is that it may be its own thing and may be a hint that Twisted is dropping.

The difficult part about the crypted message, however, is that it’s most likely going to be in Japanese, given that the game is in Japanese. I’m hoping that there may be a name I can find in the message, but I am prepared to see unfamiliar words when I do start transcribing. 😂

So yes, these are my ideas so far, and they’ll still be updated. I hope you enjoy!

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst hc

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dustedmagazine · 4 years ago

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Apartment House on Another Timbre: Three Perspectives

If you survey the website of Apartment House, you won’t find an “about” page or any exposition of the ensemble’s history or philosophy. While such reticence is rare these days amongst artistic endeavors of any stripe, the very lack of information tells you something about Apartment House’s raison d’être. It’s all about the work, and the ensemble’s role is to make performances that are about the music, and not Apartment House’s take on the music. This renunciation of ego makes sense when you consider that the ensemble’s name derives from a John Cage composition; one of Cage’s intentions was to envision music that was open to the world and wasn’t about assertions of selfhood. Cellist Anton Lukoszevieze founded the ensemble in 1995, but its recording career didn’t get into gear until 2013.

Since then, the group has released 22 single or double CDs covering work by contemporary composers ranging from Cornelius Cardew to Christian Wolff to Linda Catlin Smith to Ryoko Akama. With a rotating membership, performances range from solos and duos to chamber ensembles. Thirteen were issued by the Another Timbre label, including three titles at once in late 2020, each presenting the music of a single composer — Martin Arnold (b. 1958), Antoine Beuger (b. 1955) and Maya Verlaak (1990). The act of releasing these albums simultaneously affords a chance to consider how Apartment House engages with the different intentions and requirements asserted by each composer. Dusted writers Marc Medwin, Michael Rosenstein and Bill Meyer cover the three recent releases.

Maya Verlaak / Apartment House— All English Music is Greensleeves (Another Timbre)

All English Music is Greensleeves by Maya Verlaak

Múm was an Icelandic group with singers channeling the wisely innocent voices of children while a lush landscape, rife with music boxes and other liquid-crystal sonorities, multihued the adjacent soundspaces. There is something similarly open about this music, something so unpredictably predictable, so comforting, so quietly inclusive! Belgian composer Maya Verlaak delves to the depths of experience’s networks while observing from just far enough to escape the iron grip and rationalizations of memory. This is music in which even the harshest sounds melt into a winning simplicity, a world of sound and sense in symbiosis.

It would be too easy to point toward modality to explain such a beautifully optimistic vision. After all, “All British Music is Greensleeves” tears that increasingly irrelevant construct to shreds in a hurry as two layers of sound, one prerecorded, spin bits of the tune down the dimly lit corridors conjoining memory and reflection. Chord, cluster and motive blur boundaries, even as space ensures a tidy trail of readily identifiable components needling consciousness reluctantly toward recognition. It’s a world with which Ives or Mahler might have made contact, had chamber music been more in their sights, such are the buds and blooms of poly-event amidst distantly lit string writing that refuses to answer Ives’ perennial question. The unfurling harmonies, formed of motives in quasi-counterpoint, are inextricably linked with their kaleidoscopic timbres. Recurrence is both evident and backgrounded but none so blatant as the delicious silences, almost periodic, separating the streamlined multivalences. Fortunately, as with many Apartment House recordings, vibrato is nearly absent.

The “Formation” pieces place a similarly subversive emphasis on relationship so subliminal that a simple listen won’t unlock the door or open the blinds. Any hats doffed toward conventional chord or set are quickly displaced by the gentle but insistent winds of change emanating from a vocal imperative or an intoned repetition. Mark Knoop and Sarah Saviet are in something near dialogue with overlapping technologies guided by a compositional voice whose questions also seek a malleable answer. The openness at the heart of Verlaak’s work stems from the various paths through subversion, re-subversion and integration integral to the majority of these pieces. What, in the case of “Song and Dance,” do performers do when confronted only with the analysis, or justification, for a musical score rather than with the score itself? What happens when the justification becomes the score? How is it possible, practical or desirable to confront musical parameters neither heard nor witnessed? The wonderful thing about such conceptions is that they really form the metanarrative of all artistic endeavor. No art, no matter how explicit, relinquishes all of its secrets, just as no single pitch or sonority, even those as pure as Apartment House offers with staggering consistency, is the actual embodiment of that sound. Composers and performers deal in approximations, and it is to Verlaak’s credit that the processes have been rendered at least partially transparent with such beautifully cooperative forces to give them form and voice.

Marc Medwin

Martin Arnold / Apartment House—Stain Ballads (Another Timbre)

'Stain Ballads' by Martin Arnold

This is the second release on Another Timbre by Canadian composer Martin Arnold, the first being The Spit Veleta a 2017 program of violin and piano solos and duos by Apartment House members Philp Thomas and Mira Benjamin. This time out, Arnold provides the group with a program consisting of a solo, a duo, a quartet, and piece for sextet. Across the four pieces, the composer balances a sense of lyricism with a fascination with the abstracted concept of “formlessness.” In his interview on the Another Timbre site, he puts it this way when asked about the title of the CD. “Stains are… radically specific – always stain-shaped. They might remind one of something – like when one looks at the inkblots of a Rorschach test (though significantly, they don't have Rorschach's added symmetry) – but they don't present a form, a coherent outline, a generic structure that can be abstracted and distilled; with a stain, form and content are the same thing. My work continues to aspire to that condition.” Each of the four pieces here delve in to the way that melodies and themes can be opened up to ride the edges of lyricism and abstraction.

The program opens with “Lutra” for solo cello and humming performed by Anton Lukoszevieze. The piece starts out with arco themes colored with hummed and bowed diaphanous overtones. Hovering at the upper registers of the instrument, threads are introduced, slowly progressing, punctuated occasionally by softly plucked notes. Staying within the same set of registers as well as harmonic and timbral areas, Lukoszevieze lets the notes resonate and serenely decay. In the last section the piece moves to percussively plucked notes with poised slow resolve, fading to hushed resonance in the final moment. “Stain Ballad” follows, orchestrated for cello, piano, viola, two violins, reed organ, and percussion. Arnold voices the various layers in a slow flux, moving in and out of synch with each other. The ensemble does a sterling job of maintaining an overall balance so that no one particular instrument is ever the sole focus. Instead, the various parts wend along as various subsections of the ensemble coalesce and then dissipate in to the mercurial overall flow of the piece. The striated parts adeptly take advantage of the timbral synergies and contrasts of the instruments as one moment, string arco melds with reed organ while in other sections, the percussive attack of Philip Thomas’ piano, the woody retort of Simon Limbrick’s percussion and pizzicato strings shift and shudder across each other.

The pairing of Lukoszevieze’s cello and Mira Benjamin’s violin on “Trousers” dives in to specific techniques like the utilization of multiple mutes, bowing with the wood of the bow, hushed microtones and a sliding sense of harmonics. Arnold talks about it, noting that “the sound of “Trousers” is certainly at odds with a “good” Classical sound: I shut down projection, fullness of tone, resonance, the consistency, stability and predictability of the sound being produced.” Over the course of the 22 minute piece, fragments of melody, muted textures and quavering string overtones play off of each other with measured consideration. Themes play out, get subsumed into the progression of the piece and then resurface. The recording closes out with “Slip,” a quartet for cello, violin, bass clarinet, and piano. The piece takes its name from the Irish slip jig, a jig that is in 9/8 as opposed to the usual 6/8 and a slowed pace accentuates the odd time signature. For the first quarter of the piece, cello, violin and bass clarinet move in woozy unison, lithely navigating the precarious phrasing. Pianist Mark Knoop’s entry, a quarter way in, introduces spare chords that serve to unsettle the phrasing even further, though the quartet never wavers in their assuredly ambling momentum. As the piece proceeds, the four parts veer off from each other, with lines dropping in and out. High-pitched violin arco sounds against crystalline piano chords making way for pizzicato cello and piano. The final section featuring Heather Roche’s dusky bass clarinet playing brings the piece to a transfixing conclusion. On Stain Ballads, Arnold continues to expand on his strategies toward opening up and abstracting melody, balancing compositional form with a sense of “formlessness.” With the members of Apartment House, he has found worthy collaborators.

Michael Rosenstein

Antoine Beuger / Apartment House—Jankélévitch Sextets (Another Timbre)

'jankélévitch sextets' by Antoine Beuger

In 1992, Antoine Beuger cofounded Editions Wandelweiser, the publishing arm of a community of like-minded, post-John Cageian composers. Along the way he has taken on the roles of artistic and managing director. Since Wandelweiser is a collective, his stewardship of the label and publishing arms makes him influential, but not an authoritarian figure. Quite the contrary. On Another Timbre website, there is an interview with Beuger that raises a provocative point about the authority of the score. He compares the current position of a classical composer to a perspective prescribed by Christian theology. The composer hands down rarefied instructions, which he (Beuger emphasizes the masculinity of this approach) best understands, and leaves to others the work of realizing his often very difficult and inscrutable instructions.

With Jankélévitch Sextets, Beuger takes a different approach. It is the fourth in a series of pieces that he wrote for specified numbers of musicians. Each composition deals with relationships implied by that number, and each does so employing mainly quiet, sustained tones. Additionally, each acknowledges a cultural figure; in this case, the Franco-Russian philosopher, Vladimir Jankélévitch. Beuger cites his appreciation for two of Jankélévitch’s ideas. First, music has no itinerary; it flows unpredictably. Second, sounds appear by disappearing. The latter point makes sense if you consider how you notice phenomena only after they stop. One suspects that if Jankélévitch was a fan of mid-20th century American music, he’d have had a lot of time for William Bell’s “You Don’t Miss Your Water (Till The Well Runs Dry).”

Beuger’s piece consists of repeated statements of a close bundle of long tones, each followed by a brief silence, with instruments insinuating themselves or dropping out during each pass. While the name is plural, the music is presented as a single, 64:20 long track, which asks the listener to accompany the ensemble through its entirety. The instrumentation consists of accordion, bassoon, bass clarinet, violin, viola, and double bass, which affords many opportunities for similar-sounding pitches to ease shift between close harmony and beating difference tones. This is not music that tugs at your sleeve; neither ingratiating nor imposing, it’s there if you wish to approach it, cycling through changes that reveal sounds by removing them. The music locates the essence of six-ness not in some contrapuntal exchange that draws attention to all the voices, but in the way that a group can persevere over time by allowing its members opportunities for respite. Apartment House’s treatment of this material captures its subtle balance. It takes discipline to blend sounds so patiently, and even more to do so in a way that don’t ask you to admire their restraint.

Bill Meyer

#dusted magazine #albumreview #apartment house #antoine beuger #vladimir jankélévitch #maya verlaak #martin arnold #another timbre #contemporary composition #marc medwin #michael rosenstein #bill meyer

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krispyweiss · 2 years ago

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The String Cheese Incident at Rose Music Center at the Heights, Huber Heights, Ohio, Sept. 20, 2023

The 2023 finale at the Rose Music Center will henceforth be known as “the Incident.”

The String Cheese Incident, that is.

With a night off from the Outlaw Music Festival, where they’ve played short sets and shared bills with Willie Nelson, Bobby Weir & Wolf Bros Featuring the Wolfpack and others, the veteran Colorado band rolled in to Southwest Ohio and proceeded to “expand a little bit,” as acoustic guitarist Bill Nershi put it to the small-but-enthusiastic audience that gathered Sept. 20 for the last Rose concert of the summer.

Taking the stage at 7:25 p.m., the sextet nodded to its latest LP, Lend Me a Hand, as barefoot bassist Keith Moseley led his bandmates through the taut title track. From there, it was two sets and nearly three hours of back catalog tracks and spiraling exploration and improvisation that found SCI playing warhorses like “Big Shoes,” “Windy Mountain” and “Texas” and covering Tom Petty’s “You Wreck Me,” while battling a poor mix that left Moseley’s four-string bass and Michael Travis’ kick drum overpowering the intricate overtones.

It’s an issue that typically plagues the first few numbers at the Rose. On this night, the sound was never dialed in properly.

Multi-instrumentalist Michael Kang was most impacted, as his electric guitar and mandolin struggled to break through the aural mud. But when he picked up his violin, as on “Bumpin’ Reel,” Kang shone, reminding the audience he is often the band’s special sauce in the solo department.

At this gig, his bandmates were brighter, with Travis and percussionist Jason Hann - who employed sticks, his hands, shakers, a washboard and other rhythmic implements - carving a deep sonic groove in which Nershi and keyboardist Kyle Hollingsworth planted fertile solos. Few musicians seem as into what they do as Hollingsworth, who often plays talk box when he’s not mouthing the notes to solos and generally getting into his own space while staying right with his musical compatriots.

With four lead vocalists in Moseley, Kang, Nershi and Hollingsworth and a musical amalgamation of bluegrass, trance-rock, jamband music and, with the release of Lend Me a Hand, a bit of singer-songwriter tossed in, SCI are never at a loss for diversity. If only the sound system had been more cooperative.

Grade card: The String Cheese Incident at the Rose - 9/20/23 - B-

9/21/23

#string cheese incident #2023 concerts #keith moseley #michael kang #bill nershi #kyle hollingsworth #jason hann #michael travis #outlaw music festival #willie nelson #bobby weir & wolf bros #tom petty

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mikauzoran · 6 years ago

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Lukadrien Drabble: Nachtmusik Chapter Seven

A Little Night Music (Eine Kleine Nachtmusik) Chapter Seven: Appreciation

At least Marinette appreciated his jokes, Adrien thought as he set up the Couffaines’ keyboard and made a masterful pun out of the multiple meanings of the word “key”. (As in a “key” concept, the “key” to a door, piano “keys”, and the “key” a piece of music was in.) Very ingenious, if he did say so himself.

Marinette seemed to think so too judging by the way she laughed uproariously.

Adrien had actually been granted permission to play with Kitty Section at that year’s Music Festival, so—for once—he hadn’t had to sneak out to come visit his second home, the Liberty. (He owed a huge thank you to Nathalie for grinding away at Gabriel until he agreed.)

Adrien was hard at work helping to set up the stage area, and Marinette had been right by his side the whole time, assisting with the heavy lifting (she was incredibly strong from moving flour sacks at the bakery), chatting with him, and, of course, laughing at his jokes.

It was a perfect day of spending time with friends…well…almost perfect.

Luka seemed to be in what Juleka described as “a mood”. He was being as antisocial as possible on the busy deck, and whenever Adrien went over to talk to him (Marinette on Adrien’s heels), Luka put on a fake smile, chatted for the minimal required time not to seem like he was avoiding Adrien, and then came up with some excuse to be somewhere else. Plus, every time Adrien looked, he spotted Luka quickly looking away, trying to cover up a hurt expression.

Adrien was determined to get to the bottom of this. If he had done something wrong to offend Luka or hurt Luka’s feelings, he was going to fix it. Luka was second only to Nino as the best friend that Adrien had ever had in all of his life, and Adrien was not going to let anything come between them.

After the keyboard was securely in place, Adrien turned to Marinette and smiled disarmingly. “I’m sorry to bail like this, but will you excuse me for a few minutes? I really need to ask Luka something in private, if you don’t mind.”

Marinette gave a start. “Oh! No. Of Norse caught—uh—course not,” she laughed, waving away his concern and nearly knocking over a mic stand in the process.

Adrien caught it before it could hit her and chuckled fondly, giving her a reassuring smile. “Be careful, Marinette. I would hate for you to get hurt.”

Marinette’s face glowed as she smiled dreamily. “Awww. You’re so sweet, Adrien. Thank you.”

Adrien laughed with a wink as he took his leave, heading for where Luka was working in the sound booth.

“Hey there, Orpheus,” Adrien purred, making Luka jump.

“Oh, hey, Perfect Fifth.” Luka looked up and smiled affectionately. “What’s up?”

“Can I borrow you for a sec? There’s something only you can do for me, and it can’t wait,” Adrien exaggerated. Desperate times and all that.

Concern flooded Luka’s face, and he removed the headset from around his neck. “Of course. What do you need?”

Adrien grinned and crooked a finger, turning to head below deck.

Luka followed obediently as Adrien led him to the living room and took a seat on the couch.

Adrien slipped off his shoes, tucking one leg underneath himself while he hugged the other to his chest. He patted the space on the couch next to him, and Luka took a seat.

“What’s wrong, P5?” Luka prompted.

“I was hoping you’d tell me,” Adrien confessed, wearing an oddly serious countenance. “It feels like you’ve been in ‘a mood’ all day. Are you mad at me? You’re acting like you don’t want to be around me. You keep making excuses to get away whenever we’re talking, and I keep catching sight of this wounded expression on your face. Orpheus, if I’ve done something to hurt you, please tell me so I can try to make it right. You mean too much to me for me to mess things up.”

“Oh, Adrien.” Luka winced, mentally kicking himself. “No, Angel. I’m so sorry. It’s not you.”

“If you say, ‘it’s me’, I’m going to hit you,” Adrien threatened dryly. “If you’re breaking up with me, I want a concrete list of grievances, not a load of clichés.”

A frown slowly stretched across Adrien’s brow. “Do friends have breakups?”

“They most certainly do, but that’s not what’s happening here,” Luka chuckled, mildly amused and mildly horrified at the mix up. “Adrien, who has been practically attached to your side all day?”

“Marinette?” Adrien looked expectantly to Luka for clarification on the relevance of this piece of information.

“Adrien, who am I really avoiding?” Luka prompted.

“Ooooh,” Adrien sang in a gliding melisma of realization. “Marinette. Oh, good—well, not good, but I’m happy that it’s just that you’re having one of your Marinette Days and not that you’re upset with something I did.”

“Sorry for the misunderstanding.” Luka grinned sheepishly, reaching out to give Adrien’s hair a customary tussle.

Adrien leaned into the touch. “…Are you okay?”

Luka shook his head. “Sorry. I know it’s stupid, but…when it’s just the two of us, she’s…it feels like she and I are a viable option…but then she just drops me as soon as someone else shows up, and it’s like…am I that cheap and replaceable?” Luka laughed.

It wasn’t a happy laugh.

Adrien frowned, letting his hand rest on Luka’s thigh.

“Am I only good enough to kill time with until someone better comes along? I mean, I realize that the guy she likes is…” Luka smiled sadly as he turned to gaze into Adrien’s eyes. “He’s a walking miracle. He’s sweet and kind and smart and brave. Even his flaws are perfection. I completely get why she’s crazy for him. I think I get it even better than she does, but the point is…” Luka sighed. “…What was my point? I got sidetracked with the gushing.”

“Marinette makes you feel unappreciated, like you’re not good enough,” Adrien muttered, hurting on his friend’s behalf. “And you have a masochistic crush on her crush, so you can understand why she doesn’t give you the attention and adoration you deserve.”

Luka pursed his lips, trying not to crack up. “Masochistic crush, huh? Well…maybe. …Good to know you’re not completely oblivious, just lacking in self-awareness.”

Adrien’s forehead scrunched up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I adore you, P5,” Luka chuckled.

“So forget Marinette and her crush and marry me already.” Adrien shrugged. “I would never let you forget how amazing you are.”

Luka scooped up Adrien’s hand and whisked it to his lips for a kiss. “Adrien Agreste, are you proposing to me?”

Adrien frowned. “…This isn’t very romantic, is it? I should have hired a string sextet, and there should be flowers and candles. Can I have a redo?”

Luka rolled his eyes, squeezing Adrien’s hand before letting go. “Thank you for cheering me up. I know I shouldn’t let the Marinette Situation get to me because we’re not dating, and it’s not like she’s the only person in the world I could ever be happy with, but…seeing her with you today was like a double dose of misery. You two make a cute couple.”

“Marinette and me?” Adrien echoed incredulously. “But we’re not interested in each other like that.”

Luka shook his head. “Maybe not, but you two still look beautiful together, laughing and joking around. My Chanson and my Perfect Fifth… Today, it just…didn’t look like there was any room for me in that equation, and it made me kind of melancholy.”

“Hey,” Adrien called, gently tugging on Luka’s sleeve. “There’s always room for you. Luka, you’re beyond amazing. You make things better just by existing. If Marinette can’t see what you’re worth, then, stellar as she is, she doesn’t deserve you. You are one of the most genuinely good human beings that I know, and your compassion and willingness to take care of others and meet them where they are is outstanding. I admire you so much, and I am grateful every day to be a recipient of your friendship. The fact that you’re not with someone who makes you feel loved and valued makes me heartsick. Your worth is beyond measure.”

Luka angled to face Adrien and closed his eyes, leaning in to rest his forehead on Adrien’s shoulder. “Thank you,” he finally managed to get out, voice thick with emotion.

Adrien wrapped an arm around Luka and patted his back soothingly. “…I know I’m not Marinette, but…I’d pick you. I know it’s not an exact comparison, and I know my opinion doesn’t have the same weight as hers, but…out of all the guys I know, if I had to pick one, it would be you.”

“Trust me, the sentiment is appreciated,” Luka assured into Adrien’s neck.

“I hope you find someone who makes you feel adored like you deserve,” Adrien whispered. “You’re so special, Orpheus.”

Luka hummed softly, reveling in the feel of Adrien’s hands, the warmth of his skin, and the tickle of his breath on Luka’s neck.

He didn’t tell Adrien that he had already found such a person and that it was only a matter of holding onto them and hoping one day for more than friendship.

#Adrien Agreste/Luka Couffaine #Miraculous Ladybug #Miraculous Ladybug Fanfiction #Lukadrien #Adrien Agreste #Luka Couffaine #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #Hurt/Comfort #Friendship #Fluff #Angst #Flirting #Mikau's Writings #A Little Night Music (Eine Kleine Nachtmusik)

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byuneebuns · 7 years ago

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Blood Ties (Requested)

Anonymous asked:

“I beg you, please for love of god, do something with vampire baek. Please.”

Baekhyun x Female Reader

Tags: NSFW, Smut, Blood, Very Mild Bondage, Vampire AU

Author’s Note: This was actually super fun to write, thank you for requesting it! There are a lot of directions I could have taken this in so I hope it’s what you had in mind and if not that it is still enjoyable. Sorry for being long-winded ^^;

“Are you sure about this?” You asked in a hushed tone, dragging your feet as your best friend tugged on your arm impatiently. She spun around and you could see her eyes glittering with excitement behind the mask that was covering half of her face. It was bright blue and covered in matching rhinestones with gold accents and peacock feathers along the forehead. Her dress was low-cut and emerald green with black lace to play up the peacock aesthetic, her dark hair piled on top of her head in an elegant arrangement of curls and glittering pins.

“Yes, I’m sure! This is the place. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity!” Jia was practically bouncing on her heels with excitement but you couldn’t help surveying the sloping, well-manicured lawns of the manor with trepidation. There were swans lazily floating on a pond to one side, ornate lawn sculptures, statues, and fountains as far as the eye could see.

The manor itself exuded wealth, if the grounds it sat upon didn’t enough on their own. It was all pillars and windows, too many for you to easily count, with ivy winding at the base of most of the pillars, giving it an antiquated charm. Twin staircases led to the front door and you could see other guests, all dressed to the nines, their faces all hidden, making their way up them towards the entrance. Soft ballroom music just barely reached your ears as the front door opened and closed, swallowing guests behind it.

You glanced down at your own mask, which you hadn’t yet put on. It was silvery off-white lace and adorned with several large pearls. It was simple but it somehow suited you, just like Jia’s somehow suited her. Your dress was the same color as your mask, high-necked, backless and sleeveless. The short skirt was a gratuitous amount of layered white chiffon, giving it a very Swan Lake feeling. The top was just loose enough to show a generous amount of the sides of your breasts, the perfect mix of innocent yet sexy.

Both the dresses and masks had been supplied to you and Jia by an unknown designer that was recommended by the person that had invited her. All she had to do was send a picture of both of you with your measurements and an unmarked box had arrived at your apartment within a week.

Jia had thought the entire ordeal mysterious in a fun way, you had thought it mysterious in a concerning way but you didn’t want to dampen your friend’s spirits.

She had just started a new job as a secretary at one of the city’s busiest design firms and evidently one of the executives that had taken a liking to her had invited her here and she was excited beyond control.

The whole thing screamed suspicious but you had to admit that you were impressed so far, and the number of male guests you’d seen in addition to females lessened your concern about human trafficking.

Your pressed the mask to your face, securing and fastening it. You turned to Jia, tugging at one of your loose curls nervously.

“How do I look?”

“Do you need to ask? You look stunning, of course. Now no more stalling, let’s go!” She said, pulling on your arm again. Butterflies swarmed your stomach as you made your way up the stairs and into the entrance hall together.

Your mouth fell open as you entered the ballroom. There were enormous crystal chandeliers covering most of the ceiling, bathing the large room in a warm glittering light. What wasn’t covered with chandeliers was instead covered by gorgeous paintings, but the ceiling was too high to see them properly.

An small sextet of string players, a cellist, a violist, two violinists, a bassist, and a harpist, sat on a small raised platform, playing their hearts out while hundreds of masked couples turned in time with the music. They were playing a waltz that was strangely familiar but you couldn’t quite place it.

You and Jia skirted the along the wall together, avoiding the dancers and trying to take in all of the sights. Everyone was wearing a mask, per the instructions that Jia was given by her invitee, even the cocktail waiters weaving through the dancers with trays piled high with what you suspected was champagne that cost more than you made in a year.

Jia reached out, taking two glasses and handing one to you. You sipped it gratefully, thinking ruefully to yourself that champagne still tasted terrible no matter what price was on the bottle.

A man in a smart black tuxedo approached the two of you from the dance floor. He was tall with broad shoulders and swept back black hair. His mask was made entirely of bronze with large wings of the same material on both sides. Upon closer inspection he was wearing several bronze rings and all of the buttons on his jacket seemed to match as well. He had a commanding presence that made you subconsciously stand up a bit straighter.

“Sehun, is that you?” Jia asked, doing a poor job of hiding her awe.

“Jia, you look even lovelier than usual.” He practically purred, leaning over the kiss the back of her hand. You could see her flushing along the edges of her mask.

“I’m glad you and your charming friend could make it. Are you enjoying yourselves?” His voice was low but still easily audible over the music and chatter of other guests.

Jia was all nods and smiles and you grinned as you nursed your champagne, watching their exchange. She was obviously smitten. Now you knew why she’d been so insistent about coming to this.

Sehun was holding both of her hands in his and whispering in her ear when suddenly she turned to you. She pulled her hands away from him and approached you, somehow still managing to look sheepish despite most of her face being hidden.

“Would you...mind if I danced with Sehun for awhile...?”

“Of course not! Go, don’t worry about me. Enjoy yourself.” You said, flashing her your brightest smile to try and ease her concerns. She nodded once in thanks before turning back to Sehun excitedly.

“Oh, have you met the owner of this manor yet?” Sehun called over to you, Jia’s hands back in his as they started towards the dance floor together.

“No? I don’t believe so.” You replied, unable to hide your confusion. You had assumed this was a rented venue.

“I see.” Sehun said with a cryptic smile, disappearing with Jia in tow before you could ask him to elaborate.

Left alone with your thoughts, you were glad that everyone seemed too preoccupied with their own affairs to pay you any mind. You were enjoying watching the other guests, admiring their outfits and their ornate masks, wondering who could be behind them. You never saw Sehun and Jia in the throngs of people though.

After some time you grew restless and found yourself walking aimlessly through the ballroom. A darkened hallway at the end of the room caught your eye and you felt strangely drawn to it, as if by some unknown force, your feet carrying you towards it before you could really think it through.

You peered down the hall, the massive size of the house you were in becoming apparent when it was too long for you to see the end of it.

You walked slowly, without purpose, examining the portraits on the walls. The low light made them look eerier than they should have, the soulless eyes of people unknown to you staring back without hesitation.

“Are you enjoying yourself? You are a long way from where you belong, little lamb.”

You jumped at the soft voice in your ear, goosebumps immediately crawling up your arms and legs as you spun around to face your new companion, your breath catching in your throat when you saw him.

He was...ethereal.

He was of average height with a lean, well-built frame. His black hair was parted a little to the side and swept back from his face, and his eyes were a bright, piercing blue peeking through the slits of his intricate silver mask. The mask itself was regal without feeling over the top, solid silver with delicate carvings and filigree creeping onto his exposed forehead. The design on his forehead resembled a crown and emphasized his regal presence.

His suit jacket was black with large silver buttons and silver chains draped along his shoulders, the shirt underneath made of expensive white silk and with a long bow tied at his neck. Long silver chains hung from his ears as well.

He cocked his head to one side when you didn’t reply, his shapely lips set in a pout.

“I’m not fond of being ignored.”

You jumped again when he extended one long, cold finger and dragged it down your cheek, holding your chin in his thumb and forefinger.

“Ah, I’m sorry. I was looking for the restroom and I got a little lost.” You said, fumbling over your words and mentally kicking yourself for it.

“Please don’t lie, it doesn’t suit you. There’s nothing wrong with being nosy from time to time. Now may not be the best time though.” He took several steps closer to you as he said this, stopping only when there was a mere inch between your bodies. Even in heels you weren’t quite tall enough to be eye level with him and he felt much, much taller as he stared down at you unblinkingly.

“I’m sorry,” You whispered, thoroughly entranced by him, “I’ll be on my way now.”

You turned to leave but stopped when a tight, icy grip circled your wrist, renewing your goosebumps.

“Please, allow me to escort you. I’d hate for you to get lost again on your way back.” He said, sounding a bit bemused.

You nodded jerkily, overly aware of the feeling of his skin on yours. He linked his arm with yours and started to lead you back up the hall.

“Where does this hallway go anyways...?” You blurted out before you could stop yourself.

Your companion stopped, turning to you with his lips parted, revealing beautiful white teeth as he smiled.

“You are not easily deterred, are you? What is your name?”

Your tongue felt heavy and dry as it formed the answer.

“My name is Baekhyun. This is my home that you’re in, if you haven’t guessed as much. Do you really want to see what is at the end of this hallway?”

You nodded, completely spellbound.

Baekhyun smiled again, his teeth flashing in the dim light, and spun you around with him, linking the opposite arm with yours.

You walked the expanse of the hallway together in silence, passing countless doors. The sound of music and people talking had long since faded and the temperature felt like it had dropped several degrees.

You finally reached your destination, a pair of large french doors marking the end of the hall. Your spine tingled with curiosity as Baekhyun pushed them open and you craned your neck to see what was beyond them.

Inside was one of the most beautiful bedrooms you’d ever laid eyes on. Right in the center of the room against the far wall was a large carved wooden four poster bed with black silk hangings and sheets. All of the furniture looked ancient and like it belonged in a museum instead of someone’s home. You caught a glimpse of a bathtub that more closely resembled a swimming pool through the open door on one side of the room.

You could feel your mouth hanging open but couldn’t seem to find the will power to close it.

Baekhyun chuckled and moved from your side to your back, resting his chin on your shoulder and his hands on your hips.

“This is my bedroom. This is where you wanted to come so badly.” He breathed seductively in your ear.

You said nothing, painfully aware of the small circles his thumbs were rubbing into your hips, trying to ignore the growing heat between your legs.

Baekhyun’s lips were ghosting along your neck, his hands still rubbing your hip bones, and even with the minimal touch you felt like you could come undone any second, you were melting in the palms of his hands and he had you right where he wanted you.

Suddenly his fingers were digging into your hips and pulling you roughly against him, his arms circling around your torso and holding you to him. You could feel his growing erection pressing into your bare back and you felt dizzy with need. His tongue was teasing the shell of your ear and it took everything you had to not start moaning.

“Are you sure that you want to be here instead of the ballroom with the other guests?” He whispered tantalizingly, pausing between words to press light kisses to your neck, his hands tracing patterns on the exposed sides of your breasts.

“Yes.” You replied, your voice faint and shaky. You weren’t sure that you were capable of saying much else.

You could feel Baekhyun’s smirk at your throat as he took your breasts in his hands and starting kneading them, finally earning a breathy moan from you.

He walked you forward towards the waiting bed from behind, his soft kisses on your neck turning into wet, sloppy ones. His tongue was lapping at your throat hungrily, his teeth grazing it, while he rolled your nipples in his smooth fingertips through your dress. It felt like an eternity until your knees hit the edge of the bed, Baekhyun pushing you forward into it until you fell on the mattress, breaking your fall with your hands.

You barely had time to think before he was climbing on top of you and flipping you over on to your back, his knee between your legs while his hands made swift work of the clasp at the back of your neck, causing the front of your dress to fall open, revealing your bare chest.

Baekhyun wasted no time in attacking your breasts with his mouth, nipping and suckling one while the other fell pray to his hand, his other hand supporting his body weight. You threw your head back, propping yourself up on your elbows and fighting the urge to buck your hips into his waiting thigh.

His hand left your breast, his mouth still sucking and biting the other fervently, and traveled south, forcing your legs apart, one slender finger tracing a line across your sex at the same time that he bit down on your nipple harshly, eliciting another gasp from you. You felt him smile against you again and you glanced down, surprised to find him watching you, still behind his mask, blue eyes sparkling while he continued softly stroking your most sensitive spot through your panties.

You reached towards him, weakly pulling at the mask, trying to remove it, earning a low chuckle.

He removed his hand from between your thighs and slowly brought it to his face, removing the heavy silver mask and placing it on the nightstand.

If you had found him beautiful before then he was truly breathtaking now.

His skin was smooth and free of any flaws, like it was carved from marble, his features somehow delicate yet strong. You couldn’t take your eyes from him, like he was sucking you in.

He was watching you expectantly and it took you a few moments to remember that your face was also concealed. You gently pulled the mask from your face and passed it on to Baekhyun’s waiting hand, it soon joining his mask, watching you from the bedside.

He was staring at you more intently now, his handsome features betraying no emotion, making you squirm with nervousness.

“Is there something wrong with my face...?” You whispered, your voice coming out huskier than normal as you looked away shyly.

Baekhyun’s hand shot out and gripped your chin, forcing you to face him once more.

“You are the loveliest creature I’ve ever laid eyes on. Don’t look away from me again.”

He crashed his lips into yours mercilessly, pulling off his jacket while he pressed you further in to the mattress with his body weight. You could barely breathe between his fierce kisses but you wouldn’t have asked him to stop to save your life, everything he gave you left you begging for more.

Finally free of his jacket, unceremoniously tossed somewhere on the floor, he set to work on removing his shirt, tossing it aside to join his jacket. His chest was lean muscle and had a light sheen of sweat that made it look all the more beautiful. His abs tensed with every breath he took and you found yourself wondering how you’d been lucky enough to attract the attention of such a flawless human.

If only you’d known then how wrong that assertion was.

Baekhyun made short work of the rest of your dress and his pants and stood, baring himself to you completely, admiring your nude figure from above.

“Beautiful. Truly stunning.” He whispered, his tone somehow dangerous, sending a series of shivers down your spine and making your hair stand on end.

He turned his back on you then, walking towards the nightstand and rummaging through a drawer silently. You watched with curiosity, gulping when he returned with several lengths of rope. He bent over you, taking your hands in his and kissing each of your fingertips gently before raising your arms above your head and tying your hands together with the rope.

He watched you for signs of discontent but you merely nodded, granting him the permission he sought.

“Lay on the bed properly.” He commanded and you obeyed, climbing towards the headboard as best you could with bound hands. He followed you on hands and knees and you tried your best not to stare too hard at his nude form as he approached. He adjusted your position until he was satisfied and then tied the other end of the rope binding your hands to a gap in the headboard.

He ran his cold finger down your cheek softly once more before leaning back to admire his handiwork.

You laid still, sensing that tugging against your restraints wouldn’t do you any favors.

Baekhyun’s hands found your ankles and pulled them apart, spreading you open for him and running up and down your legs, his lips soon following them, slowly leaving a wet trail up your leg, occasionally sucking down hard and leaving small marks. Your legs were already shaking with anticipation and you struggled to keep them open for him, you wanted so badly to press your thighs together and give your aching clit some semblance of relief.

You could already tell that Baekhyun planned to take his time with you.

His soft lips were sucking a love mark on a sensitive spot on your inner thigh now, making you shake more violently with need. He was so, so close to exactly where you needed him, his eyes still trained on yours, amusement dancing in them while he watched you silently begging him to give you what you wanted. You were biting your lower lip so hard that you were starting to taste blood pooling in your mouth.

Baekhyun finished his conquest of your thighs, seemingly satisfied with the purple and red flowers he’d planted there, and climbed on top of you on all fours, staring down at your face hungrily. He leaned forward slowly and ran his tongue along your cut and abused lips, shuddering a little.

“You taste incredible.” He whispered, his voice lower than you’d thought possible.

“Can I-?”

“You can do whatever you want, I’m yours.” You breathed, interrupting him as your patience grew thin, your head spinning with lust.

He stared at you, suddenly serious.

“Anything?”

You nodded. You were so desperate for him that you were beyond caring, as long as he had you as soon as possible.

His eyes flashed and suddenly he was bent over your neck again, peppering it with urgent kisses and tiny love bites. His hands gripped your hips almost painfully and he pushed into you slowly, stretching you and making you gasp and struggle against your restraints despite your earlier obedience, the material making your wrists burn. You so badly wanted to touch him, to run your hands through his soft hair, to dig your nails into his strong back.

He hissed as he finally bottomed out inside of you, staying still and giving you time to adjust until you started squirming, spurring him into action. His pace was slow and deliberate, yet still rough, each hard thrust of his hips causing him to press directly on your spot. One of his hands found your throat, closing around it like a vice, heightening your pleasure as you tried your best to buck against him and make him go faster.

His tongue traveled along your collarbone, his teeth dragging along the bone as well, and you could feel him breathing heavily through his nose, his thrusts becoming deeper and harder. Your breathing was coming in short, strangled gasps and you were pulling at the restraints in earnest now, rubbing your wrists raw from the friction, but his knots were firm.

You were being folded in half, the lewd sound of skin slapping together getting louder and more insistent as Baekhyun leaned forward, bending your knees and calves against his hard chest, nearly pushing your thighs into your stomach, and started pounding into you ruthlessly. You felt ready to burst, the tight coil that had wound its way in your core ready to snap at any second.

“P-please, Baekhyun, I’m so close-” You managed to whimper. He growled in response and pushed himself as far as he could reach in you, his free hand assaulting your clit, his hips angled just right so he was hitting your spot over and over with every snap of them.

He released your throat just before you could reach your peak and you took in a large gulp of air, one that was quickly stolen from you as you felt white hot pain where his fingers had been wrapped around your throat only moments ago.

His movements inside of you became wild and erratic, his fingers rubbing rough figure-eights into your clit, his lips securely wrapped on your throat, his sharp teeth piercing your flesh, the sound of blood gushing from you and him lapping it up with his tongue filling your ears.

You could barely see, couldn’t move, couldn’t have screamed if your life depended on it. Your body was a bundle of raw nerves, everything you were feeling was too much, you felt like you were being set on fire, like every drop of your blood was rushing to the point in your neck that Baekhyun’s lips were latched on to.

Baekhyun abandoned your neck with a loud pop, dark red liquid dripping down his chin and onto your bare stomach. Your body felt like it was buzzing, your vision was blurred and you couldn’t move, your breath coming in labored pants. He wiped his chin with the back of his hand, licking the remains of your blood from his hand and moaning deeply.

“So fucking good. God, you taste so fucking good.” He moaned again, turned you on your stomach and started lazily thrusting into you from behind, one of his hands threading into your hair as he fucked you further into the mattress. Every thrust felt like you were being electrocuted, your legs were shaking so much that you could hardly feel them moving anymore.

Baekhyun’s grip on your hair tightened as his thrusts became feverish again while he chased his high. He brought one hand down on your ass cheek, a loud smack like a gunshot echoing through the room, making you hiss. He did it again and again, more times than you could have counted, until your bottom started to go numb from swelling.

“Fuck, baby girl, you take me so well. Look at me while I ruin you.” Baekhyun growled, pulling your head up and arching your back, forcing you to meet his eyes while he rammed into your tight pussy.

He buried his face into your neck and sunk his teeth into you again, sucking hard. You felt light-headed and the room went black as you came harder than you ever had, your aching pussy pulsing around Baekhyun’s thick cock, wetness seeping into the mattress beneath you, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as moans of his name mingled with curses spilled freely from your lips. Baekhyun’s hips stuttered as he finally spilled his seed into you, releasing your neck at the same time, gasping and moaning.

You stayed together like that for awhile, him slumped over your back, his softening member still inside of you. He was softly petting your hair and kissing your neck while his breathing slowly returned to normal. He reached up, untying your hands at last, and pulled away to turn you over to face him.

At some point he’d managed to clean most of your blood from his face but his eyes were no longer the clear blue from earlier, they had turned a deep shade of crimson instead and you couldn’t look away.

“Are you afraid?”

You shook your head, making Baekhyun chuckle.

“Humans are always amusing, but you might be the most amusing one that I’ve met in a long time.” He said, smiling down at you sweetly. He bent over and kissed the very tip of your nose, moving some stray hairs out of your face and tucking them behind your ears.

“I didn’t think I’d find the perfect pet tonight, Sehun will be pleased that he was right.” He laughed. Your eyebrows knitted together. Sehun? Wasn’t that...?

“Pet?” You whispered, your voice hoarse and cracked, as your fingers absentmindedly touched the puncture wounds adorning your neck.

He laughed again, stroking your face possessively, making you shudder. He took your hands in his, kissing the angry welts the ropes had left on your wrists gently.

“You belong to me now. You did say that you were mine, after all.”

833 notes · View notes

tanmoonlight · 7 years ago

Text

completion| myg

| hybrid au | college au |

pairings: min yoongi/reader, future bts/reader (platonic)

In which you're looking for a roommate and find more than what you originally bargained for.

part one 》part two 》part three

Warnings: mild awkwardness, mentions anxiety, more innuendos, mentions hybrid discrimination

A/N: I have finally updated, hopefully this isn't too much of a hot mess. Also, Jintro is here,, Epiphany has arrived and perhaps I cried.

The move had gone well, if one ignored the mildly awkward air that settled between the two housemates. Yoongi had been wondering when the discomfort would set in between the two hybrids, and it seems it didn't take very long for them to fumble in uncomfortably dragged out periods of silence. Neither of them tried too hard to talk to each other, and from what he could tell, (Y/N) was more anxious than intentionally rude. Her pretty, surprisingly well manicured hands shook while handing him a drink and her body radiated a sort of stiffness that resembled that of a bristling cat.

Not that it was too far from the truth.

He could also smell her anxiety, the bitterness stinging his nose, reminding him of his previous visit where he'd also detected her unease. The smell was not as overpowering as one would expect, perhaps because it wasn't overwhelming her, but it did peak out from behind the natural sweetness she exuded. Even with the stiffness, she was still quite pretty and he found himself admiring her a little more closely out of curiosity. She was dressed quite comfortably, in jeans cuffed a few times at the ankles and a baggy pale blue sweatshirt. She was quite tall, he realised, standing at almost his own height.

She must've felf the heat of his eyes on her back because she noticeably stiffened but did not look back. He did not know if it was to save herself or himself from further awkwardness.

The next few hours were filled with tense glances and muffled apologies on (Y/N)'s behalf every time she bumped into him. She helped him move his things in and allowed him time to set his stuff up. The last thing they did was establish boundaries for each other as roommates. That had proven to be quite easy, as she was quite lenient as long as no property was damaged.

"I don't mind visitors, not that I have very many over, aside from Anaya," He remembered her saying, tilting her head slightly, "So you're welcome to bring friends over, Min Yoongi."

That would not be happening soon - at all, he thought to himself. He did not want to expose her to the sextet of lovely but agonisingly loud men he called friends, lest he wanted to startle her.

Once all was seemingly fixed, (Y/N) excused herself to run some errands, leaving Yoongi on his own with a newly added key to his Kumamon keychain. He allowed himself to slump over on the couch, laying in silence, no screeching of chairs and baby rattles, no obnoxiously loud bulldozer footsteps from above or cacophonies of warbled moans. A tiny smothered screech of relief left him, along with strings of thankful words, startling the fat cat seated on a large black beanbag.

The only response he got was an insulted mrrow from said fat cat, who quickly resettled himself and went back to sleep.

A few weeks had passed since Min Yoongi had moved in and it was going far better than (Y/N) expected. He was tidy enough; although she did occasionally catch a glimpse of scattered clothes on his floor and a few empty boxes he had yet to get rid of, but she kept her nose out of that, he wasn't disruptive at all and Poe seemed to tolerate him, at bare minimum. They didn't see too much of each other, which might be for the best, she mused, as they were both unbelievably busy. (Y/N) spent most of her time managing her studies as a sophomore, her job at a clinic, the weekly volunteer work at a hybrid shelter all while attempting to keep herself sane. She'd been lucky to have a few days off when she'd met Yoongi, but that was long over and she was back on relying on the carefully masked neuroticism caused by her awful sleeping schedule to keep her running, as well as the chewy breakfast bars and cold coffee that ran through her veins.

Yoongi was not much different than she was, he'd find himself spending hours working on unfinished songs to upload to his SoundCloud and finishing hastily written essays for a music theory class as well as making sure his senior project was as proper as possible. On top of school, he juggled a paid internship at a small entertainment company, working on projects that were not quite to his liking. The artists he was tasked had a tendency of being snobs, despite being newbies, and lacked any kind of vision and passion. He could not count the amount of times he'd wanted to slam his head through his keyboard, praying for a concussion to avoid listening to that disaster. In short, the nights he could have spent sleeping were spent perfecting his music and others, as well.

A good portion of their interactions were centered around extremes. They'd find themselves both emerging from their respective caves to refill on coffee and maybe, nibble on a cookie. Conversations, while not necessary, became common.

"Why are you still up Min Yoongi?" She questioned, bleary eyes peering from behind thick lenses. Her ears were noticeable droopy, indicating her exhaustion.

"Why are you still up?" He responded, opening the fridge to grab a bottle or two of cold coffee. She looked far more tired than he did.

She hummed in response, sipping on her own scalding beverage, "What're you working on now?" She pushed forward a plate of Mexican sweet bread, encouraging him to sit down.

He noticed she had a tendency of doing that, gently coaxing him into taking breaks longer than the three minutes it took for ramen to cook.

He sat across from her, opening a bottle of his coffee and taking a long sip before answering, "I'm trying to finish a track for one of the idols I'm working with," He paused, leaning over to grab a piece of sugary bread, "I could have been finished a few days ago but he insisted that it wasn't good enough for him." His words became grumbled towards the end of his sentence, eyebrows scrunched up gently and lips forming a small pout. His ears twitched in tandom with his tail as he nibbled on the bread.

Their late night coffee runs were quickly becoming something (Y/N) looked forward to, despite the dragging of her eyelids and the slumping of her body. For one, late night coffee was heavenly, even if it resulted in her crashing after an hour or two of shakiness. Second, it allowed her an opportunity to truly get to know the enigma that was Min Yoongi without the anxiety that swallowed her up during full consciousness. While she often expected him to ignore her questions, he never did. He would answer after some deliberation, his deep voice coming slightly fragmented from the frequent pausing he did in his speech. She found that he was quite warm, especially when he spoke about his friends and music. His eyes would soften from steel to oozing dark chocolate. When he got particularly passionate, he'd begin to enunciate his words with appropriately vivid hand movements while she listened.

In all, Min Yoongi was not as intimidating as she had expected. If anything, he was quite cute when he pouted.

"Is this the same guy from last time?"

"Yes, it is. With the amount of time he spends insulting my work, you'd think he'd piss off by now."

"What is his name? We don't want problematic favs in this household."

". . . I'd rather not disgrace your virgin ears."

"I heard you cussing someone out over the phone because they woke you up."

"Don't poke the sleeping bear, its the law of the jungle." He tsked, reaching for more bread, tail flickering gently in direct contradiction to his words.

"I can't believe you're hiding this man's identity, now I have to go through your company's website. BigHit was it?" She sighed wistfully, pulling out her phone.

"If you go blind, that's on you."

"I can't get any blinder than I currently am! If anything, he'd be doing me a favor. I wouldn't have to pay to see." She momentarily poked at her thick lenses.

"Capitalism at its worst. You'd rather be blind than pay to see."

"Prescription glasses are surprisingly expensive okay? Not that you'd know, with your fake ass five dollar hipster glasses."

"This is what the government wants, to pit the middle class against each other over monetary value."

"Are you sure you're not a liberal arts major? Also, stop distracting me, I'm really trying to find this dude. . ."

After a moment of contemplation, Yoongi gave a faux defeated sigh, "Since you want to know so bad, I'll tell you. But I'm not responsible for the loss of brain cells you may experience."

"I can't lose what I don't have anymore."

"Well, I lost five years off my lifespan just thinking about it."

"Min Yoongi, its just a name."

"Alright. His stage name is G-Spot Genie." He dropped the monstrosity with little to no regret, sipping his coffee.

(Y/N) said nothing for a moment, giving him enough time to correct himself, "Please say sike. Please."

Yoongi shrugged, perfectly encapsulating the nonchalance of a big cat.

"I. . . take it back, it is possible to lose what you don't have. Because he must've lost his damn mind."

He smirked, "So, what are your woes? Given that you look like you're about to pass out."

He wasn't wrong, but then again when didn't she look stressed. It seemed as though she was permanently set on overdrive, constantly bustling about either typing away on her dinky laptop or taking notes and reading ahead for her classes.

"I have a group project." She pushed out, her head falling to rest on her palm, "Just my luck I'm stuck with people who specialise in procrastination. Can they not do that on their own time? Also, you'd think people would know by now how to answer an e-mail, but apparently they don't know how to do that either!"

"What class is this for? Is the deadline soon?"

"The group project is for my hybrid studies class. We have a few more weeks to get it done but two weeks have already gone by and they've yet to actually plan with me. Plus! They keep shooting down my ideas and this one girl keeps stomping all over my last nerve." At this point her tail began to flicker quite violently in agitation and her eyes regained some semblance of frustrated awareness.

"What'd she do to make the kitty cat hiss?" The words left his mouth quite quickly, dry but playful and a part of his died internally. Much to his luck, she didn't catch it.

"For one, she was all over the guy in our group and I mean, all over. I was surprised she didn't pull his pants down right then and there, and I mean, her promiscuity is not the issue, ya know?" She was talking a bit fast, nearly rambling, "It's just kind of rude to act as if I don't exist, I'm also not into exhibitionism. When she isn't ignoring me, she's glaring at me and attempting to insult my intelligence. Like, I breathed??"

Yoongi, while not finding amusement in her frustration, did come to find her ranting kind of cute. It was endearing to see her lips form a pout while her face morphed into something other than indifference.

"Sometimes breathing is the biggest insult. She probably feels threatened or something, is she a hybrid?" Hybrids were known to be quite territorial.

"No, she's human, well they're both human." At that Yoongi exchange a brief look with (Y/N), words were not necessary to express that particular point. As much as hybrids have been engrained into society, the response was not always positive. Humans could still legally own a hybrid, further pushing the notion that they were inferior to humanity. Hybrid trafficking ran rampant and hate crimes were fairly common as well. In all, not everyone saw them as people.

"Well, (Y/N), you still have some time left so you should actually get some sleep before you pass out. Don't be stupid, you can finish working on it tomorrow and then tell your professor that they didn't do shit." He shrugged, voice coming out as a soft rumble. While his voice offered a suggestion, his eyes gave a command.

She sat up a little straighter once she caught the look in his eyes, they were sharper than before. A small shudder ran through her, "You're right, I'll do that. Now, please stop looking at me like that, you look constipated." She pushed aside the instinctive need to obey and focused on subduing the animal in her.

His nose scrunched up a bit as he sighed, taking one last sip of his coffee, watching as she finished up and set the cup in the sink. After a brief exchange of goodnight Min Yoongi, don't stay up too late! & goodnight (Y/N), he watched as she padded away with all the elegance of a feline. Once her door shut, he turned back around in his seat and mentally prepared himself to go back and stay up a few more hours.

Thank whatever deity was above that he didn't have class tomorrow, he could sleep in all he wanted.

#yoongi x reader #yoongi scenarios #hybrid au #bts scenarios #bts hybrid au #bts college au #hybrid yoongi #yoongi x you #bts yoongi

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